"HELLO...........IS THIS MAEVE?" Part 2

"Penny." A secret that my father had alluded to in conversations with my mother. Hidden in plain view. He told her of a fondness for pennies.

He sure left out a lot.

The attic walls began to close in on me, then blow out. Was I in shock? Was I having a stroke? Was my mind having trouble accepting this?

It was all so unexpected.

My father had had an affair while in the Army. I wasn't shocked at that, they were all so young at that time. But he'd had a child with someone overseas. Someone named Penny. And now, out of the blue, that daughter had found me.

What was I supposed to do with that information........

She would be slightly older than me, possibly 75 or so. But we had absolutely nothing in common.

I knew my father, he had raised me. She never knew him.

My mother was a constant in my life, and I would assume Morag's mother, Penny, had been a good Mom. But I didn't know her.

Maeve listened while the whistle on her kettle started to huff, then switched it off. It made such a jarring sound. Why didn't she just buy a different one?

She needed some time to absorb all this. Morag had more time, she was alone to do her research, but Maeve was busy with a mother who was failing, and memories of a Da who had just died. Arranging his funeral alone. And then there was Ruby, who knew nothing about any of this. Yet. She'd have to tell her.

It didn't seem fair.

A box on the counter had a few cookies left, so she grabbed a couple, along with her cup of tea, and used the coffee table in her living room to balance her laptop.

She keyed in the DNA site and peered intently.

Yes, there it was. Proof.

After 70+ years, she was presented with a sister.

How was this going to work?

Well, the simple solution was............Morag was in Canada. That was a long way from the Scottish Highlands. Maybe after another phone call, Morag would be satisfied at the confirmation that she'd found unknown relatives and that would suffice.

She'd have to phone and try to put an end to it.

She slept on it, and made her decision.

In the morning, she took a little more care with her hair and a bit of make up. She slipped on a pair of earrings, and checked her reflection. This was going to be a Face Time call, and she was under no illusions. She wasn't exactly in the prime of life, she was a rapidly aging senior.

And so was Morag.

So with a deep breath, she pressed the series of numbers in to contact her sister. God, she couldn't even think of it.

The phone made it's familiar whirring sound a couple of times, then it was picked up and a voice answered.

"Hello?"

And Maeve responded.

"Hello, is this Morag?"

Wait a minute, deja vu again, the repetition of the phrase, chillingly familiar.

"Yes it is! I'm so glad to hear from you! How are things there in Scotland?"

And for a few minutes there was the back and forth banter, reserved for people just starting to get to know each other. Jobs, schools, weather, the usual assortment of topics that seem relevant at the time, but make no difference over a lifetime.

They soon ran out of steam and decided on another call the following week. Morag seemed quite keen, but Maeve, still hesitant.

In the meantime, Maeve continued to visit her mother each afternoon. At her advancing years, she was almost 95, Siobhan was closer to meeting her Lord and Savior than they liked to admit. Some days were pretty cloudy. And some were great. She would have a twinkle in her eye, and even a joke.

Morag stopped at a drive thru and grabbed a cup of coffee to sip while she visited her Mom. You just never knew when she might be resting. But this day, she was not.

She seemed to sense that something was on Maeve's mind.

Out of the blue she said, "Maeve, what's troubling you?"

Maeve was a little startled. Was it that obvious?

"Nothing really, Ma. I've met a new friend."

"Well, that's wonderful. A man? A woman?"

"A woman, Ma. From Canada. Her name is Morag."

"Morag? No, dear, that's a Highland name."

"Yes it is, she was born in England, but it seems her Da was from Scotland."

"Well, that makes more sense."

And at this point Maeve was being careful to sidestep the obvious and not upset her mother. There was no good reason to open up a can of worms.

"Why do you sound so odd about it? Don't you want any new friends? You've been alone a long time."

"It's hard to explain, Ma. She is awfully eager to learn all about me. Asking me so many questions. She has even hinted that we might be related..........."

"Oh? I wonder how? What is it you so afraid of?"

What indeed.

