He studied the entryway, admiring the house. “This kind of house doesn’t come on the market very often,” he said. “When my agent, Ms. Tuttle, telephoned me, I told Debra she had to see the place.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and grinned. “We told our families that we’re getting married. Buying this house will top off the wedding perfectly.”
Hormones and ego were driving this couple. But clear thinking? No way.
December 17, 1758
Dearest Mother,
My health worsens with this pregnancy and it doesn’t feel like the others.
The girl, Hanna, is nearly five. She is a chubby child, very bright and continues to spend her days with the witch. Patrick is now writing his letters and proves to have lovely handwriting. Marcus is learning the tobacco trade with Mr. McDonald. Marcus loves the outside as much as Patrick loves his books. Patrick is very bright, learns quickly and rarely needs me to read to him.
As I watch Hanna and the witch tend the herbs in the garden, I feel as if I never knew the girl. She is always pleasant to me but when she falls or needs help she goes to the witch. Though I am content with this arrangement, I dread the day my son will leave.
My belly swells and Mr. McDonald is thrilled at the prospect of another child. However, I’ve felt no quickening in the womb and each time the witch looks at my belly, she slowly shakes her head.
—P
Chapter Fourteen
Lisa Smyth
SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 3:00 P.M.
After the prospective buyers left, Rebecca mentioned that another couple might be coming by for a showing. So I hooked the leash on Charlie’s collar and we made ourselves scarce.
We walked from Prince Street down to Union Street and along the Washington & Old Dominion Trail. A gentle breeze blew off the water and it felt good to exercise. The buyers looked excited and Rebecca had seemed pleased, whispering to me that she expected an offer.
When we left the trail and headed back to the house, I saw that Rebecca’s car was still parked out front, so we turned and headed down King Street. When I saw the salvage yard sign, I remembered the picture of Amelia taken in front of the warehouse and decided to pay them a visit.
The bells on the front door jingled as I pushed through the door. I wasn’t sure if they could help me with the image but decided it was worth a try. Maybe if I knew Amelia’s past better, I could help her recall other memoires as well.
Addie Morgan stood behind the front counter sorting what looked like hundreds of keys. Her smile was quick and bright. “Lisa! Did you come in search of more glass plate negatives?”
“No, but if you come across any, keep me in mind. Do you mind if I have Charlie in here?”
She pushed up off a stool and stretched her back. “No, he’s fine.”
“Where’s the baby?”
“Upstairs sleeping. She’s been very fussy today and is cutting teeth. We both could use a nap.” Addie held out her hand to Charlie and let him sniff it. When he licked her hand, she patted him on the head.
I fished the picture out of my purse and showed it to her. “My aunt’s attorney gave me this picture. He found it in her late husband’s papers. I was hoping you could help me figure out who’s in the picture. The young woman in the center is Amelia.”
Addie looked at the image. “She was lovely.”
“She taught high school music for a year, and judging by the teens around her, I think this was her class. And they appear to be in front of your building.”
“That’s the warehouse. But no sign on the front door.” She studied the date. “Taken 1968. We didn’t officially become a business until 1969. But I think that’s my aunt Grace to the left.” She tapped the face of a midsized woman with long curly brown hair wearing jeans, a tie-dyed shirt, and sneakers. “Grace was quite the hippie. But I don’t see my mother.”
“Grace’s sister?”
“Yes. If this were 1968, it would have been around the time my grandparents died. We should ask Grace.”
“You don’t think she’d mind?”
“I don’t see why not. Let me call up to her. Be right back. Would you man the fort?”
“Will do.”
She ran up the stairs, leaving Charlie and me alone to study the keys laid out on the counter. Most were thick, old, and rusted, and looked like they were at least a hundred years old.
“I like this place. Full of so much life,” Jennifer whispered.
I almost asked why she was whispering but then realized that answering a make-believe voice was somewhat insane. She wasn’t real. She was me. My own thoughts echoing back, I think.
“If it makes you feel better, pretend it’s not Jennifer talking to you. But it is!” she said louder. “I’ve been with you since the accident.”
“Then why haven’t I heard you before?”
“Oh, you heard me. You just weren’t listening.”
“So are you with me forever?”
“That depends.”
The sound of footsteps on the staircase sent color rushing to my cheeks. God, I hoped they didn’t hear me talking to myself.
Addie appeared, with a baby in her arms and an older woman moving slowly behind her. I recognized the woman immediately as the girl in the picture. Gone were the long brown locks and the tie-dye, but her eyes sparked with the same brightness.
Addie adjusted the baby in her arms. “Lisa Smyth, this is my aunt Grace. Grace, this is Lisa.”
Grace extended her hand. “Lisa, how is Amelia these days?”
“She has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.”
The lines around Grace’s lips deepened with a frown. “She was one of the sharpest gals I knew. Always so funny. And she had a voice like an angel when she sang.”
“Grace, I was hoping you could help me with this picture. Amelia’s attorney recently found it in her papers.”
Grace pulled her glasses from the pocket of her shirt, settled them on her nose, and studied the image. She chuckled and looked up. “1968. God, that transports me back.”
