The Four Seasons (8 page)

“Yes, I am.”

“Like the ones of Jack and Ali?”

“Your picture will look just the same,” the off-camera voice of Mr. Collins assured her.

Merry nodded, accepting this, seemingly distracted by something over his shoulder.

“What do you want to tell us today?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He chuckled. “I thought you had something you wanted to say.” When Merry frowned and shook her head, apparently confused, he prodded, “To your sisters? Rose and Birdie and…”

“Jilly!” she exclaimed, sitting up in her chair. He had her full attention now. “Will Jilly see this?”

“Yes, I'll make certain she does. Now, tell Jilly and Birdie and Rose what you told me.”

Merry's face went blank as she stared back at the camera.

Birdie leaned forward, her heart aching as she watched intently. Here were the sure signs of Merry's brain damage.

“When I show your sisters this movie,” Mr. Collins's voice continued with admirable calmness, “what do you want them to know?”

“They'll see me?”

“Yes.”

Her face grew serious, pouty. Then she wagged her finger at the camera and said in all seriousness, “I want you to find Spring. I want you to go get her, okay? And tell her—”

She paused to think, looking upward, then, with inexpressible sweetness, she smiled straight into the camera like a pro and said, “Tell her I love her. Please?”

“Who is Spring?” he asked.

Merry's face clouded and she shook her head. “I'm not supposed to talk about that.”

“Who said you cannot?”

“Rose said not to talk about that.”

“I see. Well, is there anything else you want to say?”

Merry grew distracted again and appeared to fatigue. She slumped her shoulders and shook her head no. “Will you give the picture to Rose and Birdie? And Jilly?” She brightened briefly. “We're the Four Seasons,” she said with obvious pride, raising four fingers up to the camera. Her hand dropped to her mouth as she began coughing, mildly at first, then hard and gasping.

The camera was cast aside, the picture tilting wildly, settling on an angled shot of the carpet and Merry's slender legs, then a man's trousers hurrying toward her. All the while the hacking cough continued in the background, then the video went blank.

No one spoke. Rose moved to turn off the television. Jilly continued staring at the black screen. Birdie sniffed and rose to collect a box of tissues. She blew her nose, then dabbed at her eyes as she returned to her seat.

“What about the letter?” Rose asked after a moment.

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Collins said. He held the letter in his hand. “It's sealed. Who would like to open it?”

“I would,” Rose said, reaching out across the floor for it. Mr. Collins delivered it into her hand. She held the envelope reverently, smoothing one palm over it in a tender stroke. “I knew she had gone to Mr. Collins's house, of course, just as I knew what was troubling her, though I hadn't seen the video before.” She smiled sadly. “Merry could be very secretive when she wanted to be. Thank you, Mr. Collins. It was very moving. We're not much of a family for taking videotapes and I believe this is the only record we have of Merry. It was so powerful to see her and hear her speak.” She paused, collecting herself.

“But I know what is in this letter,” she continued after a moment. “It's in her own handwriting. She worked quite hard at it.” A faint smile crossed Rose's face. “She tossed out quite a few until she was satisfied.”

“Why don't you read it?” Birdie said.

Rose opened the envelope with her finger and tugged out a piece of stationery of matching print. Smoothing out the paper, she glanced briefly at Jilly, then cleared her throat. “It's dated March 5, 1999.”

“That was a month before she died,” Birdie said.

“That's right,” Rose replied, then raised the letter. “There isn't much….”

“That's it,” she said, folding the letter back.

Jilly rubbed her temples, then leaned forward and said, “Excuse me, but am I the only one missing something here? There's that name again. She used to ask me about her. Who or what is Spring?”

“Isn't that the name of her doll?” asked Birdie. “The one that she's had forever. Oh, you know the one, the baby doll with the red hair? She used to carry it around with her wherever she went.”

“Yes,” replied Rose. “The doll's name is Spring. But that's not who she's referring to.”

“Why keep us in suspense? Is she some friend? Real or imaginary or what?”

Rose looked to Mr. Collins for support. He nodded, indicating she should continue. Rose wiped her palms on her thighs. “Jilly,” she began in earnest, then stopped.

Jilly sat still and frozen, as though posing for a photograph.

Birdie searched Rose's face, so intent and yet fearful. She looked finally at Mr. Collins, whose gaze was all-knowing.

“Well, surely it can't be all that serious,” Jilly said in a glib manner. “Dolls and time capsules are hardly earth-shattering.”

“Please believe that this is not meant to hurt you or invade your privacy in any way, shape or form,” Rose said. “Merry loved you, in some ways I believe more than she loved any of us. You were always someone, well, exotic. Special. She talked about you all the time, and oh, she loved your movies. She didn't understand the Italian, but she watched them two or three times a week just to see you.”

“That's very nice, but what does this have to do with Spring? Am I Spring? She wanted me to come home? Is that it?”

“Not exactly.” Rose sighed, resigned. “This is so hard.”

“Rose…” Birdie urged.

Rose nodded. “I'll just tell you everything straight out and then we can talk, okay? That's the trouble, actually,” she said as an aside. “No one ever talks in our family. If we had…Well, never mind.”

Rose looked directly at Jilly. “The fact is, even though no one ever talked about it openly, Jilly, we all knew where you went in 1973. We didn't know the details back then, of course. Mother made up all those stories and we were in a fog. But we knew you went somewhere to have a baby.”

Jilly went ashen, her only movement the rising of her hand to her throat.

Birdie put her fingers to her lips, stunned, and furtively studied Jilly's reaction.

