Birthright: Pray your past stays hidden (Alex Turner Book 1)

by Richard Blade

  The red light flashed on, alerting him someone had opened the outer of the two doors. He looked up from the letter and was ready to ask who dared to disturb him, when the inner door flew open and a ball of energy exploded inside.

  “Professor Turner? We haven’t met.” The voice belonged to a young firebrand of a girl whose very presence lit the dark basement with a glow as she hurried toward him, carrying a backpack and a laptop.

  “We haven’t met and you haven’t learned to knock. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to help. I’m Caitlin, but you can call me Cate. That’s like Kate, but with a ‘C’.”

  “I’m not sure why I would call you anything, with any letter,” Alex responded, “apart from unwelcome. And that’s with a ‘U’.”

  Cate pretended she didn’t hear his response and glanced around the dark, underground study, “So this is the dungeon.”

  “The what?”

  She smiled, “It’s a nickname some of the students who’ve been down here have given it. I haven’t seen it before.”

  “Obviously. I’m not sure why you are seeing it today.”

  “It’s because I’m here to help you work. That’s why the Dean sent me. Or I kind of convinced him to send me.”

  She plopped down on the edge of Alex’s desk, scattering his notes to the floor. She jumped back to her feet and dropped to her knees to scoop them up, “Sorry. My bad.”

  As she grabbed the papers willy-nilly, Alex raised his hands in warning and called out, “Stop! They were in a particular order. I will pick them up and arrange them after you go.”

  “But I’m staying. The whole University is buzzing about you getting an assistant for a big project.”

  Alex put his head back in frustration. This was going from bad to worse, and his sarcastic tone reflected his annoyance, “I’m glad the entire faculty is looking over my shoulder. Would you close the door on your way out?”

  Again, Cate ignored his request, “When I heard how important this mystery assignment was, I went straight to the Dean and told him I’d be perfect for this. I’m good with computers, I’m quick on the uptake, and I get along great with people.”

  “And you’d like to work with animals and promote world peace. This is not Miss America-”

  Cate cut off Alex’s retort by picking up the single framed photograph on his desk. He reacted in shock at the affront as she gazed at the picture.

  “Is this you with your family?” she asked.

  Alex snatched the frame from her and carefully put it back in exactly the same spot. “It was.”

  “I’m sorry. I heard what happened.” Her voice reflected a genuinely sympathetic edge. “But I can help with this, I promise. Plus, I need it. I’ve made it my goal to establish tenure here, maybe make professor by thirty, like you did. That gives me just under five years.”

  “It’s a worthy ambition, but I am not willing to be your stepping stone to personal advancement. What is your field anyway?”

  “Computer science,” Cate was proud of her specialty.

  Alex rolled his eyes, which did not go unnoticed so Cate added, “With a second in Genealogy. My papers and thesis were on your research methods. I’ve read all your books and studied your techniques.”

  “Good. In that case you know I work alone.”

  “Alex, can I call you that?”

  “I prefer Professor Turner.”

  “Right, Professor Turner. Please let me help. I’m enthusiastic, I’ve got Irish roots and I’ve been there twice. I’ve even kissed the Blarney Stone. They say it gets rid of your shyness.”

  “Then it obviously works. But what does Ireland have to do with this?”

  Cate smiled, she had his attention now, “It’s where the letter was mailed from in 1892.”

  “How do you know about the letter?”

  “The Dean gave me a copy to look over. Haven’t you seen it yet?”

  “You told me you were familiar with my methods. If so, you would be aware I take it one step at a time, and I was preparing to examine the letter. However, there was no return address and the stamp itself is long gone, and what remains of the postmark on the envelope is so worn it has become illegible, making the determination of the original point of mailing impossible. Why do you assume it was Ireland?”

