He let out a sigh. “He’s not crazy, Kaine. He’s right.”
“He’s right?” Kaine repeated in disbelief.
Grant nodded. “The voicemails I needed to check when we got here earlier?”
“Yeah?”
His jaw muscle twitched again. Grant continued to grip Mr. Mason’s shoulder, even as the cops exited their cars. “One of them was from Joy. She was so excited, she called me instead of you. Force of habit, I guess. She found more of the story in Maggie’s book. It’s all true. Right down to the fact that Gabriella saved Maggie’s life.”
Kaine drew in a shuddered breath. “So I’m a descendent of the Fosters? The ones who trafficked women?”
They were interrupted as the police took over. Mr. Mason was whipped around to face the wall, his hands cuffed, with one of the officers quoting the man his rights. Grant turned over Mr. Mason’s gun to another cop, and the next several minutes were chaos.
“We’ll need you down at the station.” Detective Carter shook his head in disbelief as the other cops led Mr. Mason from Foster Hill House. “We need a statement with your account of what happened here. I just can’t believe it, that Mason would do this.”
Kaine couldn’t either, but neither could she speak. The sick feeling was growing in her stomach. The story—her story—was unfolding in an ugly tale. Maybe the old man was right and it should have been buried and kept dead in the annals of history. Who wanted to be remembered as the offspring of rape? A result of an antiquated ring of trafficking?
“Hey.” Grant took hold of her arm, and Kaine realized she was still shaking.
She looked up at him. “I can’t, Grant. I just—can’t fathom.”
He led her out of Foster Hill House. Kaine paused on the porch, turning back toward the place. Detective Carter stood in the middle of the doorway, watching her, but Kaine looked beyond him—toward the stairwell that led up to the third bedroom. The stairwell that was guarded by the portrait of her own grandmother, three times removed. Myrtle Foster.
“Myrtle Foster knew, didn’t she?” Kaine swallowed hard. Her throat throbbed with emotion.
Grant cleared his own throat. “I called Joy, before I saw Sophie in the field. I was going to come. I was going to tell you. Maggie recounted in her diary that when Oakwood ran Myrtle and her children out of town, Arnold had already seen his father sneaking women through Foster Hill House. After the war, he came back to Oakwood and used the house, now abandoned, as a place to stop off as they transported women to and from the North.”
Kaine turned her back to Foster Hill House and walked with Grant down the porch stairs toward his truck. Sophie danced around in the bed of the pickup, her tongue lolling out, oblivious to her role as a pawn in Mr. Mason’s attempt to distract Grant and get Kaine alone. It had worked.
“We need to go, Kaine. They need your statement.” Grant’s hand at her elbow urged her forward.
“I know.” Kaine grimaced. Memories of previous statements she’d given in San Diego washed over her. “I’ve done this before.” With her husband’s murder. By a man furious that Kaine had helped his abused wife to leave him. What was one more statement? One that would summarize a hundred years’ worth of terror and the lives of women whose horrors were finally going to be brought into the light.
Chapter 45
Jvy
The baby’s mouth opened wide in a yawn. Her red lips puckered and kissed the air a few times. Hallie turned her face into Ivy’s chest and nestled her cheek above her breast, sleep claiming her.
“She’s so tiny.” Hallie’s fingers curled around Ivy’s index finger. Her thick white-blond hair was so like her mother’s.
“I apologize,” Mr. Casey said. Joel stood in front of his old director’s desk, his arms crossed over his chest. The man ran his hand over his sideburns and down his cheek. “I had no idea. No idea.”
“Perhaps in the future, Mr. Casey, you’ll be more cooperative in an investigation.” Joel’s admonition was met with silence from the director.
“What’s to be done with Hallie?” Ivy had never considered herself maternal, but her protective nature encircled the baby as if loving and shielding her could redeem Gabriella from the grave itself. Hallie was a part of her. A part of the horrible Foster family too. But it was Gabriella’s faith, her hope, her courage that should live on in Hallie.
Ivy’s memory journal was nothing compared with a breathing legacy.
“We’re more than happy to care for her here.” Mr. Casey rounded his desk. “We will give the child the best of care. Perhaps we can place her with a family.”
