Uncle Ed was 80. He had congestive heart disease. Leoda died seven years back. She had cancer. Janet was 42. She was the town administrator of Cross Plains, Wisconsin. She said she had some lovely photographs. Her mother gave them to her. Aunt Jean was beautiful. She said the pictures went back to her childhood.
She said Aunt Jean was married once before. It was a very brief marriage. She was married to a young man named Spalding. He was an heir to the Spalding sporting goods fortune.
Bill called me and broke the news. I was more than stunned. Bill said we should go to Wisconsin. He stressed the family angle. I agreed to go. The family bit did not factor in to my decision. The photographs and the Spalding rumor convinced me.
It was more. It was her.
29
Ed Wagner died. We postponed our trip to Wisconsin.
Ed was old and sick. He wasn’t terminal. He died unexpectedly. The Wagner sisters buried him beside Leoda. The cemetery was a hundred yards from Janet’s back door.
I didn’t know him. I saw him a dozen times total. I took my father’s hard line against him. He was a kraut and a draft dodger. It was a shaky indictment. Ed always treated me well. He was pleased to learn that I was alive and successful. I never called him. I wanted to see him. I owed him apologies. I wanted to extend them face-to- face.
I called the Wagner sisters. We made travel plans before their father died. We started out nervous. We unclenched. Janet said Leoda would have been so proud of me. I disagreed. I wanted to destroy Leoda’s take on her sister. Janet said Leoda would not tolerate slurs on Geneva. Ed was more open-minded. He had a balanced view. Jean drank too much. She was troubled. She never shared her troubles.
I spoke frankly. My cousins reciprocated. I described my mother’s life and death in blunt terms. They said I broke Leoda’s heart. I said I tried to patch things up with her 18 years ago. I critiqued my mother tactlessly. Leoda was shocked. I blew my shot at reconciliation.
Jeannie was 49. She managed a local greenhouse. Her husband was a college professor. They had two sons and a daughter. Janet married a carpenter. They had three sons and a daughter. The last time I saw them was Christmas
Leoda got hip. She hipped her daughters. Leoda packed a mean grudge. Her daughters didn’t. They welcomed me back. Jeannie was reserved. Janet was enthusiastic. She said she didn’t know much about the Spalding marriage. She knew the marriage bellied up fast. She didn’t know the wedding site or the circumstances surrounding the annulment or divorce. She didn’t know Spaiding’s first name. Janet was four years old in June ’58. Jeannie was almost twelve. Leoda said Aunt Jean went to the store and got kidnapped. The police found her body the next morning. Leoda abridged my mother’s death the same way she expurgated her life.
Janet sent me a copy of the Hilliker family tree. It surprised me. I thought my grandparents were German immigrants. I don’t know where I got the idea. My ancestors had English names. My grandmother’s name was Jessie Woodard Hilliker. She had a twin sister named Geneva. The tree listed Hillikers, Woodards, Smiths, Pierces and Linscotts. They went back 150 years in America.
Ed and Leoda were dead. They couldn’t dispute my claim. I would have fought Leoda’s claim tactfully. My cousins barely knew my mother. I could let them in. I could share my mother superficially. I could hoard her dark heart for myself.
Cross Plains was a Madison suburb. Bill and I flew in to the Madison Airport.
Janet met us. She brought her husband, her youngest son and her daughter. I didn’t recognize her. She was 12 years old in ’66.1 didn’t see any Hilliker resemblance.
Brian Klock was 47. We shared the same birthday. Janet said Leoda prayed for me on Brian’s birthday. It was my birthday. She never forgot it. Brian was short and stocky. All the Klocks were short and stocky. Mindy Klock was 16. She played classical piano. She said she’d play some Beethoven for me. Casey Klock was 12. He looked like a rambunctious kid. The male Klocks had great hair. I expressed envy. Brian and Casey laughed. Bill eased right into the flow. He was the most deft social creature I’d ever known.
The Klocks drove us to a Holiday Inn. We took them to dinner downstairs. Talk flowed evenly. Bill described our investigation. Mindy asked me if I knew any movie stars. She mentioned her current flames. I said they were homosexual. She didn’t believe me. I ran down some Hollywood gossip. Janet and Brian laughed. Bill laughed and said I was full of shit. Casey picked his nose and played with his food.
We had a good time. Janet laid out the plan for tomorrow. We’d drive to Tunnel City and Tomah. We’d pick up Jeannie en route. I mentioned the pictures. She said she had them at home. We could see them first thing tomorrow.
We lingered over dinner. The food was strange. Every dish came with an order of melted cheese and sausage. I figured it was a regional aberration. The Klocks had regional accents. All their words were upwardly inflected. Ed and Leoda talked that way. Their voices came out of thin air. I couldn’t recall my mother’s voice.
We talked about her. Janet and Brian were reverent. I told them to loosen up a little.
The pictures were old. They were pasted into scrapbooks and pulled out of envelopes. I examined them at Janet’s kitchen table. The kitchen window overlooked the Wagner gravesite.
Most of the pictures were black & white and sepia-tinted. A few were late-’4os color. I looked at my ancestors first. I got a glimpse of Tunnel City, Wisconsin. I saw railroad tracks in every outdoor shot.
My great-grandparents. A stern Victorian couple. They posed sternly. Candid snapshots didn’t exist then. I saw the Hilliker-Woodard wedding portrait. Earle looked like a gritty young man. Jessie was frail and lovely. She had a version of my face and my mother’s face and some features we didn’t inherit. She wore glasses. She had our small eyes. She gave my mother delicate shoulders and soft white skin.
I saw my mother. I followed her from infanthood to ten years old. I saw her with Leoda. Leoda stared at her big sister. Every picture framed her adulation. Geneva wore glasses. She had light red hair. She smiled. She looked happy. Her interior backdrops were spare. She was raised in a no-frills house. Her exterior backdrops were beautiful and raw. Western Wisconsin was dark green in bloom or snowy and dead-tree barren.
I jumped ahead. I had to. There were no pictures of my mother as an adolescent. I jumped ten years. I saw
