“How could she blame me for my mother’s death and seek revenge? How could she even reason that out?”
Brenda was stunned to read that her own birth, and her mother’s death in childbirth, was the cause of her aunt’s misery.
“She wasn’t a reasonable person, honey. No normal person would have acted as she did. Obviously she loved her sister with a devotion that coloured everything else in her life and she had to find someone to blame when her sister died giving birth to you. Grief seemed to have overwhelmed her and she could never accept her sister’s death so she focused her resentment on you.”
“But, it was such a long, involved trip to put a child through, Molly. How could she do that? And those people travelling with her; hadn’t they the guts to call the authorities and take some responsibility for their actions? I’m sure they would have been safe from Anna’s threats to have them deported. The authorities would have looked favourably on them for ending Lucy’s nightmare. I’m sure of that. And as for that old lawyer, he has a lot of questions still to answer. I could not follow his garbled story. I need to speak with him and clarify a few things.
“Beats me how any one person could control and manipulate others to do such evil. Anna was wicked, or mad, or both.”
Closing the documents, Brenda said, “I’m sure glad I never really knew my Aunt Anna. She never visited or called, and as far as I know, she never sent gifts for me, her only niece! My father never spoke of her for reasons unbeknown to me. She turned up here for his funeral, but left in haste before I had an opportunity to talk with her. I thought that was strange, but I was so distressed at the time and was trying to hold it together and found it hard to to speak to people. She had gone before I noticed.”
Jordan Garnett called some time later to arrange to visit Brenda. She was reluctant to enter into conversation with the elderly gentleman and was about to request a call from a younger partner in the firm, when Jordan Garnett launched into a spiel: “I expect you have some questions to ask me about the documents. Perhaps we could arrange for me to call by?”
“I most certainly have; several questions in fact, Mr. Garnett.”
“Oh, please, call me Jordan. Mr. Garnett is too formal.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Garnett,” said Brenda. “I will arrange a time for you to visit.”
As the call ended, the elderly gent thought to himself, what a strange lady, so abrupt, not a bit like dear Anna.
***
He arrived at Brenda’s home at an appointed time, unsure of the reception facing him; I might as well get this over with and escape from that odd woman.
He began by saying, “I was thinking you might like to visit your aunt’s cabin in Montana. I say this to reassure you that Lucy spent time in beautiful surroundings. It might help your healing to see the area where she spent her last days, before we dispose of the property. For all we know there may be some of her belongings there. I can arrange with the elderly couple who look after it, to have it prepared for your stay and arrange for you to collect keys to the property. Anna so wanted her great-niece to visit there.”
“I’m not sure about that at the moment. You have given me much to ponder over, including your part in Lucy’s trauma which I am determined to get to the bottom of, but right now I do not have the energy to pursue your involvement with my wicked aunt.”
The elderly man looked totally bemused but Brenda had neither time nor patience to have him in her home any longer than necessary. She agreed to give the suggestion some consideration and curtly ended his visit.
A most odd lady indeed; most odd, he thought as he drove off to find sanctuary in his office.
Brenda was unsure if she could cope with the emotional roller coaster that such a visit might add to her already exhausted mind and body. She was concerned too, that Molly, now much frailer, might not be fit for such a trip. The events of the past four years had taken their toll on the once exuberant woman. They discussed it at length and eventually decided on a course of action. They would visit in early summer. Brenda contacted Jordan Garnett for him to arrange the visit to Montana.
CHAPTER 10
Before his gruesome death, Barry Jones, the organiser, the schemer, planned the trip to London with precision. He made sure Fred, formerly known as Alfred Wysoki, knew exactly what he had to do regarding travel arrangements, and cautioned him to merge in with the crowd. Alfred hated his full name, preferring ‘Alf” or ‘Fred’ to ‘Alfred’. He always worried when he had to have a name change in case he messed up.
“Okay, so kinda try to remember your new name for this trip. That is what is on your documents, so if anyone asks, remember who you are. We travel separately, five days apart. It’s gonna take a hell of a long time to get there cos we ain’t taking a direct route to Europe, but it will work out just fine if you stick to the plan. We’ll be going by different routes. We should avoid detection that way. Anyone looking for us will probably be watching for two guys travelling together. You’re gonna dress up to look like a suave businessman. The documents look great by the way.”
“Yeah, yeah, got it B-J! You’ve told me this a million times.”
“We gotta make sure we don’t mess up!”
The evening before he was due to leave on his travels, Fred spent a restless night going over in his mind the route he was to take to reach London. He was used to having B-J’s company from the time they were released from prison until now, and was panic-stricken at the thought of travelling alone.
An apprehensive Fred set off on his epic journey. His smart appearance, change of hairstyle and previously treated facial scars, made him almost unrecognisable as the scruffy Alfred Wysoki formerly from Chicago. He flew from Rio to Uruguay and spent an anxious time before finally boarding a flight from Carrasco International Airport for a sixteen-hour journey to Brussels.
