Christine noticed the faraway look in Rhea's eyes as she glanced between her dinner and the window. "Rhea? You look distracted. What's up?"
"Huh? What? Nothing. I'm just tired." And she was. Actually, sleep deprived was more like it. The nap earlier hadn't helped. It had actually worn her out more.
Brian poured another glass of wine for himself. "Do you have plans for the break?"
Rhea shook her head as she poked at her food. "No, nothing definite. I thought I'd get some rest, maybe catch up on some light reading and see some friends."
Christine sipped her wine. "What about getting a head start on your class reading? Have you bought any of the books yet?"
Rhea wasn't surprised by Christine's suggestion. She'd actually expected it and had come home prepared. "I have a couple with me. Maybe I'll get started early." What she really wanted to say was that she, unlike them, didn't find reading books on her topics of study to be something she wanted to do in her spare time.
Rhea was a political science major. Why? Because she needed to study something, and aspects of poli-sci had caught her attention. She found herself inexplicably drawn to studies of the Age of Enlightenment and discussions regarding divine rights of kings and monarchies. Yet she wanted more than her studies. It was like they were holding her back from what mattered. But she didn't know how to figure out what that was.
Brian stood and picked up some of the dishes. "Christine cooked, I clean." He bent down and kissed his wife's cheek.
Christine cast her googly eyes at Brian. "Thanks, Brian."
Rhea wasn't in the mood to watch her parents swoon over one another. It was great that they loved each other, but sometimes a kid didn't want to see the mushy stuff—even if she wasn't a kid anymore.
"I'm going upstairs to read," Rhea said. She picked up as many dishes as she could carry and placed them on the counter before heading for the stairs.
The photo of the baby in the basket caught her attention again as she rounded the banister to take the stairs. The baby looked like her, or at least like the other baby pictures she'd seen. But why hadn't she seen this one before?
Christine whispered over Rhea's shoulder as she looked at the photo. "You were such a cute baby."
Rhea glanced over her shoulder. "Why was I in a basket?"
"Oh. Um. I thought we told you."
Rhea turned to look at Christine. "Told me what?"
Christine tried to act casual in an effort to make light of the story they'd never told her. "Brian, Rhea's asking about the basket."
Brian stepped into the hall, wiping his hands on a towel. "I thought you’d already told her."
"Nooo. I wouldn't tell her without you."
Brian stepped into the hall. "Go ahead."
Christine put on her best happy face. Rhea had seen this face before. She used it when she was about to say something Rhea wouldn't like. "Um. You see. You were left on the porch in that basket."
Rhea plopped down on a step and looked back and forth between the photo and her mom. "Are saying I was abandoned on the porch in a basket? Seriously?"
They both nodded.
"Why didn't you say anything when you told me I was adopted?"
Christine sat on the step next to Rhea. "If you remember, you were pretty upset. You wouldn't talk to us." Christine shrugged. "And since then, you haven't asked."
Rhea felt a rush of heat course through her body. Was it guilt for not giving them a chance to explain? Was it fear? What would she be afraid of? Did she want to know? She hadn't given her biological parents much thought after the day she learned she was adopted. Guilt. That was it. She hadn't cared and maybe she should have.
Memories of that morning ten years ago, when her parents had told her she was adopted, flashed into Rhea's mind. She'd been crushed. She had hidden in her room for the remainder of the day, refusing to come out or talk to them. It hadn't been until that night, when Grennal had come, that she’d talked about it.
Rhea had been heartbroken, but Grennal had helped her to understand and appreciate what her parents had done for her, how they had chosen to love her, which made her special. Without Grennal's support, Rhea didn't know how she would have managed the news of her adoption.
"I suppose it's time to hear the story." Rhea turned and leaned against the stairway wall.
Christine stood. "Why don't you go into the den? I'll be right back." Christine climbed the stairs while Brian and Rhea headed for the den.
A moment later, Christine came in carrying a box. "You'll probably want to see what's in this box." She set it on the floor next to her as she sat on the sofa next to Brian. "As I said earlier, you were left on the porch in a basket."
Brian added, "I went to get the newspaper and found you on a Sunday morning."
Christine quickly added, "We called the police, of course. There was an investigation. They tried to find your parents, but there was no trace of them."
Rhea interrupted. "So ... you weren't actually looking to have a kid or adopt? You got stuck with me?"
Christine and Brian gasped "No!"
Christine continued, "I ... we fell in love with you before the police arrived. Before they took you away we were already on the phone, making arrangements to be your foster parents and looking into adoption if your parents or family weren't found.
Brian added, "We never imagined a baby could capture our hearts like you did."
Christine took a deep breath, trying to stave off her tears. "We knew you were special. It was like you were given to us." Christine looked at Brian for emotional support before continuing quietly. "I'm ashamed to say this, but I even hoped your biological parents wouldn't be found. I didn't think I could give you up."
