The Book of James (23 page)

She reached her hand out and touched my arm. “That was for

the best. Josef told Nick to forget, don’t look back, take another name.”

I turned slightly to face her. “But why? Why did Nick leave

home when his father died?”

She stared at me cautiously. “Josef . . . promised Bradford that

he would take care of Nicholas if Bradford . . .” She stopped talking, but the slight rocking on the edge of her seat continued. “Josef and Bradford were very close. Since Nick was just a little boy.” She held her hand out in front of her to indicate the height of a child. “We were living in Munich, Josef started an . . . uh . . .” She put her fingers to her forehead. “I know the word in German.
Exporteur.
Oh, to send things from Germany to this country.” She tapped at her

head, trying to remember.

“Exporter?”

“Yes. Bradford was the attorney who handled the legal prob-

lems. That is how they met. They were close, very close, but it was almost too much to ask. Then Bradford died.” She twisted her

hands nervously. “And Josef was true to his word. What else could he do?”

“But why? What was wrong with Nicholas’s mother?” She

looked at me for what seemed like an eternity without saying any-

thing. I wasn’t sure she’d heard me.

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ELLEN J. GREEN

“She wasn’t right.
Verrückt. Gefährlicher jeden Tag.
” She had lapsed into German, and I let her finish before saying anything

more.

“Mrs. Heinz, I don’t understand. Please tell me in English.”

She leaned toward me. “Not right in the head.” She tapped at

her beehive with her finger. “Bradford was worried about what

would happen if he weren’t here. He wanted custody of his son,

but you know it wasn’t so simple a thing.”

“Custody? They were divorcing?”

She shook her head. “Goodness, no. They couldn’t divorce, but

they weren’t together either.”

“Why couldn’t they divorce?”

“They married because Cora’s and Bradford’s fathers wanted

it that way. An arranged marriage. Planned when they were just

children. The Whitfields and the Monroes had built a business

together. Cora’s father, from what Josef told me, was cheap—a

tyrant? Is that the word? He wanted to win back the family honor.”

“Honor?”

She nodded. “The Monroes were one of the first families to

settle in Chestnut Hil . Edward dedicated his life to getting back what he felt had been taken from him. Worked like an animal, that man. Had a piece of land up north given to him. People thought it was worthless. Turned out to be full of coal. Then he got into iron-and copper-mining ventures.” She waved her arm around her.

“Though I understand very little about business, Josef explained it to me. They wanted no outsiders. So Cora and Bradford married.

He tried to do what was right, but he knew there was no way out.”

Her face creased up and she glanced at me. “Cora’s father

wouldn’t have stood for it. He spent a lifetime building his for-

tune, and he would not let frivolous marital problems destroy it or divide it. So they just lived apart. Bradford had a place in the city, and he wanted Nicholas to stay there with him, but Cora would

not hear of it. In the end, Bradford had trouble seeing his son at THE BOOK
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189

al . He would mail letters here, and Josef would see that Nicholas got them. The boy took the bus here sometimes during his lunch

at school. It wasn’t far, and Cora never knew.”

“When did Cora’s father die?”

She shrugged. “Early eighties? I don’t know exactly.”

“He lived in that house with them?”

“It was his house,” she said simply.

“Did Cora have any brothers or sisters?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “No. She was an only

child. Cora’s mother died giving birth to a second child. She had woman troubles and went into labor early. So sad, and it was a

baby boy. So Cora was raised only by her father.” We were both

silent for a few minutes. “Of course, this I only know from what

Josef told me. And from what Bradford told him,” she added.

“But after Cora’s father died, they still couldn’t divorce?”

“Too many financial ties. And why would they? They could

just live apart and have their own lives. There was no need.”

“And then Bradford died?”

She nodded. “Bradford came here one day in the spring. I

remember it was the spring. He was very upset, worried about his

son. He begged us to do whatever we could if something happened

to him. He said that something terrible had happened in the home

between Nick and Cora, but he didn’t know what it was. He said he was trying to get Nicholas to talk to him about it.”

I reached out and touched her arm lightly. “What was it that

happened between them? Did he tell you?”

Klara Heinz shrugged. “We thought it was crazy talk. But he

was so upset. He just kept asking that we take care of Nicholas. To take him away somewhere. We knew he’d never ask such a thing

if it weren’t important. And he asked over and over, begging. We

said we would.” She wrung her hands. “And then two months later

Bradford was gone. Then everything rested on Nicholas. He was

the sole heir from both families. Bradford only had one sister, and 190

ELLEN J. GREEN

she is disabled. So it was just Nicholas.” She opened her mouth to say something and then seemed to change her mind.

“You never did find out what happened, what Bradford was so

upset about?”

She shook her head. “No, never. Nicholas never told us. But . . .”

“What?”

“He was the future of the family and stood to gain so much.

The money Bradford left for Nicholas in his will was crumbs. It

was his personal money he set aside. The joint family money was

separate.”

My eyes widened in disbelief. “He left fifteen million dol ars to Nicholas. That was crumbs?”

She shook her head. “Bradford left a little over eight million

dol ars to his son. Josef told me that. So maybe the money was

invested?” She must have seen the perplexed look on my face. “You don’t understand?”

“Understand what?”

“Bradford and Cora together were worth so much more than

eight million dol ars. They got everything from both families. But she was so angry when they read Bradford’s wil . She wanted total control. Bradford leaving money to Nick took control away from

Cora. There was nothing she could do. Nick would not have to

depend on her. But Nick never took the money at al . Not even

Bradford’s crumbs.”

I rubbed my head and digested this information. “Whatever

happened was so awful that it was worth walking away from it all?”

