Light entered Mother’s eyes. “I want to meet him. I want to hear more about him. But right now, we’re talking about you. I don’t believe you ever faked how you felt for attention. Regardless, if I have ever given you reason to feel I preferred your cousin over you, I profoundly apologize. It never entered my mind you could feel that way because the idea never entered my heart.” She reached across the small square table and captured Elsa’s hand. “How I wish I could have set you at ease about this long ago.”
“Me too. But thank you.” Elsa could have stopped there but decided to keep peeling back the layers of hurt and misunderstanding between them. “I’ve always thought you were embarrassed by what polio did to me.”
“What? Where did you get that impression?”
“Well, we’ve never gone out shopping together before this summer. And last month, when you invited a bachelor to have dinner with us, he asked me about my leg, and you changed the subject immediately.”
“Of course I did. There is so much more to you than your limp, darling, and I wanted him to have a chance to see that. I didn’t want him to get hung up on polio.”
“Really?” Elsa tried to recall exactly how that evening went. Had she gotten that all wrong?
“Yes, really. The fact that he hasn’t called again proves how superficial he was, so good riddance to him. And as for shopping, I only wanted to make things easier for you, and I figured bringing clothes to you to try on at home was far more convenient.”
A small apologetic smile edged Elsa’s lips. “It certainly was.”
She felt in her mother’s grip a desperation to be heard and believed that spoke volumes. Could there be any more complicated a relationship than that between a mother and daughter? Was there any more significant in how that daughter saw herself and the world as she grew up?
“What else, dear?” Mother asked. “What else can I explain, or try to explain, or apologize for if I’ve done wrong?” The earnestness and humility in her plea made it easier to respond.
“I always thought you never had any more children after me because I turned out to be such a disappointment,” Elsa confessed. “I wasn’t what you were expecting. Rather than risk having another child who didn’t fit the mold, you decided to give up the whole venture.”
Tears glimmered in Mother’s eyes and spilled over. “My darling girl, you werenevera disappointment. I would have welcomed a sibling or two for you. But my sister and I shared in common a struggle that one simply doesn’t speak of.”
Elsa could barely grasp what she was saying. Aunt Goldie had struggled to conceive and then miscarried multiple babies. “Mother... Did you—did you lose ...?” She paused, aware of what a private thing she was asking. This was not a conversation for a department store.
“No. I have no babies in heaven if that’s what you mean. Youwere the only baby God gave us. You had my whole heart, and still do, and always will.” And then Mother—dear, repressed, tightly laced Mother—cried in earnest. Tears streaked her beautiful face. Shoulders bouncing with quiet sobs, she released Elsa to press a handkerchief over her mouth.
Elsa looked about the tearoom, confirming her suspicion that their table had become the center of attention. She didn’t care. “It’s all right, Mother. It’s all right. I love you, too.” Elsa left her chair and circled the table, stooping to hug her mother.
The sobs grew louder. They weren’t refined little things, either, but halting, jerking convulsions that made Elsa both laugh and cry, as well.
When Mother began to quiet, Elsa returned to her seat and smiled. “That was beautiful,” she teased, “and eloquent.”
Mother dabbed her eyes and laughed. “I don’t feel like shopping after this. What didyouwant to do this evening?”
“Honestly? Sit on a park bench and watch birds.” She finally tasted a bite of her sandwich. “Want to come?”
Dusk in Central Park was always enchanting this time of year, but the fact that Elsa’s mother shared a bench at the edge of the lake with her made it feel even more magical. They had never done this before, even though the Reisner house on Fifth Avenue bordered one side of the park, and Elsa’s apartment building on Central Park West sat on the opposite side.
Before tonight, Elsa had never invited her mother to join her. It hadn’t occurred to her she might want to.
The foliage was starting to change color, red and orange tipping the leaves. Fall migratory birds increased the bird population, and at this hour, they were active and easier to spot. Elsa pointed out the ones she identified, then marked them in the small notebook she always kept in her handbag.
“Is that a pigeon hawk?” Mother asked.
Elsa looked up and found aFalco columbarius, a feisty hawk the size of a pigeon. “It certainly is. Well done! How did you know that one?”
“When you were at Vassar, you sometimes mentioned birds you had seen on campus. I made a list of them. Your father and I brought the list, along with a field guide, here to the park to see if we could find them, too. I liked to think that we might see the same birds you did as they made their way south during fall migration. I knew it wasn’t likely, but it brought me some peace to imagine it. It helped me feel closer to you during that dreadful time.”
Elsa knew which time she referred to. “You—you never mentioned that. I didn’t even know you missed me. We were so used to not living under the same roof by that point. You told me not to come home.”
“For your own good, and in agreement with the Vassar College physician.”
Elsa conceded that point. As soon as her first year began in September 1918, Vassar went into strict quarantine in an effort to protect the campus from the Spanish flu. Between their classes, Vassar students raised money for influenza relief work, made masks and layettes, and collected clothes and blankets for the Red Cross.
The idea of her parents sitting here, watching for birds she might have seen, touched her deeply.
“Did you see any?” she asked.
