Reunion: A Novel Page 4

  Leah set her cup on a coaster and picked up her stitchery.

  Kirsten was eating another cracker. She picked up a spoon and raised it to her mouth, then set it back in the bowl.

  “Is something wrong with the soup?”

  “No, Mom. Something is wrong with me.” Kirsten turned to face her father and mother. “You know how my stomach gets when I’m stressed. It’ll be better when school is over.” She tried the soup again, sipping carefully.

  “Maybe I should make an appointment with Dr. Youngstrom for you.”

  “No!” Kirsten put her soup spoon carefully down on the tray. “I’ll be fine. You know the pattern.” She stood and picked up the tray. “Think I’ll take this up with me and get back to studying. Thanks.”

  Leah and Marcus both watched their daughter leave the room, and then looked at each other.

  “I think you should call him.” Marcus stared at her over the lip of his tea mug.

  “Me too.”

  Chapter Three

  Are you sure you feel up to it?” Leah’s voice came over the receiver.

  “I’m sure. Must have been a fast bug. I have bread rising, but after it comes out of the oven, how about going back out to Mother’s?” Keira turned aside to sneeze.

  “Bless you. I’ll keep sorting what I have here until you call.”

  “Good. Later.” Keira clicked off the phone and went to check the big yellow bowl she always used for rising bread. Most of the time she used the bread machine Bjorn had given her for Mother’s Day one year, but today she had felt the need to knead her frustrations out on the dough. After checking the cookies baking in the oven, she returned to the counter.

  Where in that house could her mother have put those blasted birth certificates? Was there some reason for not keeping them with the other important papers? As she dropped cookie dough onto another cookie sheet, she tried to think like her mother. A place for everything and everything in its place. How many thousands of times had she heard those words through the years, especially when she left something lying on the dining room table or the kitchen counter. She could hear herself. “But Mother, I was going to take it up to my room the next time I went up.” Arguing with her mother was like trying to pull weeds wearing a glove with a hole in it. All she ever got was a blister.

  The timer dinged and she pulled the pan of ginger cookies from the oven. After sliding the other sheet in the oven, she dug out the pancake turner and the cooling rack. As she lifted the cookies onto the cooling rack, she realized there were tears meandering down her chin. What she would give for the chance to hear her mother say those words again, or any of Dagmar’s pet phrases. Keira sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Grief had a way of broadsiding her at the strangest times. Wasn’t there a time limit on tears? There should be.

  Scraping the browned bits into the sink, she recalled all the wonderful talking times she and her mother had shared while baking. One heartache in her life was that she’d never had a daughter of her own to share these things with. So instead she taught her boys, telling them that when they married, their wives would be thrilled to know they could cook and bake, do laundry, clean house. In general, take care of themselves. She wasn’t sure they’d believed her, but maybe a mother always wondered if her daughters-in-law would appreciate her sons even more for their homemaking skills. She doubted it. Second-guessing seemed more of a contemporary failing than one of the earlier generation.

  By the time the bread was out of the pans and cooling on the racks, she’d still not thought of any place the birth certificates might be. She covered the loaves with a clean dish towel and called Leah.

  “Let’s hit the road. Or do you want to eat lunch first?”

  “How about we leave right after I cut a heel off one of those loaves to eat on the way out there?”

  “How about I do that and I’ll meet you at the car?”

  “Good idea.”

  With slices of bread on a plate between them, they headed for the farm again. “I hope you came up with some more places to look, because I sure as a tornado blows didn’t.”

  “Nope.” Leah took a bite of their lunch. “Oh my, there is nothing else in this whole wide world like bread still warm from the oven.”

  Keira picked up her bread when she stopped at a stop sign. “Just one of those things that you do and it brings great pleasure to yourself and anyone else who partakes.”

  Leah cocked her head sideways.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Unfortunately I do.” They both laughed.

  “I think baking bread is one of the most rewarding activities. It sure brings up memories of my mother.”

  “I think your bread is even better than hers. However, her pie crust was unparalleled.”

  “I know. I never get mine quite the same as hers and it is exactly the same recipe. Makes no sense.”

  Two hours later Keira had flipped through all the books on the bookshelf in one of the bedrooms and in the two boxes stored under the bed. No certificate. “I don’t know what else to do. Take the beds apart? There are no more boxes on shelves, or anywhere else that I’ve not searched, no more drawers to pull out.”

  “Did you check the undersides of the drawers? I saw a movie where a map was taped to the bottom of a drawer.” The two friends sat on the stairs, eating ginger cookies and leaning against the banisters.

  “Good idea. I’ll go back and do that. How are you coming along?”

  “I’ve taken all the photographs off the walls upstairs and removed their frames and backing to take out the pictures. Easier than hauling all those frames around and maybe breaking some of the glass. I love the oval one of your father in that cute suit and long curls. Hard to picture Kenneth sitting still that long.”

  “His mother told me that she’d had to fight tooth and nail to keep Grandpa from cutting her son’s hair before she could have the portrait taken. She promised to cut the curls off immediately after the sitting. I remember Dad saying once that his pa was afraid she was turning his son into a pantywaist.”