  Gotcha, thought Cate, “Because even though the legibility of the printing is too badly damaged to pick out individual words and determine its origin, the remaining edges which overlapped where the stamp would have been still show the franking from the postmark with its curving floral design and the green lead-based ink. That is our clue to its source, because the specific ink type is unique to Limerick in Southern Ireland and the time frame of the late eighteen-hundreds.” She paused, before adding, “I’ve been to the place that made the ink. There is nowhere else in the world it could be from.”

  Alex said nothing. He held up the envelope and examined what was left of the faded postmark again with fresh eyes. He turned on one of the desk lights and studied it a second time. Finally, he looked from the envelope to Cate, his expression softening. “The quality of the ink is,” he paused, looking for the right word, “distinctive. You’re certain it’s from Limerick?”

  “I’m sure of it. I already double-checked with other samples still available from the time period.” Cate grinned, “I told you I was good, professor. Can I stay?”

  Alex lowered the envelope and placed it carefully on his desk before answering, “For today. Let’s see what the letter itself can tell us. If you haven’t deciphered it already.”

  Cate shook her head, and Alex took out the copy of the original, “It’s addressed to Sarah Frost in London.” He waved to Cate to come around the desk to join him, and laid it on the table for them both to read.

  MARY’S LETTER

  February 1st, 1892

  Dearest Sarah,

  I write to tell you how I think back and treasure our time together. I am still haunted by what happened to Joy that night instead of me, and I intend to live my life in her memory. As vic Donovan told us, perhaps God has other plans for me.

  My Bertie came to Dara’s to see his boy washed but couldn’t stay. Now he too has joined the list of the departed, and with his death I will save the money to travel to America. I shall sail there with my son later this year to start life anew. You will never hear from me this way again.

  My love,

  Mary Kelly

  Alex sat back to digest the contents of the letter, thinking through the names, places and thoughts the writer had communicated almost one hundred and thirty years before. Cate watched him intently. She was like a racehorse at the gate, raring to get started. But she knew she had to wait and follow the lead of the world’s greatest expert on lineage.

  Finally, after an interminable time, he broke his silence, and his words were as much to himself as they were to Cate, “Normally I would start by piecing together the subject’s background using their friends and family, but here we have a problem, there is only one full name to go on and that’s Vic Donovan. And Mr. Brown’s existing research shows there were more than one hundred and ten Victor Donovans in London in 1892 - all of whom are now lost to history.”

  “And the other names? Can you use them to start tracking any leads?”

  “They are only partial; Joy, Dara, Bertie. No way to trace them. And Sarah Frost, the recipient of the letter, died a few years later of tuberculosis, with no children. It’s all in Mr. Brown’s package.”

  “Are you saying it’s a dead-end already?” Cate was confused.

  “Genealogy is about unravelling dead-ends. We know Mary’s destination was here, America, so we start at Ellis Island and hunt for her entry record. Although Mr. Brown tried that route, perhaps he overlooked something. I have twelve volumes of archives we can begin with.”

  He gestured to one of the towering wooden bookcases, and a shelf holding a dozen intimidatingly large books, “I was presented them as a gift after I published my boo
k, ‘Immigration: The True Story of America’.” Even as he pointed, Cate opened her laptop.

  “There’s a faster way. They have an online site. We can check millions of names in minutes.”

  “That thing won’t be of much use. There’s nowhere to plug it in and go ‘online’ down here.”

  Cate laughed as the laptop powered up, “That thing is wireless. The whole University is linked with a mesh Wi-Fi network. We’re researching 1892, not living in it. Look, we’re,” she imitated Alex’s contemptuous tone, “...online!”

  Hours passed, and Alex stayed motionless in his chair, only occasionally reaching out to re-read a paper or compare one finding to another. A few feet from him, Cate relentlessly surfed the net.

  Finally, she paused and stared at the unmoving professor, “Are you okay? What are you doing?”

  Alex reluctantly turned to her, “It’s called thinking. Try it sometime. Though it’s hard to do when you’re staring at that machine all day.”

