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Carmen nodded in the direction of the stairs.
“Gracias,” Tildy told her and headed that way. Once in her room, she shed her blazer and tossed it onto a chair. There was indeed a package, wrapped in silver with a large white bow. It was the size of a shoe box. Tildy hadn’t ordered any shoes though, and she frowned at it. It was a bit early for an engagement gift. There was no card on it, and it hadn’t been mailed. It must have been hand delivered. Tildy hadn’t thought to ask the housekeeper who had brought it.
She flopped onto her bed and pulled it closer. She took the lid off but then froze. There wasn’t a card; there were dozens of them, or so it appeared. Lying on top of them was her St. Christopher medal. She’d long stopped reaching for it in the night. Everything was in envelopes save one folded note. She took it out and opened it.
Mi Querida Tildy,
Cuando tu hombre me trajo la medalla de San Cristóbal, le di las gracias y luego le di gracias a Dios.
My Dearest Tildy,
When your man brought me the St. Christopher medal, I thanked him first and then I thanked God. The day I left you, I was not able to say goodbye. Your mother would not allow it. Your father drove me to the bus station and left me there. My heart wept for you, my little love, and I have not gone a single day without thinking of you.
At first, I sent you letters, but your mother sent them back. Eventually, I got a letter. I thought it was from you, but your mother wrote it. She told me to stop writing to you, or she would report me. I buy you two cards every year: one for your birthday and one for the Savior’s. I prayed that He would lead you back to me. It took many years, many prayers, but now He has.
Your man says you are well. He tells me you have grown into the beautiful, intelligent, courageous woman that I always knew you would be. Your man says he is not your man, that you are engaged to someone else, but I can see this hurts his heart. Your man told me the medal broke when he first laid his hand upon you. I told you the medal would guide your way, and it has. God has brought him to you, Tildy, and you must not ignore this.
She grabbed the box and plucked a card out of it. Her name was there in Isabel’s handwriting. It had been stamped “Return to Sender.” With trembling fingers she opened it. “Happy 11th Birthday!” It was only slightly faded. Inside in scrawling Spanish: I love you and miss you, my darling girl. St. Christopher will keep you safe until we meet again.
She rifled through the box. There were cards, as well as letters, each postmark proving Isabel’s claim that she had never forgotten her. Tildy’s body rebelled against her. Her stomach roiled; her heart beat a runaway tattoo in her chest; a sob caught in her throat. She felt a stabbing ache for all the years that had been lost.
Hours later, with shaking hands, Tildy replaced the last card in its envelope and carefully closed the lid. She sat perfectly still on the bed, as if in a daze. She supposed she was. Everything was different, or rather everything was as it should be. Tildy, for a brief moment, was terrified. Nothing in her life had ever been as it should have; nothing she wished for ever came true.
Tildy wiped a tear from her cheek and stood up. She surveyed her childhood room and realized there was nothing here she wanted to keep. She slid Tate’s ring off her finger and tossed it onto the bed. She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then snatched up the silver box and held it in her arms. Turning, she fled from the room and down the stairs. Halfway down, she heard her mother’s voice calling to her.
Tildy didn’t respond and headed for the front door. She didn’t quite make it though, before her mother’s voice called out again. This time, she was right behind her. Tildy turned back to her.
“Where are you going?” Deirdre asked her. “Dinner is ready.”
“I’m leaving,” Tildy replied, though her voice was a little shaky. She clutched the silver package tightly.
“But where? Dinner is ready,” her mother insisted.
“I’m leaving!” Tildy shouted. Deirdre recoiled.
“What on Earth-?”
“You lied to me!” Tildy screamed again, barely able to catch her breath. Now that it was out, it just kept coming, like a tidal wave. “She’s alive! She’s been alive this whole time and she wrote to me! She wanted me! She loved me! But you don’t!”
