The Pieces We Keep (37 page)

She shook her head, aware she would have to compose the missive regardless. Beyond that, already she could sense the excruciating weeks of waiting for a reply, imagining Isaak’s reaction, wondering if the message was ever received.

“What if we went to Germany?” Gene said, the suggestion startling her.

“Germany?”

“The three of us together.”

“But–how?”

“I’ll work something out.”

The vision of meeting in person was even more daunting. How would that make delivering the announcement any easier?

“I don’t know. It’s such a long trip. Judith, at her age . . .”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.”

Vivian nodded. She had just begun to relax when he added, “You and me then. We can start there. Figure out the rest as we go.”

She scrounged for reasons to object. But he laid his hand on her cheek, and from the comfort of his touch the jittering of her uncertainties settled. Yet again, he was the solid rock that steadied her, the balm to her worries.

Vivian released a breath, and nodded.

At their trade of gentle smiles, she folded into his embrace. They would do this together, the way it would always be for the two of them. How foolish of her to believe she couldn’t possibly love her husband more.

S
o finally she can be with him.

As much as Audra wanted to erase the phrase from her mind, she was overcome by the feeling that at last it completely fit. Her first inclination after hanging up with Taylor had been to call Sean and Luanne. She was about to dial them up when she realized who, more than anyone, deserved to hear the discovery first.

“Excuse me,” Audra said to the gallery manager upon entering with Jack. “I’m Audra Hughes. I’m the one who called earlier.”

“Oh, yes,” said the woman in cat’s-eye glasses. “Judith told me to send you on back to the studio.”

On the phone, Audra had asked Judith if they could meet in person right away, by now the topic evident. According to Sean, his mother had taken Luanne’s admission considerably well but needed time to process it. Audra just hoped the information she was bringing would be helpful, not a hindrance.

“If you’d like,” the manager added, “while you and Judith talk, I’d be happy to show your son the new artwork we just hung.” Clearly, she was aware the discussion called for privacy.

“It wouldn’t be too much trouble for you?”

“Not at all. So far, it’s been a pretty slow day.”

Audra turned to Jack. “Are you okay with that?”

“Sure,” he said lightly, already scanning the room.

“Thanks,” she said to the woman, who nodded and swept Jack off for a grand tour.

Audra treaded toward the back corner and into the studio.

At the worktable, Judith sat on a cushioned stool, lost in thought. Her hands rested on a nest of iridescent gauze. Beside the material were several items identifiable at a glance: a stack of books resembling diaries, letters and notes aged from time, and contents of the manila envelope Audra had returned to Luanne.

“Hi, Judith.”

The woman greeted her with a half smile.

“I appreciate you seeing me,” Audra said. “I know you’ve had a lot to think about the last few days.”

“It certainly hasn’t been dull.”

On this point, they were in total agreement.

Audra stepped closer. “I really don’t want to make things worse for you or your family. But there’s something I just learned. Something I think you should know.”

With an audible sigh, Judith said, “I’m not sure my heart can take many more surprises.”

Audra hoped this was said in jest, because she was delivering a rather large one. Regretfully, she could think of no skillful way to ease it in.

“Judith, the man you’ve heard about, Jakob Hemel . . .”

“Isaak,” Judith said, as if trying to reconcile the names.

Audra nodded before finishing: “He’s still alive.”

Judith sucked in a breath. Clenching her hands, she turned her face to the shelves above her table. “How do you know?” she said.

“The person who helped me with research called today. Taylor—that’s her name—she said she tried to locate Daniel Gerard, the FBI agent involved with the trial. She found out he died several years ago. But when he first learned he had Alzheimer’s, he’d asked his daughter to transcribe stories from his life. That’s how Taylor knew about Jakob’s help with the case, and even about his transfer to Europe.”

“Back to Germany,” Judith said, “wasn’t it?” She continued to stare straight ahead.

“Yes,” Audra said. “Before he landed, he was given a new identity for his protection. And later he moved to Switzerland to be with his relatives. That’s why it was harder to trace him.”

