She’d released Rhett’s hand when they sat down, but now she wished she hadn’t. Somehow, his perception was on high alert, and Heidi felt Rhett’s hand settle on her knee beneath the table. He gave a comforting squeeze, then lifted his hand.
“Heidi,” Vicki started, then stopped, looking at the ceiling as she rolled her lips against the emotion choking her voice. She dropped her gaze back down and locked it with Heidi’s. “You were a prison baby, Heidi. Betsy went to jail pregnant with you, after her boyfriend—your father—wound up dead. Mom and Dad adopted you, protected you from it all. Maybe we should have told you years ago. I know I should have said something when this all started here, but it’s ingrained in me not to. Mom said, ‘Never tell!’ And when you started having anxiety and panic as a kid, they thought the worst. That maybe you—you were like Betsy.”
“I’m not like her,” Heidi argued, hoarse from suppressed tears. But God knew she could possibly relate in a small way to her mother. Held at arm’s length. Different.
Vicki reached across the table. Heidi ignored the gesture, even though for the first time honesty showed in Vicki’s eyes. Regret and a plea for Heidi to forgive. Heidi didn’t want to, and yet, in a way, she could see the twisted logic. Protect the innocent baby. The one who should never grow up in the shadows cast by Betsy’s own struggles and failures. But they’d abandoned Betsy and, in doing so, abandoned Heidi too.
“So,” Heidi choked out, “you just left my—mother—on her own? In the system? And tried a do-over with me?”
“Please, Heidi! No, it’s not like that!” Vicki begged, holding out her hands further. “Please. Mom and Dad tried. They did. Dad visited Betsy as often as he could. Mom wrote her letters. But Betsy—she knew you existed and we needed to keep you safe. Then Betsy stopped responding. No more letters. And she wouldn’t come to see Dad when he visited her. After a few years, you graduated high school, you went off to college and—never came around anymore. And Betsy was a ghost of a memory.”
“Is that why Mom and Dad moved here? To Mom’s childhood hometown.”
Vicki shrugged. “I guess? There was a pastorate. Mom wanted to get away from the years of memories in Minnesota, but she wanted somewhere familiar.”
“Pleasant Valley.” Heidi could hear the resignation in her voice. She could sense Loretta Lane’s pain more than she wished to admit. Being guarded all those years. No wonder they’d tried to make Heidi tow the line! To stay in control of the offspring of the daughter they’d essentially lost! Coming back to Pleasant Valley must have been a last-ditch effort on Loretta’s part to gain some control over an entire life that had never quite measured up. Like Heidi.
Heidi sucked in a sob that escaped her. She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Mom understood me.”
“More than you know,” Vicki whispered. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “When she really started failing a few months ago, she knew she was losing any last threads of normalcy she may have regained.”
“And that’s when Mom wrote to me.” Awareness flooded Heidi. “She wanted to tell me before she lost her memory.”
Vicki gave a watery nod. “It must be.” And then she added, as though a massive weight she’d carried for years had lifted, “Finally.”
Heidi reached out, hesitant. Vicki clasped her hands across the table and licked at the tears that rolled over her lips.
“We may not have done the right thing, Heidi. But, we did it because we loved you. Because we loved Betsy, and she couldn’t—she couldn’t be your mother. She couldn’t care for herself. Please. Please forgive us.”
Heidi knew forgiveness could not be given in a nod or in words. Nor was she sure it could even come. It would take time to process who she was, what decisions her family had made over the years in spite of her—for her.
She glanced at Rhett. His features were solid. His eyes met hers. In them she saw his confidence.
“Fix your eyes on the target and let the arrow fly.”
“The rest will follow.”
For the first time, Heidi accepted she could not charge ahead, nor could she run away. She had to choose to trust a greater purpose, one she didn’t understand, and maybe didn’t even like. But really, wasn’t that what faith was?
Chapter 39
Thea
She wasn’t dead. Thea sat in the bed, propped up by luxurious pillows and covered in a velveteen quilt. She was in the Fortunes’ home, and the poisons that had wracked her body were vanishing. Health returning.
