Part 33 (1/2)

Taking a limp hand, Dana kissed it. ”Gram?”

Ellie Jo opened her eyes. When she saw Dana, she smiled. It was a little lopsided, but half a smile was better than nothing, Dana thought.

”I didn't die,” Ellie Jo murmured. ”That's good.”

”It's awesome,” Dana said, relieved that her grandmother was speaking. ”How do you feel?”

”Weak. I can't move much.”

”You will. You need to rest and think wonderful thoughts.”

”My hair is gone,” said Ellie Jo.

”Only the back,” Dana reasoned, ”and only the lowest part. We're getting into hat season, and you're in the right field. Tell me the kind of hat you want, and we'll have a dozen knitted within the week.”

”A wonderful thought,” Ellie Jo murmured, and closed her eyes.

Dana wanted to ask what she had been reading in the attic when she had suffered the stroke. But she knew she couldn't upset her. So she sat there for another few minutes, then kissed Ellie Jo's cheek, and slipped out.

Back in her car, she headed for the house by the orchard. She wanted to read those papers in the attic. As she drove, she phoned Hugh to check up on Lizzie, but he was seeing his parents off and couldn't talk for long. When her phone rang shortly afterward, she a.s.sumed he was calling back.

”Dana?” came a tentative voice.

Her pulse faltered. She should have looked at the caller ID. Too late now. ”Yes?”

”It's Jack Kettyle.”

Like she hadn't known. Like she hadn't recognized that voice even after the brief visit they'd had. The tentativeness of his voice alone would have given him away.

”How did you get this number?” she asked. Her home number was one thing. She had told him she was living in the same town where she grew up. He knew what that town was, and he knew her married name. All he had to do was call directory a.s.sistance. But her cell phone was unlisted.

”Your mother-in-law gave it to me,” he explained. ”I'm glad you told her about me.”

Dana was not. While she couldn't fault Dorothy-poor Dorothy, who likely thought she was doing the right thing since Jack Kettyle was not only Dana's biological father but a priest-Dana didn't need this call right now. She couldn't handle the emotions involved-couldn't begin to think about them. ”It's actually a bad time for me to talk,” she said. ”My grandmother is ill.”

”I'm sorry,” he said with concern. ”Is it serious?”

”Yes. Things are precarious. I can't talk now.”

”Another time, then?”

”Yes. Fine. Bye.”

”Wait,” he said just before she took the phone from her ear. ”I've told my family. They'd like to meet you.”

Dana's eyes filled with tears. ”Uhh, not now. I can't deal with it. I have to go.” She ended the call, not caring whether she was cutting him off-and she promptly felt bad for that. What was it she had said to Hugh the night before-that intent was the important thing? If Jack Kettyle hadn't known she existed, could he be blamed for ignoring her for thirty-four years?

The only person to blame for that was her mother, but how could Dana do that? Elizabeth had died too young. Dana didn't want to blame her for anything.

So she focused on Earl. She pulled up at Ellie Jo's house and, ignoring The St.i.tchery, went inside. Veronica was meowing, trotting in from wherever she had been waiting.

Dana hunkered down. She pulled the tabby up on her thighs and hugged her, which was all Veronica would stand. Jumping off again, she eyed Dana expectantly.

”Ellie Jo's fine,” Dana said, stroking the silky fur between the cat's ears. ”She'll be in the hospital for a little bit, but it's looking good.” Someone was going to have to stop in to take care of Veronica's food, water, and litter. Adding those things to her list, Dana saw to them now, then went up the stairs to her mother's room.

The attic hatch was open, the ladder still down. The papers in the attic lay where they had been left, on the wood planks beside a hanging piece of insulation.

Sitting on the floor, Dana picked up the official forms. The first was from the Illinois state medical examiner's office and listed the cause of Earl's death as blunt trauma to the head following a fall. The second was a copy of the police report stating that the victim had been alone at the time of the fall, and that the fall was judged to be accidental. The third was Ellie Jo's marriage certificate. Its date was the one Dana knew as her grandparents' anniversary, and the year on the form was a full one before Elizabeth's birth.

With nothing jarring here, Dana picked up the newspaper clipping. Ma.s.sachusetts Salesman Found Dead in Hotel Room, read the headline. The opening paragraphs gave details of the discovery of her grandfather's body, details Dana already knew. Then came the phrase she had glimpsed the day before. It was in the last line of the piece.