The visit ended with a kiss and a warm hug, as Maeve knew each might be the last. But her mother's observations gnawed at her. What was she so worried about? Why did having a half sister, which really shouldn't have been such a shock, make her feel so threatened? That was the word. Threatened. But of what she couldn't say. The situation was staring her in the face and it was time to deal with it, and she had a week before the next phone call.

It was time to call Ruby.

"Mom! That's awesome!! You have a sister? I have an aunt? I can't think of anything better! When can we meet? Can I call her?"

Of course, with the young, they always put things in perspective, especially when it didn't involve them directly.

Maeve was so much older, and set in her ways. She'd gotten along without a sister her whole life. What could change that now?

What could change indeed............

A major change was coming that Maeve could never have dreamt of............

A few days later, during a nice quiet visit with Siobhan, sharing a pot of hot tea and a tray of thin Ginger Cookies, a peaceful spell ensued. Neither were really speaking, and Maeve felt her Mom was looking for another nap.

But she sat up and clearly said, "Wallace!"

That was a surprise.

"Ma, who is Wallace?"

Siobhan was quite perky and clear. She looked out the window, at nothing that Maeve could see, but her intuition was on high alert. Ma was seeing something. Damn this dementia.

"Wallace. You know, Randall. The baby."

Something was going on. Her mother was addressing Randall, speaking of someone called Wallace. Probably an old friend of the family.

"Oh Wallace, my poor wee lad. I'm so sorry. I was always so sorry. You beautiful lad."

"Jesus, Ma, who is Wallace?"

And Siobhan turned to look at Maeve, quite calm but already the curtains were closing, and she retreated into her memories.

Maeve felt a prickle go up her spine, a premonition. Something else was going on here. Who in god's name was Wallace?

Back to the library she went, as for what she couldn't say.

She keyed in her password for the DNA site, then started hunting. Nothing. But then it was like winking at a boy in the dark. If he couldn't see it, well................was it ever there?

She couldn't believe she was contemplating it. But she was so piqued. She was going to run it by Morag on their next phone call, since she was so good at snooping out the facts. And of course Morag was thrilled to be asked. Maeve knew she would be.

But it went one step further. Morag was already planning a visit. To Scotland. Not to infringe on Maeve and her family. Unless she thought it was a good idea. But the possibility of a new puzzle was too tempting to ignore. And after all, she had good reason to visit the Highlands, that's where her father was from.

All in all, it seemed quite opportune.

"Maeve, do you think we could meet? Maybe for a cup of tea somewhere? No pressure, but I think it's the right thing. And the right time."

She sure was persistent, for an old lady.

But this time, Maeve was more accommodating. She was just curious enough, and a face to face was perhaps overdue. After all, what could it hurt? They'd already had good long lives. This meet up should pose no threat.

A couple of weeks went by. Arrangements were made. The next Saturday morning, Maeve would meet Morag at a smart little restaurant in town, where she'd already booked a booth, for privacy. And she was actually a little excited about the whole thing.

On their face time calls, they had a good idea what the other looked like, so Morag was able to spot Maeve pretty quickly, as Maeve was also on the look out.

Maeve rose from her seat in the booth and Morag strode across the floor. Neither felt that a handshake was needed, but a hug was too much. So they both kind of nodded, and sat down.

Nothing was said at first. But there was no mistaking Morag's tall lanky body, so like her Dad's. And as she spoke and smiled, there was the most endearing little dimple in her left cheek, the carbon copy of Randall's. Her heart flipped a little. Neither she nor Ruby had inherited it.

And on top of that was the clincher. As they both reached for their spoons to stir their cups, at the exact same time, they held the spoon in their right hand as they swiped it with the thumb and forefinger of their left, as if there was a spot on it. It was uncanny. A silly little habit. Maeve knew where she got it, but Morag could never have known that every meal her father sat down to, he would swipe the fork, knife, whatever utensil he picked up. It brought tears to Maeve's eyes that someone else in the world carried her father somehow.

The ice around her heart was thawing.

They had a lovely little lunch and spoke of many topics. The next day, Morag would accompany Maeve to meet her Ma, and then Ruby was coming for supper. A pretty small family.

