by Grace Greene
This time she joined her husband in the truck, and as he put the vehicle into drive, Sue waved merrily.
Okay, I thought. It’s okay. Calm down.
Victoria spoke from the open doorway. “I’m proud of you, Kara. That was perfect. And it’s a great way to dip your toes into the pool.” She laughed. “To christen the new life of this old house—Wildflower House—and its fresh start.” She went directly to the boxes and started moving flaps aside.
Had Sue and Victoria discussed the book club meeting while I was on the porch? Maybe, but I wouldn’t ask. The decision was made, and it felt like a good one.
And as Sue had affirmed, the house was happy.
Victoria said, “Oh, hey. What’s this?”
I looked over to see her examining the binding and the inner pages of a book, an old book by the look of it.
“Davy Crockett,” she said. “Printed in 1834.”
“You’re kidding.” I leaned closer to see.
“Not kidding. Serious. Too bad about the water spotting.” She set it aside and picked up another. “A history of England from 1912. Gorgeous cover.”
Will came over and sniffed. “They smell old.”
Victoria looked at me. “Didn’t Sue say she put a red textbook in one of the boxes for you to see?” She held it out to me.
A red textbook. A large math textbook that reminded me of middle school math books from a long time ago.
I laughed. “Maybe she thinks my math skills need refreshing?” I flipped the cover open and saw a name scrawled partway down a list pasted inside the back cover. A record of who the book had been assigned to. Other names preceded the most recent, and that last name, the childlike writing faded and smudged, was Henry Lange’s.
In my shock, I must’ve made a noise, because Will asked, “What’s wrong?”
“See this? This is my dad’s name. His handwriting. A kid’s writing.”
Will took it and looked closer. “Now that’s cool. Must’ve been his book. When the books would be retired or replaced, the schools used to give the old books away.” He went to hand it back, and it fell. My heart fell with it as it hit the hard floor—and then stopped altogether when a folded paper slid out from between the interior pages.
I knelt to retrieve both. The note on the paper, written in an adult’s hand, read, Ann—Make sure Henry gets this back. I unfolded it and found a photo.
Dad’s memories at Wildflower House had been made with the family who’d lived here before the Forsters—the Bowens. Dad had done yardwork for them and felt welcome at this home . . . this house we now called Wildflower House.
The photo was an old Polaroid type. It had faded but was still compelling. I stared and gasped, and my knees went weak. My dad. He couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen. He was posed with a woman and a little boy. I was certain it was the Bowen family. In the darkest days of his young life, my father had pretended that these people were his family, that he lived there—here—with them.
His youthful face glowed with pure joy—joy that I’d never seen on his face in all the years I’d known him.
My heart hurt. My eyes burned. I took the book, the note, and the photo. I fought the urge to run. I forced myself to say, “Could you excuse me for a little while?”
“Go,” Victoria said.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Will’s voice trailed away as I ascended the stairs.
I was sorry to be rude, but I needed to hide for a while. I went to Dad’s room and shut the door behind me.
Some time passed. Maybe an hour. A soft knock sounded on the door. Victoria said, “Kara? You okay?”
I opened the door. I knew my eyes were swollen and red.
“You poor girl,” she said. “Is there anything Will or I can do to help?”
“No, I’m fine, truly. Grief is a process, right?” I tried to smile. “I appreciate you both, but I think I’m done for the day.”
“Will’s worried about you.”
“Tell him I’m fine. Tell him thank you and I’ll see him tomorrow.” I pointed to my eyes. “I’ll be myself again by then.”
“Why don’t I put together a meal for us?”
“Thank you, Victoria. Mind if I take a rain check on that? Besides, I owe you a meal for your help today. We’ll plan something special.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
She gave me a hug. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Victoria?”
She stopped midturn. “Yes?”
“Thank you. For everything.”
She grinned. “My pleasure.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dad had lied to everyone, including me, about his early years. Outright lied.
