Winter Passing (4 page)

“Rest now. Just rest. If it helps, know that I forgive anything you feel you’re sorry for. But I think you are a wonderful woman, and a wonderful mother.”

For the next few days, Grandma Celia remained more unconscious than awake. The hospice nurse stopped by daily, and Darby and her mother kept watch—every missed breath brought fear. But her grandmother rested soundly, her medications helping with the pain and coughing fits. Several times she wrestled, fitfully mumbling words in German—the language she’d forbidden from her life long ago.

One morning as the light began to touch the darkness, Darby wearily glanced toward the bed. She bolted upright and looked at Grandma’s chest. Her grandmother’s eyes were closed; the painful sound of struggling breath was silent. Grandma Celia was gone.

Darby produced a smile at the appropriate times. Words of comfort to family and friends somehow came to her lips. The checklist she’d prepared with her mother had lines drawn through it—words like
Lincoln Funeral Chapel, visitation times, Deb’s Florist, burial clothes.

Conversations with relatives she hadn’t seen in years, arrangements with the funeral parlor, even the stories she told her two nieces, all seemed to take place somewhere outside her being. She could hear herself speak and her mind registered, but everything seemed distanced and misplaced. Inside, Darby kept a surreal hardness to bring herself through that first week after Grandma’s death.

Tatianna, what about Tatianna?
The question weighed on Darby’s mind, while the greater sense of loss made her withdraw into a shell. She wanted to question her mother about Grandma Celia. She wanted to discover the contents of the safe. But the mysteries would have to wait, at least until the details of the funeral were completed and the visiting family departed.

During the funeral dinner, Grandma Celia’s closest friend, Maisie Hansen, pulled Darby aside. Darby looked across the room at the empty punch bowl, wanting to fill it, but she knew she should take a moment with Maisie. The elderly woman had been a friend of the family for years and would soon be returning home. Darby pried her eyes from the drink table in an attempt to give Maisie her full attention. There was just so much to do.

“Darby, I’m so sorry about Celia. A blessed many years she lived, though.” Maisie placed her hand on Darby’s arm. “She was the sister I never had.”

“I know, Maisie.”

“Life passes you by. Take my word, your days of youth should be cherished.”

“Yes, I know.” Darby thought about the two casseroles she had left in the oven. Hopefully Mother had gotten them out.

“This may sound petty, but . . .”

“What, Maisie?”

“There was a mistake in the pastor’s eulogy and in the obituary. I wanted you to know.”

“A mistake?” Darby heard the words while looking at her two nieces trying to scrape a last scoopful of punch from the bowl. “I checked everything myself.”

“It’s Celia’s place of birth. She wasn’t born in Vienna, Austria, but in Hallstatt.”

Darby’s eyes flickered back to Maisie. “That’s not what her papers said.”

“Well, I’m certain she was born in Hallstatt. She told me herself. All of her mother’s family was born in Hallstatt. Your great-aunt even traveled in her last month of pregnancy from Salzburg to deliver your cousin Henri in the family birthplace. It was tradition—well, at least until the war changed everything.”

Darby’s mind spun with Maisie’s words. Grandma Celia had told her many stories about Hallstatt, the village she had grown up in. But when she read in Grandma’s personal papers that her birthplace was Vienna, she assumed they had moved to Hallstatt when Celia was young.

“Thank you, Maisie, for bringing this to my attention.” The older woman appeared relieved. “I’ll check into it, okay?”

“Good. I was hoping maybe the newspaper could print the correction or something.”

“Yes, maybe.” Darby moved away, back to the busyness of the funeral plans. But her mind kept returning to Maisie’s words.

Eventually the phone calls slowed, and the relatives said their good-byes. Darby’s sister, Maureen Lamont, and her twins left for Sacramento. The refrigerator still overflowed with the food prepared by friends. Darby had been surprised by the people Grandma Celia had influenced over the years as they came to bring food comfort—though Darby hoped never to eat another casserole again. With the funeral over, the silence in the house seemed to shout,
What now?

Darby observed her mother and realized they were alike in one way. Both tried to keep busy when tragedy came. But what would her mother do now?

“You know you can move up to Redding with me.” Darby brought up the subject as she helped her mother unload the dishwasher. “I’ll have that extra room in my apartment when the school semester is over and Clarise’s niece moves out.”

“Thanks, honey. Maureen offered for me to move to Sacramento. And Aunt Helen and Uncle Marc invited me to Southern California for as long as I like. To tell you the truth, I don’t know yet.”

