Ted strolled down the sidewalk, his hat tipped back on his head and his loosely knotted necktie flipped over one shoulder. It was a steamy, breathless late August evening, but he felt cool and light in the new, baggy summer-weight suit he’d bought just that day. It was a bit of a splurge, but he’d rationalized that he needed some new duds for the job. A newspaper columnist, especially one who covered the jazz scene, needed to make a stylish appearance. And besides, he’d be able to impress the girls with his fancy clothes when he went to college in a few weeks.
Ted knew he looked conspicuous, grinning from ear to ear. But for him, life couldn’t be better. His guest column had turned into an almost weekly column and was a big success. Yep, I’m making a name for myself, Ted thought with satisfaction, lifting the oversized bouquet of roses he was taking to Tina and sniffing their sweet, expensive scent.
Ted allowed his eyes to be pleasantly dazzled by the neon lights of a motion-picture marquee. Having quit his paper route and table-waiting job, he was as free as a bird. On atypical day, he slept until noon and then spent the summer night wandering from one jazz club to another, usually with Tina and his other new musician friends. It wasn’t going to be easy to give up such a swell routine and return to the books.
Ted approached the Uptown Lounge, where Emmet Stark and his band were booked for a few nights, straightening his hat and tightening his tie. He gave his name to the burly bouncer at the door, then made his way to the front table where Tina was sitting. There was a roll of drums and the scream of a trumpet as the band finished up a number. Ted contributed to the riot of applause. Then he blinked in surprise as Stark stepped to the front of the stage and held out a hand to his daughter. “For the next number,” the sax player rumbled into the microphone, “we’re going to get some help from a very special guest.”
Tina grasped the microphone her father handed her. Smoke swirled around her slim, sparkling, swaying form as the band began playing. After a few beats, Tina’s voice, rich and velvety, melted into the quartet’s soft, sensuous sound.
It was a torchy tune, and Ted was spellbound. He’d never heard Tina sing before. She was wonderful! All around him, faces wore the same rapt expression. This music is transforming, Ted thought, wondering if he could possibly describe the voice—the faces—the magic of this moment on paper for his next column.
Tina finished, her voice lingering long on one last, delicious note. The crowd at the lounge leaped to their feet, applauding and whistling furiously. Tina returned the microphone to her father and left the stage. “That was fabulous, Tina!” Ted exclaimed when she was back at their table. “You’re better than Bessie Smith.”
Tina’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. “You really think so?”
“Of course,” Ted declared. “I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.”
“I’m going to miss you when you start college,” Tina said. “I won’t have anybody around to flatter me.”
As Ted tapped his feet to the sound of Slim Stark and the band, he took in Tina’s words. Suddenly, the idea of college grew fuzzier and fainter in Ted’s mind, retreating into the distance until it was just a tiny, dim dot. He knew that his aunt hoped he would study law and become a famous attorney. But Ted could hardly imagine anything more boring, especially compared with the excitement of his current life. He made up his mind. He wouldn’t go to college, even though he’d been accepted at Rosse College, one of the most prestigious schools in the Midwest. Why bother? Why just study life when he could live it?
On Saturday, Ted strolled into the kitchen in baggy trousers and with his shirttails untucked. Lifting his arms over his head, he stretched and yawned. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked his aunt.
She looked up from her newspaper and laughed. “Breakfast? I just ate my lunch! You must have had another late night.”
Ted poured himself a cup of coffee. “I guess we’re just running by different clocks these days.”
“I know,” she said. “I feel as if I never see you anymore.”
There was no blame in her voice, only regret. Still, Ted felt guilty. It occurred to him that his aunt might be lonely. They used to eat breakfast and dinner together, and often in the evenings they would listen to the radio and talk. Since Ted had started writing for the Post, however, their paths rarely crossed. Sarah was already at work when Ted woke up, and in bed by the time he got home from the clubs.
“But now that you’re up, you have to open this letter before another minute passes,” Sarah said, animated again. “The postman brought it this morning. It’s from Rosse College!”
Ted didn’t comment. Finally, his complete lack of enthusiasm registered on Sarah. “Ted, aren’t you excited about starting college?”
“I’m just not sure I want to go to Ohio,” Ted said, wishing he didn’t have to have this conversation with his aunt. “I like Chicago.”
“I know Rosse is a small town. But it’s only half an hour by car from Cleveland, so it can’t be totally provincial,” Sarah pointed out. “And the journalism department is very strong, so you—”
“I know all that,” Ted said abruptly. “It’s not just Rosse. I don’t want to go to college, period.”
“Not go? But Ted! We’ve planned this for so long. And with the money I’ve saved and what you’ve earned, you can go in style. Nothing stands in your way now.”
“I’m not worried about money. I can make as much as I need writing for the Post.”
Sarah looked down into her half-empty cup. “I think it’s grand that you’ve done so well with the Post this summer. You’re a good writer. But just think how much you could grow by attending college. It would be a whole new world.”
“I like the world I’m living in just fine,” Ted said stubbornly.
“You’ll never know what you’re missing by limiting your options this way,” she argued. “You may never have another chance like this!”
Ted tossed his coffee into the sink with an angry gesture. “They’re my options,” he snapped, “and I’ll do what I want with them. I wish you wouldn’t try to tell me what to do. You’re not my mother!”
Even as he spoke, Ted regretted his selfish, childish words. They were so unfair. The fact was that his aunt had been both mother and father to him. She’d worked for him, cooked and cleaned and sewed for him, taught him how to read and write his ABCs, and how to throw a baseball. She’d dedicated her life to ensuring his well-being. But maybe that’s partly why we’re fighting like this, he thought.
