“Yes. Then Matthew said a car full of hired thugs pulled up to the curb. He said Rose had been—”
Kari choked up and could not get the words out. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Take your time.” But Laynie watched her, concerned.
“They said Rose had been . . . shot.”
“What?”
A stiff gust of wind heeled the boat over and Laynie hurried to adjust the sails. For the most part, Kari stayed out of her way—and made sure the straps of her life vest were snugged.
Tight.
When the boat settled on another tack, Laynie turned to Kari. “Wait. Rose was shot?”
“Yes. The hired men killed her guards and shot her. Rose didn’t die, of course, but the thugs took Joy’s baby son, Edmund.”
“Took him? No.” Laynie shook her head. “How sad.”
“This next part might get a little confusing. The kidnapping was really about Shan-Rose. Her paternal grandmother, Fang-Hua, had hired these men to snatch her grandson—except Shan-Rose was a girl, not a boy. The kidnappers thought Fang-Hua’s grandchild was a boy and, faced with two babies, they took the boy. They took the wrong child.
“Now, the head thug, the man who reported to Fang-Hua, was a man named Dean Morgan. Apparently, there was bad blood between Dean Morgan and Joy Thoresen. Some of the girls Joy and Rose rescued ‘worked’ in a brothel owned by Dean Morgan. Morgan was arrested because of Joy’s efforts to bring down the brothel, but later escaped from jail.”
“This reads like a western soap opera,” Laynie groused. “Are you certain it’s important?”
“Yes, very.” Kari’s shoulders twitched as she laughed behind one hand.
“It had better be. Now get on with it. The suspense is killing me.”
“Okay. Well, when Dean Morgan realized his men had taken the wrong child and that Fang-Hua’s grandson was actually a granddaughter, he knew what Fang Hua would do to him. So he changed plans. He decided to run from Fang Hua and, at the same time, pay Joy back for all the trouble she had caused him. He decided to pay her back by keeping Edmund.”
Laynie cursed under her breath. “Despicable!”
“It truly was. He even sent a letter to Mr. O’Dell, the Pinkerton detective and Edmund’s namesake, telling him so. Mr. O’Dell searched for Morgan and for Joy and Grant’s son for months. Years. But in reality, the trail went cold only days after the abduction.”
Kari was quiet, grieved all over again for Joy and Grant, for Rose. For little Edmund.
“Kari, you said this is important to us? How? How is it even remotely to do with us?”
Kari wiped her eyes. “Sorry. It’s easy for me to get teary-eyed when I tell this. You see, when Matthew told me all of this, everyone in the room also got teary-eyed. And then Matthew told me.”
“Told you what?”
Kari sniffled. “Told me that the kidnappers had accidently snatched up Rose’s journal in Edmund’s baby blanket and taken it with them.”
“But you found—you found it.” Laynie’s face froze in consternation, horror, and unthinkable inferences.
Kari nodded at her shock. “Yes, I did. Did I mention earlier that Joy’s married name was Michaels? I had my name legally changed, and it is your name, too, Laynie.
“Dean Morgan took baby Edmund—Edmund Michaels—to New Orleans. Morgan changed his own name to Peter Granger and changed Edmund’s name to Michael Granger.
“Baby Edmund was our father, Laynie. I found Rose’s journal, and it led me back to our family.”
She watched Laynie try to process what she’d been told, saw the many doubts and questions flashing across her face.
“But, if all this is real, then that would make this Rose and her daughter Joy . . .”
“It would make Joy our grandmother and Rose our great-grandmother.”
“Is it true, Kari?”
“Yes. All of it. More than I could tell you today. Or at least more than you’d be able to take in.”
They sailed on in silence for an hour or so. Kari let her reflections wander. Mostly she marveled at how God had, in his timing, arranged for her to be sitting in Sammie’s little sailboat with her sister.
Laynie managed the boat out of unconscious habit, too wrapped up in her own thoughts to speak. And then Kari saw that Laynie was nosing their craft toward a small island, into a little cove.