The sequence of events that had brought her to this place still bewildered her. But Mrs. Amos had told her the story on her last visit. How Simeon had beckoned the older woman to go to the Coyle home later that afternoon to relieve Rose, as he had to confront Mr. Fortune. How Mr. Amos had insisted on accompanying Simeon and the confrontation that ensued. How Mrs. Amos had finally arrived at the house to assist Rose, only to have the men, along with Mr. Fortune, arrive almost simultaneously. Mr. Fortune had been frantic to get to Thea. He’d been suspicious but not convinced she was his granddaughter, but once Simeon revealed it to him, the arrogance had faded into distress.
She wouldn’t be safe at the Coyle home, he’d argued. Something wicked lay inside. He’d suspected it for years, ever since he’d confronted Mathilda with his suspicions of her own darkness and she had admitted to him that she’d killed Misty Wayfair.
It was Simeon who arrived at the startling realization that Rose was the only unaccounted for factor. They’d all come upon Thea’s room as Rose had admitted to Thea her deluded and misguided horrors.
A knock on the door brought Thea’s attention off the events that had happened while she lay unconscious. It opened a crack, and Mr. Fortune peeked through.
“May I come in?”
Thea nodded.
He entered, the self-confidence back in place on his face. The commanding presence and a slightly lessened air of entitlement. He was, after all, still a Fortune.
Mr. Fortune lowered himself onto a chair. He gave Thea a small smile. “Your mother, Penelope, named you Alice.”
“Then you knew about me,” she replied.
This man, this stranger, had been so deviant himself. Perhaps now he wished to pay penance for his sins. Perhaps that was why he and his wife had taken in his illegitimate child with Misty Wayfair.
He cleared his throat. “She told us of you, when she returned home and was unwell. Penelope had been gone from our care for several years by then. I’m not sure of her story or how you even came to be. But she said you existed and she knew she wasn’t well. She told me she didn’t want me to have you, so she left you at an orphanage somewhere. I don’t even know why she told me of you, yet she begged me to leave you be, away from this wretched town. She gave you a new name, she said. You were no longer Alice Fortune.”
“Dorothea Reed,” Thea responded.
“Yes.” Mr. Fortune nodded. “That was my mother’s name.”
Thea tried to comprehend. Her name was not even her own. She was Alice Fortune. Not in Mr. Fortune’s direct line of inheritance, due to the illegitimacy of her mother, but his granddaughter nonetheless.
“How did you not immediately know who I was? When I took your photograph?” Thea had to ask, to understand why he’d been so silent.
Mr. Fortune shifted in his chair. The look he gave Thea appeared more that he wished to unburden himself rather than seek forgiveness.
“As I said, I suspected. I didn’t know for sure.”
Thea nodded, but his words stung. It wasn’t until her life was potentially in danger and he was cornered by Simeon and Mr. Amos that he’d come to face the truth about her.
Mr. Fortune cleared his throat. “I didn’t know Mathilda Coyle killed Misty until years later. Truly, I didn’t. I suspected. It ate at me. I couldn’t tell my wife. In the end”—he looked down at his hand—“I allowed the story of her husband, Fergus, and the suspicions that he was Misty’s lover to be believed. It cleared me of my transgressions. But you must know, I had
no intention of it becoming this—this legendary. Of Misty being concocted into a ghost story! It all became so much larger than it was ever supposed to be.”
Thea waited. She watched her grandfather drag his hand over his eyes as he took in a breath to continue.
“Mathilda already had a falling-out with her father, my uncle Reginald Kramer. The Coyles never would have become his heirs because my uncle disapproved of Fergus. After Misty was found, I . . . I went to the . . . I went to where she stayed. One of the ladies there was caring for your mother, Penelope. I offered to take her in and be her benefactor. They didn’t ask questions.”
Thea blinked but said nothing. Let the old man confess and come clean, if he must. The only balm to Thea’s soul was knowing the truth, as painful as it was.
Mr. Fortune continued. “I tried to take care of Penelope as best I could. My wife didn’t know until years later that Penelope was really my child and not just a recipient of our good graces.”
