This telling of the fairy tale was changing their perceptions of everything, of each other most of all. With that thought came another: what was it about the play—and about the fairy tale—that had upset Mom so much all those years ago? Before, Meredith had always assumed that her mother’s Christmas play anger had been directed at Meredith, that in choosing to do the fairy tale as a Christmas play, Meredith had done something wrong.
But what if it hadn’t been about Meredith and Nina at all; what if it had been a reaction to seeing the words acted out?
She went deeper into the closet and stood in front of her mother’s chest of drawers. There was something in here that would reveal her mother. There had to be. What woman didn’t have some memento hidden far from prying eyes?
She closed the door until there was only the slimmest view of the room, and then she returned to the chest, opening the top drawer. Underwear lay neatly folded in three piles: white, gray, black. Socks were organized in similarly colored balls. Several bras filled out the corner. She let her fingers trail beneath it all, feeling the smooth wood of the drawer’s bottom. Guilt made her grimace but she continued through the second and third drawers, with their neatly folded sweaters and T-shirts. Kneeling, she opened the bottom drawer. Inside, she found pajamas, nightgowns, and an out-of-date bathing suit.
Nothing hidden. Nothing more personal than undergarments.
Disappointed and vaguely embarrassed, she closed the drawer. With a sigh, she got back to her feet and stood there looking at the clothes. It was all perfectly organized. Everything with a place and in it; the only thing that didn’t fit was a sapphire-blue wool coat hanging at the very back of the closet.
Meredith remembered the coat. She’d seen her mother wear it once—to a performance of The Nutcracker when she and Nina were little girls. Dad had insisted, had twirled Mom around and kissed her and said, “Come on, Anya, just this once . . . ”
She reached back for it, pulled it out. The coat was a bright blue cashmere in a classic forties style, with broad shoulders, a fitted waist, and wide, cuffed sleeves. Intricately carved Lucite buttons ran from throat to waist. Meredith put it on; the silk lining was deliciously soft. Surprisingly, it fit pretty well; wearing it made her imagine her mother as young instead of old, as a smiling girl who would love the feel of cashmere.
But she hadn’t loved it, had rarely worn it. Neither, though, had she thrown it away, and for a woman who kept so few mementos, it was an odd thing to have saved. Unless she hadn’t wanted to hurt Dad’s feelings. It must have been expensive.
She put her hands in the pockets and twirled to look at herself in the full-length mirror behind the door.
That was when she felt it, something hidden, sewn into the lining behind the pocket.
She felt for the fraying edge of the secret compartment and worked it for a few seconds, finally extracting a tattered, creased black and white photograph of two children.
Meredith stared down at it. The image was slightly blurry and the paper was so creased and veined it was hard to see clearly, but it was two children, about three or four years of age, holding hands. At first she thought it was her and Nina, but then she noticed the old-fashioned, heavy coats and boots the kids were wearing. She turned the picture over and found a word written on the back. In Russian.
“Meredith!”
She flushed guiltily before she realized it was Nina, thundering up the stairs like an elephant.
Meredith opened the closet door. “I’m in here, Nina. ”
Dressed in khaki pants and a matching T-shirt, with hiking boots, Nina looked ready to go on a safari. “There you are. I’ve been look—”
Meredith grabbed her arm and pulled her into the closet. “Is Mom still in the kitchen?”
“Baking enough bread for a third world country? Yes. Why?”
“Look what I found,” Meredith said, holding out the picture.
“You went snooping? Good girl. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you. ”
“Just look. ”
Nina took the photograph and stared down at it for a long time and then turned it over. After a quick glimpse at the word, she turned it over again. “Vera and Olga?”
Meredith’s heart actually skipped a beat. “You think?”
“I can’t tell if they’re boys or girls. But this one kinda looks like Mom, don’t you think?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. What should we do with it?”
Nina thought about that. “Leave it here for now. We’ll bring it with us. Sooner or later, we’ll ask Mom. ”
“She’ll know I went through her stuff. ”
“No. She’ll know I did. I’m a journalist, remember? Snooping is my job description. ”
“And I found out from Daisy that Mom was sick when she married Dad. They thought she’d die. ”