Rhea had never imagined this would be the story of her adoption. It was like a fairy tale, but then, given her past and the secrets she now kept from her parents, being dropped on a doorstep in a basket shouldn't have surprised her. "I take it there aren't any secret files someplace that hold information about my biological parents? I had always assumed I could find out who they were someday, if I really needed to."
Brian shook his head. "No. You became a ward of the state during the adoption process. There was no sign of you before that day. The only information we have about you was the card that was included in the basket, but we couldn't read it." He paused and thought about the card. "Come to think of it, we never found anyone who could translate the writing on the card."
Pam looked at Brian with same how-did-we-forget-that look. "That's right. That's odd. We never found out what language it was. It’s not like it was a note or anything. It looked like one word. We suspected it was a name, but first or last, we couldn’t tell."
Rhea blinked in silence, her mind processing what she had just learned. "Wait a sec. You're saying my biological parents named me and we don't know what that name is? If they were going to give me away, why would they do that?"
Christine shrugged and shook her head slowly. "We don’t know for sure if the word is a name. If it is, maybe they didn't want to give you up? Maybe they didn't see any other way.”
"And if I was abandoned, then ... how do you know my birth date?"
Brian answered, "We don't. Sorry, sweetie. The doctors examined you and gave us an estimate as to your age, so we picked a date."
Rhea had the sudden feeling of having the rug pulled out from under her. She realized that, subconsciously, she'd always felt her biological parents were within reach. So many people were able to reconnect years later if the circumstances warranted. But now that small connection was dissolving in front of her. She'd never cared to know more about where she’d come from, but the thought of not having the option sent a pain into her chest.
Brian was concerned by the look on Rhea's face. "Are you all right?"
"We shouldn't have told her." Christine looked to Brian for reassurance. She needed to hear him say she’d done the right thing.
Rhea took on that burden: "Mom, you were right to tell me. I needed t
o know. I'm a big girl now, and I can handle it." She hoped. She noticed the box again, and asked, "What's in the box?"
Christine pulled it in front of her, "It has all your original belongings, plus copies of the police reports and any other information we could collect about the investigation. It also has some additional photos."
Rhea looked at the box that represented her past life, something different than she'd always believed. She picked it up and placed it on her lap, but didn't open it. Her parents watched in anticipation, but suddenly she couldn't do it. She couldn't face her past with her parents watching. "Can I take this to my room and open it later?"
Christine looked at Brian, waiting for him to give his opinion, but all she got was a shrug. Christine had wanted to be there when Rhea looked at the items that most likely came from her biological parents, but she couldn't think of a reason to deny this request. "Sure, honey. Take the box to your room. If you have any questions, we're here for you."
12
Origins
Rhea sat on her bed and stared at the box. She'd seen the photo. She knew what it looked like. Did she really need to open the box? Why not? Logic dictates that if you know what's inside, you won't be surprised.
Rhea slowly removed the lid. Just as her mother had said, it contained a basket with a blanket. She lifted the basket, turning it, looking at it, trying to see any markings or sign that might suggest where the basket was purchased or made. It was heavier than she expected, the base made of a thick piece of wood. The weave was unusual and the materials seemed strange as well. She couldn't make out whether the basket was made of wood or some type of grass.
She lifted the blanket from the basket and brought it to her cheek. It was soft, just as a baby's blanket should be. It smelled of the cardboard box in which it had been stored. The fabric looked homemade and the color seemed to change depending on the angle of the light. It looked expensive.
In one of the corners of the blanket, there appeared to be a spot of dirt or a flaw in the fabric. At closer inspection, Rhea could see it was some embroidering. It was tiny but it looked like a family crest. Her family's crest?
She jumped from her bed and retrieved the magnifying glass from her desk, as well as her journal. Opening to a clean page, Rhea carefully copied what she saw through the glass, thinking she would research it later. It was a shield with a tree in front of a mountain range.
Setting the journal aside, she retrieved the police report lying at the bottom of the box. There wasn't much to it. There weren't any leads. Her case was never officially closed, but they stopped investigating after it was clear no relatives would be claiming her.
Replacing the papers in the box, she picked up the basket from the floor. In the basket was a folded linen cloth that she hadn't noticed before. A diaper, maybe? She picked it up, feeling its texture. Linen for a diaper? It was fine and soft. As she lowered the diaper to refold it, she saw the card. It must have dropped from a fold in the diaper. According to her mom, it was the card that had her name. Suddenly she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.
She sat on her bed, not moving, staring at the homemade stationery laying at the bottom of the basket. It was the kind of stationery made from pulp. She took in every detail she could see. The edges were straight but lightly frayed. It looked like there were flower petals pressed into the paper along with threads of gold. Again, expensive.
Anyone who would go to so much trouble to make the fabric for a blanket and to use such paper ... they cared, didn't they? Why would someone go to such expense if they didn't care? And, if the it contained her name ... on any type of paper ... would mean something, right?
She slowly picked up the card and turned it over. As the writing became visible, her hand started to tremble. It became difficult to breathe. It wasn't possible. How could this be?