After a moment, Judith asked, “How old is he now?” Her guarded tone was understandable. A man of his generation could very well be incapacitated, or at minimum incoherent.

“He’s ninety-four—but from what Taylor gathered, he’s one of those George Burns types. Still youthful and lively, like your aunt, Luanne. Apparently he takes walks through town in the evenings, knows just about everyone in Lucerne.” When Judith didn’t respond, Audra added, “And he loves to paint.”

Judith suddenly angled back to her. “He’s an artist?”

Audra nodded, watching the woman recognize the potential source of her own traits.

“Does he ... have a family?”

“His wife passed away some years ago, but he has two daughters and a son.”

“You’re telling me I have siblings,” Judith said, voice tightening.

“Nephews and nieces too.” Audra smiled to emphasize the positive nature of the news. “Taylor had sent out some e-mails to track down information, and his oldest daughter, Ursula, is the one who responded.”

Judith covered her mouth with her slender fingers, her eyes moistening.

Perhaps this would only magnify her resentment from not knowing all of these years. Audra hoped that wasn’t so, but still she felt confident in having come here. It wouldn’t have been right to withhold any more secrets.

“I’m sorry to upset you. I just thought you should know.” When tears slid down Judith’s face, meeting the shield of her hand, Audra decided it was best to leave; the woman needed time alone with so much to absorb. Yet before Audra could excuse herself, Judith lowered her fingers to reveal a wisp of a smile.

Audra exhaled in relief.

“For so long,” Judith said, “I’ve been searching for who I am. It seemed like part of me was missing . . .” Her sentence faded away, but Audra didn’t need the rest.

“I know the feeling,” she replied, and Judith nodded.

Just then, a knock turned them toward the partially open door.

“Pardon me for the intrusion,” the manager said meekly, “but a customer needs my help. I wasn’t expecting him until later. Would it be all right if I sent Jack in here?”

Audra went to answer, but Judith responded first. “Of course. Bring him in.” She brushed away her tears as Jack entered the studio. “Jack,” she said with growing brightness. “What a treat to see you again.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“You know what?” Judith said. “I have an idea. How would you like to help me with a new art piece?”

The offer seemed either an excuse to more closely study Jack, in light of Luanne’s theories, or a form of payment for the ways he’d inadvertently changed Judith’s life. No matter the case, Audra wasn’t about to intervene. Not after his eyes lit up at the shelves of shiny, colorful supplies.

“Guess you’d better pull up a seat,” Audra said to him.

He hopped onto a stool. As he picked out a paintbrush from a jar full of choices, Judith grabbed the paints. She squirted a rainbow of colors on a wooden palette and set up an easel with a small blank canvas. “Why don’t you start with painting anything you’d like? Then we can add on other materials from there.”

It occurred to Audra right then that Judith could be seeking further insight from Jack’s pictures. The boy had already endured so much testing and observing, Audra was tempted to end the activity.

But the truth was she, too, longed to see the images now in his head. And so she watched.

He painted the stick figure of a boy. He painted a girl in the same fashion. Once again, the two were holding hands.

Audra braced herself as Jack rinsed his brush in a cup. He dabbed at the palette to obtain another color. With a smooth stroke of green, he placed the couple on the grass.

No flames. No planes. No darkness or death.

He even put smiles on their faces. Adding to the scenery, he hung a yellow sun in the sky, launched a pair of birds upward, and planted trees on the ground. All symbols of the brightness and beauty of life.

Although relieved at first, Audra worried he was simply following orders, depicting “happier things” to appease those around him.

Then he paused, drawing back to study his progress. That’s when his mouth curved up in a look of genuine delight—and Audra’s mouth did the same.

She did wonder, though, about the identity of the couple; a lot of options had crossed her mind.

“Hey, Jack,” she ventured to ask, “who are those people supposed to be?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Just two people.”

She thought about asking him in another way but then realized there was no need. When it came to viewing art, all that mattered was interpretation.

