In Search of Sam

by Kristin Butcher

  The three of them snicker.

  I roll my eyes. Same old joke.

  “Dani,” George says, “why don’t you show your folks to their room and I’ll make us a pot of tea.”

  “Right,” I nod. “Follow me. We have put you in the east wing in a lovely room with a view. I hope you find your accommodations to your liking. Enjoy your stay, and don’t be shy about tipping the help.”

  After I leave Mom and Reed to get settled in, I go to my own room to telephone Alex. The phone barely rings before she answers it.

  “They’re here,” I say. “George is making tea. Come on over.”

  Reed and I excuse ourselves sometime during the second pot of tea. Mom, George, and Alex are so deep in conversation, they barely notice we’re leaving.

  “So show me this town of yours,” Reed says, breathing in the fresh spring afternoon.

  “We’ll take my car,” I say. “It already knows its way around. I’ll drive; you relax and sightsee.” Once we’re buckled in and ready to go, I say, “Where to first?”

  “Well, we might as well start with the site you think will work for the distribution centre. If that’s not right, nothing else matters. I contacted the regional building authority and land titles office. Though the property isn’t currently designated commercial, there are no residences in the area any more, so getting it rezoned might not be a big deal. They sent me a map. There’s definitely enough property for the facility and the price is negotiable, so I just need to see how much development it’s going to need.”

  I nod. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but what Reed has said so far sounds promising.

  We park the car and walk the entire abandoned building site, inside the chain link fence, as well as the field beyond. Reed pulls a pencil and notebook from his jacket, jots some notes, and makes a few sketches. He squats down and scoops some dirt into a plastic bag. I’m dying to know what he makes of the place, but he doesn’t say a word. I don’t want to jeopardize the outcome, so I swallow back all the questions I have and silently follow behind.

  Back at the car, he stuffs his notebook and pencil back into his coat and casually kicks the edge of the pavement. “You’re right about the roads,” he says. “They would definitely need to be redone if we moved the distribution centre here. Mind you, it looks like they need to be redone anyway.”

  I’m almost afraid to ask in case Reed’s already decided against the place. “So — would you like me to show you the rest of the town?”

  He puts on his sunglasses, so now I can’t even read his eyes. “Might as well,” he says in a voice that gives me no clue where he stands. “It doesn’t look like there’s much else to do.”

  That doesn’t sound good. But I can’t let myself get discouraged, so I squelch my misgivings, put the car in gear, and morph into a tour guide.

  I show him the community hall, emphasizing how it is the hub of Farrow. I take him up and down the winding roads, pointing out how well cared for the homes are. At least the ones that are occupied. Suddenly I start noticing how many houses are empty. It’s the same along Main Street. There are a couple of blocks of mostly boarded-up buildings. It’s like I’m seeing them for the first time — as Reed must be seeing them. If I’m overwhelmed by the bleak emptiness, and I already love this place, I can only imagine what Reed must be thinking.

  In an effort to undo any negative damage my tour may have done, I abandon downtown Farrow for the town’s more appealing natural features. I take Reed through the most scenic parts: the fields, the streams, the woods. Finally we end up at the cemetery.

  As I turn off the car, Reed glances at me sideways. Even behind his sunglasses, I can tell he’s puzzled.

  “Come on,” I say. “I’d like to show you something.”

  I lead him to the graves of John and Hannah Swan. “This is the old couple who took Sam in when he was a baby,” I say, crouching down to pinch back a couple of wilting blooms from the bouquet between the headstones. I look up at him over my shoulder. “You know the crumbling basements in that abandoned building development I showed you?”

  He nods.

  “Well, one of those basements was theirs. I don’t know which one. But when it was a whole house, Sam lived there.”

  We’re both quiet for a minute, and then Reed asks, “Is that all you’ve been able to find out?”

  I shrug. “More or less. I spoke with one of Sam’s foster families. They’re the ones who sent me here. And I’ve spoken with locals who knew the Swans or remembered Sam as a little boy — people like George, but they can’t tell me anything more.”