After Dad and I had moved to Wildflower House, he’d taken me to the long-derelict Lange property and confessed he hadn’t been born in Richmond but instead in Cub Creek. After his mother had died and the twins, Laura and Lewis, had vanished, he’d run away from his father. Tall and self-assured for a fifteen-year-old, he’d worked odd jobs in Richmond until he was of legal age, and then, gifted with a strong, single-minded will, he’d built a successful business from the ground up. He’d been wedded to his job more than to his wife. He’d nurtured his business in a way that he’d never had the capacity to nurture me.
Dad had withheld information about my mom that I had a right to know—not maliciously but because discussing it was too painful. I’d known he loved me, and he’d shown it in countless ways. I’d trusted him and depended on him even after I’d known about the lies.
How much had he not shared? Lots, probably. That was his prerogative. I’d wanted to question him more. I’d thought we had time yet.
Sue had sparked my curiosity again. Her remarks had reminded me that while I’d been busy restoring the house and setting up the business, there were paths not followed. As Mel had pointed out, time was busily erasing sources of information, just as it had taken my dad.
Suppose I did have family out there?
Lately it seemed as if my mind, my very world, was expanding. Possibilities were finding their way into it—and finding fertile ground.
I would have liked to ask Sue if she knew what had happened to the twins, but she was a gossip. If I talked to her about it, everyone else would soon know everything I’d told her.
Case in point—Sue had known I had new bookshelves in the parlor before they were even finished. Small town. Small world.
What would Dad have done?
He’d shared with me what he’d chosen to. I respected that. Should I now toss out his desire for privacy by opening his history up to the speculation of others?
I’d told Mel, of course, but she’d keep my business private.
The next morning, before the day heated up too much, I followed the creek path, admiring the improvements Will’s crew had made, including the bench that was now in place. Very rustic. It would be a pleasant spot to rest or contemplate. Today, I kept walking.
When I reached the thicket of sticker bushes—and the thorns Will had helped me escape—I sidestepped them. The house was just beyond.
It had collapsed in on itself long ago. Out here alone, I didn’t want to go too close lest I fall in an old well or cellar.
What troubled me and had haunted my dad was the missing children. He’d been too young and powerless to force the issue with his father back then, and without the little ones to protect, he’d had no reason to stay.
How would I even begin to search for them?
I could do a DNA test and see if someone showed up as a match online. It was a long shot, but it would be easy to do and discreet.
Dad had left this land untouched over the intervening decades. He hadn’t interacted with his father otherwise, but he’d kept the taxes paid and had kept the property intact even after his father’s death.
Until I found his brother and sister or discovered what had happened to them, I felt like I should do the same—leave it undisturbe
d. At least until the day when I could accept there was no point in searching further.
Someday this debris must go, and the land must be restored. I couldn’t change the past, but one day perhaps I could write a new, better future for this sad place.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I was home from my hike by midday, had changed into fresh clothing—cotton capris and a roomy T-shirt—and was in the parlor sorting through Sue’s books when my cell phone rang. Mel’s name popped up. I answered.
“Hi, Mel.”
“Is Maddie there?” Her voice was almost hoarse.
“Mel? Are you okay? What’s happened?”
“Maddie was right here, but I can’t find her, and I’m afraid to wait. If she’s not with you, then I’m calling the sheriff.”
“Take a deep breath. Tell me, when did you last see her?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I do know, but I was watching TV, and she was playing with her dolls. I must’ve dozed off. I have new medication for my joints. Maybe it made me drowsy. I woke, and she was gone. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but then I couldn’t find her.”
Her words faltered. “The back door is unlocked, Kara. I’m certain it was locked before. I think Maddie went outside while I was napping.”
“Don’t panic, Mel. Calm down.” I told it to myself also. Panic wouldn’t help anyone. “Mel, let’s think about this. Maddie was in the house and went out via the back door, so she probably wasn’t taken or picked up by someone.”
