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Louise held it up like an exhibit at a trial. “The Poe story. About the buried heart.” The one where a man, trying to hide his misdeeds, was exposed and found out in the end by the dismembered body that brought the truth to life.
There was too long of a pause before Delphie answered. “I thought the young people might like it. Is that a crime?”
No, but it also wasn’t the truth. Louise was sure of it by the way Delphie’s voice rose in defense. This time, when Delphie lifted a deep-frying basket of whole tomatoes from the second pot of boiling water, her veined hands shook, spilling water down her arm. A stream of half swears in French followed, and Louise felt a flicker of guilt, rushing over with a dishtowel to help.
“I’m fine,” Delphie muttered, pushing her away and bringing the tomatoes over to the sink.
“But that’s not all, is it?” Louise pressed. “Why else did you choose it?”
The only sound in the kitchen was the spray of cold water splashing over the tomatoes to loosen the skins.
“Maybe I thought you’d learn something from it,” Delphie finally admitted.
And that was all Louise needed to confirm her theory. The thought had occurred to her days ago, but she’d pushed it aside, certain it was her mind playing tricks on her. Now she had to say it.
“That’s why you protested Freddy expanding the garden. You knew he’d find that awful statue. Because you buried her there.”
Without missing a beat, Delphie drew out a knife. “I did.” Not a trace of shame on the wrinkled old face as she calmly peeled the skins off the tomatoes, revealing the shiny flesh below.
Even though she’d suspected, it hurt to hear such a calm admission. “Why? When I expressly ordered—”
“Your orders don’t apply to me. They never have.” Another smooth motion, and the cored tomato was cut in half. “Anyway, I didn’t think there’d be any harm, burying her. Your father loved her so.”
So that was it. Delphie had always been loyal to her father.
“You did too once,” she pressed when Louise didn’t respond. “Before.”
Before what, she didn’t say, but Louise knew.
Had Delphie seen Louise slipping out to meet with Oliver those hot summer nights after checking for a message under the statue’s heel? She had never outright admitted to it, but Louise knew very little escaped the old cook’s sharp instincts.
“I thought there might come a day you wanted her back. For the good memories you had, mixed with the bad. Your father loved you, you know.”
No, she didn’t know. Not really. He’d never said as much, not even in those last days.
A timer chimed, and Delphie ran to the stove, lifting a lid to inspect the boiling pot with full jars of tomatoes inside, their lids now sealed tightly shut from the pressure.
Once, when Louise was a girl, she’d crept to the pantry, hoping to steal a treat before dinner, only to meet the terrifying sight of tomatoes exploded against the pantry wall, a simulation of gore that could have inspired one of Edgar Allan Poe’s macabre tales. When she’d asked what had happened, Delphie explained that the seal hadn’t set properly in the hot pack, causing fermentation and, eventually, an explosion.
Now, Louise could feel the same thing happening inside her: a slow, growing bitterness reaching dangerous levels. “Regardless, you had no right to hide this from me.”
“Does it matter? That gardener of yours wouldn’t let me have her this time, not even her face, when I ran out to beg him for it. Said he’d made a promise and he meant to keep it. The statue is gone.”
Bless Frederick. He’d kept his word. That small comfort evaporated in a moment, like water in the uncovered pot between them. Because that wasn’t the heart of it, not really. “If, after all these years, you thought I had made the wrong choice, you should have simply said so. Rather than hiding behind a story.”
Delphie didn’t answer at first, her towel-wrapped hands setting out each sealed jar on the counter. “Stories help sometimes. I only wanted you to think about it, that’s all.”
“Think about what?”
“For one thing, why you’re still so dead set on shutting down your father’s library.” She paused her work and raised a hand before Louise could protest. “I know, you’ve told me it’s about the children. But I have to wonder, is it really?”
“Of course.” Why would no one believe her? “Besides, I’ve signed the contract, already committed part of the cost.”
First Avis, now Delphie. Couldn’t any of them see that there was nothing to be done at this point?
Delphie wiped her hands dry on her apron, seemingly for the sole purpose of planting them on her hips, and turned to Louise with an accusatory look. “Admit it: you love that book club as much as any of us.”
Ah.So that was it. “It’s enjoyable, but it’s become a simple social club. Half the people there would prefer I wasn’t around anyway.”
