As much as I wanted to tear open the note, I let Margaret handle it. There was no margin for error.
Addie took pictures, and after ten or fifteen shots, Margaret allowed the paper to roll back up and then very carefully placed all the items into the box.
“What does it say?” I asked. Nervous energy raced through me like a defendant waiting on the jury’s verdict. What I’d done had been completely reckless, but I couldn’t care less.
Margaret took the phone and studied the images. After a very long moment, she said softly, “Remove all my pain.”
“Remove all my pain,” I said, mostly to myself. “A very rational wish considering her losses.”
Addie leaned over Margaret’s shoulder and studied the image. “You should look at this, Rae.”
Margaret held the phone to her chest. “Honestly, Rae, if I weren’t so excited to see what was in that bottle, I’d smack you right now.”
She handed me the camera, and I studied the thin, shaky handwriting. “It was just like the first letters Patience wrote.”
“Not quite as steady,” Margaret said. “I’m guessing she was pretty stressed when she wrote the note wondering if Faith would somehow sense it.”
“Do you think all the women did it together?” Addie asked.
“It’s believed these witch bottles were more potent if created at the full moon. And I’m guessing these three women planned to meet at the full moon together,” Margaret said. “Faith was charged in Scotland for witchcraft and then again here in Alexandria where she was examined for signs of witchcraft. That was early November of 1751 and she fled the town within a day or two. My guess is that they created their bottles before the examination.”
“I agree,” Addie said. “Faith was already living with the McDonalds by the December full moon.”
“And if my ancestor’s wish of no pain or grief becomes a curse, it stands to reason that if McDonalds don’t feel pain, we also don’t feel joy.”
“Matchmaker with a heart of stone,” Margaret said. “Sound familiar?”
I shook my head. “I’m not a cold woman. At least I didn’t use to be.”
“Losing your sister could have done it,” Margaret said.
“That was horrible. Terrible, but . . .” I looked at the note, terrified Michael might somehow be doomed to my life. “Then I wished away all my emotions.”
Both Addie and Margaret stared at me in silence.
“My sister’s death turned my world upside down. I made foolish choices. Got pregnant. My son, Michael, was born just before my seventeenth birthday.” I would say or do anything to make sure Michael was okay. “When I handed him to his adoptive mother, my heart did turn to stone. First Jennifer, now Michael. Maybe the McDonalds can never be happy.”
Addie laid a hand on my shoulder. “That’s not true, Rae.”
I shook my head. “Michael’s in the hospital. He was supposed to be here tonight but there was a car accident. His mother called me and that’s why I left.”
“Is he okay?” Margaret asked.
“They’ll know more in the morning. There was nothing else that could be done tonight.”
“Rae,” Margaret said. “You’re a strong woman. I can’t imagine a kid of yours that can’t go the distance.”
Lisa’s eyes brimmed with tears. “He’s got to be strong, Rae.”
“We McDonalds have never had luck with our children. It seems every generation gets smaller and smaller. I’m the last female and Michael is the last male. So many of us have died far too young. My sister, and when I was very young, my brother.”
“I didn’t realize you had a brother,” Margaret said.
“Neither did I until Amelia told me about him. He was just a baby when he died. I certainly understand my mother now more than ever.” My glacier heart, warming now, tingled painfully. “I’m sorry I broke the bottle.”
Margaret shrugged. “Maybe it was meant to be.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Lisa said. She picked up her bottle, moved clear of mine, and dropped hers in one fluid motion. It broke into four pieces along with Margaret’s composure.
“Good God, woman, have you lost your mind, too?” Margaret reached for Addie’s phone. “My heart is going to stop!” She began snapping pictures.
Lisa looked at me, the broken pieces lying scattered at her feet. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I killed Jennifer,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“We were driving down the parkway, going way too fast.” Her tone was heavy with sadness.
“That’s not what the accident report said, Lisa. You didn’t kill her.”
“You don’t understand. She wasn’t driving too fast. I was.”
“What? No. Your mother said Jennifer was driving.”
“It was my fault. I lost control of the car and crashed into a tree. I dragged Jennifer out of the burning car. She wasn’t moving. My head was spinning and I lost consciousness.”
I stood still, trying to steady the weight of her secret. She glanced down at the open palms of her shaking hands. “When I came to, there were rescue crews around us. I heard them say she was dead. We never would have crashed if I hadn’t been driving too fast and too drunk.”
I stood still, fearing that if I moved I would break and shatter into a million pieces. Jennifer’s best friend in the world, the one person my mother seemed to admire and weep for, had contributed to her death and sent my life spiraling out of control. A thoughtless act had created so much destruction.
I couldn’t think. Breathe. I’d lowered my guard for the first time in years and all I felt right now was pain. “I’ve got to go.”
Lisa blocked my exit. “You can’t leave without saying anything, Rae. You can’t.”
I tipped back my chin. “What is there to say? You were young, selfish, and your actions caused my sister’s death. You would take it all back if you could, but you can’t. No one can.”
Tears welled in Lisa’s eyes. “I’ve wished it back a thousand times before.”
