Innocent (6 page)

I BROUGHT DOWN
the last of the lunch dishes. Lunch had been set for four, as was each and every meal, although Mrs. Remington was usually the only person who dined. She was friendly and asked questions of both Mrs. Meyers and me. Classical music played in the background. It reminded me of my times with Mrs. Hazelton, which made me happy and sad at the same time.

I set the tray down on the counter beside the sink where Nigel was washing dishes.

“Do you want me to put away the dishes that weren’t used?” I asked.

“Just leave them here and join the others for lunch.”

“Yes, join us!” James called out.

He and Mrs. Meyers and Ralph, the gardener, who was a little man half the size of Richie, were sitting at the table in the corner. We’d be having the same lunch as Mrs. Remington. Since food had been prepared for four and eaten only by one, there was more than enough for all of us to eat.

I sat down beside Mrs. Meyers, and she prepared a plate for me.

“So I hear you met our Richie today,” James said.

“He showed me his pigeons.”

“Was he carrying his shovel?” James asked.

“Yes, he was.”

“No surprise there. He always has his shovel with him these days.”

“Lord knows why he’s become so attached to that shovel,” Mrs. Meyers said.

“He does use it to clean the pigeon coop,” Ralph said. “But still.”

“Do you remember when he’d only wear that one sweater?” James said.

“Or only eat from one particular plate, although I couldn’t tell one from another,” Nigel added.

“It’s always one thing or another with him,” Mrs. Meyers said. “From when he was a boy. If it wasn’t a blanket, it was a toy or a train. Harmless enough.”

“Unless you tried to take it away from him,” Ralph said. “That can cause more than a little bit of a fuss.”

“He told me he had the best racing pigeons in the entire county,” I said.

“He should have,” Ralph said. “Whenever somebody beats him, he buys the bird from them.”

“No matter the price,” James said. “People have learned that, and they jack the price up.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Thank goodness his brother’s been able to intervene and convince people to accept a fair price and not take advantage of Richie,” Mrs. Meyers said. “Edward really is his brother’s keeper.”

“That’s one way to describe him,” James said.

“Richie invited me to go to one of the races,” I added.

“It isn’t much to see. A bunch of birds are released and the time of release is recorded,” James said.

“How does that make it a race?”

“The time of their arrival to their home coops is recorded, their speed is calculated, and the winners are declared the next day,” James said. “Funny how some of the
winners
never fly as fast once they become part of Richie’s stable.”

“I’m sure some people are cheating him by recording false times,” Mrs. Meyers said. “And more would do the same if it wasn’t for his brother.”

“I think most people know better than to play fast and loose with the mayor. I wouldn’t want to get on his wrong side,” James said.

“He’s only doing what’s right,” Mrs. Meyers said.

James didn’t say anything, but judging from his expression, there was more he wanted to say. “The next race is in three weeks, so I guess you’ll be joining us,” James said.

“You drive?” I asked, feeling instantly better.

“Richie doesn’t drive anymore,” James said.

“And that’s a good thing,” Ralph added. “What with the accidents and all.”

“He wasn’t the best driver,” Mrs. Meyers said.

“When I drive, he’s always checking to make sure I don’t speed. He insists I go exactly the speed limit and stop exactly three seconds at stop signs. He counts them out.”

“Sounds like he doesn’t trust your driving,” Ralph said with a laugh.

“Thirty-two years without an accident or a speeding ticket,” James said.

“Come on, what policeman is going to give the mayor’s mother’s driver a speeding ticket?” Nigel asked.

He finished the dishes and sat down to join us.

“He wasn’t always the mayor,” James said.

“But he always was rich—or, at least, the family was. Would you have wanted to be the policeman to cross old man Remington?” Nigel asked.

“Point taken,” James agreed.

“As it is now, Richie hardly ever leaves the grounds except for those races.”

I wanted to ask one more question, but I was afraid of offending someone.

James saved me the trouble. “You’re probably wondering what’s wrong with him, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I could give you an answer,” he said. “He’s just odd.”

“Very odd,” Ralph said.

“It’s not that he isn’t smart,” Mrs. Meyers said. “He was reading before he was in school, and he knows everything there is to know about some things.”

“Things like pigeons and watches,” James said.

“And trains. Don’t forget trains. Big ones and model ones,” Ralph said.

“He does know his trains,” Mrs. Meyers said. “It’s just that he’s not so good with people.”

James snorted. “Not so good?” He laughed. “It’s as if relationships are foreign languages to him.”

“He’s always had trouble with people,” Mrs. Meyers said. “He was always an odd little duckie, but we hoped he’d outgrow it.”

“At least he’s finally outgrown the fighting,” James said.

