THE MISSING PIECE

The Missing Piece

My mother-in-law was eccentric. She didn’t trust strangers and hated going to shops or restaurants as much as she hated going to doctors and avoided all of the above. She studied dinosaurs and racehorses and could name every Kentucky Derby winner and their bloodlines since the nineteen fifties. She spent days, years and decades holding court in her homes, always in a turban and sunglasses, year-round, whether in the cold North or the tropical South. A caftan, flip flops and pearls completed her look. Always pearls; Eloise had a definite style as well as a definite M.O. She only ever ventured outside to care for her menagerie of beloved pets which through the years included an endless procession of dogs, rescued cats, donkeys, sometimes a horse, and the wild turkeys and racoons to whom she offered daily servings of lettuce, white bread and vanilla ice cream. She was eccentric and kind and smart and I loved her.

She had lived a sheltered childhood growing up in her grandparents’ grand house on Lake Shore 

Drive in Chicago. She loved Gammie and Edo and knew them as the only constants in her young 

life. Her father had gone away when she was very young and her mother was distant and busy with other things besides her children. Eloise had endless stories, so many stories that I realized she had created a rich and colorful life to entertain herself in what I came to understand had been a very lonely childhood. She remembered her mother’s beauty and the clothes she wore in great detail, long dresses made of silk and lace for the evenings and linen and tweed suits with buttons shaped like acorns in the daytime. She imagined her mother as a lonely princess, waiting in the tower for a prince to come and take her away to a castle with horses and knights to protect her. 

Eloise told me how her favorite time of the day was just after supper, as she and her brother were going up to bed and before her mother was going down to dinner. She and Edward would be brought to their mother’s rooms and stood in the doorway of that sacred sanctuary and delighted as their mother played the piano and sang a funny song or a lullaby to them. She told me how her mother crossed the room, twirling ‘round and ‘round to show off her beautiful dress and how she loved the rustling sound the fabric made as her mother spun. Eloise knew she must always stand in the doorway and never run to dance with her mother as her fingers could crush the fragile silk and if she ruined her mother’s dress her mother would cry. 

Over the years Eloise shared many memories of her mother with me, recounting her delight in her mother’s singing, her story telling and of her endless collection of beautiful clothes. Her favorite memory was of a caravan of boxes arriving at the house, being carried up to her mother’s room and of her young-self standing in the doorway watching as the large lids were lifted and sheets of tissue paper appeared, rising and floating ghost-like, before falling on the carpet creating a frothy sea of white. This meant Gammie and Edo had returned home from a long trip away and had brought wonderful surprises to cheer her mother, dresses and coats and hats and one time, the softest white fur coat with black tails arrived in its own shiny box. Eloise remembered every detail, the colors, the sounds of the unpacking, the crinkle of the tissue and the rustle of the satin, but mostly she remembered seeing her mother happy and that made Eloise very happy.

Pregnant with my first child, I was confined to bed and had nothing to do but read and think 

and I often thought about Eloise. She was an enigma, smart and observant, she didn’t miss a 

beat, yet she never shared her observations, only talked about the books she was reading or 

her animals. When Eloise and I were alone she relaxed, telling more stories 

about her childhood; about a favorite dog, or going out to lunch with her grandmother and 

always so many details, describing the illustrations on the covers of her favorite childhood 

books, her grandmother’s way of pronouncing certain words and the uniforms the waitresses 

wore at her favorite restaurant. She remembered every detail. But why was she always looking back to her childhood; what was keeping her there and why? What was I missing? 

My child had a nightmare entry into life contracting meningitis in the hospital nursery. His precarious condition required a move to acute care, a spinal tap and IVs in his tiny hands and feet. When he was released at two weeks old, I swaddled him carefully and took him out of the hot July city and far away to regain his strength in the sea air next to the ocean. Eloise offered to send her children’s childhood nanny to us as I didn’t want a stranger helping me with this baby who had been so ill. Willie Mae arrived and we all turned the corner. My baby was safe in the blessed care of a knowledgeable and wise woman. I calmed down and stopped holding my breath and miracle of all miracles, Eloise wanted to come and visit. Willie was working her magic. 

Willie had worked as a very young woman in Eloise’s grandparents’ household and had known Eloise since my mother-in-law was four. I valued the time alone with Willie before my in-laws arrived and asked her endless questions about the young Eloise. I needed more pieces of the puzzle and I knew Eloise wasn’t going to give them up. Willie described the kind and generous grandparents, the nasty older brother whom Eloise hardly ever mentioned, the lovely and reclusive mother and the banished father sent away after a scandalous affair in a young marriage. More pieces, but not enough.

Eloise arrived and immediately her shy demeanor brightened in Willie’s presence. I loved seeing her so relaxed, she liked our house, loved the garden and the view of the bay and she wanted to sit outside in the sun. She always loved the sun. She and Willie chatted up a storm every afternoon while the baby napped. Eloise was animated, asking many questions about Willie’s life in retirement in Chicago, requesting updates on Willie’s grandkids, but always her thoughts would drift back to the house on Lake Shore Drive. Eloise was four again and she’d ask if Willie remembered a certain dress her mother wore, how beautifully she had played the piano, and how careful she had always been to never run to hug her mother so she wouldn’t crush the dresses that her mother loved more than anything. 

Suddenly, the biggest voice erupted from tiny Willie, “Eloise, your mother didn’t love those dresses, she loved you and your brother more than anything in the world!”  “But Gammie always told us “Never hug your mother.” And Nanny told me, “Don’t touch your Mama and wrinkle her dresses.”  “Everyone always made us stand in the doorway when Mummy danced so we didn’t trip her and tear her dress. And she was the happiest when the boxes arrived and she got new 

dresses, they were her favorite things in the world.” And then, almost in a whisper, Willie Mae spoke; “Eloise, your mother loved you and Edward more than anything in the world, more than she loved Gammie and Edo. You and your brother were her greatest joys, but she needed to keep you and Edward at a distance to keep you safe. I always thought they should have told you but they said you were too young to understand. Your mother was sick, Eloise, very sick, she had tuberculosis. That’s why she died when you were five.” 

“My mother was sick, no one told me that.”  Willie Mae had the missing piece, Eloise wasn’t hiding it, she never knew it existed. She had lived her entire life believing her mother hadn’t loved her, thinking she was less cherished than dresses and furs and buttons shaped like acorns. In that moment, in a garden by the sea, I saw my mother-in-law’s face release years of misconceptions and sadness as she realized for the first time in her sixty-seven years that her beautiful mother had loved her. 

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