She set it in front of Natasha. “Kiddo, I received word from the judge today. It is official. You’re a Kincaid.”
“For real?” Natasha’s voice was a faint whisper.
“For real,” Lucy said, beaming.
“So, like, you’re my mother now?” she asked.
“Technically, but still your sister.”
“That’s so weird,” Natasha said.
“It’s going to take some explaining if anyone presses, but mother or sister, we’re family in every sense of the word now.”
Tears welled in Natasha’s eyes as Megan snapped pictures with her phone. The girl ran to Lucy and hugged her close as a sob rolled through her body.
Lucy kissed her on top of the head and said, “Better blow out those candles.”
Natasha sniffed, rubbed her eyes, and blew out her candles in one breath. Megan removed the candles and cut into the cake, serving them all generous slices. After the plates were clear, Hank cleared his throat. “How about some presents?”
“Yes!” Natasha shouted.
Hank handed her Helen’s gift first. “Start here.”
“What is it?” Natasha asked.
“Open it,” Helen said.
“What do you say?” Lucy said.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jessup.”
“You’re very welcome, my dear.”
Natasha ripped off the bow and opened the box. Inside was an antique handheld mirror. Natasha held it up, admiring her reflection. “It’s so pretty.”
“Every young girl needs a way to admire herself,” Helen said. “My grandmother gave it to me when I was about your age. It seemed silly to save it for what might be. Right now is what counts.”
“It’s beautiful, Helen,” Lucy said.
“I hope she can pass it on to her daughter one day,” Helen said. “Whenever you look in this mirror, always smile.”
“Why?” Natasha asked.
“Because even if you feel awful,” Helen said, “that smile will be your protector.”
Natasha looked in the mirror and flashed a youthful smile, the kind that could not be forced. Then she stuck out her tongue and waggled her eyebrows before giggling.
“See?” Helen said. “Like magic.”
“Thanks again, Mrs. Jessup,” Natasha said.
Natasha opened her next gift. She ripped off the paper, letting it fall to the ground, and then opened the box. It was empty. Natasha held it up, dumbfounded. “What’s the deal?”
“It goes with the earrings you’re wearing,” Megan said.
Natasha’s hands went up to her ears. “For real. I can keep these?”
“They’re all yours,” Megan said.
Rick’s gift was not wrapped but enclosed in a paper bag. Natasha giggled, and when she opened it, she found a pocketknife. She eyed it with excitement as Rick gave her clear instructions on how to hold it and reminded her she could never take it to school. She promised several times and proudly tucked it in her pocket.
Finally Hank handed her a medium-size brown box. Again, no wrapping, but it was securely taped. Natasha reached for her pocketknife and carefully cut the tape. She opened the box and found a bike helmet.
Natasha settled it on her head and then used Helen’s mirror to inspect it. “It looks super cool, Hank. Thank you.”
“The rest of it’s on the front porch,” he said.
“It?” she asked.
Hank’s expression was stoic. “Have a look.”
Natasha clipped the bike-helmet strap in place, ran to the front door, and yanked it open. Resting against the front of the house was a new red ten-speed bike. She looked back at Hank, her gaze wide with wonder. “This is for me?”
“All yours, kid.”
Natasha ran back to Hank and hugged him tightly. “I can’t ride it right now or I’ll get all sweaty. But I will ride it later and forever.”
He unfastened the strap and carefully removed the helmet. “I get it. You’ve got to look great for the party.”
Natasha touched her hair. “Is it messed up?”
“Nope, it’s perfect,” Hank said.
“This is the best party ever!” Natasha said.
As she chatted with Lucy and Helen about her gifts, Megan patted Hank on the back. “Well done, cousin.”
“I like to think I hit the nail on the head.”
“I meant to tell you I’ve been reading through Samuel Jessup’s journal. Did you know he actually met Victoria Garrison when he was an adult?”
“Great-Grandmother lived in Africa with her husband for a time, as I remember.”
“Yes. Apparently, Samuel ferried her and Edward back to the States in 1939.”
“She would have been in her early forties then. I think she had my granduncle Jeb about that time,” Hank said.
She thought about Samuel’s journal but did not recall any mention of the boy. It was not likely the child had traveled separately, and of course Samuel might not have interfaced with the child during the voyage.
Several cars came up the long drive. “Let’s get this party started,” Lucy said. “Everyone, take your places.”
“Where would you like me?” Helen asked.
“You’re helping Madame LeBlanc in her shop,” Lucy said. “The menfolk are crowd control and security.”
“No teenage boy will pass that doorstep,” Hank said.
Natasha rolled her eyes. “That’s so lame.”
“Who is Madame LeBlanc?” Helen asked.
“Moi.” Megan smiled as she crooked her finger. “Come this way.”
“What is it that I do?” Helen asked.
“I’ll sit in the room, and you escort the young ladies in. Have them give me an object, and I’ll offer some insight.”
“Sounds fascinating but not too scary to send a young girl running in hysterics.” She looked around the parlor as they passed through. “All the years I drove by this house, I never saw the inside.”
“Let me give you a quick tour.”
