CHAPTER 16
Lillian walked down the hallway to the girls’ bedroom as fast as her arthritic joints would take her, her cane tapping impatiently on the carpet runner.
She threw open the door and went in, blinking at the bright sunlight streaming in from the windows and illuminating the colorful palette on the walls and furnishings.
Sara sat propped up in her bed on large, fluffy pillows with her father in a chair on one side and Earlene on the other.
At Tucker’s insistence they’d taken Sara to the emergency room to make sure she hadn’t inhaled any water.
Satisfied with her clean bill of health, he’d brought her home and put her to bed to rest.
Now, judging from the rosy circles on Sara’s cheeks and the piles of her favorite dolls and stuffed animals crowded around her in the bed, she seemed no worse for the wear.
In fact, if Lillian had to guess, she was enjoying the attention.
Even the sodden doll clutched in the crook of Sara’s arm seemed to have a smug look about her, as if finally they were getting their turn in the spotlight.
Tucker stood and offered her his chair, which she thankfully accepted.
After leaning her cane against the bed, she took Sara’s small hand in hers and had to fight back tears.
She knew what burying a child was like, knew already what needed to be done to survive it.
But Tucker was still slipping on the ice of his first great loss, and she closed her eyes in a prayer of thanks that not only had Sara been saved, but so had her father.
“Don’t cry, Malily. Me and Samantha are fine.”
Lillian looked up and smiled, noticing that Sara and her doll Samantha wore matching nightgowns.
She squeezed the small hand. “Yes, I know. But you have to promise me that you’ll never go near the pond again without an adult, and never without your floaties.
And maybe Samantha should stay inside the next time you decide it’s time for a swim. ”
Sara’s blue eyes widened, working out something in her head. “Do you think that’s what happened to Mama? That maybe she fell into the river by accident and nobody was there to pull her out?”
Lillian’s gaze rose to meet Tucker’s, and she was surprised to see calmness where she’d expected the ghost of old grief. Maybe with Sara’s accident he had finally begun to see that life continued after a fall, and that the hands that reached to pull you out didn’t have to be your own.
Tucker pushed Sara’s blond hair from her forehead. “Maybe. But what matters is that Earlene was there and that you’re safe now. Just promise me that you’ll never, ever go near the water again without an adult with you.”
Sara rolled her eyes in such a perfect imitation of Lucy that Lillian almost laughed. “Like I would, Daddy. It’s not like I had any fun or anything. And now Samantha’s hair is all stiff.”
Earlene leaned forward to take the doll to examine the hair closer. “We could try to shampoo it. Or we could call the manufacturer and see what they suggest.”
Sara smiled brightly and reached out her arms for her doll.
Earlene stood to tuck the doll back into the crook of Sara’s arm and pull the sheets up.
As she leaned over Sara to kiss her forehead, the chain around her neck slid out of the collar of her blouse, and Lillian stopped breathing.
The wings of the gold angel charm twirled, teasing Lillian with each twinkle of light it reflected from the window.
Her hand reached for her own angel charm, and as her gnarled fingers grasped it, she caught Earlene’s gaze and held it.
Slowly, Earlene sat down, her own hand tucking the charm back out of sight, but it was too late. Lillian had seen it, and along with it saw her own past and the sudden realization that seven decades could be reduced to the blink of an eye, or the reflection of sunlight on the wings of a gold angel.
“Where did you get that?” Lillian asked, her voice sounding horrifyingly normal.
Earlene lifted her chin in a way that was so reminiscent of Annabelle in a stubborn mood that Lillian wanted to laugh at her own stupidity.
It had been there the whole time—the familiarity, the unexplained connection she’d felt.
The moonflowers. Maybe Lillian had known all along, but like a child opening the door to a darkened closet, she’d been afraid to look inside, not really wanting to know.
Because once she saw what was on the other side of the door, she knew what would have to happen next, and she wasn’t at all sure that she was ready.
“My grandmother left it for me when she died.” Earlene’s jaw didn’t waver, but remained set in the endearingly familiar way.
“Perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim,” Lillian said slowly, her mouth rusty on the old words. “Do you know what it means?” She still held on to a thread of doubt that maybe she was wrong, that maybe this girl wasn’t who Lillian thought she was.