Sleep evaded him. Every unfamiliar noise startled him, causing a concerned flight attendant to ask if he felt unwell. She was used to nervous passengers, but this one seemed to her to be particularly stressed.
“I’m okay. I hate flying. Never used to, but I sure hate it now. How much longer are we on this darn aircraft?”
“Sir, we have a long flight ahead. We aren’t even halfway yet. Why don’t you try to sleep? It will help shorten the journey for you.”
Try as he might, the reluctant flyer could not sleep. Each time he closed his eyes he imagined he was on the doomed flight that claimed the lives of five people, some four years earlier. As the plane prepared to land he clenched his fists tightly, closed his eyes, and tried not to imagine what it must have been like for those travellers.
I must be getting soft in the head to even let it bother me, he thought as the plane touched down safely.
Arriving in Brussels, exhausted and dishevelled, he followed directions from B-J and located his hotel. For the next few days he posed as a tourist and joined a guided tour of the capital, visiting the magnificent St Michael’s Cathedral, the Royal Palace, the Chinese Pavilion and Japanese Tower, none of which held any interest for the disorientated man. He avoided conversation with his fellow travellers by sniffing into his handkerchief, feigning a severe cold in an attempt to ward off unwelcome attention.
Completely out of his comfort zone with jet lag, language, strange food and loneliness, he spent three miserable days there before boarding a ferry, as instructed, to Newcastle in north-east England.
Once there, he took a train to London and arrived at a hotel which B-J had booked for him under his false name. En route, his documents passed inspection. He was exhausted from travel and for the first time in his life he felt out of control of life’s events.
Wish B-J was here.
B-J set off five days after his associate. His fresh appearance disguised the normally casual style associated with the beach bar owner. He flew by Air France to Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, where he
too spent time as a tourist. Being more confident than Fred, he merged into the tourist scene with ease and, with phrasebook in hand and oozing confidence, enjoyed the delights of the capital. Had he not had a prearranged date to meet his ally, he would have revelled in a few more days of sightseeing, with an opportunity too of satisfying his taste buds in several of the gourmet French bistros. I’m sure gonna spend more time here on the return journey.
From Paris, he travelled by Eurostar train to Ashford in Kent in order to avoid arrival at the central London hub where he suspected security would be tighter. After two nights there, he boarded a coach to the capital and checked into his chosen hotel, a few streets from Fred.
On a prearranged date and time, the two met up and began a relaxing vacation in and around the capital. A much-relieved Fred, now less fearful since he was no longer alone and had his friend to act as guide and companion, settled in to life as a tourist. Never having had much experience of travelling, he felt completely out of place in this strange country. From the top deck of a city tour bus, B-J pointed out places of interest. He was elated at being in home territory.
“I hardly recognise some of the old places,” he told his mate; “Big, big improvements, most of them for the better. So what do think of London, Fred, I mean what do you really think?”
“Gee! B-J, hey it’s awesome! I’m sure glad we came, but hey, I haven’t heard any of that slang talk yet; seems to me the place is full of all foreign accents just like that Belgium place.”
“Tomorrow, buddy, you’ll hear cockney slang. We’ll head for the real London, the East End, and go visit a real East End pub.”
Next day, they walked through street markets off Mile End Road. The place was alive with stallholders, voices reaching fever pitch as they tried to outdo fellow merchants in attracting customers. Good-natured banter filled the area. B-J revelled in the exciting atmosphere.
“Just listen to the chat as we go along and you’ll hear some of the lingo.”
“Hey, they talk so fast! I can’t understand a word they’re saying.”
They spent a few hours there and soaked up the atmosphere of this strange new world for the bemused traveller. B-J took him to see the area of his old home and school that had been demolished during the development of the city docklands. He stood in awe as he looked at the transformation of the area. The dockland area was unrecognisable to him.
Gone were the old dilapidated warehouses, rusted machinery and cranes which, as a boy, he remembered reaching out their menacing arms over the grim East End as if mocking the poverty-stricken area and its inhabitants. All the paraphernalia associated with that long-gone industry had now been replaced by a city of glass; a thriving, modern business and up market district and home to the many up-and-coming young people whose careers centred on the capital.
They took a ride on the Docklands Light Railway. Fred was in fear of his life on discovering that a computer controlled the train, and that no driver occupied the front seat. B-J ignored his protestation that they were going to crash at any moment, and absorbed the splendour of this new space age world. He was so engrossed in his return to his homeland that he was unaware of the stress from his companion.
They exited at Island Gardens and walked for fifteen minutes through the Greenwich Foot Tunnel under the River Thames to visit the Cutty Sark, a tea clipper built in the latter part of the 1800s.
There, Fred was given a history lesson from his exuberant companion on the stunning ship and its adventures.
“Have you ever seen such an elegant vessel, Fred?” as he climbed aboard to the visitors’ galley.
“Sure is awesome, B-J.”
Scared out of his wits at the idea of tons of water from the mighty Thames having been just feet above his head in the foot tunnel, the now reluctant tourist insisted they return to London by a more civilised means of transport.