Rose took a breath, then pushed on. “Even Merry knew. I don't know how she figured it out, but she always did have a knack for ferreting out the truth. This is a big house, but not
so big that whispers at night are not heard, or crying behind closed doors, or angry fights between you and Mom and Dad.”

Jilly clutched at the arms of her chair, digging her nails into the soft, worn upholstery. Her voice was cold and demanding. “What do you know? Exactly.”

Rose looked into her eyes with sympathy and spoke clearly. “Back then, not much. I was only eleven and Merry was six, so we weren't in on the details. Birdie wouldn't talk to us about it. Later we did, naturally, but not then. And, of course, Mom explained things to me, many years later.”

She paused to give Jilly a chance to speak, but when she didn't Rose pushed on.

“The point is, Merry never truly understood what really happened. All she knew was that you went away to have a baby. She latched on to this, though none of us knew it at the time. If we did, I'm sure Mom would have tried to explain things to her right away. So when you came home without the baby, she was confused. Actually, she was really upset. She cried night after night for that baby. Do you remember?”

Jilly said nothing.

“I remember vaguely,” Birdie commented. “There was a lot going on and everything was tense. I guess we all thought Merry was crying in response to that.”

“When Mom finally figured out that she knew about the baby,” Rose continued, “she was thoroughly flustered. She gathered all of us for a family meeting and put the fear of God into us, telling us never to talk about it. Not even to one another. She told us that's how reputations are ruined and so on.”

“That's when Mom bought her that baby doll,” Birdie added. “I think she did it both to calm Merry down, and to use it as an excuse if Merry started talking about your baby.”

“But she never did,” said Rose. “Except to me, and I always
told her never to discuss it with outsiders. You heard her on the tape. Since the baby was born in spring, she called the doll Spring. You know how Dad nicknamed us after the season we were born in. I guess she wanted the doll to be named like the rest of us. But I knew, and Mom knew, that she had really called your baby Spring. The doll was just a substitute.”

Rose rubbed her arms and looked off into the distance. “It's odd, but by giving the baby a name, I think we all could settle it in our minds. I mean, the baby became real. It wasn't just another one of our games. But while we moved on with our lives, Merry clung to her belief that Spring was out there somewhere—with you, Jilly. And when you came home again without the baby, she was very upset. She thought Spring was somehow lost and needed us.”

Jilly's face was white, her back straight against the chair. She stared at Rose for a moment, shell-shocked, as though trying to comprehend all that she had just heard.

“But I don't understand,” Birdie said, wrinkling her brow. “What does this have to do with the letter and the videotape? She wants us to find the real Spring? The baby Jilly gave up for adoption?”

“Yes,” Rose replied.

“But…but why?”

“She wants us to give Spring the time capsule. And her money.”

Jilly put her palms to her face. “Oh, God.

It didn't take Birdie long to put things straight in her mind. “But that's ridiculous! Give more than half a million dollars to a stranger? That's our inheritance. To be divided three ways. I'm sorry, Jilly, but I have a child, too. Doesn't she figure into the equation?”

“She didn't mean the house money, just what's left of her trust fund. She didn't have a firm grasp of money but she knew
she had some in the bank. Besides, she was mostly interested in our finding Spring,” Rose explained.

“Mr. Collins,” Birdie said, “legally speaking, Merry wasn't mentally competent, was she? That letter won't be viewed as a codicil or a will?”

“It could be, but I wouldn't worry about that.” He put out a quieting hand to ward off any worries. “As I said at the onset, in my opinion, Merry was not legally competent. But if any one of you argue that she was—” he looked at Rose “—her letter would have to be contested as to its legal bearing. I doubt the courts would support it. I only presented her request to you because she wanted very much for me to do so. And now I have.”

“Rose, I can't imagine why you encouraged her in this,” Birdie huffed. “What were you thinking?”

“I didn't encourage her, but neither did I discourage her. Like it or not, Birdie, this search for Spring was Merry's wish.”

“Well, it's not mine.”

Everyone looked over at Jilly, startled by the cool, harsh tone of her voice. She'd been so quiet, almost forgotten in this discussion.

“I've had quite enough of this talk about searching for Spring as though it was Merry's baby,” she said in measured tones. “She had a doll. Let's keep that firmly in mind. As concerns the, the…other,” she spat out, grasping for a word that was impersonal, “that decision is mine and mine alone. And I won't do it. Do you hear me? I won't do it. And neither will anyone else. I forbid it. You have no right,” she said to Rose. “Merry had no right to bring it up. It's my history and none of you have any idea what I went through. And I'll be damned if I dredge it all up again just to satisfy your perverse curiosity or to appease the nonsensical rambling of my sister. That part of my life is closed. Over. There is no Spring.”

Jilly's eyes were flames in her thin, pale face as she sat regally and glared at them, daring them to challenge her. Rose put her hands to her trembling lips. Birdie folded her hands together.

Mr. Collins put his hands behind his back and said with admirable calm, “We quite understand.”

Jilly lowered her shoulders, appearing older and inexpressibly weary, eager to be gone. She slowly rose with as much dignity as she could muster, then hurried from the room. A moment later they could hear her bedroom door slam.

“Well…” Birdie said, exhaling and unbuttoning her suit jacket.

“I was afraid that would happen,” Rose said.

“What did you expect? How could you have done this to her? Do you have any idea what she went through back then? The decision to search for an adopted child has got to be one of the most painful, not to mention personal, decisions a woman can make. It's one thing for Merry to go on about her doll and her idea of a lost baby, but it's quite another to couch it in terms of a last request.”