Shadows of Lancaster County

by Mindy Starns Clark

  EPILOGUE

  ANNA

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  “Does it fit?” Lydia asked, hovering on the other side of the dressing room curtain. “It may need taking in at the shoulders.”

  I stood in front of the mirror and looked at the dress, a perfect reproduction of the one worn by Stephanie de Beauharnais in the portrait that had been painted of her by François Gérard. In that portrait, she was posed in a beautiful floral summer dress, holding a small fan and wearing the Beauharnais Emeralds. Today, the photographer was going to attempt to recreate that painting on film with me, only I would be wearing the Beauharnais Rubies instead.

  More than likely, this would be the last time I would ever have the chance to wear them. The buyer had been incredibly patient, but tomorrow he would finally be whisking them away to a collection in Europe, where they would be joined with their sister set, the Beauharnais Emeralds. Already, my family and I were soaking up the last moments we would have with this treasured piece of our heritage, one that had become so much more to us than a sparkly windfall. In fact, at first we had hoped to keep the magnificent heirlooms in the family, but the cost of insurance was prohibitive. At least we had the contents of Stephanie’s letters, which no one could ever take away—even if the originals had been moved to the Smithsonian.

  Besides Stephanie’s letters, there had been other documents in with the jewels, documents that had proved conclusively the succession of ownership from Karl Jensen all the way down the line of firstborn male sons to my grandfather. Those documents had saved us from having to endure prolonged court battles with other Jensen descendants, including my nefarious accosteswabbers.

  One by one, other possible claimants had been ruled out as well. The couple who bought the house might have a legitimate claim, but a review of their contract showed that they had specifically purchased the “above ground” portion of the dwelling only. That left Lydia’s family, who owned the land where the jewels had been hidden, but they had no interest in claiming them.

  Thus, because my grandfather’s will had left all of his worldly possessions to his only child, my father ended up being the sole owner of the Beauharnais Rubies. Upon selling them, he had paid out a generous finder’s fee to Remy and then split the remaining proceeds into four equal shares: one for himself and my mother, one for Bobby, one for me, and one for Grete and her siblings. They had resisted at first, but in the end agreed that the money could be used to help each of the kids establish themselves once they were married, not to mention the large tithe that would bless their entire community.

  “Anna? Are you coming out?” Lydia asked, and I whispered my reply through the curtain.

  “If this article wasn’t for National Geographic, I wouldn’t be doing this. I mean, it sounded like a good idea at the time, but now I’m feeling kind of stupid.”

  “Ach, Anna, please let us see.”

  Summoning my nerve, I finally slid open the curtain that separated me from Lydia. Behind her stood Bobby and Isaac, and when I stepped out of the dressing room, everyone’s eyes widened.

  “That’s just freaky,” Bobby said, shaking his head at the resemblance between me and our six-greats grandmother.

  “It’s the dress and the hair, that’s all,” I said, but as I stepped out to look again at the life-sized blowup they had made in preparation for the shoot, I had to admit that we did look somewhat alike. My lips were fuller than hers, and her neck had been longer than mine, but we both had the same eyes, the same figure, the same hands.

  “Is it Anna, or is it Stephanie?” Remy cried, coming across the studio to get a better look.

  These days, Remy was positively floating on air as the story of the priceless treasure he had helped to recover was one of the hottest topics in the media. He and I had been interviewed on Good Morning America together the same week we showed up on the cover of People magazine, and after those two simple appearances, the sales of his books had skyrocketed, going into subsequent printings and making Remy Villefranche practically a household name.

  I had been a household name before then, of course, only nowadays people didn’t look at me with scorn or judgment, but instead with curiosity, sometimes envy, and almost always a little grace. As much as I hated the media, when the entire story about Melody and the WIRE and the Dreiheit Five and the Beauharnais Rubies and everything all came out, I decided to fight fire with fire, so to speak. After fulfilling my promise of an exclusive to the reporters who helped capture the accosteswabbers, I hit the circuit, telling the truth about what had happened, sharing the exciting story of the jewels, and repeating over and over my main point, which was that we Americans are too cruel to each other, too quick to judge, too willing to accept the lies masquerading as truth in the tabloids.

  And though I had been offered several ongoing media-related opportunities, I had turned them all down. Today was my final official public appearance, and then I would return to California, for a time at least. More and more, I had been thinking about drawing that chapter of my life to a close and moving back home to the East Coast.

  Kiki and I had fully reconciled, but her life was changing too. Somehow in the aftermath of all that happened, she and Norman had fallen in love and were now engaged to be married. Their ultimate plan was to sell his house in town, use the proceeds to renovate her house at the beach, and then live there together. Though I couldn’t be happier for them, it was clear that my time as Kiki’s housemate was coming to an end. I was just glad I had been able to pay for all of the repairs that had been needed in the wake of our ski-masked intruder—and throw in a little extra besides, for good measure.

  As for that intruder, Remy’s hunch had been correct. The man who had broken into the beach house and demanded the rubies at gunpoint was a direct descendant of Karl Friedrich, Grand Duke of Baden. The man had planned to use his DNA results to defend his claim to the jewels, but of course my father’s DNA held the more significant link, not to mention that the documents found with the jewels provided all the proof we needed. Once he learned that, the man gave up, pled guilty for his crimes, and was currently serving his sentence at the prison in Chino.