Darby glanced at her mother, who’d never looked so vulnerable and frail. Darby felt a sudden urge to wrap her arms around her but continued, instead, to put the plastic bowls away.

“It’s not like this was unexpected,” Darby’s mother said, staring outside past the tree-lined street to the sloping vineyards beyond. “I’ve thought about this. But now that Grandma is really gone, I don’t know what direction I should take. It’s a strange feeling having your mother die. No one loves you like a parent. Well, except for the Lord. I guess it’s time for me to ask God about my future.”

Startled by her mother’s words, Darby almost dropped the bowl she was holding. Though they all attended church fairly regularly, only Grandma spoke about her faith. To the rest of them, it was just another part of their lives, like grocery shopping or going to the movies. Well, maybe more, but then maybe less too. Darby remembered the words she had spoken so long ago.
Forgiveness. Surrender. Come into my heart.
But somewhere along the way, the words merged into her being and became a hidden part of her life. Hearing her mother talk about God left a strange sensation within her. How many times had she heard Grandma speak in such a way?
My prayers are surrounding you, Darby. God’s not finished with you yet
. Darby had heard her mother say religious words a few times prior to Grandma’s death, but not like God was part of her daily life.

The dishes were finished without further talk. Mother stacked the clean cake pans and casserole dishes, then set them in a box to return to friends and family. Darby decided now was the time to ask. The questions had waited long enough.

“Mom, Grandma Celia told me some things before she died. She wanted me to do something.” Darby watched her mother stop and turn toward her.

“I know. Grandma and I discussed it before you came down. I guess today is the day. I’ll call Fred to see if he’s available. He said he’d like to make a house call to go over the will since Grandma was such a good friend. And I have the key.”

“To the safe?”

“Yes.” Carole patted Darby’s hand. “I wish Maureen could have come back for the reading, but this will have to do. Could I have until this afternoon?”

“Okay, this afternoon.”

Darby paced the house. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.

She wandered the rooms of the home she’d spent much of her life in. Little had changed on the surface—Grandma and Mother’s Victorian decor remained the same, and Maureen’s room still had a Bryan Adams poster on the wall, though it was currently the sewing room. Darby’s room had been converted into neat guest quarters with her same violet-and-white comforter. Everything looked normal, like any other house on rural Poplar Way. But now it felt different. How could such a normal appearance hold so many hidden secrets? Darby knew that, like specters, the ghostly questions had been lurking, waiting to be answered.

Unable to stand the thoughts any longer, Darby knew where to go. Through all the busyness of the funeral and company, she had veered away from saying good-bye to Grandma. Now it was time.

In the back shed she found the clippers and walked straight to the neglected flower garden. Grandma had designed the garden in a circular path with her favorite bush in the very center. Darby stood before the rosebush and cut the best flower the autumn bloom had given. She stripped away the lower leaves and left their remnants on the ground as she walked toward her car.

The gate to the cemetery driveway was closed when Darby arrived. She parked and went through the walk-in entrance.

Grandma’s grave was easy to find. The plot she had chosen years ago rested beneath one of the few great oak trees.

Darby stared at the mound of green sod with fresh, black dirt along the edges. It seemed unreal that her grandmother rested somewhere beneath that plot of earth. The fingers that had caressed her cheek since childhood now were cold and dead. How long until flesh returned to the earth? That thought pricked a chill from her scalp down her back. Not Grandma, not my Grandma Celia. But death was as natural as birth, right? The body was just a shell for a spirit that would live on. Next came heaven, angels, God. For Grandma’s sake, Darby willed it to be true, truer than life. But heaven was so distant and far away as she stood there, staring at the place where soon only a headstone would mark an entire life.

Celia Rachel Müller. Beloved Grandmother and Mother.

The woman she loved so deeply would be another name among the long rows of granite stones, in just another cemetery, in just another place.

I hope there’s more after this life.

Darby knelt in the grass to feel closer. The cold dampness pressed round, wet circles through her pants and around her knees. She scooted forward to run her finger along the dirt edging. Grandma Celia’s ring tumbled forward, suspended in the air by the gold chain around her neck. As Darby held the ring, tracing the circle of warm metal with one finger, a few oak leaves drifted down.

