“All this happened right here in this house,” she continued. “This was deep in the country. The nearest neighbor was far away. The slave patrol came and nearly frightened Sarah to death. But she and Jeremiah stood by Dorie, even though they could have been jailed if she was discovered.”
“It’s a good story, Elisa. Filled with strong, good people.”
“I know how Dorie must have felt.” She spoke slowly, carefully, not as if her English wasn’t up to the task, but as if she needed to choose each word from many, to be sure it was the best, the safest. “She came here by mistake. She did not ask the Millers for help. I believe she would have crawled into the bushes and died before she asked strangers for anything. How could she trust them?”
“But they helped her. Just because she was a human being.”
“Can you see how she must have felt? They gave her shelter. They fed her, nursed her through a serious illness. And even as she realized how much she had to be thankful for, she also knew she was endangering them. These people, who had been good to her for no reason other than that she was alive and in need of them. And as she lay there at night, she knew in her heart that she could bring down such destruction on their heads simply by her presence.”
Sam understood Elisa was doing more than just recounting a story from the nineteenth century. “Are we talking about Dorie Beaumont? Or are we talking about Elisa Martinez?”
“Sam, you told me months ago how much you hated prison.”
He let that sink in a moment. “And you’re afraid that because of that, I need to walk the straight and narrow from now on.”
“Of course.”
“And you’re a detour, of sorts.”
She didn’t respond.
“Elisa, the detour has something to do with the fact you’re not from Mexico at all, but from Guatemala, doesn’t it?” He ignored the beginning of what he thought might become a protest. “If this is about something as simple as documents that aren’t in order, no one is going to arrest me. Can’t you let me help you? Tessa’s husband takes cases like this, or knows someone who will. I know he’d help—”
“You don’t know anything, Sam.”
“I know you gave me clues about your nationality because you
want
me to know more about you. Only you’re so conflicted—”
“Conflicted?” She laughed bitterly. “You have no idea how happy I would be if my life were that easy.”
“Tell me something, then. Anything. Trust me with a little more of the truth. Don’t make me play guessing games.”
She was silent for so long that he thought she was refusing. Finally she spoke. “I
am
from Guatemala.”
“You must have a good reason to pretend otherwise.”
“My reasons are the best.”
“Can you start from the beginning?”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Where you were born. The names of your parents. Your favorite subject in school. Then work your way into the reasons you’re hiding from something.”
“Someday maybe I’ll tell you every little detail.”
He captured her hand. He could feel her pulse with the tip of his index finger, and he felt it speed up. “Someday is a good word. Just tell me what you can. And it’s not a condition. Just tell me because you want me to know.”
She watched him with sad eyes until he released her hand and sat back.
“Here are the basics,” she said. “My father was a native of Guatemala. My mother was an American named Sharon Wisner.”
At first he didn’t make the connection, but as the silence stretched, the name sank in. “Wisner?”
“Wisner. Martha Wisner is my great-aunt. She doesn’t know it, of course, but she calls me Sharon almost every time she sees me. I must look more like my mother than I thought. Everyone told us there was a resemblance, that the eyes and the shape of my face were the same, but I never—”
“Martha Wisner is your aunt?
La Casa
was your family home? We’re sitting where your family once sat?” He had not known what to expect, but he certainly hadn’t expected this.
“Once upon a time, until my grandfather was asked to leave the church and find another. Of course, Aunt Martha stayed here.”
Sam shook his head in disbelief. “Your grandfather was one of my predecessors.”
“A surprise, yes?”
“A big surprise.”
“My mother’s childhood wasn’t happy. Her parents were rigid and humorless, although she never described them that way to me. But from her stories, I could tell. She did say her years here in Toms Brook were the best. When I was growing up she told me stories of this place, of the mountains and the green fields, of the river. She told my brother the stories, too, years later. I’ve been hoping he would remember.”
She fell silent again. He prodded. “Why?”
“Because I’m hoping he will find his way here. After she died, we always said we would come and visit someday to honor our mother.”
“You never came to Toms Brook as a child? You never visited Martha?”
“No.” She turned her palms up, as if trying to find a way to tell a long story in a few words.
“Did Martha know about you?”
“She probably knew I’d been born. But we were so far away, there was no real relationship. After she graduated from college, my mother joined the Peace Corps. I pieced the story together—my mother was never one to speak harshly of others. She was something of a rebel, and she wanted to see the world. My grandparents had expected her to stay in rural Minnesota, where they could keep a close eye on her. They were so angry with her decision to go abroad, and later to stay there, that they cut off all relations with her. She was assigned to Guatemala, and that’s where she met my father. After that, she just never had any good reason to go home again. To my knowledge, my grandparents never called or wrote or asked to see me before they died.”