Sand grated on the boat’s hull. Laynie, on sure feet, skipped to the boat’s bow and out onto the sand. She grabbed a line and started to pull the boat up onto the sandy beach.
“Give a hand? Thought we could eat lunch here.”
Kari grabbed their lunch bag, clambered to the bow, and jumped off. She grabbed the line with Laynie and, together, they brought the boat farther up the beach. Laynie tied off the line on a beached log.
“You don’t handle yourself too badly for a landlubber.”
“Hey, I’m impressed that I haven’t been puking over the side all morning.”
“Ugh. Me, too. Let’s eat!”
Kari pulled a blanket from the lunch bag. They spread the blanket on the sand and Kari parceled out the sandwiches and fruit.
“Tell me more about this Søren and his wife, Ilsa? Are they cousins, then?”
“Um, Ilsa isn’t Søren’s wife; she’s his sister. But Max is his son. Søren’s wife passed away years ago. And, yes. They are half-cousins, a bunch of times removed.”
Laynie mouth curved into a sly, knowing smile. “Hmmm. Do I detect something in you for Søren? How old is he? Are you sweet on him?”
Kari blushed. “If you must know, we’ve been, oh, I don’t know what to call it, exploring the possibility of marriage for a couple of years. The thing is, we’re both dedicated to our lives—him to his farm in Nebraska and me to my businesses in New Orleans. We haven’t figured out how to make it work.”
“Well don’t wait forever, Kari. Sometimes we think we have time, and then, one day, it is too late.”
Kari got momentarily stuck on what Laynie said.
Have Søren and I waited too long? Is it too late for us?
“Don’t go all morose on me. Tell me the rest of the story.”
While they ate, Kari told Laynie about a lifetime of nightmares and panic attacks. She recounted her last nightmare—the moment The Black was defeated and Kari remembered. Remembered the accident that took their parents. Remembered the little sister and brother who had been stolen away.
Laynie was a good listener; still, the complexity of Kari’s narration forced her to, more than once, ask Kari to stop and repeat herself. So Kari took her time, filling in details and being transparent about her struggles, including her lifelong disgust with Christians—only to be told that their own father was not only a Christian but also a missionary.
“A missionary?” Laynie was stunned.
“It seems that you and Sammie were born in Central America,” Kari told her, “one more reason it was so easy to adopt you out illegally—no American birth certificates. Apparently, not that many people here in the States even knew about you and Sammie—only the missionary organization our parents belonged to. One letter from Marge Showman to the organization saying that Michael Granger’s children had been claimed by his uncle was all it took to remove the organization’s concerns about us.”
Laynie chewed on a sandwich, thinking. “What did you think—no, what did you feel—when they told you . . . told you your father had been kidnapped as a baby?”
“You mean our father?”
Laynie grimaced. “Right. Wow—it’s tough believing that this is sort of my story, too.”
“I understand. Well, our uncles—our half-uncles from Grandma Joy’s second marriage—they were so kind, so loving as I struggled to absorb what they’d told me. I didn’t know they were my uncles when I met them, mind you, only that they were Joy’s sons, Rose’s grandsons.
“Anyway, I understand how difficult all this must be to take in, the whole, ‘Oh, by the way, your real father was
kidnapped and you have like a bazillion relatives in Nebraska.’”
“I never knew anything about my ancestors, where I sprang from,” Laynie said in wonderment. “Now I have all these relations?”
Kari chortled. “First, I haven’t even started on all our ‘relations.’ Second, I find it ironic, humorous even, that you are passing yourself off as a Swede.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, because Rose’s husband, Jan Thoresen, emigrated from Norway. You aren’t Swedish, but you are one-eighth Norwegian—with the Scandinavian height and features to prove it.”
“That explains a lot. But did you know that Dad—Gene’s—grandparents are Swedish immigrants? As a child I told myself—and I realize how foolish this must sound—I told myself that I got my looks and language aptitude through them even though I was adopted.”
Kari ginned. “Oh, yeah? How? By osmosis?”
“Right? Kids believe the craziest things, you know. Tell me . . . tell me again about how this Dean Morgan guy got away with kidnapping Edmund?”