I asked it as a question, but Klara didn’t respond. “So you agreed to take Nicholas after Bradford died?” I asked.

“Josef did it. He told Nicholas at the funeral to meet him. They

set up a time and place for later that night. Nicholas knew he was never going back. He only stayed with us for about a week. Then

Josef sent him to Maine. Josef’s cousin lived there.” Her eyes were on the floor in front of us. “Maine, of all places. Ernst Weichmann THE BOOK
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191

had government connections. He took care of things. Helped to

get Nick’s papers in order, new birth certificate, Social Security number. Enrolled him in school.” She looked up at me. Her eyes

were glazed as if she were reliving the events.

“Ernst Weichmann,” I said. The beneficiary in Nick’s will who

lived just down the road from us in Maine. “But why didn’t Cora

call the police?”

“Bradford promised us she would never do that. He told us we

had to trust him. We were worried that we would be arrested, you

know, kidnapping, but he was right. She called here many times,

she was so angry. She sent her lawyer, she threatened, but she never called the police.”

“How’d she know that you took him in? How’d she know that

he hadn’t just run away?”

Klara Heinz’s face blanched slightly. “She knew” was all that

she said.

“Her only child and the only heir to the family fortune, and

she didn’t even call the police?” Klara Heinz only shrugged. “Can I talk to your husband?” I said. “Does he know why?”

“Josef died eight years ago.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I should’ve known.

The letters stopped abruptly.

“Ah. I am moving to be with my sister in Munich as soon as

I can sell this house. Her husband just died, and she is all alone.

There is nothing here for me anymore. I hope to be gone after the holidays.”

With all this craziness I hadn’t even thought about the holi-

days. “I’m staying with Cora for the time being,” I said.

She grasped my arm. Her fingers were digging into my skin,

though she was trying to appear calm. “Nicholas gave up so much

to be away from there. Why would you go there?”

“I have just one more question. Does the name James mean

anything to you? In connection with Nick?”

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ELLEN J. GREEN

She was startled for a second but quickly recovered. “That

family destroys all that they touch. My best advice:
Steck deine
Nase nicht da rein.
” Her fingers were still on my arm, and she gently drew them back.

“What?”

“Don’t put your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

I looked at her long and hard. She was frightened. Fourteen

years had gone by, and she was still frightened. That’s why she had locked the door when she heard the mention of Nicholas’s name.

Fear. She was right. Bradford Whitfield had asked too much of

these people.

I had trouble erasing Klara Heinz’s creased face from my memory.

The woman seemed almost haunted by the past, by this Whitfield

family and her connection to them.

I pondered it while dressing in front of the full-length mirror

in the bedroom. My choice of attire was limited to shorts, a few

pairs of jeans, my khaki slacks, a collection of short- and long-

sleeved tops, and that navy-blue dress.

“I am not wearing that dress. Ever again,” I muttered.

I slipped on a clean pair of jeans and a long-sleeved knit top.

Something poked at my leg through the denim. My pocket was

bunched up, and I shoved my fist in to straighten it out. But I knew in that flash of a second that what I was feeling wasn’t bunched-up fabric at al , but the remnants of the checks from Cora’s office that I’d stuffed in my pocket in a frenzy that night. It came to me as one long, horrible thought, but it took my mind a few seconds to

grasp it.

Cora had come in the next day asking for laundry. It hadn’t

even occurred to me to empty my pockets. I felt cold sweat run

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ELLEN J. GREEN

down my spine. She would’ve checked my pockets. She knew I’d

been going through her things.

I pulled the papers out and put them before me on the bed.

They were worn and faded from the water, mashed in a bal . I

tried to separate them without ripping them any more than they

already were. There were three checks in al . I pried them apart.

Two were faded and ripped but essential y whole. The third had a

huge chunk missing from the lower-left corner. I dug my hands in

my pocket, searching for the missing piece. Nothing. I stood there, putting my hand in my pocket again and again, feeling the seam

along the bottom. Helpless, I hoped somehow that missing chunk

of check would suddenly materialize—but I knew that it wouldn’t.

My mind raced. Cora was so meticulous, she would surely

have found it in the washer after the cycle was finished. That would mean that during Bible study she was ful y aware I’d been upstairs digging in her things. She’d been watching me the whole time with beady eyes. She knew and chose not to confront me. I clenched my

fists. So stupid of me. I’d been so happy to get back to my room

that night after having been trapped in the closet, the last thing I thought about was my clothing. The only thing that gave me

comfort was that maybe the missing chunk had dissolved in the

hot water and laundry detergent and was now floating peaceful y

down the Schuylkill River.

I was still a little on edge when I left my room a short time

later and ducked through the gate to go see Ginny. I was hoping

her guard would be busy, or gone. I knocked on the door. No one

answered. I banged harder and then opened the door and stuck

my head in.

“Hello!” Pushing the door open farther, I walked into the

entryway.

There was dead silence. Ginny sat at the table shoveling some

sort of casserole into her mouth. She was focused on her food. Her THE BOOK
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195

blue eyes, surrounded by the loose wrinkles of her skin, were stagnant, unmoving. She glanced up and then down again.

“Ginny?” She dipped her fork into a jumble of soft brown

mash. I was tempted to take her out of there right then and buy

her a Big Mac at McDonald’s. Maybe a thousand calories? Or not

quite—but it had to be better than whatever was in that bowl.

“Ginny?” I said again, a little louder. Just then, El a appeared from the basement steps. She looked at me uncertainly.

“You again?” She wore a pair of white leggings that people over

a certain weight shouldn’t even consider putting on and a long,

flowing top that came to the middle of her thighs.

“I’m not going to stay long. I just brought her a little present.”

I held up a bag of those fluffy orange circus peanuts that are