by Anne Barwell
"No, that would be Mrs. O'Neil," Donovan butted in, breaking one of the chocolate biscuits in two before munching on it. "I told him about the letters, Heidi, so some of this is probably my fault."
Her glare turned in his direction. "Did you tell him to take them?" she demanded.
"No, he didn't." Tomas was not about to let Donovan jump in and take any of the blame for something he'd done himself. "Do you want to hear what I've found or not? I know you don't like what I've done, but I'm sure they're connected to what's happened to Cat, and I'm not giving them back till I've found him." He softened his voice in an attempt to calm the tension in the air. Damn, he wasn't any good at this. Cathal would have done better; even in the little time they'd known each other, that much was obvious. "Please, Heidi. I don't want those men to hurt him, and he said they wouldn't tolerate another transgression. I think he's in a lot of trouble."
"They'd better be connected," she muttered, ignoring the way Donovan was shaking his head. "Okay, tell us what you found. You can apologize about the letters and whatever else there is later once we find Cat and make sure he's okay."
"He'll grovel," Donovan reassured her. "Now, spill, Tomas. All of it." He glanced sideways at Heidi. "No interruptions till you're done. I promise. The floor's all yours."
"Okay," Tomas said, definitely not agreeing to the groveling, but Heidi didn't need to know that. He took another gulp of coffee and cleared his throat. "I think that Alice Finlay, who lived in this house ninety years ago, is connected to a book I'm trying to find a sequel to." He pushed his copy of the novel toward him. "It was published in 1941 in London, and she would have been alive then. I've looked for information on the author online and asked people I know in publishing but found nothing. The book is now out of print, and there's no proof of a sequel, but that doesn't mean there isn't a manuscript or something somewhere. The names of the characters in the book are the same as hers and her husband's." Heidi nodded slowly. Donovan took another mouthful of biscuit, chewing thoughtfully. Neither of them interrupted. "I loaned the book to Cat to read, and he said it must be a coincidence."
Heidi nodded again. "But?" she prompted.
"But...." Tomas wet his lips. This was the first time he'd put these crazy ideas all out there at once and to anyone else, and he knew they sounded a little off the wall. "He also implied that it was a coincidence that they had the same names as his cousin and his wife." His mouth dry, he gulped more coffee. "Alice and Christian Edmonds."
"Yeah, he admitted to that," Donovan said. "So you think they're the same people?" He scratched at his head. "But they lived here ninety years ago, Tomas. As theories go, it's got a lot of holes in it."
"Look at the name of the author," Tomas told him. "Wynne Emerys." He carefully undid the ribbon from around the letters and opened the top one, reading from it, making sure he had the right one, even though he already knew he did. "In this letter to her husband, Alice talks about someone called Wynne."
"So maybe she knew this Emerys guy." Heidi frowned. "They lived around the same time, and it would explain him using their names in the story. I still don't see where you're going with this and what this has to do with Cat's disappearance."
"When I was looking for the sequel for the book at the library, I found another copy of In Hidden Places with this in it." He pulled the postcard out of his journal and handed it to her. "The picture on the front, it's Alice."
"So someone read the book and left the postcard in there." Donovan's reply was logical, and a few days ago Tomas would have agreed with it. "There were quite a few of these printed." He took it from Heidi and turned it over, reading the information on the back.
"Cat said that Alice liked roses, and he knew about the ones growing here. He said that she and Christian had kissed at the top of the stairs in the inn, that they'd lived here. Donovan said that Christian's name wasn't on the deeds. I think it was because it was Alice who owned it, not her husband."
Donovan let out a low whistle. "So you do think his cousin Alice was the one who owned this place originally?" He put down the half-eaten biscuit. "Is that possible? That would make Cat how old if he knew them? He looks about the same age as us. There's got to be another explanation."
"I kept telling myself that, Donovan, and he almost had me convinced." Tomas tucked the postcard back into his journal once they'd finished looking at it, not wanting to risk losing any of the clues he had. "Have you looked closely at the painting hanging on the upstairs landing? It's of the tree outside. When he saw it, it upset him, especially the fact it had been painted so long ago. He said he'd seen the sketch of it before, seen the scene before."
"Tomas, that tree is still standing, and you said you meet him there." Heidi frowned. "Of course he'd seen it before."
"It's not like it is now, Heidi," Tomas reminded her. "It's different. Places change over time. He said that it was like seeing a memory but knowing that's all that's left of it." The last piece of information he had to share pulled it all together and was the one he was trying to get his head around. But there was no denying the connection now, although he still wasn't sure what it meant exactly.
He took a deep breath. "There's also one other thing which confirms there's a connection, and it's what I left out when I told Doug about what happened. When these soldiers or whoever confronted him before they took him, one of them addressed him by name. The guy called him Lord Emerys."
They both stared at him. "You're kidding me, right?" Donovan said finally. "Lord Emerys, like he's royalty from God knows where?" He mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like time travel.
"That why I need your help," Tomas admitted. "I have all these letters and church records to look through to try and confirm it. I need to find him before I lose him forever."