  “Don’t give up,” Reed says. “I’m not saying you should stay here — your mother will make both our lives a living hell if you don’t come back to Vancouver tomorrow, but you can still keep looking. I know you’re probably a little deflated, but you shouldn’t be. You’ve only just begun to search. Hunting down a person’s past isn’t easy. If it was, don’t you think Sam would have already found answers? That doesn’t mean it can’t be done, though. It can. I bet there are lots of other avenues to explore. If you like, I’ll help you.”

  “Would you, Reed?”

  “Absolutely. I’m always up for a good puzzle, especially if it’s for somebody I care about. Besides, turnabout is fair play. You helped me find the future home of the brewery’s distribution centre, so it only seems right that I return the favour.”

  I blink. “Are you freaking serious?”

  He grins. “Of course I am. I’m more than happy to help you hunt down your family history.”

  I swat him. “Not about that. I mean, yes, that’s great, and thank you, but did you just say you’re going to move the distribution centre here?”

  He nods.

  “To Farrow?”

  He nods again. “Don’t go throwing a parade just yet, though. It’s not going to happen overnight. There’s a lot to work out, but I think it’s a good spot. So how about we take one more pass down Main Street. I want to imagine those stores all renovated and buzzing with customers.”

  I smile and sigh. “Me too.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Even though Reed says there’s still a lot to do before the distribution centre is a done deal, I’m sure it’s going to happen. He wouldn’t have said anything to me otherwise. I’m so pumped, there’s no way I can keep the news to myself, and as soon as we get back to The Apple Tree, I blurt it out. Mom sends Reed an Is-this-true look. His half-smile answer is all the assurance I need.

  But that isn’t the only good news. While Reed and I were touring Farrow, Mom and Alex drove to the cabin to see Alex’s pottery, and judging by the pile of boxes stacked in George’s front hall, Mom bought every piece Alex had, and she is gushing about them as much as I am about the distribution centre. That pretty much means Alex has landed herself a fairy godmother. When my mother makes her mind up about something, she’s unstoppable, and she’s decided that Alex’s pottery is — and I quote — “phenomenal,” which means Alex is going to have her work cut out for her just keeping up with the demand.

  “This calls for a celebration,” George announces, popping the cork on what looks like a bottle of homemade wine. “Glasses are in that cupboard on the end, Joanna.”

  As Mom takes them down, I notice she includes one for me even though I’ve still got a year to go before I’m legal drinking age. I would never be offered anything alcoholic at home, and I’m not sure why I am now. It’s like the first Thanksgiving I was allowed to escape the kiddies’ table. Another of life’s milestones. I smile. Maybe, in her own way, my mother is trying to let me grow up.

  We all lift our glasses and Reed says, “To Farrow and the future.”

  “And new beginnings,” Mom adds.

  “And good people,” George tags on the end.

  George invites Alex to stay for supper, but Alex begs off, claiming she has to get started on a new batch of pottery.

  “This is all so exciting,” George declares during dinner. “I haven’t been
this high since the sixties.”

  My mother chokes on a carrot, and I pat her on the back. “It’s okay. George has a name to live up to. It’s kind of like truth serum. She has to tell it like it is. She can’t help herself. You’ll get used to it.”

  George ignores the interruption. “As I was saying, it’s all very stimulating, but let me see if I understand the situation properly.” She turns to Reed. “You run a brewery in Vancouver?”

  Reed nods.

  “And you want to set up a distribution facility here in Farrow?”

  He nods again.

  “We’re a bit off the beaten track, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, but that’s part of the appeal,” Reed explains. “Certainly the brewery will continue to ship from Vancouver, but we need a distribution centre that’s more central as well, so trucks can reach it easily from the rest of Canada and the U.S. A town like Farrow provides an added bonus over a big city like Vancouver in that it allows easy access — at least it will once the roads are rebuilt.”

  “And this distribution centre of yours is going to make jobs and bring folks back to Farrow?”

