and in the fall the leaves turned the surrounding forest a brilliant scarlet and gold. As the years in Virginia passed, Fred’s office and the University of Richmond must have seemed a logical place to him, a refuge where people treated each other with respect.
All was not as tranquil at the Jablin house hold at 1515
Hearthglow Lane.
“The West End is a beautiful place,” says one of the Jablins’ neighbors. “You look around at the nice houses and you think people must be happy. But sometimes, they aren’t.”
In the beginning, Piper and Fred appeared, at least to neighbors, to slip naturally into their respective roles. In the mornings, Fred drove off to work and Piper made fresh bread for the family and even baked homemade biscuits for her dog.
While he was at the university, her days were spent playing tennis, at the children’s activities, and volunteering at their schools, especially when it came to art class. Throughout their years in Virginia, Piper would tutor her own children, working with them with their art, giving lessons to Jocelyn’s Brownie scout troop. “Every year the Jablin kids would get a ribbon at the school art competition,” says one neighborhood mom.
In the evenings, Fred threw a ball around with Paxton in the front yard and then cooked them all dinner. He built a playground with swings for the kids, and Piper quickly fi lled the house and yard with her menagerie of animals, including dogs, cats, rabbits, birds, and ferrets she walked on a leash.
She took in wounded animals and nursed them back to health, even building a small pond in the backyard that she populated with fish and fist- sized bullfrogs she’d found at a nearby creek. In no time, Piper’s bullfrogs, to the dismay of the neighbors, had spread out and taken over the street.
On weekends, Piper and Fred worked in the yard together.
She planted azaleas, and Fred constructed a deck off the DIE, MY LOVE / 47
kitchen and a lattice gazebo. One year, for Mother’s Day, Fred built Piper a raised bed where they grew vegetables, including peppers she cooked with tomatoes and turned into homemade salsa. Piper was proud of her talents in the garden, and when one neighbor remarked that she’d planted a wisteria two years earlier and it had yet to bloom, Piper boasted that she’d put hers in the ground just that summer, and it was covered with blossoms. “She was always doing the oneupsmanship thing,” says the neighbor. “You could never do anything as well as Piper, not to her mind.”
Yet, at the same time Piper was kneading bread every morning, the real work of the household—as in Texas—was done by a parade of nannies who came and went, many last-ing only days before they quit or Piper fired them. Most were in the U.S. illegally and spoke little English, and along with watching over the children they were charged with caring for the house.
“It seemed like the only criteria Piper had for hiring them was that they had a pulse,” says Melody Foster, an ample, warm-hearted woman with shoulder-length dark brown hair and a ready laugh, who with her husband, Pete, lived directly behind the Jablins. As they had with the Kuentzes, Fred and Piper became friendly with the Fosters, who had a daughter, Chelsea, Paxton’s age; so much so that Fred cut a gate through the back fence so they could circulate freely between yards. Along with both having young children to care for, Melody and Piper had something else in common: They were both attorneys.
A year after moving to Richmond, Piper became pregnant again. This time it was an ectopic pregnancy, and she again lost the baby. Afterward she returned to her very dark place. “It’s like everything goes gray,” she says, explaining what her postpartum depression felt like. “Everything feels dull.”
On weekends, Mel and Piper sometimes opened a bottle 48 / Kathryn Casey
of wine and sat together and talked while they watched the children play. At such times, Piper often
All was not as tranquil at the Jablin house hold at 1515
Hearthglow Lane.
“The West End is a beautiful place,” says one of the Jablins’ neighbors. “You look around at the nice houses and you think people must be happy. But sometimes, they aren’t.”
In the beginning, Piper and Fred appeared, at least to neighbors, to slip naturally into their respective roles. In the mornings, Fred drove off to work and Piper made fresh bread for the family and even baked homemade biscuits for her dog.
While he was at the university, her days were spent playing tennis, at the children’s activities, and volunteering at their schools, especially when it came to art class. Throughout their years in Virginia, Piper would tutor her own children, working with them with their art, giving lessons to Jocelyn’s Brownie scout troop. “Every year the Jablin kids would get a ribbon at the school art competition,” says one neighborhood mom.
In the evenings, Fred threw a ball around with Paxton in the front yard and then cooked them all dinner. He built a playground with swings for the kids, and Piper quickly fi lled the house and yard with her menagerie of animals, including dogs, cats, rabbits, birds, and ferrets she walked on a leash.
She took in wounded animals and nursed them back to health, even building a small pond in the backyard that she populated with fish and fist- sized bullfrogs she’d found at a nearby creek. In no time, Piper’s bullfrogs, to the dismay of the neighbors, had spread out and taken over the street.
On weekends, Piper and Fred worked in the yard together.
She planted azaleas, and Fred constructed a deck off the DIE, MY LOVE / 47
kitchen and a lattice gazebo. One year, for Mother’s Day, Fred built Piper a raised bed where they grew vegetables, including peppers she cooked with tomatoes and turned into homemade salsa. Piper was proud of her talents in the garden, and when one neighbor remarked that she’d planted a wisteria two years earlier and it had yet to bloom, Piper boasted that she’d put hers in the ground just that summer, and it was covered with blossoms. “She was always doing the oneupsmanship thing,” says the neighbor. “You could never do anything as well as Piper, not to her mind.”
Yet, at the same time Piper was kneading bread every morning, the real work of the household—as in Texas—was done by a parade of nannies who came and went, many last-ing only days before they quit or Piper fired them. Most were in the U.S. illegally and spoke little English, and along with watching over the children they were charged with caring for the house.
“It seemed like the only criteria Piper had for hiring them was that they had a pulse,” says Melody Foster, an ample, warm-hearted woman with shoulder-length dark brown hair and a ready laugh, who with her husband, Pete, lived directly behind the Jablins. As they had with the Kuentzes, Fred and Piper became friendly with the Fosters, who had a daughter, Chelsea, Paxton’s age; so much so that Fred cut a gate through the back fence so they could circulate freely between yards. Along with both having young children to care for, Melody and Piper had something else in common: They were both attorneys.
A year after moving to Richmond, Piper became pregnant again. This time it was an ectopic pregnancy, and she again lost the baby. Afterward she returned to her very dark place. “It’s like everything goes gray,” she says, explaining what her postpartum depression felt like. “Everything feels dull.”
On weekends, Mel and Piper sometimes opened a bottle 48 / Kathryn Casey
of wine and sat together and talked while they watched the children play. At such times, Piper often
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