She traced a bent finger over the faces, surprised by the image of herself at such a young age. “Where does life go?” she asked. “I was only eighteen when this picture was taken.”
“What was Amelia doing there that day?”
“School had just started and she was producing The Sound of Music—or maybe it was The Music Man. I don’t remember, but she decided to tackle this ambitious project and she told her class that if they wanted extra credit they had to meet her at this corner.”
“Why this corner?”
“Scavenging. My parents died shortly after I graduated high school, and the warehouse was my inheritance. My mother, Lizzie, collected every bit of junk and salvage she came across for years and stowed it all in this building. I was overwhelmed with what I found and decided to start selling it. Out of that eventually came this business. Amelia’s parents had owned their house on Prince Street then, and she was familiar with this warehouse. She called ahead and asked if she and her students could scavenge. I was more than happy to have them take whatever they could carry.”
“Alexandria was kind of a rough place then.”
“It’s not what it is now, and it probably wasn’t smart for either one of us to be on the streets alone, even in broad daylight.” A smile tweaked the edge of her lips. “In those days, I was always about taking chances.”
The baby in Addie’s arms hiccupped. Addie shifted her to her opposite shoulder and patted her on the back. “I like the idea of you being wild and reckless. I’ll remind you of that when you tell me to be careful.”
Grace waved a hand at her. “You’re different. You’ve got a baby. I didn’t have anyone depending on me.”
“Where was Mom then?” Addie asked.
“She must have been in school.”
Addie glanced at
the picture. “You looked pretty composed, considering you’d lost your parents.”
“I was terrified. But that’s the way it went. Amelia was always so talkative, and she told me about the high school play she was producing and that she needed props.”
“I told her she could have whatever she and her students could carry away from the warehouse if they paid me twenty bucks. That was a fortune to me then, and I thought she’d laugh it off, but she agreed.”
“Do you remember who was in the picture?”
Grace straightened her shoulders. “Well, let me see. You know that’s me and that’s Amelia. That good-looking young man is Robert Murphy.”
“Amelia’s husband,” I said.
“Yes. They met that day. One of the schoolgirls saw him passing by the warehouse and asked him for help with a trunk. He came inside and saw Amelia and he was hooked. Heard he followed her to New York when she took the train up for one last audition.”
“She said they met in New York.”
“She might have noticed him in New York, but they met here.”
“I wonder if she got the part in the play.” I mused.
“She did. Turned it down,” Grace said.
“Really? Why?”
“Fell in love with Mr. Murphy.” Shrugging, Grace tapped a bent finger on the face of a young girl. “That girl, Diane, she was about eighteen and a senior in high school. She was the one that pulled Robert off the street for Amelia. What was her last name? Saunders. Her name was Diane Saunders.”
“That’s Rae McDonald’s mother.”
“I suppose so. In fact, that’s Stephen McDonald, the one she ended up marrying, right there next to her. He was also one of Amelia’s students.”
“Who’s the older woman next to Diane?”
“That’s her mother. Nice lady. Felicity. Fay. Fran.”
“Fiona?” I asked.
“Yeah. That’s it. Fiona Saunders.”
“Oh, my God. That’s Fiona?” I asked. Fiona must have known who Amelia was and never said a word. Did Amelia know she’d stood just feet from her birth mother?
“Who was Fiona?” Addie asked.
“Amelia’s mother.”
“No, Amelia’s mother was Marjorie Smyth,” Grace said. “She came to the warehouse several times when she was restoring her house.”
The secret didn’t really need to be a secret any longer. “Fiona was Amelia’s birth mother. She just told me a few days ago that she was adopted.”
Grace rubbed her hand over her chin. “I didn’t know that.”
“She was having a good day and wanted to set the record straight about her parents. She gave me the baby book that Fiona and her first husband, Jeffrey McDonald, made for her.”
“She was married to a McDonald? I never would have guessed it.”
Addie shook her head. “What is Amelia holding there? I think I know, but I want you to tell me.”
Grace shrugged. “Let me get my magnifying glass.” She moved to the front desk and retrieved a large round glass that she held over the picture. “Well, I’ll be damned. Addie, look at this.”
Holding the baby close, Addie looked through the looking glass. “Lisa, you’ll never guess what Amelia is holding. It’s the witch bottle.”
“The one that Margaret and I scavenged from the Prince Street house?”
“It appears so.”
“How’d she get it?”
Grace shook her head as she pulled off her glasses. “I told them they could take whatever they wanted and they all spent hours scavenging the warehouse for chairs and tables and props for their play. Amelia must have picked it up here that day.”
“According to Margaret’s research,” Addie said, “she believes those bottles were likely made in Alexandria.”
“And they have all found their way back to the corner of King Street, the heart of the city,” Grace said. “I’m not a statistician, but what are the odds?”
June 17, 1759
Dearest Mother,
Mr. McDonald no longer comes to my bed. And in truth I am glad. The children are growing bigger and bigger and my swollen belly aches so badly I can barely stand his touch. The child has never quickened in my belly and I fear it has been cursed.
