“I track her into the mountains she loved
Watch her from the rocks above
She'd dip her neck and drink from the winter flows
My silver palomino
Our mustaneros were the very best, sir
But they could never lay a rope on her
No corral will ever hold
The silver palomino”
Watch her from the rocks above
She'd dip her neck and drink from the winter flows
My silver palomino
Our mustaneros were the very best, sir
But they could never lay a rope on her
No corral will ever hold
The silver palomino”
Bruce Springsteen
When Kristin had stopped crying they talked. Really
truly talked to each other as grown-ups. Talked for the first time about all
that lay in between them. First carefully, opened one memory at the time.
Folded away the tissue paper and looked at them one by one. The wonderful,
glimmering ones and the haunting painful ones.
Was it that years had passed? Was it that Kristin
also was a mother? Was it that she knew now what passion can make you do? For
every memory they dissected, she felt closer to her mother, she started to
understand, she started to see her as a woman and not just her mother.
As they talked her mother cooked dinner and they
talked through the whole meal. Her mother cried and Kristin cried. But it
wasn’t an overwhelming cry, simply a cry to put weight behind the words. When the sun set both of them were exhausted.
When Kristin got undressed to go to bed, the paper
with George Hemstad’s address fell on the floor. She picked it up, held it in
her hand, felt the weight of the paper, caressed the crease and decided that
she would go early tomorrow morning to see him. And she decided to not tell her
mother, not now when they had finally found some stable ground to meet on.
She picked up the diary from the floor, crawled
under the blanket and kept reading. The passion and the love her grandmother
felt for George was strong but through all the secret meetings and the fiery
sex she kept saying how she loved her husband. By the end of July, when her
period didn’t start she had realized what happened. Her grandmother’s panic was
tangible and her thoughts ran across the paper. A scared kitten chased by a
dog. After many pages of frantic writing she had come to a decision. Her place
was on the farm with Albert and the baby in her belly was theirs. No one
else’s!
When George left in September she finally told
Albert. At first they were cautious, the shadows of too many miscarriages
blocked out the sunny happiness. But as the late summer turned into fall and
then winter, the joy grew. Then among the pages was a note with her
grandfather’s neat handwriting.
My
dearest Kristin,
I
started to read your diaries because I missed you so. I have to confess that I
was shocked when I found out what happened the summer when George was here. At
first I was greatly disappointed but after a few days I realized that it
doesn’t matter. You loved me, I loved you and Linda will always be our
daughter.
She
is 15 years old now and a very sweet and good girl. I do worry about her and
wish you were here now. She needs a mother more and more for everyday she grows
into a young woman.
I
love you my dearest Kristin and miss you every day.
Yours
always Albert
Kristin sniffled as she read, then she folded the
note and tucked it back into the diary and lay down with it next to her and
fell asleep.
When her phone buzzed under her pillow she was
pulled out of a deep dream, it was a pleasant dream but she couldn’t remember
it. Careful not to wake her mother she tiptoed downstairs, grabbed her
toiletries in the bathroom and walked out in the kitchen. She closed the door
behind her and washed up by the kitchen sink, put on some mascara and brushed
her hair before she did a French braid. Made two sandwiches and grabbed a
bottle of water. Wrote a reassuring note to her mother and left the house.
The morning was cold and the sun had started to rise
as she got in the car and turned on the GPS.
She drove slowly down the street, one ranch house
after another. She carefully looked for the house numbers. 142, 144, 146, the
next one should be his. She parked the car on the other side of the street and
walked slowly across. An old man was
cutting branches off a bush on the side of 148. She looked at him, tried to
remember the man she met almost 30 years ago.
To
me he was old then, but he wasn’t much older than Robert is now.
The midmorning light was bright and the sun made his
white hair shine.
“Excuse me,” she called out and the man turned
around and looked at her, “I’m looking for George Hemstad.”
The man took a few steps closer to her and put his
hand behind his ear. She raised her voice.
“I’m looking for George Hemstad.”
He took down his hand and smiled.
“That should be me,” He reached out his hand towards
her and she took it, “And who are you, young lady.”
“I’m Kristin, the granddaughter of Kristin Berger
from,” Then she stopped because George’s smile faded and he looked a bit pale.
“We met at my grandfather’s funeral.”
