"That poor woman.” Shaking her head Jane said, “She's so embarrassed she couldn't even look me in the eye when we were picking out Mr. Bakke's urn. I told her no one blamed her for what Paul did. It's going to be a tough road until the gossip dies down."
"I heard Carl tell her the same thing after he questioned her. I think he was trying to cover his own ass by seeing if Nan knew anything about his relationship with Paul."
Jane set her jaw and rapped her fist against the table top. “He was worried about his own hide so he faked his concern about Nan. That man makes me so mad I'd like to kick him all the way to Tubuktim."
"You mean Timbuktu,” Sadie corrected.
"No, I don't,” Jane said, glaring at her sister.
Drumming her fingers against the table, Sadie decided not to educate her sister in the finer points of geography and opted instead to help Jane with her project. Pushing a scissors across the table, Sadie said, “There's an article about Mr. Bakke's accident on page three. You might want to cut it out and add it to your scrapbook."
Tears flowed once again. Jane reached for the wadded-up napkin as she read the article. “That's so nice of them to mention he was a well-respected member of our resort staff. If they only knew how important he was.” She slid the scissors across the top of the article. “What would we have done without him?"
Sadie held the scrap book open so Jane could insert the article between two vinyl sheets.
Jane stood and retrieved a faded box from a shelf in the book case. “I went through mother's trunk this morning and found her old memento box. I remembered seeing her scrapbooks in there after she died. I was hoping to find something about Mr. Bakke's discharge from the Army."
The women paged through the scrapbooks, selecting several photos and articles written during Mr. Bakke's life at the resort. They arranged them on the table in order by date. “I'll send one of the dock boys to town to get a sheet of tag board so we can create a collage,” Jane said.
Laughing, Sadie pointed at one of the photos. “Remember the day Mr. Bakke was in the outhouse before we had indoor plumbing and that storm blew the top off the outhouse? All we could see was his head sticking up over what was left of the wall."
"I sure do,” Jane said. “He was so mad at you for taking that picture he didn't talk to you for two days."
"And do you remember he wouldn't repair the wall until I gave him the photo?” Sadie said. “Little did he know I had a duplicate."
Jane removed the articles and photos one by one, stacking them in the order she wanted to apply them to the tag board. “There. That's ready to go.” She slid the stack into a large envelope. She gathered the remaining loose sheets. As she lowered the scrapbooks into the memento box, a yellowed envelope fluttered to the floor.
Sadie bent to retrieve the envelope and placed it on top of the keepsakes. “What was in the envelope?"
"What envelope?"
Turning it over, Sadie noticed the familiar flair of her mother's handwriting. She smiled. “It's got our names on it."
Jane looked over Sadie's shoulder while Sadie pulled two sheets from the envelope and unfolded them. “It looks like mother wrote a birth announcement,” Sadie said. “She must have planned to put it in the newspaper because it's written on newspaper stationery.” Pointing she said, “Look at that. Those numbers must be the size of the announcement and how much it was going to cost."
"She must not have had them print it, because we didn't find a newspaper clipping in her scrapbooks,” Jane said. “And you know mother saved everything. Maybe she didn't dare do it. There has to be some reason she never told anyone who our father was."
Sadie read the birth announcement to her sister.
Vina Witt proudly announces the birth of twin daughters, Fifilomine Jane and Fifilomine Sadie, born on the Eleventh of July, Nineteen Hundred Forty Five.
Sadie placed the announcement behind the second sheet before gazing at its contents. Gasping, she said, “It's our birth certificate."
"Let me see,” Jane said, pulling it from Sadie's grasp. Her eyes zeroed in on the line indicating paternity. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” she whispered.
Sadie wrenched the form from her sister's hand. Jane dropped into the chair. “Swanson?” Sadie shouted. “Ingmar Swanson?” Rereading the words, Sadie said, “I'm shocked. Ingmar Swanson is our father."
Jane's shoulders began to shake as she cupped her hand to her mouth.
Standing to embrace her sister from behind, Sadie said, “It's not that bad. Don't cry."
As her shoulders heaved with each breath released, Jane said, “I'm not crying. I'm laughing.” Rising to face her sister, she said, “Don't you know what this means?"
"That the man who owned the bank where mother used to work is the one who got her pregnant?"
Pausing to catch her breath, Jane again burst into laughter. “That's part of it. But don't you remember hearing some talk about a scandal at the bank, years and years ago? I always thought it meant Ingmar embezzled and that's the reason he uprooted his family and left town. But I'll bet it's because his wife found out he got our mother pregnant. Think back on the time we went to the museum and saw Ingmar's family photo on the wall. It was in the founding-father's section."
"So,” Sadie shrugged. “What does that have to do with this?"
"Remember the names under the photo?"
Losing patience, Sadie said, “Are you serious? Why would I remember the names? It's been thirty years since I've been to the museum."
"Well I remember because I thought it was so strange a lady was named Fil. I always thought it was a misspelling and that it should have been Phil. Back then I thought her name must have been Phyllis. But I'll bet it was Fifilomine."
Nodding at the possibility, Sadie said, “What's so strange about that?"
"Nothing,” Jane said. “I just got distracted as I was sorting it out in my head."
Scrunching up her mouth and glaring at Jane, Sadie growled, “Will you please get to the point."
"Well, Miss Smarty Pants,” Jane said, as she craned her head toward her sister. “For once I'm one step ahead of you. I know something you don't."
"What?” Sadie rolled her eyes upward, sighing in frustration.
"Swanson,” Jane responded. “Who do you think about when you hear the name Swanson?"
"That's a dumb question,” Sadie said. “Who else would I think of besides Oink Etta's love child?” Tingles spiraled through Sadie's spine. “Don't you dare think that way. There's no way Carl can be related to Ingmar. Swanson is a common name and not every Swanson is related."
"For your information Sister Superior, Ingmar is Carl's grandfather's brother. He must have been the black sheep of the family because he had an affair with our mother. I remember hearing they banished him from their lives. Ingmar owned the bank and Carl's grandfather owned the resort. After Ingmar left, the family acted like he never existed."
"I can't believe it,” Sadie said. “To think our mother had to bear the shame of being taken advantage of by a married man. At least mother got a snippet of revenge."
"I bet it was more than a snippet,” Jane said with a grin. “When folks found out what mother named us, I'm guessing Ingmar had a lot of explaining to do."
"I'm glad she had Carl's grandfather on her side. He was kind enough to offer her a job and give her a place to live. Not many men would have done that for a woman who had just given birth to twins."
Sadie wished she would have paid more attention to the man who provided them with a home after her mother found herself in dire straits. Even though Mr. Swanson was always visible around the resort while the girls were growing up, she never thought to sit down and have a serious conversation with him. A small smile crossed her lips. Mr. Swanson must have had an ulterior motive for offering their mother shelter. She hoped it had involved affection. Even if the motive was limited to a brother's revenge, Sadie was thankful Mr. Swanson made the offer.