by Grace Greene
She offered a shy smile. “I wanted to speak with you alone, after everyone else was gone. I apologize for not arranging it with you ahead of time, but I wasn’t sure.”
I clasped my hands together rather than reaching out and perhaps alarming her. “No problem.” Doggone it. What was her name? “I’m glad you could join in.”
“This is personal . . . I needed the chance to assess for myself before approaching you. I didn’t want to assume or push in where I might not be welcome.”
Laura. That was it. Her name was Laura.
“Of course you’re welcome. Laura, right? Why would you think you might not be welcome?”
Abruptly extending her hand to me, she said, “Laura Harris.”
I took her offered hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze before releasing her. “Thank you so much for your help in the kitchen. Victoria told me how grateful she was, Laura.”
“I married Fred Harris twenty years ago, but I was Laura Stevens before that. I was adopted. Before that, I was Laura Lange.”
“Laura—” My breath stopped before I could say Lange—my father’s family’s name.
She’d dropped the name gently, almost casually, as if it were of no importance. And she’d said something about adoption.
My entire body went numb. My face and hands tingled, but I couldn’t move. This was one of the toddlers. My father’s siblings. I thought I might fall flat, right here in the foyer. I put a hand against the foyer table.
Laura Lange Harris nodded. “Mr. Harris is deceased.”
My weakness passed quickly. I grabbed her hand back, saying, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
A startled expression brightened her faded-blue eyes. She let her long, thin fingers stay clasped in mine.
“How long have you known I was here and who I was? Dad was here for a short time, but he’s gone now.” I was struck silent. Did she know that her older brother, Henry, had died just a few short months ago? Surely she knew.
“I found out about him, but too late. When I realized . . . sorry, it’s a longish story. Please understand that I wanted to see you first, but anonymously. As soon as I met you, I knew I wanted to tell you, but it wasn’t good timing with everyone here.”
I snagged her other hand and held both of hers in mine. “I never expected to meet you. It would’ve meant so much to Dad. I wish . . .” I used one hand to gesture toward the sitting room. “Let’s have a seat. I don’t know about you, but I’m very thirsty.”
Laura looked down at the hand I still held tightly in my grasp.
“I’m afraid you’re an apparition,” I explained. “If I let you go, you might . . . go. You might leave, and I’ll lose this chance to speak with you. I know that sounds crazy. After all, you’re here of your own volition, but . . .”
“I understand. Yes, we should talk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Laura Harris, née Lange, turned toward the parlor.
I said, “Let’s sit in here.” I gestured toward the sitting room, where our chairs, Dad’s and mine, were waiting. Used and long ago broken in, they were comfy. The sitting room was plain, too, I thought. Like Laura. My Aunt Laura? A blood relative? For me, that felt as rare and special as the Monet-inspired painting in front of the fireplace and the Hannah Cooper blue vase on the mantel. More so. From these chairs, we had that view but also the view of the dining room, the foyer with its own special frames hanging over the foyer table, the parlor, and also the grand stairs with their gorgeous wood and stained glass . . . they felt almost like good-luck talismans. In my humble opinion, the entirety of it was a feast for the eyes, and yet it was the comfort of the old chairs, the chairs from my dad’s home on Silver Street, that I craved.
I steered her toward the larger chair, Dad’s chair.
“Tea? Water?” I asked. “I have some ice water with lemon and lime in it.”
“That will be fine.”
“Okay. Good. I’ll be right back.” I paused in the foyer. “You’ll still be here when I return?”
“I will.”
I tried to walk gracefully away, but my body felt awkward and jerky. I paused in the kitchen and stared blindly out the window. Everything was swirling in my head, and a feeling of not being able to catch my breath kept reminding me that I was mortal. As mortal as my parents. I had an opportunity here—one I’d never expected to have and might never have again. I told myself not to screw it up.