He nodded and let go of her hand.
“Yes, yes,” he said quietly and looked at her face.
The same greenish, brownish, yellowish eyes, the same as hers. The same as
Anna’s.
“You know that…” she didn’t say anymore because he
nodded slowly.
“Yes, I know,” he sighed deeply, “let’s go inside.”
They walked up on the porch; the door was open
letting the fresh spring air into the house. He opened the screen door for her
and let her in. The house was well kept, light and airy with oak floors and big
glass doors from the living room out to the backyard.
“Why don’t you sit down and I will make some
coffee.”
She walked over to the couch next to the glass doors
and sat down. Behind her was a dining room table and in front of her a
fireplace with a big wooden mantel. On top of the mantel were several framed
photographs of George and who she presumed was his wife and children. A wedding
picture stood in the middle and she strained her eyes to make out how the wife
looked , all she saw was a dainty woman with dark hair.
After about five minutes George carried in a tray
with two coffee cups, a saucer with milk and a small plate with cookies. She
thought the coffee cups were Meakin, they looked familiar with their geometric
pattern of turquoise and beige.
She took one cup and a cookie, the coffee was good,
robust but not too strong.
“So,” George said after he had taken a sip of his
coffee, “what brings you here?”
“I read my grandmother’s diary and,” she hesitated,
“I never knew her and maybe you could tell me about her,” she stopped again,
“and you are my grandfather after all.”
And
it would be nice if something made any sense. Anything! I thought a man loved me and he didn't. My little sister was
molested and murdered. My grandpa wasn't my grandpa. Please tell me something real, something human.
Something that makes sense.
He looked down at his hands for a moment and spun
his wedding band a few times. “I met Caroline, my wife, the second year in
college. We got engaged and we were going to get married as soon as I was done
with my education and had a job.” He lifted his head and looked at her. “Your
grandmother, Kristin,” he smiled softly, “she was different from any woman I
ever had met. I was a city boy and she,” he huffed, “she was like a creature
from the forest, wild and strong.”
He took another sip of his coffee before he
continued.
“You look a lot like her, or at least the way I
remember her.” His eyes glided over her face and then his gaze got distant.” She
always had this dog with her, a brown scruffy dog with yellow eyes. Followed
her everywhere, sometimes I even got the impression they talked to each other.
She used to sit down and put her hands around the dog’s face and they looked at
each other for a long time,” he sighed deeply, “mesmerizing.”
“Were you in love with her?”
He looked at her face again, blinked a few times to
get back to the present.
“Hell, yeah.”
Kristin laughed out of shock over the choice of
words. He laughed too and pulled a hand through his hair.
“For me it was love at first sight, an instant
connection. I was doomed!”
Kristin sighed now, her stomach got tight and
uncomfortable.
Don’t
think about Robert now. Don’t!
“What else did she do?”
“She rode bareback on those Indian ponies they kept.
Just took off out in the woods for hours sometimes. And she chopped wood and
dug in the garden.” He stopped and picked up the plate with cookies and held it towards her, she shook her head, “Where I
came from women didn’t do those things. She even went hunting with Albert; I
believe she knew the forest better than he did.”
Every word was a glimmering jewel she gently picked
up and placed inside her heart.
My
grandmother I never knew was like me, in more than one way, she also betrayed
her husband.
“I don’t want to sound judgmental, but in those
days,” she searched for words, “I mean, I thought that maybe people were less
prone to cheat.”
He laughed again, louder than before.
“People are always people no matter when they live,
and I never saw what we did as something wrong,” he shrugged his shoulders, “to
me it was perfect. Short but wonderful.”
“Did you guess? I mean when you left that…”
“No!” George interrupted her. “I had no idea. If I
had known,” he stopped and shook his head, “it is so long ago, almost hard to
recall. But if I had known before I got married I would have,” he stopped
again, “but to be honest I’m not sure Kristin would have left Albert.”
Kristin shook her head.
"No,” she said, “I don’t think so either.”
He looked surprised.
“I read her diary,” she shook her head, “I don’t
think she would have left my grandfather. She loved him too.”
George nodded.
