The Apple Orchard

Twelve



Tess slept poorly, trying to ignore the soft and secretive sounds of nighttime in the countryside. In between bouts of wakefulness, she catnapped, her rest plagued by dreams of Magnus. She missed the city. The silence and fresh air of the deep countryside were overrated, in her estimation. She didn’t find the sounds of birds and crickets restful at all, but repetitive and distracting. The noise of the city, with its clanging and screeching trolleys, its sirens and ships’ horns, made a better soundtrack for her life.

Magnus was no longer a stranger to her, no longer just a name on a piece of paper or an academic problem, like an object whose provenance she was charged with uncovering. He was a person with a haunted history, someone whose childhood had been ripped apart in ways she could only imagine. He had clearly suffered great losses, yet then he’d survived and built a future for himself. He was a man whose life had mattered.

She thought briefly of her own life and how it mattered—or not. Yes, she had a career she was passionate about. Yes, she was going to move to the next level in the firm once she concluded things here at Bella Vista. That had been her goal all along, hadn’t it?

The idea caused a flurry of nerves in her stomach. Family and friends—not work—were the things that made a life matter. Being here, being pulled deeper and deeper into the heart of this place, she feared work had taken precedence over everything else, and now she felt...unbalanced. Her friends in the city were great, but were they the heart-mates of a lifetime? Just asking herself the question made her uncomfortable, so she pushed the troubling notion aside.

It was still dark when she abandoned sleep altogether and went to her laptop. She’d taken a series of high resolution pictures of the old photo and document. Using her photo enhancement program, she went to work, her excitement building as she brought each detail into focus.

All too soon, the sounds of night gave way to the sunny chirps and whistles of songbirds at daybreak. She abandoned any attempt at further sleep and got dressed for the day, pulling on a good pair of jeans and a striped top. That was another thing—she was running out of clothes to wear as her visit to Bella Vista lengthened.

The smells of Isabel’s kitchen elevated her mood somewhat. There was something incredibly uplifting about getting up in the morning to a perfect cup of coffee and a freshly baked treat from the oven. The kitchen was the heart of the house at any time of day, but mornings in particular were grounded in the sunny space, open to the patio. The start of the day was a small celebration of sorts, with people coming through the kitchen for their coffee and to have a chat, lingering before heading out for the day. So far, none of the residents or workers knew about the financial state of Bella Vista. They gathered as usual while Morning Edition drifted from the radio and Charlie the dog trotted from person to person, looking for handouts.

It was a sharp contrast to the mornings Tess was used to. In the city, she would tear out of her cluttered apartment, stopping off for fast-food coffee and a donut as she raced to the office.

Yes, she missed the city. But she had to admit, Isabel’s coffee and freshly toasted and buttered tartines softened the blow. She spied a knot of people down by one of the sheds, gathered around a cider press. Phone in hand, she went down to join them. She had not yet surrendered the hope of getting a decent signal. Ernestina’s husband and two other workers, dressed in their coveralls and John Deere caps, worked the press, filling the air with the crisp scent of fresh cider.

At the center of it all was Isabel, as ethereal as a princess in a fairytale. This was her world, and the people who lived and worked here were her family. Although Tess was just getting to know her sister, she understood that being forced to leave Bella Vista would practically kill Isabel. And what would become of the Navarros, getting on in years, caring for their disabled son?

Finding their grandparents’ photo archive had given Tess a glimmer of hope that perhaps there was a way out of this. Magnus had clearly come from a family of means; perhaps the treasures were valuable enough to stave off the bank. But with the foreclosure looming over them like the blade of an ax, she worried that they would run out of time before they uncovered the mystery behind Magnus’s treasures.

She sipped cider, tasting heaven and easing her worries, if only for the moment. “Why do people drink anything else when they can have this?” she asked Isabel.

“Don’t let the wine growers hear you say that.”

* * *

Isabel opened the door and led the way inside. Hearing a voice, Tess had a sense of impending tension; some part of her knew what was about to happen.

“Hello,” Isabel called. “Ernestina, is someone here?”

The tension subsided into a dull sense of ambivalence. Tess could feel Dominic’s hand fall away behind her.

She stood unmoving as a slender, auburn-haired woman hurried down the hallway to throw her arms around Tess.

“Oh, baby,” she said, “are you all right? I came as fast as I could.”

“Hi, Mom,” said Tess, feeling a terrible combination of fury and relief. “I guess you got my messages.” For a moment, she hung on, taking in her mother’s scent of designer perfume from the duty-free shop, which she always used to freshen up after a long flight. No matter how old she got, no matter how much time they’d spent apart, Tess always sought security in her mother’s embrace. Never mind that it was an illusion, particularly in light of what she’d learned since coming to Bella Vista.

She stepped aside, turning to face Dominic and Isabel. “This is Shannon Delaney, my mother. Mom, this is Dominic Rossi and Isabel Johansen. I guess you’ve met Ernestina.”

“She was kind enough to receive me.”

Ernestina excused herself and left through the kitchen door.

Shannon gave Isabel’s hand a squeeze, then let go. “You’re Francesca’s daughter.”

Whoa, thought Tess. How would her mother know that? When had Shannon seen Isabel’s mother? Had they known each other?