“Oh, my good Lord. My sweet Maddie.”
She sounded so different from her usual self that I was afraid she might have a heart attack or a breakdown. Heaven help me if Mel collapsed. Such things could happen. After all, my dad had had a stroke. “What I mean is maybe she fell asleep in her playhouse or something like that.”
“No, I checked everywhere.”
“Take a deep breath and call the sheriff—that’s a good idea. I’m heading outside to check the grounds. If I don’t find her, I’ll follow the path to your house.” As I spoke those last words, a shot of light, brighter than any I’d experienced postaccident, sliced through my head. They’d been common after the accident, but not for a long while. This sharp stab almost blinded me. I grabbed the tabletop as my legs went weak.
“Kara? You there? What’s happening?”
“I’m fine.”
“You moaned. Loud.”
“I’m okay. Just a sudden headache. Worry, of course.” I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. “I’m hanging up now. I’ll keep my phone with me, and I’ll call you as soon as I know anything. You call me right away if she turns up where you are. Maybe you should take a look up and down the street. Maybe check with the neighbors.”
As we disconnected, I wondered if my legs would hold me. I stood gingerly with my hand still on the table, but my legs felt solid again. That shot through my head was gone, leaving only a low, dull ache.
I slipped on my shoes. With my phone clasped in my hand, I stuck my head out the front door and yelled Maddie’s name. I didn’t expect her to be on the porch, and she wasn’t.
I closed the screen door but left the front door open in case she did show up. I wanted her to have safe access into the house. Then I rushed down the long hallway and out the back door. Calling her name, I hurried to the carriage house first. It seemed unlikely that she’d be there, but it was closer than the creek and the paths and quick to check. I wasn’t panicking. We’d find Maddie, and she’d be fine. I repeated those words over and over under my breath just to prove it was true.
As I headed downslope to the creek, I called loudly, “Maddie Lyn! Where are you?” A nearby bird squawked and took wing. A bunny jumped from its hiding place and hopped away.
No one answered my call. I picked up speed, thinking of the bridge crossing Cub Creek.
She wasn’t at the bridge either. The railing was hanging at more of an angle. I stood trying to assess the likelihood that Maddie had been here. Might she have turned back home? I ran across the bridge and to the tree trunk Maddie had stood on when she’d shown me the carved initials. I stopped there. I was almost back at Mel’s house. Mel would’ve called if Maddie had shown up there, so I started back. By the time I was nearing the bridge again, my feet were dragging a little. But maybe because of that, because I was going slower, I saw what I’d missed the first time—a yellow hair ribbon caught low where the railing joined the footbridge. I gasped. My stomach rolled over as I spied small footprints in the muddy bank very near the water, and a longer skid of upturned mud showed those feet had slipped. The sagging railing would have been within reach of a child, who might have grabbed for it as she slid into the creek.
Fear gripped me. I called out, “Maddie!” Without hesitation, I stepped into the creek and began wading downstream. The water was cold, and the footing was treacherous, but staying on the path would’ve risked me missing her because of the undercuts and the low growth along the banks.
The dark water came only to my knees, but I stumbled over rocks and other hard, rough objects. The water wasn’t deep—not deep for an adult but more than deep enough to drown a child.
I ran—or tried to run—and I stumbled and fell, but I got up and kept going until I’d waded up the creek far enough to reach my own yard. I paused and looked. No one was in sight. There was only the empty bench and the big house up the slope. No sign of a child or anyone.
“Maddie,” I yelled again. I’d been calling her name regularly to no effect. I hoped that she’d returned home and this effort, this crazy, ridiculous search, was unnecessary. My phone was surprisingly dry—unlike my clothing—and any moment now Mel was going to call, saying it was all a mistake, that Maddie had fallen asleep behind the sofa or in her playhouse.
I was counting on it.