Ivy gave Joel a look. A family? If what Maggie said was true, they had a small possibility, but still a possibility that Hallie’s extended family might look for her should they learn of her existence. Foster was being shipped away to a larger city to stand trial on several charges. What might be printed in the papers about Foster Hill House could expose Hallie to the world from which Maggie had rescued her. They needed to keep Hallie disconnected from Foster Hill House. For now, and in the future.
“I will be checking in on Hallie’s care,” Joel stated. Mr. Casey nodded nervously. How the tables had turned.
Mr. Casey rang a bell on his desk, and a nursemaid entered. Ivy regretfully relinquished the baby girl into the nursemaid’s arms. She watched them leave the room, Hallie’s little head resting in the crook of the woman’s arm.
“Ivy?” Joel waited at the door.
“Yes.” Ivy held herself back from chasing after the nursemaid. It wasn’t her place, regardless of what she’d been through, or what she and Joel had been through. Hallie wasn’t her child, even if she found herself invested in her life more than she had been invested in anyone’s death.
She tugged at her jacket that was tailored to her waist and followed Joel from the orphanage. As they walked down the path, Ivy placed her hand around his offered elbow. They’d spoken little since the day Foster had been captured. Ivy’s bruises were healing slowly. Maggie seemed to have found a place of permanence with Widow Bairns. Her life would continue, blessed because of Gabriella’s sacrifice.
“Maggie said Gabriella wrote often on the pages of Great Expectations and hid them. I wonder where? I saw her book that night I was attacked, but if she ripped pages out, like the one we found beneath the bed . . . where are the others?”
Joel gave her a sideways look as they walked. “Foster said he burned the book after he threw you down the stairs.”
“Oh.” Of course he had. Foster destroyed everything that was Gabriella. Everything but Hallie. “I wish I could have read all of what she wrote.”
“I suppose her words are lost forever.”
Ivy nodded. She watched a squirrel scamper across the dirt road. A robin swooped overhead. Her eyes alighted on a small patch of buttercups. Spring was here. Warmth was in the air. Something sparked inside Ivy. She wanted to hope again. Like Gabriella.
Chapter 46
Kaine
Kaine tapped End on her iPhone after calling Leah on their way back to Joy’s house from the police station. It was good to be able to tell her sister that everything was fine, and this time truly mean it. Joy flew at her when they entered the house, and Kaine welcomed Joy’s embrace. Megan threw her arms around her as well. Kaine couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that escaped. She was never much of a hugger and yet she felt so at home here.
“Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Joy pulled back. “Did they take that man into custody?”
Grant nodded and dropped onto Joy’s sofa. “For a man who stirred up so much trouble, he was a mess and ready to give himself up by the time the police arrived.”
“I think everything caught up to him,” Kaine said, leaning back against the wall. “The years of trying to cover up the Foster family history. Then when I showed up, it consumed him.”
“What I still don’t get—” Grant frowned, then straightened on the sofa and rested his elbows on his knees—“is how Foster could be so inv
olved in the museum during the time Maggie broke into it. I mean, didn’t he say he was in Vietnam when it happened? His timeline doesn’t match up.”
“Vietnam?” Joy was repositioning Megan’s ponytail. “He wasn’t in Vietnam. He’s been curator of that museum since he graduated from college in ’61. Rumor has it he dodged the draft, and like I said, my grandmother Maggie wasn’t afraid to make known she was going to protect Ivy and her family.”
“Another Mr. Mason cover-up.” Kaine raised her brows knowingly in Grant’s direction. “He was trying to throw us off the trail, one that would lead back to him.”
“Makes sense, I guess,” Grant said.
Olive got up from where she lay on the floor and hobbled over to Grant. Sophie followed. Kaine smiled at the two dogs, so comfortable with each other. Sort of like her and Grant.
“Hmm . . . I question one major detail,” he added.
“What’s that, Grant?” Joy planted a kiss on Megan’s cheek. Megan hurried away down the hall toward her bedroom.
“If Foster was part of a prostitution ring, how come it didn’t hit the papers and make more of a splash? Wouldn’t it have been all over Oakwood?”