“I know that, and when I came back to Caroline the
love I felt for Kristin faded. Slowly but it faded, it’s very hard to keep a
fire burning without wood. And my life was good, I loved my wife too but I
never stopped loving Kristin,” he shook his head firmly, “never. I don’t think
many days have passed in my life since when I haven’t thought about her. Of
course life distracts you but there was always something that reminded me of
her.”
He looked out the window and sat quiet for a minute.
I
wonder what I have from you except for my hazel eyes.
“A girl with flaming red hair would walk by and I
thought of her. Or a big brown dog, an Indian pony, the smell of pine trees,
cold lemonade, swimming in a lake, fresh cream and strawberries, all of it made
me think of her.”
Scrambled
eggs, train rides, the City skyline, apple blossom, lions, Maine, broad
shouldered men with greyish hair and freaking computers.
“When I first came home I anxiously opened every
letter and ran to the phone like a madman, thinking it would be her,” he rubbed
his chin, “but of course it never was. Then I got married, became a father and
all of it became a mirage. But I never forgot her and I never regretted what we
had,” he shook his head again, “she always had a place in my heart and I always
cherished those few months we had. When she died,” he closed his eyes for a
moment, “it was heartbreaking, and I couldn’t show anything.”
Kristin looked out the window and thought of Robert.
Thought of those few weeks they had shared. The burning passion and the close
connection.
If
months can last a lifetime, how long can a few weeks last?She tried to shake the thought of him out of her mind, tried to focus on the man in front of her, her real grandfather.
“When did you find out that she was pregnant?”
He smiled a sad, forlorn smile.
“I didn’t know until she died and then.” He put a
hand over his eyes for a moment. “Of course the thought of the child being mine
but…” Sadness flared up in his face. “Then when Albert died his lawyer called
me the same day and told me.”
“Wow that must have been a shock for you. And then
you came to the funeral.”
“Yes, he wanted me to do the funeral and to see
Linda. I wonder how he found out?”
“He read it in the diary when my mother was 15, but
he never told her. And I didn’t know until a few days ago.”George looked out the window again.
“Albert Berger was an extraordinary man!” he said without taking his eyes from the window.
“Yes,” she said and the grief for her grandpa flared up inside of her, fresh and burning, “I still miss him.”
Both of them sat quiet, Kristin peeked at him, tried
to see herself in the old man, but she couldn’t.
“I thought about telling her then,” he pinched the
fabric of his pants, “your mother. But her grief was so strong, so fresh I
didn’t do it.”He looked over at her with a question lingering in his eyes.
“She could use a friend,” Kristin said.
George nodded but didn’t say anything.
They drank some more coffee in silence. George
hummed a few times and cleared his throat.
“I wrote so many love poems about Kristin. I guess
you should have them,” he said more to himself than to her, “would you like
them?” He turned his face towards her.“Yes, please,” she nodded enthusiastically, “I would love them.”
“Hmm,” he said and got up, “I have them in a box in the attic. Perhaps you could go up there and get them. I don’t trust these old legs anymore,” he patted his thighs,” climbing ladders.”
“Sure,” she said and stood up.
They walked into the kitchen and he opened a door to
a small mudroom, he stopped and pointed up to the ceiling.
“The attic is over the garage. We have to pull down
the door and then the ladder will come with it.”
He reached over to a long stick with a hook on the
end and grabbed the ring in the door on the ceiling and pulled. Down came the
door and the ladder.
“Here,” he said and gave her a flashlight, “All the
way in the back is a green box marked “Lake Country”.
She climbed up the ladder and turned on the
flashlight. The attic was very neat and organized with boxes in rows. Each box
had a number and a year written with black pen.
Wow,
I wish I had inherited this from him or maybe it was his wife who was this neat. My sock draw looks like the
archetypal image of chaos compared to this. And that is socks!
All the way in the back she found the green box; it
wasn’t very big or heavy so she had no problem carrying it down the ladder
again.
“Hmm, let’s see.” He picked up a few notebooks and
put them on the table, then he picked up a dark blue, he held it in his hands,
caressed it and then handed it to Kristin.” This is the one.”
She took it softly in her hands, on the front he had
written “Song of Salomon 8:6-7” .
“I was very romantic then, passionately in love with
her and young,” he chuckled a little, “well you will see.”
“Whatever you have from her,” his voice cracked,
“whatever it is it is a marvelous thing.”
