Chapter 28 Ingrid #2
way through the hotel, Beverly’s remarks about Gordon remain prominent in her mind. He is a kind man. Good to her sister.
Communist in the past, but he has since reconsidered his political affiliations. As for Beverly’s remarks about him never
attempting to coerce Ada into bed, despite living with her, it seems like a rather extreme reason to accuse him of being homosexual.
Regardless, Gordon’s personal preferences are not what Ingrid is here to identify.
When she reaches the conference room where the afternoon’s hearings will take place, suited men are everywhere.
She offers her identification to the security guard stationed at the door, then slips inside and finds a table in a far corner, away from Archie and everyone else.
As the room is called to order, Ingrid settles back to take notes, even though she can’t focus.
If she’s going to finish her investigation, and if she and Ada are going to move forward with their war crimes case against
Dietrich, Ingrid has to go back to Gordon’s. Where Mother is. And the longer she delays, the more time she wastes.
What if Ada has already told Mother everything about their plans to locate Dietrich? Such knowledge cannot be safe with her,
not until they know where her loyalties lie. Maybe Ada is prepared to believe her, but Ingrid is not. Not yet, if ever. Certainly
not while Mother’s former lover is targeting Ada.
The thought brings a new one to Ingrid’s mind, so clear, so obvious. She stops taking notes and sits up straighter.
Of course. Mother.
When the hearings end, Ingrid rushes to her hotel room to put away her work, then hails a cab and goes straight to Gordon’s.
There, Ada answers the door, her eyes brightening hopefully at the sight of Ingrid before dulling once again, as if wary of
the purpose of this unplanned visit.
“Where is she?” Ingrid demands.
“The guesthouse.”
Ingrid grabs Ada’s arm and pulls her upstairs. Maybe Mother is in a separate building, but she will feel better with more
distance and more privacy. Once in Ada’s bedroom, she closes the door and releases her.
“What if it’s never been Dietrich? What if it’s someone who knows him well enough to impersonate him, who wants you to think
he’s found you? Someone who wants you to forfeit the evidence.”
“Who else would want me to . . . ?” Ada trails off as she understands. But of course she will not say it, so Ingrid will.
“Mother. It’s been her all along.”
The woman who was sleeping with Dietrich. Who knows his family crest. Who wants the opportunity to start over with her children,
to forget everything the war did to them. Maybe she has been back in Ada’s life for far longer than Ada realized. Watching,
carefully orchestrating, making her demands, and she will continue the charade until Ada succumbs.
Just when Ingrid thought she couldn’t resent that woman more. Now she’s tormenting her own daughter. All to ensure she will
never be held accountable for collaborating with the SS and Police Leader.
“Why would Mother do such a thing when she could talk to me outright, exactly as she did the other day? She wouldn’t have
spent all these months knowing I was alive and avoiding me.”
“She would if she’s been impersonating Dietrich. And now she’s here to find out if you’ve been suitably frightened enough
to let the past go.” When Ada protests again, Ingrid holds up a hand. “Promise me you won’t tell her about the war crimes
case. Until we know her true loyalties, we can’t trust her.”
Ada sighs. “Fine. But please talk to her. I can’t do this without you.”
Her sister has a point. Ingrid cannot determine who Constance de Vos really is by avoiding her. A conversation might give
her some insight. Best not to put it off, then.
Every step Ingrid takes toward the guesthouse is heavier than the last. Not even the fragrant air of the rose garden is enough
to settle the impulse twisting inside her, warning her to turn back. But she presses on. She must do this for herself and
her sister. Once there, she gathers her strength, then knocks on the door.
When it swings open, Mother regards her in silence. Ingrid had expected something—a relieved sigh, an entreaty, a frown of displeasure, anything. Maybe the lack of reaction is hurtful, maybe not. Ingrid can’t discern anything beyond the anxiety coiling inside her.
The guesthouse is a quaint little cottage with a small bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living room. A bouquet of freshly cut
roses is displayed on a small table, doing little to settle Ingrid as she faces Mother, uncertain what to say.
“There’s a reason I fell in love with your father,” Mother says softly. “Because his spirit was so incredibly fierce, exactly
like yours. When he left, you girls were not even a year old, and as you grew, any reminders of him were too painful for me.
So when you became so much like him, I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I sensed I was doing everything wrong, but I didn’t know
how to do anything differently.”
Ingrid drives her fingernails into her palms, unsure if she should accept or reject the excuse, the apology, whatever this
is. She was never jealous of how much Mother favored Aleida, never unaware of the ways Papa’s absence had affected each of
them. She simply wanted to be recognized for who she was and who she had become, not to be held accountable for wounds she
had not inflicted.
“I needed you, Mother.”
When Aleida lost one parent, Ingrid lost both. Truth is such a stark, unsightly thing.
A single tear slips down Mother’s cheek. “It should not have taken losing you to make me realize how unfair I was to you.”
Hearing the admission is salve upon a wound—not healing it entirely, but easing the pain a little. Not enough to make Ingrid
accept the apology, but enough to allow Mother to brush a tear from Ingrid’s cheek. Not encouraging Ingrid to trust her completely,
but convincing her to step into Mother’s arms and embrace her in return.
She doesn’t know how long they stay there, the quiet broken by their shuddering breaths. At last, Ingrid releases her.
“I will try if you will,” she says, to which Mother kisses her cheek, too overcome to reply.
Ingrid doesn’t know if she’s entirely prepared to try at all. There is no part of her relationship with Mother that does not
require repair. Yet perhaps if she puts forth an effort, it will help her determine if her theories are correct.
She doesn’t want to be right. She doesn’t want Mother to be a fascist, to have chosen Dietrich, to be the one harassing Ada.
But at one time Mother had wanted so desperately for Ingrid to see someone other than Lars that she refused to listen to Ingrid’s
entreaties on his behalf, made no efforts to get to know him beyond their initial introduction, forbade his presence in their
home, and threatened all manner of punishments if Ingrid disobeyed her.
All to force Ingrid to give him up. To get what she wanted. And now she wants her daughters to give her a second chance.
When it comes to getting what she wants, Constance de Vos will do whatever it takes.