  “That’s the plan. At the moment, Farrow is a bit of a double-edged sword. Because it has pretty much shut down, there’s nothing to keep people here, so property is devalued. That’s good for me. I can buy the property I need at a reasonable price. Then, if we can wake Farrow up again, the government will restore services, and those low property prices will attract buyers, and before you know it, Farrow will be back on the map. Then watch land values go up.”

  “And if Arlo can work his magic,” I interject, “all the Farrow artists like Alex will form a guild and finally be able to make a living at what they do. And they won’t have to take their stuff to other towns either. The bazaar will become a mega-big fair, operating twice a year and pulling in crowds from all over B.C. — maybe even further. And then when the rodeo is back up and running, Farrow will be buzzing even more than it was in its glory days.”

  Mom, Reed, and George all stop eating and stare at me.

  “Oh,” I say, as I glance from face to face. “I guess I didn’t tell you about that part yet.”

  The next morning, though I’m still excited about all that’s happened and all that is going to happen, I’m also a little depressed. It’s time to leave Farrow and head back to Vancouver. I love this little town, and I’m sad to say goodbye. The only consolation is that thanks to Reed and the brewery, I know I’ll be coming back.

  By the time I hit the kitchen, Mom and Reed have finished breakfast and are lingering over a second cup of coffee. Mom glances meaningfully at her watch.

  “We said we wanted to get an early start,” she says. “It’s already nine o’clock.”

  “That is early,” I shoot back with a wink. “George says no self-respecting teenager gets out of bed before ten.” Mom gets all parental-looking and opens her mouth to put me in my place. “Relax, Mom. I’m kidding. I’ll have some toast and a coffee, and then I’ll go pack, which should take about five minutes. It’s a matter of shove everything into my suitcase and zip it up.”

  “And change the bed,” Mom says.

  I nod. “And change the bed. So make that ten minutes.”

  “Hogwash,” George sputters. “You’re paying guests. This is my bed and breakfast, and I’ll be the one changing the beds, thank you very much.”

  Despite George’s objection, Mom shoots me a look that says otherwise, so I mentally add bed changing to my to-do list.

  As I pour my coffee and put some bread into the toaster, my cellphone rings. I dig it out of my pocket and look at the screen. It’s Alex.

  “Good morning,” I say. “How did it go last night with the pottery?”

  “It was good. I stayed up way too late, though, and now I’m a walking bag of dirt. But I didn’t want you to leave without saying goodbye. I can sleep later.”

  “Why don’t you come over? George has a big pot of coffee on. I’m just about to pour myself a cup.”

  “Sounds good. I’m on my way,” Alex replies.

  I butter my toast, slather it with George’s apple butter, and settle in to enjoy my breakfast. But it’s a lost cause, with my mother peering at her watch every two minutes and tapping her fingernails on the tabletop the rest of the time. Finally I wolf down the last few bites, grab my coffee, and head back to my room.

  That’s where I am when Alex arrives. I’ve changed the bed, so now I just have to pack my stuff. Fortunately, I’ve kept all my belongings in the bedroom, so I don’t have to roam the cottage, collecting everything.

  “Need a hand?” Alex asks as I lift my suitcase onto the end of the bed and flip it open.

  “No, I’m good,” I say. “It’s basically just a matter of making sure I don’t forget anything.”

  “Good.” Alex sighs and leans against the wall. She takes a sip of her coffee before adding, “I’m pretty much brain dead this morning, so I probably wouldn’t be much help anyway.”

  For the next few minutes, it’s quiet. Alex remains propped against the wall, drinking her coffee, and I buzz around the room, rounding up my possessions and cramming them into my suitcase.

  Finally I stand back and frown at the small mountain of clothing and toiletries inside my suitcase.

  “You really think you’re going to get the suitcase closed on all that stuff?” Alex says.

  “It should close,” I insist. “It did in Vancouver.”

  “Yeah, but that was when everything was neatly folded and clean. Now it’s all just a tangled mess, and it’s dirty. Dirt can be really bulky. Take it from someone who works with mud all day.” She grins.