She knew the letters on the card. She'd started learning them when she was nine. The card fell from her hand. As she bent to pick it up, she bumped the basket that had been perched precariously on the edge of the bed. The sound of the wood base making contact with the hardwood floor reverberated through the room.
As she reached for the basket, Christine's voice echoed up the stairs. "Rhea!" Rhea could hear the footsteps of her parents, coming to investigate what had sounded like a piece of furniture toppling over. Christine burst into the room to find Rhea sitting on the edge of the bed, inspecting the basket. "Oh, thank God. Rhea. What happened?"
Rhea could barely gather her wits to respond. "I ... the basket ... it fell when I ...." Dropped the card, the card her parents couldn't decipher but she could.
"What, dear?"
"I was putting things back in the box and the basket was too close to the edge of the bed. It fell off when I sat down." Rhea stood and placed the basket in the box. When she released the basket she could see her hands shaking, and she quickly pressed them to her sides to hide them from her parents.
Brian turned to leave. "I'm just glad you're okay. It made quite a bang through the floors."
Okay? She was not okay, but she couldn't let it show. She pasted on a smile and looked at her dad. "Yeah. Quite a noise."
"Christine, I'll be downstairs. Good night, Rhea."
"Night, Dad."
Christine picked up the diaper from the floor and placed it in the basket.
Rhea turned away from her mother as casually as she could, trying to hide the thoughts she was sure were plastered across her face.
"Are you okay?" Christine asked. "You seem shaken."
Rhea forced a laugh as she fidgeted with the baby blanket before putting it in the box. "I'm okay. I was just worried. The basket could have broken when it fell. I should have been more careful."
Christine put the lid back on the box. "Well ... it all worked out." She lifted the box from Rhea's bed.
"Where are you taking that?"
"I thought I would put it back in my closet."
Rhea reached out, taking the box from her mom. "I'd like to keep it ... for a while."
Christine released the box into Rhea's hands. "Okay." She watched as her daughter placed the box on the floor at the foot of her bed. "Are you coming down to watch TV with us?"
Rhea turned to face her mother, straining to appear calm when her insides were doing somersaults. "No. I think I'll get ready for bed and read some."
Christine kissed Rhea's cheek. "Okay. Good night."
13
Remembering
A light mist silently crawled up the side of the mountain, twisting and turning through the trees that carpeted the slopes, interrupted only by her body as she moved down the trail.
The silence was deafening. The eeriness of the forest preyed on her senses, taunting her, calling her to seek the truth in the mist. Feelings of hopelessness and loss threatened her will to continue, to find out what was hidden.
The silence was broken by screams of terror and the sound of thunder growing louder, racing towards her. The ground started to vibrate and the sound of metal scraping against metal echoed through the air, surrounding her from all directions.
The glow of eyes, many pairs of eyes, shined through the mist before she saw the blasts of steam snorted from the nostrils of giant beasts. In an instant, she was staring down a thundering herd of horses with black-cloaked riders, the glint of their steel shining in her eyes as the riders pointed their swords in her direction.
Her feet frozen in place, unable to move, she closed her eyes, threw her hands out in front of her, and screamed.
Rhea opened her eyes to see her room and not the black riders bearing down on her. She sat in the middle of her bed, the blankets cast to the floor along with the other items she had left on her bed before falling asleep.
The door burst open as Christine and Brian came rushing to her aid. "Rhea! What happened? Are you all right?"
As she struggled to remember her dream they found her repeating "Mist, horses, swords, riders, mist, horses, swords, riders, mist ..."
"What did you say?"
Christine asked as she sat on the bed and took Rhea's hands into her own. "We heard you scream."
"Bad dream. I'm fine." Rhea tried desperately to hold the images in her head, just like she had done so many other times. She almost had it, but her parents were breaking her concentration.
Brian came around to the foot of her bed. "What did you mean by mist, horses, swords, riders?" he asked. "You were repeating those words when we came in."
Rhea closed her eyes, reaching into the recesses of her mind. Flashes of her dream materialized. First the mist in the forest, then the thunder of horses followed by the fierce-looking riders brandishing large, gleaming swords. She jerked as the memory of the horses trampling her flashed through her mind. She could remember. For the first time she could remember the dream that had been haunting her for over a month.
She opened her eyes to see her parents' worried faces. "I'm sorry I scared you again. I'm fine." She reached for her journal and the pen that was on her nightstand. She hadn't written in it since she was a teenager, and now she'd reached for it twice in twenty-four hours. She needed to write down every detail she remembered.
"Have your bad dreams of creatures in your room returned?" Christine looked worried, fearing that the stress of school was causing a relapse of her childhood nightmares and imaginary creatures.
Rhea couldn't help but laugh. Little did they know those weren't dreams, but she couldn't tell them that for fear of a repeat discussion about seeing a doctor. "No. This is different, and until just now, I haven't been able to remember what I was dreaming." She opened her journal to the first blank page.
"You're dreaming about mist, horses, swords, and riders? What are you reading before you go to bed?" Brian laughed and turned towards the door. "I'm going back to bed."
The Guardian (The Gifted Book 1) Page 7
