A Pedigree to Die For (5 page)
“And did he?”
“Hardly. You know Max, he didn't take criticism lightly. For a moment I almost thought the two of them were going to come to blows. They didn't, of course, and things cooled off. But once he'd gotten started, Tony kept right on complaining.”
“Is that why he came over today?”
“Oh no, quite the opposite. He was checking to see if there was anything he and Doris could do for me. Rather nice of him actually, even if he did take me by surprise.”
“What about Doris?”
“What about her?”
“I would think the wife would be more likely to make a call like thatâyou know, woman to woman?”
Aunt Peg dismissed the idea with a sniff. “Doris is a twit. I'm sorry about it, but there it is. Always was, and probably always will be. Now then, where were we before Tony arrived?”
So much for the neighbors. Doris was a twit, end of discussion. I decided it was probably that innocent peck on the cheek that had put Aunt Peg off, and didn't press it.
“We were talking about Aunt Rose.” From the direction of the den came the familiar strains of a T.V. theme song. “Father Knows Best” was ending, which meant that any minute now Davey would come tooling back out to see what I'd arranged next for his entertainment. I had to work fast, so I got straight to the point. “I suppose I could go see her.”
“I suppose you could,” Aunt Peg agreed. “Rose isn't the only one who can issue an ultimatum. You tell her that whatever else happens, I intend to get that dog back.”
Six
The Convent of Divine Mercy was situated on twenty acres of prime land in back Greenwich. The elegant Georgian mansion that housed both the convent itself and the girls' school that accompanied it had been donated to the order at the turn of the century. Their benefactor was a robber baron who'd found God late in life and been persuaded accordingly to give up his weekend home to atone for the past sins that had accompanied sixty years of high living. In the mid-nineteen eighties, the soaring cost of Greenwich real estate had elevated the value of the holding to truly heavenly heights. Now, their vow of poverty notwithstanding, the thirty sisters in residence lived in genteel splendor on an estate whose worth measured in the millions.
Since school had just finished for the summer, the convent was entering its yearly three months of rest and renewal. When I'd called, Aunt Rose had insisted her schedule was clear and sounded positively delighted by the prospect of a visit.
My early recollections of Aunt Rose are hazy at best. She was a name more than a presence, the one relative who'd always been left out of impromptu family gatherings and summer backyard barbecues. Before she'd been posted back to Greenwich the year after my graduation, her visits had been infrequent, yet terribly exciting when they came. As a child, I'd been fascinated by the thought of someone giving her life to God. Even when I was older and wiser, the impression had remained. Wrapped in the protective mantle of the church, she'd still seemed a woman of principle and power.
Was she actually capable of engineering the plot that had resulted in Uncle Max's death? I wondered, as Davey and I drove to the convent at the allotted time. My first impulse, already demonstrated to Aunt Peg, was to deny the idea out of hand. And yet, I couldn't help but imagine how I'd feel in her place. Twelve years of that sheltered existence had been more than enough to nurture my own rebellion. I could only wonder at the shock and desperation that would have accompanied the realization that, after thirty-five years, what the church had to offer wasn't enough . . .
From force of habit, I bypassed the massive grillwork gates that guarded the main entrance and continued on to the back driveway that led directly to the student's parking lot. From there, we walked around the front of the building, where I clutched Davey's hand and we ascended the wide steps together. Tall Ionic columns supported an ornate portico that rose majestically above us. Davey leaned back for a better look, his head tilting at an angle only a four-year-old could manage as I pushed the doorbell and the deep tones of the chimes echoed through the halls.
The door was opened by a smiling young woman in a plain gray dress. A novice, I guessed, one of the new order who didn't feel that a long black habit was needed as a sign of her vocation. She led us to a small study off the front hall and went in search of Aunt Rose.
As soon as she had gone, Davey began to explore. He climbed onto the seat of a large mahogany chair, his eyes intent on a gleaming crystal ashtray atop the table beside it. I was in the process of swinging him down to the relative safety of the floor when the door opened and Aunt Rose appeared.
She looked different, and the change came as something of a shock. Like the young sister who'd admitted us, Aunt Rose was dressed in street clothes. The severe black habit and immaculate white wimple were gone, replaced by a simple navy blue suit and a pair of low-heeled pumps. For the first time in my life, I was seeing her as a woman rather than as an emissary of God.
