"Is that your mother?" Tristan asked as she pointed up to the woman in the center of the portrait. Cole peered up at the photograph.
"Yes, that was taken a month before she died. I was just a baby.”
In the portrait a blond haired woman with straight locks and beautiful brown eyes glowed, surrounded by her family. Above her was a stout man with thick brown hair and mustache and a friendly face. Surrounding them were their four children: eldest daughter Joanna, age eight, Joe, Jr. age four, Cole fifteen months and Natalie who was sitting on her mother's lap was just two months old.
Cole sat down next to Tristan on the faded couch as she glanced over at him.
“This might be really out of line, but can you tell me what happened to your Mom?” asked Tristan. Cole laughed at Tristan’s question.
“You know you can ask me whatever you want,” said Cole.
“Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Cole jumped from his seat as he went into the next room. A moment later he returned with a cracked leather book that was filled with newspaper clippings and photographs.
“It’s easier to show you,” explained Cole.
He opened the worn cover of the scrap book and began to flip through the pages, his expression quite unreadable. Years of memories, achievements and milestones flashed before Tristan’s eyes as Cole looked for the right page.
“Here it is,” said Cole as he thumped the page. “Read this.”
Tristan grabbed the book carefully with both hands, and stared down at the page, an old age-stained newspaper clipping dated December 26, 1981 with the title “Covered Bridge Collapses in Elkhart during Devastating Blizzard Kills 3.” Tristan’s heart raced as she read the words on the page.
She touched the page and unclasped the edges of the clipping from the book. She unfolded the article as a gasp escaped from her lips. Along with several other stories, including an article about a woman’s body being found on the bank of Croft Lake, was a black and white photograph of the Elkhart Bridge in shambles. The roof of the covered bridge had completely caved in. Snow and ice covered the scene and amidst the calamity, a pair of glaring headlights shone out. Too shocked to read on, Tristan closed her eyes with a glint of hysteria on her face. Tristan looked somberly into Cole’s eyes and quietly said, “I see what you mean. Your mom died on my birthday, you know…” A knowing look grew across Cole’s face and he appeared to want to say something but looked away instead. It wasn’t his place.
Out of sheer curiosity, Tristan lifted the worn tape that was securing the newspaper clipping in the scrapbook and began to unfold it. Whoever had saved the newspaper article didn't bother clipping it out, but instead folded the entire news paper page. Tristan smoothed the edges of the page, only to find something even more disturbing. She thought it was her face at first; a smiling family photo of her mother plastered in the center of page two of the Elkhart Bugle. The title over the picture read “Fox Hollow Woman Found Dead at Croft Lake, Foul Play Suspected.”
Tristan felt dizzy.
All this time she thought that her mother had left... When in reality, she was dead. Dead on the same day she gave birth to Tristan.
"Are you okay?" asked Cole, deep concern present in his voice. "I didn't realize that was on the other side!"
Ignoring Cole's question, Tristan spoke, shocked and breathlessly, "He's being lying to me all this time. He's been lying to everyone!" Her eyes wide, her mouth gaping; rage quaked inside her like never before.
From downstairs, a booming voice yelled up, “Tristan! Let’s go!” Jack had arrived. Blake had probably called him, ready to get back to his video games. The call startled Tristan, unsure of what she would say to her father when she saw him. As Cole prepared to close the book and run downstairs, he grabbed Tristan’s hand.
“Hey, before you go,” he reached into his pant pockets. “I wrote you back. Try to relax. I'll call you later.”
Cole handed Tristan a small folded up note. Tristan took the note as a small smile formed on her face. As Cole turned to head downstairs, Tristan sneakily tore the piece of newspaper from the book and stuffed it into her school sweater's front pocket. Cole offered to walk Tristan to the door. As the pair walked down the stairs, they were greeted by a set of angry eyes. Jack’s face was a ruddy shade of red as he saw his daughter walking down the stairs with the boy. Jack didn’t care if he knew the boy as well as his own son. His daughter was only fifteen. Entirely too young to have a boyfriend in his eyes. Jack decided that he would need to keep a close eye on the youngest Piedmonte boy.
"Hello Father," greeted Tristan coolly, as she followed her older brothers out the front door. Meanwhile, Jack waved goodbye to the members of the Piedmonte family, expressing a firm goodbye to Cole.
* * *
The heavy oak door of the Morrow residence burst open and Tristan walked in with purpose clear in her step. Her face showed no emotion, but her posture gave her anger away. No one said anything to her in the car, they have all come to the realization that a conversation with Tristan when she is angry will do them no good. It is always best to just let her cool down. In the car, as everyone talked loudly over the radio, Tristan just looked out her window, ignoring the laughter, jokes, and conversation. Occasionally she would get a worried glance from Adam, but she ignored that too.
As she walked in the foyer, Liam and Blake followed close behind her and watched as she walked up the steps. Liam turned to his brother, irritation clear in his face.
"What the hell happened?!" Liam demanded.
Blake looked cross with his older brother."How the hell am I supposed to know? She went up to the den with Cole and came down furious!"
"And the thought never occurred to check on your fifteen-year-old sister with your buddy?"