“That would be lovely.” They began in the parlor, made their way down a back hallway to what would have been the servants’ dining room, and next to that, George Buchanan’s gunroom and office. Upstairs, Megan told Helen about the different rooms and who had inhabited them. Helen took it all in.
“This project is much larger than I ever imagined. It could take years to restore Spring House and Winter Cottage, as well as the lighthouse. You and the baby could be here for a long while.”
“It’s a lovely place to grow up,” Megan conceded.
“I’m thinking about schools. Mark always felt like he came up a bit short when it came to formal education. He could repair any engine with his hands but had no taste for the bookwork.”
Megan held up her hand. “Stop, Helen. Let me deliver the baby first. Then we’ll worry about her education.”
Helen studied her as she had always regarded Scott when they’d disagreed. She might appear to give in, but she always doubled back around until she got her way. “Well, on the bright side, with your parents returning and me, you’ll never want for a babysitter.”
“That’s true.”
They returned to the small room where Megan was to read fortunes. When she pulled the planchette from the box, Helen’s interest was piqued.
“You found that in Samuel’s desk?” she asked.
Megan held it out to her. “Yes, it’s a very intricate piece.”
“And heavy.” Helen smoothed her fingers over the inlaid red-and-white-glass gems. “Have you had it appraised?”
“Not yet. But it’s on the list of things.”
“And what’s it supposed to do?” The stones just then caught the evening light and sparkled.
“Spirits are supposed to communicate through it.”
Helen handed back the planchette. “I don’t believe I would ever ask it any questions. I think I’d be afraid of the answers.”
April 9, 1939
From the Journal of Samuel Jessup
There
’s all kind of talk that the Germans are on the move. A few of the crew are from Poland, and they been hearing stories from their families that it ain’t going to be much longer before the Germans bust out of their borders and start a real fight just like they did in 1914. You’d have thought they’d have learned a lesson from the last time they tussled with us, but I guess they are stubborn. I’d bet my last dollar that they’ll go for the coastlines in the next year. If I was them, I’d do the same. Without ships like mine, Europe will be cut off from the world, and it won’t take much to starve her fuel supplies and force her into submission.
I got the crew on high alert. Every man is ordered to carry a sidearm while we dock in Le Havre and until we are well free and clear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Diane
Age 18
Wednesday, September 1, 1909
Normandy, France
Diane pulled the rough blanket over her head, fending off the morning chill of an early winter. She had been working the last two weeks alongside Gilbert in the orchard, picking apples. They had been racing against the cold rains that Madame Herbert had warned would damage the harvest.
Finally, very late yesterday, they had unloaded the last of the bushels into the barn, where Gilbert would extract their juices.
Over the last six years, Diane had grown several inches taller, and her hips and bosom were now rounded. Madame Herbert had taught her all her knowledge of healing, and the villagers always expected Diane on house calls. Last week, on a day Gilbert had extra help in the orchard, Diane and Madame had attended the birth of the Locard baby. The birth had been hard, and when the child was born, he was small, not breathing, and blue. While Madame attended the mother with other women from the village, Diane had rubbed the baby’s breastbone and blown air into his mouth. This had gone on for several minutes, and she’d not realized how silent the room had become until the child’s eyes popped open and he cried. The women breathed a collective sigh of relief.
The village still whispered about her magical talents, and some called her Witch Healer. But it seemed they had all agreed that if she was a witch, she was at least their witch.
Diane had begun to notice the stares from several of the men in the village when Gilbert, Madame, and she drove in for Mass. Gilbert noticed this new attention too and did not like it in the least.
Oscar grumbled. He did not care how much the apples had required of her. He wanted to go outside. Now that he was getting older, he had no patience for waiting. Drawing in a breath, she tossed back the covers, looking down at the dog’s gray snout. Like Madame Herbert, he did not rally quickly on rainy, cold days. It promised to be an early, hard winter for them both.
Diane rubbed his head and then quickly dressed. “I will hurry, my dear Oscar.”
In the last year, she had taken to holding on to Oscar’s collar as they moved down the narrow stairs. His bones were rickety and his balance uneven. There were moments when he imagined himself a pup and would make a sudden, quick movement. So Diane’s charge was to keep him from tumbling down the stairs.
The house was quiet as they crossed the cobblestone floor of the kitchen. She lifted the heavy iron lock and opened the door. A blast of cold, damp air rushed at her and cut through the wool fabric of her dress. The sky above was dark and threatening. Fat water droplets began to fall as she watched Oscar sniffing around.
Diane turned to the stove and, using an iron rod, teased a fire from the embers before tossing in several logs from the woodbin. As she stared at the neat stack of wood, she pictured Gilbert piling fresh logs last night in anticipation of the rains. He was always diligent.
She set the hot water to boil as she ground coffee beans and placed them in the top of the brass coffeepot. As the water heated, she cracked a dozen eggs and mixed in handfuls of cheese and a few of the roasted vegetables from yesterday’s lunch. All went into a shallow pan and into the oven. The kettle whistled, and she poured the hot water into the pot. This was her favorite time of day, before the house began to stir. The dog scratched at the back door, and she let him in. She quickly grabbed a towel from her apron and dried off his fur, wet from the rain, flinching when he tried to shake.
