Scattered Leaves (25 page)

"Can I help you?" she asked us. She smiled. "I'm Sister Andrea." she added.
"Oh, thank you, Sister." Alanis said in the sweetest voice I'd heard her use. "My friend and I took a ride with my boyfriend, who just got his driving license. It's exciting when you first get your license."
"Oh. I'm sure it is." Sister Andrea said, looking more at me now. I thought I would just keep quiet.
"Anyway, there we were trying to figure out where we would go on our first big ride and Jordan here remembered her great- aunt Toby DeMarco was in this residence so we thought we'd stop by and say hello if we could."
"Really? Why, that's very nice of you, a very kind and loving thing to do. Unfortunately, our residents don't get that many visitors."
"Yes. ma'am. She, Jordan, hasn't seen her for a very long time. She was afraid her aunt might not remember her.."
"Oh. Mrs. DeMarco has a very good memory."
"That's good. Our prayers worked," Alanis said.
What prayers?
I wondered,
Sister Andrea smiled. "Come this way. She's in her room at the moment, but she's doing fine," she said.
We followed her through a door to a stairway and walked up one flight. As we walked, she asked us where we were from. Alanis mixed the truth with some fabrication, but she did it so smoothly that I almost believed her myself. At the second door on the right, she paused and nodded at it. The door was open. A slim woman with black strains still prominent in her mostly gray, short hair sat with her back to us, looking out her window. There was a large cross over the headboard of the bed and some pictures of family on the dresser and on the small round table to the right. A settee that could sit only two or three at most was just to the right of the table.
"Mrs. DeMarco," Sister Andrea called.
Slowly. Toby DeMarco turned around. Her face was narrow, her nose pointed and her lips thin. Her skin looked pasty and spotted here and there with brown age spots. She wore a dark green housecoat and a pair of fluffy white slippers.
"You have some visitors,'" Sister Andrea told her.
I held my breath. Would she come right out and demand to 'mow who we were? She didn't move. Sister Andrea reached back to put her arm around my shoulder and bring me forward.
"Your great-niece. Jordan." she said.
Toby DeMarco said nothing. She didn't change expression. There was only a slight movement in her gray eyebrows.
"Tell her your full name. sweetheart," Sister Andrea urged me.
I glanced at Alanis, who waited with
excitement and anticipation. She nodded for me to go ahead.
"I'm Jordan," I said. "Jordan March." Mrs. DeMarco's eyes widened.
Then she smiled.
"I've been waiting for vou," she said. "For a very long time."

"Have a nice visit. girls," Sister Andrea told us and walked away.
"Come in," Mrs. DeMarco urged, beckoning and nodding toward the settee.
Alanis looked at me and saw I was hesitant. She wasn't afraid so much as she was amazed. She shrugged and smiled. "Go ahead," she urged, giving me a little push through the doorway.
I walked in slowly and sat on the small settee. Alanis followed and quickly sat beside me.
"Why did you tell the sister you were my grandniece?" Mrs. DeMarco asked immediately.
"We thought it would be easier to get in to see you," Alanis replied.
"Why do you want to see me?" she asked.
"We live with Miss Frances Wilkens,' Alanis began.
She'd started to smile but stopped instantly when Alanis said that.
"Did Frances Wilkens send you here?" she asked quickly.
"No, ma'am. She doesn't know we've come to see you,,"
"Then how did you know to come here?"
"We found your name and phone number and called and your son told us where you were when I asked for you," Alanis replied.
She nodded as though she had expected to hear that as well.
"We found your name and number in the attic," Alanis added pointedly. "Miss Wilkens's attic."
"I see." Her eyes became deeper pools of suspicion, moving quickly from Alanis to me and then back to Alanis. "How is Frances?"
"She's all right. I mean, she's not sick or anything like that," Alanis replied and looked at me. I nodded.