“From what we’ve pieced together, Morgan took Daddy and the wet nurse Fang-Hua had hired for her ‘grandson’ by car from Denver to New Orleans. There Morgan changed his name to Peter Granger, bought a house, and began a financial consulting business.
“He was quite a gifted money manager and had many wealthy, influential clients. He never went back to a life of crime. Instead, he made a legitimate fortune and raised Daddy as his nephew.
“When he died, he left everything to Daddy, but he and Daddy had quarreled years before. Guess why? Because Daddy became a Christian—and Dean Morgan hated Christians.”
Laynie’s brows drew down into a frown. “Every time I turn around, someone is becoming a Christian. I am loathe to side with this despicable Dean Morgan/Peter Granger jerk, but, well . . .” She shrugged.
“Funny you should say that. I felt exactly the same. When I learned that Daddy had become a Christian, I was disgusted.”
“And yet?”
“And yet I learned through Rose’s journal that being a Christian is much different than I’d been led to believe. Later, I had, um, an encounter with Jesus myself, and gave my life to him.”
Laynie sniffed. “Yeah, okay. Sure. But getting back to your story . . .”
“All right, getting back to my story.”
Kari smiled inside. Laynie is right where I was, Lord. And you know exactly how to draw her to you.
“Uncle Matthew told me all of this in Søren and Ilsa’s living room. He said that after Morgan took Edmund and left Denver, Rose, Joy, their family, and all their good friends made a pact. They vowed to never stop praying for Edmund. They agreed to never cease believing that God would bring him home—that in God ‘the lost are found.’ That’s when I realized that Uncle Matthew was saying baby Edmund had never been found.”
“So, despite all their prayers, despite all their ‘believing,’ he wasn’t found.”
“No, but the thing is, Laynie, even the way Daddy was raised to mock Christianity? In spite of all that, Jesus still found him. Now he is in heaven, and every individual who prayed for him will be reunited with him.”
Laynie waved one hand in dismissive scorn. “That’s like answering a question with another question. Christians believe in promises but when those promises don’t pan out, they have another answer.”
Kari studied Laynie, saw the hardness settle on her face. “Eternity is real, Laynie. When this life ends—and it always does, for every person—eternity takes over. When people limit God’s answers only to this life, they miss the truth that God inhabits eternity and can fulfill his promises when and where he chooses.”
Laynie’s derision was evident. “Again with the circular thinking.”
Kari’s answer was calm but pointed. “All right, but consider this, Laynie: Edmund wasn’t found—and yet I was. After all those years, I ‘just happened’ to find Rose’s journal, happened to decide to look into her life and find out what became of her. Just happened to knock on the door of Palmer House after eighty-odd years—and just happened to meet people who, to that very day, were praying for Edmund’s return.
“And think of this, too. I spent upwards of three hundred thousand dollars looking for you and Sammie. I used every resource available to me, all for nothing. The task proved to be impossible. Futile. And then you ‘just happened’ to board a ‘random’ airplane—not once, but twice—and happened to be assigned the seat—again, not once, but twice—next to the single individual in this world who, other than myself, would realize who you were.
“All of God’s promises are true, Laynie, because he is true. One way or another, he will work those promises into reality. He is God, and he will have his way.”
They cleaned up their lunch remains, packed the blanket, bag, and thermos into the boat and pushed the boat out into the water. Laynie motored them out of the cove and they, again, flew before the wind.
Kari and Laynie lapsed into companionable silence until Laynie asked, “And so you never once thought of Sammie and me during all those years you were growing up?”
“I tried to. I knew I’d forgotten something—something truly important—but each time I tried to remember, it would trigger a panic attack.”
Kari tried to laugh, but it ended on a groan. “You’ve never lived until you’ve experienced a full-on panic attack.”
“Then I’ve never lived,” Laynie snorted. She did a 360° sweep around them, even though they were bobbing across the choppy waves of the inland waters, and dropped her voice. “I’ve been in some very tight places—tight enough that I’m surprised I don’t have anxiety attacks, some tight corners that could easily have ended with me in a Russian interrogation room. The day I ever have such an attack? I’ll be finished in my present line of work.”
