The Grave Soul (28 page)

There was an edge of anger in the woman's voice. Jane sat down at the kitchen table. “Yes, I did go see him.”

“You know he had a stroke shortly after you two talked?”

“Yes, I'd heard.” She assumed Katie had put it together and decided that Jane was the cause. There were undoubtedly many factors, yet she could hardly argue the point.

“He died. Right before the new year.”

“I'm very sorry.”

“I want to talk to you.”

Jane closed her eyes. If this woman needed to scream at her, Jane figured she owed her a few good shots. “Okay.”

“The business card you left me says Minneapolis. I could meet you in, say, Eau Claire. That's about halfway for both of us.”

“Actually, I'm in New Dresden.”

“My lucky day. What are you doing right now?”

“I'll … come over. Again, I'm really sorry about your dad.”

There was no response, just dead air.

 

38

Kira wiped tears away from her eyes as she walked Guthrie out to the barn. In the aftermath of the revelations inside the farmhouse, his main concern was for her.

“Are you going to call your father?” he asked as they moved across the packed snow.

She shook her head. “He's out of town working a construction job today. Besides, I think Father Mike is right. I need some time. Right now, I'm angry. I feel betrayed. I need to understand why he did what he did. None of this is something I want to discuss on the phone.”

“I'm glad I'm here.”

She looked up at him. “Me too.” Haltingly, she began to open up on what had happened to her since she'd left for that family meeting after Thanksgiving. “I want to show you where Grace has been living all these years.” Pulling back the heavy barn door, Kira nodded for Guthrie to enter first.

Inside, he found a wide-open space lit by fluorescent lights. He judged it to be at least a hundred feet long, maybe a third as wide. “It's warm in here.”

“The entire barn is heated and insulated. It used to be an old tie-stall dairy barn. Dad renovated it.”

The barn floor appeared to be original, a kind of scraped, textured concrete. The rafters and walls were made of wide wood planks that had been stained and varnished. On the opposite side of the building was another, wider door. A chain-link fence cordoned off a hay-covered section. Inside were the cutest puppies Guthrie had ever seen. “Have they been adopted yet?”

“A few have,” said Kira. “Gram's very careful about where they end up.”

Father Mike and Gracie were tossing the baseball to each other at the other end of the barn. Next to them, attached to the wall, was a basketball hoop. Behind them, along one wall, were several weathered looking couches.

“There's a volleyball setup, too. Dad built it, I guess. The poles can be switched out for badminton. Gracie loves sports. Likes being busy all the time. Sometimes the entire family gets together to play.”

If it wasn't so twisted, thought Guthrie, it sounded almost idyllic.

They trudged up a rustic wooden staircase to the second floor.

“Hey, Kira,” called Gracie. “Close the door to my room. It's a mess.”

Kira turned and gave her a thumbs-up.

“She's lived here since she was seven?” asked Guthrie. “All alone?”

“Never alone,” said Kira.

The second floor, what had once probably been a hayloft, had been closed off to create another large, almost cathedral-like space. Along the far wall were a couple of bedrooms, and between them was a bathroom. A galley kitchen ran along the wall opposite the bedrooms. There was a long wooden table, big enough to seat at least twelve. Next to that was a living-room area centered around a shag rug, with a comfortably used-looking overstuffed couch, matching love seat and chairs, a flat-screen TV, and a battered oak coffee table. What struck Guthrie most was the artwork on the walls. Everywhere he looked he saw paintings—from eye level all the way up to the rafters. “Who did those?” he asked.

“Gracie. That's her passion. She's been creating art since she was a kid. Father Mike thought they were so good that he asked a friend of his, a guy who owns a gallery in Milwaukee, to try to sell some of them. It took a while, but she's actually making herself quite a name around the Midwest. She calls herself Nina Careg Darel. Nina is her middle name. Careg and Darel are both anagrams for Grace and Adler. She has a studio behind those sliding doors.” She pointed.

“I don't understand all this,” said Guthrie, looking around. “Is she trapped in here? Do they ever let her out?”