In the car she texted Jonas and asked if their mother
and her could come for Sunday dinner later and asked him to call their mother. She
texted John and said she would call later. She stuffed the notebook with George's poems in the glove compartment.
She turned up the music and drove away from George’s
house. Her mind was blank, worn out from the last month’s drama and truth
bearing. After about an hour she stopped at a rest stop, went to the bathroom
and grabbed something to eat.
“You never find yourself until you face the
truth”
Pearl Bailey
When she turned down the road to the farm she was
dog tired, she couldn’t see her mother’s car in the yard and she sighed with
relief. Too tired to see anyone at the moment she simply put back the seat,
pulled her jacket on top and fell asleep.
Knock, knock, knock. Oh, she so didn’t want to wake
up. She opened one eye, then the other. Holly and James stood outside the car
with their noses pressed against the glass. Holly’s finger tapped on the
window.
“Wake up Aunt Kristin.”
She sat up and looked at the two children who now
smiled at her. She was groggy after her deep, motionless nap and slightly
nauseous. She opened the door and got out.
“Hi kids.”
“Why did you sleep in the car?”
James looked up at her.
“Why didn’t you come in the house, you could have
slept in my bed.”
She sat down on the ground and put out her arms.
“Can I have a hug?”
James walked into her arms and when she hugged him
she longed for Anna and Jack. A stomach turning longing.
“I was so tired I just fell asleep in the car.” She
turned to Holly, who looked exactly like her mother with wild blonde hair and
big blue eyes. A mini-Heidi. “Your turn!”
Holly gave her a hug and then she took her hand.
“Oma is already here. Daddy has made meatballs and
mashed potatoes and me and James and mommy made apple pie.”
James took her other hand.
“And we will have ice cream.”
She squeezed both their hands.
“Sounds yummy.”
“Why didn’t Anna and Jack come?”
Holly dragged her by the hand.
“Next time.” Kristin said and the girl nodded.
“Albert cries a lot.” James said, let go of her hand
and jumped up on the stoop.
“Babies do that,” she said, “you cried a lot when
you were a baby.”
James looked offended.
“Not like that.”
Kristin laughed and nodded her head.
I
should come here more often.
Her mother stood on the kitchen floor with a
sleeping Albert in her arms. She rocked slowly back and forth on her heels.
“Just like Jonas,” she said and smiled, “as soon as
I put him down he would wake up and start crying.”
Kristin stood still and looked at her mother and
realized that she had been angry with her for longer than she could remember
but yesterday had chipped away on the anger. And under all that anger was love.
“Where did you go this morning?” Her mother asked.
Kristin hesitated, thought about George and his
promise to call.
What
would hurt more? If I told her and he never called? Or that I didn’t tell her
and she found out that I knew?
Her brain was sluggish, had used up all its energy,
couldn’t make any more decisions.
“I just needed some time to think.”
Her mother nodded and kept rocking back and forth on
her heals.
At the dinner table everybody said some kind of
version of “How nice this is. We should get together more often”.
The kids ate fast and then they ran out the door
with the dogs. James came in two minutes later with a nervous look on his face.
“Don’t forget to call us when it is time for
dessert.”
The grown-ups laughed and reassured him before he
took off.
Heidi nursed Albert, their mother went out to the
kids and Jonas and Kristin cleaned up. The sense of belonging, the sense of
ease, the sense of effortlessness was strong. Kristin and Jonas moved around
each other without bumping into one another or leaving anything behind. What
one missed the other one took without either uttering a sound.
“Mom told me something about dad yesterday.” They
were almost done; Kristin was only going to wipe the table.
Jonas stopped what he was doing.
“Yeah, what?”
“I don’t know if she wants to tell you herself…” she
stopped and looked at him.
He laughed and shook his head.
“Doubt it! We are not very big talkers , mom and
me.”
“But if she does tell you…”
He nodded.
“Yes, I will pretend I didn’t know anything.”
She started slow so he would be able to grasp what
she said. He grew paler as she spoke.
“Fuck!” he said when she was done. “Fuck!” He took a
few steps on the floor.
He left the kitchen abruptly and Kristin heard the
door slam.
“Fritz was one scary creep,” Heidi’s voice was
angry, “he got what he deserved.”
Kristin went over to the doorway into the living
room. Heidi lay on her side with Albert latched onto her breast.