Is my life drifting apart and away like those leaves?
she wondered. She’d built a wall that was nicely kept around her life. Now that wall was crumbling. What had Grandma said the last night they talked? Something about this last story becoming part of her future too—about Darby needing to make certain decisions—hopefully the right ones? It shook her to the core, touching inward places she’d never dared to think about because if she did, she didn’t know what she’d find. Maybe she didn’t want to move into this place of mystery and the unknown. Darby had always planned her own course, and as a result, things worked out perfectly. At least that’s what she continued to tell herself whenever the doubts arose. And now this. Tatianna. Secrets. Shadows. Perhaps the truth would destroy everything she knew, everything she was. But there was no turning back. The first step would be the safe. From there, she didn’t know.

Darby placed the single flower on the new sod.

“I came to say good-bye. Yet even now, I can’t stand the thought that you are gone from me. But I know and vow, whatever you want of me, Grandma, I’ll do my best. I promise you that.”

She stood and began to walk away. With one last backward look, Darby thought how pleased Grandma would be with the flower on her grave. Her favorite, a pale yellow rose, shone in the late-morning light.

Brant stared at the black-and-white photograph. In the many years he’d known Gunther, his mentor had never shared this picture with him.

He settled back in the leather wingback. Gunther’s chair. Just sitting here made Brant feel closer to him. The light scent of apple pipe smoke lingered in the soft leather and further reminded Brant how much he missed spending time with the old man. He knew this would be one of the last times he would sit in Gunther’s study. After today, the room would never be the same without his dear friend’s presence. And once it changed, Brant would not often travel from Salzburg to his old summer home next door to Gunther’s. With Gunther gone from this place, there was nothing but memories to bring him back to Gosau. How he hated changes—especially ones this severe and permanent.

Brant’s gaze returned to the aged photo. “So this is your long-lost love,” he muttered, looking at the two faces. “Yes, and his only love too.”

Startled, Brant turned to see Ingrid, Gunther’s wife, in the doorway. He started to speak to somehow take away his words. He wouldn’t have spoken had he known she watched him.

“Don’t look so surprised.” Ingrid moved into the room. She walked up beside Brant and gazed at the beaming smiles worn by the young man and woman in the picture. “Gunther only married me because I needed his help. Postwar Europe wasn’t exactly a safe place for an unwed mother of two. Gunther took pity on me, which was enough at the time.”

“I’m sure he grew to love you,” Brant said quickly. When he slid the photo back into the manila envelope, he felt something at the bottom. But with the ever-watchful and acidic Ingrid in the room, he ignored it.

She laughed. “You never were a good liar, Brant. Even as a little boy, I could always tell. You look away and start doing something when you lie.”

Brant gazed at the sharp contours on her wrinkled face as she propped a hip against the chair across from him. Was that pain in her smile?

“Gunther didn’t love me like a wife. For a long time I thought it was because of my past. It’s hard to respect an ex-breeding cow for Nazi officers.”

Brant clenched his jaw. These were things he had no desire to hear. He sought words but was left empty.

“I should have known the reason. It was her.” Ingrid pointed at the envelope beside Brant’s chair. “He never got over her. I knew them both when we were younger. I’ll always remember how they looked at each other. I wanted him to look at me that way. But she had his heart, even in her death. He made his trek up that mountain to her grave at least once a year for their anniversary. We never once celebrated ours.”

Brant watched Ingrid. What could he say to her? In all the years he’d known Gunther and Ingrid, she’d never spoken so openly to Brant. He was the little brat who she was glad only came to the neighboring cottage in the summer. She had called him that when her kitchen window had been shattered by a rock. Little did she know it had been her grandson, Richter, who had thrown the rock.

“We lived under the same roof all of these years, but we never shared each other’s lives. So Gunther told you about her?”

“A little.”

“What did he say? He never spoke of her after our marriage.”

Brant hesitated. He didn’t want to reveal too much, even such long-dead secrets. “Only that the Nazis got her. They were trying to escape Europe and had to separate. She got caught, went to Mauthausen, and was executed. I’m sure you know that.”

“Yes. She came from a well-known family and was half Jewish. That’s why the Nazis took her.”

“He didn’t tell me much.” Brant averted his eyes and picked up Gunther’s pipe from the desk beside him.

Ingrid didn’t speak for several minutes. Her eyes pierced Brant with such intensity that he shifted self-consciously in the chair. Ingrid had always frightened him when he was a child, and some of that fear remained. While Gunther exuded warmth with his many rough hugs and slaps on the back, even in Ingrid’s smiles there was a coldness. Though she had probably been a beautiful woman in her youth, there was a look in her eyes he’d never liked. Gunther had once told him that Ingrid had, like everyone else, been through hell during the war. But Ingrid hadn’t been freed from the demons that trailed her path.

