Chapter 5: Back in the Fold
Our bedroom contained a bookcase which I had only perfunctorily examined when I first moved in. Yolanda and I were lying in bed one Sunday morning, talking about her family, or more precisely, Margaret McCarty's family. It seems they were some of the original founders of several of the towns in the area, after the gold rush of 1849. They came from the foothills of the Sierra Nevada down onto the fertile plains of the Central Valley. They farmed, they built stores and businesses, and they brought in settlers to build a new life.
Yolanda slipped out of the bed and went to the bookcase, pulling out an old, leather-bound volume. She opened it, and revealed a written history of Meg's family, all the way back to their emigration from Massachusetts. The original family name was Reardon, and it had carried on for generations until it almost petered out after WWII.
Yolanda pulled a separate piece of paper out of the back cover of the book and opened it. It was the update of the Reardon family tree, showing Margaret Reardon's birth in 1952, marriage to Angus McCarty in 1974, and the death of Angus in 1999. There were two other Reardons still alive, according to the chart.
Seamus Reardon, born in 1933, and Donald Reardon, born in 1948.
"Seamus Reardon is retired and living in Arizona. He never married, as you can see from this chart. I think he might have been gay. The family never mentions him. But Donald is a state representative in Sacramento. He was a lawyer and a judge. There are rumors he's a candidate for a Congressional Senate seat when one comes available. He's a good Irish Democrat, and a good friend of Mother."
"Wow, your mother knows someone in power, then," I observed.
"That's not all she knows," Yolanda giggled. "Mother has a couple of powerful men friends that she visits now and then."
"Oh? Oh!"
"Don't look so shocked, Aaron. She's still alive and kicking. She's only fifty-seven."
"Of course ... I didn't mean to suggest she wasn't entitled to her own life. I just hope they treat her well."
"Oh, they treat her very well, from what I've heard," she giggled. "They can't afford not to."
"What's that mean?"
"Just that they are important men and don't need bad publicity. Mother represents the ideal escort. Mature, sexy in a more adult way, and very knowledgeable. She can hold a conversation with anyone."
"I don't doubt it for a second. I'm just surprised at her secret life, that's all."
"How do you think that addition to the house was approved so quickly? It helps to know the right people in the right places."
I was learning a great deal about the mother of my intended. It would appear that there was a lot more to her than met the eye. I wondered what other secrets this family held. For one thing, Yolanda was turning out to be quite unlike the woman I thought she was. It was confusing. I was hoping I hadn't misread her. At times she was radically different from the shy, quiet woman who would barely talk to strangers. I wondered what secrets she was still holding.
"Meg, can you spare me a few minutes. I'd like to talk to you ... in private."
She looked at me quizzically, wondering I suppose just what this was about.
"Alright."
We walked into the now almost reframed wood room that would be her new suite. It was Sunday, and the workmen were off for the weekend.
"I've been mulling over how to approach this subject. I don't want you to over-react, so please be patient with me. It's about Yolanda. I think she's holding something back from me. Our wedding is only two months away, and I'm worried that I'm marrying the woman of my dreams without knowing something important about her. I need your help."
Meg looked at me as only she could -- clear-eyed and expressionless.
"What do you want to know?" she said in a low, calm tone.
"First of all, she seems to have two personalities. There's the reticent, nervous, quiet, housewife. A woman with a protective wall around her, unwilling to let anyone in. Then ... more recently, there's a more ... adventuresome, uninhibited, aggressive Yolanda. So completely different from the woman I thought I knew. Can you tell me what that is all about?"
Meg sat quietly, staring at me, her eyes not blinking, not wavering from her fix on me.
"My daughter is a complex woman, Aaron," she said at last. "When she was young, she was a very free-spirited teenager. She loved to flaunt authority. My husband, Philip, indulged her. It was up to me to instill some discipline. In short, he was the good guy, I was the bad guy. I resented that role. It made it very difficult for Yolanda to show me affection."
I nodded. I could understand the conflict. "But it doesn't explain the behavior when I first met her."
"She married Ryan Michaels when she was twenty-three. She had been a bit of a ... reckless girl. Apparently many lovers, but none that kept her interest for long. Her reputation wasn't very good, if you know what I mean."
"I understand."
"Ryan was a big, tough, confident man. Maybe the first she had been involved with. He dominated her. He told her when they would go out, what she would wear, and when they would come home. She seemed to respond to that. Perhaps, for the first time in her life, a man was giving her orders and she was following them. Ryan, as it turned out, replaced her father.
"I have to admit, I thought Ryan was good for her. He seemed to put a stop to her wayward lifestyle. He virtually controlled her. As I understand it, he didn't ask Yolanda to marry him, he told her she would ... and when ... and where. She simply was expected to agree ... and she did."
I shook my head in disbelief. It seemed so bizarre that she would simply follow the forceful direction of a man. But then again, when I thought of who she was when I first met her, maybe the submissive role wasn't so far fetched after all. I looked up at Meg, and I could see the small smile acknowledging my confusion.
"When my two darling grandchildren were born, no one was happier than Yolanda, perhaps with the exception of me. She was a natural mother, and nothing that has happened in the past eight years had led me to think any differently.
"When Ryan died, Yolanda changed, but not in the way I expected. It was as if she had suddenly grown up. One day she was an obedient wife, the next a responsible single mother. She refused any help from me. She was determined to forge a life for herself and her children. She never denied me access to them, or my help when it came to caring for them, but as far as running her household, that was her domain ... and hers alone."
I was transfixed at her story. Yet, I really hadn't figured out just what had brought about the changes in Yolanda. What was I missing?
"Aaron," Meg said softly, "Ryan was a tyrant. Yolanda would never admit it, but although he never hit her, he dominated her in so many ways that ... I think ... beat her down. He would never do that around me, perhaps because he sensed I wouldn't tolerate it, but ... I think he demoralized her.
"When he died, Yolanda was set free, but there was no celebration. She was so used to being told what to do and when to do it, that it took an enormous shift in her personality to take over the running of her family. I think we are close now because she knows just how much I admire what she has accomplished.
