“And she said those words to you? She said it was consensual?”
“I could see it in her face. And after all I had done for her, too! I took that whore into my home to be kind to her. I treated her as my own child!”
“But... you brought her into this house as a maid,” I say, my own voice rising in volume.
“I treated her like a daughter!”
“By making her wash your clothes and clean your toilets?”
“You weren’t here!” Celine spits back. “You were never here. You don’t know what I did and didn’t do.”
I raise my napkin off my lap to wipe away my tears, but they continue to fall. It is all so incredibly depressing—the ruin of a marriage, my brother’s stunning lack of judgment, a young girl getting pregnant, the enraged woman who was wronged.
“Oh, Celine, let’s not fight,” I say in a softer tone. “This is all so terribly sad. I am heartbroken—for all of you.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re not sad for me. You’re just sorry your brother got that girl pregnant; you’re not sorry for what he did to me.”
“But I am. I am sorry for all of you. What happened? Did Truman get arrested?”
Celine downs the rest of her wine and then sets the glass down. “Nothing happened to Truman because no one knew it was him who got Rosie pregnant. Truman bought her off.”
“What?”
“You heard me. He promised to pay Rosie for her silence. And she agreed. So you see? Shewasa whore. Just like I said.”
“What about the child? Please tell me. What became of the child?”
That baby is Truman’s baby. My brother’s son or daughter. A child of my blood. My heart is suddenly aching to know where the child is.
Celine leans over the table again. “I made sure Rosie was sent to a place that takes girls like her, white trash girls who are as crazy as she was.”
“What do you mean, as crazy as she was?”
“She said she saw things—colors and shapes floating around that no one else could see! Completely delusional. You couldn’t trust a word she said. About anything.”
“Celine, please tell me where she was sent. What happened to the baby?” I don’t even try to hide the begging tone of my voice. If what Celine is saying is true, there is a child out there who is my niece or nephew. My family.
“I bet you’d like to know.” Celine rises unsteadily to her feet.
“Please tell me. What became of the child? What happened to Rosie?”
Celine plasters a sick smile on her face. “I don’t care what happened to her. They didn’t let her keep the baby, if that’s what you’re wondering. It went to some orphanage, ‘father unknown’ on its birth certificate. And I hear they sterilize people like her at that place.”
“What... what do you mean?” I feel the blood rush from my face. Horrific images from my last years in Vienna threaten to crowd in. I push them back with effort.
“You heard what I said. Theysterilizepeople like her.” Celine turns from the table, needing to hold on to her chair as she does to keep her footing. “You better hope there are taxis running on Christmas morning, because I want you gone in the morning.” Then, without another word or glance backward, Celine sways out of the room.
I hear my sister-in-law head down the hallway, leaning against the wall as she goes, and then slamming the door shut after staggering into her bedroom.
For many long minutes, I can only sit at the table in shock and disbelief.
I will call the taxi tonight. I will not spend another night in this house.
But first I need to know where Celine sent Rosie Maras. The baby that young woman bore was Truman’s child. My only family now besides Wilson. I rise from the table, wiping my tears. I head for the office off the kitchen, which, years before, was the maid’s bedroom, to search every inch of it.
Celine had to have a record of what happened with the teenage girl she and Truman took in. There had to be a file, a document, a note. Something.
I’m afraid something awful happened to Rosie when she left here, and my brother and his angry wife are the reason why.
