The Orphan's Tale(97)

I look at my children adoringly. In their faces, I can see the past as surely as Drina once read the future: Peter is so readily visible in our daughter, most days it is like having him walk with me. Theo was not born to Noa, but somehow he absorbed so much of her looks, as if by osmosis, her expressions and even her manner of speech. She had loved him so in the few short months she cared for him and he could not have been more hers if she had given birth to him.

Then there is that other face always in my mind, though I never met him, never had a photograph. Noa’s child, taken from her at birth. I see him next to Theo, wonder so often what he would have been like as a man.

“Mom...” Theo’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “You just took off from the home. We were so worried.”

“I had to see the exhibit,” I offer weakly.

Theo steps back, noticing the portrait of Noa. “That’s her, isn’t it?” he asks, a catch in his voice. He and Petra both know about Noa. I told my children when they were old enough the truth about Noa and the way she had saved Theo. But the details of how she had come to be with the circus and the other sibling who might be out there still—well, some things are better left unsaid. I nod. “She was beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” I repeat. “In more ways than you will ever know, I think. It was painted by a young man she met while she was with the circus. She only knew him a short while, but they loved each other very much. I never knew what became of him—until now.”

We stare at the picture for several seconds without speaking. “Are you ready to go now?” Petra asks gently.

“No,” I reply firmly. “I’m not ready to leave.”

“Mom,” Theo says patiently, as though speaking with a child. “I know the circus was a huge part of your life. But it’s all gone now. And it’s time to go home.”

I clear my throat. “First,” I say, “there’s something I must tell you.”

Petra’s brow wrinkles in that way so reminiscent of her father. “I don’t understand.”

“Come.” I gesture to a bench alongside the exhibit. I sit and take their hands, pulling a child down on each side of me. “There’s more to the story than either you or your brother know. Before she found Theo, Noa had a baby.”

“Really?” Petra’s voice is only mildly surprised. Such things are commonplace these days—hardly the scandal they were when we were young.

“Yes,” I reply. It is the missing chapter of the story, the one that has never been told. I am the only one who knows it and I will not be here much longer. I need to tell them now, so the truth is not lost forever.

“She was an unwed mother and the father was a German soldier, so the Reich took her baby from her. She never knew what became of the child. Then she found you, Theo, and it was like a second chance. She loved you like her own,” I add quickly, patting his hand. “But she never forgot her firstborn. I’m sorry I never told you before. The secret, it wasn’t mine to tell.”

“Why are you telling us now?” Petra asks.

“Because I will not be here forever. Someone needs to know the story and carry it forward.” I look up at the painting of Noa once more. “I’m ready now.”

Petra stands and reaches her hand toward me. “Then let’s go.”

I take her hand and our fingers intertwine. Theo stands on my other side. I lean toward my beautiful boy and he bows his head until our foreheads touch. “Going together once more,” I say. I let them lead me slowly from the museum, feeling the unseen hands that guide us.

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