She shook her head. “Not that the end of my ‘career’ would necessarily be a bad thing. For me, anyway.”
Kari studied her sister for a long while. “You know, Laynie, I think we’re beginning to bond or something. That’s the most open you’ve been with me.”
Laynie faced the water in profile to Kari, and her blonde hair, much of it pulled from her ponytail by the stiff breeze, caught the light and glistened like spun gold. When she turned and smiled her acknowledgement, Kari’s heart soared.
She has let her guard down. For me.
Laynie’s gaze swept the water and the weather in the distance. She wasn’t looking at Kari when she said, “Would you know what I meant if I said that I’m not really the ‘girlfriend’ type? You know. The ‘girly-girly, slumber party, call-your-bestie-six-times-a day, let’s do lunch and get our nails done together,’ type?”
“I think I would. I might be the same way. Until I met Ruth, I had no close girlfriends. I’ve maybe been more comfortable alone or with men rather than with other women.”
“Yes. That’s what I mean.”
“And?”
Laynie turned her head toward Kari but still stared out into the distance. “And it’s different with you. Talking with you. Being with you feels . . . natural. Comfortable. Like it was with Sammie.”
She sniffed. “In spite of our glaring differences.”
Kari agreed. “I know! It’s like, like there are no barriers between us. And I like that we can talk about real stuff and not get bent out of shape when we don’t agree.” She waggled her brows and giggled. “Even share secrets.”
“But only because we’re in a boat out on the ocean, far from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears!”
Kari grinned at Laynie and then sniggered. “Remember when you said, ‘maybe our hearts can find a boat’? Well, check this out. Do you know what someone told me the word ‘fellowship’ means?”
“I’m sure you’ll fill me in.”
Kari snickered again. “Fellowship is like two fellows—wait for it!—two fellows sitting together in the same ship. Get it? Fellow-ship—and here we are. Together.
Laynie groaned. “That is . . . terrib
le.”
But she laughed. And Kari laughed. And they laughed together.
Laynie turned the boat in a wide sweeping arc and began the long sail home.
“You know . . . you’re all right, Kari Michaels,” Laynie said softly.
“I love you back, Laynie Portland.”
How I thank you for this precious time, Lord God. How I thank you for your faithfulness.
—
AS THE WEEK DREW TO A CLOSE, Kari felt as though she’d always known Laynie, that they had never been apart. She was welcomed in the Greene and Portland homes, loved by Kelly and Stephen’s parents, accepted without reservations as ‘Aunt Kari.’
Shannon and Robbie poured unexpected affection upon Kari—but Kari wondered if it was more than simple acceptance and affection. Since Polly had commented on the marked resemblance between Kari and Sammie, Kari wondered if Robbie, in particular, recognized his father in her.
On the other hand, despite the good times that week, Kelly and Sammie’s loss was ever-present. Grief often overtook the Greenes and Portlands. It came in waves that crashed and receded. Crashed and receded.
Laynie fretted over Gene and Polly. “All this stress could cause Mama’s MS to flare up. And Dad acts strong in front of everyone, acts so strong for Mama, but he’s getting older, too, and he-he . . .”
“And he needs to be able to grieve. He’s not Superman,” Kari agreed. “I’m so sorry—sorry that you must go back to Sweden next week.”
Another problem crept on them during the week. One morning Mary Greene burst into tears when Kari and Laynie came to fetch the children.
“I’m so concerned about Shannon,” she sobbed. “She keeps having bad dreams, and she wakes up screaming in the night. And Robbie? If Shannon wakes up, we calm her and she goes back to sleep, but Robbie does not. He cries and cries. All night.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered.
“I will pray for you, Mary,” Kari promised. “Hopefully the children will settle in soon.”
—
KARI HAD STAYED LONGER THAN SHE’D PLANNED, knowing she would pay the price when she returned home. She stayed until the day Laynie’s flight left for Stockholm.
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