Hidden Heritage (16 page)

She sensed this. “You don't believe me, do you? You don't believe.”

I couldn't answer. It was too horrible. I couldn't take it in.

“Go to the chest under the windows in the west corner. Look in the third drawer down. There is a fine wooden box. It was made by my grandfather. I keep my keys in that drawer. Open the box, then take out the piece of paper. Read the chant silently. I know it by heart. I do not want to think about those words again.”

I rose unsteadily. I placed my hand on the back of the chair for a moment until I got my bearings.

“They joked. They left a silly little poem.” Her voice broke. “A joke verse. Like a children's chant.”

I carefully walked over to the corner. I opened the third drawer and picked up the keys lying on the velvet lining. I opened the lid on the beautifully crafted walnut box nestled within.

There was a piece of rolled paper. I carried it back to the chair where the light was better. I could feel her watching my face. Waiting for my reaction. She got one. I even recognized the verse. It was well-known historically. Very well-known.

I would rather be a Klansman
in robe of snowy white,
Than to be a Catholic Priest
in robe as black as night;

For a Klansman is AMERICAN
and AMERICA is his home,
But a priest owes his allegiance
to a Dago Pope in Rome.

Chapter Twenty-one

I heard a soft rustling and eased up in my bed to see Angie quietly closing the door. “I'm awake,” I called.

“Keith,” she hollered, “Lottie's awake.”

In a moment he appeared in the doorway looking solemn. “Finally.”

“What time is it?”

“Eleven o'clock.”

“You're kidding? I don't believe it. I've never slept this late before in my life.”

“I know.”

“When did I get home? I don't even remember.”

“After eight. I couldn't rouse you on your cell or even the car phone. About the time I was really starting to get worried, you came driving in and went straight up to bed. Without a bite of supper, I might add. Did you eat something while you were there?”

“No. Well, I don't think so. To tell the truth I don't remember one single thing about my visit to the compound. Not anything.”

How was that possible?
I eased up against the headboard. “The office. Who is at the sheriff's office?”

“Betty and Marvin are basically it. They will call here if something comes up. Or page me when I'm out in the field. By the way, Tom and Josie are driving out from Manhattan. They will be here late afternoon.”

“But why?”

“She called a couple of hours ago and I told her I was worried about you. You know Josie; she wants to see for herself.”

“Oh, brother. I don't know if I'm up to an inquisition.”

“Lottie, it's not just last night. You've been jittery. On edge. I want you to talk to her.”

“As a psychologist?” I rose up on my elbows.

“No, damn it. As your sister. Do you think I haven't noticed you're not up to snuff?”

How could he
not
notice? I had lost weight. There were circles under my eyes. I couldn't blame everything on the heat. “I'll get a physical. I'm overdue.”

“Good. That's always the first step. Now, I'm going to make you eat something.”

Suddenly disgusted with myself for lying in bed like a truant teenager, duty kicked in. “Damn it. It's my day at the historical society. How could I have forgotten?”

“Margaret has it covered.”

“Margaret? But she quit!”

“Not to worry. I called Margaret and told her you hadn't been feeling well lately and weren't quite yourself.” With a flap of his hand, he mimicked Margaret's mannerisms. “She told me you had insulted her. I told her that was not at all like you. You held her in the highest esteem and would she please…”

I started laughing. “Stop, oh please stop. Just give me the bottom line.” He looked so handsome, smiling there in the sunlight, one hand braced against the door jam, with a lock of thick brown hair falling down on his forehead. Boyishly delighted by his own orneriness.

“Bottom line, she's back in the office. And I expect you to apologize sweetly.” He walked over to the bed and sat beside me. He reached down and kissed me. I grasped his cheeks between my palms and pelted him with more kisses. He grabbed my hands and held them to one side while he eased off the bed.

“Just a minute while I lock the door. Remember, we have a kid around now.”

***

Coffeed, showered, I know I glowed when I walked into the kitchen. Self-consciously I glanced at Angie but she wouldn't have noticed if I were lit up like a Christmas tree. She sat listlessly at the kitchen table staring out the patio door. I poured another cup of coffee and went outside.

No matter how happy Keith and I were in bed, we couldn't stay there forever.