Seth, Maddie, and I had been here at this bench on a sunny day shortly before my dad had died, and before Seth had left for California. I’d been sitting on the bench when Seth and Maddie had come running along the shoreline sailing their boats. Their appearance that day had lifted me out of a very sad state. We three had had so much fun chasing and retrieving those boats. I’d gotten wet that day, too, as had Seth when he’d jumped in to help me to my feet and out of the water, and Maddie had jumped in just for fun.
Suddenly, I knew exactly where Maddie was.
Grabbing a low-hanging branch, I used it to pull myself up onto the bank and solid ground. I’d lost a shoe somewhere, and my foot was bleeding, but only a little. From here I’d go by the path. It was faster. And this time I was less worried about checking the underbrush.
I ran along the path calling her name. I even imagined I heard my name called faintly, and I paused for a brief moment and listened. Nothing. My imagination. And so I ran again, and it wasn’t long before I saw the new bench. I slowed. There were the large rocks in the creek where Maddie’s boats had washed up and been caught. And there was Maddie, sitting atop the biggest rock.
Relief filled me as I stood on the bank. Maddie was crying a little, and I saw a bloody knee and a few other scrapes, but that was it.
Calmly, I asked, “How did you get onto that rock all by yourself, Maddie Lyn?”
She hugged her legs. Her lips squinched up, and she buried her face in her arms.
“Stay put, Maddie. I’m coming over.” But first I called Mel.
She answered immediately. “Yes?”
“She’s here. I have her. She’s fine.”
I heard a ragged breath from Mel’s end.
“I’ll bring her back shortly.” I disconnected and put my phone on the bench. I didn’t have a pocket, and I needed both hands to cross those rocks. I wasn’t as confident in my nimbleness as Maddie was in hers. I was glad to be wearing capris. They were drenched but not as heavy and restricting as wet denim would be. I left my remaining shoe on shore for better footing.
I made it. The rocks were warm from the sun, but the creek water wasn’t. It felt cool and good—a relief mixed with other relief. I settled next t
o Maddie. She was wearing a yellow cotton sundress, and it was as wet as my clothing.
“Did you fall into the creek?”
No answer. I stared at her stoic face with its wet, streaked cheeks, and my heart hurt. I plucked at my wet shirt and pants in a way I hoped was funny. “I’m wet, too; did you notice?”
Still nothing.
My phone rang over on the bench. I presumed Mel was ringing me back, but I ignored it. I couldn’t reach it from here.
“You scared your Grammy by going off on your own. Did you know that?”
A small nod.
“Why did you leave her?”
She shifted her arm and her face. She looked at me sideways, and then I saw she had something green in her hand. A small plastic boat. It was one of the boats I’d seen the day she and Seth had floated them down Cub Creek.
“I wanted to go sailing.”
“Alone? I think you know better than that.”
“Yep.” She ran the back of her hand against her nose.
“You know Seth isn’t here, right? If he was, he’d love to sail with you, but he isn’t.”
“I know.”
I was reassured by her attitude. She wasn’t fantasizing. She’d had a goal and had overestimated her ability to handle it herself. Scary in its own way, but not unexpected at her age.
She sniffled. “I fell in. Grammy will be mad I messed up my dress.”
“Nope. Grammy doesn’t care about the dress. Grammy is worried about you.” I poked her with my finger. “You.”
My phone was ringing again. I looked over, wishing I could read the screen from here, but the mystery was quickly solved as Will came around the curve in the path. He was holding his phone. When he saw me, he disconnected.
“There you are. I saw you rushing past, but I was up at the house. Were you wading? You didn’t stop when I yelled.” He gave Maddie and me a longer look. “Maddie wasn’t with you before. Why are you both wet? Did I really see you climbing out of the creek?” He noticed the one shoe. He picked it up, puzzling at it.
“Don’t ask,” I said. “I won’t be needing it.”
By now, he’d stepped from the bank over to the first rock. He read something in my face, and I saw his own curious, almost alarmed expression grow gentle.
