“Ah. I see,” An-Shing smiled and bowed that “half-sort-of bow” Kari had seen now several times. “Auntie told us a little of how you found Rose’s journal, but we would all be most pleased to hear it again. Could you tell us how you came to find it?”
Kari wanted to resist their intrusive questions. She stared warily from person to person in the room, wondering what was going on, until she reached Alannah.
“Kari,” Alannah assured her again. “No one wishes to take Rose’s journal from you, but . . . it has been missing a very long time. We are only curious as to how you found it. I would love to hear you tell us. Please?”
Kari still sensed something odd emanating from the eager expressions aimed at her, but she relented. It was easier to look at Alannah and talk to her, so she did.
“I lived in Albuquerque until recently,” she began. “A law office in New Orleans contacted me in April and said I had inherited my great-uncle’s estate.”
Kari was leaving a lot out. They don’t need to know my personal business, she decided.
“Part of his estate was his home. It was built around the turn of the century and has a separate garage in the back. I . . . found a trunk in the garage filled with my grandmother’s clothes. Her evening gowns. Beautiful handbags and gloves. That sort of thing.”
Alannah was listening intently. Kari chanced a glance around the room and saw the same intensity in the others. Her narrative stumbled to a stop. What is going on?
“Very nice, Kari,” Alannah encouraged her. “Please continue.”
Kari gathered her thoughts. “Um. At the bottom of the trunk I found a small wooden box. Inside was a cloth bag. A book was inside. I opened it and found the inscription: Rose Thoresen. My Journal. You know the rest.”
“The inheritance came through your great-uncle?” Quan asked the question softly.
“Yes. It was his house.”
“Do you happen to know how he knew Rose Thoresen? How the journal came to be in his possession?”
Kari sighed. “You know, I have asked myself that same question. My grandmother, Alicia, died in 1929 so I assumed her clothes were packed away soon after she died. But the box at the bottom of the trunk had been put there long after that.”
“Oh? How do you know that?”
“I know it was put in later,” Kari said, “because the box had a seal on it—a strip of thick paper glued around it with the year ‘1957’ written on it. I have no idea why.”
“And your great-uncle did not know her?”
“I really can’t say. I never met him. I didn’t even know he existed until recently.”
Her listeners stirred and turned questioning looks toward Quan. “I pray you will forgive our inquiring minds, Ms. Hillyer, but can you tell us how it is that you did not know of your great-uncle before the attorneys contacted you?”
Kari sat back and stared at him. “I’m not sure that I am comfortable with how personal your questions are becoming, Mr. Liáng.”
He sighed. “I am so sorry, Ms. Hillyer. I apologize for our intrusion . . . it’s just that . . . well, we’re trying to figure out how Rose’s journal turned up so far away. Can you understand and forgive us?”
Kari thought about it. It irked her that she was baring her family’s business in front of a room of perfect strangers. Well, perhaps not complete strangers . . .
What harm will it do? she decided.
“If I tell you what you are asking, will you let me ask you about Rose? Will you tell me about her?”
“It would be our pleasure, Ms. Hillyer,” Quan agreed. “Anything you wish to know.”
Kari looked around. The twenty or so in the room were waiting for her to continue. “My parents died when I was six.”
Her words hung there because suddenly Kari’s tongue dried up in her mouth. “I am so sorry, Kari,” Shan-Rose touched her hand gently. A little angry, a little embarrassed, Kari jerked her hand away.
“Whatever. It was a long time ago.”
If she didn’t sound heartless, if she didn’t make herself be heartless, she would break down. And that, Kari vowed, I will not do in front of these people.
She gritted her teeth and ground out, “A few months ago, out of the blue, some attorneys from New Orleans sent me a letter. It was the first time I’d heard of a ‘Great-Uncle Peter.’”
Quan cleared his throat. “You’ve not had an easy life, Ms. Hillyer. I’m so sorry we have opened old wounds.”
She shrugged and clutched her handbag in her lap. The thought of Rose’s journal, safe inside, helped her to calm. Her words always comfort me, Kari realized.
“Ms. Hillyer? May I ask a question?” It was Sean Carmichael.
Kari shrugged again.
“Your father . . . God rest him. How old . . . do you know in what year he was born?”
What sort of a question is that? Kari frowned and looked up at Sean. His expression was sincere.
Whatever.
“Daddy was born in 1911. His mom was a widow. They lived with her husband’s brother. Uncle Peter.”
“Your father was born in 1911?”
Every eye was on her.
“Yes. February 2, 1911.”
Shan-Rose murmured something to herself. An-Shing and Quan began whispering together and a few of the group stood up and joined them. Kari heard a few words, but they were in Chinese.
They might as well speak out loud, for all I can understand, Kari groused.