“Yeah, weird how everybody disliked him and no one…”
She didn’t know how to continue.
Heidi picked up Albert and sat up and put him to the
other breast. He whimpered a little until he found the nipple.
“Jonas probably told you that my grandfather was in
charge of both Teresa’s and Emma’s case? He was the only one who thought
someone drowned those girls, everybody else on the force seemed to not care.”
Kristin shook her head, trying not to think about
Emma in the hands of Fritz. Three year old Emma with the blond hair and the big
blue eyes. And now Jonas knew, sensitive Jonas who fled into Scooby Doo when
the world around them was hard to handle.
“I have to find Jonas.”
She ran out the door and looked in the yard. He
wasn’t there; saw her mother and the kids by the swing set. Hedda came up to
her. Kristin sat down and put her hands around the dog’s face.
“Where is Jonas? Can you find him? Where is he? “
The dog whimpered and took off, she ran after.
Across the yard to the barn, around the barn to the ramp up to the hayloft, the
dog ran up the ramp and in the cracked door. Kristin put her head in the door,
at first she saw nothing in the dim light but then she could make out Jonas. He
was sitting on top of the last hay from the year before. She walked in and was
embraced by the smell of summer. She knew he had heard her but he did not
acknowledge her presence.
She climbed up to the top, he sat with his arms
around his knees and his face pressed into his legs. She knew that he had been
crying.
“Jonas,” she whispered, “Jonas, I am sorry I just
told you like that.”
He was quiet and she didn’t try to press an answer
out of him.
“She was only three,” he said into his legs, “a tiny
little girl.”
Kristin sat down next to him and put an arm across
his back.
“I know,” she still whispered, “it is horrible.”
Jonas got up so fast she was about to topple over.
“What a fucking disgusting piece of shit! If he
wasn’t dead...” He stopped short; breathing heavily withh is arms raised and
his hands in fists. Then his arms sank down and he lowered his head.
“What a fucking life we have, sis.”
He sat down next to her again.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you?”
He turned his head and looked at her, his eyes were
dazed just like when he was a child and things were hard to handle. He blinked
a few times and the grown up Jonas came into focus again.
“It’s ok, it was just a shock. Better to know,” he
stopped talking for a moment, “about dad at least.”
Kristin nodded and picked up a hay straw.
“Yeah, things are not always what they seem.”
Jonas chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders
and she leaned into him.
“What shall we do?” she asked.
“Nothing much to do now, too long ago.”
Kristin pulled the hay straw through her fingers,
deep in thought. Looked at the golden beige straw as it slithered in between
the fingers.
“Robert said I was a good writer.”
“What?” Jonas voice sounded distant.
“Robert said I was a good writer.”
“So?”
“I think I will write a book about it all.”
Jonas moved away from her and looked at her.
“A book about what?”
She stood up, suddenly filled with fire.
“A book about us. And Emma and dad.”
And
grandma and grandpa and George too.
Jonas smiled at her and shook his head.
“A book! Of course sis!”
After dessert Kristin and her mother went home. She
finally got hold of John and the kids, even Anna was willing to talk to her
this time.
They sat by the TV and watched a program on
Showtime, normally Kristin was intrigued but today she was too tired.
Should
I tell my mother about George? I can’t take more drama this weekend. I can’t!
Uh, that is actually a good decision. I don’t have to do everything for
everybody. I don’t have to sacrifice myself. I can choose to not put myself in
hard situations. I actually have power over my own life.
She looked at her watch, 7:30, she stretched and sat
up.
“I am going to bed.”
“Ok, sweetheart. See you tomorrow!”
She bent down and gave her mother a kiss on the
head.
“Yes, mom, see you tomorrow.”
Her grandmother’s diaries lay exactly where she left
them that morning. She found 1957 and searched for her mother’s birthday.
Dear Diary,
April 1st, 1957
Yesterday we brought home our wonderful
daughter. She is tiny, precious, perfect.
I would lie if I said labor was easy.
The pain was different than any other pain I ever felt. Not a pain caused by a
sickness. Yes, it hurt, horrible pain but I knew the pain was for something
good. Something would come out of the pain, something wonderful.
