There was something in Ella’s horror-stricken face that told me she knew what caused Marilyn's trauma.
I put down the tray. “You know something, don’t you?”
She bowed her head and averted her gaze.
“We know all about Havelock Street now, Ella—no need to hold back.”
The old woman lifted her tear-filled eyes to meet mine. “I’m so sorry, Scott—I wanted to tell you, but Doctor Lambert made me promise not to say anything.”
I felt sorry for her. I sat down beside her and held her hands in mine. “I understand, Ella—I really do. He gave me the same speech. Except, in my case, I hadn’t a clue about anything.”
“He means well, Scott—he didn’t want Marilyn traumatized—but, of course, that can’t be helped now, poor thing.”
“What exactly do you know, Ella?”
She gave a deep sigh. “I know who Marilyn is—knew it from the start—you see, I used to live beside her and her mother, on Havelock Street.”
“You were a neighbor?”
She nodded. “Well, I was, up until ten years ago, when my uncle died and left me his home in the Beaches. I sold my Havelock Street house and moved east, closer to the bookshop.”
I shook my head in awe, but it all made sense—it explained why no one stepped forward to identify Marilyn—she was never lost.
But then another thought hit me—if that was the case, why did Abe bother to involve me—and lie to me, for that matter?
“I don’t understand, Ella. When I met you, you said you never saw Marilyn before—until she showed up outside your house in the rain.”
“Did I really say that, Scott—or, did you think I said that?”
I couldn’t recall.
“I told you I saw her looking frightened and bewildered, so I took her in. I never said I didn’t recognize her—the truth was, she didn’t recognize me.”
My head began to spin. “But then, how did she know where you lived?”
“She visited a few times after I moved away from the old street. We were close—she used to call me Gran—then, she went to university and we lost contact. She was growing up, I suppose—and me?” She gave a harsh laugh, “I guess I was just growing old.”
I began to make sense of it.
Marilyn saw her mother die and the trauma caused her amnesia—but in her shocked and confused state she went to the only other family she ever knew—to Ella, the woman she called Gran.
Ella was staring off into space, recalling past memories.
“You know, it wasn’t until that day when I found her wandering in the rain—when she was toweling off her hair—that Catherine looked up at me, in my front room, and I saw the resemblance I never noticed until then. It was as if she were Marilyn Birnam reborn.”
“But how did she know so much about Marilyn?” I asked.
“When we were neighbors, she’d come over almost every day. That’s when she was about ten and began calling me Gran. She used to love to go through my cedar chest and look at the old pictures—and I—well, I just loved to talk about Marilyn.”
“So, you two formed a bond around the pictures and Marilyn?”
Ella blinked away a tear. “I guess you could say that—I never thought of it that way.”
“So, now I see why you ‘adopted’ Marilyn and took her in—you were like a long lost relative—and you brought back those memories of Marilyn to her.”
“What’s more important,” Ella whispered, “She brought back memories of Marilyn to me.”
“You both needed each other,” I sighed.
“We still do.”
Although Ella’s account explained Marilyn’s past, it didn’t explain the flashbacks that I had of her past—and that disturbed me.