“Oh buddy, you’re a wimp! Okay, we’ll avoid the foot tunnel. They say it’s haunted anyway! I should have told you that! Let’s ride a London bus.”
They ended the day in a typical East End pub and enjoyed a meal and several pints of beer. Fred, for all his bravado in the world of crime, was showing unusual signs of stress.
“It’s either jet lag or homesickness or perhaps the cold. You’ll be fine when you’ve had a few more pints inside you,” remarked B-J. “Hey, we still have to drink a few more in honour of our good buddy Les.”
***
A customer seated at the opposite end of the bar studied the two men. He discreetly took a mobile picture which he sent to his brother with the message: Is this Barry Jones?
CHAPTER 11
As April turned to May, Brenda and Molly prepared for a poignant trip. With everything in place the two flew to Montana and picked up a hire car.
“It hasn’t taken us long to get here Molly, but my poor darling Lucy had to endure weeks of winter travel to reach this place. It must have been harrowing for my child.”
Following directions from the lawyer, they made their way up the mountain track to their destination where they found the key as arranged. Brenda hesitated before inserting it in the lock.
“Oh Molly, I’m not sure if I want to be here. This is so difficult.”
“Let’s go in honey, we’ve come all this way.”
In spite of their initial reservation, the women were pleasantly surprised at the decor and lay out of the place. They walked from room to room, examining the various artefacts and acknowledging the significance of the visit. Whatever their feelings towards Anna Leci, they had to admit her taste in art was exquisite.
“I can almost sense Lucy’s presence here, Molly. That may sound irrational, but knowing she was here, touching these artefacts, sitting by that woodstove. Oh! Molly, I miss my baby.”
Both women dissolved into tears yet again. The passing of time had not healed their pain or soothed it in any way, but reawakened emotions which would haunt them for the rest of their lives.
Through tears, Molly said, “Just when I think I’m all cried out, another deluge comes.”
“My daughter was here; my baby was here. This is where she was forced to travel to, all those miles in horrendous winter weather. Only a mad person could have planned that trip, only a mad woman like my aunt.”
“Yeah, honey, but look at the spectacular views she had, each window has a very different scene. She must have drawn some solace from the scenery. It can’t fail to move the spirit and Lucy had an open spirit; she must have experienced some kind of peace here. There’s no doubt this is a spectacular area and to see it in winter must have been amazing.”
Their reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door. There stood Ellie Stiller, an elderly neighbour, who along with her husband had looked after the cabin for several years, restocking it with logs and food when requested to do so by Anna Leci. They were forbidden to have any contact with people using the cabin, most of whom wanted to be undisturbed for various reasons.
“Hey, I just wondered if you two needed anything. Me and Gus, that’s my man, are going to the grocery store in Polson.”
The woman was invited in and after some initial introduction and general chatter Ellie expressed her deep sorrow at the tragic events.
“Did you see my daughter when she was here?” asked Brenda, hoping for any minute detail which might ease her pain.
Ellie told of the sighting of Lucy at the window.
“The weather was far too crazy for her to be outside. She seemed to go from window to window, taking in the different views. This cabin has the best of views in the area. That little shack down there, that’s our home, Gus and me. It’s not a patch on this and those trees there obstruct our view. Yeah, I saw your little girl most days.
“Gus and me wondered why a kid was up here at that time of year and in such foul weather, but, hey, we were warned never to visit or c
ontact the occupants of the cabin, so we kept to ourselves. Various folks came here, some to paint or write or just to chill. All we had to do was to see that the place was clean and stocked with food and logs. It was Gus who thought the kid might just be your Lucy. We had caught a news item on our old, unreliable radio, we weren’t too sure of the facts but he contacted the cops anyhow. I thought he was crazy to let his imagination run riot, but he said he’d never forgive himself if he did nothing about his gut feeling.”
The three women talked for some time. Knowing Lucy had been cared for and appeared peaceful helped Brenda to appreciate a little of the beauty of her aunt’s place.
***
It was May. The Bigfork Whitewater Festival was in full swing. The two women walked along by the lake and watched in amazement as the competitors rode the rapids.
“My mother watched this event, Molly. According to Anna’s letter it was an annual trip for her. I wish I’d known my mother. It pained my father to speak of her. He would only say how beautiful she was and how much she wanted me. Seemingly, they placed me in her arms just before she died. How sad!”
Molly well remembered Brenda’s early life when her distraught father entrusted the care of his daughter to her.
“Honey, when I came to Lincoln Park your father was a broken man. He could not cope without his darling Francesca. He hid every picture of her, as if it distressed him to look at her image. She was the love of his life. He was in a bad place then.”
Back at the cabin Brenda found a rather worn leather case full of old photographs that she and Molly pored over.
“Look at this! This surely is my mother. My father never showed me any pictures of her; it pained him so. Oh Molly, that could have been Lucy in a few years, look at the resemblance. If only she hadn’t been…”
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