“Ah, yes,” she said. “It was in the late sixties. I’d already made a bit of a name for myself, and one day a friend told me about a show in the Village by a talented black artist who’d just moved to New York from Paris. I just had a feeling it was Jesse. It was like a sixth sense. I walked in and there he was. I was forty-six … at least Judith was forty-six.” She chuckled. “Anna would have been fifty. I hadn’t seen him in nearly thirty years. Of course, Jesse didn’t recognize me right away, but you should have seen his face when he did! I made sure he met all the right people, then, and of course we became fast friends, as equals finally. There had always been a bond between us. My husband Max was an agent and he took Jesse on as a client, and we introduced him to Bernice, who became his wife. We never lost touch, even after he moved to Edenton. But in all these years, he never mentioned that he still had … this.” She motioned toward the mural.
“He was adamant you be invited today,” Oliver said. “We thought it was because your painting—Judith’s painting, Daisy Chain—would have a place of prominence in the main gallery. We had no idea it was because of the mural.”
Judith turned toward me. “What kind of shape was it in before you restored it?” she asked.
“It was a mess,” I said. “And I had such a short time to work on it because he—Jesse—insisted that it be finished by the gallery opening—today. If it wasn’t finished, his daughter Lisa—do you remember Lisa?”
“Yes, yes. Of course. I saw her many times.”
“If the restoration wasn’t completed by today, she’d lose the house.”
Judith frowned. “I’m not following you.”
Oliver and I explained about Jesse’s conditional will. “So I had less than two months to restore the mural and I had no idea what I was doing,” I said. “Oliver had to pretty much teach me everything.”
“You were a very quick learner.” He smiled at me, but Judith hadn’t seemed to hear me. She looked deep in thought.
“He insisted the opening be today?” she asked. “August fifth?”
“Yes,” Oliver said. “He was firm about it.”
Judith nodded. “Well, I can think of one reason why.”
“Why?” I asked.
She smiled like the cat that swallowed the canary. “Judith turned ninety-six on June seventh,” she said. “But Anna turns a hundred today.”
Oliver and I sat in silence as her words registered. I pressed my hand to my mouth.
“What?” Gloria sounded shocked. She leaned back to look at Judith. “You’re a hundred years old?”
“Jesse knew your real birth date?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. He’d always send me a card on that date. This date. Today. Not a birthday card, of course. Just a ‘thinking of you’ type card. I felt sad knowing I wouldn’t hear from him this year. It was … it was our shared secret, you know? My husband and daughter were the only other people who knew everything. Well, and Jesse’s Bernice, of course. But no one else.”
“Well.” Oliver smiled past the shock he had to be feeling. “Happy birthday!”
“Thank you.” Judith returned his smile, and with some effort and a hand on her turquoise cane, she got to her feet. “Now”—she said, nodding toward the mural—“I’d like to get a closer look at that old thing, if I may.”
“Of course,” Oliver said. He stood up and reached for her elbow, but Gloria slipped between him and Judith to do the job herself.
All four of us stood in front of the mural, and Judith read the wall text—the wall text that was now wildly inaccurate and would have to be rewritten once again. I watched her face as she read, her pink lips moving ever so slightly. Suddenly she gasped. She turned to look at me, her eyes intent on my face.
“Oh, my dear,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Oh, my goodness.”
The three of us stared at her. “What?” I asked.
She licked her thin lips, her eyes riveted on mine. “I think I know why Jesse chose you to do this work,” she said.
Chapter 67
Judith pointed to the last line on the wall text: Restored by Morgan Christopher. “Is this your name?” she asked. “Not your married name, or … is this the name you were born with? Morgan Christopher?”
“Yes,” I said, frowning.
She turned back to the wall text and it was a long moment before she spoke again. “Perhaps it’s just a coincidence,” she said, “but…” She glanced toward Oliver. “May I sit down?”
“Of course,” he said, and slid one of the chairs over to where she was standing. She shifted the chair slightly so she was facing us and lowered herself into it with a soft groan, her eyes on me the whole time. There was the slightest tremor to her lips.
“My daughter Debra died four years ago,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Terrible thing, to bury a child.” She looked away for the first time in what felt like minutes, but quickly returned her gaze to me. “Shortly before she died, she did one of those … DNA tests? You know the ones I mean?”
“Yes.” Oliver and I spoke at the same moment.
“Debra knew I’d given up a baby long ago and she was curious to see what might pop up on the test.”
“I don’t understand how those tests work,” Gloria said.
“I would have preferred she not tamper with the past, but I thought she had a right to know if she had cousins or whatever out there.” She pressed her lips together, her eyes on me again. She drew in a breath. “Well, what popped up was the surname ‘Christopher.’ Over and over and over again. Lots of second and third cousins and … I don’t know what else, but it was clear that name had significance in her family tree.”
A chill ran up my arms. I felt Oliver’s hand on my back. “It’s a pretty common name,” I said. Was Judith thinking I was somehow related to the baby she gave away? And how would Jesse have known that? And what possible difference could it make?
Oliver rummaged around on the information counter and found a small notepad and pencil. He set it on the counter near me. Patted my hand. I was sure it felt cold to him. My blood seemed to have stopped flowing.
“Let’s figure this out,” he said, beginning to write on the notepad. “Anna had a baby in 1940.”
“That’s right,” Judith said from her seat in front of the mural. Her gaze was still riveted on my face. I felt her studying me.
Anna had a baby in 1940 with Martin Drapple, I thought, repelled.
“Why haven’t you told me any of this?” Gloria asked Judith, and we all ignored her.
“The baby was given to neighbors of Jesse’s family,” Oliver said, jotting something on the notepad. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, they had the surname Christopher.” He looked at me. “What do you know about your lineage on the Christopher side?”
I thought about it. “Not much. My parents aren’t exactly the type to hang on to old mementos and photographs. I know my father was born in Cary. My grandparents on that side lived in Cary, too. They died when I was pretty young.”