Sam sat back. Elisa’s connection to the church, to Toms Brook, to
La Casa,
was entirely unexpected. “You took the job here…why? It can’t have been a coincidence.”
“Because I’ve hoped Ramon would find me here, that he would come to the church to see where our grandfather was minister. I wanted to be here if he did. And I took the job at the nursing home so I would be near Martha in case he located her there.”
He shook his head slowly. “Please, tell me about Ramon. Everything seems to revolve around your brother. Let me help.”
“It’s all so mixed up, Sam.” She looked away. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “I’ve told you more than I should.”
He wanted more. He wanted all of it, and a commitment, as well. He knew, in that heartbeat, that he had already made his own, and that it was not the facts of her life that he needed now, but her trust.
He reached for her hand again and threaded his fingers through it so she couldn’t pull away. “Then I won’t ask for more. Elisa, I love you.” He heard her indrawn breath, but he went on. “Maybe not knowing all your story isn’t easy. Maybe it makes no sense that I’ve fallen in love with a woman whose past is such a mystery. But I did.”
“I’m a fool to let you know so much.”
“Are you a fool who’s in love with me?” He held her hand tighter when she tried to pull it away. “Because if you aren’t, I’m going to make you fall in love. I’ll find a way. It’ll be my life’s mission.”
“Sam…” She began to cry.
He pulled her close, encircling her with his arms. He tried not to notice how soft she was against him or how his own body responded. Her hair smelled like honey warming in the sun, and her cheek slid against his neck like satin.
He knew she was not going to answer him, but he thought he knew the answer anyway. It shone through her tears.
He spoke haltingly, finding the right words slowly, as she had. “I know who you are, even if I don’t know all your past. And if there are things in your life that have to remain a secret, then so be it. But don’t leave me.”
His arms tightened at that thought, and he heard her draw a breath. “There are worse things than prison. Maybe that’s what Jeremiah Miller thought all those years ago. Losing you would be worse. So much worse. When I thought you were gone tonight, all the color went out of my world.”
“I can’t stay here.”
“Don’t tell me that.” He tilted her face toward his. “Please don’t tell me that. Because then I’ll have to spend the rest of my life looking for you. And no matter where you go, I promise I’m going to find you. Save me that trouble, okay?”
She was still crying. Silently, with tears trickling slowly down her cheeks.
“Can you promise me one thing?” he asked softly. “Please, don’t leave without saying goodbye. Don’t make me wonder every morning if you’re gone. Don’t make me lie awake at night wondering if you’re packing. I don’t want to find my car abandoned with the keys under the seat and know that this time, it’s for good.”
“Then you have to do something for me….”
“Anything.”
“You have to give me time. And room.”
He knew what she really wanted. She hoped by keeping him at arm’s length, their relationship would not deepen, that she would be able, in the end, to leave him, that she would still have the emotional courage she needed.
“Will your problems be fixed with time? And room?”
She didn’t answer.
“Is that the only way you’ll promise to warn me you’re leaving?”
She nodded.
He kissed her gently. Her tears were salty against his lips.
E
lisa remained at
La Casa
for a long time after Sam left, thinking about the many terrible ways her life had spun out of control. On the porch where her grandparents had spent summer evenings hoping for a cool breeze, where her own mother had played pick-up sticks and jacks, where Dorie and Sarah had sat until the approach of the slave patrol sent them scurrying inside, she thought about fate and the utter uselessness of railing against it.
She was in love with a man she could never have. If she had wondered what games fate might still have in store for her, now she knew.
When she began to relive the events that had brought her here, she knew it was time to leave.
Once she was in the car, she wished she had a place to go other than Helen’s house. As kind as Helen was, tonight she yearned for something more.
She wondered if a woman ever outgrew the need for her mother. Sharon Wisner had been a woman of intelligence, resolve and wit. She had married a wealthy man in a country of great poverty, but she had never settled for a life of luxury or one of isolation from the real world. She had not hidden behind courtyard walls, ignoring the sea of humanity just outside. And she had insisted that her children view their lot in life as good fortune, not as a divine gift they had fully deserved.
Sharon had taught her son and daughter to laugh and love and keep their eyes wide open. Not a day had passed since her death when Elisa had not mourned that loss, but telling Sam about her parents had brought back the sadness of losing them in full measure. Now she wished Sharon was here beside her, that her mother could tell her what to do.
She had turned on to Fitch Crossing Road before she realized where she needed to go instead. Tonight she had immersed herself in Dorie’s story. Now she wanted to know the ending. If Martha was awake, she would be happy to have a visitor; if she wasn’t, Elisa had lost nothing but an hour she would have spent staring at her bedroom ceiling.