Sarah’s usually rosy cheeks had gone pale. “I’m sorry, Aunt Sarah,” Ted said gruffly. “But you can’t live my life for me. And I can’t live yours for you.”
When she didn’t reply, he took the letter from Rosse and turned away. He didn’t want to see her cry.
It was late when Ted parted with his friends outside the Black Cat Café. He hopped into a taxi and sped uptown. In front of the house in Lincoln Park, Ted tipped the driver generously, then climbed out of the car. Trudging up the steps, he saw that a light was on in the living room. Aunt Sarah must be up, he thought, surprised and somewhat annoyed.
He’d been avoiding his aunt for days, ever since their confrontation over the college issue. Ted was standing firm in his decision not to go to Rosse. Still, that night he felt somehow jittery and unsure of himself, thinking about the fact that the very next day, classes started there. What would it be like to walk across the wide green lawns with flocks of other fresh-men; to listen, pen in hand, to the lectures of wise, distinguished professors?
Easing the front door open, Ted shook those thoughts from his head. He’d have to tiptoe past the living room. He didn’t want another lecture from his aunt about how he’d be making a mistake by not going to college.
But when he caught a glimpse of his aunt, something about her attitude made him pause. She was sitting on the living-room sofa, as motionless as marble. There was something in her limp hand—a letter, Ted guessed.
He stepped into the room. “Aunt Sarah, are you all right? Have you received bad news?”
She jumped, startled at his sudden appearance. “Bad news?” Ted was struck by how pale she was. “Yes, yes, I guess it is.” Her fingers tightened on the sheet of paper and her voice cracked. “It’s a letter, a letter from a solicitor in Vista, California.” Ted knew that Vista was the town where his aunt and his father had grown up. “My father, your grandfather, has died. He left all of his money to us in his will. There’s a sizable amount.”
Ted wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean? My grandfather died years ago. Didn’t he?” Sarah shook her head.
“Then why did you tell me that he did?” Ted walked over to his aunt and stood staring down at her. “Why?”
To his surprise, he saw that her hands were shaking. In fact, her whole body was trembling. “My father and I were... estranged,” she began. The words were flat and toneless. “When I was a girl, about your age, there was a young man—Edward Brooke. We were in love. But my father forbade me to see him. Edward was poor, a working-classman. He wasn’t good enough for me, in my father’s eyes. So we eloped to San Francisco. But before we could be married, the great earthquake struck. Edward was killed. I went home to Vista, and my father and I reconciled.”
Ted was astounded by this story. He’d had no idea his aunt had had such a tragic, romantic adventure in the days before she adopted him. But he still didn’t understand. “If he took you back...”
“He took me back for a while. But then I found out—I found out I was pregnant.”
Ted gasped. “Pregnant?”
“When he discovered I was going to have a child, my father didn’t want me in his house. He didn’t want anyone to know of this family shame. I had to leave, so I picked a place where I thought I could find work. Chicago was booming. So I came east with my baby.”
The incredible words sank slowly into Ted’s numb brain. “Your baby?”
For the first time, Sarah lifted her eyes to his. They were misty with tears. “My baby. You.”
“No,” Ted whispered.
“I couldn’t tell you the truth. Don’t you see that?”
“But my father and mother—James and Edwina—”
“James wasn’t my older brother. He was my twin,” Sarah said. “He never married or had children—he died of influenza at seventeen. There was no Edwina.” She took a deep, uneven breath. “Ted, I am your mother and Edward Brooke, my Edward, was your father.”
Ted continued to stare at her, paralyzed. She reached for a brown envelope on the coffee table. “The solicitor sent these with the letter and bank draft.” She handed him a heavy, elaborately engraved ring and a small, worn leather-bound book. “The ring was my father’s. That’s the Wakefield family crest. And the journal belonged to your maternal grandmother, Dancing Wind.”
Ted clutched the ring and book, his head swimming. It was too much for him to absorb all at once. His aunt was really his mother and his real father was her forbidden love, who’d died in the San Francisco earthquake; his parents had never married, which meant he was illegitimate; all these years his grandfather had been living alone in California and Ted had never known him.
“Say something,” Sarah begged him, her voice hoarse.
Ted’s mouth suddenly tasted bitter with hurt and betrayal. He’d always been grateful to her for what she’d given him, but now he could see only what she’d withheld from him: his grandfather and the truth. “You lied to me. All my life, you’ve been lying to me!”
“I had to. It was best for you. Can’t you see that—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Ted shouted. “I don’t want to hear any more lies. And to think you’ve been trying to tell me how to run my own life when you couldn’t even run your own!”
He didn’t give Sarah a chance to explain herself further. He didn’t give himself a chance to reflect on how difficult her position had been. Instead, he stormed from the room.
In his bedroom, he stood with his hands pressed against his skull and his eyes squeezed shut. Aunt Sarah’s not who I thought she was... and neither am I. Here I’ve been, carrying on as if I owned the world, when in reality I’m nobody. I have to get out of this house. I have to think!
Ted opened his eyes. A thought struck him. Why not get out of town altogether? If he left that night, he could make it to Rosse College by the start of classes the next day.
Quickly, he pulled a suitcase from his closet. In a few minutes, he’d stuffed it with clothes and personal belongings and all the cash he had on hand.
Grabbing his jacket, Ted tore down the hallway and out the front door. “Ted!” his aunt—his mother—cried. “Ted, wait!” Ted didn’t heed her.
Half an hour later, he found himself at the train station buying a one-way ticket to Rosse, Ohio. With his world turned upside down, there was only one thing Ted was sure of: He could no longer stay in Chicago. He wanted to start a new life. In another town, maybe he could discover who Ted Wakefield really was.
