The second identifying clue was the mole on the left side of the girl’s face, close to the hairline, just above her ear. Clare touched the picture, placing her finger on top of the mole. There was no question in Clare’s mind that she had found Rose Prentice.
Once more she removed the framed picture from her purse. Holding it beside the yearbook photo, she could see traces of the girl reflected in the picture of her mother.
Although Clare realized she had just begun to plumb the mystery of her own identity, a jolt of excitement raced through her veins as she stared at the first piece of the puzzle. Her throat tightened and her eyes filmed, blurring her vision. Despite the tears, she could feel her mouth stretch in a smile.
Time stood still as she reveled in the disparate emotions that coursed through her body. Ever since she had learned of her lack of identity, she had been devoid of feeling, walled away behind a protective numbness that made her unable to feel anything except loss, anger, and a deep sense of betrayal.
Her fingers stroked across the page, and then, as if the tactile sensation had released her from a spell, she began to read the words beneath the picture.
Rose Gundersen
Still waters — Pin neat — Song bird Predictions
She will marry soon.
She will win the Pillsbury Grand National Recipe and Baking Contest. She will become a famous singer.
Clare looked back at the picture trying to find some confirmation that this was the woman who had adopted her. Once more a wave of fury washed over her. So many lies and deceptions. She never knew that Rose could sing. It was a simple thing and yet it represented the total falsity of her life. It was apparent that singing was a major part of Rose Gundersen’s life and yet Clare never knew that her mother was even musical. The only thing she had ever heard her sing was “Happy Birthday” and Rose had sung that grudgingly in a low monotone.
She shut the yearbook with an angry snap.
Tears streamed down her cheeks and she bent over to hide her anguish from anyone who might look her way. Her body vibrated with the hurt that spilled out along with her tears. The original heartache when she found out that she was adopted was nothing compared to the anguish she felt at this moment.
A gentle hand touched her shoulder. She sensed it was Ruth and was appalled that the woman should find her in such a state. She took a shuddering breath trying to stem the flow of tears. Ruth’s hand moved back and forth across her back, offering comfort without intruding on her personal space. Calmness settled over Clare and after several minutes she was able to raise her head to give the older woman a weak smile.
She took the handkerchief that Ruth handed her, mopped her face, and blew her nose. Ruth removed her hand and once more sat down in the chair facing her. Back in control, Clare looked around, grateful that there was no one else close enough to witness her distress.
“It’s a quiet time in the library,” Ruth said. “Most patrons are home getting dinner ready. There’s a meeting in the other room but that hasn’t let out yet. I suspect once you’ve recovered you’ll find you’ll be ready for something to eat. Heavy emotions take a toll on the resources of the body. After a good cry I’m hungry enough to eat a horse, but of course I generally settle for a quart ofmint chocolate chip ice cream.”
Clare gave her a watery smile. “One of my favorites.”
“I’ve got a gallon at the house that should get us both through the night.”
Ruth sat at ease, not rushing Clare. Grateful for the chance to get over her emotional upheaval, she listened as the older woman talked a little bit about the library and how she’d spent her day. With a final sniff, Clare sat up and held out the open yearbook to Ruth.
“It’s my mother. Rose Prentice is actually Rose Gundersen.”
“Gundersen?” She cocked her head as if she was not sure of the pronunciation. When Clare nodded, she took the book and set it in her lap, staring down at the photo. “Rose Gundersen, indeed.”
Wonder tinged her words and Clare smiled. “You probably didn’t think I’d be able to find her. I know it’s not the answer to my real questions, but at least it’s a start. Maybe knowing her name I can work backward and find my biological parents.”
Ruth looked across at Clare, studying her face before she looked back down at the yearbook. Her brows furrowed in concentration as she transferred her gaze back and forth. Her face was curiously blank of all expression and for a moment Clare wondered if she’d made a mistake.
“I’m sure it’s her, Ruth. See how you can see the same eyebrows and the mole in Rose’s later picture.” She handed across the wood-framed photo.
“Don’t panic, Clare. I believe you’re absolutely right. This is definitely the woman you knew as Rose Prentice.” She handed the frame back and closed the yearbook in her lap. Her long fingers stroked the raised green numerals on the cover. “Nineteen sixtysix. You were right that Rose would be fifty-nine this year. I’d say you’ve been stunningly productive for the short time you’ve been in town.”
“Now that we know her name, I ought to be able to find out something about her and her family.” In her eagerness Clare leaned forward in her chair. “Some of her people might still live here. I could contact them. Surely they’d agree to talk to me. And there might even be newspaper articles on the Gundersens that I could look up.”
At Ruth’s continued silence, she stopped talking and looked intently at the older woman.
“I know you’re excited,” Ruth said, “but I think you need to hold onto this discovery for a little while longer. You need to think about it before you do any more detecting.”
Clare was taken aback by the cautionary tone in Ruth’s voice. To her it had all seemed so simple. All she wanted to do was find out who she really was. She’d found her first clue and couldn’t see any reason to wait to pursue the lead.
“What’s there to think about?”