She took a side road back toward the nursing home, parked and went inside.
The staff members were surprised to see her. She made up a story about leaving something in her locker, then casually mentioned that while she was there, she wanted to check on Martha Wisner. No one seemed to find that strange. Everyone had favorites among the residents. It was to be expected. The aide on duty reported that Martha had been awake an hour ago when she had checked on her.
Elisa peeked into Martha’s room. If the old woman was asleep, Elisa would leave. But as she had expected, Martha was up, this time sitting in an armchair, thumbing through a magazine. Elisa rapped on the door, then stepped inside.
“Hello!” Martha gave her a big smile. “You’re not wearing your uniform.”
Elisa was glad that tonight Martha hadn’t called her Sharon. The mistake always tugged sharply at her heart. She wished she could tell Martha who she was. She wasn’t sure the old woman would understand or even remember for more than a few minutes, but she thought while they were talking, it would please Martha to know she was family.
Elisa closed the door. “I’m here as a visitor. I thought I’d see how you were doing tonight.”
“Oh, I had a good day. We had lemon pie for dessert.”
Elisa thought Martha was indeed having a good day if she remembered the pie. “And did you have visitors?” At the Wednesday quilting bee, Dovey had mentioned that she intended to see Martha today.
“I think so. Yes! Dovey came to see me.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. I hope you got outside. Cold weather’s on the way.”
“We went for a walk.” Martha beamed, clearly as pleased that she could recount this as she was at the news itself.
The room looked subtly different. Elisa had been here so many times that the slightest change was apparent. For a moment she wasn’t sure why; then she noted something new on the bookshelf under Martha’s lone window. She strolled over and picked up a framed photograph, and her heart leapt in her chest.
“This is new.” She was careful to say the words casually.
“Is it?” Martha thought. “Dovey brought it for me. It used to be mine, and she had it framed, just for me. Do you like it?”
Elisa brought the photograph to her. “Very much. Who are these people?”
“That’s me on the right.” Martha took the frame and pointed to a lovely young woman with a dark pageboy hairstyle and a shirtwaist dress with a crisp white collar. “That’s my brother and his wife there.” She pointed to a dour-looking couple who were familiar to Elisa from photographs in her mother’s family album. “And that’s Sharon on the top step.” Sharon was dressed in polka dots and a hairstyle of Shirley Temple ringlets. She looked decidedly uncomfortable. Even so, Elisa saw her own eyes staring back at her.
Martha, clearly perplexed, looked at Elisa. “Aren’t you Sharon?”
“No, I’m Elisa.”
“I keep getting confused, don’t I?”
“Just a little.”
“I was pretty, wasn’t I?”
“No, you were beautiful.”
Martha beamed. “I was going to get married, but Bob was killed in the war. I don’t remember if I loved him. I know I never found another man who pleased me.”
“Better not to marry, then,” Elisa agreed.
“My brother and his wife? They never should have had that poor child. They would have breathed for her, if she had let them. She could never satisfy them. They were always right, and she was always wrong. And they let her know it, too. Luckily, she had spunk. She walked out once she was grown, and they couldn’t forgive her for taking her life in her own hands.”
Hearing confirmation of the story she had pieced together as a child was jolting. “Do you know where she went?”
Martha pressed her lips together and tried to remember. “No. I don’t think I saw her again.”
Elisa was surprised Martha had remembered so much. She took the photograph and set it on the shelf once more. “Can I get you anything while I’m here?”
“I’m just fine, dear. It’s so nice of you to come by to see me.” She lowered her voice. “It’s not really visiting hours.”
Elisa lowered hers conspiratorially. “They let me get away with it because I’m on staff.”
“Did I tell you a story?”
Elisa perched on a chair across from Martha’s. “The one about Dorie Beaumont and the Millers? Yes, I’m the one who found the room in your old house.”
Martha nodded knowingly. “I thought so.”
“I wonder, would you like to tell me the rest of it? When we left off last time, Jeremiah and Dorie seemed to be developing a special relationship. And he was trying to find her daughter. Then the slave patrol came and nearly found her.”
“Can you imagine people hunting others down that way?”
“Only…too well.” The words caught in Elisa’s throat.
“I couldn’t live in a world like that.”
Elisa didn’t tell Martha that she did, that there were places too numerous to count where people were still hunted for their political or religious beliefs, the color of their skin, their ethnicity. The peaceful Shenandoah Valley seemed a long way from that reality, and this was one thing Martha did not need to remember.
“Do you feel like telling me the rest of the story tonight?” Elisa asked. “Before you go to sleep?”
“A bedtime story. There’s not much more, I’m afraid. But I’ll tell you what I know.”
Elisa settled back in her chair to listen.