“There’s no need to bring that up,” Mrs. Meyers said. “It’s been more than a decade.” She turned to me. “It was more a misunderstanding than anything else, and it was so long ago. We don’t want to make Lizzy afraid of him.”

“I’m not afraid. He seems kind and gentle.”

“He is gentle,” Mrs. Meyers said.

“And that’s a good thing, because he’s as strong as an ox,” James said.

“That he is,” Ralph confirmed. “I’ve seen him pick up a bag of bird feed that weighs over a hundred pounds and toss it like it’s nothing.”

“I’ve also seen him pick up a little girl and toss her a dozen feet into the air and then catch her. Do you remember that?” Mrs. Meyers asked me.

I shook my head.

“You better not remind Richie of that—he could still toss you up pretty high,” James joked.

“No need to remind him—you know he remembers everything,” Mrs. Meyers said. “He has the memory of an elephant.”

“It’s almost frightening,” Nigel said. “He can tell you what he ate for breakfast three months ago.”

I thought of his telling me about the picture, and how he remembered every picture he’d ever taken.

“That’s part of how his mind works. He seems to store information like that. Things the rest of us forget, he remembers,” Mrs. Meyers said. “He could probably tell you things about you and your mother that the rest of us have forgotten. He used to spend a lot of time with you.”

“I didn’t know that.” There was so much I didn’t know.

“The two of you used to play all the time,” Mrs. Meyers said. “Now that I think of it, I remember the two of you sitting at a little table, having afternoon tea with your dolls.”

I remembered that! It was like a dream that now was real. I could picture sun shining through the window, the table set with little pink plastic plates and cups, my dolls sitting at the chairs, and there was a man…was it Richie?

“So now you only have one more member of the Remington family to meet,” James said. “His Worship himself is going to be gracing us at dinner tonight.”

“He is?” Mrs. Meyers asked.

“I’ve been asked to pick him up from city hall in time for dinner, although that doesn’t mean he’s actually going to come,” James said.

“He’s a very busy man,” Mrs. Meyers said. “Being the mayor of a city as large as Kingston is a very demanding job. I know how happy it always makes Mrs. Remington to have him for dinner. Let’s put on our
very
best tonight.”

THE SOUP HAD
already been served, and Mrs. Remington was still the only person seated for dinner. The other three places were set but unused. She was trying to put on a brave face, but it wasn’t hard to see that she was disappointed, even a little sad. It must have been lonely, always eating by herself. It was so much better to be part of a family—the way I had been back at the orphanage. We hadn’t had fancy plates and silverware or candles on the table, or even fancy food on our plates, but we’d had each other. There was always talking and giggling, and even the occasional harsh word was better than silence. I wondered if Mrs. Remington had music on in the background so that she would feel less alone.

For the first time since arriving, I felt sorry for her. She was rich and had everything money could buy, but really she didn’t have much at all. One son was out in the yard with his pigeons and shovel, and the second wasn’t going to come—exactly as James had predicted. I guessed we’d all be eating well that evening, dining on the leftovers.

“Good evening, Mother. I’m so sorry for being tardy!”

Edward—it had to be Edward—swept into the room. He didn’t so much enter as make an entrance.

“It’s so wonderful to see you, my son!” Mrs. Remington called out. She beamed as he bent over and gave her a big hug.

“I just wish I could have gotten away sooner, but there were pressing matters.”

“The important thing is that you’re here now,” Mrs. Remington said.

He was tall and slender, dressed in a black suit, a red tie and shiny shoes. He was distinguished-looking, as you’d expect the mayor to be. But more than that, he was
so
handsome. If somebody had told me he was a movie star, I would have believed them. He sat down at the seat beside his mother, reached out and took her hand in his.

“So tell me, what has my dear mother been up to these past few days?” he asked. “Fill me in—tell me everything.”

“Oh, that’s not worth talking about. My days are all pretty much the same. How about you, my son?”

“Busy as always, between fulfilling the duties of the mayor’s office and tending to family business. Which reminds me, I have a few papers for you to sign.” He pulled them out of the pocket of his jacket. “But let’s not talk business now. Surely there must be something new that’s happened?”

“Well, yes, it’s not some
thing
new, but some
body
new,” she said. “Or, really, not new so much as newly returned.”

I realized she was talking about me, and suddenly I felt very self-conscious.

“Lizzy, I’d like to reintroduce you to my son, Edward.”

He looked up and greeted me with a warm, open smile that made my nervous feelings vanish. I walked over to Mrs. Remington’s side.

“Oh, my goodness,” he said. “It is unmistakable. You look so much like your mother.”

“So I’m told.” And now that I had seen the pictures, I knew it was true.

“It’s as if somebody has turned back the hands of time. Same eyes, same smile, even the same voice.”

