all addressed to Mama, all in the same handwriting but one. I could barely make out the addresses and dates on some of them. The words were certainly foreign to me, but all the stamps were German.
* * *
Aunt Lavinia phoned two nights later, the first time since Thanksgiving weekend. “Norma mentioned that she saw you in town today. I’m glad you’re getting out, Hannah. Working in that old house day after day must be depressing.”
Did she mention that she saw me coming out of Ward Beecham’s? Or the bank?
“It’s not so bad. I’m nearly finished.” I traced the letters and numbers on Mama and Daddy’s marriage certificate —the certificate I’d read two hundred times since pulling it from the safe deposit box. But no amount of tracing or rubbing the paper changed the date.
“Oh?” Aunt Lavinia waited. “Everything all right?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”
“I’m just concerned about you, that’s all. You haven’t been by for over a week. I miss you. I don’t want all this to come between us, sweetheart.”
“I don’t want that either, Aunt Lavinia, but I don’t really see much way around it. You know something about Mama and Daddy and refuse to tell me, even though you know what this means to me —even though you know I’m apt to lose my job if I don’t get some closure, some resolution. Sooner or later I’m going to figure it out. I’d much rather hear it from you.”
“Did you talk with Ward Beecham?”
“Didn’t Norma tell you that I did —twice this week?”
“Don’t get so defensive. Did you settle everything? Can you go ahead and sell the house?”
“The death certificate was issued and the deed is free and clear. I can sell whenever I want —when I’m ready, when I find a buyer. Why are you in such a hurry for me to do that? You know if I don’t own the house, I’ll never move back here.”
“And you know you’re always welcome to stay with me. But you deserve a life of your own, Hannah. You have a good job and —”
“I’m not sure I’ll go back after Christmas, at least not right away.”
“You’re staying here?” Aunt Lavinia paused. “Does this have something to do with Clyde?” She sounded so hopeful.
“No! I might take a trip is all. I don’t know yet.” I couldn’t keep the snap from my voice.
“Oh, honey, that vacation we talked about? That’s just what you need. It will do you a world of good.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Where are you going?”
I knew that telling Aunt Lavinia might start a new war, a war I didn’t want or need. But maybe it would inspire her to tell me what she knew before I traveled halfway around the world.
“Germany.”
The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.
“Why do you want to go to Germany? I’d have thought Myrtle Beach or Nags Head, maybe even Hawaii if the house sells.”
“I think Mama might not have been Austrian after all. I think she might —I might —even have family still living in Germany.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I’ve been busy, Aunt Lavinia. I contacted one of Daddy’s old war buddies. He was in Italy, with the 45th, until the month before his unit helped liberate Dachau, and that was just a month before he was shipped back to the States.”
“What difference does that make?”
But I knew from Aunt Lavinia’s voice —strained and quiet —that she knew very well. “Mama was pregnant before she married Daddy.”
“Well, you know, soldiers during the war. Your daddy —”
“Daddy couldn’t have been my father, not my real father. They didn’t even meet until a few weeks before I was born.” Saying it aloud made me sick, sick at heart and sick to my stomach. Why did you never tell me, Daddy? How could you and Mama keep that from me all my life, pretend I was yours?
“Hannah, how can you say such a thing? He loved you. He raised you from a baby.”
“I saw his discharge papers. I tracked his war record. I
* * *
Aunt Lavinia phoned two nights later, the first time since Thanksgiving weekend. “Norma mentioned that she saw you in town today. I’m glad you’re getting out, Hannah. Working in that old house day after day must be depressing.”
Did she mention that she saw me coming out of Ward Beecham’s? Or the bank?
“It’s not so bad. I’m nearly finished.” I traced the letters and numbers on Mama and Daddy’s marriage certificate —the certificate I’d read two hundred times since pulling it from the safe deposit box. But no amount of tracing or rubbing the paper changed the date.
“Oh?” Aunt Lavinia waited. “Everything all right?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”
“I’m just concerned about you, that’s all. You haven’t been by for over a week. I miss you. I don’t want all this to come between us, sweetheart.”
“I don’t want that either, Aunt Lavinia, but I don’t really see much way around it. You know something about Mama and Daddy and refuse to tell me, even though you know what this means to me —even though you know I’m apt to lose my job if I don’t get some closure, some resolution. Sooner or later I’m going to figure it out. I’d much rather hear it from you.”
“Did you talk with Ward Beecham?”
“Didn’t Norma tell you that I did —twice this week?”
“Don’t get so defensive. Did you settle everything? Can you go ahead and sell the house?”
“The death certificate was issued and the deed is free and clear. I can sell whenever I want —when I’m ready, when I find a buyer. Why are you in such a hurry for me to do that? You know if I don’t own the house, I’ll never move back here.”
“And you know you’re always welcome to stay with me. But you deserve a life of your own, Hannah. You have a good job and —”
“I’m not sure I’ll go back after Christmas, at least not right away.”
“You’re staying here?” Aunt Lavinia paused. “Does this have something to do with Clyde?” She sounded so hopeful.
“No! I might take a trip is all. I don’t know yet.” I couldn’t keep the snap from my voice.
“Oh, honey, that vacation we talked about? That’s just what you need. It will do you a world of good.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Where are you going?”
I knew that telling Aunt Lavinia might start a new war, a war I didn’t want or need. But maybe it would inspire her to tell me what she knew before I traveled halfway around the world.
“Germany.”
The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.
“Why do you want to go to Germany? I’d have thought Myrtle Beach or Nags Head, maybe even Hawaii if the house sells.”
“I think Mama might not have been Austrian after all. I think she might —I might —even have family still living in Germany.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I’ve been busy, Aunt Lavinia. I contacted one of Daddy’s old war buddies. He was in Italy, with the 45th, until the month before his unit helped liberate Dachau, and that was just a month before he was shipped back to the States.”
“What difference does that make?”
But I knew from Aunt Lavinia’s voice —strained and quiet —that she knew very well. “Mama was pregnant before she married Daddy.”
“Well, you know, soldiers during the war. Your daddy —”
“Daddy couldn’t have been my father, not my real father. They didn’t even meet until a few weeks before I was born.” Saying it aloud made me sick, sick at heart and sick to my stomach. Why did you never tell me, Daddy? How could you and Mama keep that from me all my life, pretend I was yours?
“Hannah, how can you say such a thing? He loved you. He raised you from a baby.”
“I saw his discharge papers. I tracked his war record. I
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