Kaine shrugged. “This is what I fought all the time in San Diego and why human trafficking is so prevalent still today. It’s next to impossible to bring down an entire network. You catch the little guys mostly, and Foster was a little guy. If it made the papers wherever he was tried, maybe the story did get linked back to Oakwood. Who knows? Not to mention, Ivy and Maggie certainly weren’t going to offer any explanations. And remember, the courthouse burned down—the records were probably all lost years ago. So, what to us has become mysterious, maybe wasn’t so much back in the early 1900s.”
“Ah, I forgot about that,” Grant nodded.
“And,” Joy inserted, “Mr. Mason would have swept whatever he could under the rug and probably his parents did the same before him, and so on. Like my grandmother did, only for different reasons.”
“He must be a descendent of Arnold Foster’s sister, then,” Kaine reasoned. “It’s not as if Foster went on to have a family. Gabriella’s baby would have been his only offspring . . . then my grandpa Prescott, my mother, Leah and myself.”
The image of her shifting family tree drew itself in Kaine’s mind. Ivy shifted into a surrogate position, and Gabriella’s name took her place as great-great-grandmother.
Grant shook his head. “I wonder what will happen to Mr. Mason? I sort of pity him. All these years he’s been obsessed with his family name and their legacy. Meanwhile, he’s shriveled into a deceitful old man with no purpose.”
“He’s the antithesis of Ivy,” Joy said, and clucked her tongue.
“No, of what Ivy became,” Grant corrected. “Before Gabriella, it seemed Ivy was on the same path. Consumed with preserving the stories of those who had died instead of living the life God blessed her with.”
Kaine let Grant’s words penetrate her soul. Silence invaded the living room. She watched Grant as he toyed with a leather string tied around his wrist. He had been so faithful to her, so strong when she needed him to be, and had cracked through the walls of protection she’d built around her memories. Kaine moved to the sofa and sank into its cushions, her leg brushed up against Grant’s. He glanced at her in surprise. Kaine met his gaze squarely, purpose in her soul.
“I want to be like Ivy,” she said.
Grant lifted his arm and curled it around her shoulders. She leaned into him, breathing deeply, drinking in one of the first moments of peace she’d had in . . . well, in years.
Joy settled into a chair across from them. “You can, honey. You can begin to heal now,” the older woman comforted. “It’s all over.”
Kaine didn’t want to cry, but the tears burned behind her eyes. Only this time they were healing tears. She blinked. “I’ve never really cried for Danny or for me. I’ve just been running. And now I’m here.”
Grant ran his fingers through her hair. “You’re here. Where you belong. Where your roots are.”
“Where my faith can grow,” Kaine nodded.
“Yeah. Where a lot of things can grow.” Grant thumbed her bottom lip.
Butterflies danced inside her, and a wave of anticipation—of hope—brought a smile to her lips. “For sure,” she promised and relaxed into him, knowing that his friendship and probably more would be a part of her future.
“So what happened to Ivy? After all of this?” Kaine looked between Grant and Joy. “Did she adopt Gabriella’s baby after all? We found that locket in Foster Hill House. Why was it there?”
Joy bit her lip, and when she let up, red lipstick coated her front tooth. “My grandmother told Ivy’s story in her book.” Joy wagged her finger. “Now, none of those doubtful looks. She wrote tiny, and there are extra blank pages in the back. Who knew I was sitting on the answers all these years?”
“And?” Kaine leaned forward. “What did she write?”
Grant tugged her closer, and Kaine yielded. It was so nice to be held, to be cherished, to be safe.
Joy smiled. “You’ll never believe it, but Ivy’s father, Dr. Thorpe, bought Foster Hill House shortly afterward.”
“Why would he want to do that?” Grant shook his head in disbelief. Kaine couldn’t help but agree, although she didn’t say anything.
Joy shifted in her chair. “Well, I should just give you the diary to read, I suppose. But Maggie said it was his way of ensuring the house wasn’t used for evil anymore. Ivy married, and they adopted Gabriella’s baby, Hallie, and Dr. Thorpe lived with them until he died.”
“Hallie!” Kaine straightened. “My sister’s middle name is Hallie.”