“And yet you put her in an asylum.” Thea’s throat choked, though she didn’t break her stare from her grandfather’s face. “You let them experiment on your own daughter.”
Mr. Fortune lurched from his chair and stalked across the room. He looked out the window, his coat pushed back as he rested his hands at his waist. Thea watched his shoulders, stiff and unyielding, at last sag in defeat.
When he spoke, his voice bounced off the windowpanes. “I built the asylum to get Penelope the help she needed. What did I know of proper medical care for her? She would pitch and roll. Foam at the mouth.” Mr. Fortune turned, and Thea could see genuine agony in his expression. “My daughter needed help. Dr. Ingles said such things would . . . help her.”
And so many others had also been told the same. Thea recalled Mr. Fritz’s story of other asylums. Other abuses. It was nothing new to mental institutions, and only recently had such practices been exposed.
“What will become of Rose?” She skirted her grandfather’s explanation.
He blinked, surprised she had nothing to say. What could she say? Her grandfather had committed no crimes. He’d been selfish. He’d been underhanded and manipulative. He’d tried to atone for this by caring for her mother as a child and then as an ill woman. His attempts were a sad extension of a man who knew nothing but his own ambition to save his good name.
“Rose will answer for her crimes.” He gave Thea a nod. “She’s been taken to a hospital farther south until then. To be treated. She is very . . . unwell.”
Yes. Thea nodded.
“But, I will monitor her care,” Mr. Fortune added quickly. His mustache twitched as he sniffed. “She won’t suffer what—” he stopped and met Thea’s eyes—“she won’t suffer what your mother suffered.”
Thea gave her grandfather a small nod, resolution filling her. She would not look for herself in this house. She would take whatever time was needed to make peace with the history that had wrapped its ugly, sinful grip around her family, and Simeon’s family too.
For the first time, Thea breathed a prayer as she studied the old man at the window. She saw the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and the concocted air of superiority that kept his jaw straight and rigid.
Her prayer was to her Creator. Finding herself here was not satisfying. But she had been given life, after all. So there was a reason for her existence.
Maybe Simeon was right. That ceasing to uncover one’s purpose, but instead finding out who one’s Creator was, would be the most satisfying story of all to uncover. A bigger story than her own. A story of creation and of meaning, which was so much larger than a fallen family, and the whisper of a ghost’s memory who, in a way, would forever haunt them all.
Heidi
Heidi slipped the Ducie scarf over Emma’s head and leveled it around her neck. The morning had brought with it a measure of hope. Only a little, but with it came the promise that it might grow, that healing was possible. Emma gifted Heidi with an enormous smile, her hands stroking the beloved scarf. Even Ducie struggled to his feet, tendering his leg still cast in plaster, and nosed Heidi’s hand.
Connie laughed and reached out, embracing Heidi. They held each other for a long moment. No words were necessary, for really, what could anyone say? The revealing of Heidi’s past, of her family, of their local ties, and the secrets were more than an empathic statement could account for.
When Heidi pulled back, Connie grasped her shoulders, looked deep into her eyes, and gave her a firm little shake. “You won’t run, Heidi.”
Heidi mustered a smile. “No. I won’t.” She drew in a long sigh. She’d wanted to run, multiple times during the night, as she lay in fitful rest in the guest room at the Crawfords’. But this time she also wasn’t alone anymore, and in a strange way, she was starting to see who she was.
“And your mother—Betsy?” Connie asked.
Heidi shook her head. “I don’t know. Vicki texted me and wants me to come with her today and help figure it out. Together.” That was a new idea Heidi wasn’t sure how to process. “But, we’ll make sure she gets back on her medications, and then see what happens. Vicki seems to think—well, maybe we can get Betsy institutionalized again, but in a place that offers effective treatment. Depending on what obligations on her record she still has to meet, we may try to search out a faith-based hospital.”
Connie offered a reassuring smile and drew Heidi in for another hug. She pulled back. “Let this be a time of healing. For all of you. For Loretta too.”
Heidi nodded. “I’m not sure if we’ll tell her about Betsy.”