“If you knew more, you wouldn’t tell me anyway. I know that.” Ingrid rose. “If you could move everything into the attic, I’m going to store it all there until I decide whether to sell the cottage or keep it for summer use. With Gunther’s health, he won’t be back.”

“Don’t get rid of Gunther’s things.”

“I won’t, Brant.” Her voice sounded condescending. “But I’m going to get my use from this room. I’ve always loved the deck and French doors and thought it a waste to be a smoke-filled study. I may make it a knitting or tea room. I’m staying in Munich over the winter, then I’ll decide. How long until you’ll have his things boxed up?”

Brant stood. It took everything in him to bite his tongue. And Ingrid wondered why Gunther could never love her? “I’ll have everything moved this weekend.”

Brant didn’t enjoy the idea of packing up this room. But, after all, he was closest to Gunther. Ingrid had called him in Salzburg every week for the past month to remind him that the job was his. Brant didn’t want anyone else going through Gunther’s books and papers, yet he still avoided the duty until Ingrid threatened to call the movers and ship everything away. He wished the room could remain forever. The idea of Ingrid turning it into some flowery tea room churned his stomach. No, he wouldn’t return to this house of so many boyhood memories. He’d probably even sell or rent out his cottage next door.

“I have dinner waiting for you. It’s probably cold now.”

“You didn’t have to. I brought some food to my house.” Brant didn’t relish the thought of spending dinner alone with Ingrid.

“No, you can eat here. I’m making you do this work. Richter should arrive soon. I asked him to come for the weekend.”

Brant kept his expression the same, for he could see Ingrid was looking for a reaction. He wondered why she’d invited her grandson to Gosau. Richter and Brant had always disliked each other. Ingrid’s grandson stayed with Gunther and Ingrid many of the same summers Brant and his mother stayed in the house next door. Brant knew Richter resented the close relationship between Gunther and himself. Ingrid had to know the boys, now men, had never gotten along.

She was up to something. He sensed it. Did she suspect he knew more about Gunther’s secrets? Brant knew only a little information. Gunther kept the most important details to himself. But Ingrid didn’t know how much he knew. If Ingrid suspected anything, perhaps she’d invited Richter to keep an eye on him. Yet why not go through Gunther’s things herself instead of insisting he do it? There were too many questions and too many suspicions.

“I made that recipe your mother gave me.” Ingrid’s eyes searched his thoughts. “Fried chicken, isn’t it? An American dish for you.”

Brant wondered about her thoughtfulness in fixing a meal from his birthplace. Was this Ingrid’s peace offering?

“Thank you, I’ll be right there,” Brant called as Ingrid headed toward the kitchen. He picked up the manila envelope, walked to the bookcase, and placed the books back on the bottom shelf. It had been a surprise to find the envelope hidden behind this tall set of books. He decided to return it to its hiding place until he had more time to look through it. But when he felt the object at the bottom again, he couldn’t resist a peek.

Just as he opened the top to look inside, Ingrid’s voice sounded down the hall. “Are you coming?”

Brant shoved the envelope back into its hideaway. As he flipped off the light, he wondered if Ingrid already knew about the object and the envelope. The lovely features on the face of the woman in the picture returned to his thoughts. He hoped he was making the right decisions. He was determined to protect Gunther’s secrets, even if he didn’t fully know what those secrets were.

He’d have to be careful.

That is the mysterious safe?
Darby thought as Fred Bishop, the family lawyer, set it on their dining room table. Any Walmart or hardware store carried a similar kind of steel “fireproof home safe.” Darby hadn’t expected a wooden treasure chest with a rusty lock, but this seemed a bit too commercial for the secrets inside.

“Let’s open it,” she said, rubbing her hands together.

Fred Bishop and her mother looked at each other, then back to Darby.

“First, I’d like to go over a few things.” Fred extracted a folder from his briefcase.

“Am I the only one in the dark about the contents?”

“Neither of us knows,” her mother said. She carried three cups of coffee to the table.

“What
do
you know?”

“Patience, honey,” Carole said with a laugh. “You act like it’s Christmas Eve.”

“No, this is worse.” Darby sat at the table.
Why the wait?

“First we’ll talk about monetary assets.” Fred shuffled through the papers. “We’ll look at her life insurance policy and investments.”

