“As mayor of this city,” I intoned, “I’d like my distinguished son to join me in the honors.” We cut the ribbon together and swung open the door.
The small organ was not new or elaborate, but it was beautiful from the love given. And it would prove enough for me to approximate the sounds I was after. Edward fiddled with the stops, and I took Tess aside and asked how she could afford such a luxury.
“Ever since San Francisco,” she said, “or maybe since Czechoslovakia, I’ve been wanting to do this for you. A penny here, a dollar there, and a woman who drives a hard bargain. Eddie and I found it for sale at an old church up in Coudersport. Your mom and Charlie put us over the top, you should know, but we all wanted you to have it. I know it’s not perfect, but—”
“It’s the best gift—”
“Don’t worry about the cost. Just play the music, baby.”
“I gived my allowances,” Edward said.
I embraced them both and held tight, overcome by fortune, and then I sat down and played from Bach’s The Art of the Fugue, lost again to time.
Still enamored with the new machine days later, I returned with Edward from kindergarten to an empty and quiet house. I gave him a snack, turned on Sesame Street, and went to my studio to work. On the organ keyboard sat a single sheet of folded paper with a yellow sticky note affixed to the surface. “Let’s discuss!” she had scribbled. She had found the passenger list with the names of all the Ungerlands, which I had hidden and locked up among my papers; I could only imagine how it wound up in Tess’s hands.
The front door swung open with a screech and banged shut, and for a dark moment the thought danced through my mind that they had come for Edward. I dashed to the front door just as Tess inched her way into the dining room, arms laden with groceries. I took a few bags to lighten her load, and we carried them into the kitchen and danced around each other in a pas de deux, putting food away. She did not seem particularly concerned about anything other than the canned peas and carrots.
When we were done, she brushed imaginary dust from her palms. “Did you get my note?”
“About the Ungerlands? Where did you get the list?”
She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “What do you mean, where did I get it? You left it on the sideboard by the phone. The question is: Where did you get it?”
“In Cheb. Remember Father Hlinka?”
“Cheb? That was nine years ago. Is that what you were doing? What possessed you to investigate the Ungerlands?”
Total silence gave me away.
“Were you that jealous of Brian? Because honestly, that’s a little crazy, don’t you think?”
“Not jealous, Tess. We happened to be there, and I was simply trying to help him trace his family tree. Find his grandfather.”
She picked up the passenger list and her eyes scanned it to the end. “That’s incredible. When did you ever talk to Brian Ungerland?”
“This is all ancient history, Tess. I ran into him at Oscar’s when we were engaged. I told him we were going to Germany, and he asked me if I had the time could I stop by the National Archives and look up his family. When I didn’t find them there, I thought maybe his people were from someplace else, so I asked Father Hlinka when we were in Cheb. He found them. No big deal.”
“Henry, I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”
I stepped toward her, wanting to enfold her in my arms, desperate to end the conversation. “Tess, I’ve always told you the truth.”
“But why didn’t Brian just go ask his mother?”
“His mother? I didn’t know he had a mother.”
“Everyone has a mother. She lives right here in town. Still does, I think. You can tell her how jealous you were.”
“But I looked her up in the phone book.”
“You’re kidding.” She crossed her arms and shook her head. “She remarried years ago when Brian was in high school. Let me think. Her name is Blake, Eileen Blake. And she’d remember the grandfather. He lived till he was a hundred, and she used to talk about that crazy old man all the time.” Giving up, she headed for the staircase.
“Gustav?” I shouted after her.
She looked over her shoulder, scrunched up her face, found the name in her memory. “No, no . . . Joe. Crazy Joe Ungerland is Brian’s grandfather. Of course, they’re all crazy in that family, even the mother.”
“Are you sure we’re not talking about Gustav Ungerland?”
“I’m going to start calling you Crazy Henry Day. . . . You could have asked me all about this. Look, if you’re so interested, why don’t you go talk to Brian’s mother? Eileen Blake.” At the top of the stairs, she leaned over the railing, her long blonde hair falling like Rapunzel’s. “It’s sweet you were so jealous, but you have nothing to worry about.” She flashed her crooked smile and set free my worries. “Tell the old girl I said hello.”