  “Miss Jensen?” the production assistant said, waving me over. “Let’s touch up the makeup and then we’ll start putting on the jewels. If you don’t mind, the writer would like to ask you some questions at the same time.”

  Mindful of the dress, I climbed up into the canvas-backed chair and let the makeup artists go to work on my face as the man who was writing the accompanying article scooted over a chair from the corner of the studio and sat.

  He and I had already spoken several times, and though I knew the focus of his piece was the jewels and the documents, he was also hoping to include a sidebar about the adventure that had led us to discover them at last.

  In that vein, he asked me now if I could tell him a bit more about the various players in the events that had unfolded during that difficult week in Pennsylvania last January. He wanted to know how everyone was doing six months later.

  “Well, you can see that my brother’s up and around,” I said, gesturing toward Bobby, who was chatting with Remy. “He’ll have some lingering health issues, but at least the doctors were able to save his leg.”

  “What about his job? With the WIRE closed down, was he able to find another position in the Dreiheit area?”

  “Actually,” I said, beaming with sisterly pride, “he’s decided to go back to school instead for speech therapy. Bobby was always so smart, you know. It was just a tragedy that his education was derailed by the original fire.”

  I had to stop talking for a minute as the makeup artist worked on my mouth with a lipstick pencil. As I sat there mum, I thought about one of Bobby’s smartest tricks ever, the mysterious ATM withdrawal in Las Vegas the night he disappeared.

  All he had done to make that happen was write his PIN number on a yellow sticky note and attach it to his ATM card. At the airport, he had acted as though he was waiting for the flight
to Las Vegas, when in fact he had been studying the other passengers, trying to pick out someone who seemed just a little bit shady. Once he had chosen his mark, Bobby had gotten in line behind the guy, tapped him on the shoulder, and held out the ATM card.

  “Hey, buddy, I think you dropped this,” Bobby had said, and then he added, “If I were you, though, I wouldn’t keep my pin number attached to the actual card, you know? Somebody could find this and rip you off.”

  Without missing a beat, the man had simply thanked him, taken the card, and tucked it into his pocket. Obviously, at the other end of that flight, the guy had jumped on the first ATM machine he had come to. He’d probably been hoping for a lot more than what he found in the account, but a hundred bucks was better than nothing.

  “How about your nephew?” the writer asked. “Isaac, is it?”

  “Yes, he’s doing well,” I said as the makeup artist finished her work. “He was pretty traumatized by the whole propane thing, especially coming on the heels of his father’s disappearance and all of that. But he’s getting better. He has great parents and a wonderful new school, so we’re all quite confident that he’ll continue to blossom. And, of course, he loves being a big brother.”

  Glancing back at Lydia, who was bouncing little Samuel on her hip, I didn’t mention how relieved we had been to confirm through genetic testing that Dr. Updyke’s tampering had not extended to this second son. Though we would always grieve for what had been done to Isaac, somehow Lydia had found it in her heart to forgive Bobby for his deception. Lately, they had both been working hard to put the past behind them and focus on the future.

  “And Bobby’s Amish in-laws? Whatever happened to their house?”

  The hairstylist entered then, trailed by the representative of Lloyd’s of London, the company who was currently in charge of protecting the rubies. With a little bit of fanfare, the Lloyd’s man came and stood beside my chair and opened the lid of the jewels’ case so that the hairdresser could take out the tiara and arrange it just so with the hairstyle she had already swept into an updo.

  “There was a lot of smoke damage,” I said to the writer as the stylist worked, “so repairs needed doing, but they’re up and running with it now. We correspond regularly, and the whole family is getting along just fine.”

  I didn’t add that with their share of the rubies they could have afforded to rebuild from the ground up, many times over. In truth, we were all quite rich now. Bobby and I were still trying to figure out how to be good stewards of our own money, but already my dad was scaring my mother with his dreams of hunting down Red-Rumped Swallows in the Canary Islands.

  “I spoke to the Lancaster County police to get the current status of Harold Updyke and Melody Wynn. It looks like neither one of them will be back in their own homes any time soon.”

  I nodded, watching as the hairdresser again reached into the jewel case and came out with the earrings, which she let me put on myself.

  “Is it true you were the one who tipped off the police to search for that infant’s body in Melody Wynn’s backyard, the one who died from tumors induced by illegal gene therapy?” the writer asked.

  “Yes. Given the facts, I had a feeling Melody had buried the child in her yard and covered it up by planting the tree directly on top.”

  “And the infant’s remains have now been laid to rest in an Amish cemetery?”

  “Yes, after a lovely re-internment ceremony. I’m glad to say that the Amish community in Dreiheit has gone out of their way to make amends to the parents of the baby, and from what I understand there has been a lot of healing there.”

  The hairdresser pulled out the necklace, carefully draped it across my chest, and fastened it at the back of my neck. With the jewels slowly being added to my frame, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. The stylist took out the bracelets next, and as she fastened them at my wrists, I couldn’t wait to look in the mirror for the full effect. Already, I felt connected to Stephanie somehow, her very blood coursing through my veins.