“Grandma had investments? She was afraid of banking systems.”

“Yes, for what she considered her base money—money she wanted to hold on to, whether inside the house or in the safe. But she enjoyed a bit of investing with her ‘extra money,’ as she called it. It wasn’t much. But in fact, she made some good choices in her finances. For one, she invested in Microsoft. Always said she had a good feeling about that Bill Gates.”

“What?” Darby and her mother said in unison.

“As in computers?” Carole asked.

“You have to be joking.” Darby stared incredulously at the papers.

“Yes, computers, and no, I’m not joking. In fact, she sold those stocks several months ago and made a fifty-thousand dollar profit even with the drop in stocks.”

“What?” Carole and Darby said again in unison.

“She was one sharp cookie, ladies.”

“You didn’t know this?” Darby asked her mother.

“I knew she played around with stocks and invested a bit. When she bought her computer, I never even learned how to turn it on. But she was on it all the time. Well, you knew that—she e-mailed you constantly. But I never expected this.”

“She never mentioned a word of it to me, either.”

“I think she wanted to surprise you both.” Fred took a sip of his coffee.

“She succeeded.” Darby shook her head. Grandma Celia investing in Microsoft? The woman never ceased to amaze her.

“Now, her life insurance was not particularly high. She always did fear the companies would fail, especially in the new millennium, so she had medium coverage, also of fifty thousand. But since she paid for her own funeral expenses, this is a nice sum also.”

“Grandma knew how to prepare,” Darby said. She imagined her grandmother making all these plans and provisions for her family, knowing they’d be sitting here with Fred someday soon.

“Now, your mother gets the house, of course, and twenty-five thousand cash. Darby, you and Maureen were given several heirlooms that are detailed on page 18. And Maureen will also receive twenty-five thousand. But the rest of the money, as your mother already knows, goes to you, Darby.”

“To me? Why?”

“That’s what Celia wanted.”

“But that’s, what, fifty thousand?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t she give me the same as Maureen?”

“I think there are several reasons,” Fred replied. “First, your grandmother told me she was asking you to accomplish a task she was unable to complete. Perhaps because of that, she felt she owed you some help. Those are my words; Celia really didn’t specify why. But she also knew that both your mother and Maureen are already taken care of.”

“Did Grandma tell you what she asked of me?”

“No.” The lawyer settled back in the chair and adjusted his tie. Fred seemed ageless to Darby. The patch of gray in his sideburns had grown larger and his stomach now filled out his dark suit jacket more fully, but other than that, he was the same Fred she’d always known. “Your grandmother wanted the details of her request kept private until she could speak to you. However, she was concerned about any hard feelings arising with the money. I wanted some precautions against family lawsuits—I’ve seen that happen quite often. So your grandmother and mother discussed this, and your sister has a letter of explanation.”

“Honey, I also don’t know what Grandma asked of you,” Carole said. “But whatever it is, you don’t have to do it. I respect your grandmother’s wishes, but she’s gone now. I don’t like the idea of you digging up the past when you have your own life to lead. Don’t feel pressured to put your life on hold to figure out what happened a long time ago, especially now with this financial backing. You can go back to Redding, put the extra money into your studio, and there’ll be nothing tying you down. Grandma would understand if that’s what you choose.”

Darby nodded. She couldn’t help but consider what that kind of money could do for the studio. She could pay her half of the business off and buy new equipment. But she’d made a promise to her grandmother.

“I agree with Carole.” Fred closed his folder. “There are no stipulations with this money. Your grandmother knew your mother has sufficient retirement and her real-estate investments. Maureen, John, and the twins will receive some stock she still has invested. So accept this as a gift, free and clear.”

“I’ll think it over.”

“Can you tell us what Grandma asked of you?” Carole queried.

“To be honest, I’m not exactly sure. I hope there’s something inside the safe to tell me. She told me about Tatianna, her best friend, and that Tatianna needed her name. She asked me to give Tatianna her name—but I have no idea what that means.”

Fred looked at her strangely. “Really? That’s not at all what I suspected. I assumed your grandmother wanted you to take up the search for the Lange family inheritance.”

“Tatianna?” Carole queried. “That’s the person Mother’s been calling for during her bad spells. I too thought she wanted you to search for the lost heirlooms.”

“The Lange heirlooms were real?” Darby asked.

Fred shrugged. “I have no idea. Celia’s been on a crusade to find them, especially in the last year. I think she’s written to every organization on the planet.”