But it was about to get bigger.

When the sisters chatted with Siobhan, she wasn't having a great day. She was agitated and confused. They didn't stay long, perhaps meeting a stranger wasn't helping.

But as they turned to leave, she suddenly sang out, "When you see Wallace, tell him I'm sorry..........."

Maeve looked at Morag and shrugged her shoulders and raised a brow, as if to say, "See?"

That was all it took.

The next morning they hunched over Maeve's desktop computer, rattled off numbers and the site came up. A lot of hints and names and birthdates that were not what they were looking for. But now they had more to go on.

Had Randall had a son? A brother perhaps? Maeve couldn't remember her Da ever mentioning anyone named Wallace.

It seemed strange, but here sat Morag, as big as life, proof that you don't know as much as you think you do.

Then, Morag said, "What was your mother's maiden name? Perhaps we're looking at the wrong parent. Let's try that."

"She was Siobhan Greer." But Maeve felt unprepared to stir up dirt on her beautiful mother.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

And then Morag slapped her thigh. "Aha!"

"Look at this. And it's not even new. Someone somewhere has been working on this family tree. Wallace Bruce Greer. Born 1942. Mother..... Siobhan Greer...........father unknown."

Maeve was rooted to the spot. Surely this wasn't happening again.

"It this even real? I mean couldn't this just be a coincidence? It doesn't prove anything. Come on. Good god, Morag."

"Well, perhaps it doesn't prove anything. But a woman named Siobhan Greer had a son named Wallace during the War. I know we can't ask her anything, but for her to mention a name out of the blue............ Don't they say that the long term memories are the last to go? The strongest? After all, you have your whole life to remember them."

"I just don't know."

They both got up and walked around Maeve's pretty living room, looked out the windows, lost in their own thoughts.

Morag could think far more clearly since this new development didn't involve her, this time.

But gob smacked was an apt description for Maeve.

In the next few days, they talked of nothing else. Their own relationship as sisters seemed to feel just right, it became comfortable, like they'd known each other forever. Morag shared as much as she knew of her mother's love story. She grew up knowing that the man she referred to as her father wasn't her birth father and she was okay with that. Her mother told her bits as they became age appropriate, and raised her with love, respect and grounding.

And now she had a sister to share that biological father with. She absorbed all his pictures, his personal things, the smell of his uniform. He must have been a wonderful man.

But how to cobble up a story about Wallace? First things first, she sent a request for permission to contact him.

And the response was swift.

"Yes."

Well, why else would you put yourself out there?

So Morag said, "What do you want to do? The ball is in your court, Maeve. We can just drop it now, or you could make a phone call. At this point, what harm could it do?"

Maeve thought hard, but she already knew the answer.

"I suppose I'll never know if I don't ask. But the thought of my mother having a baby out of wedlock, I just can't imagine. In 1942 she would have been about 15 years old, 3 years before she met my father. I don't know. You think you know someone. You live your whole life, just going merrily along and then someone puts a stick in the spokes.......Oh, you know what I mean Morag, you were quite a surprise! And it looks like here comes another one."

So, soon after, Morag was on a phone call to this Wallace Bruce Greer, who had very little information to go on. But it seemed to add up. The Highland village of his birth was correct, and the timeline was correct. He had been adopted shortly after he was born, to a loving family who doted on him and never made any attempt to stop him from searching for his birth parents. But as normal, he had no interest in it until he had grandchildren who started asking questions. They had turned him on to Ancestry.ca. And the rest was history.

Morag set up a phone call for Wallace to contact Maeve. This way, she could simply chicken out if she felt overwhelmed. After all, she spent her life with the world revolving around her, with no siblings. Now it seemed, she was the youngest of 3 siblings. What a palaver.

So the next day was the day. Morag and Ruby sat with her and they waited for the phone to ring.

And ring it did.

Screwing up her strength, she picked up the phone, and tentatively answered, "Hello?"

And the response, deja vu again, but a man's voice this time, "Hello?.......Is this Maeve?"