by Becki Willis
If I have not said this before, do this for me. Stay away from the barn. Stay indoors when the English come to buy our horses. They live in a wicked world you cannot understand.
Keep me and my sweet little family in your heart and prayers, as you are forever in mine. I keep our mother’s old saying in mind:
Nothing lies beyond the reach of prayer, except that which lies outside the will of God.
Your adoring sister, Rebecca
By October, all that had changed. Tears gathered in Taryn’s eyes as she read her mother’s words.
Dearest Sister,
A most terrible thing has happened. Men with badges have come and taken my beloved Ahndray away! They say he has violated the rules of his work Visa, and he must return to his home country. Only now has he told me the truth about his life. His father is an American businessman, with a family here, while Ahndray and his beloved mother are left in France. His father is angry with him now and has reported him to the officials. His own father! How could he do that?
Promise me that you have destroyed my journals. That you avoid the English buyers. That you keep my secret from our father. For his own good, he cannot know what has happened. Promise.
I need your prayers more than ever, sweet Lillian. Pray for my baby and me, and that Ahndray can soon return to us. The baby will be here in the new year. I love this child already.
Forever sisters, Rebecca
Before Taryn could wipe the tears away and pull out the final letter, she heard Lillian call her name.
“Taryn! Taryn Clark, can you hear me?”
“Out here!” she called back, drying her face with the back of her hand. She hastily got to her feet and started toward the house.
“Would you care to help in the garden?”
“Absolutely! Let me change shoes.”
She hurried up to her room, where she left the letters and exchanged her sandals for closed-toe shoes. She was back down by the time her aunt and young Emiline came from the big house, carrying baskets.
“I thought you might enjoy picking peas.” Lillian smiled. “It’s not hard work, but it’s rewarding. I plan to cook them for dinner, if you care to join us.”
Taryn’s smile fell. “I wish I could, but I already have plans.”
“Oh? I didn’t realize you had made friends already. But that is good. Very good,” she said, with a bob of her head and an encouraging smile.
Taryn didn’t bother correcting her aunt. She hadn’t mentioned hiring a private investigator before, even when it had been innocent enough. It would only stir the pot now.
“He seems nice,” Taryn said with a shrug.
“A he, now is it?” Lillian asked playfully. “Tell me about him!”
Too late, Taryn saw that same matchmaking glint on her aunt’s face, exactly like the one on Helen’s. She groaned aloud. “Why does everyone think they have to set me up?”
Lillian looked slightly confused. “Set you up? As a trick?”
“No, as part of a pair! I’m perfectly happy being single.”
“That’s gut,” her aunt said. “But you can be twice as happy as a couple, ain’t so?”
“You’re impossible!” Taryn proclaimed, but she laughed as she grabbed a basket and started down a row of ripened peas.
She soon discovered the best part of gardening. Aside from the satisfaction of gathering ripened vegetables and having nature’s bounty all around, it provided ample time to think quietly, or, in this case, to visit. As the women and little Emiline moved down the rows, one across from the other, they tugged the plump pods from drooping stalks and chatted back and forth about inconsequential things. The conversation was light and varied, touching on everything from recipes and household chores, to culture differences and similarities. They talked of Lillian’s children and Taryn’s stalled career. The afternoon sun was warm, and Taryn soon broke a sweat.
One of the advantages to not wearing makeup, she noted, was how Amish women could mop the perspiration from their faces with their apron and be none the worse for wear. Taryn couldn’t do it, for fear of smearing her mascara and giving little Emiline nightmares.
“How about a nice glass of lemonade before your date?” Lillian offered, their baskets overflowing and their backs only slightly crooked.
“It’s not a date. But lemonade does sound divine.”
“We’ll have it on the swing yonder,” Lillian said, nodding to the shaded glider under the big oak tree.
“I can help.”
“Ach, you go rest. I don’t want you all tuckered out before your big night out.” She gave an impish grin, looking younger than her fifty-something years.
Taryn wandered out to the swing, considering something for the first time. Lillian must have been almost ten years older than Taryn was now when she gave birth to her last child. And here Taryn hadn’t even had her first!
Would she ever have children, she wondered, taking her place among the cushions. Without even a boyfriend on the radar, she somehow doubted it.
Not that a boyfriend was required. These days, motherhood for a single, unattached woman was commonplace. Difficult, she was certain, by common enough, and socially accepted. But Taryn didn’t much favor the idea of raising a child alone, and she wasn’t in the market for a relationship. Worst of all was the fear that, as a single parent, something might happen to her and her children would be placed into foster care. She couldn’t bear the thought of passing on such a curse.
Maybe she would just continue to enjoy Molly’s children and her newly acquired cousins.
There were bound to be others, too, she knew. Her mother had often mentioned Rose and Abigail in her journals, and older brothers. It was tradition among the Amish to have large families, so Taryn knew there must be dozens of relatives she had yet to meet.
It was still a bit overwhelming, going from a family of one to an infinite number.
“That looks like a thoughtful smile,” Lillian observed, as she handed her niece her frosty drink. The little girl wasn’t with her this time.