“There are always repercussions to one’s actions. You’ve described an elaborate plan to give you and Rose a new identity. You need to think about the possibility that there might have been a good reason to keep your background a secret.”
“I assume you’re thinking that I’m illegitimate,” Clare said. “That doesn’t bother me.”
“It might not bother you, child, but it might bother other people.”
“You mean, my mother gave me away and might not want to be found?”
“Something like that. There could be other reasons. Complications that you know nothing about.” Ruth reached across and patted Clare’s hands, which were clenched together in her lap. “Trust me on this. You’ve been obsessed with this subject for months. Another day won’t make any difference in the short run but could in the long run. Let’s leave it for the moment. You can get settled in at the cottage and we’ll go to the church supper and then you can come back to my place and we’ll make a plan as to how to proceed. Does that sound reasonable?”
Clare gave a deep sigh. All of a sudden she realized that Ruth was right. She’d been living and breathing the anxiety of not knowing who she was and now that she’d found the first clue, she could feel all the energy that she’d been propping herself up with, draining out of her body. She leaned back in her chair, her body limp in reaction.
“Sorry. I think it all just hit me.” She blinked her eyes to hold back another round of tears. “I’ve been running on adrenaline and now it’s abandoned me.”
“This has been a very rough time for you. You have no reason to apologize. You need to conserve some of your strength so that you can go at this with your mind clear and alert and with a definite plan of attack. I’m going to send you on ahead to the house so that you can get unpacked and rest a bit before dinner.”
Still holding the yearbook, Ruth struggled to rise. Clare reached out to take the book.
“Let me hang on to this for a while,” Ruth said. “I’m sure you’re anxious to pour over it, but I need to follow procedures for taking reference books out of the library. I have
things to do here atthe library before I can go home. It’ll go much faster if I don’t have to worry about you. Us old broads have a good bit of stamina, but I have to admit I’d like to get out of here and have dinner. Besides, they always mutter if I work more than my allotted hours.”
Reminded of the older woman’s age, Clare felt embarrassed that she had been so focused on herself she had failed to consider Ruth.
“The mention of food has reminded me I haven’t had anything since lunch. No wonder I’m hungry. Just give me directions and I’m out of here.”
Still clutching the yearbook, Ruth walked Clare to the door. It had cooled off since she’d arrived in Grand Rapids. The sun was low in the sky and cast a reddish gold light over the scene. It was Clare’s favorite time of night and she drank it in and could feel her body refreshing as she breathed in the oxygen-rich air.
“Just take this road around to the far side of the park and drive along the lake,” Ruth said, pointing out at the street. “About a mile down you’ll see a sign on the lakeside that says: HEART’S CONTENT. The number is 8378. You can’t miss it. I put a key under the mat in front of the door of the guest cottage. It’s five thirty now. Why don’t you come over to the house around seven? Will that be enough time for you?”
“Sounds perfect.”
With a wave of her hand, Clare started down the steps and walked to her car. She turned back as she unlocked the door, surprised to see Ruth still standing outside the door of the library watching her. Even at a distance, she could feel the intensity of the older woman’s stare. With a final wave, she got in and started the car.
Pulling away from the curb, she drove past the library where
Ruth still held her vigilant pose. She must think the city girl will get lost in the country, Clare thought in amusement. She followed the road until it turned north, running along the edge of the lake. The road rose as it ran along a ridge above the houses that lined the lake. Private driveways turned off on either side of the asphalt. The houses were set well back, out of sight behind thick hedges and lilac and forsythia bushes.
She found it difficult to look for signs while she was enjoying the glimpses of the lake in the early evening light. Eventually she spotted the house number: 8378. A painted wooden sign swung between two carved posts. HEART’S CONTENT. A white picket fence separated the property from the road. Ruth’s house looked surprisingly new. White aluminum siding and bright green shutters gave it a crisp appearance that blended well with the formal landscaping that surrounded the house. She turned into the driveway, pulling into the parking area beside the garage.
Directly ahead of her, flagstones led to a small cottage farther down the hill toward the lake. Trees and shrubbery blocked her view but the flowers along the path were so inviting she suspected no matter what she found in her week in Grand Rapids, she would enjoy her stay at Heart’s Content.
Purse and computer bag on her shoulder, she pulled her travel duffel out of the trunk. Not knowing what she would need, she had brought an assortment of things, figuring she’d be ready for most contingencies no matter what the dress code in Grand Rapids.
The little cottage perched on a flat spot at the edge of Lost Lake. It was built of wooden clapboards, weathered to a silvery gray by many years in the harsh Minnesota winters. The only landscaping was a small patch of massed red impatiens on either side of the double steps up to the wrap-around porch. Setting the duffel down she reached under the braided mat for the key and unlocked the front door.
The door opened into the main room. The furniture was older, more of her mother’s generation than her own. An overstuffed sofa and side chair were covered in a blue and gray plaid, faded but clean looking. The sofa faced a rough stone fireplace with a thick wooden mantel. A small television was perched on what looked to be an old cabinet-style phonograph player. Used to her own iPod, Clare smiled at the size of the musical oddity, wondering if it actually worked. A heavy mahogany rocker sat next to thefireplace. The back and seat cushions were upholstered in a cranberry-colored patterned material that might have seemed garish but was somehow welcoming.