  “Sorry. But that machine can’t find Mary Kelly coming through Ellis Island in 1892. Maybe she changed her name?”

  Alex shook his head, “If you’d taken the time to review Mr. Brown’s files you would have seen he already made that assumption. Many immigrants changed their name to make a fresh beginning in America. And Mary writes - to start life anew.”

  “I did see that.”

  Sarcasm returned to Alex’s voice, “Congratulations, you’ve read the printed word. Did you also notice she ended the letter with you will never hear from me this way again? A clear indication the next time she would make contact would be under another name.”

  “I didn’t make that connection. I’ve been looking at the scan of the letter on the laptop, but I guess I missed it.”

  “I’m not surprised you did. But what name did she choose? That’s the million-dollar question.”

  Cate grinned, “To be more precise, the twenty-million-dollar question.”

  Alex raised his eyebrows, “The Dean told you how much is at stake for the University?”

  “Yes, everybody on campus knows. All the different departments are already planning what they will do with the money.” Cate was open with her answer, “He didn’t say who the person gifting the grant is.”

  “It’s not a person; it’s a large pharmaceutical company. GPAD.”

  Cate tried to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing, “GPAD? That sounds like something you wear when Aunt Flo comes calling. But if their money is real…”

  “It’s real all right. Now if we can go back to work?” Alex concentrated on the letter, running his fingers across it as if the writing itself would communicate with him, “People often change their name to one that’s familiar to them, or they’ll use the same initials.”

  “So we’re looking for names beginning with M.K.? Like Mary Kate? Oh my God, she became one of the Olsen twins!”

  Alex stared at her, puzzled at the reference, “Your humor’s lost on me. I have no idea who the Olsen twins are. Mr. Brown seems to have gone through every variation of M and K and come up with nothing.”

  “Then how do we figure out what name she chose? It’s almost an infinite combination. Impossible.”

  Alex ran his fingers over the letter again and murmured to himself, “Who was it, Mary? Who did you become?”

  The day slipped away from the two researchers as Alex paced back and forth holding the letter, urging it to speak to him. Cate closed her laptop and curled up in the basement’s lone armchair, hoping to get a few minutes sleep. Restless, she pulled out her cell and sent a text.

  She returned the phone to her backpack, opened her laptop and typed into the search bar Global Pharmaceuticals. The results appeared and she clicked on the home page. Her eyes opened wide as she scanned the pages. After a few seconds she turned her attention to Alex, “Professor, you should see this.”

  He paused his constant pacing, “What is it?”

  “I’m on GPAD’s website. They’re huge. Massive. A real multi-national. They have branches everywhere, not only here in the States. They’re in Japan, Australia, Hong Kong, Singapore, Sweden, Argentina-”

  “What were you expecting, a local drugstore? Their name is Global Pharmaceuticals, after all. That should have been your first clue-”

  It was Alex’s turn to be interrupted as the red light flashed on, warning the outer door had been opened. He shot a puzzled glance at Cate who smiled back at him, “Delivery.”

  There was a polite knock on the inner door, and a student entered carrying two coffees.

  “Someone texted for Starbucks?”

  “That would be me,” said Cate. “I thought it might help.”

  Reluctantly, Alex agreed, “Thank you.” He pointed to the third, empty desk, away from the precious papers and notes “Put them there and get out.”

  The student did as instructed and fled the dungeon. Cate brought one of the drinks over to Alex, “This one’s yours.”

  “How do you know which is which?” he asked.

  “They put our names on the cups. You should like that. It’s writing,” she smiled.

  “They have my name wrong. It says PAT.”

  “No, they got it right. PAT – Professor Alex Turner,” she grinned.

  As Alex reached for the cup, Cate noticed the bracelet around his left wrist, “Is that your Covid-19 vaccine band?”

  Alex nodded.

  “You do know the record of your vaccination and the date, can be automatically included on your driver’s license and passport? That way you can cut the thing off your wrist. It always caught on my sheets and annoyed me when I tried to sleep.”