Her hair, now revealed, was the same medium shade of brown as my own. Though short, it was fashionably cut. Her face, with its direct gray eyes, slim nose, and stern jaw, was bare of makeup, as it had been for years. Her only jewelry was an inexpensive watch on a plain black strap.
“You . . .” I began, then stopped, uncertain whether the wisest course was to comment on the change or simply ignore it.
“Have hair, yes.” Aunt Rose turned toward Davey, who was looking at her shyly, and her features softened into a smile. “I see you're still the explorer of the family. Think you're brave enough to come over here and give me a hug?” After a moment's hesitation, Davey allowed himself to be gathered into her arms.
“I was going to say you look very nice.”
“Do I?” The smile turned my way. It was eager and more than a little pleased. “We don't have mirrors in our rooms, you know. And after so many years in a habit, I'm a little rusty with anything else.”
She wasn't the only one who was having trouble adjusting, I realized with a start. In my mind, the trappings of her callingâthe flowing habit, crisp headband, raised wimpleâwere indelibly intertwined with the image I'd carried of Aunt Rose. Today, she seemed a different woman altogether than the one I'd known: smaller, softer, and more approachable. As I digested the change that had taken place, I found myself wondering which had made the bigger differenceârenouncing the habit or falling in love?
Davey stepped back out of Aunt Rose's grasp and tugged on the side of my denim skirt. “Wanna go outside!” he announced. “There's nothing to do in here.”
“We'll walk in the garden,” Aunt Rose decided. “The tulips are lovely this time of year.”
A door at the other end of the hall deposited us on a gravel path that meandered in a leisurely fashion through a large, well-tended garden. As Davey ran on ahead, I pondered how to politely broach the reason for my visit. Before we'd gone more than a few feet, the problem was taken out of my hands by Aunt Rose.
“I take it this isn't a social call?”
I glanced over at her, surprised. “What makes you say that?”
“Give me some credit, Melanie. In all the years since you graduated from Divine Mercy, this is the first time you've ever been back. I'm assuming there must be a rea- ” son.”
I looked at the tulips, the path, the skyâanywhere but at Aunt Roseâand tried to tell myself I didn't feel guilty. It didn't work. “You're right, there is a reason. I need to talk to you about something important. It has to do with Uncle Max's death.”
“Go on.” Coming from Aunt Peg, it would have been an order. Rose, to her credit, simply sounded interested.
“Aunt Peg seems to think that someone was in the kennel with Uncle Max the night he died, someone whose presence may have contributed to his death.”
We'd been strolling amiably, but now Rose stopped mid-stride. Her face was pale with shock. “Are you saying Max was murdered?”
I watched for a moment until Aunt Rose had her emotions firmly back under control. Like all the Turnbull women of her generation, she was made of stern stuff. “I'm saying that he wasn't alone when he died, that his heart attack may well have been provoked. Aunt Peg asked me to come and talk to you about it.”
“Why?”
“As I understand it, you were very angry the last time you saw Uncle Max.”
Rose's features hardened. “Of course I was angry at Max. He was acting like an old fool.”
“It seems he thought the same of you.”
Instead of answering, Rose spun around and continued on down the path. The sudden movement took me by surprise, and I jogged several steps to catch up. For a moment, we walked side by side in silence.
Finally Aunt Rose spoke. “Have you ever been in love?”
Definitely a loaded question considering my situation in life and the church's views on divorce. “I guess so,” I said slowly. “At any rate, I thought so once, when I was young.”
“When I was young, I entered the convent. I thought I knew what love was, too. Not the physical love that most adolescents seem to experience these days, but something on a higher planeâa spiritual love, if you will.”
Aunt Rose looked over to see if I was following what she'd said. When I nodded, she continued. Her tone was low, almost confiding. It was the voice one used for telling secretsâor making a good confession.
“Looking back now, I realize that the calling I had for the church was tied up with many things, among them, duty and devotion, and the need to do what was expected of me. Of course at the time, I thought I knew what I was doing. I had no idea that I was simply too young and inexperienced to make such a momentous decision.”
“Are you sorry?” I asked. Once again, I found myself wondering what it would feel like to devote the majority of your life to a belief, an ideal, only to find out later that you'd come up short. It was something I never wanted to find out firsthand.