Glasses. I needed glasses. I took the pitcher from the fridge and poured a tall glass of fruit water for each of us. I carried the glasses back to the sitting room and set them on the coasters on the table between the chairs.
“Are you hungry?”
Laura looked surprised, then amused. “No indeed. We just finished an excellent meal.”
“Oh, of course. You’re right.” I sat. “I’m sorry to seem so scattered. I’m just . . . I never expected to meet you, much less have you introduce yourself after a book club meeting.”
“Understandable.” She nodded. “I feel the same. Scattered. I missed my opportunity with Henry.” She paused and added solemnly, “I’m very sorry about your father.”
I was taken aback. “I’m sorry you missed the opportunity to know him. It would’ve meant so much to him to know that you were okay. When you and Lewis disappeared, Dad was devastated. Your father, Mr. Lange, wouldn’t tell him what had happened or where you were. Later, when Dad was older, he hired a private detective but got nowhere.” I asked, “What about you? Where have you been, and how did you come to be here? Will you tell me about it?”
Laura shifted in her seat, effectively turning away from me, but ever so gently. If anyone had been watching us, they could not have guessed at the extreme emotion happening between us.
Laura sighed. I had a view of her profile, the cheekbones and jawline so similar to my father’s, but the light flyaway hair was her own. It was brown and threaded with gray.
“I was very young when we were taken away. I have almost no memories of those years. I have vague memories of an older boy. I’m sure that must have been my brother Henry.”
“You were already back here in Louisa when Dad and I moved here. Surely other people knew of the connection between you two, even if you didn’t.”
“I hoped I’d come across that person—the one who’d know. But maybe a part of me wasn’t too eager . . . didn’t try hard enough . . . maybe not wanting to know in case the truth was too awful.” She said, “You are so much bolder and braver than I ever was. When I think back, I remember being afraid and with people I didn’t know. I’m sure they tried to explain and reassure, but I couldn’t hear them through my fear. I was afraid, for myself and for Lewis.” She stared past me. “I believe fear became a habit. An automatic response to life.”
“At least in your new life you had your brother Lewis. That must’ve helped.”
She shook her head slowly. “No. I remember him clearly. His face. His voice. But someone took me one way and him the other. I never saw him again.” She pulled a folded tissue from the end of her sleeve and dabbed it at her eyes before replacing it neatly back under the hem. “I came to understand that I was adopted. My parents were kind. But Lewis wasn’t there. Lewis was gone, and I was alone with strangers.”
Laura sniffled. “Don’t mistake me. I am grateful to my mother and father, the ones who raised me. They were loving parents. I asked about Lewis over and over early on, and that distressed them. They said they knew nothing. I thought he must be dead.”
The expression in her blue eyes and in her posture was meek but tense, like the dark-eyed doe who visited my yard most nights—shy and prone to freezing or bolting. Patience, I told myself.
“When I was still very young, we moved to New Mexico.” She looked me full in the face. “I didn’t remember where I was from or my birth surname. When I was older, when I pressed my parents, they told me they adopted me in Virginia. They had the adoption document showing I was born in Louisa, but it only listed the
new names.
“Mother said that my birth mother died and my birth father’s health was failing, so he couldn’t take care of us. Mother didn’t remember the surname, only that it started with an L.
“I tried so hard to remember. The name Lane kept popping into my head, or maybe Lynn. I had some silly idea that Laura Lane or Laura Lynn was my birth name.” She shook her head. “When I turned eighteen, I wanted to return to Virginia just to see . . . but my parents didn’t support that wish, and then my father died of a heart issue, and I couldn’t leave Mother. When I lost her, I was free to leave.” She gave a quick, wry smile. “I was almost forty before I came here. Back here, I should say.”
“Did you ever find Lewis?”
“No. I had no idea how to go about doing it. I checked phone books. I asked around at the library, at the sheriff’s office, and so on. That’s how I met my late husband. I never hired a detective. You said your father did? Henry, I mean.”
