The Echo of Old Books(107)

Ilese smoothed a hand over her blonde head. “Ethan’s going to carry you up so Mommy can get your sisters to the room,” Ilese explained softly. “Then I’ll call Daddy and you can talk to him if you’re still awake. How does that sound?”

Lida tilted her head back just long enough to find Ethan’s face before slumping onto his shoulder again. “Sleepy.”

“Yes, baby. Sleep. I’ll tuck you in as soon as we get upstairs and you can talk to Daddy tomorrow.”

Marian mouthed a thank-you to Ethan, then blew Ilese and the girls good-night kisses. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, honey. Say hello to Jeffrey and tell him I wish he could have been here.”

“I will. It was so good to meet you, Ashlyn. Come on, girls, time to go.”

Ashlyn watched as Ilese and Ethan retreated with the girls. He was going to be the kind of cousin the girls would quickly come to adore—more of an uncle, really—and Ilese seemed to have no qualms about welcoming him to the family. It was a shame they didn’t live closer.

Marian watched until they were gone, then settled back in her chair and looked squarely at Ashlyn. “How long have you known?”

Ashlyn dropped her gaze, caught off guard by Marian’s frankness, but there was no point in pretending she didn’t understand the question. “Only a few days.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“You showed us Zachary’s picture the day we were at your house. The next day, we were at a bookstore and saw Hugh Garret’s photo—Hemi’s photo. He’s the spitting image of his father.”

Marian nodded, her smile bittersweet. “He is, isn’t he?”

“The story about Johanna . . .”

“Was mostly true. Except the part about Zachary being her son.” Marian took a sip of water. Her hands were trembling when she put down the glass. “I suspected I was pregnant when I left New York. By the time I got to California, I was sure. I bought myself a cheap gold band and invented a husband, a pilot who flew for the RAF and was shot down while providing cover for a supply convoy. I got so good at telling the story, I almost believed it myself. When Zachary was born, no one batted an eye. But I hated California. Some places just feel wrong. You don’t know why, they just do. Maybe it had to do with Hemi not being there. But I couldn’t go back to New York with a child. Corinne would have known the truth in an instant, and I didn’t trust my father. I was trying to figure out where to go when Johanna moved in next door. She was alone and so scared. She’d already lost a son, a husband, her parents, and she had a new baby on the way. So I stayed. And then when Ilese was born and she knew she was—” She broke off, her words suddenly choked with emotion. “When she asked me to take her . . .”

“You saw a way to legitimize Zachary,” Ashlyn supplied gently.

“No, but she did.” Her eyes swam with tears. She blinked them away and took another sip of water. “The day I brought Ilese home, I went to Johanna’s room. I was still in shock. I couldn’t believe she was gone. But I remembered her saying she’d left me something in her bureau. I found it in the top drawer. An envelope with my name on the front. Inside was a birth certificate for a male child named Zachary—the son she lost before coming to the States—and a note.”

Ashlyn said nothing, though she was pretty sure she knew what was coming—a brilliant and stunning act of generosity.

“It said, If you’re reading this, my spirit has gone to G-d. Do not grieve for me, but if the child has survived, I leave it to your care, to love and rear as your own. I leave you also my sweet Zachary’s name. This is your way home, Marian. Your way to wash all clean. You will have to change his name, of course, but he will have a sister now. May G-d keep you safe and well, and bless you for all your kindnesses, achot.”

Ashlyn frowned. “I don’t know that last word. Achot, was it?”

“It’s Hebrew. It means ‘sister.’”

Ashlyn pressed a hand to her mouth, overwhelmed by the thought of a young mother having to write such a letter, the heartbreak of knowing she was unlikely to survive the birth of her child, and the trust it must have taken to give that child over to a woman who, five months earlier, had been a stranger. No wonder Marian had committed every word to memory.

“She was lucky to have you,” Ashlyn said quietly. “I can’t imagine having to make that kind of decision or write that kind of letter.”

“I don’t know when she wrote it, but she knew she wasn’t coming home before we left for the hospital. I think she was just tired of fighting. It still astonishes me that she could think of me at such a time.”

“But you knew what she was suggesting in the letter?”

“Yes. I knew. I used to talk about going home someday. She knew I couldn’t, though—and why. And so she made me a gift of her dead son’s name—to wash all clean. By claiming Zachary was Ilese’s older brother and not my natural child, we would both be free of the stigma of illegitimacy. The certificate was dated October 9, 1941, nine months before Thomas was born, but I knew I could make it work. And I did. I never went back to New York. Not to live, anyway. I was still afraid of my father. But I could go where I wanted and start over fresh, and I did. We did.”

“In Marblehead.”

“Yes.” She managed a watery smile. “In the house at the end of the earth.”