The sun was still hot. The wind still blew. The crops had burned up. And no one believed the Royals would ever win the pennant. Not anymore.

I decided to make a list of everything that was bothering me. I went inside and grabbed my notebook from where it was sitting beside the phone on my kitchen desk. The notebook. For an instant, I remembered wanting it when I was at Francesca's. I had wanted the notebook…and had wanted something else.
What was it?
Bothered by my inability to remember one thing about yesterday's meeting, I wondered if I had been getting a touch of flu. Or something. But that couldn't be true because I felt just fine today. Not even tired.

Back in my lawn chair, I began jotting everything down. Then I intended to isolate the problems I could actually do something about and make a plan.

I started a separate list of things I couldn't affect. The crops and the weather went on it.

My sister.

My stomach lurched. My sister. I still hadn't faced that little problem. Josie was having an affair with my husband's son, and his sisters would blow sky-high when they found out.

Tosca was next on the list. The uppity little dog who had turned on us all. There was no wooing her back either, until she deigned to receive us again. Like she was the queen of England who could pick and choose. I smiled ruefully. Fat chance. Keith would have to live with his sins.

The investigation. I had been kicked out of the loop. No more information flowing to us from the KBI. That was more of a blessing than a problem, but at a county level we weren't any closer to finding that killer than the big boys in the state office.

Angie. The lonely stepdaughter sitting in my kitchen. I could not fix her miserable marriage and I would be out of my mind to try that anyway. I didn't want to fix it. I didn't ever want to see Steve Bender again.

When I finally finished I stared at the enormous column of things that were nagging me. I could not do a single solitary thing about any of them. Even Angie's unhappiness was a problem she had to work through by herself. We could only offer her sanctuary until she got back on her feet.

***

The big Mercedes SUV roared up the drive late that afternoon. Tom sat in the front seat and Tosca was in the rear, strapped into all her safety paraphernalia.

As I had predicted, the moment after the luggage was inside, and Tosca watered, Josie took me aside and started looking me over. “What's going on, Lottie?”

“I'm not sure. I'm fine, really.”

“You don't look fine.”

“Yeah. Well. It's been a long hot summer.”

“Okay.” Her rose and white T-shirt matched the ribbons in Tosca's topknot. Her white knee-length shorts were still spotless after the long grueling drive. Her glance said she was clearly at her professional best.

Instead, I wanted my sister.

“Keith said you haven't been feeling well. Has anything unusual been going on?”

Tears stung my eyes. “Not really. Just general work for the historical society. I've been interviewing an old Spanish woman and recording a number of spells and rituals.”

She smiled. “That's nothing that would affect your health.”

“I know that.” But I didn't. Not deep down inside. “She's also an
yerbero
, an herbalist. I've been recording some of the names of uses of plants.”

She froze. “You haven't taken any of these herbs, have you?”

“Yes. Because Francesca wants me to experience the effects.”

She lost all her objectivity in a heartbeat. “Please tell me you're not that dumb. Herbs are medications. It's hard telling what you've ingested that is harmful for you. Like all medication, what works for one person can have an inverse reaction on another. Do you remember all the names of the herbs?”

“There were so many. None of them should have been harmful.”

“Perhaps. But, Keith needs to know. I'll call that woman and ask.”

“She won't answer the phone. You'll have to go through her great-granddaughter.” I gave her the number.

“Let me talk to Keith, first. He can listen on the extension and might be able to understand some of the medical details.”

I heard only one side of the phone conversation, but it was clear Cecelia didn't understand what they were talking about. Josie asked her to tell Francesca that I was quite ill after yesterday's session. She insisted that Francesca tell her the names of any herbs I had taken.

“New deal, Lottie,” Keith said after they hung up. “I know this work is important to you. But herbs are out. Spells and rituals won't hurt a thing.”

“Okay.” Seen in the light of their logic, it was easy to agree. I would simply take Francesca's interpretations at face value. From a historian's standpoint, it was better technique anyway. Josie was right about the effects of drugs. What cured one person might have an adverse effect on another. My personal reactions were contaminating the data.

***

That evening Angie walked down to the pond with Josie and Tom. Tosca rested in the special bed she used when she came to Western Kansas. Her sorrowful eyes were full of unspeakable tragedy. Keith glanced at me, smiling at Tosca's little shudder when Josie and Tom went outside together. Tosca had lost her place. She no longer sat in the front seat of the car—literally and figuratively. Her mistress' heart belonged to another.