“Wow.” Grant raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Kaine said. “The generational connections are becoming clear now.” Finally, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “Hallie, Gabriella’s baby, was my great-grandmother.”
“I would bet you anything that hair in Ivy’s locket is Hallie’s,” Grant concluded. “It’s symbolic of Gabriella’s memory and Ivy’s love for Gabriella’s child.”
“And I betcha her locket got lost among the belongings up there in the attic,” Joy added.
“If Ivy lived in a house owned by her father, then that’s why we found her under the Thorpe name in the census,” Grant realized aloud. “Which makes sense, since Ivy wanted to protect Hallie. That’s probably why they ended the family tree in your family Bible. Strike her from as many records as possible. Why let that legacy follow Hallie around? In a way, it’s the same reasoning as what was behind Mr. Mason’s actions.”
“Hmmm, could be,” Kaine nodded. “The census states that Ivy was married to a Joe Coldham, yet Oakwood recorded her as Ivy Thorpe.” On second thought, Kaine hadn’t quite connected the dots of her family tree.
“That’s what her name was when the events took place,” Grant said. “Her married name sort of got lost in your family with the lineage being primarily female. So names would be lost as marriages occurred.”
Kaine sighed. Names, genealogies, with over a hundred years in between? It was easy to get muddled by it all.
Grant adjusted his position on the sofa and reached out to scratch Sophie’s nose as the dog laid it on his knee.
Kaine buried her fingers in Olive’s fur. The black lab had followed her counterpart’s move and rested her muzzle in Kaine’s lap. “Funny,” she murmured, “but I’m tempted to investigate Ivy’s husband’s lineage now. Coldham. It’s a new name to me.”
“Who?” Joy’s drawn-on eyebrows shot up.
“Joe Coldham. He was listed in the census we researched.”
Joy licked the lipstick from her front tooth. “Well, my grandmother’s writing says something totally different. Ivy didn’t marry a Joe Coldham.”
“But that’s what the census says,” Kaine argued.
“Which would you believe, that census or my grandmother’s memory?” Joy waved her hand wildly in dismissal. “You know those old documents with al
l the scrolly writing? Well, I saw on TV once how last names were often spelled about eight different ways in family trees and government records. Guess that’s one plus for the digital age. Maybe we’ll get things right going forward.”
“Joy is totally right,” Grant agreed. “Some people have careers just interpreting old script.”
“Well then, who does Maggie say Ivy Thorpe married? Who became father to Gabriella’s daughter?”
Joy’s grin was infectious, and Kaine sensed that she wasn’t the only one who had found hope in the shadows of Foster Hill House.
“Oh, Kaine,” Joy breathed, “you’ll never guess. It just might be the most romantic part of this whole sordid business!”
“So tell me!” Kaine said, sharing a curious smile with Grant.
“The detective.” Joy spread her arms wide, as if somehow Kaine should have drawn the conclusion herself. “Joel Cunningham!”
Grant nodded slowly in consideration. “I suppose. Joe Coldham, Joel Cunningham. Yeah, that type of variation wouldn’t be out of the norm for a census.”
“Joel Cunningham?” Kaine frowned, remembering. “Wasn’t he the one who captured Arnold Foster? What made them marry so quickly? Was it just for Hallie?”
“Oh, honey, you have no idea!” Joy leaped to her feet. She did a little hop from foot to foot, her purple tunic top swaying over her yellow polka-dot leggings. “Hold on. I’m going to get Maggie’s diary and read it to ya. But first I need some coffee.” She swept from the room in a flourish of excitement and left a flowery perfume scent in her wake.
Grant and Kaine sat in silence, until finally his arm slid around her waist and pulled her closer. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her temple.
“I have a feeling there’s a whole other part of Ivy’s story we’re about to find out.” His lips moved against Kaine’s hair and she shivered, this time from pleasure.
She laid her head on his shoulder. “Me too.”
“Do you mind? Not having all the answers?”
Kaine considered Grant’s question for a bit, closing her eyes as she pictured Gabriella shoving Hallie into Maggie’s arms and giving her life to save them both . . . and changing Ivy’s life as well. “Family history may not always be complete, and some of it becomes foggy over time, but one thing I know.” She looked up, and Grant gazed down into her eyes.
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