"But how is confirming it going to help us find him?" Heidi asked softly. She exchanged a glance with Donovan, mouthing something Tomas didn't quite catch.
"You're hoping there's something in the letters, aren't you?" Donovan sighed. "There's twenty years of them to go through, and of course we'll help. But there's something you've got to remember, Tomas, and I know it's blunt, but it has to be said straight up."
"And that would be?" Tomas glared at him; the answer he knew was one that had already niggled at him since he'd put all this together. It was one he would not accept, not now and not ever.
"Alice's husband died, Tomas." Donovan shook his head. "Even if you think there's a connection and some clue in the letters, she lost him and he never came back."
"Cat is not dead. I can still find him." Tomas pushed his chair back, intending to stand, suddenly needing to be on his own, fighting the urge to retreat into his room, to run, although there was nowhere to go. It was too late for that now. He couldn't go back, only forward, to a future he had to believe was still his. His and Cathal's.
He picked up his copy of the novel from the table, the two pressed flowers falling from it to the floor, rose and daisy still intertwined. Bending to pick them up, he cradled them against his palm, his voice hoarse. "I have to."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eighteen
My darling Christian...
Tomas scanned the letter in his hand, the words blurring when his vision protested the strain he was putting on it. He rubbed at his eyes, placing the stack of paper on the table before getting up to refill his coffee and taking another couple of the pills that Heidi had picked up for him from the village pharmacy. His headache was a little better, but he was still tired, refusing any naps and frantically searching through the pile of letters in search of any clues. "Come on, Alice," he muttered, "give me some help here, please."
He couldn't lose Cathal the same way she'd lost her husband, but it was becoming difficult to hang onto any hope. The gossamer thread was unraveling before him, taking with it any chances they had to find Cathal before it was too late.
Sitting down at the table and taking several gulps of
coffee to fortify himself, he began reading again. Heidi had gone to the church to look through their records in the hope there might be something there they could use, or at the very least to find some information about Christian Edmonds. If he was Cathal's cousin and they could track down where he or his family had come from.... Tomas sighed. This was like hunting for a needle in a haystack.
"Any luck?" Donovan glanced up from the papers in front of him, having offered to help Tomas go through the letters after dropping Mikey off at school, much to the boy's disgust. He'd been promised he could come back and help afterward; with everything else going on, they didn't need Edward on their case about letting Mikey miss school. But after taking a couple of hours the night before just to sort the letters into chronological order year by year, Tomas was wondering whether they'd made the right decision.
"Not yet." Tomas rubbed at his eyes again, blinking rapidly, trying to convince them that itching was not allowed. He and Donovan had split the letters between them, taking alternative years. Alice had written weekly letters, almost like a journal to her husband, up until the week before she'd died. He skimmed farther down the page he was holding, before reading a paragraph out loud, something they'd taken to doing to give each other a fuller picture of what had happened. "This one's August 1930. It's Wynne's twelfth birthday...."
"I found him today looking out his bedroom window at the tree. For a moment I could have sworn that he was a younger version of you, my love. He is so much like you, with your temperament and your looks. I wish you could see him, you'd be so proud
Christian, I miss you so much. His birthday is a reminder of just how long it's been since that last day I saw you. I keep hoping you'll return. I'll keep writing these letters so that you'll have something at least to remember me by, even if we never see each other again."
"I wonder if the old guy in the nursing home really is him." Donovan idly munched on another chocolate biscuit, his hand reaching out for another and feeling around for the plate without registering what he was doing. "Hopefully Heidi can find something in the church records. If anyone will know how to track down the rest of the family, it will be Mrs. McPherson. She's like a pit bull when she gets her teeth stuck into something, and she's fond of a good mystery."
"Yeah," Tomas said absently, picking up the next letter.
My darling Christian...
All her letters began the same way. Her address and the date were at the top of the page, but there was never an address for him; apparently there was not even a grave in the churchyard. She kept insisting that he wasn't dead, but her letters were phrased in such a way as to suggest that he had been taken from her against his will, vowing that he'd find a way to return to her. He never had.
It sounded too much like what had just happened with Cathal. Tomas shivered, taking another gulp of coffee.
Donovan slammed his cup down on the table. "Fuck," he breathed. "Listen to this."
"Wynne asked me to tell him a story today about his daddy. He doesn't ask often although I do ensure I tell him about you. Do you remember what Cat used to say about people not truly being gone if they aren't forgotten? I know you used to roll your eyes when he'd talk about that kind of thing, but I do believe he was right..."
"Give me that!" Tomas snatched the letter from Donovan and read it over several times, trying, wanting to believe what he was reading. It was the proof they'd been looking for, the first mention of Cathal by name in these letters. She'd talked about the life she'd shared with her husband before and of someone else, but the damn mice had chewed through the name, losing the confirmation of anything concrete down a literal hole. The little they'd read of him had sounded very much like Cathal, but as Donovan had pointed out, it could also be wishful thinking and desperation. People saw what they needed, especially in situations such as these.
Slowly he became aware that Donovan was watching him. A little sheepish, Tomas handed back the letter. "Sorry," he mumbled, knowing that where good manners were concerned, he was heading on a downward spiral.