Mrs. DeMarco concentrated her gaze on me. "So you are a March?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said. She smiled warmly this time. Then she turned away quickly to look through the window, as if something had demanded her attention. Her smile evaporated.
Alanis nudged me and nodded at Mrs. DeMarco. She wanted me to ask questions. but I felt as if I had just swallowed a rock and was afraid to utter a sound. She turned back to me.
"Why did you say you were waiting for her for a long time?" Alanis asked, which brought her around to us again. She stared at me again for a moment.
"Your father's name is Christopher?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What about Emma?" she asked quickly.
"Grandmother Emma?"
"Yes," she said, drawing the corners of her mouth in and down, which shot a line through each side of her jaw. "Grandmother Emma. Did she send you?"
"Oh, no. ma'am. She's very sick," I said. "She's in the hospital."
"She had a stroke," Alanis added quickly.
"And who are you?" Mrs. DeMarco asked her with surprising sharpness.
"I'm Lester Marshall's granddaughter. Do you know Lester Marshall? He works for Miss Wilkens."
"No," she said. Then she thought a moment.
"Maybe." she added. "'He came later."
"Later? When later?"
"After I was gone," she replied.
Alanis glanced at me, a look of satisfaction spread on her face. We had come to the right person, the right place.
"Who was in the attic? Why was there a Moses basket? Did you live up there? Was the basket for your baby?" Alanis asked, firing her questions as if she was afraid that if she stopped, it would be too late.
Mrs. DeMarco looked from Alanis to me again, her forehead scrunching with thought, her eyebrows dipping toward each other as a crown of confusion settled on her.
"So you don't know who was in the attic?"
"No," Alanis said. "That's why we came to see you."
"Um," she said. nodding. She smiled as it all began to clear, like something foggy coming into sharp focus. "So you two don't know anything?"
'No.' Alanis said.
She looked at me to confirm. "No, ma'am," I said.
"And you're a March?" she asked again, this time sounding a little skeptical.
"Tell her about yourself," Alanis urged.
"Yes tell me," Mrs. DeMarco said. "Your parents let you come here yourself?"
"Her parents were in a car accident."
"Oh?"
"They were in a bad car accident," I said. "My mother is in a coma and my father has to be in a wheelchair now."
"How terrible."
"She has a brother. too."
"You do?"
"Ian," I said.
"He's not with her. He's in an institution. He has some mental problems."
She nodded as if she had expected to hear no less.
"So with her father in a wheelchair and her mother in a coma, her grandmother made her come live with her great-aunt. Miss Wilkens."
"I see. Yes. Emma is good at deciding other people's lives," she added. "But I thought you said she had a stroke."
"She's in the hospital," I said. "She can't talk very much, but she gives orders through her attorney."
She stared at me hard. It made me feel uncomfortable. She looked like she was searching my face for some sort of clue.
"But her attorney didn't tell you to come see me?"
"No. ma'am. No one told us." I said.
That seemed to make her uneasy. She fidgeted, as if she was going to stop talking to us. Alanis sensed it. too.
"So why was your name in the attic dresser drawer?" Alanis pursued. She was probably thinking also about Chad waiting impatiently in the parking lot.
"I didn't put it there. I thought everything that had to do with me had been taken out of that attic. I thought it had been completely emptied, in fact."
"No, it's full of stuff. furniture," Alanis said. "And that Moses basket."
"So? How did you know to come here?" she asked again.
Alanis rolled her eyes at me. "I called the number we found in the attic and your son answered and he told me where you were. I asked him if he was the baby in the attic," Alanis said.
Mrs. DeMarco smiled ,
"Hardly," she said. "'You're sure Frances doesn't know you've come?" she asked, looking at me now.
"No, ma'am. She doesn't even know we were up in the attic. It's always locked," I said.
"I found the key and we went up there," Alanis said. "I'm living with Jordan now in Miss Wilkens's house. We're best friends," she told her.
She stared again, and then she looked away.
"You shouldn't have come here," she said without looking at us. "I'm not the one you should be asking these questions."