“She
does
sound like her mother,” Mrs. Remington said. “Exactly.”

“And she is exactly as beautiful.”

Mrs. Remington chuckled. “I think both my boys had a little crush on her.”

“I think it’s safe to say that she was loved by everybody, including you and both of your boys.” He turned to me. “Your mother was a flower, one whose life was ended far too soon.”

I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. My legs suddenly felt wobbly, and it must have showed. Edward jumped to his feet, took me by the arm and eased me into a chair.

“Get her something to drink!” he ordered.

Mrs. Meyers came forward and placed a glass of water in my hand.

“What happened? What happened?” Mrs. Remington cried out.

“Your son was an insensitive twit is what happened,” Edward said. He got down on one knee and looked directly into my eyes. “Please forgive me.”

“I’m fine…honestly.”

“You were going to faint. Take a drink of water,” he said.

I took a little sip and then a bigger one. I felt better. I went to get up, and he placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Take a minute. Please, don’t make me feel any worse than I do now.”

“There’s nothing for you to feel badly for. I’m just overly tired. I haven’t slept much since all of this happened.” That was true.

“Mrs. Meyers, bring her a little something to nibble on,” Mrs. Remington said. “You’ve had a touch of the vapors,” she said to me.

As quickly as the water had appeared, a bowl of soup was placed in front of me.

“Now, dear mother, I assume it was no fortuitous turn of fate that brought Lizzy back into our midst but was more your hand. Is that correct?”

“I still have a few connections,” Mrs. Remington said.

“A few? I won’t even bother asking what machinations you undertook. I’m just grateful. I wish to make a toast. Mrs. Meyers, come and join us.” He poured wine into a glass and then topped up his mother’s glass and his own.

“Raise your drinks. To my dear mother for bending fate, and to the return of our Lizzy. Welcome home.”

I RUBBED THE
polish off the spoon, held it up and examined it. It shone so brightly that I could catch a distorted vision of myself in it.

In the background was the faint sound of classical music. I didn’t recognize the piece, but I had a feeling it was Bach. There was a certain intricacy, a layered, almost mechanical quality. Not that I meant
mechanical
in a bad way; it was a precision I found comforting. Anything I knew about music was taught to me by Mrs. Hazelton as we sat in her office.

I picked up another spoon. I didn’t know how many I’d done or how many were left to do, but Mrs. Meyers had told me there was enough silverware to have a formal dinner party for sixty people. That was a lot of knives and spoons and forks, and then there were dozens and dozens of serving spoons, tongs, spatulas and flippers. On top of that, there were silver napkin rings, salt and pepper shakers, serving bowls and a dozen candelabras, each of which held six candles. I couldn’t even imagine how much all of this had cost, but I knew it was an amount far beyond what I’d ever earn.

Even if I had the money, I wouldn’t spend it on a bunch of silverware. How many forks and knives did you need? What was the point in having all of this when it wasn’t ever used? Wouldn’t it be better to have sixty friends rather than cutlery for sixty people who never showed up?

“You seem to be enjoying the music.”

I startled slightly and turned to face Mrs. Remington standing in the doorway. I had been so absorbed I hadn’t heard her enter.

“You were humming along,” she added.

“Sorry if I disturbed you.”

“You didn’t disturb me. Human voices are always a welcome sound in this house.”

“I like Bach,” I said.

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Cello Suite No. 1 and maybe the Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.”

“Classics. This piece, on the other hand, is very obscure. Do you know it?”

“No, ma’am.”

“But you knew it was Bach.”

“I can tell Bach. He’s just so
precise
.”

“He is that, although I think I prefer the romantic era,” she said.

“Like Beethoven?”

“Yes, exactly. He bridged the gap between the more purely classical and the romantic eras and—you do know your music.”

“Mrs. Hazelton thought it was an important part of our education.”

“I believe I would like your Mrs. Hazelton. Have you written to her to tell her how you’ve settled in?”

I shook my head, feeling embarrassed. I’d meant to do it, but I hadn’t gotten around to it. I needed to send a letter to Toni too. I was busy, but I knew it was more than that. I didn’t know exactly what to say. So much had happened, and I wasn’t sure how to put it down in writing.

“You’ve been here for two weeks, so you should have an idea if you are enjoying your position,” Mrs. Remington said.

“I am enjoying it! Everybody has been so nice. Mrs. Meyers, James, Nigel, Ralph and you.”

“And my son?”

“Richie has been more than nice. He’s told me so many stories about my mother and me. He remembers
everything
.”

“He does have a remarkable memory. Our family physician—who passed away many years ago—used the term photographic, or eidetic, memory. It refers to the ability to recall things accurately and vividly, and Richie certainly has that. Sometimes, though, having a memory like that is more curse than blessing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There are certain things that it’s best not to remember. Having you here has brought back many wonderful memories, but I have to admit that others are, well, just so terrible.”