  “That’s about as far from reality as Jupiter is from the earth.”

  “If you want that picture, you know you can have it.”

  “I know, but I thought I’d wait until after the reunion. I mean, it has hung in that same place so long the wallpaper behind it still looks new, not faded like the rest of the walls.”

  Keira dusted off her hands and folded the plastic bag to save it.

  Leah grinned at her.

  “What?”

  “Just like your mother and father. Save everything.”

  “I don’t save everything, but why waste a perfectly good Ziploc?”

  “I rest my case.” Leah stood and glanced back up the stairs. “All those pictures on the stairwell. Think I’ll pick and choose which ones to take apart.”

  “That’s the Sorenson family history wall. You better take them all.”

  Leah groaned. “If I’d realized what a job this family memory book was going to be, I might not have started it.”

  Keira watched her sister-in-law trudge up the stairs. Since she’d been sorting things as she looked through drawers and boxes, she well understood what Leah was saying. Her knee popped as she stood up. Why hadn’t she thought of looking at the undersides of the drawers before putting them all back?

  She hauled the plastic garbage bags of junk to the kitchen and started in on the drawers once again. This time she pulled them out and felt under each one and across the back. Other than a splinter, she finished the kitchen with no reward.

  Buffet in the dining room—same result.

  In her mother’s downstairs bedroom, Leah pulled out the small drawer that held her mother’s jewelry. Except for her wedding ring, there was nothing of real value but for the memories. Jewelry had never been one of her mother’s deepest wants. Keira stopped and felt again, then lifted the drawer up so she could see the bottom. An envelope was taped to the wood. Hope soaring, she slit the age
d tape with her fingernail, peeled off the envelope, and shoved the drawer back in place.

  “I found something!” Her shriek carried up the stairs.

  “I’m coming. Wait.” Leah charged down the stairs. “Oh, I hope. I hope. But why would Dagmar hide your birth certificate?”

  Keira shrugged.

  Although it was a plain envelope, more like the kind one sends personal letters in rather than official documents, it was still long enough to hold a birth certificate or two. Keira glanced up to see Leah staring at the envelope. Carefully, so as not to rip the envelope, she lifted the flap, the glue long gone due to age.

  “Here goes. Please Lord, let it be so.” But when she pulled out an ordinary piece of paper, her heart seemed to pause. Shaking her head, she unfolded it.

  A hundred-dollar savings bond fluttered to the floor. Leah picked it up.

  Keira read the letter out loud:

  Dear Dagmar,

  I am sending you this so that you always have some money to fall back on. I know you are dead set on making it on your own, but city life is far different from life here on the farm. This way, if you ever get in trouble of any kind, you have money to come home on.

  Your loving father

  Pa

  P.S. I did not tell your mother of this. So let’s keep this a secret between you and me. I love you.

  Keira and Leah stared at each other. “Well, can you beat that?”

  “He loved her very much. A hundred dollars was worth a whole lot more back then.”

  “And obviously she never told her mother, or it would have gone into the bank.”

  Leah heaved a sigh. “Well, back at it. Or do you want to return another day?”

  “Give me another hour. I’m about ready to go upstairs.” Keira slid the letter back in the envelope and set it in one of the cubbyholes on the rolltop desk.

  “I could sure use a cup of tea and another cookie about now.”

  “There’s plenty of tea in the cupboard.”

  “I know. Let’s just finish, okay?”

  Forty minutes later, Keira had learned there were no more treasures to be discovered under the drawers, so she joined Leah in the sewing room. “I’ll help.” She reached for one of the early portraits of her and Marcus that hung over the daybed. They’d not had a lot of formal studio portraits taken. In this one she was sitting on a chair with Marcus standing beside her.

  “That is the cutest picture.” Leah took it over to the table and turned it over to slit the brown paper. “I’m going to have to go back and seal all these photographs up again.”

  “We’ll get some of the others to help with that.” Keira brought the two that had flanked the studio picture over to the table. Taking the scissors, she did the same.

  “Keira, look at this.” Leah held up an envelope she found between the picture and the backing. The two stared at each other. “What do you suppose this is?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Maybe another treasure.” Hope was written all over their faces. “Here, you open it.”

  “No, you do it.” With a quivering hand, Keira took the envelope from her friend and, in spite of wanting to rip it open, followed her careful ritual. She pulled out two very official-looking papers. Opening the first one, she glanced at it and handed it to Leah. “Marcus’s birth certificate.” With trembling fingers she unfolded the second. Sure enough. Her birth certificate. “Thank you, Lord! Now I can go to Norway.

  “We were right,” she said as she scanned the document. “I was born in St. Cloud. I—”

  Leah looked up from reading her husband’s paper. “What’s wrong? Keira, what’s wrong?”

  Without a word, Keira handed her the paper to read.

  “That can’t be right.” Leah stared at her friend. “But Kenneth is your father.” She read it again. “How can it say ‘father unknown’? It must be a mistake.”