"It's okay," Donovan reassured him. "I'd be reacting like that too if I was you." He sighed. "I wish there was more we can do; this whole situation is just so damn frustrating."
"I do appreciate the help." Tomas indicated the letters. "It's a big job. I can't do it on my own." A smile slipped from his lips. "That letter proves they're the same people, that they knew him. It's something he told me." It was also a phrase he'd heard somewhere else recently. Where the hell had it been?
Donovan shrugged. "Phoebe uses it too, on occasion, usually when she's in one of her weird moods. It seems to get around." He helped himself to another biscuit, stared at it, sighed, and put it back on the plate. "He's not gone, Tomas. I only met him once, but I'm not going to forget him in a hurry. I can't promise we'll find him, but we'll do what we can." He went to put the letter down to pick up another, paused, and handed it back to Tomas. "You keep the letters that mention him. They need to be kept together."
"Thanks." Tomas tucked it into his journal, knowing that wasn't the only reason he'd been given it to safeguard but not wanting to discuss how he was feeling further after his outburst. Flicking through the rest of the pile in front of him for that year, he let out a sigh of relief. "We've come to the last of the mouse damage, by the looks of it, at least for this year."
"Good." Donovan picked up another pile. "On to 1933. This one looks fine, too." He dropped the pile on the table in front of him, quickly checking the rest. They'd sorted them into years and then into weeks, as the whole job in one go had been too daunting. "Up to 1940 seems okay too, but there are a couple of holes past that at the other end. I'm guessing the middle letters got away with the least damage. Damn rodents."
"Yeah." Tomas nodded absently, already working through the next pile. Although Alice hadn't given up hope, she'd discovered very quickly that Christian hadn't left very much in the way of clues as to where he might be found. She referred to "his world" several times, but there was nothing in the way of detail. Either she hadn't been told much, or she was keeping the information to herself. Surely if they'd had a year together, he would have told her more? Cathal had let more slip to Tomas in the couple of days they'd known each other than were in these bloody letters.
Reading down the page, he frowned, a reference leaping out at him. He reached into his jeans pocket, pulling out the button they'd found and turning it over again. "What kind of bird did you say you thought was on this again?" he asked Donovan.
"I didn't." Donovan frowned but kept reading, scanning each page quickly for clues. "Why?"
"Alice makes some reference, very briefly, to a falcon, but it doesn't make sense in the context she uses. I'll read it out and you can see what I mean." Tomas skimmed it again quickly and then took a deep breath.
"I could have sworn I saw one of the falcons today. He was standing in the middle of the field looking up at Wynne's bedroom window. I recognise the style of the jacket he wore; it is something I will never forget, that last time I saw you. I pulled Wynne behind me and drew the curtains quickly, not wanting to risk them finding out about him, for fear of what they might do
After several moments had passed, I risked peeking outside but there was no one there. I have been careful, my love. I do not speak of where you come from or what you told me of it, but on occasions like this I wonder if that is caution enough. Perhaps I should not even be writing these letters but I need something. The years pass and still there is nothing from you, no messages, no nothing. I fear I will never see you again and yet I cannot pass from this world without leaving something of our story for our son."
"Whoa, cool. You've found some more clues!" Mikey stalked into the room and dumped his schoolbag on the table, sending papers flying in all directions. "I've come just at the right time."
"Mikey!" Tomas grabbed for the letters, catching a pile of them before they hit the ground. How long had the kid been standing there? Hadn't he heard of knocking, or at the very least clearing his th
roat? "Have you any idea how long it's taken us to sort these?"
"Oh right, yeah, sorry." Mikey grinned, opened his bag, and pulled out a heavy reference book.
"What's this?" Donovan opened it and flipped through the pages quickly without waiting for an answer.
"It's about birds," Mikey explained. "I found it in the school library today." He snatched it back, turned a few more pages, and laid the book on the table. "There!" He pointed to the picture on the page. Tomas placed the button next to it so they could compare them. There was no mistaking the likeness between the two. "It's a falcon, the same as on the button. I knew I'd seen the bird before somewhere, but I couldn't remember. I tried Googling, but it was a pain in the arse, and then I found this book."
"If the button came off the uniform of those soldiers or whatever the hell they were and Alice talked about seeing falcons the last time she saw Christian, they have to be connected," Tomas reasoned.
"Could they be some kind of police?" Donovan added his own theory. It made sense that the buttons on their uniform might reflect the name of their organization. "If they took Cat, it's not that out there that the same thing happened to his cousin, is it? Especially considering Cat said something about a second transgression; that might have been the first one."
"So he's been arrested for something?" Mikey shook his head. "But Cat's a good guy. Why would someone want to arrest him?"
Tomas sighed. "Sometimes it is the good guys who get arrested, Mikey. If there's some kind of revolution going on where he comes from or he's done something he shouldn't have, that would be enough. It might not necessarily be something we think of as bad, but different societies have different rules."
"Well that sucks," Mikey announced. "We'll have to mount a rescue party like in the movies and break him out of jail. That might be cool."