Taryn’s eyes darted to the adjacent farm. “I was just wondering how large my family really is. How many other cousins do I have, and where do they all live?”
“Oh, here, there, and yonder. Abigail married a man from Indiana and lives in an Amish community there. Rose and her brood live down near Gap. I believe she has at least a dozen children.” She did a quick calculation in her head. “Jah, that’s right. Two sets of twins. Gilbert lives at the back of the horse farm, his five sons now grown. Josiah lives in the house where your mother and I grew up. Both of his grown sons live there with their wives. He has three daughters, as well. I haven’t been counting, but that’s quite a number, ain’t so?” Lillian chuckled.
“Too many to count!” Taryn agreed.
As their laughter dwindled, Taryn asked softly, “Did you never tell them about the letters? That my mother wrote to you?”
Lillian took her time in answering. “Nee,” she said softly. “I told my father, but no one else, just as my sister had asked of me. I have many regrets, but that is one of my biggest.” Wearing aprons and no makeup came in handy when wiping away tears, too. “I have carried the guilt with me, all these years. If I had told my mother, if she had known her daughter was safe, perhaps she would not have taken that last dose.”
“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Aunt Lillian. It would have been just as difficult, knowing she was safe, and yet still wondering where she was, when she would write again. Worrying that each letter would be the last. That if something happened to her, you might never know.”
She heard her aunt’s heartbroken sob and realized how insensitive she had been.
“Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t think. That’s exactly what you must have gone through. I can’t imagine how difficult that was for you.”
Lillian’s slow nod moved not only her head, but her whole body. “Jah, it was. And when we thought we might lose Mamm, when we did lose her in mind and spirit, there was no wa
y to tell my sister. You want to know something else? We took her first to Lancaster Memorial, before the doctors told us there was nothing he could do. We left in November, before your mother came on New Year’s Day.” She turned to Taryn, revealing her pain. “How close we came to crossing paths! And to think Rebecca was here, so near, all that time, and we never knew!”
“I’m sorry.” It was so little, but there was nothing else to say.
They drank their lemonade in silence, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Lillian was the first to speak.
“She was happy, don’t you think, in her new life with Ahndray?” Her voice was a bit wistful.
“Yes, I think so, even though she missed her family. She obviously loved him very much.”
“Have you… read the last letter?”
The way her words faltered filled Taryn with trepidation. What heartache would that last missive reveal? There had been so much already. “Not yet.”
Lillian forced a smile as she laid her hand onto her niece’s knee. “Don’t worry over it now. Have a nice meal with your new friend and enjoy your evening. Denki for your help in the garden.”
“It was fun,” Taryn admitted, surprised to find the words were true.
“There will be more tomorrow. And tomatoes, and more squash. You may come have your fun in my garden whenever you wish!”
Taryn returned her aunt’s playful smile.
“I may just take you up on that offer,” she promised.
Chapter 25
Bryce fastened the last of the buttons on his forest-green, button-down shirt, giving his image a cursory glance in the mirror. Pressed shirt, starched khakis, brown leather belt, and loafers. At forty-four, his belly was still flat, his back straight, his body fit and toned. If judged solely by his physique and preferred hairstyle, he could have stepped from military life only yesterday.
He glanced at his watch, irritated with himself for taking longer than normal to dress. The pressed and starched white shirt had been too business-like. The silkier threads running through the dark-red version had been too date-like. Green, he finally determined, was neutral enough to make no preconceived promises.
This was hardly a date. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he had been on one, but when and if he were to take a woman out romantically, she most definitely wouldn’t be a client. If nothing else, Bryce Elliott was a true professional. He prided himself on having—and adhering to—a strict policy against business mixing with pleasure.
He had a similar policy on allowing personal feelings to interfere with business decisions, but even he had to acknowledge this was a gray area, and not so easily defined. Weren’t gut instincts, for instance, best defined as personal feelings? It gave him a conscionable ‘out,’ a way he could reconcile his professional ethics with the occasional case that got under his skin.
This was one of those cases, in spades.
Like any investigator worth his license, Bryce did a background check on all clients before agreeing to take their case. Taryn Clark was no different. In his line of work, surprises were not a good thing, particularly when they pertained to an unstable client, or badly skewed information.
He found no mental instability in her past. No brushes with the law. No hint of ulterior motives, other than the ones she expressed. What he did find was a sad and solitary life, strung between foster care and group homes, from the time she was five until she became of age. Given her fractured childhood, it was surprising that her adulthood was so stable. She graduated magna cum laude from a major university and soon landed a coveted position with a top Philadelphia law firm.
On paper, Taryn Clark was the perfect client. Her career history was exemplary, her financials healthy, her personal life stable, if not stale. No surprises, no unnecessary drama, no theatrics.
The surprise was how quickly this woman, this case, had captured his attention and gotten under his skin. He normally avoided these type cases like the plague, but here he was, diving in headfirst to help her. He even cut his Florida trip short and came home early, just so he could get both feet wet.
If that wasn’t letting his personal feelings get in the way of his better judgment, he didn’t know what was.