Earlene’s gaze never shifted as she answered. “ ‘Be patient and strong; someday this pain will be useful to you.’ It’s Ovid.”
Tucker looked from Lillian to Earlene and then back again. “Earlene said that it was a fad when you were younger—that lots of girls had them. Right?”
Lillian found herself staring out the window toward the alley of old trees, the stiff limbs reluctantly shifting in the wind, going where they didn’t want to go.
She closed her eyes, felt the ache in her fingers, and knew what it was like.
After a deep breath, she said, “There are only three that I know of. And they all say the same thing because they were all engraved at the same time.” She looked back at Earlene, who was studiously avoiding Tucker’s eyes. “Which one is yours?”
Lillian saw the old familiar jut of the chin again. “Annabelle’s. Annabelle O’Hare Mercer was my maternal grandmother.”
Lillian nodded, feeling surprisingly calm as if none of this was news to her. “And your real name is . . .” She found herself unable to say it, the unknown darkness behind the door seeping towards her.
“Piper Mercer Mills.” Her chin wobbled just a little as she said her name, the little movement revealing how hard it had been for her.
This time, Lillian did laugh—great gasping laughs of relief, and of the inevitability of everything.
Since receiving Piper’s first letter, she’d known this would happen, regardless of her efforts to the contrary.
If she believed in such a thing as karma, she would have agreed that this was it, that all past sins would come back to you regardless of how many hours spanned the commission of the sin and the reckoning.
And she laughed with joy, as if having this girl in front of her was like having Annabelle back, and knowing that to find the truth, Annabelle would have done exactly what her granddaughter had done.
Tucker gently disengaged himself from the head of the bed, where the now sleeping Sara had been resting against his chest, and stood. Color flooded his face, and even under the circumstances, Lillian found any emotion besides sorrow there a welcome sight.
“Piper Mills? You’re Piper Mills?” His voice was hard, and Lillian wasn’t sure if he was angrier at Piper for her deception, or at himself for his gullibility.
Piper stood, too, and faced Tucker. She reached a hand up to touch his arm, then dropped it when he flinched. “I’m sorry. I never meant to deceive anyone.”
Tucker’s expression was mocking. “Really? Then what exactly were you trying to accomplish?”
For a moment, Piper looked as if she were unsure of the right answer.
“I needed to know about my grandmother. I wrote to Lillian three times—the first two letters were ignored and the third was replied to by you stating that your grandmother was too sickly to meet with me and that she didn’t know who my grandmother was.
” She lifted her chin a notch. “And I knew both statements were untrue.”
“So you figured you’d just come here, lie about who you are, and try to get what you wanted.”
Piper clasped her hands together in front of her. “At the time, I couldn’t think of another way to gain access to your grandmother.” She shot an apologetic glance at Lillian.
“You couldn’t or you didn’t bother to find another way?
” He shook his head and started to say something else, but his gaze fell on Sara, who had fallen asleep.
Quietly he said, “I can’t. . . . I have to go.
” Without looking at anyone else, he touched Sara gently on the forehead, then left the room, passing Helen in the doorway.
“Piper?” she asked as she stepped into the room.
“I’m here with your grandmother and Sara.” Piper moved toward Helen, took hold of her arm, and brought her back to her vacated seat.
Before sitting, Helen grabbed Piper by the shoulders. “You told them?”
“Not exactly. Lillian saw my necklace.”
Helen fell inelegantly into her chair. “Oh, wonderful. I told you that you needed to tell them before they found out.”
“You knew about this?” Lillian tried to show her indignation but she wasn’t all that surprised to find out that Helen already knew Piper’s secret. She’d always seen things more clearly than anybody else.
“It doesn’t really matter, Malily. You both weren’t completely truthful, were you?
She just wants to ask you about her grandmother, all right?
And I know that you know who Annabelle O’Hare was because she’s all over your scrapbook—at least the parts you’ve shared with me.
” She leaned toward Lillian. “This whole situation could have been avoided if you’d simply told her yes when she first asked.
Annabelle is gone—what harm could it do? ”