“Wishes don’t do much good. If anything, they turn on us. Hasn’t that been the lesson for the day?”
“Rae, I would never have hurt Jennifer.”
“But you did. You’re responsible for this mess. Honestly, Lisa, you couldn’t have done a better job of hurting me if you’d planned it. My big regret is that I trusted you. I felt sorry for you.”
The pain sparked, slowly draining the color from her face. “Rae, please.”
I was aware that Margaret and Addie were staring, but I couldn’t bear another second of this. Without a word, I turned and left the warehouse.
March 2, 1783
Dearest Children,
Mr. McDonald died today and I fear I will soon follow him in death. However, I refuse to pass until Hanna has her child and Patrick returns home. Hanna’s belly is so swollen and heavy, her time is so very close. I fear Hanna will lose this child as she has her others. I will not die until I see my children safe. I forbid it.
—F
Chapter Twenty-two
Lisa Smyth
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 10:30 P.M.
Seconds after the door closed behind Rae, Addie came up to me and took my hands in hers. “She’s hurt and she’s upset. She just needs a little time to absorb it all, and then she’ll come back and talk to you.”
I wiped away a tear. Secrets were meant to be kept buried for a reason. I knew this. And yet, I was compelled by the moment. “You don’t know Rae or the McDonalds. Once they slip behind that wall of ice, they don’t come back.”
Margaret gaped at the shattered bottles. “That’s the secret you’ve been carrying for all these years?”
“Yes.”
The urge to drink rose in me like a demon wrapping around my mind and soul, chasing away the good sense that was still lingerin
g. Just a couple of sips to take the edge off. Just one drink. I didn’t need an entire bottle, just one drink.
I turned my head from side to side, wondering where Jennifer’s voice was now. The voice that had stalked me for sixteen years was painfully quiet. Maybe she only lingered close to me while the secret was intact. Now that Rae knew, there was no reason for Jennifer to stick around.
“You were a kid,” Addie said.
“A very foolish and spoiled kid. I never thought about the consequences.”
“But a kid,” Margaret repeated. “A clueless child.”
“How many of them kill their best friend?”
“Lisa,” Addie said. “It was a car accident. You were probably less intoxicated than Jennifer and got stuck with driving.”
I stared toward the door. “So many times I knew Rae wanted to tag along with us. So many times. But I didn’t want to share Jennifer. I wanted her to myself. She had a sister and I didn’t. I was jealous of Rae.” In the center of the broken pieces of my witch bottle littering the floor lay the scroll covered in wax. Carefully, I picked it up and placed it in Margaret’s hands. She peeled away the wax and slowly unrolled the parchment. Margaret studied it for a brief moment and said, “Keep my past a secret.”
“Did your mother know?” Addie asked.
“Yes. She made me swear never to tell. She said because it was Jennifer’s car, everyone would assume she’d been driving.” I shook my head. “We Smyth women were always good with secrets.
“Margaret,” I said, my voice tinged with sadness. “I’m sorry I broke your bottle. But I thought I could break whatever spell is cast and life would settle onto stable ground. But I’ve only made it worse.”
“You didn’t screw anything up,” Addie said. “Give Rae time. She’ll come around.”
I moved toward the door, pausing, but not looking back. “I’m sorry. And I know that’s not enough.”
The walk up Union Street and over to Prince Street took less than five minutes, but each step was labored. This would have been the time to find a meeting and reach out to my friends while I weathered this storm. But I didn’t feel as if I deserved any forgiveness or help. I’d ruined too many lives to simply get a pass because so much time had separated me from murder.
I went straight to my car, not able to deal with Charlie right now. I drove directly to the grocery store with the big wine selection. This time, I didn’t circle the aisles or pretend that I’d come to buy other things. I went straight to the wine section and purchased five bottles. I couldn’t even tell you if they were red or white. I didn’t even notice the price as the lady rang them up and I swiped my credit card. Nothing mattered other than getting home and forgetting.
I loaded the bottles in the front seat and leaned over to open one when I saw a police car pass through the lot. Getting arrested would stand in the way of me getting blind drunk, so I held off while I drove the few blocks back to the house.
Inside, Charlie ran up to me, wagging his tail. God, the way he looked at me almost broke my heart. He was always so glad to see me and shower me with unconditional love. Even with all the changes in his life, he was never cross. I didn’t deserve him.
“Hey, boy.” I dropped my purse by the front door and kicked it closed with my foot. I let Charlie out the back door and when he bounded outside, I screwed off the top of the bottle and hesitated only a beat before I drank. The cool liquid poured down my throat, exorcising the despair from my body. Success and failure all wrapped up in one moment. Slowly, I slid to the floor and took another pull from the bottle. My head tipped back against the door as the tears rolled down my cheeks. It had been over a dozen years since my last drink, but that didn’t count for much now.
“This is your chance to call me a dumbass, Jennifer. This is your chance to tell me to put the bottle down and walk away.”
Silence echoed in the house. Somewhere a clock ticked. Outside Charlie barked.