 

Later that night, Audra lay down in bed and closed her eyes with a feeling of satisfaction. It seemed only a moment had passed when she opened them again, yet sunlight was streaming through her window. Squinting against the rays, she languidly stretched her arms. She reveled in her restfulness until startled by a sense.

Something was wrong.

Panic shot through her, the kind from early motherhood, when crib death was only a breath away.

She tore from her bed, heart in her throat, and in the next room discovered his bed empty. A thousand horrific scenarios sped through her thoughts, interrupted by the melody of a cheery tune. She hurried out to the living room and found Jack on the couch, the computer open on his lap, a bowl of Froot Loops at his side.

“Hi, buddy,” she said, recovering.

“Hi, Mom.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just playing a game. I’m trying to find Grace’s penguin at the pizza parlor. We’re supposed to meet at nine.”

Nine o’clock. She glanced toward the kitchen to verify the time on the microwave. When the realization struck, she nearly wept from joy.

Jack had slept through the night.

“S
hould we wake her?” Vivian whispered.

In his brimmed hat and coat, Gene stood beside Vivian in the doorway of Judith’s room. “Let’s let her sleep,” he answered, his reasoning obvious. Their little girl looked too peaceful to disturb at this hour. Outside her window, dusk had barely begun to lift.

“I’ll just kiss her good-bye,” Vivian said, unable to leave without this small token. They had spent not a single night apart since Judith was born.

Silently Vivian padded over to the crib, where the toddler lay on her back, arms spread wide. Her stuffed giraffe was tucked at her side. Its flimsy, spotted body was half covered by the very blanket that had swathed Judith when she had first come home from the hospital. The beginning of their lives together as a family.

Vivian leaned over the rail, hands covering the large buttons of her overcoat to prevent them from knocking against the crib. She touched her lips to the crown of Judith’s head, light as an angel’s kiss. “Sleep well, lovey bug,” she said in a hush, and had to resist the impulse to scoop her up and take her along.

This trip was not appropriate for Judith yet. But if all went well, someday she, too, would make the trek and meet the man who had gifted Vivian with the greatest treasure in the world: the life of her beautiful daughter.

“Vivi,” Gene whispered.

It was time to leave.

She exited the room in the same fashion she had entered, continuing into the hallway. Gene paused to send Judith a final loving look before closing the door without noise.

“I’ll get our suitcases,” he said, and headed to their bedroom. In the kitchen, Luanne was brewing a pot of coffee, filling the air with its rich aroma. She had arrived already dressed, but a scarf still covered her curlers.

“Sorry to make you come over so early,” Vivian said to her. “I would have preferred a later train, but you know your brother. He insisted we take the first one out.”

“It’s no trouble. Fred was up most of the night studying for his exams. I couldn’t sleep well anyway.”

In this moment, face-to-face with Luanne, an urge to tell the truth scaled the walls of Vivian’s conscience. Gene had insisted the arrangements he made were on the stipulation of keeping them confidential. He had assured his contact that even their families believed they were escaping to Cape Cod, to a secluded inn on the coast with no phones, no radio.

But what if Judith were to have an emergency?

Gene reappeared with two suitcases. “I’ll go flag us a cab.”

Vivian nodded.

“Thanks again for watching her, Lu,” he said.

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

He smiled at his sister before turning away and maneuvering the luggage out the door.

As Vivian snapped her handbag shut, she imagined her confession stored inside between her handkerchief and powder compact. The trip was too important to risk a cancellation of plans by saying too much. What’s more, to name the destination would require an explanation about Isaak. This would come in time, but not yet.

She pulled on her gloves and travel hat, and Luanne trailed her to the door. The departure now imminent, Vivian’s thoughts sprinted with any instructions she might have forgotten. “Now, did I tell you where to find the extra crib sheets?”

“You did. In the top of Judith’s closet.”

“Precisely. Oh, and for bath time, be sure to pull her out when the water’s cool. She’d let herself freeze to the bone if you let her.”

“I promise not to let her freeze to the bone.”

