Hidden Hearts (34 page)

“People were an entirely different breed back then,” she said.

After an hour, Siobhan complained, “It would really help to know specifically what we were looking for.”

“Anything that mentions Chet Battle, Jacob Rubenstein, nineteen fifty-five or the enclave,” Penn said.

CC took a sip of wine and pulled another trunk in front of her. So far she’d discovered that Lois was astoundingly beautiful, smart—according to her report cards—and an incredible pie maker. She imagined that she’d eventually come across invoices, recipes and possibly thank-you notes since Lois kept
everything,
and Viv had inherited her penchant for pack-ratting.

Lynette groaned as she shut another folder. “Why are people so complicated and mean? I can’t imagine anyone throwing Viv out on the street. What a greedy bastard this guy must be.”

“I agree,” Maya said.

“Is this something?” Siobhan asked, showing a letter to Penn.

CC crouched next to them and read over her shoulder. It was a letter from someone named Gracie to Lois, dated November of nineteen fifty-five. She skimmed the contents which included the usual references to the weather and the changing seasons in Birmingham, where Gracie apparently lived, but it also mentioned Kiah and her ongoing recovery.

“What was she recovering from?” Siobhan asked.

“I don’t know,” Penn said. “Read any other letter you find from this person.”

CC returned to the small box of family photos she’d found, sandwiched in a larger box labeled
Mom’s Things
. The photos were almost exclusively of the four Battles, and judging from the scenery, she guessed they were all taken in the Midwest. They were a good-looking family, and Chet Battle was as handsome as his wife was beautiful. Perhaps his roving eye had been the cause of their divorce.

She shared her thoughts with the group and Lynette snorted. “I’m not surprised. So typical of a man to cheat on a woman, typical of anyone I guess. No one’s faithful,” she said off-handedly.

“Damn it, Lynette!” Siobhan shouted. “Does anyone rate in your life that doesn’t have a tail? Are all human beings worthless?”

“Of course not,” she sputtered, clearly taken aback. “But interpersonal relationships are so…”

“What? Complicated?
Messy?”
She stood up and a stack of photos cascaded to the floor.
“And exhilarating, fulfilling and
sensual
.
There is nothing like spending a weekend holed up in a cabin with your lover and a roaring fire.”

Lynette blinked. “Who would take care of the dogs?”

She threw up her hands. “I’m done. Good luck, ladies,” she said before she stormed down the ladder.

“Siobhan?”
Lynette called after her. She looked at the others. “What’s up with her?”

Maya shook her head in amazement. “I’m surprised it took this long,” she said to Penn. She leaned toward Lynette and said, “Honey, you are the dumbest smart person I know. You can spot a stray dog three blocks away, but you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

She adjusted the beret she was sporting. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s in love with you, stupid,” Penn said slowly.

“She is?”

Maya set aside the stack of letters she was holding. “Honey, think about it. Who stayed with Janis Joplin when she was so sick? Who always comes to your rescue every time you run out of gas because you just can’t remember that E means
empty?
Who offered to go to dinner with your parents and you when you told them you were gay? C’mon, honey, it shouldn’t surprise you. You love music, and she’s a musician. You fit together.”

Her gaze dropped to her lap.

“Are you okay?” Penn finally asked.

She shook her head and picked up a box. “I can’t discuss this now,” she said. “Let’s just worry about Viv.”

They returned to their work, and CC poked through a trunk full of knickknacks. Buried deep at the bottom she found a shoebox without a label. Inside was a row of letters pressed together so tightly that she had to part them in half to pull one out, still in its original white envelope. She saw there was no return address, and the postmark was from Phoenix in nineteen sixty-one. It was addressed to Lois Battle and the script was awkward, as if it was written by a man.

August 12, 1961

My dear Lois,

We returned from our summer vacation last week. Disneyland is indeed a magical place. Seth most enjoyed the Submarine Voyage, and Moira liked King Arthur’s Carousel, but by the fourth time she felt sick. Della liked driving the little Autopia cars, which is a car of the future, but I preferred the Astro Jets.

Vivi and Maude would love it, and if you ever want to take them…

Business is booming, and we’re talking about opening another restaurant. I had the idea because of your pie. A customer wanted to know how he could get one and not drive ten miles. What do you think?

I miss you terribly. It’s been three weeks since we stopped by, and my eyes long to gaze into yours. I hope Maudie isn’t giving you too much trouble. Five-year-olds are a handful. I certainly know this. I can’t believe Vivi will turn twenty in just a few months. She’s such an amazing young woman, Lois, and certainly the godsend you described in your last letter. Della and I will visit next week. I promise.

All my love,

Jacob

All my love.
Jacob had signed his letter by proclaiming his love, but was it romantic or platonic? She wrestled with the box until she could free the very first letter. The envelope was dated nineteen fifty-six, and when she pulled out the white sheets of paper, a black-and-white photo fell to the floor—of a very pregnant Lois standing on the farmhouse’s porch with a teenage Vivian.

The conversations and experiences of the last several days started to form a picture, like a child’s connect-the-dot game. She looked over at Penn, who was shuffling through a stack of memorabilia.

“Who was Maude?” she asked.

“No idea,” Penn mumbled. “But your theory that Lois Battle had a system is falling apart.”