  I sneer back. “You’re so funny. I suppose I could always refold things, but that just seems wrong. Nobody folds dirty laundry.”

  “Or you could ask George for a plastic bag and stick the overflow into that. Like you say, it’s only dirty laundry, and it’s not like you have to clear security at the airport. Nobody’s going to be poking through your soiled undies.”

  “Ew!” I screw up my nose. “That’s gross. Maybe if I sit on the top of the suitcase, I can squish everything down enough to get the zipper closed.” I glance around the room one more time to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Good thing too, because I spy the framed photo the Sheffields gave me. I wouldn’t want to leave that behind. I point to it. “Alex, could you pass me that picture, please?”

  “Sure,” she says. She sets her coffee mug on the bureau and then reaches across the bed to the night table on the other side. As she stretches forward, a chain with a pendant slides out from the neck of her blouse and dangles in the air. I stare. Even after Alex retrieves the photograph and is upright once more, I can’t take my eyes off her necklace.

  “Where did you get that?” we blurt simultaneously. I’m pointing to Alex’s necklace, and she’s shaking the photograph at me.

  “My grandparents have this exact same photograph on their living room wall. It even has the same frame. I’ve seen it a hundred times.” She jabs a finger at the teenage girl in the picture. “That’s my mom!”

  “Your mom?” I repeat stupidly. “That girl is your mother?”

  “Yes. Where did you get this?”

  I point to the baseball player. “That’s Sam. That’s my dad.”

  “What? This is crazy! Where did you get this picture, Dani?”

  A million thoughts are spinning through my brain. If they would slow down, I might be able to make sense of them, but they won’t and I can’t.

  “Are Stephanie and Duncan Sheffield your grandparents?”

  She nods. “Yes. Did they give this to you?”

  It’s my turn to nod. Then I reach inside my shirt and pull out the half-heart that mirrors the one Alex is wearing. I hold it out to her.

  “And this? It’s exactly like yours. I slide my half-heart next to hers. “Where did you get it?”

  She takes a minute to compare the two. The hearts fit snugly together.

  “My mo
m gave it to me. My grandma gave it to her. Her mother gave it to her.”

  “Where did my half come from?” I say.

  Alex looks confused. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen another half before, and I don’t know anything about it. It’s just something that’s been passed down through my family.”

  My heart is beating so fast, it’s practically tripping over itself. Something important is happening, and it has to do with Sam. That much I’m sure of. I still don’t have any answers, but now I have a whole new batch of questions, and I think I know who I need to ask.

  “Do you think your grandparents would know?”

  Alex shrugs. “Maybe.” She pulls out her phone. “Should I ask them?”

  I frown. “Not over the phone.” I clutch the half-heart around my neck. “If they know more than they’ve already told me, they’re keeping it a secret for some reason. Can we go and speak to them in person? Would they be home?”

  “Probably. Do you want to?”

  “Yeah, I do.” I grab my backpack and car keys. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

  As we tear out of my room and race for the front door, I holler to my mom and Reed in the kitchen. “Have another cup of coffee. There’s something I have to do before we leave.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Just like when I visited the house before, it is Mr. Sheffield who answers the door.

  “Hey, Grandpa.” Alex hugs him and kisses his cheek.

  “Alex?” He is both surprised and pleased. When he spies me standing behind her, his expression becomes confused. “Dani?” He glances from me to Alex and back again. “You two know each other?”

  “We’re starting to,” Alex says. “Actually, that’s why we’re here. Can we talk to you and Grandma?”

  He still looks puzzled or wary — maybe both — but he invites us in. “Of course, of course. Come in. Alex, take Dani to the sunroom, and I’ll get your grandmother.”

  Unlike the living room with its traditional furnishings and photo-mural walls, the sunroom is a mini tropical paradise. Fitted with floor to ceiling windows on two sides, it is furnished simply with rattan loveseats, large potted plants, and sunshine. A large ceramic plate I recognize as Alex’s work is the sole ornament on a large glass coffee table.