“Yes, he did, but it didn’t do him any good.” I rubbed my temple.
“Mr. Harris wasn’t from around here, either, but he did figure out that my birth name was Lange instead of Lane. One of the retired deputies knew of the Lange family but mostly of my father. He was already deceased, of course.”
“And yet Dad was just an hour down the road in Richmond.”
She sighed. “Even if we’d thought to look in Richmond, I would never have connected the Henry Lange of the big tire and automotive business with the older brother I hardly remembered. He was no more than a hazy memory that felt less real as time passed.” She shook her head. “When I discovered the other day that I’d just missed meeting my older brother, I couldn’t believe I had one more chance—the chance to meet you, my niece. As for Lewis . . .”
“We’ll find him,” I said.
She frowned, then smiled. “I know you mean well, but if your father couldn’t find either of us, and I couldn’t find anyone, then what makes you think we can locate Lewis after so long?”
“I was thinking about DNA tests the other day. Lots of people do those now. We might get lucky.”
“Well, but then he would need to want to be found. To have taken one of those tests himself. Right?”
“True. I accept that we might not find him or even that he might not want to be found, but we won’t dismiss the possibility entirely, right?”
“Okay.”
“Excellent.”
Laura smiled sweetly. “Please tell me what you know—about your father? About the family I came from but don’t remember?” She patted my hand. “I don’t live far from here. If you want to know me better, to continue getting to know each other, I’m open to that.” She clasped my hand. “We don’t have to get it all done right now.”
“I’m so glad you . . . oh. Wait. How did you know my father and I had moved back to the area? Who told you? How would they know to tell you?”
“The Ladies Auxiliary. We have speakers every so often. Nicole came to speak to us about business opportunities for women in the county and the area around. She mentioned Wildflower House and that it would be a meeting place, a retreat, available for all sorts of events, probably opening sometime early next year, and told us about the entrepreneur owner—a young woman named Kara Hart. Of course, we all knew it as the old Forster property, so it was interesting information.”
“Nicole knew?”
“Knew? You mean about me? No. If she’d known, she would’ve said something before—in time for me to have met Henry. Nicole left after her speech, and we had our regular meeting. It just happened that Sue Deale spoke up and said it might be a great place for the book club to meet. Some of us are members of both the Auxiliary and the book club.”
“I understand.”
“So I happened to be on the cleanup committee with Sue, and she mentioned your father had bought the place and then died, and she’d been so worried about what was going to happen after that, but then you’d stepped up and took it all on. She mentioned his name was Henry, but of course, I assumed it was Henry Hart, being as Nicole had called you Kara Hart, and then Sue—you know how she loves to share a good story; it’s because of how caring she is. Well, she said, ‘Goodness, no, it was Henry Lange, who grew up in the Cub Creek area,’ and how this was all like serendipity and fate and such as that.”
She shook her head. “You could’ve knocked me right over. In fact, Sue grabbed me and put me in a chair. She assumed I’d overdone. I didn’t tell her otherwise because Sue is all heart. If you tell her something, she’ll open that heart to anyone who cares to listen.” She took a deep breath. “I knew this was an opportunity. I’m sorry I missed Henry, and I wasn’t about to miss you too. Yet I needed to see who you were . . . the kind of person you were first. Does that make sense?”
I nodded. I was almost afraid to speak. As if this moment might somehow evaporate, just like a dream.
She squeezed her fingers together. “I confess that I hadn’t been participating in the book club for nearly a year. But this month I made sure to attend.”
Her eyes were suddenly bright. I knew that feeling—the sting of tears. She plucked out her tissue again and mopped at her lashes.
“I thought I was fresh out of family, Kara. I had dear friends, but God didn’t bless Mr. Harris and me with children. I can’t begin to tell you what it means to know I have a niece. I can dare to believe that one day Lewis will show up too.”
We talked awhile longer, and during a lull, Laura said, “I should be going. I didn’t intend to take up your whole day.”