Kira sat down on the couch and motioned for Guthrie to join her. “When I came here for that first family meeting, that's what we talked about. I was absolutely stunned. I was angry, too. I never got to have a relationship with my sister. It was stolen from me. I had no idea any of this was going on—that she was alive. I'd been here at the farm hundreds of times and I never saw her.

“Are you still angry?” asked Guthrie.

“I don't expect that will ever go away.”

He nodded.

“Years ago, my Grandpa Henry had my dad rehab the upper part of the barn, making the hayloft into an office for him. After he died, Gram asked Dad to make more extensive changes. She wanted to enlarge the space to include the entire upper story. It became her sanctuary. Gracie and I weren't allowed up here—ever. Right after Mom died, Hannah and my dad took Gracie and me on a trip to Disney World.”

“Yeah, I know all about that.”

“You do?”

“Hannah stopped into your dad's bar one night when Jane was bartending. After several drinks, Jane got her to tell the story.”

“I'm surprised she'd talk about it. I thought my family's decisions were all about protecting Gracie. Turns out, they were protecting themselves.”

He put his arm around her. Nothing was going to seem normal to Kira for a long time. “Do you have any memories of Disney World?”

“I remember the hotel pool and meeting Mickey Mouse. That's about it. I flew back with Dad. Hannah flew back with Gracie. And then I was told that Gracie had died in a car accident. I just remember my dad sitting on my bed one night, explaining that Gracie was in heaven with Mommy. We'd see them again one day, but not for a long time. I suppose I cried. I don't really recall.”

“And they moved Grace in here,” said Guthrie.

“It's actually more understandable if you realize that Gracie was having terrible trouble in school back then. She was picked on by other kids. The teachers thought she was a troublemaker because she couldn't sit still in class. She never sat still—anywhere—unless the TV was on. She would have these sudden outbursts—rages. She'd throw things or haul off and kick whoever was in the room. I got kicked a lot. She was very angry,
that
I remember. She and Mom fought all the time. Mom actually threw her across the room once. It was awful. I'm not sure my dad ever knew about it. Dad was the only one who could calm Gracie down. And Gram—well, I mean, Grace loved being at the farm almost more than anything. After Gracie moved in here, Gram told me she slept out here with her each night. Or sometimes Laurie would come, or Hannah. Uncle Doug and Father Mike were also around a lot. So were Walt Olsen and our uncle, Brian Carmody. And Dad—he was her constant support. The family closed ranks around her, became her playmates, her teachers and her companions. She always had people in her life. And for the first time, she began to thrive. I'm not saying that it was easy or that there weren't problems. I've spent the last month getting to know her again. It's been … amazing.”

“But she's twenty-two, Kira. Doesn't she want a life of her own? Is she still confined to the barn?”

“She's never been completely confined to the barn. Gram has taken her on lots of trips. So has Hannah. Dad goes for walks with her after dark. When we were kids, she had long red hair. Laurie died it a dark brown and cut it short. She's got terrible eyesight, so the horn-rim glasses change her appearance some. Honestly, she's changed so much that I'm not sure I would have recognized her if Dad hadn't told me who she was.”

“So the family trusts her now not to tell what happened to your mom?”

“Yes.”

“Except, she just told the story to Jane and me.”

Kira had to think about that. “She never would have if I hadn't just given you an explanation she knew was a lie—and also blamed her. Gracie is very black and white. She reacts instantly to injustice. I mean, she's not retarded. She has a normal IQ, but she's … different. She can be impulsive. She has sensitivities to light and sound, to tags in clothing. She struggles, Guthrie. Things that you and I might find simple are hard for her.”

“It just seems so crazy that nobody ever saw her. All those years.”

“Right from the start, Gram came up with the idea of calling it ‘The Hiding Game.' Gracie loved games. Before she could understand why she needed to stay out of sight, my family framed it that way. She had a wall for stickers and gold stars that were her rewards.” Glancing at her watch, Kira added, “Hannah should be here soon.”

That was another question Guthrie had. “Why are you and Father Mike meeting with her?”