"We didn't know who else to ask." "You should have asked Emma March."
"No, we can't. She's in a hospital and she can't talk," Alanis pursued. "I guess maybe we could have asked your father," she told me.
Mrs. DeMarco turned back to us.
"No. I doubt he could tell you anything. His father could have, but it's been some time since Blake passed on, hasn't it?" she asked me.
"My Grandfather?" I asked, and she nodded. "I don't remember exactly. He was dead before I was born. My brother remembers him, but not all that much."
"He was a very handsome man." She smiled. "He reminded me of Clark Gable in
Gone With the Wind
."
"
Gone With the Wind
?" I asked. I looked at Alanis. She nodded, understanding.
"That first dinner when you and Great-aunt Frances dressed like Southern belles,"
I nodded.
"Frances is still putting on those dresses and pretending she's this one and that one?" Mrs. DeMarco asked us.
"Yes, ma'am. She likes to dress up in something for dinner. At
least she has since I've come." I said.
"Poor Frances. She was caught somewhere between childhood and adulthood, afraid to step too far back and terrified of stepping ahead," she said. "Can't blame her. Look where it takes you." she added, nodding at her room. "Four walls and a window, cafeteria food, people having the same conversations day in and day out, forgetting they've told you about themselves and their families a dozen times, if they've told you once. I've got diabetes, a heart that's sick of hearing itself beat, and a closet full of old clothes I'm ashamed to give away. I get tired of the echo of my own thoughts, but when you're alone, it's all you hear."
"Doesn't your son come to visit you?" Alanis asked.
"Yes, when that wife of his loosens the leash a little. I've got a daughter living in Canada. Did I tell you?"
"No, ma'am," I said.
"If I repeat myself, you just let me know. I hate repeating myself."
"Why were you in the attic?" Alanis asked as if she hadn't asked before.
"Do you know what I did when I was younger?" Mrs. DeMarco asked instead of answering. She looked to me for a reply.
"No, ma'am," I said.
"All we know about you is your name, the telephone number and your son and this." Alanis said, holding out her hands.
"I was a pretty good nurse. You know, more often than not, a good nurse does as much as if not more than the doctor, especially when it involves women. I can't tell you how many times I've had to remind a doctor what was wrong with his patient, why he was treating this patient or that and what he had prescribed. Take my advice, don't get sick and if you do, stay out of hospitals. If you're not dying when you're admitted, you will be soon after," she said.
"But where else are you supposed to go if you're very sick?" I asked.
"Don't get very sick," she said and then smiled. "I'd know you were from the Wilkens line of women anywhere." she said. Then she straightened up. "I was a CNM, a certified nurse midwife. Do you know what that is?"
I shook my head.
"I'm not sure," Alanis said.
"Midwives are nurses who can assist in childbirth. We are trained in prenatal care, making sure the pregnant woman eats right, takes the right vitamins and supplements, exercises, avoids bad things. In short, my little Nancy Drews, there wasn't simply a baby living in the attic. There was a baby born in the attic, and I attended and oversaw the birth. If I didn't have this terrible arthritis," she continued and showed us how twisted her fingers were. "and I wasn't a severe and brittle diabetic, and I didn't have a traitorous heart, I might still be working and on my own out there," she said, nodding at the window. "Instead. I've been put out to pasture and this is the pasture.
"Some days," she continued. "I feel like getting up and going out and walking and walking to my grave plot next to my husband's and hopefully expiring right on it. But." she said, waving her hand and arm as best she could. "this isn't proper talk for you two young girls to hear. Old age is still a dream or a nightmare, some sort of fantasy to you. I'm sure you can't imagine being in this chair and in this place. I'm sure you never see yourself as old and crippled."
"No." Alanis said. I think she was thinking it so hard it just came out.
Mrs. DeMarco smiled.
"Nor should you. Now where was I?"
"You told us a baby was born in the attic." Alanis reminded her.
