slightly warmer to Winnie, which Winnie had decided was acceptable. But it wasn’t, by any means, to her younger sister. In fact, although she had been cold to Winnie, which was her style, she had been downright cruel to Valerie at times, in ways she wasn’t to Winnie.
“She was depressed for my entire life?” Valerie said cynically. “I don’t think so, although it’s a good story. And I think there are some very strange coincidences here. The age of the woman who left the jewelry, the fact that our sister was a forbidden subject, and this woman who became a countess went to Italy around the same time our sister left and died a year later. And what was she doing in Italy during the war? They never told us, and we were never allowed to ask. Don’t you want to know more? What if she’d been alive for all these years, and only died recently? How many Marguerite Pearsons of that age can there be in the world? What if she’s related to us, Winnie? Don’t you want to know?” Valerie suddenly couldn’t tear her mind away from the possibilities, and she wanted answers, but all she could do was guess.
“You want the jewelry and the money,” Winnie accused her, and Valerie stood up, disgusted with her.
“If you really think that, you truly don’t know me. But you know me better than that. You’re just afraid to find out what they may have hidden from us. Why? What good are all those taboo subjects now? Who are you protecting? Them or yourself? Are you so frightened that you don’t want to know the truth?”
“We know the truth. Our sister died of influenza at nineteen while traveling in Italy, and it broke our mother’s heart. What more do you need to know?”
“There was a war on then, Winnie. What was she doing there? Visiting Mussolini?” It had always seemed odd to Valerie in later years that their sister had been in Italy during the war, with no explanation for why she’d been there. But there was no one left to ask.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. She’s been dead for seventy-three years. Why would you even think of digging all that up now? And dishonoring our parents? The only reason I can think of is that you want to claim you’re the heir to the jewelry being sold at Christie’s. Did Phillip put you up to this? Is he in on it too?” Winnie said accusingly.
“Of course not. I told him we weren’t related to her. But suddenly I’m wondering if that’s true. Maybe we are. Maybe she isn’t even a cousin. Maybe that was our sister who married the Italian count. We may never know the truth, but at least at our age, we’re allowed to ask.”
“And who’s going to tell you the truth? Mother and Father are gone. We have no photographs of her. No one else would know. And I don’t want to know. We have a sister, who, we were told with absolute certainty by our parents, died in 1943. That’s good enough for me. And if you’re not after this money or jewelry that doesn’t belong to us, just let it go.”
“It’s not about money or jewels. It’s about the truth. We have a right to that. We always did. Our parents cheated us out of love and affection and kindness while we were growing up. And maybe they cheated us out of our sister as well. If she were alive, we could have gone to find her, and met her when we grew up. Maybe she was alive for all that time. And if so, I want to know that now.”
“You’re always demonizing our parents, and they don’t deserve that. Let their memories rest in peace. What did they ever do to you to deserve this kind of disrespect? They can’t defend themselves now,” Winnie said in a fury.
“They didn’t love me, Winnie, and you know it. I’m not even sure they loved you, or were capable of it. But I know they didn’t love me. I felt it every day of my life until I left and married Lawrence.” She said it quietly and with enormous strength. It was the core truth of her life.
“What you’re saying is a lie,” Winnie said, standing to
“She was depressed for my entire life?” Valerie said cynically. “I don’t think so, although it’s a good story. And I think there are some very strange coincidences here. The age of the woman who left the jewelry, the fact that our sister was a forbidden subject, and this woman who became a countess went to Italy around the same time our sister left and died a year later. And what was she doing in Italy during the war? They never told us, and we were never allowed to ask. Don’t you want to know more? What if she’d been alive for all these years, and only died recently? How many Marguerite Pearsons of that age can there be in the world? What if she’s related to us, Winnie? Don’t you want to know?” Valerie suddenly couldn’t tear her mind away from the possibilities, and she wanted answers, but all she could do was guess.
“You want the jewelry and the money,” Winnie accused her, and Valerie stood up, disgusted with her.
“If you really think that, you truly don’t know me. But you know me better than that. You’re just afraid to find out what they may have hidden from us. Why? What good are all those taboo subjects now? Who are you protecting? Them or yourself? Are you so frightened that you don’t want to know the truth?”
“We know the truth. Our sister died of influenza at nineteen while traveling in Italy, and it broke our mother’s heart. What more do you need to know?”
“There was a war on then, Winnie. What was she doing there? Visiting Mussolini?” It had always seemed odd to Valerie in later years that their sister had been in Italy during the war, with no explanation for why she’d been there. But there was no one left to ask.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. She’s been dead for seventy-three years. Why would you even think of digging all that up now? And dishonoring our parents? The only reason I can think of is that you want to claim you’re the heir to the jewelry being sold at Christie’s. Did Phillip put you up to this? Is he in on it too?” Winnie said accusingly.
“Of course not. I told him we weren’t related to her. But suddenly I’m wondering if that’s true. Maybe we are. Maybe she isn’t even a cousin. Maybe that was our sister who married the Italian count. We may never know the truth, but at least at our age, we’re allowed to ask.”
“And who’s going to tell you the truth? Mother and Father are gone. We have no photographs of her. No one else would know. And I don’t want to know. We have a sister, who, we were told with absolute certainty by our parents, died in 1943. That’s good enough for me. And if you’re not after this money or jewelry that doesn’t belong to us, just let it go.”
“It’s not about money or jewels. It’s about the truth. We have a right to that. We always did. Our parents cheated us out of love and affection and kindness while we were growing up. And maybe they cheated us out of our sister as well. If she were alive, we could have gone to find her, and met her when we grew up. Maybe she was alive for all that time. And if so, I want to know that now.”
“You’re always demonizing our parents, and they don’t deserve that. Let their memories rest in peace. What did they ever do to you to deserve this kind of disrespect? They can’t defend themselves now,” Winnie said in a fury.
“They didn’t love me, Winnie, and you know it. I’m not even sure they loved you, or were capable of it. But I know they didn’t love me. I felt it every day of my life until I left and married Lawrence.” She said it quietly and with enormous strength. It was the core truth of her life.
“What you’re saying is a lie,” Winnie said, standing to
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