Vivian caught the teasing but was too focused to be playful. “Also, if she happens to run a temperature, you can use the thermometer in my bathroom drawer. But if the number doesn’t seem right, you can usually tell by putting your lips on her forehead. Either that, or-”

“My dearest sister, you will never make it to the shore at this rate.”

Vivian scrunched her nose. “Good grief, I’m being dreadful, aren’t I?”

“No. You’re being a mother. But don’t worry, I’ve read all eight pages of the notes you wrote down for me. And I promise you, for the next week Fred and I will take care of Judith as if she were our own.”

Vivian smiled and grasped Luanne’s arm. “I know you will.”

“Now, then. With that settled, you’d better get out there. My brother must be chomping at the bit. You two enjoy your belated honeymoon.”

“Thank you,” Vivian said, and embraced Luanne tightly. “Thank you for everything.”

 

On the tarmac, the propellers whirred into a thunderous spin. The Air Corps captain greeted Vivian and Gene at the door of the transport aircraft. Nervousness belied his firm tone. “We’re square after this, Sully,” he said to Gene, to which Gene agreed.

Vivian was curious about the favor being repaid, but those details were currently unimportant.

The airman relieved them of their suitcases. After storing the luggage for transit, he went up to the cockpit. Vivian followed Gene in taking a seat on the canvas bench that ran along the wall.

“Put this on,” Gene told her over the engines. “It’ll get cold.” She wrapped herself with the Army blanket he provided. He helped her cover the gap between her shoes and the hem of her trousers before donning his own blanket.

Behind them a row of oval windows were dotted by Thursday-morning rain.

The captain reappeared after presumably speaking to the small crew, perhaps delivering an enticement for their discreet cooperation. His rank was not high enough for him to have finagled the situation without being resourceful.

“Anybody asks,” he said loudly, “you two were never on this plane.”

Gene gave a thumbs-up that all was understood.

When the officer shot a glance at Vivian, she made a show of nodding in concurrence. A so-called pleasure trip to Frankfurt would never be permitted by usual Army protocol. Although it was a harmless cargo transfer, the only civilians likely allowed on such a flight were USO performers and members of the Red Cross. Her status as neither would incur even heftier consequences if anyone was caught.

The airman gave a final reminder. “My buddy, Wes, will meet you on the other side. He’ll get you back as scheduled. You miss that flight, you’re outta luck.”

“We’ll be there,” Gene told him.

The man shook his head, as though questioning his own sanity, and disembarked without another word.

Minutes later, with all the doors clamped shut, the plane started to move. Vivian shuddered and her body stiffened. Having never flown before, she hadn’t expected so much rumbling and creaking as their speed increased.

Gene slipped his hand around hers. “Don’t worry,” he said close to her ear. “I’ve got you.”

The assertion brought back a memory: It was their first official date. He had spoken those exact words as they hung on the Parachute Jump, side by side on a canvas seat like now, dangling over Steeplechase Park.

The revelation of just how far they had come made her smile despite her fears. “I love you,” she said, too quiet for him to hear, but clearly he read her lips, and he reciprocated with a kiss. Her heart brimmed with indescribable adoration for him, for their daughter, and for the blessing of every second they had been given together.

This was the feeling Vivian took with her, long after the plane soared for hours over the Atlantic, long after the burst from engine fires had woken them both from sleep, a malfunction that sent the transport sharply down, into the waves, deep into the ocean, too far for recovery.

In that slice of an instant, before panic faded to calm and resistance gave way to surrender, she gave no thought to how their disappearance would be explained; she had no knowledge that a storm off Cape Cod would help fabricate a tragedy, a convenient covering of military tracks. Her sole concern lay with Judith. The girl would grow up without parents, and yet she would still be nurtured and cared for by family, genuine people with good hearts. Yes, she would be fine, Vivian realized–just as she herself would be, so long as Gene was there.

I’ve got you,
she heard in her mind, her hand still in his, and felt sheer peace from the love that would bind them till the end of time.