Keith left the room and came back with a buddy poppy. He had bought several of the crimson crepe blossoms sold by the Veterans of Foreign Wars. He knelt beside Tosca's bed and gently removed her rose and white ribbons. He twisted the wire attached to the poppy around her topknot. The little dog looked up at him and allowed herself to be lifted up and comforted against his broad chest. When he set her back down again, she stayed at his side. The poppy was not the flag—would never be the flag—but it would do.

He went into the music room. I had changed into a soft yellow sundress with an eyelet bodice and a full skirt. I joined him and took my guitar down from the closet where he had built racks and stands for all the instruments. We sing well together and enjoy harmonizing on old countrywestern duets.

He suddenly began a riff of shut-out chords that I could not possibly follow, then softly launched into an ancient Webb Pierce song. One even the most avid music fans rarely heard. Keith has a wonderful voice and held nothing back. What he would not express verbally was always there in his music.

“
I live every day for you. I breathe every breath for you
.”

I shut my heart against the pain of realizing how much he wanted to keep me safe. I knew he was bothered over telling me to stop sampling the herbs. It had been just short of a direct order.

“
And if I'm mean and make you blue. It's my way of loving you
.”

I couldn't look him in the eye. Tears welled up as I recalled the times I had scared the hell out of him since I became involved in law enforcement. His wounded eyes! It was as though some composer had written this song just for us. Had anticipated just such a time when a man needed to speak these words and a woman needed to listen.

“
I can't help these things I do. It's my way of loving you
.”

He looked at me. Sheepishly. Subtly offering an apology. He was deeply aware of the price I paid indirectly for Regina's suicide. The price I paid for enduring his watchfulness, his excessive protection. His fussing over my happiness. I knew it grew out of old memories and the general wretchedness of the long, hot summer as much as anything.

He sang directly to me, with words he would never be able to frame on his own. The situation was too delicate. But he wanted me to know he was sorry.

I opened my mouth, but couldn't find the words. There was a song. One that was just right, but I couldn't remember what it was. And even if I could remember, I didn't need a song to tell him how I felt. There was a better way. I rose and went over to him and sat on his lap and he pulled me against his chest.

Then words didn't matter anymore.

***

When my two stepchildren and sister returned from the pond, they trooped into the music room. Angie looked even more miserable than when she had left. Tom and Josie held hands and gave Keith and me nervous looks.

“We think it's time to tell you. I case you don't know this already…” Tom cleared his throat.

“We're dating,” Josie said brightly.

We didn't know what kind of a response they expected. Congratulations? It wasn't as though they had announced an engagement. Disapproval? They were adults. They could form relationships with whomever they liked.

The look on Keith's father/brother-in-law face was not that of surprise. The look on my stepmother/sister face was surely that of polite resignation.

Angie left the room.

“Well, now. This calls for drink,” Keith said.

***

I greeted Margaret cheerfully the next morning, asked her to sit down and apologized magnificently, magnanimously, effusively. It was everything a wounded soldier could ask for. She swelled with pride, fluffed her hair and graciously accepted my exaggerated highfalutin explanation that I had “been under a lot of pressure,” but “I knew that was no excuse for treating her so rudely, and would she please forgive me?”

And man this damn office, when I have to be gone. Come back, Little Sheba
.

“We all have days when we are not ourselves, Lottie. But, it really wasn't like you.”

“I am nearly finished at the compound. That will free up more time.”

In fact, I intended to finish with Francesca in a couple of weeks. I was still troubled by my inability to remember anything about the last session. It was a clear sign that I needed a vacation. Fat chance of finding time for that. A day-spa perhaps? Something to take my mind off a crime case where every lead fizzled out.

Sometimes when people or a situation are upsetting to me, and I find myself obsessing over the reason why, I find that it's best to simply stay away without trying to understand the
why
. And clearly my relationship with Francesca was falling into that category. Just thinking about the old woman upset me.

“You have a number of calls from people in response to your ad. Two persons with French ancestry, a couple of African Americans, and a Jane Jordan has been trying hard to set up an appointment.”