I know the children and he turn to the witch for their care. I should be angry, but I’m not. In the last year, my senses and feelings flicker like a candle in a breeze and soon I believe they will extinguish entirely. Would it be wrong for me to welcome the stillness?
—P
Chapter Fifteen
Rae McDonald
TUESDAY, AUGUST 30, 2:30 P.M.
Three days had passed since Lisa and I had met Michael and Susan at the pizza place. Michael and I did not exchange any more e-mails, nor did either of us call or reach out in any way. Susan sent me a short handwritten note thanking me for seeing Michael and her. She said it meant a lot to him. As I tucked the note into the scrapbook now filled with Michael’s pictures, I wondered what meant a lot to him really said. The words were straightforward, but I kept injecting extra meaning. Did it mean he liked me? Wanted to see me again? Was satisfied he didn’t need to see me again?
I ran extra miles each day, hoping to exchange fear and insecurity for discomfort and sweat. And though each run gave me a bit of momentary peace, the unease never left.
As Tuesday morning had dawned, I’d found my curiosity for Michael weighing down my thoughts. The pictures and the memories of our lunch weren’t enough to satisfy me, and I thought if I could just get back into his life, all the questions buried so deep in me would settle. I went back online and searched his name as well as his parents’ names. I found little more than a few cross-country stats. There was a Facebook page, but I wasn’t a friend, so the page was closed to me.
Greedy for any scrap of information I could find, I kept searching, unmindful of the time that ticked by. Dozens of long-denied questions eased out of the darkness. What did he like to eat for breakfast? Was he a night owl? Did he have a girlfriend? Did I disappoint him?
The questions buzzed like flies and would not be shooed easily away by work, my clients, Zeb’s calls regarding the addition, or my life.
I remembered the stickers on the back of Susan’s van. Honor Roll Student, Loudoun High School. Cross-Country Track Team, Loudoun High School. The school was located thirty miles west of Alexandria in Loudoun County, outside the Town of Leesburg. I checked the school’s website and found the time of the final dismissal bell. If I hurried, I could be at the school this afternoon. As quickly as the idea came, I rejected it. I was not going to stalk the boy.
“Let it go, Rae. This is insane.” Even as I tried to convince myself, I found that when I was driven by emotion, I didn’t care about being reasonable. “This is the kind of thing stalkers do,” I muttered as I cancelled two appointments and then searched for my car keys.
As I grabbed my purse and headed toward the car, I muttered, “I should take my own professional advice and go back inside.”
I wrestled with doubts during the next hour as I drove to the school and parked across the street, five minutes before the final bell rang. I didn’t feel good about this, but the alternative of not knowing was worse. Sadly, I really had no clue how I’d react if I did spot Michael.
And still, there I sat in my car, my hair tucked under a hat and sunglasses on my face.
The final bell rang at 3:42 P.M. and I watched as hundreds of kids streamed through a half dozen doors. There was a line of buses in the front of the school and five times as many cars with parent drivers waiting to pick up. There were so many children. So many exits. Controlled chaos. I was looking for a needle in a haystack.
In the rush, I didn’t see Michael appear, nor did I spot Susan’s van. I saw lots of teenagers, all trying to fit in and look cool. Some seemed nice enough. Others not so much. I was sure M
ichael could hold his own and then some.
After the kids drifted away, I sat there, confused by this insane behavior that would surely end badly. In the silence of the car, a sense of failure weighed on my shoulders. I had told Michael I wouldn’t contact him. I said all contact would have to come from him. I hadn’t wanted to intrude until I had a date for the witch bottle exhibit.
And yet, here I sat. The fact that I hadn’t technically contacted him didn’t change the fact that I had crossed a line. I was putting myself before his best interests. This wasn’t a proud moment for Dr. Rae McDonald.
Turning the ignition, I started toward Alexandria.
“Thank God you didn’t see him,” I told myself. “What would you have said to him if he knocked on the window of the car?” No idea. Not a one. I would have stammered. What was there to say?
Once on the Beltway, I looped around the metro area and took the Telegraph Road exit. I should have headed south toward home, but the idea of sitting alone in my house seemed almost unbearable.
Thinking maybe I could visit with Lisa, I drove down Prince Street, but finding no parking, turned left on Union Street. By the time I found a spot, I was steps away from the Union Street Bakery. Margaret said they were closed early in the week, but I found an Open sign dangling in the front door.
Surprised and grateful, I parked, grabbed my purse, and got out. The air was warm and the breeze from the Potomac River nudged me up the street. I pushed through the front door, expecting to see Rachel, but instead I found a tall, lean woman with olive skin and straight dark hair. Judging by Margaret’s descriptions, I guessed this was her sister, Daisy.
Whereas openness came naturally to Rachel and Margaret, Daisy, though smiling as I approached, immediately struck me as more closed and guarded. Somewhere on her cellular level, she understood that the world did not always have open arms, and that sometimes it deals a bad hand to good people.
Daisy reached for a towel tucked in her apron and wiped her hands. “Rae McDonald.”
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