  “What if it’s not? How can it be? If my father—Kenneth—isn’t my father, who is?” She looked up from studying the paper. “Leah, you can’t tell Marcus about this, not yet.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I—I need some time. I need to—Just promise me you won’t. Please.”

  “All right. I promise, but only for now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you’re not making any sense, you know.”

  Keira didn’t bother to answer. Nothing made any sense right now. Questions bombarded her mind, ricocheting like popcorn in a popper. Leah suggested they head home. She locked up the house, even offered to drive, but Keira got behind the wheel automatically. She drove carefully, afraid to trust her eyes, which threatened to overflow. She let Leah off with only a weak nod in return for her good-byes and parked in front of her own garage door. The onslaught caught her before she could open the car door. If tears were meant to wash a mind clean, these failed utterly. Instead she could feel the water turning to steam.

  How could her mother have ever done such a thing? Keira could understand falling in love and letting passion get away, but to have had a baby—her—and never share that information with her? All those years and not even a hint that Kenneth was not her biological father. Surely there was a mistake somewhere? She dug in her purse for a packet of tissues and mopped her eyes before blowing her nose, then repeated the process as another freshet blew through. Kenneth is not my father? But of course he is. We looked alike, talked alike, even our sense of humor matched. Staring at the closed garage door, she blinked and sniffed and mopped again. How could she think clearly in such a time as this?

  Why had her mother never told her? What possible excuse could there be? Did she plan on telling her someday and never got around to it? Could she just not bring herself to confess the reality? Did she just—just what? Keira opened the car door to let the fresh air bathe her hot face. Staring at the concrete walk, it looked to be a mile to the front door. Mother, how could you? The silent scream ripped her heart in two.

  She swiveled and planted her feet on the concrete drive before heaving herself upright. Was she dizzy? She waited to see. No, not dizzy, but her world seemed to be rocking around her. The same question echoed in her mind. If Kenneth wasn’t her father, then who was?

  It was too much to absorb, and the tears attacked again. She made her way to the door and let herself in, leaning against the entry wall as she dug for more tissues. If Kenneth wasn’t her father, then she wasn’t a real Sorenson. Most probably adopted, but not a flesh-and-blood Sorenson. What if… She knew better than to allow that futile phrase to take over but it overwhelmed her anyway. What if, when the family learned of this, they chose to cast her out, ignore her, deem her less? What if they didn’t see her as really one of them? After all, every one of them bragged about their heritage, their family, and the strong ties that bound them all together. Enough to return to the home place for a reunion every year. Missing the reunion was unheard of unless one was dying or there was a natural disaster, like a flood. God willing and the creek don’t rise was only a joke among them all.

  “Lord, I can’t think about this anymore. At least not right now.” She left her purse on the entry table and staggered up the stairs, the banister beneath her shaking hand more like a lifeline than a solid piece of wood.

  After taking two aspirin, she collapsed on her bed and curled into a fetal position.

  Bjorn found her there several hours later. “Keira, are you all right?”

  Keira blinked, confused for a moment before the long-buried secret came bursting out. “I am not a Sorenson. My birth certificate says ‘father unknown’ and now I don’t know who I am.” The words ran together while he sat down on the bed beside her and gathered her into his arms.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, unable to take it in. She took a moment and a deep breath before explaining what she had found in another rush of words.

  “Easy, easy. Surely there is some mistake. We can look into this more. Mistakes do happen, you know.”

  “I know, and I am one!” s
he wailed into his shoulder.

  “Keira, come on, settle down. You are not a mistake. You make mistakes, but that doesn’t make you a mistake.” His gentle attempt at humor made her cry even more.

  “How could she keep this a secret all these years? If she truly loved me, she would have told me. Sometime!”

  “You know she loved you and Kenneth adored you. This is not making any sense.” He leaned over and pulled a tissue out of the box on the nightstand and handed it to her. “Think on the good side, you know you always tell me that.”

  She raised her head and gritted her teeth. “There are no good sides to this.”

  “Sure there are. You found your birth certificate, so now you can get your passport.”

  “But the people we were going to see really aren’t my relatives after all. Why would they want to see me now?”

  “We’re going to see my family too, remember? I think you’re making too much of this. I know it’s a shock, but…”

  “But you know who your father was, and your grandfather, and so on, six or more generations back. I might not even be Norwegian, besides not a Sorenson.” She blew and wiped again, grateful for his hand stroking her back but wanting to yell at him at the same time. Why didn’t he get it? She blew out a leaden breath of air and swung her legs over the side of the bed, glancing at the clock at the same time. She’d slept for two hours, an unheard-of occurrence in her daily life.

  Another thought struck. “Marcus is only my half brother. I made Leah promise not to tell him, at least not right now.”

  “Why?”

  “You know how he idolizes our mother. She conceived a baby out of wedlock. What kind of woman does that make her?”

  “Most likely a very unhappy and terrified woman. She had left the farm, right?”

  “Yes, went away to live in a big city, although St. Cloud hardly seems a big city today.”