Page 77 of The Lost Hours
Gently, Tucker said, “Here, let me have it. I’ll read it out loud for Helen.” He began:“It’s dated September twenty-ninth, nineteen thirty-nine. It reads, ‘The Negro child pulled from the Savannah River three weeks ago remains unidentified. The medical examiner has confirmed that the male infant was a newborn and apparently born healthy. Cause of death remains inconclusive, although the examiner’s report indicates the child died prior to being placed in the river. As an act of charity, the body was given into the custody of a Dr. Leonard O’Hare for a proper burial.’ ”
Helen remained thoughtful for a long moment. “Why would Josie have sent this to Malily?”
“Hang on,” said Piper. “There’s something else here in the envelope. It’s a handwritten letter.” Helen listened to the sound of crinkling paper and then Piper began to read.
Dear Lily,
My mother has always said that a heartbreak only makes your heart bigger, that someday all those cracks and holes will be filled in with all the joy and love you haven’t had yet. Her words have helped us both handle the sad news about Freddie and the baby. I hope they can help you, too.
Charlie came and took you to Asphodel the next morning and I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye to you or Annabelle. Charlie gave me the rest of the money I needed for a train ticket to my mother in Virginia and I left that same day. It’s a lot closer to New York from here, and I think that’s where I’ll be heading next.
I got a letter from Annabelle last week saying you won’t answer her letters, so she sent me this in the hopes that I might be able to get through to you.We know her father gave the baby to Charlie for burial, but that’s all we know. She’d like you to let her know where he’s buried so she can plant flowers.
Annabelle is grieving something fierce.We always thought she was the strongest of us three, but there’s something we missed. I fear her heart bleeds for the world, and all of its disappointments become hers. My mama said that she’s heard stories of flowers and trees absorbing the sadness around them and turning black, still alive but mostly dead inside. And Mama thinks that’s what’s happening to our beloved Annabelle.
She blames herself, and only you have the power to forgive her. She is like the walking dead now. And that wonderful light that used to shine for all of us is flickering like a candle in an open window. Forgive her, Lily. She did what she had to do and saved all of our lives. She doesn’t see it that way, of course, but that’s what makes Annabelle so different from the rest of us.
You left Lola behind, and I gave it to Annabelle, hoping it will help her remember happier times.
And may the good Lord forgive us all.
Love,
Josie
Quietly, Piper folded up the letter and Helen heard her slide it back into the envelope. Her voice shook. “So what did my grandmother do, do you think, that she needed forgiveness for?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Helen said. “Let’s go find Malily and get this over with.” She stood abruptly, not able to reconcile the memories of the grandmother who’d planted a garden for her with the woman who’d never found it in her heart to forgive a friend.
Tucker took her arm. “Are you sure you want to do this? It might be hard to hear.”
She yanked her arm away from him. “I’m not a child,Tucker. And just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I’m not strong. I was the one you came to when Susan died, remember? I grieved for her, too, but somebody had to be strong for the children and I was happy to do it. But don’t treat me now as if I can’t handle this.”
He stepped back. “Go then.” He softened his voice. “You’ve never really needed me anyway.”
Helen reached out in her darkness for her brother, and he grabbed her hand. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, remembering the little boy who’d been afraid of thunderstorms. “Yes, I have. And I always will. But in case you haven’t noticed, my life has managed to be far less complicated than yours. Why don’t you focus on you for now? I wouldn’t mind a complication or two in my own life now and again.”
She pulled away from him and turned toward Piper. “Come on. You and I are going up to Malily’s room.” She held up a staying hand to Tucker. “I think it should be just Piper and me. You know how Malily has always said that history is best translated by women. I also don’t think she could stand to see the disappointment in your eyes.”
“Or yours,” he said.
She allowed herself to smile. “But that’s where you’d be wrong. She doesn’t think I can see anything.”
“Fine, then. If that’s what you want. Just . . . call me when you’re done.”
Piper stood and placed the envelope in Helen’s hands. “I’ll let you give this to her.” To Tucker, she said, “Go see the girls. If you don’t mind helping them tack up, they’d love to show you a few of the things they’ve learned this week. I’ve already told them I’m Miss Piper now—because I wanted my nickname back.”
After a brief hesitation,Tucker said,“Sure, I’ll do that.” He started to walk away but turned back. “Go easy on her. She’s an old woman.”
Helen shook her head. “She’d hate to hear you say that. But, yeah, we will.”
Piper took her arm and led her inside. They walked more slowly than usual, as if each realized that Pandora’s box was about to be blown wide-open.
Lillian sat up in her bed propped against plumped pillows covered in the best Egyptian linen. Still, she couldn’t get comfortable, and had rung for Odella so many times that Odella had parked a chair outside of the bedroom door to save herself the trouble of climbing the stairs again and again. This was the first time in Lillian’s life—not counting when she’d had her children—when she hadn’t gotten out of bed. She was too tired, all the thoughts in her head and words on the scrapbook pages warring in her brain, sapping her strength.
Annabelle’s last scrapbook pages lay on the bedside table next to her, but the photo of the three of them in the garden at Dr. O’Hare’s house on Monterey Square was now propped against the photo of her debutante ball. She’d had Odella pry the photo off the page using a nail file, the photo popping off the old glue easily. The edges of the photo curled inward like her memories, as if neither one could move forward past that time.
“Were you pregnant in that photo, Lillian?”