“Ah, you and your hair,” she said. “What am I going to do with you?”
She filled his water bowl and chopped up meat and roasted vegetables for his meal. As he began to eat, Madame Herbert pushed through the doors to the kitchen, leaning heavily on her cane.
“I hear the rain,” the old woman said.
“You were right. It is colder than normal too.” Diane pulled out a chair for her and beckoned her to sit.
Madame Herbert slowly lowered into her seat, now cushioned with a thick pillow. Her arthritis had grown worse in the last year, and moving about the house was now a daily challenge.
Diane set out three porcelain cups and poured coffee into two. She put cream and sugar into Madame’s cup and set it in front of her before sitting herself. “Did you sleep well?”
“Ah, terrible. But then, that is the way I always sleep. Never get old, Diane. It is not fun.”
“If I can help it, I shan’t get old, Madame Herbert.”
The old woman swatted away the naive comment of youth and then sipped her coffee.
“Gilbert and I worked with the hired hands, and we harvested all the apples. We only had a few hours to spare.”
“Gilbert finally came home about one in the morning. You know I hear every creak in this house and have never been able to sleep until he’s inside and the door is locked behind him.”
Diane had become attuned to Gilbert’s presence but was surprised she had not heard him come in last night. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
“You were exhausted. And young people need more sleep than old people.”
“Gilbert says this year’s crop is going to be one of the best in a generation. He says we might actually turn a real profit.”
“That would be a comfort.”
Bent, wrinkled hands embraced the warm cup as Madame Herbert raised it to her nose and savored the scent. She took two sips. “A letter came for you yesterday. I would have told you when you came in, but I was dozing, and it slipped my mind.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out the envelope addressed to Diane.
The letter was from Claire, and as always, excitement tingled through her. Claire had been traveling with the Buchanan family for nearly a decade, and she had seen many marvelous sights. Whenever Claire could buy a postcard, she tucked it into the envelope. Diane now had a collection of fifteen cards from all over the world, including London, Rome, and Moscow.
Carefully, she pulled back the flap and removed its contents. Dear Diane. Claire’s crisp, neat handwriting reminded her of her mother’s, and the tug of home was always strongest when she read her sisters’ letters, especially Claire’s. Though her other sisters, Jemma and Sarah, wrote, it was infrequent, and their lives did not seem nearly as exciting as Claire’s.
Madame never asked about the letters, but as Diane had grown to love the old woman, she had started to share some of them with her. Madame now looked forward to Claire’s letters as well.
I have just arrived with the Buchanans in England. We were blessed with smooth sailing and crossed the Atlantic in record time.
Claire went on to detail some of the places she had seen and the outfits she had created for Victoria Buchanan. She told Diane how she still found herself chasing after Victoria, who at fourteen hated the constraints of society. The girl was increasingly fussy about her clothes and often made Claire remake a line of stitching or redo a hem. Claire also had news of their sisters and brothers. “It says here George Buchanan has finished his hunting lodge near Cape Hudson. She says it is larger than twenty homes on the Shore combined. And they use it only a couple of months out of the year when they go bird hunting.”
“Just for hunting birds?” the old woman scoffed.
“Ducks from the bay are quite the delicacy.”
S
he grunted. “A duck is a duck. Leave it to the wealthy to make some ducks fancy and others not.”
Diane remembered walking with Claire and her mother to watch as the railcars brought in the first of the lumber for the big house that Claire called Winter Cottage.
In the final line, her sister stated she was coming to Paris in mid-September. She was traveling ahead of the Buchanans, and she would be in Le Havre for a night and hoped Diane could meet her there.
“My sister is coming to France. She wants to see me in Le Havre.” Diane had not returned to the city since the day she had fled it with Gilbert. Even after all these years, the idea of returning chilled her bones.
“I traveled to Le Havre when I was younger with my husband. Several times we would stroll through the finer areas because I liked to see the way the ladies dressed. Always too impractical for the life I led here, but I liked to see it nonetheless.” Madame Herbert gently swirled her coffee as she did when she was deep in thought. “Of course, you must go see your sister.”
Diane had not seen any of her family in almost nine years. Whatever anger she had for Claire and even her father had faded with time. She understood now why they had done what they’d done. Her life was good now, and if not for their decisions, she might not ever have found it. “I would enjoy that very much.”
“Gilbert is going to Le Havre on business. He’ll take you. And I’ll be sure he sends a case of his best Calvados to give to the Buchanans. It would be good for his business to have a rich family’s favor.”
“Gilbert would be too proud to peddle his Calvados to my family.”
“You’re right, of course. The peddling will be your job. If you put in a good word with your sister about our liqueur, then maybe Claire will pass on that information to the steward at the Buchanan house. It would be quite nice to have a wealthy American client.”
The idea of spending time with Claire was a tantalizing carrot, and she was proud of the liqueur that Gilbert made. “Claire would buy it from me.”
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