“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m sorry my mother and your father were . . . involved.” Gabriel’s expression softened in sympathy.
Her eyes met his. “Thank you, Gabriel. Don’t the strangest sort of miracles come out of the worst of circumstances? Here we sit, after all these years. Knowing Dad, as I did, I’m sure he must have cared for your mother. And you. He wouldn’t have watched you from afar or included you in his estate if he didn’t.”
“I’m not sure.” Gabriel pushed his meal aside.
“I can’t imagine him fighting with my mother over something he didn’t care about. And it was no secret in our family that he always wanted a son. But my mother didn’t want another child.”
Kelly’s head bent so she could stare at her dinner plate. She’d barely touched her food.
“I wish you’d had more time with him. I know that in wishing that, Audrey and I would have had less time.” She gave Gabriel a sad smile. “But I would have shared him.”
“And Audrey?”
“Audrey.” Kelly sighed. “Audrey sided with my mother. She sees you as a gold digger.”
“I didn’t want the money.” Gabriel’s tone was harsh. “I only accepted it because I found myself and my adoptive family in dire circumstances.”
Kelly reached out to him across the table, placing her hand over his.
“I don’t begrudge you a penny.” She patted his hand before withdrawing. “Dad made a series of choices that had consequences for all of us. But he’s dead. Our mothers are dead. It’s time to forgive and move on. Certainly, Gabriel, you did nothing to hurt us. You could have sued the estate for more. You could have appeared at the reading of the will and embarrassed my mother. You could have called a press conference or spoken to a tabloid. But you didn’t. Your actions show that you are a man of character, and that was another reason why I wanted to meet you. I think God brought us together.” She gazed at her brother cautiously.
He blinked a little. “My wife tends to think like that. She sees Providence in everything.”
“I would agree with her.” Kelly finished her wine. “Do you mind if I ask what prompted you to write to Michael?”
“I don’t think it was Providence. Although perhaps it was.” Gabriel toyed with his water glass. “I’m afraid my curiosity was practical more than anything else. Eventually my wife and I would like to have a family. I wanted to know more about my parents’ medical history.”
“That’s a problem easily solved. Dad died of a heart attack. He didn’t exercise, he was a workaholic, and he ate whatever he wanted. I’m not sure he was born with a tendency for high cholesterol, although it’s possible. Certainly, Audrey and I don’t have that problem. As for his parents, as far as I know, they died in old age of natural causes. Did you know about them?”
“Not at all. Not even their names.”
Kelly’s expression saddened.
“I’m sorry to hear that. We’re very proud of our grandparents. Grandfather was a professor, like you. He taught Romantic literature.”
“What was his name?”
“Benjamin Spiegel.”
Gabriel sat bolt upright. “Benjamin Spiegel? Professor Benjamin Spiegel?”
“Yes. You know of him?”
“Of course. He was the leading American expert in German Romanticism. We read his work in graduate school.” Gabriel rubbed at his chin. “He was my grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“But he was . . .” A look of realization came over Gabriel’s face.
Kelly tilted her head, watching him closely. “Jewish, yes.”
Gabriel looked confused. “I had no idea our father was Jewish. It was never mentioned.”
“I can’t speak for your mother, of course, but there’s a long story behind Dad’s silence. He had a youthful falling out with his father and changed his last name to Davies, leaving his family and heritage behind. By the time he met and married my mother, in 1961, he presented himself as an agnostic. So Judaism wasn’t part of our household.”
Gabriel sat very still, his mind working.
“Benjamin Spiegel,” he muttered. “I admire his writing very much.”
“He was a good man. He was a rabbi, you know, before he left Germany in the twenties. He was also a much-beloved professor at Columbia. There’s a building named for him, as well as a number of scholarships. When he died, our grandmother, Miriam, founded a charitable organization in his name here in New York. I’m on the board, along with several of our cousins. I’m sure they’d welcome your involvement, if you’re interested.”
“What does the organization do?”
“We promote literacy and reading in the New York public school system and donate books and supplies to classrooms. We also fund a lecture series at Columbia and at his former temple. Jonathan and I always attend.” She smiled. “We like to say that we’re part of the Presbyterian wing of Reform Judaism.”