“Must you?”
“No, but I’m sure you have things to do.”
“Why don’t you stay, and let’s chat awhile longer.”
Laura did. She told me about her life, mostly the highlights, I suspected. Releasing those words—such personal words—seemed as awkward for Laura as the same act had been for my father. For my own part, I tried to be open with her. I wanted to give her my memories of my dad because it was the only way I could share him with her. But as I sensed she was doing, I also kept it to the lighter moments and skimmed somewhat over the darker parts. We didn’t have to get everything said today. And that was a comfort.
Later that evening, we raided the fridge and picked through the leftovers Victoria hadn’t taken.
Was this the first time I’d eaten a meal with laughter and light at the table with me? Surely not, but I had trouble remembering when a shared meal had come close to the pleasure of this one. With the exception of Will . . . but even that was different. I’d felt a certain pressure on the date with Will, hoping, and wanting to hope, for more. It was different with Laura. She just felt like family. As if DNA recognized DNA. We speculated about ways we might try to find Lewis and made a pact to do that DNA test. Maybe Lewis had already done one, and it would help us find him. Before we were done, I had Laura’s phone number, her address, and her promise not to disappear on me.
“Disappear? I assure you that won’t happen.”
“I know.” I touched my forehead and then placed my hand over my heart. “I understand that logically, but I’ve lost a lot of people. Chance? Fate? I always blamed fate. Maybe fate is making amends.”
I walked her not only to the door but all the way to her car.
We stood there with the moon rising above the treetops and the stars winking on.
“This is an amazing place, for sure, Kara, dear. I doubt the house ever looked this good, not in its entire history.”
“I don’t know. One thing I do know—it’s not the size or the fanciness of a place. The places in which we live are made livable, or not, by those with whom we share them.”
Laura sniffled. “I’m sorry.” She grabbed that tissue. “I know what you say is true. I had a good life, but never what I’d call happy. Seemed like the losses—even though they were bits of old memories and so very vague—haunted my life. Now I feel like someone opened a door.” She smiled. “And I found you waiting to greet me on the other side of it.”
&nbs
p; CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Between the book club and meeting my aunt, my brain and heart were overfull. How was I supposed to shut the emotions off and get to sleep? I called Will, wanting—needing—to talk about the book club event and Laura. He said the right things, showed all the right interest, laughed at the appropriate moments, and gave no advice or lectures. I felt so grateful.
“Thank you for listening, Will.”
“Anytime, Kara. Thanks for calling to tell me about it. You had an amazing day.”
“I did.” I paused before adding, “It feels like the right time to inter Dad’s urn.”
“I’ll need a couple of days to get the vault ready. I’ll come over tomorrow and get it started.”
“Thank you so much.” I would have Will’s help and the added pleasure of seeing him. “Come at lunchtime, and we can have a picnic.”
“I’ll be there. And Kara?”
“Yes?”
“Congratulations again on a successful event with a major bonus. An aunt. Astounding. Suppose you hadn’t done this—creating Wildflower House and all? You might never have met her.”
Astounding, indeed. And a near miss when I considered it.
After we said our goodbyes, I called Nicole to give her a heads-up.
“I’ll be there,” she said with a sigh. “Thank you, Kara.”
I considered whether to include Laura but decided not to. A burial would be too sad an introduction to a brother she hardly remembered.
Will joined me on the porch. “You look beautiful,” he said.
I’d opted for a simple dress and sandals. Will was dressed in jeans and a suit jacket. His tone was quiet, almost formal, as he asked, “Are you ready?”
I nodded and took his hand.
No time like the present, as Dad might’ve said.
We walked around the side path and into the backyard to the new garden. It was much smaller than the original wildflower field and certainly tamer. There were no flowers yet, but they’d be here come spring. I missed the vibrant joy of the wildflower field as I’d first seen it, but when it came to living and incorporating the flowers into our lives, this was more fitting.
