Small-Town Secrets. Pamela Tracy
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behind.”
“Book? What book?”
“Yolanda didn’t mention it to you?”
“I didn’t go to dinner with her. Then this morning when I got here she was already gone. What kind of book?”
“It’s like a published journal and has all kinds of town history events and even some drawings. This house is in it.”
Rosi shook her head. “Journals don’t mean anything. Most of us girls kept them back then. And not very much in them was based on fact. Best Yolanda stop thinking about the Ventimiglias. There are none left. Ivy had an older brother but he died in an accident when he was nineteen. Ivy never married.”
“You kept track of her? How do you know she didn’t marry?”
“It’s a small town, even though they moved, word trickled back. If she’d have married, I’d have heard about it. Weddings were a bit more important in those days, especially for the wealthy. It would have been in the paper, complete with pictures and pedigrees.”
“Why didn’t Ivy and Adam’s great-grandmother like each other?” In the quiet of the bookstore, Yolanda’s voice seemed loud, and both Adam and Rosi startled. Neither had heard the door open and close, yet here was Yolanda, holding a bag of groceries and looking as if she’d been standing there since the conversation began.
“It was a long time ago,” Rosi said. “Some say it had to do with Ivy’s brother. Maybe a little. Then, too, I don’t think Loretta had much respect for Ivy, and Ivy knew it.”
“High school’s hard on girls,” Yolanda said. “There’s always a cat fight or two. But they couldn’t have moved just because of that. If people moved after every teenage drama, there’d be a For Sale sign on every other house.”
“You’re jaded,” Rosi accused, “and way too practical. Ivy’s family made all the calls in this town. And we learned to deal with it. Plus, Ivy’s reputation had to be protected at all costs.”
Adam was amazed. “You’re kidding? Did she do something to ruin her reputation?”
“No, not that I know of. But even associating with the wrong crowd could cause talk. Ivy was told—no, ordered—who to talk to, where and when. Your great-grandmother was a bit ahead of her time. She used to tell Ivy to grow a backbone.” Rosi chuckled. Then she added, “For a while, I thought Ivy and Otis Wilson might get together.”
“Otis from across the street?” Yolanda couldn’t keep the shock from her voice.
Rosi merely smiled. “His family had position, but not enough to satisfy Ivy’s father. Your family—” she nodded at Adam “—lived in the house that’s now the Fremont Bed-and-Breakfast. They were Munros. Of course, that house has been remodeled and added onto so much that it’s hardly recognizable as one of the grand ole ladies that made up the houses on this street.”
Adam needed to ask his grandmother more questions. She’d talked about being a Munro, but until now, how special that was hadn’t occurred to Adam. Today she lived in a condo with a view of a golf course and a man-made lake. “But if their relationship wasn’t the reason the Ventimiglias moved,” he asked Rosi, “what was?”
“Some secrets are better left alone.”
“Gramma, you sound like someone on a Halloween show.”
“Ask your great-grandmother,” Rosi urged Adam. “See if she’s willing to tell you anything.”
“Don’t speak to her without me,” Yolanda demanded, “I’m starting to really get into this small-town history.”
“Sometimes,” Rosi said, “what’s dead and buried should stay dead and buried. Loretta knows that well.”
“Where did Ivy live?” Adam asked.
“Here. This was her house.”
UNFORTUNATELY, GRAMMA ROSI had nothing else to say about Ivy. She did, however, have plenty to say about her own family. Yolanda noticed Adam listened intently, but then he’d not heard the story a million times.
Rosi’s father had worked for the railroad. He was gone more than he was home. He’d been a smart man, though, listening to the conversations of those who’d had more money than sense.
“My father got a job with the railroad after the black workers went on strike. It was dangerous because it meant he was going against the men who the jobs really belonged to, men who just wanted a living wage.”
“Your father was able to make a living wage, I take it.” Adam looked around the Victorian.
“My whole family worked hard, some in the field and some in other ways. My father, however, was one to take every opportunity. Because of his personality, as a porter and club car driver, he made pretty good tips. But do you want to know his best skill? It wasn’t making people smile. Nope.”
Gramma Rosi leaned forward, as if sharing something that shouldn’t be overheard. “My father was a great listener. It’s a skill most people don’t have. He had a family to support during a time when the economy had people running scared. I mean banks had failed, savings were wiped out and the wealthy were no longer counting their money but saying their prayers.”
“Gramma Rosi can’t remember what she had for supper last night,” Yolanda teased, “but get her started on Pearl Harbor, or when television went to color, or the first time she drove an automatic, and she hasn’t forgotten one detail.”
“Not everyone is as familiar with their family history as you are,” Rosi scolded. “I made sure you knew about your great-grandparents.” She fixed an eye on Adam. “Do you know the history of the Snapps?”
He shook his head. Loretta had married a Snapp. He was well aware how blessed he was to have an active great-grandmother still living. His mother’s family lived in Nebraska and never visited.
“Well, if you want to hear more about Ivy, first ask Loretta. See what she has to say about those long-ago days. She can share more than I can.” With that, Rosi turned and headed for the kitchen, muttering something about kids not caring enough about the past until the people who could tell them were gone. She pushed the kitchen door open with both hands. It let out a squeak of protest and creaked as it swung back and forth from her force.
“She’s muttering more and more lately. I think she misses my mom,” Yolanda said.
“We didn’t mention your mom.”
“No, but we’re asking the kind of questions that she wished my mother would have asked. We’re listening like she wished my mother would have listened.”
“Your mother wouldn’t have listened?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“My mother only had one question she wanted answered,” Yolanda said simply, surprised by how easy Adam was to talk to and how willing she was to share.
“And that was?”
“Who her father was.”
“And Rosi wouldn’t tell her?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
Adam stared at the kitchen door, still swaying and creaking gently as if guiding Rosi’s entrance into its realm.
“A secret from the past, eh?”
“A big one,” Yolanda agreed.
“Was Rosi ever married? We kids all thought she had been. I mean she lived in this huge house and had three children.”
“Yes. But her husband was dead by the time I came along. My uncle Juan was named after him.