“All in good time.” Connie stepped back and glanced out the window. “But for now, Rhett’s here.” Connie gave her a nudge toward the front door. Rhett was waiting outside in his truck, the engine running.
As Heidi climbed into the truck, Rüger nosed her leg, and she buried her fingers in his familiar fur. Archie yowled at her from the dash while Rhett maneuvered the stick shift into gear.
The trees whizzed by along the country road. Heidi contemplated today, the implications, and the brand-new journey in front of her. She considered the photograph of Mary Coyle, the story of her brother Simeon who married Alice Fortune, and the foggy legend of Misty Wayfair that really was never fully explained. She even considered Thea Reed’s trunk and wondered how the local photographer had ended up with Coyle keepsakes.
And then there was Rhett.
Heidi didn’t bother to hide the fact she was studying his features as she looked at him. His jawline, his greasy cap, his gray eyes, his expressionless face. The man had hardly uttered a word since last night, but as Heidi approached her newly revealed family secrets with trepidation, a different worry gnawed at her.
She continued to eye him, yet he remained impassive.
Well, Rhett sure wasn’t going to say anything.
Heidi raised her eyebrow as he cast her a glance. He looked back at the road.
“So?” she asked.
Rhett braked as a turkey bobbed across the road in front of the truck. “So, what?”
Heidi bit the inside of her cheek. Fine. She was just going to ask. “So, was I just another one of your rescues? Like Archie, or Rüger?”
Rhett’s brows furrowed. He shot her another glance.
Heidi tried a different approach. “You’ve—you’ve been here for me. But now that I’ve uncovered what I needed to, I was just wondering if—well, if you’d still be around?”
A slight smile quirked the side of his mouth. “I wasn’t planning on moving.”
Heidi rolled her eyes and delivered a soft punch to his arm. “Come on. You like to rescue things—people. Your mom told me. She said you’re a softie.”
Rhett frowned.
Heidi pressed on. “I just didn’t know if I’m just your latest rescue.”
The turkey had crossed into the field on the driver’s side. Rhett put on his turn signal and pulled the truck onto the shoulder. He shifted it into first gear, then shut off the engine. Twisting in his seat, he pushed Rüger to the
floor. The dog lay on top of Heidi’s feet with a grunt as Rhett slid over.
He leaned forward and studied her, his moody eyes roving her face.
Rhett didn’t say anything.
Heidi was almost afraid he would.
Finally, he did.
“You never needed rescuing, Heidi. You just needed help aiming.”
She smiled. Rhett and his archery references. She sort of liked it. Sort of liked him. Well, sort of was an understatement.
Rhett’s eyes narrowed, and he studied her briefly. Then he shook his head. “I told you before that I thought you were cute.”
Heidi gave him a quizzical look.
He shrugged and waved his hand at Archie and then at Rüger. His voice lowered, and before Heidi could move, Rhett leaned forward and pressed his lips against her temple. “I have a habit of adopting cute creatures.”
Heidi couldn’t move away. Surprise and a funny swirling sensation filled her. Only this time, it wasn’t panic.
She offered him a silly grin. “I’m not a creature. Sorry.”
Rhett’s face relaxed with humor, and he gave her a crooked smile in return. “No. You’re much cuter.” He pulled back, pushed down on the clutch, and started the engine.
Heidi leaned her head back against the seat and drew in a deep breath. Like a prayer. A promise.
“Ready?” Rhett asked.
Heidi nodded. “Yeah.”
She had let the arrow fly. Now she would see where God would take it—take her. It was time to go meet her mom.
Thea
They sat by the river, evening fast approaching. Their walk from the Amos home to the riverbank was more peaceful tonight. The story between them known. She had left the Fortunes as soon as she was well. Thea knew she’d never truly be one of them, even though she’d discovered she was legally named Alice Fortune.
The river rolled on, its current the same habitual fervor as every night before. Simeon gazed out over it in his usual quiet fashion. His features were calm. He was at peace.
“How is Effie?” Thea ventured.
The Curse of Misty Wayfair Page 34