On the right there was a counter with stools and behind that, along the wall, was a stove, dishwasher, and refrigerator all in an old-fashioned avocado green. A black microwave was the sole touch of modernity. The walls were wood paneled and the floors were hardwood with a few area rugs scattered around. On the left were two doors. One led to a bedroom and the other was open to show a fully appointed bathroom
Clare stared around the room and immediately felt at home. The place looked lived in. She would be comfortable here.
Sighing, she set her laptop computer on the counter along with her purse, and then crossed the room to the bedroom, smiling as she stood in the entrance. The bed was an old iron monstrosity with a patchwork quilt coverlet and a tumble of pillows. The lamp on the bedside table had a carved loon for the base and a tan woven lampshade. Loons dotted the green draperies that covered the window and there was a tall, weathered dresser on one side and a small closet on the other side.
Setting her duffel on the bed, she hung several items in the tiny closet, amused at the matching drapery, which served as a door. She set her shoes on the closet floor and put the rest of her clothes and toiletries in the dresser drawers. She smiled as she set her blue satin jewelry case on top of the dresser. It had belonged to Rose and she felt as if she were bringing it home.
Finished unpacking, she opened the draperies.
The lake shimmered in the reddish glow of the late afternoon light. At the edge was a small dock and beside that, pulled up on theshore, was an inverted wooden rowboat. The surface of the water was unruffled by any breeze, and the reflections of the trees and the clouds were clear as any mirror. Unlocking the window, she raised the sash, sniffing the fresh air as it filtered through the screen.
A noise in the other room brought her out of her reverie.
“Is someone there?” she called as she crossed the floor, back tothe main room. At the sound of scratching, she moved to the back door that led to the lakeside of the porch. Opening the door she was confronted by a very large dog seated outside. Brown fur, slightly matted, puffed out around his body. His tail was thick, twitching back and forth across the porch floorboards. His big head was cocked to the side and she could swear he was studying her as if passing judgment.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
He remained motionless, only watched as she approached. She held out her hand and when he made no aggressive move, stroked the top of his head, feeling the soft fur beneath the palm of her hand.
“Good boy. Or girl,” she said. A slight breeze came through the open door, bringing with it the smell of wet fur and fish. “Whew. I think you could use a bath. I wonder who you belong to?”
Once more the dog cocked his head at the sound of her voice. As she gave him a final pat, Clare raised her head and took in the stark beauty of the lake and the homes nestled along the shoreline.
“It’s quite a view, isn’t it?” she asked the dog conversationally.
Flagstones led to the dock. She stepped around the dog and started down the path. With a long-suffering sigh at being disturbed from his rest, the dog lumbered to his feet and padded after her.
The dock was four feet square of bound-together logs, anchored solidly in place. There was a green plastic chair, tied by one leg with bright yellow nylon rope to a corner of the dock. She sat down in the chair and the dog sat beside her, his head resting against her knee. As she stared at her surroundings, she absently stroked the dog’s head.
She thought about all she’d learned since she arrived in Grand Rapids. She was somewhat stunned to find she’d actually discovered the identity of her adoptive mother. For five months she’d been searching and now she’d found a key piece of information. The question remained: how much more did she want to find out?
It had occurred to her as she drove toward Grand Rapids that agreat deal of trouble had been
taken to hide Rose’s identity. She’d thought of various possibilities. Rose might have wanted a child so badly that she had somehow found a black-market baby to adopt. However, she had never seemed the kind of woman who wanted a child desperately. At her lowest point, Clare wondered if Rose might have kidnapped a child. Or did her real mother give her away?
“What do you think?”
She scratched the dog behind his ear. Her only answer was a thump of the tail on the dock and a wriggle of the hairy body. A metallic clink indicated he might be wearing a collar. Digging under the fur, she found a thin chain and turned it until she could read the tag attached.WALDO.
“Since I don’t sense you’re a stay-at-home dog by the smell of you, I think whoever named you has a sense of humor,” she said. “Where’s Waldo?”
Checking her watch, she decided it was time to get ready to go over to Ruth’s. With a final scratch between the dog’s ears, she pushed him away. One more glance at the lake, then she rose to her feet and walked up the flagstones to the cottage.
“Go on home, Waldo,” she said firmly as she stepped onto the porch.
Without a backward glance, she went inside and closed the door. She washed quickly and put on fresh lipstick. With one more glance at her watch, she grabbed a corduroy jacket, suspecting it might be chilly when she returned. Leaving a light on in the living room, she put the house key in her pocket and went outside.
This time Waldo was sitting on the front porch as if he were waiting to escort her. Clare shook her head and followed as he slowly ambled up the flagstone path to Ruth’s side porch. When she rang the bell, Waldo moved closer to her side, his body pressed against her leg.
“I see you’ve met our local freeloader,” Ruth said as she opened the door and eyed the dog with disapproval.
Conspiracy of Silence Page 3