When I got to hold her in my arms and
she opened her big blue eyes, the pain disappeared. She has a tiny tuft of red
hair on top of her head. I put her to my
breast and she drank. The nurses told me to stop, told me that they had formula
but my doctor told me that I should keep nursing her. He thinks that my body
knows exactly what my baby needs. I heard the nurses saying that he is just an
old man stuck in the old ways, but I feel such a closeness when she lies by my
breast I can’t even comprehend to give her a bottle.
Oh, my beloved Albert cried when he
held her in his arms for the first time. He caressed her cheek so carefully and
looked at me. He has waited so long for her.
She sleeps in Albert’s old cradle next
to our bed and last night I spent far too much time watching her sleep instead
of sleeping myself. I was afraid I wouldn’t wake up if she needed me. Albert
kept telling me that he was sure she would let us know if she needed us.
Today Mrs. Henke is coming to help me a
little with the household. Albert had to go to church this morning for a
funeral but he promised to be back as soon as he could.
Oh, she is waking up!
Yours Truly,
Kristin
Dear Diary, April 7th 1957
The days fly by now when I have our
little girl in the house. She is the most precious little baby and I spend so
much of my time simply staring at her. We have decided to call her Linda and
Albert asked if we couldn’t give her his mother’s name as a second name. I
truly didn’t want to but I couldn’t say no. So her name will be Linda Annalise
Berger. We will Christen her in a few weeks.
Albert works so hard both in church and
here at home so I don’t have to exert myself. He is a God given man and I feel
so blessed to have him in my life.
Last night I dreamt of George, I have
not dreamt of him in a long time. But last night he came to me and we sat on
the porch like we did last summer and talked. He looked at me with his
intriguing eyes and the sun made them green and glittering. Then Linda started
to cry and I woke up but I thought about him for a long time last night and
even this morning.
Nature is about to burst out in spring,
we have had a very long and cold winter and we still have snow on the ground. A
couple of days ago we got more snow but I can feel that the sun warms now. I can see the buds on the trees about to
explode and I know that under the new snow crocuses are blooming.
Yours Truly
Kristin
Dear Diary, April 15h
1957
Finally spring has arrived a tad and
Linda is growing beautifully. She is a strong and healthy girl. In four days
she will be a whole month old. We are planning the Christening, we will have
the reception in one of the church halls and we have ordered a pretty cake from
the bakery. We decided to serve sandwiches and cake. Vera is coming over to
help me with the sandwiches in a few days.
I have been feeling so tired the last
few days. Albert told me to try to rest often with Linda but I feel like I
should try to keep up with the household chores. Albert, the sweet man said he
would hire someone to help out if I needed it. Maybe I am starting to get a
cold or so.
Yours Truly
Kristin
Dear Diary, April
19st 1957
Vera was here today with her little Donny;
he is 10 months old now and can almost walk already. He is a funny little boy
who was very interested in Linda. He stood by her cradle and looked at her. Me
and Vera laughed and said that they will get married one day. Vera brought over
one of her marvelous meat pies. She is truly a great friend.
I am very tired now after a long day
preparing for tomorrow’s christening. We made plenty of sandwiches. Egg salad,
lax, cream cheese and strawberry puree and roast beef with horseradish cream.
I bumped my leg today and I got an
awful bruise on the side of my thigh. Luckily my dress is long enough to cover.
Albert is in the church hall preparing
but I am too tired and I am going to bed now. Linda is sleeping already with
her arms over her head. I ironed the Christening gown before and put a pink
ribbon on it. She will look like a little princess tomorrow. I do hope she
won’t be very upset in the church.
Yours Truly
Kristin
Dear Diary, April 24th 1957
I have been ill since the day after the
christening. I think I have gotten the flu. I feel very achy and tired. I do
hope I won’t make little Linda sick. Perhaps I am a little better today.
The christening was wonderful and
everybody brought the sweetest little presents. Vera had made a beautiful blue
dress for Linda’s first birthday.
Kristin had to stop reading, she was crying so hard
she couldn’t even see the delicate letters anymore.
I
wonder if she ever wore that dress for her first birthday. Did she even have a
first birthday party or did it all disappear in the grief?
She gently closed the book and put it on the floor.
She wasn’t ready to read about her grandmother’s struggle against the leukemia.
The struggle that ended five days before her mother’s first birthday.
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