Page 16 of The Invisible Hour

“When I think of it, it’s really all your fault,” Mrs. Jacob said, her eyes trained on Mia. “Ivy becoming pregnant with you started the whole journey down the road to hell.”

“Where do you think I was?” Mia said, provoked. “West of the moon?” She was embarrassed when her voice broke with emotion, but she knew which of the two of them had been to hell.

“That moon nonsense Ivy used to talk about was the beginning of things going wrong. All those fairy tales she read. That’s probably how she wound up with you.”

“Didn’t you worry about what had happened to me?” Mia asked.

When her grandmother looked blank, Mia realized Mrs. Jacob hadn’t thought about her at all. She hadn’t thought of Mia as anything other than a sin and a burden and the reason everyone’s life had been destroyed.

“You ruined your mother’s life.” Mrs. Jacob’s pinched face was flushed with emotions that she didn’t even think she had anymore. She had lost a daughter and a husband and now she was old. She really didn’t care whose feelings she hurt.

“Maybe you ruined her life,” Mia said softly. “And mine.” She was beginning to understand how Ivy might have wound up at the Community, with nowhere to turn and nowhere to run. “I came here to see you,” Mia said. “And now I have.”

Helen was standing in the doorway waiting for her. More than five minutes had passed, but time didn’t really matter anymore. “Shall we?” Helen said to Mia, signaling for her to follow.

Mia trailed after Helen. “She’s hateful,” Mia said.

“Mrs. Jacob lost her husband and her child,” Helen replied. “But yes, she can seem harsh. I wish she would have said how sorry she was about the loss of your mother.” Mia looked at Helen closely. If she wasn’t mistaken, the maid had tears in her eyes. Perhaps she’d overheard Mia speak of her mother’s death. “I didn’t know,” Helen explained. Her gaze fell on Mia and she made a decision right then and there. Instead of escorting her to the door, Helen headed for the staircase, then looked back. When Mia hesitated, Helen urged, “I thought perhaps you’d like to see your mother’s room.”

Mia could feel her heart beating against her ribs. She felt dizzy, the way she had after her mother’s death, when she knew some things would never be possible. She knew that now she would never have a grandmother or be part of her mother’s family, but all the same she nodded and followed Helen up to the third floor. It was dark and dusty in the narrow hallway and the window shades were drawn. Clearly, no one came up here anymore.

Helen pulled open the door to a bedroom. “They didn’t change a thing.” She gestured for Mia to go inside. “That should tell you something. They did love her, they just didn’t know how to deal with her. They grew up in a different time.”

Mia was reluctant to go farther, yet she was entranced to think she could finally have access to her mother’s world. She stepped inside and caught her breath. Ivy’s room was exactly as it had been on the night she left Louisburg Square, except that the bed had been made. That had been Helen’s handiwork, otherwise the blanket would likely still be thrown upon the floor. Mr. Jacob had never again entered the room, but for many years, Mia was told, Mrs. Jacob would sit up here, in the pink and white chair in the corner. She would come here and cry.

There were posters of France on the wall, of Monet’s garden and the Eiffel Tower.

“She had big plans,” Helen said. “Once upon a time.”

On the desk stood a framed photograph of Ivy at sixteen, a beautiful girl with masses of black hair, wearing jeans and sneakers, her eyes made up with black eyeliner, a grin flickering across her face.

Mia moved on to the bookshelf. She thought of her own books tossed on a bonfire in the cow field, how each page became a spark in the dark, open sky. Here on the shelf, Mia spied Beloved, along with Wuthering Heights and Thoreau’s Walden. Helen went to the closet and opened the door so that Mia might have a look there as well. There were filmy dresses perfect for formal dances and cashmere sweaters, but also piles of raggedy jeans and T-shirts. There were Converse sneakers and high black boots, and on a wooden hanger there was a forest-green winter coat. Mia ran her hand over the sleeve.

“Looks like your size,” Helen said. “It’s cold out there today. You could use it.”

Helen gestured for Mia to try on the coat. It was a perfect fit. Wearing it felt like a warm embrace. It reminded her of the nights in the woods when she and her mother were invisible and could do as they pleased, even for an hour or two.

Helen closed the closet door and a world closed along with it.

“Your mother was sweet and dear, and she knew how to have fun, but back then, things were different, and it was an especially different time for women and girls. I fear that time is with us once again, and women don’t have the right to make decisions about their own bodies. It was a disgrace to be pregnant and unmarried at such a young age, at least among those here on the hill. Especially in this house. They had a dream for her, and that wasn’t it. But she had a dream, too.”

“We should have run away from the farm,” Mia said. If she’d had a daughter, she would have done exactly that.

“If your mother had told me about her situation, I would have had her come and live with me,” Helen went on. “Then I’d be your grandmother of a sort. I’ve thought about that many times.”

“But she didn’t tell you?” Mia asked.

“No. And the truth of the matter is, I didn’t ask.”

“I wish you were my grandmother.” Mia imagined going home with Helen, sitting at her kitchen table, having tea with sugar and cream. “But you’re not.”

“People make mistakes,” Helen mused. “You hear that all the time, but it’s very true. They can’t guess the results of their actions. They don’t mean to hurt you, but they do.” There was a pink leather jewelry box on the bureau, and when Helen opened it, a ballerina danced in a circle surrounded by a jumble of necklaces and hoop earrings and a faded envelope that was addressed to Helen.

“She sent me a letter to give to you if you ever came here. She wrote it after you were born.”

The two went downstairs together, not speaking until they reached the front hall.

“Don’t forget to read the letter,” Helen urged her.