  “It doesn’t bother me.”

  “Yes, but it’s so much more convenient to have it listed with your IDs, particularly when you travel. It comes right up on the security scan and you are good to go.”

  “Another reason I haven’t done it. I don’t like to travel.”

  “That’s a shame. It’s a big world out there,” Cate knew she was getting nowhere with this, and picked up her latte and sipped it. Her look of satisfaction said everything about the taste.

  Alex returned to his studying and concentrated his attention on the letter. Distractedly, he took a drink from the cup.

  “How is it?” wondered Cate.

  Alex sat bolt upright, “My God! Joy!”

  Cate stared at her coffee, surprised, “It’s good, but not that good.”

  “No, no, no, not the coffee.” Alex pointed to a passage in the letter, “Look at Mary’s words. I am still haunted by what happened to Joy that night instead of me and I intend to live my life in her memory. Something happened to her friend Joy and she blamed herself. She wanted to keep her memory alive. To honor her, she became her. Try Mary Joy.”

  Cate quickly punched in Mary Joy to the online Ellis Island site. She looked up, disappointed, “No Mary Joy.”

  “Joy is short for Joyce. Try Mary Joyce. Or Joyce Kelly.”

  Cate typed and shook her head, “Still nothing.”

  “Then try looking for Joyce, wherever it appears, in any name.”

  They had drained their coffees before Cate tore her eyes from the laptop screen, “Two-thousand nine-hundred and three ‘Joyces’ came through Ellis Island.”

  “I thought that may be the case,” admitted Alex. “Can you condense the search to 1892 and 1893. That should bring the numbers down.”

  “I can, but it’ll take some time.” Cate returned to her hunt.

  Two more empty cups stood with the original lattes before Cate pushed her chair away from the desk and stretched to relieve her cramped body, “A total of sixty-one Joyces.”

  “A popular name.”

  Cate laughed, “At least she didn’t choose Smith.”

  Alex joined her in the laugh, “You’ve done well. Show me the list.”

  “I’ll print it out.”

  Alex raised his eyebrows, “I don’t have a printer here.”

  “Yes, you do. You just don’t use
it.” She clicked print, and in the corner a long-forgotten Epson buzzed into life.

  “Wi-Fi?” asked Alex.

  Cate’s smile answered him, “See, I knew we’d get you into the twenty-first century.”

  She strolled across to the printer and grabbed the two sheets of paper. Alex took them from her and laid them side by side on his desk.

  “How will we know which Joyce it is?” Cate asked.

  “I’m looking for a mother and son,” explained Alex. A red light appeared above the door. “What now?” he grumbled.

  “Food,” said Cate.

  She jumped to her feet and met the delivery boy at the door with a crisp twenty-dollar bill in her hand.

  He reached into his pocket for change, but Cate cut him off, “Keep it.”

  “Thank you,” he replied. “Can I get you anything else?”

  It was Alex who answered with a bark, “Yes, you can get out.”

  Cate snatched the pizza as the delivery boy bolted through the door. She grimaced at the grumpy professor, “Are you always so rude?”

  “I don’t like to be disturbed.”

  “Whatever. Do you like pizza?”

  The pizza box stood empty next to the four coffee cups as Alex returned to pacing. Cate stared at him as he walked back and forth, “Thinking?”

  “Trying to, when you don’t interrupt me.”

  “Is this the norm for you?” she glanced at her watch, “Thirty-seven hours straight without a break?”

  “You are welcome to leave anytime.”

  “And miss the fun?” She held up a single sheet of paper, “I have the list down to twenty-nine women with Joyce in their name, traveling with a young boy and sailing here from Britain during that specific time period.”

  Alex took the paper and poured over the list, the names representing a sea of immigrants coming to the promised land. The history of America in their dreams. He said nothing as he stared at the names and dates.

  It was too much for Cate, “How will we ever know which one she was?”