  “Speaking of making amends, the three surviving Dreiheit Five members received full pardons for their alleged crimes. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, our slates have been wiped clean. We can’t get those years back, you know, but it does feel good moving forward without having to carry such heavy burdens from the past.” He didn’t ask, but I had also been cleared for breaking into the lab, a crime the DA had decided not to prosecute considering the extenuating circumstances.

  “So what will your name be now?” the writer asked. “Anna Bailey? Or will you go back to Jensen?”

  The stylist reached into the box for one more piece of jewelry, but I didn’t know what it could be because I thought they had already put everything on me. Turning, she held out a ring, one I had not seen before. It was stunning, though, a huge white diamond in the center surrounded by a circle of rubies.

  I held it up to the light, wondering how this piece could have gone unnoticed thus far. I was about to call Remy over when a familiar movement caught my eye. There, standing quietly in the background, was the one person I most wanted to see in the world.

  Reed Thornton.

  Reed and I had moved our relationship along quite carefully since January. He and Heather had broken up by mid-February, and though I had found that news heartening, I hadn’t wanted to rush into anything in the wake of that long-term relationship.

  Instead, we started writing and emailing and calling—getting to know each other all over again. As the calls got longer and more frequent, Reed finally began coming out for visits to California. We hadn’t even kissed until his last visit two weeks ago, when we went for a long stroll on the beach near his hotel. There, to the glow of a warm California sunset, he had taken me in his arms at last and told me the words that I had longed to hear from him since I was seventeen: I love you, Anna.

  Now, here he was at the photo shoot, looking even more striking to me than he ever had before.

  “Anna?” the writer repeated. “What will your name be now?”

  Slowly, Reed walked forward, took the ring from me, and held it at the tip of the fourth finger of my left hand.

  “How about Thornton?” he asked me. “Anna Thornton sounds good, don’t you think?”

  Gasping, I looked down at the ring, understanding finally what he had done. I was stunned, not just that he had found such a romantic way to propose, but that he would choose a ring for the occasion that was similar in look and feel to the heirloom jewels that had been in my family for almost two hundred years.

  Then again, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Any guy who went shopping for a sweater dress in an outlet mall in January just to keep a girl warm and confident was the kind of man who would spend a lifetime showing love in action.

  “Yes,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes as Reed slipped the ring all the way onto my finger. “Anna Thornton sounds perfect.”

  I blinked, sending twin tears down my cheeks as Reed leaned in for a kiss.

  “Don’t mess up the mascara!” the makeup person cried.

  “Don’t smudge the lipstick!” the stylist said.

  Reed stopped just before touching his lips to mine. Instead, he simply whispered, “I love you” and reluctantly moved back out of the way, his deep blue eyes holding the promise of later kisses, of our beautiful future together. Once I was ready, he offered me his arm like a gentleman. Dressed as quite the lady, I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow.

  “Shall we proceed?” Reed said, gesturing toward the cameras that were waiting to take my portrait.

  “Let’s,” I replied, somehow standing taller with the weight of my heritage sparkling in my hair and around my neck.

  Reed led me to where I was supposed to stand, posed just as Stephanie had posed, in front of a curving golden couch.

  “Like this?” I asked the photographer, placing my hands just so.

  The stylists ran forward and adjusted my hands, my skirt, my hair. As all of them flitted aroun
d me, I looked out at the small group of people who were my family and friends, who had come all this way today just to lend moral support.

  Six months ago, my world had been much smaller, and Kiki had urged me to take some chances. Now, not only did I have the reconnection of my family and my past, I had the glorious hope of a future filled with promise and light.

  My heart soaring, I suddenly understood the truth that Stephanie had come to know: Love was about letting go of self.

  Holding my chin high, I looked directly into the camera and smiled, knowing that my Amish friends had been showing me what that looked like all along.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Shadows of Lancaster County is Mindy’s tenth novel for Harvest House Publishers. Previous books include the bestselling Whispers of the Bayou as well as the Million Dollar Mysteries and The Smart Chick Mystery series, which includes The Trouble with Tulip, Blind Dates Can Be Murder, and Elementary, My Dear Watkins.

  Mindy is also the author of the nonfiction guide The House That Cleans Itself as well as numerous plays and musicals. A popular speaker and former stand-up comedian, Mindy lives with her husband and two daughters near Valley Forge, Pennsylvania.

  In any story, where facts are used to mold and shape fiction, sometimes it becomes hard for readers to tell the two apart, particularly when learning about a history or culture that isn’t overly familiar. For more information and to find out which elements of this story are fictional and which are based on fact, visit Mindy’s website at:

  www.mindystarnsclark.com.

  Swept away from Louisiana bayou country as a child, Miranda Miller is a woman without a past. She is left with questions about the tragedy that cut her off from family and caused her to be sent away, and about those first five years that were erased from her memory entirely.

  Summoned to the bedside of Willy Pedreaux, the old caretaker of her grandparents’ antebellum estate, Miranda goes back for the first time, hoping to learn the truths of her past and receive her rightful inheritance.