Kira gave a somewhat muted groan. “When I first arrived, Hannah was in the process of a mutiny. She told Gram, in no uncertain terms, that she'd given enough time to raising Gracie. She wanted her life back. Gram was extremely unhappy about that. See, years ago, after Mom died, everyone in the family pledged to take care of Grace for as long as necessary. That's why nobody could ever move away. Gram even wanted Hannah to move back to New Dresden, but she refused. She kept a bungalow, but her main residence and her job is in Eau Claire.”

“I don't blame her.”

“Gram wants me to consider living full time at the farmhouse.”

“No! Kira, you can't do that.”

“She's afraid the cancer will take her life, Guthrie. Sooner rather than later. She's been under a huge amount of stress. Hannah's added to it by refusing to cooperate anymore.”

“She has every right.”

“I agree, but it's put Gram in a bad place. She's scared—about her health, and about what will happen to Grace. You have to understand. My family made these incremental decisions, for good or ill, that have taken on the power of immutable law. ‘We've always treated Gracie this way and thus we need to continue to treat her that way.' Changing long-held attitudes and approaches is hard. Grace isn't a child anymore and, strange as it may seem, I'm not sure my family really sees it that way. She can't live totally on her own—I get that—but she needs far less supervision than most of the family insists on. The thing is, I found out yesterday that Laurie has left Doug. That may just be the solution we've all been looking for.”

“She would move in here?”

“She says she wants to. Like I said, Grace is able to be far more independent that Gram or Dad give her credit for. The way things stand right now, it's not working. For anyone. It's complicated, but Hannah and I think we've come up with a compromise. Something that would allow Grace more freedom, and yet she could still live within the protection of the family. Very simply, she would become someone else—but also, someone she already is. Nina Darel. The artist. She'd come to town. Look around to rent a space, and settle on the barn at Evangeline Adler's farm.”

“That's brilliant.”

“There are some problems we'd have to work out, but nothing insurmountable. Believe it or not, she already has close to twenty-five thousand dollars in the bank. Father Mike has taken care of all that, made sure every dime was saved for her future. She's earning her own living, Guthrie. It makes total sense. Hannah and Father Mike and me, we intend to present our idea to the family next weekend.”

“And then you can come home, right? We can get on with our life together.”

She moved in close and kissed him. “That's the plan. May take a few weeks, but I think we've found a solution.”

He held her tight. “Do you think you can ever forgive your family?”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I hope so. But trust … I'm not so sure about that.”

 

39

When Jane pulled up to Katie Olsen's house that morning, she found a
FOR SALE
sign stuck into the snowy front yard. Inside, all the furnishings were gone, replaced by a minimally staged living room and dining room—just the bare essentials. A few rugs. A table and chairs. Two love seats facing each other across a coffee table in the living room.

Katie ushered Jane in without speaking. She looked worn out and walked slowly. Jane sat down on one of the love seats. Katie took the other. A closed folder rested on the table in front of her.

“Again,” said Jane, “I need to say how sorry I am about your father.” She steeled herself, waited for Katie to lash out. Instead, the woman just sat there, her mouth twisting, her eyes unfocused. Jane decided to add, “I think it's possible that my conversation with him may have hastened his death.”

“Yes,” said Katie. “I think so, too. I was really furious at you for a while. I found your card and tacked it up on the bulletin board in the kitchen, intending to call after the funeral. But the truth is, my dad was miserable in that nursing home. He was a deeply lonely man after my mother died. Her loss just seemed to sap the life out of him. My brother is career military. He's been posted all over the world. When he gets back to the US, he wants to spend time with his wife and kids in California, not fly here. My daughter went to school out east and then stayed on to work at the college. She rarely makes it back. Most of Dad's friends have died. The ones who are still alive don't get out much. I went to see him almost every day. We'd play a game of cards or pull out the Scrabble board, but he never showed much interest. Evangeline Adler came by once a week. Kevin usually stopped by at least that often. And Father Mike always came to visit on Sunday afternoons. But it wasn't a life, not the kind he wanted.”