"No. It's Cole. Why would I?"
Tommy brushed by them, as he came through the door.
"It's not Cole that she's pissed at. Didn't you see how they parted? She smiled at him, but gave Dad a nasty look."
Jack entered the house with bags of groceries that he had purchased while the kids were at the birthday party. Seeing the boys huddled together, he snapped.
"Knock it off! Don't you have homework to do?!" Jack yelled at Tommy, Blake and Shane as he angrily passed the grocery bags to Liam. Liam placed the heavy bags in the kitchen and Adam put them away to escape his father’s wrath. Jack walked to the foot of the steps, looking expectantly up to the second floor landing.
"Tristan!"
No answer. He called again, "Tristan! Come down here! I want to talk to you." A door slammed hard on the second floor followed by a series of footsteps. Tristan appeared at top of the stairs with a murderous look present on her face.
"What, Dad?" asked Tristan impatiently.
"Don't ‘what’ me! Get down here! What the hell is going on with you?!"
Tristan stomped down the steps towards her father. They were alone, and both of them were upset. This was not going to go well. Tristan approached her father until they were just a few feet from one another.
"I do not like being lied to," explained Tristan, looking her father dead in the eye.
"Baby, who has lied to you?" asked Jack, with a worried look on his face.
"As if you don't know," replied Tristan.
Tristan reached into her scarlet Steeplechase sweater and pulled out the folded up news page. "When were you planning on tell me about this?"
Jack's face scrunched into a perplexed expression, he honestly did not know what his daughter was handing him, nor what she was upset about. Jack took the paper from Tristan and slowly unfolded it. The look on his face slowly evolved from confusion to anger, and finally gave way to fear.
"Where did you get this?" Jack asked, anger clear in his voice.
"I stumbled upon it in a scrapbook at Cole's house. You've been lying to me… to us… for years! How could you?!" Tristan told Jack in an escalated voice, with each word her anger intensified. Jack took a deep breath, almost on the verge of tears. Slowly he passe
d the newspaper clipping back to Tristan.
"It was for your own good."
"You said she was gone. Meanwhile she was found dead on the same day that I was born! I have spent the better half of my life loathing the woman who gave birth to me because I thought she abandoned us!"
"Tristan, you don't know the whole story, just give me a chance to explain..."
"You had fifteen years to explain!” Tristan interrupted. “You lied all this time to us! I will just wait for Grandma and Gus to come back tonight, and they'll tell me!"
At this, Tristan turned on her heel and began to go back upstairs.
"Don't walk away from me, young lady! Turn around, and you'll listen to what I have to say." Tristan begrudgingly turned around to face her father.
"What do you have to hide? I'm afraid to ask," noted Tristan, tears streaming down her face at this point.
"I am going to tell you this, and you are not to tell your brothers. The lie is much easier to swallow than what actually happened. You all were too young to hear what really happened. Do you think I want you all in therapy as children? Because I don't. It doesn't excuse it. I am going to allow you time to cool off. We will discuss the specifics, as a family, tomorrow night, after Gus and Grandma get back from Florida. In the mean time, can you not say anything to your brothers? Especially Adam?"
Tristan looked at her father with a suspicious look.
"Why Adam?"
"Just please do what I ask?"
"No, why Adam?"
Jack let out an exasperated sigh, "Adam is the only one of you who knows, and he's been quite cross with me for years for not telling you everything by now. Please. I don't want a war to erupt. We'll talk tomorrow night."
"Fine."
The coarse exchange would end the conversation between Jack and Tristan that night. Tristan climbed the stairs once again, with heavy shoulders and a pounding head. A look of determination and muted confusion on her face, Tristan had no intentions of going to sleep just yet. She took the stairs, two at a time, as she hurriedly tried to reach her bedroom. With a swift kick, the door to her tiny bedroom slammed open, and just as quickly, it clicked shut. Sitting on her alcove bed she began rummaging through her pockets looking for the news article regarding the bridge collapse. She unfolded it and smoothed it out on the bed so that she could read it properly, and without interruption or judgment.
On Thursday, December 24, 1981, around 8 P.M., the Elkhart covered bridge at Mountain Road collapsed when a horrific three-vehicle accident occurred. An ambulance and a tractor trailer collided with a stalled vehicle killing three. Maria Piedmonte of Elkhart, age 29, Lawrence Welkes, age 53 from San Antonio, Texas, and Cory Granger of Shepard's Grove, age 32, were all killed in the accident. Severe weather conditions combined with poor road traction and low visibility are believed to be the major factors of why this crash occurred. Eye witness Bridgette Morrow, of Fox Hollow, who is also a nurse at Grier Mountain Medical Center is quoted as saying, "Maria's (Piedmonte) car had stalled on the bridge, and the ambulance plowed through, instantly killing the paramedic (Cory Granger). However, it seems like the tractor trailer had gotten turned about on some black ice. They found Maria further up the road, so it seems like she tried to assist the driver of the tractor trailer (Lawrence Welkes) but sadly, was crushed when the vehicle began skidding downward towards the bridge.” By miracle the Piedmonte children survived the crash, and because paramedics couldn't get to them, Bridgette and Jack Morrow dug them out and took them to safety until their father could claim them the next day.
