Free Family Inheritance by Terri Ann Leidich

Suzanne’s young face, grasping, trying to
understand what she saw. As if a shadow had been removed, she picked up the picture
and examined it closely; she was startled by the eyes. She had never noticed it before,
but Suzanne’s eyes were haunting, as if she knew a deep, dark secret. Helene was
stabbed with heartache greater than she could handle, and she quickly placed Suzanne’s
picture deep within the book.
    As she turned the pages, Helene’s eyes refused to look at her own pictures. The edges
of her mind saw them, but she wouldn’t acknowledge them. It hurt too much. That scraggly,
sad little girl couldn’t be her. She couldn’t claim her, it would make her too vulnerable,
too open to what she really felt about herself. If she didn’t look at the pictures
of herself, maybe they would just go away. Maybe that hurt, lonely little girl would
just cease to exist.
    Hurriedly Helene closed the book. This is not a part of me. I didn’t come from that.
    She placed her head in her hands as fatigue washed over her. She sat still for a
long time. Then she carefully packed the photo album back into the box, stored it
in a far corner, and left the attic.
    Once inside her bedroom, she closed the door, picked up the phone, and dialed Mr.
Welsh’s number. It rang once. Helene hung up and stared at the phone. Moments later
she reached for it again. Her hands shook as she picked up the receiver. The dial
tone screamed into the silence. Slowly Helene dialed—the phone rang three times and
was answered by his secretary. Angrily, Helene slammed down the phone.
    Reaching for a pillow from the bed, she hurled it across the room. The pillow hit
the wall with a thud and sank to the floor as Helene lay back on the bed. Minutes
passed as she stared blankly at the ceiling. Feeling totally depleted, Helene once
again reached for the phone and dialed.
    The secretary answered after a few rings. Helene mumbled her name.
    “Just a moment, Mrs. Foster.” The secretary put her on hold.
    After a couple moments, Raymond said, “Mrs. Foster, what can I do for you?”
    Anguish circled each word as she slowly replied. “Mr. Welsh, I’d like to come to
see you by myself.” She was quiet for a few moments, and Raymond didn’t break the
silence. “There are a lot of things I need to talk to someone about.”
    “Okay. When would you like to come?” His voice was gentle.
    The appointment made, Helene lay down on the bed and fell into a tired sleep. She
was startled awake as Bill pulled her close to him. He cradled her in his arms, and
whispered, “I love you, Helene. I really do love you.” Tears glistened in her eyes
as sleep pulled her back into its comforting embrace.

    After a few weeks, the family settled into a routine of life and sessions with Raymond
Welsh. At times they danced around each other like they were stepping on eggshells,
and at other moments small windows of communication and connection would open where
they would each join in, as though they were gingerly putting their toes into a lake
to test out the temperature of the water.
    Helene, Bill, and Thomas were all trying to right the capsized boats that each of
their lives had become, trying to figure out how to be comfortable in their lives
once they were right-side up again. Taking steps forward and faltering several steps
backward, they were dancing a dance of reconnection and recovery.

Chapter 9
    Northern Minnesota
    “Thelma, I was reading this woman’s magazine that I picked up at the grocery store.
It had an article about rape.” Alice took a deep breath. “It says it’s rape if a
husband has sex when a wife doesn’t want to.” Again, she drew a deep breath. “What
do you think?”
    Alice and her best friend, Thelma, were sitting at Thelma’s kitchen table enjoying
their daily gossip sessions with a fresh brewed pot of coffee and bags of sweet treats
from the Day Old Bakery.
    Thelma just stared at Alice. “I think you’d better stop reading those magazines