grandmother?"
"Like my mother," she replied. I turned with surprise and shock to Mrs. DeMarco. Surely, not my grandmother Emma. She couldn't be like Mae Betty.
Mrs. DeMarco shook her head. "No. Emma March never gave birth as far as I knew."
Alanis sat back, her mouth slightly open. "She never gave birth?"
"But she's my grandmother." I said.
"No, dear. Your grandmother is Frances Wilkens, Emma March is your great-aunt."
Neither I nor Alanis spoke. Then Alanis smiled again. She thought this was even a juicier story. Her excitement annoyed me more than just a little, but I didn't speak.
"I shouldn't have to be the one to tell you all this, but I can see where you'd grow up never knowing the truth."' Mrs. DeMarco said. "Maybe that's okay to some people, but to me, especially now, it seems like a sin, and I feel like I was part of it."
She did look happier to be telling us all this. She looked like she was taking a heavy weight off her shoulders.
"Okay," Alanis said. "If that's true, who was the father of Miss Wilkens's baby?"
"Why. Blake March was the father," she said.
"No wonder her grandmother, her great-aunt or whoever she is doesn't like her own sister." Alanis said quickly. "This is better than the soap operas she watches every day," she told me. "It makes sense to me. Miss Wilkens was very pretty once, prettier than her sister. Emma. She seduced Blake March. Jordan's grandfather, right?" she asked Mrs. DeMarco.
"No," she said. "There's much more to this than a sister seducing another sister's husband. In fact," she said. struggling to get up. "it was Emma who seduced Frances."
She went to her window and tried to open it wider. I jumped up to help.
"Thank you. dear. You're certainly a pretty little thing. Where did you get that cute hat?"
"It was Alanis's hat. She gave it to me." I said. She nodded.
Alanis was staring up at her with her head tilted, as if she thought Mrs. DeMarco was either lying or, as she said about Great-aunt Frances. bonkers.
"How could Emma March seduce her sister and her sister have a baby. Mrs. DeMarco? That doesn't make sense."
"No, on first blush it doesn't." Mrs. DeMarco replied. "Looks like a nice day.""
"Do you want us to take you out?" I asked her.
"No, no, thank you, dear. I'm actually a little tired. By this time of day. I usually take a nap, sometimes sleeping until dinner. As you get closer and closer to the end, you sleep longer and longer. Your body is getting used to it."
"Can you tell us what you meant about Emma seducing Frances?" Alanis pursued. "We have someone out there waiting for us, and he is not a very patient person."
"Yes, well, someday he'll realize rushing your life along just gets you to the end faster."
She returned to her chair and closed her eyes. We didn't think she was going to continue. Alanis fidgeted and smirked and then cleared her throat loudly.
"I didn't know what had gone on when I first started caring for Frances," Mrs. DeMarco began again, keeping her eyes closed, as if she was trying to picture things. Then she opened them. "Like you. I assumed Frances had an affair with Blake March. In those days everyone knew everyone else's business. If you sneezed too many times, your neighbors heard. I had heard that Blake had been to the farm often without Emma. I must confess I rode by and strolled by a few times to catch a glimpse of him there. He drove into the village to buy things and was usually alone. If anyone asked after Emma, he had one excuse or another to explain why she wasn't with him. Rumors don't need much water and fertilizing to grow until they wrap themselves like vines around willing ears.
"Then, soon after... Frances seemed to disappear."
"Disappear?" I asked.
"No one saw her for some time, even delivery people. Emma and Blake were there and were seen. but Frances was just not seen. When they were asked about her, they said she had gone to spend time with some relatives. No one doubted it, but the theory was Emma found out Blake had been, shall we say, too attentive when it came to her sister and she had her sent off. That's the way it was for months and then, one day. Emma March called me to the farm.
"She met me at the door and took me into the living room. where Blake sat waiting. I must say he looked handsomer than ever," she added with a soft smile. "He was an elegant gentleman, your
grandfather," she told me. "He was the kind of man who belonged in a previous age when etiquette and manners mattered. He rose when a woman entered the room and sat only after she sat. I tried to teach those things to my own son, but that was like pushing string uphill."