Maria Piedmonte, co-owner of Monte's cafe, was a wife and a mother of four children. Her funeral services are being arranged and are expected to be held on January 1, 1982 at St. Augustine's Church in Elkhart.
Cory Granger, ambulatory paramedic for Skole County, is the youngest son of Mayor Edward Granger, and services are expected to be held at Our Lady of Grace Catholic Church on January 2, 1982, in Gabbard's Bend.
Lawrence Welkes, driver for Haul America, a shipping company that transports domestic fruits and vegetables, and father of three, will have funeral services in his home town of San Antonio, TX.
As more details emerge, the Elkhart Bugle will be the first to bring it to you. Have a news tip for us? Call us at the News Hotline: 1-570-555-NEWS
Tristan read and re-read the article, astonished at what the article said. Cole was in that car, and Natalie too.
My father and aunt had rescued them from death when no one else could. Meanwhile, my mother was in labor somewhere… Where? I know I was born at the farm, at 4:22 A.M. on Christmas Day. If the accident occurred at 8:00 P.M. on Christmas Eve, I hadn’t been born yet, but I should have been well on my way.
Tristan flipped the paper over to read the content that concerned her greatest. The article that highlighted the death of her mother:
In the early morning hours of December 25, 1981, a deceased female body was found on the bank of Croft Lake in Fox Hollow, PA. The woman, identified as Catherine Westfeld-Morrow, is described as 5 feet 4 inches tall, average build with black hair, blue eyes, and fair skin. The mother of five children had just given birth to a baby in the early morning hours of Christmas Day; therefore, foul play is suspected. Police have identified two potential suspects but are not releasing any names yet.
As more details emerge, the Elkhart Bugle will be the first to bring it to you. Have a news tip for us? Call us at the News Hotline: 1-570-555-NEWS.
Tristan was determined to find out more about her mother, and as her mind fell to dreams that night, her mother’s face was the last thing she saw.
An unsettled state of slumber took over Tristan's mind as the storm raged on outside. A restful night would not be in the cards for Tristan. The torrential downpour helped lull Tristan's weary mind to sleep, but the violent cracks of thunder and jolts of lightning over the house and throughout the valley beyond caused her to stir in her comfortable bed. One particularly brutal lightning strike lit up the dark sky and crashed down into a tree in nearby Cavegat forest. At the sound, Tristan's eyes shot wide open. Shivering in the dark, her picture window was pushed open, causing the wind and rain to swell the curtains on her window and bed.
Rising from her alcove bed, she shuddered as she reached for the window, as a chill ravaged the base of her spine. Still drowsy from her restless slumber, Tristan rubbed her eyes as she turned to go back to bed, but something stopped her dead in her tracks. A reflection in the window. A figure was standing in the dark behind her. Startled awake, Tristan glared at the reflection in fear. From the corner of Tristan's tiny chamber, the figure emerged from darkness.
Tristan could hear the deep rattle of breathing from behind her, causing her hair to stand on edge. Every nerve was alive, every cell on edge. She was a live wire of anxiety. Slowly, the figure began to step out of the darkness. Tristan could not discern whether or not the figure was man or a woman, only that it was coming closer. Tristan could not move; her state of shock would not allow it. Panic rose from her stomach and threatened to animate as a scream. Before her mouth could open, the figure was there, staring strangely at the back of Tristan's head. She stared into the reflection, trying to catch a glimpse of a face, desperate to identify her midnight caller, but its identity remained cloaked under a dark hood. Tristan could feel the figure's stare. It was powerful, as if it was penetrating her mind, as cool breath brushed the nape of her neck. Slowly, a hand brushed the hair from Tristan's shoulder, allowing her tresses to fall down her back. The hand now rested on her shoulder growing stronger into a tight grip. It took every ounce of strength in Tristan's body not to scream. The figure spoke in a hoarse voice that she immediately recognized.
"It is time."
Under the pale glow of the moon, Tristan believed that she had met her end.
Chapter Six
Elkhart, PA
December 24, 1981
Evening
Bitter winter stretched its wings across the valley and rapped its claws against th
e beveled glass window. The trees trembled in the banshee screams of the howling wind, barren branches breaking under the weight of the heavy snow. The old house shivered in protest as the storm outside intensified. The warmth shining outward from the dining room window stood out in stark contrast to the severe winter night. As the storm churned outside, the temperament indoors was distinctly warmer.
A burgundy tablecloth billowed in the air before failing gracefully to the oak table below. Tiny hands gently, swiftly placed heavy dinner plates and glasses for ten. With difficulty, two wooden high chairs were carried one at a time and placed carefully near the dining room table. On each wooden tray she placed a small plastic dinner plate, each decorated colorfully with pictures of a blue puppy and a red cat playing jovially in a meadow. Next to each plate, Catherine placed bright blue training cups with milk for the babies to sip from. From behind Catherine, an elderly man with a sour wrinkled face observed her from the doorway.
Shadow Dancer (The Shadow Series Book 1) Page 7