The victim's long-estranged wife, Miranda Joseph, is a local resident.

Dana read the sentence again, then again. She had never heard of a Miranda Joseph, much less a first marriage for Earl. She had no idea what it meant.

Apparently, neither did Ellie Jo's cousin Emma. A handwritten note from her lay just under the clipping. It was dated several months after Earl's death. ”Eleanor, a friend sent me this clipping. Did you KNOW Earl was married before? How could he marry YOU, if he already had a wife? Do you know what this makes EARL?”

Dana set the letter aside and, rocking on her knees there in the shadowy warmth of the attic, wept for the pain her grandmother must have felt. Bad enough, she realized, for Ellie Jo to lose Earl. But the fear of discovery must have made it worse. All those years. And now. Dana could suddenly understand why Ellie Jo had been against the search for Dana's father. One search might lead to another, and Ellie Jo considered bigamy a mortal sin.

Dana wondered whether the stroke had been triggered by fear of discovery. It couldn't have been easy on Ellie Jo, revering Earl in one voice while stifling another that said terrible things.

And Earl? Good, saintly Earl? Like everyone else, Dana had adored the man. A kind, gentle husband, he would have left the details of divorce up to his first wife. But how could he have failed to make sure it was done? Dana would have thought he'd have wanted a divorce decree in his hand before marrying again. She would have thought he wouldn't want to die leaving unanswered questions for the woman he claimed was the light of his life.

Dana was oppressively sad. When she felt Veronica rub her side, she wrapped an arm around the cat and buried her face in its fur. Seeming to sense her misery, Veronica allowed it.

Finally, Dana wiped her face and sat up. She gathered up the papers, stuffed them back in the wall where Ellie Jo had kept them hidden, and carefully replaced the pink insulation. No one would find them here unless told where to look, and Dana wouldn't tell. Apparently, Ellie Jo had planned to take Earl's secret to her death. Dana would, too.

Was it right? Dana didn't know. An argument could be made that she was no less certain Earl had committed bigamy than Eaton had been about his mother's affair. The difference, she reasoned, was that Eaton's concealment directly affected others, whereas Earl's-and Ellie Jo's-did not.

Hugh stood at the edge of the patio looking out over the last of the beach roses toward the sea. Behind him, Lizzie slept in her carriage. She was blissfully exhausted after a major crying jag that had had him reaching more than once for the phone to call his mother back to the house.

But Lizzie wasn't Dorothy's responsibility. Hugh was the one who had to learn what to do.

Enjoying the breeze on his face, he thought about that-and then about his heritage. He felt that it ought to affect his work, but as many times as he ran through his roster of cases, he didn't see any reason to change course. He would love to add a discrimination charge to the wrongful termination suit he had filed on behalf of his African-American client-he had wanted to do that before he ever knew about Thomas Belisle-but it simply wasn't legally wise. Should he pervert his best professional judgment just because he had learned something new about himself?

Nor could he see himself sitting his clients down and announcing that he had just discovered he was African American. Not only was it patronizing, but it was irrelevant.

Dana had said something should change. But what?

A murmur came from the sea on a gust of wind, but before he could make out the words, they rolled back out with the surf.

Dana came home to pick up Lizzie, but she didn't stay long. She needed the comfort of the shop. She was trying to be angry at Earl for botching a crucial phase of his life, but Earl was dead. So her anger s.h.i.+fted to Ellie Jo for suffering in silence all those years.

The instant she stepped foot inside The St.i.tchery, her pulse beat more smoothly. Customers sat at the long table working up gauge swatches or knitting through problems. Others flipped through notebooks filled with patterns, searching for one that they liked. Others were fingering the newest of the yarns, a collection of winter wools, alpaca, mohair, and yak. Some were of solid colors, others were hand-painted and multi-hued.

Corinne James was admiring the latter. She was dressed in navy slacks with a silk camisole. Her hair was pulled back in a carefully placed ponytail. An Hermes scarf hung from the strap of her Ferragamo bag.

She was deliberating over a hand-painted skein that went with her outfit. It was reminiscent of a black watch plaid.

”That's handsome,” Dana said as she pa.s.sed.