“How so?”

“I’m in this box marked nineteen fifty-nine, and I’m finding pictures that were obviously drawn by a small child. Viv was seventeen.”

She stared at the photo in her hand. “Has anyone heard Viv talk about Maude?”

“The only Maude I know was my birth mother,” Maya said.

November, 1955

When I told Mr. Rubenstein that I’d seen Pops hiding in the bushes while the cabins burned, he calmly nodded his head. I’m not sure if he ever told Mama, but no one ever spoke of it again. He thanked me, and said I shouldn’t repeat it to anyone and I didn’t. It was probably one of the few secrets I kept.

And three months later when I saw Pops walk out of the drugstore with Shirley West, I decided it hadn’t been important. Even though I didn’t want him back in our lives, he was my father, and if he wasn’t in jail it meant he didn’t have anything to do with the fire or Mac’s death. I got some comfort from that.

Mac was gone, and Kiah was stuck in the hospital, badly burned. Mr. Rubenstein arranged for me to visit once. I snuck up the back steps to the colored wing but at the sight of my best friend—the love of my life—wrapped in bandages and looking like a mummy, I burst into tears and ran out of the room. I decided I would just wait for her at home.

Orangedale Estates was a thriving community. I didn’t need to sit on my window seat for confirmation. It was all around me. And I loathed staring out my window anymore. The yard below was an awful memory of that night. The debris from the cabins had been hauled away and the ground in front of them, once beautiful, lush grass, was again dirt, circling the cement foundations of the destroyed cabins.

“What are they going to do with those?” I asked Mama one night while we sat on the sun porch.

“Jacob says he’s going to build some cottages there.”

I looked at her funny. It didn’t make sense. “Why?”

She glanced up from her sewing. “So we can make money. He says that travelers like the idea of staying in a place that reminds them of home. It’s called a bed-and-breakfast. They can stay in the cottages, and I can cook for them.”

“Where are they from?”

“All over,” she replied.

I returned to my sketching, trying not to stare at her swollen belly. Two weeks after the fire she’d told me her secret—she was pregnant with Mac’s child. He’d been so happy to learn he was going to be a father again, regardless of the problems it created. Mr. Rubenstein had found someone to deliver the baby, and an attorney who’d handle her divorce from Pops. It had all been planned—everything except Mac’s death.

“And I’ve got some more good news. Jacob and Della are starting a restaurant, and they’re going to feature my sweet potato pie.” She offered a slight smile, the most she could muster after everything that had happened.

“That’s great. Your pie’s the best. I can’t wait for me and Kiah to try it at the restaurant. I wonder if it will taste different.”

She set down her sewing. “Honey, Kiah’s going away to live in Birmingham with her Aunt Gracie.”

“What?”

“That’s where her people are. She doesn’t have any family left.”

“She’s got us!”

She bit her lip and looked at me sympathetically. “Honey, she’ll always have us, but we’re not her family.”

“That’s not true,” I cried. “You make your family. It’s not always about blood,” I said, repeating some wise words that Della Rubenstein had said to me.

She pulled me into her arms, and I cried for a long time. It wasn’t fair. I knew Kiah was going to move away eventually, but I’d been robbed of the precious time I had before she went to Tuskeegee.

“When does she leave?”

“Next week. But she’d like to see you before she goes.”

****

The girl who ascended the steps was covered in scars and used a cane to support her right side, which had been terribly burned by the flames licking the window frame as she tried to escape. When she saw me she smiled her big smile, and I took her strong left hand. Mama had warned me not to embrace her. It was still far too painful.

We sat on the sun porch drinking Mac’s lemonade and eating Mama’s sweet potato pie.

“I’ve missed this so much,” she said. “I miss everything,” she added softly.

She looked up to see if I understood, and I nodded.

“How are your grades?” she asked.

I shrugged, embarrassed. All I wanted to do was draw. “They’re okay. They’ll never be as good as yours.”

“I don’t have any,” she snorted. “I’ve lost a lot of time. I may have to wait a year for Tuskeegee.”

“I doubt it. You’re too smart to keep out of college.”

She smiled again, and we both kept eating. It was awkward between us, and I threw a glance at the destroyed backyard and the cause of our changed relationship.

“What do you think about the baby?” she asked suddenly.

“I like it, I guess.” I said.

“It’ll be our connection, Vivi. The little boy or girl will keep us together even though we’re far apart,” she said, a note of excitement in her voice. It sounded as if she was trying to convince herself at the same time. “It’ll be a way to keep Daddy…” Her voice trailed off as she forced a sob down.

“Yeah,” I agreed. I couldn’t bear to see her cry or hear her talk about Mac. 

Mr. Rubenstein and Mama joined us, and I knew it was time for her to go. He was going to drive her all the way to New Mexico and leave her with a family friend until her aunt could pick her up.

She stood and took my hand. “Why can’t you stay?” I asked.

She shook her head. “It just can’t be that way, Vivi, at least not now. But someday I’ll come back to visit.”

Mama kissed her gently on the cheek, and we all walked out to the car, sensitive to her slow gait as she dragged her right leg across the dirt. Once she’d settled into her seat I stuck my hand through the open window and offered her a gift—an orange.