Wicked Forest (49 page)

My second wedding was far simpler than the first, although Miguel had so many relatives attending that I teased him about it and threatened to hold it at Joya del Mar rather than at church. As it was, we did finally decide to have a reception there. No one but us knew that we had already gone off and gotten married by a justice of the peace during a romantic weekend.

There I was, holding Hannah in my arms and pronouncing wedding vows. Needless to say, the judge's wife and the clerk who witnessed were bug-eyed. The way they looked at each other gave Miguel and me many laughs afterward.

During the year. I visited Linden periodically in the clinic we had found for him. I didn't think it was as good nor as well run as Daddy's. but I am sure part of that evaluation had to do with my prejudice. How could anyone do anything as well as my father had done it, especially as regarded mental illness?

They had Linden on medication, but toward the end of the first year he was eased off it, and he settled into an existence that seemed peaceful. He was still quite actively involved in his art, which they encouraged. I had suspicions that some of his work was being stolen. It was always well done and interesting, albeit eerie and strange to most people.

He stopped asking about Mother, but never stopped asking about Hannah. Finally, with Miguel's blessing and even at his suggestion, I brought her with me. I doubt that I shall ever forget the way he looked at her. Thatcher, with all his claims of fatherly interest and love, would never approach such a gaze of admiration and joy. Miguel and I discussed it afterward and agreed that, even though Linden's feelings toward Hannah were caught up in his delusions, they were still sincere and authentic.

"Sort of like a psychosomatic pain. The patient really does feel it, even though there is no reason for it, no cause. It's an authentic complaint, sincere," he said.

Visiting Linden, thinking about all these things, whetted my appetite to return to school and pursue my degree, so when I was ready. I ran a search for a proper nanny, even though Mrs. Davis insisted she was capable of handling Hannah.

"A child of this age can be so demanding. Mrs.

Davis," I told her, recalling myself and Amou. "You won't have time for any of your other duties here. In fact, my husband and I are now thinking about opening more of the house and we might be bringing in some additional household help."

She accepted my explanation. but I knew in my heart that she would forever be competing with any nanny for Hannah's attention and love. I was girding myself for the expected criticisms and complaints about anyone I hired, and sure enough, Mrs. Davis would be there to greet me with a list whenever I returned from college or any trip Miguel and I made.

I had found someone who was capable of

standing up to her, however, and in time, despite the jealousies, the two of them became good friends. Her name was Donna Castilla, She was from Cuba.

someone Miguel's mother had found for us. actually.

In many ways she reminded me of Amou, who, with her sister, made another visit to Florida to see Hannah.

We had a wonderful visit, and when she left, she told me Senora Castilla would be a wonderful nanny.

"Especially with your Mrs. Davis looking over her shoulder. eh. Amou Una?"

It was so wonderful to see her again, and Hannah took right to her the moment she greeted her.

All the good memories of my youth came flooding back whenever I saw Amou or heard her voice. She went with me to visit Mother's grave, and then we stayed up late into the night talking. Actually. I let her do most of the talking. She had so many things to tell me about my father. things I never saw or knew, a part of him that I wished I had been able to enjoy back then.

Saying goodbye to her was truly like saying goodbye to Daddy once again.

But I could never say goodbye to Daddy. Even now, with all that had happened. I carried his thoughts and his voice in my heart and my mind.

One night after Hannah had been put to bed and Miguel had gone off to a meeting at the college. I walked down to the dock and stood where my mother had stood so many nights, looking out to sea, hoping for a light on a boat to grow stronger and larger until the boat was there and my father was waving to her. I felt sure she had seen this boat many times.

When do you stop being lonely, Daddy? I asked him.

Are you still lonely?

I have a child and a man who truly loves me, but it doesn't end it. Not forever and ever. There are still nights like this, nights when you can't help but be alone and long for things that are gone forever and ever. You must have been awfully lonely for so many years.