Not that his feelings toward Taryn were romantic. Granted, they were complicated, but they were probably best described as ‘protective.’ And wasn’t protection what he was all about? Wasn’t that why he joined the Navy in the first place, to serve and protect his country? Born into a military family, he wasn’t a warm and fuzzy kind of guy by nature, but, by God, he knew how to serve and protect.
Reading her background report, seeing her life story rationed out in black and white, he knew this was a woman who had seen little of either in her life. Normally, he preferred a facts-only report, uncluttered by personal biases and unnecessary details. But this was someone’s childhood. It should have included some detail. Some sign of, well, childhood.
His own hadn’t been the best, but it had been steady. The military base may have changed, but his parents’ guidance and support were always a given. They may not have shown it with excessive displays of affection, but he had no doubt his parents loved him and his brothers.
Poor Taryn had nothing even close to that in her past. From the day she was born, she had been handed from one person to another, like a castaway doll. Before she even turned six, her adopted parents had divorced and the custodial parent, Teresa Clark, was killed in a car accident. Paul Clark was unequipped to care for a child on his own, so she had gone into foster care.
The list was long and exhausting. Most of the host families declined renewing her time in their homes. It wasn’t that she was difficult, they reported; she was simply unresponsive. Emotionally troubled. She didn’t mingle well with her foster siblings, preferring to keep to herself.
It didn’t bode well for her prospects. When given the choice, most host families preferred the ‘easy’ children. Overlooked and all but forgotten, Taryn was shuffled off to a handful of questionable homes.
Sadly, sometimes even the ‘good’ homes, the ones like the Michelins, didn’t always prove to be good.
Bryce had to be honest with himself. From that first meeting, before he even read the report, he had known he would take her case. Something about it was intriguing. Instincts told him it was more than a simple 70’s-era baby-out-of-wedlock story. Taryn Clark came into his office like a whirlwind—make that a thunderstorm—and caught his attention with her tale of a frightened but anonymous mother, identified only by her unique eyes.
She begged for his help, and help was what he was all about. She believed he could help her. She trusted him to help her. She trusted the fact he could find her birth mother and the roots she so badly craved.
Bryce knew it was unlikely. He knew the chances of a happy ending were slim. But he had hated to see that innocent belief and blind faith destroyed. They looked so hopeful, so refreshing, in her violet eyes. Even if he couldn’t help her find the family she craved, perhaps he could be the one to let her down gently. He wanted to protect her from the ugly truth. The truth that finding one’s past didn’t always mean finding happiness.
It all came back to that protective nature of his.
Bryce clicked his tongue as he locked the stately old house behind him. That protective nature was as much a curse as it was a blessing. Look where it had gotten him in his ill-fated marriage.
Bryce was already seated when she arrived at the restaurant. He stood when she approached the table, ever the gentleman.
“I took the liberty of ordering a couple of appetizers and water for us both,” he told her, helping her with her chair. “I hope that’s all right.”
“Absolutely.”
Right on cue, the server arrived with one platter of warm bruschetta, one basket of crispy, curly calamari.
“I’m sorry I’m a couple of minutes late,” Taryn apologized. “I got behind not one, but three buggies! I’m never sure if I’m supposed to follow behind or pass with care.
” She thought briefly of Rebecca’s brush with an automobile, an accident that turned out to be no accident, at all.
“No problem. I’ve only been here a few minutes, myself.”
Before leaving, the server asked if they would like something from the bar.
“Do you mind if I have a beer?” Bryce asked of his dinner companion.
“No, not at all. In fact, I think I’ll have a martini.”
That set the tone for the evening. Not quite business, not quite a date. It was simply two new friends, sharing a delicious meal.
They exchanged light conversation and general news topics of the day. Taryn spoke of her career as a legal assistant, not at all surprised when the private investigator was familiar with the law firm. They had handled a number of high-profile cases and were well known in the state, if not the nation. Bryce offered minimal details about his life in the Navy, and as a detective for the Harrisburg Police Department. Neither expanded on the topic of past marriages, or any subject construed as too personal.
“Dessert?” Bryce asked, as the server cleared away their plates.
Taryn waved away the very thought with one hand, touching her stomach with the other. “No room. None.”
“You heard the lady.” Bryce smiled at the server.
“Very well. How shall I make the check? Together, or separate?”
“Together and bring it to me.”
“Bryce—”
He hushed Taryn’s protest with a conspiratorial smile. “Don’t worry about it. My newest client doesn’t know it yet, but she’s including a generous expense account. I’ll turn this in with my bill.”
Taryn laughed at the server’s expression, but the young man left to do as requested.
“You may have just damaged your stellar reputation,” she warned, “letting him think you pad your clients’ bills.”
“Just as long as you and I know the truth,” he said dismissively.
Taryn sobered at his words. “Do you think we ever will?” she asked. She leaned forward to finger the rim of her empty cocktail glass, her voice pensive. “Do you think we’ll ever really know what happened? Even with the journals, and the letters, there are so many holes in the story. Huge, gaping holes. I feel them gnawing at me, threatening to suck me into their abyss. I may know who my parents are, but I still don’t know what happened to them.”