Of course I knew what she meant.

“The death of your mother was such a horrendous thing for all of us. Edward was terribly upset; he didn’t come out of his room for a week. I think in some way he almost felt responsible for what happened.”

“Why would he feel responsible?”

“It’s just his way. He’s always been such a responsible person. He takes the weight of the world on his shoulders. Thank goodness he’s as strong as his father was. He thought if he could have convinced your mother not to quit her job and move the two of you away, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Why did we move away?”

“Your mother said it was time for the two of you to leave, to get on with your lives. How sad that it didn’t involve getting on with her life but ending it.”

Again I felt as if I’d been struck.

“Perhaps that’s why I’m feeling guilty. If only I’d been able to persuade her to stay.” She covered her face with her hands, and I thought she had started to cry. I knew I was close to it myself.

I walked over and put my hand on her shoulder. “I know you tried your best.”

She looked up and put her hand on top of mine. “I didn’t try hard enough. I should have
made
her stay. Not just for her and for you, but for Richie. I’ve never seen him more distraught than he was over the whole thing. It’s not that he doesn’t have emotions, but he usually keeps them inside. The day your mother left, he let those emotions out.” She shook her head. “I can’t talk about this anymore. It’s still very raw, even after all this time.”

She let out a big sigh, and I could tell she was trying to force herself not to cry.

“I’m going to go to the pigeon races with Richie next weekend,” I said.

“You are very kind to him. Do you know if Richie had lunch?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been polishing the silver all morning.”

“The silver can wait. Go and talk to Mrs. Meyers, and if he hasn’t eaten, take him his lunch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I started to leave and she called me back. “Lizzy, you really are so much like your mother.”

I’d heard that often over the past two weeks, but it was reassuring and it seemed to bring me closer to my mother.

I carried the tray across the lawn. Richie hadn’t eaten, and Mrs. Meyers had been getting his lunch ready when I entered the kitchen and told her I’d been asked to take it to him.

I poked my head into the coop. The birds were cooing; they sounded very content. And then I heard Richie talking. I took a few steps inside and saw him in the corner. He was sitting on a stool, a couple of birds on his shoulders, his silver shovel leaning against the wall.

While I could hear him, I couldn’t make out what he was saying. There was a soothing quality to his voice, quiet and calm. Strangely, whenever he talked to or about his birds, his voice seemed more natural, less mechanical. I cleared my throat, and he turned around.

“Hello, Lizzy.”

His voice was back to sounding mechanical.

“I brought you lunch.” I put it down on the table and almost instantly two pigeons fluttered over and perched on the edge of the tray. They knew there was food under the covers.

His clothing, as always, was stained with pigeon droppings. I knew that because doing laundry was my responsibility. I’d started to think that he should only wear white shirts, so that it didn’t show so much.

He stood over his food, lowered his head and closed his eyes. He always said a prayer before eating. I put my head down too. A few extra prayers wouldn’t hurt.

I asked for protection for Toni and all of the other girls. I asked for healing for Mrs. Hazelton. I asked for guidance as more of my past was revealed to me. I asked for speed for Richie’s pigeons in the coming race, and then I heard him say, “Amen”and I did the same.

“Were you praying for your mother?” he asked.

His question shocked me. I didn’t know what to say or how to react.

“Today is the day,” he said.

What did he mean? Oh my goodness…he didn’t mean the day that—

“This is your mother’s birthday.”

“My mother’s birthday!”

He nodded his head. “Today. She was born in 1925.”

“I didn’t know that.” I hadn’t thought to even wonder when she was born. Over the past weeks I had been flooded with information, and I was swimming in a sea of other people’s stories and recollections. Really, though, it wasn’t much. There was so much I still didn’t know. So much more that everybody had to offer—maybe Richie more so than anyone.

“Are you going to visit?” Richie asked.

“Visit who?”

“Your mother.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“Are you going to the cemetery?”

I shook my head. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“You should. We always go on my father’s birthday.”

“I don’t even know where she’s buried.”

“I do. I could take you.”

I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to go right now. Not this second.

“Maybe we could go on Sunday after the pigeon race,” I suggested.

He shook his head. “It isn’t your mother’s birthday on Sunday. It’s her birthday today.”

“But James isn’t here. He told me he had to take the car in for service.” I was looking for an excuse.

“It isn’t far. We can walk.”

“But I’m working. I have the rest of the silverware to polish.”

“My mother would let you go.”

The last of my excuses had been stripped away. What else could I say? “Do you want to go later today?”

“I’ll eat, and then we should go. I’ll tell my mother we’re going.”