“What? Nothing? You’ve had a shitload to say for the last sixteen years. Why so quiet now?” I drank from the bottle, burying this terrible day as fast I could gulp. My phone rang and I glanced at the display, half hoping it was Rae. Maybe Jennifer’s ghost had gone back to Rae and they were rallying and coming to my rescue.
The real estate agent’s name appeared on the display, but she didn’t leave a message. Seconds later she texted: Deal on the house has fallen through. Back to square one.
“Shit, of course.”
April 1, 1783
Dearest Children,
Hanna’s birthing was not easy, but I stayed at her side the entire night. At sunrise she delivered a girl and told me she would name the babe Faith. I left her home and returned to my cottage which stood in the shadow of the big house where Mr. McDonald lived. As I lay down, I heard the whispers of my mother and grandmother, beckoning me home. I am almost ready to leave this earthly realm.
—F
Chapter Twenty-three
Rae McDonald
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 7:00 A.M.
Worried about Michael and furious with Lisa, I’d barely slept last night. At one A.M., I’d called the hospital, but because I was not family, they refused to release any information. I’d explained I was his birth mother and that I’d donated blood for him, but none of that mattered.
This long night pricked and prodded and wouldn’t allow me to sleep, to eat, or to sit still for more than minutes at a time. Would morning ever come?
By two A.M., I sat at the kitchen table with the box of papers that my mother had saved. I’d given all the McDonald papers to Margaret except for those that belonged to my mother. She’d been dead over two years now and, though once or twice I’d considered going through the stacks, I’d avoided it as if I’d feared I would stumble across her truest feelings, the ones that she’d hidden so deeply for most of my life, as well as hers. Prying felt oddly invasive.
Carefully, I set the top aside and pulled out the binders of papers. No need to put things in chronological order because Mother had done that. She thought in straight clear lines, and nothing was ever out of place. Notes were recorded in clear, precise handwriting. Receipts kept in order with notations. And pictures carefully marked, leaving no question of when and where they were taken or of whom.
We were so much alike and yet, toward the end of her life, we could barely speak to each other. Always polite. Always considerate. But we never talked about anything of substance.
Oddly, she had not saved as much as her mother and the other McDonald women before her death. What mattered to her was condensed to a single eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch box.
My brother’s death certificate.
Jennifer’s death certificate.
A petition for divorce from my father dated two months before his death. I remembered Dad “traveled” a lot during that time, but I didn’t think he was so unhappy that he planned to leave my mother. She’d never once let on that her marriage was falling apart.
My son’s original birth certificate.
She’d lumped Michael’s birth certificate with the other tragedies in her life. Carefully, I set the other papers aside in their own pile. I traced Michael’s name and then mine, which was typed into the spot designated for Mother.
Rising from the table with Michael’s birth certificate clasped in my hand, I went into my office, where the box holding the family Bible was kept. I set the book on my desk and switched on the lamp. Using my best ink pen, I found the space in the book just below my name and wrote Michael David McDonald, along with his birth date.
Sitting back in the chair, I studied his name in the family Bible. A deep satisfaction warmed inside me.
Yes, Susan was his mother.
But he was my son. My flesh and blood. A McDonald. And no one could ever deny it.
Gently, I blew on the ink and only when I was certain it was fully dried did I close the
Bible. As I lifted the book, I spotted the slight edge of a yellowed piece of paper that was peeking out from the back pages. I tugged and pulled it out.
It appeared to be an old envelope addressed to Mr. Samuel J. Smyth. Postmarked 1948, the letter had clearly been opened and resealed. Across the front, in bold letters, was Return to Sender. I removed the letter and carefully unfolded it.
December 2, 1948
Dear Mr. Smyth,
It has been a year since I returned to Alexandria. As you must know by now, I have married and plan to stay in the area. As you promised, I would like to see Amelia and work out a plan to transition her back into my life. Though I appreciate all that you and Marjorie have done for her and me, this arrangement was temporary. I am able now and want my daughter back.
Yours truly,
Fiona McDonald Saunders
For a long moment, I read and reread the letter. Fiona had wanted Amelia back. And yet the Smyths and McDonalds chose never to tell her.
Written on the back of the letter was another note, scrawled in thick, bold handwriting. It read:
Amelia is a Smyth now. She knows only Marjorie as her mother and to remove the child from a loving home now would be cruel. You made your choice when you left Alexandria and now we take this opportunity to remind you of the papers you signed that made this adoption legal.
Mr. Smyth
This was the letter Amelia wanted. Needed.
I didn’t owe Lisa anything.
But Amelia deserved to know.
• • •
I arrived at the hospital seconds after visiting hours began. Pausing at the nurse’s desk, I said without hesitation that I was Michael’s family and that his mother was expecting me.
The nurse gave me a pass and I went back to his room. I raised my hand to knock. I paused, wishing I’d not come empty handed. But I had no idea what candy he liked or what he enjoyed reading.
I knocked and heard a man’s footsteps move toward the door. I braced, suspecting Michael’s father, Todd Holloway.
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