Maybe loneliness in that sense isn't so terrible,
Willow. Maybe it's good to remember and long for
things that you loved so much and that touched you so
deeply. Maybe they will help you provide those things
for the people you love now.

Will they?

Will they?
he echoed back to me.

I smiled.

Answering a question with a question. Always the psychiatrist. Always the psychiatrist's daughter, he replied.

.

Dear Willow.

A friend of mine in Provincetown, which is at the tip of Cape Cod and where I now live with my husband. Cary, gave me a copy of your story to read.

She's actually my best friend here, and over the years.

I have told her a great many things about my own life and how I came to live here.

What she said when she gave me the book

intrigued me.

"Like you. Melody, this girl Willow De Beers went on an odyssey to find her mother. Like your mother, her mother gave her up, but the reasons were far different and their reunion is eventually wonderful.'

I was born and lived in the coal country of West Virginia and I lost my father to a coal mining accident. My father was estranged from his family, who lived on Cape Cod. For years and years, I would try to get him to tell me why, but he always told me it was one of those subjects better left buried, untouched, kept in the closet.

There were people. neighbors, I loved as much as family and who provided the warmth and security family is supposed to provide, but it was always a nagging question. one I knew I had to find the answers for eventually.

Like your mother, my mother was beautiful. Is beautiful. I should say. Unlike your mother, my mother was and remains very outgoing. In fact, she's an actress, a model.

My mother found me a burden after my father was killed, and she tricked me by taking me to my father's family supposedly on a short visit and then left me there forever. In retrospect, I think it was a blessing.

My father's family owned and operated a

cranberry bog on Cape Cod. When most people think of Cape Cod, they think of fishermen and tourism, lobsters and rich families like the Kennedys• I think you would find my story interesting simply because of that. I had to adjust to a whole new way of life, too.

but I think the distance between my previous existence and my new one was greater than yours was.

My story took me from West Virginia to Cape Cod and then to Hollywood. Yes, Hollywood, California, where I almost got caught up in the very web my mother had found herself entrapped in. Her capture was a willing one. however. She always longed for that sort of life.

I'm sending you a copy of my story. I think you might be interested in the people I knew in West Virginia, my mountain folklore, the music, and my adjustment to a hard but in so many ways beautiful life on Cape Cod. You will surely be fascinated with the way I discovered where my real mother was and how my reunion with her went. Along the way, I met some very special people in New York and I, like you, traveled over some of the same territory my mother had traveled.

My story is filled with family intrigue,

deception, beautiful

people, artistic people, surprises, and many, many warm moments. It is all captured in three books:
Melody, Heart Song,
and
Unfinished Symphony
. Two additional books were written as a result of my story:
Music in the Night
and
Olivia
.

One of the things I believe you will appreciate is the influence of the sea on our lives. Living in Palm Beach, you were very aware of the power of the ocean. People you loved interacted with it in much the same way as people I loved did, only I am sure you will agree the ocean was even a greater influence on my family and the outcome of my journey than it was on yours.

Cape Cod. like Palm Beach, attracts many

tourists, but it is the year-round residents I found to be the most interesting. It is nowhere near as ritzy and opulent as Palm Beach, but there are some amazing similarities, especially when it comes to people's egos, self-importance, and competition for social thrones.

Someone once told me that people aren't born into royalty in America so they have to buy it. They build bigger castles and fill them with possessions as expensive, if not more expensive, than those of European royalty, Because of their peat wealth and influence, they have as much power over other people. Their struggles to keep their position are just as intriguing as the stories of European princes and princesses. You've seen it in Palm Beach, but you will see it in my world, too.

That might be one of the biggest surprises of all.

Like you. I miss the man who was the father I loved. I hear his voice occasionally, and I look for his best qualities in other men I meet and am often, too often. disappointed. But not always, and that's the rainbow we can both see after so many storms.

I see it now. and I hope that when you have a chance to read my story, you will see it, too.

Best,

Melody