“Please sit,” the older woman said.
“I’d prefer to stand,” I answered rigidly as I pulled my arm from her light grasp. I doubted this would take very long.
“It’s a rather lengthy story, Evangelina. Please.” She sat on a gold couch and motioned to the matching chair across from her.
Nobody ever called me by my full name, so she got my attention. I perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair, ready to duck out of the room if she started haranguing me.
Who was I kidding? This meeting just made me realize that even though my record was clear, I’d never be free of my past.
Time spent in prison had a way of catching up to a person, whether they were guilty or not. In some people’s eyes, I’d always be a thief, a convicted criminal.
My gaze drifted up from their previous position, which had been directed at the floor. I wasn’t guilty of anything, and I had no reason to fear this woman anymore. Still, our confrontation made me nauseous.
I barely knew Nora Mitchell, had only met her briefly once before her son’s birthday party. She’d never come to my trial, but had given a written statement. Supposedly, she’d been too ill to come in person at the time. She was attractive for a woman her age, which I guessed was probably in her early sixties. Unlike some rich women, she didn’t try to cover her age with hair dyes, and her short style was curly and an attractive silvery gray. Her dress was a pretty powder blue, elegant rather than showy, and she was sporting a few pieces of the jewelry that had once been missing, making me flinch as I recognized the gems.
“First, I want to apologize to you. I convicted you without knowing all the facts.”
Okay. She shocked me, and I was pretty sure my mouth was hanging open as I gaped at her silently.
She continued, “I didn’t want to believe that Karen could steal from me, when it should have been perfectly obvious that she had. All I could think about was protecting her. All I’d ever tried to do was protect her.”
“I don’t understand.” Why would Nora Mitchell care about my mother? She’d been a temporary companion for a very short amount of time.
“Karen was my only child, Evangeline. Your mother was my daughter.”
I put a hand on my belly as it began to roll in protest. “That’s impossible. My mother said her parents didn’t accept her or her pregnancy with me. She said her parents had washed their hands of her.”
Mrs. Mitchell shook her head, a remorseful expression on her face. “Your grandfather was a harsh man, and he wasn’t an easy man to live with. It’s true that he cut Karen off and never spoke to her again, and he didn’t allow me to see her either. I looked for you and your mother after he died and I re-married, this time to a kinder husband. But I couldn’t locate her. Eventually, I convinced myself that I was better off not knowing.”
That statement hurt because I didn’t understand how someone could so easily forget that she had a child and grandchild somewhere in the world, but I let the emotion pass. It didn’t matter anymore, and I was still trying to wrap my head around her claims. “Did she know who you were when she came to work for you?”
Nora nodded. “She knew, but she said she didn’t want me to give her anything. She was just there for a job. Since I couldn’t connect with her any other way, I let her take the position. I wanted to meet you, which is why she brought you to work at my stepson’s birthday party.”
“Stepson?” I hadn’t known he wasn’t her natural son.
“I have three stepchildren. Two boys and a girl. I love them all like they’re my own. But I never forgot your mother.”
Resentment started to rise from the pit of my stomach, but I pushed it back down. “But you apparently forgot you had a granddaughter,” I answered drily.
“I didn’t, Evangelina. Even after I’d convinced myself you were guilty, I wasn’t ever going to say a word, but I had to.”
Well, that explained why it had taken some time for Mrs. Mitchell to realize the jewelry was gone. “You were going to cover for me?”
She nodded, her gray head bobbing nervously. “Just like I always did for your mother.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your mother was never an easy child, and she became an even wilder teenager. If she got in trouble, I helped her and never told her father. Later, after she’d left and her father had passed away, I started reading a lot of literature on mental health. I’d say she was probably bipolar, and had some other issues from being raised by my first husband. He was abusive, both mentally and physically. I blame myself for that. I stayed with him, and Karen had to live with the abuse.”