"And lived there for a short period, or at least until Emma was ready to take him away."
"So, her father was born in the attic?" Alanis quickly followed.
I looked at her and then back at Mrs. DeMarco. That wasn't what I had been told. Why would my father have been born in the farmhouse anyway? And why up in an attic? We were always a rich family. That made no sense. Maybe she was already losing her memory and getting things confused.
"Yes, that's correct." she said without hesitation. "I guess with Emma in a hospital and Frances dancing in another world, and especially with Blake March gone
.
I'm not bound by any promises and oaths. I didn't get enough for it all anyway," she added. She leaned toward me. "Sold my soul too cheaply."
Alanis smiled, "I bet I know what happened." she said. "Her grandmother had an affair and got pregnant, right? They kept it a big secret and she gave birth in the attic, right?"
"An affair?" I asked Alanis.
^-
"My
grandmother?"
"Like my mother," she replied.
I
turned with surprise and shock to Mrs. DeMarco. Surely, not my grandmother Emma. She couldn't be like Mae Betty.
Mrs. DeMarco shook her head. "No. Emma March never gave birth as far as I knew."
Alanis sat back, her mouth slightly open. "She never gave birth?"
"But she's my grandmother." I said.
"No, dear. Your grandmother is Frances Wilkens, Emma March is your great-aunt."
Neither I nor Alanis spoke. Then Alanis smiled again. She thought this was even a juicier story. Her excitement annoyed me more than just a little, but I didn't speak.
"I shouldn't have to be the one to tell you all this, but I can see where you'd grow up never knowing the truth."' Mrs. DeMarco said. "Maybe that's okay to some people, but to me, especially now, it seems like a sin, and I feel like I was part of it."
She did look happier to be telling us all this. She looked like she was taking a heavy weight off her shoulders.
"Okay," Alanis said. "If that's true, who was the father of Miss Wilkens's baby?"
"Why. Blake March was the father," she said.
"No wonder her grandmother, her great-aunt or whoever she is doesn't like her own sister." Alanis said quickly. "This is better than the soap operas she watches every day," she told me. "It makes sense to me. Miss Wilkens was very pretty once, prettier than her sister. Emma. She seduced Blake March. Jordan's grandfather, right?" she asked Mrs. DeMarco.
"No," she said. "There's much more to this than a sister seducing another sister's husband. In fact," she said. struggling to get up. "it was Emma who seduced Frances."
She went to her window and tried to open it wider. I jumped up to help.
"Thank you. dear. You're certainly a pretty little thing. Where did you get that cute hat?"
"It was Alanis's hat. She gave it to me." I said. She nodded.
Alanis was staring up at her with her head tilted, as if she thought Mrs. DeMarco was either lying or, as she said about Great-aunt Frances. bonkers.
"How could Emma March seduce her sister and her sister have a baby. Mrs. DeMarco? That doesn't make sense."
"No, on first blush it doesn't." Mrs. DeMarco replied. "Looks like a nice day.""
"Do you want us to take you out?" I asked her.
"No, no, thank you, dear. I'm actually a little tired. By this time of day. I usually take a nap, sometimes sleeping until dinner. As you get closer and closer to the end, you sleep longer and longer. Your body is getting used to it."
"Can you tell us what you meant about Emma seducing Frances?" Alanis pursued. "We have someone out there waiting for us, and he is not a very patient person."
"Yes, well, someday he'll realize rushing your life along just gets you to the end faster."
She returned to her chair and closed her eyes. We didn't think she was going to continue. Alanis fidgeted and smirked and then cleared her throat loudly.
"I didn't know what had gone on when I first started caring for Frances," Mrs. DeMarco began again, keeping her eyes closed, as if she was trying to picture things. Then she opened them. "Like you. I assumed Frances had an affair with Blake March. In those days everyone knew everyone else's business. If you sneezed too many times, your neighbors heard. I had heard that Blake had been to the farm often without Emma. I must confess