Aunt Rose, however, seemed surprised by the question. “Sorry? No, of course not. I've had a very full and rewarding life. It's just that now, after meeting Peter, I realize that my vocation no longer lies within the convent walls. I've been content here all these years. When you don't know what true happiness is, contentment's quite a comfortable feeling. But now, for the first time in my life, someone's taught me how to dream. Deep in my soul, I feel quite sure God wouldn't ask me to turn and walk away.”
“I see,” I said, and I did, perhaps even more than she knew. Perhaps I wasn't the only one who'd been coasting along in neutral. Whatever opposition Aunt Rose might face from the rest of the family, she had my blessing all the way.
“Mommy, Aunt Rose, look what I have!” Davey dashed around a corner in the path, his feet skidding on the loose gravel. His face was all smiles as he offered his gift. Clutched in a grubby, outstretched hand was a beautiful bouquet of fresh-picked tulips.
“Oh no, Davey, you didn'tâ” I stopped as I saw his face fall. “Honey, they're beautiful, but you weren't supposed to pick them. They belong here, in the garden.”
“I suspect Sister Hibernia will not be pleased,” Aunt Rose said sternly. I looked up just in time to see her slip Davey a wink. Sly as a fox, my four-year-old son winked back.
“Here.” Loyalties transferred in an instant, he snatched the flowers from beneath my nose and gave them instead to Rose. “They're for you.”
“Thank you, Davey.” Aunt Rose accepted the bouquet with suitable dignity. “I'm sure even Sister Hibernia would agree they'll make a lovely decoration for the chapel. Is that all right with you?”
Davey gave his assent and we went back inside. It wasn't until Aunt Rose had arranged the tulips in a tall vase, then set the bouquet at the feet of a statue of the Blessed Virgin that I realized how deftly she'd managed to avoid the topic of Uncle Max's demise. No sooner had I brought the subject up than I'd been very neatly sidetracked into a discussion of chances taken and chances lost. The only thing I'd learned was that, by Rose's own admission, Uncle Max had tried to come between her and her dreams. I couldn't help but wonder how far she'd have been willing to go to stop him.
“How do you feel about dogs, Aunt Rose?” I asked as the three of us walked outside to the car.
Rose smiled faintly. “I can't say as I ever give them much thought one way or another. Why?”
“One of Max's Poodles was stolen on the night that he died. Whoever was in the kennel with Max took the dog with him with he left.”
“You're quite sure, then, that there was someone else there?”
I nodded. “There has to have been. According to Aunt Peg, a very valuable dog is missingâ”
“Beau?”
I stopped and stared. “What do you know about Beau?”
“Only what Max told me,” Rose said with a shrug. “He was always going on about that dog, never cared a whit whether anyone was interested or not. And to turn down a blank check for him, well . . . ! I never heard of such idiocy in my life.”
“Blank check?” I repeated, my thoughts spinning away in several directions at once. “Aunt Rose, what are you talking about?”
Rose gave me a serene look, the one I'm convinced all nuns spend the first year of their novitiate perfecting. “You mean Peg didn't mention Sam Driver?” she asked, satisfaction coating the smooth tones. “Isn't that just like her, telling you just what she wanted you to know and no ” more.
“Is there more?” I tried not to sound too eager, even as I cursed inwardly at Aunt Peg and her judicious omissions.
Aunt Rose took her time about answering, waiting until I'd settled Davey into the passenger's seat and closed the door. “There's always more,” she said then. “You may find that your poking around is the quickest way to turn up things that are much better left buried where they are.”
I was being warned, that much was clear. But about what?
“I don't understand.”
“Perhaps that is God's will.” Aunt Rose walked me around the car to the driver's side.
“Perhaps that's a lot of bullshit.”
Aunt Rose's brow lifted ever so faintly, and all at once I felt like a fifteen-year-old who'd been brought before Mother Superior for a reprimand. “I don't know why Peg sent you over here today, and to tell the truth I don't really much care. I suspect she's just trying to make trouble for me; she's done it often enough in the pastâ”
Other books
A Love for Safekeeping by Gail Gaymer Martin
Bad by Helen Chapman
Anything, Anywhere, Anytime by Catherine Mann
Secrets of My Hollywood Life #2: On Location by Jen Calonita
Wickham's Diary by Amanda Grange
Trilby by Diana Palmer
Her Majesty's Western Service by Leo Champion
Hunted (Riley Cray) by A.J. Colby
Oxfordshire Folktales by Kevan Manwaring
Captivated by Megan Hart, Tiffany Reisz, Sarah Morgan