“I am.” Isabel studied Shannon, wide-eyed.

“My God, you look just like her. Is she here?” asked Shannon.

Isabel frowned. “My mother passed away a long time ago.”

“Oh, no. What happened?”

“She died in childbirth.”

She died on our birthday, thought Tess.

Shannon put a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. And I’m sorry about Magnus. Tess told me he had a terrible accident.”

“I didn’t tell you,” Tess said before she could stop herself. “I sent you an email, because you didn’t return my calls. Or my texts. Or my follow-up emails.”

Dominic cleared his throat. “Looks like you have some catching up to do, and I need to get home,” he said. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” He turned to Tess. “Will you be all right?”

“Yes, sure, fine,” she said. “Really.” God, was it that obvious that her mother made her crazy?

“Boyfriend?” Shannon asked, watching him go.

“No,” Tess and Isabel answered at once. They both sounded overly eager to clarify this.

“He’s, um, a family friend,” Isabel explained. “Please, let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll get you something to eat.”

“As you can imagine,” Tess said bluntly, “we have some questions for you.”

“Tess—”

“I don’t even know where to start. Maybe with this one. Maybe you could tell us how the hell the two of us came to be born on the same day.”

“What?”

“We have the same birthday, Isabel and I. Don’t you find that totally bizarre?”

“I didn’t know. My God.” Shannon’s mouth hardened and her posture stiffened as she followed Isabel into the kitchen. “Unfortunately, the two people who know the answer to that are no longer with us.”

* * *

Isabel had always enjoyed a house full of people. Feed your friends, and their mouths will be too full to gossip, Bubbie used to say. Feed your enemies, and they’ll become your friends. Throughout Isabel’s childhood, the Johansen household had been full of people coming over, sitting down for a glass of wine or a slice of pie, staying up late, talking and laughing. Bubbie and Grandfather had been determined that she should never feel like an orphan.

Except that, despite their efforts, sometimes she had. It wasn’t their fault, she reflected as she placed wedges of quiche on plates. There was just something inside her—an urge, a yearning—that made her long to be someone’s daughter, not the granddaughter. She never said so, though, not aloud. Yet somehow, they heard her. Somehow, they knew.

Perhaps, in the aftermath of Bubbie’s final illness and passing, that was why Isabel had become so bound to Bella Vista. Now she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Her heart resided here, her soul. She still loved having people over, creating beautiful food, watching the passing of the seasons. Even now, with all the trouble afoot and secrets being revealed like the layers of a peeled onion, she found the rhythm of the kitchen soothing.

She ground a dusting of nutmeg onto the quiche, then brought a tray to the long pine table. There, Tess was speaking intently and in low tones to her mother, but she fell silent when Isabel appeared.

Isabel thought about the mysteries of the mother–daughter relationship. She’d idealized it in her head, but clearly things were not always smooth.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” she began, setting down the tray. “Like Dominic said, you’ve got some catching up to do.”

“We’ve got catching up to do,” Tess said. “Sit down. Please.”

Isabel liked the “we.” It made her feel less alone.

“This is the first real food I’ve had since the patisserie trolley at the Bordeaux airport,” Shannon said. She took a bite, and an expression of rapture came over her face. “They’ll probably close the borders of France to me for saying this, but I’ve never had a better quiche lorraine.”

Tess’s mother possessed a combination of Irish charm and whimsy and American directness. According to Tess, these traits had served her well in her profession and maybe in her social life. As a mother, perhaps not so much, judging by what Tess had said. With her auburn hair and English tea rose complexion, Shannon didn’t really look like anyone’s mother.

“Here’s a puzzle for you,” Tess said, showing Shannon the baby picture they’d found in Grandfather’s study. “How did Magnus end up with a photo of me?”

Shannon turned pale. “Call it impulse,” she said softly. “Sentimentality, I don’t know.” She gazed down at the image, her eyes misting. “You were so very beautiful, and I was so proud of you. I wanted Erik’s parents to have something, even if they didn’t know who you were. It’s such a lovely shot. I’m glad they kept it.”

“You didn’t include a letter? You didn’t tell them who you were? Who I was?” Tess sounded incredulous.

“I was afraid,” Shannon said. “I didn’t know Francesca was gone, and I didn’t want them to think I wanted anything from them.”

“Well, at some point Magnus figured out who I was and changed his will.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” said Shannon. “I swear. I’m so sorry, Tess. But I’m glad I’m finally here.” She helped herself to another wedge of quiche.

“Isabel’s an amazing cook,” Tess said, though she was merely picking at her salad.

“Thanks,” said Isabel. “I always thought I’d do it professionally one day.” She hurriedly sampled her quiche, wishing she hadn’t said anything. There were bound to be follow-up questions to that.

“Did you go to culinary school?” asked Shannon.

“I attended the Culinary Institute of America in Napa,” said Isabel. “For a while.”

“I believe your mother was a talented cook. She personally prepared nearly all the food at Erik’s funeral reception.”

“How did you know my mother?” asked Isabel, desperate for every last crumb of information.

“That,” said Shannon, her eyes glazing with jet lag and memories, “is complicated.”

“And why the hell have you been lying about my father all these years?” Tess demanded.

“That,” her mother said, “is even more complicated.”