Sean and Alannah Carmichael said nothing; they kept looking at her, and Kari noticed that Alannah was grasping her father’s hand.
Then there was Mixxie. Even though she said nothing, anger and antipathy radiated from her toward Kari.
What have I done, Kari wondered, to warrant such strong emotion from this annoying girl?
The whispering stopped and people resumed their seats. Kari noticed that they were all looking at her again.
“What? What is it?” she demanded.
“Ms. Hillyer, would you do us a great favor?” Quan spoke quietly, seriously.
Kari was about out of patience. “Well, what?” she snapped.
“We would like to discuss, uh, some family business for a few minutes. Would you care to join Mixxie in the kitchen? She would be delighted,” Quan skewered Mixxie with a stern look, “to keep you company and serve you some iced tea.”
Then he looked expectantly at Kari.
“Wait. You want me to go sit in the kitchen?” Astonished, Kari turned to Shan-Rose. “You asked me to come here this morning. You said you would tell me about Rose! This is . . . not right!”
“Oh, we will, my dear, we will. I promise,” Shan-Rose soothed Kari. “But—and just for a few minutes—we would like to discuss something important. Without you.”
Incredulous, Kari stared at her and then around the room. Alannah was nodding, trying to encourage Kari to just go along with the request.
“Whatever.” Kari jumped up and, in a huff, marched toward the door. She jerked her head at Mixxie. “This had better be an outstanding glass of iced tea. And not instant, either!”
She stalked out of the great room with Mixxie on her heels. “Which way?”
Mixxie turned toward the back of the house and Kari followed, disgruntled and not a little confused.
Sean and Alannah listened to the babble of Chinese as the Liáng family members all sought to voice their opinions at the same time.
“Right now I’m rather sorry I didn’t make an effort to learn Mandarin.” Sean raised his brows and slanted his eyes toward his daughter.
“In other words, you’d like me to translate the mayhem?” Alannah chuckled, “Just because I did make the effort?”
“You made the effort to be a good police officer. In this city, knowing Chinese is an edge, just as knowing Spanish is. So. What are they saying?”
Alannah listened for a minute. “Well, some of them are wondering why Kari’s father’s birthday doesn’t exactly match Edmund’s. An-Shing suggested that Dean Morg
an wouldn’t have been stupid enough to use Edmund’s exact birth date.”
“I would have to agree with that,” Sean nodded.
“Pretty much all of them think Kari has no clue.”
“I agree with that, too. Who’s the holdout?”
“Peng. He thinks she might be an opportunist, a gold digger, playing us.”
“Hmm. I don’t know. She doesn’t look like she’s hurting any financially. And she says she just inherited her ‘great-uncle’s’ estate? Are you going to check that out?”
“I certainly am. I need a few more details to go on. I’m going to offer my services to give Kari a tour of the house. I’ll ferret out what I need while we talk. Then I will make some inquiries.”
“Do you have sources in Louisiana?”
“I know someone who does.”
The discussion among the Liángs seemed to wrap up. Quan and An-Shing walked over to Sean and Alannah. “This is a most momentous turn of events, don’t you agree? How long our families have been praying! So many years! And now God, in his own timing . . .” Quan’s voice cracked a little. “It is most humbling to see his hand at work.”
The three of them nodded.
“Did you hear our discussion?” Quan asked Alannah.
“Yes. I agreed with most of it.”
“Do you have a means of investigating Ms. Hillyer’s ‘great-uncle’ whose estate she says she has inherited?”
Alannah nodded. “I will gather a few more details and then it should be fairly easy to check out her story. Do you think this ‘great-uncle’ of hers is—”
“After all this time, I’d rather not form an opinion; I’d rather have facts,” Quan answered. “The very mention of Dean Morgan’s name has become synonymous with conjuring the family boogey man.” Quan looked as if he’d tasted something sour.
“What will you tell the others?” Sean asked Quan.
“I will call tonight and tell them everything we know so far.” He looked to Alannah. “The more you can verify, the better.”
“And what will you tell Kari?” she asked. This was the sticking point in the discussion she’d listened to.
Quan studied the floor, thinking. “I favor letting this play out a bit longer. The question is, does she really know only what is in that journal? I suppose Peng could be right—she could somehow have uncovered our families’ shared history and be playing us along—but what profit in that could there be, after all?”
He stroked his chin. “For what it’s worth, that’s not what I believe. I trust the Holy Spirit to give me good discernment. Peng, as you know, is not as devoted a follower of Christ as we could wish. He is quite . . . distrusting.
“Besides,” Quan added, brightening. “Just look at her! Those eyes? Have you seen pictures of Joy when she was younger? Of course, they weren’t in color, but I knew her and I remember . . .” His voice trailed off.
“So we shouldn’t say anything to her about . . . ?”
“I think we tell her only what she asks for. If possible, we skirt around the . . . issue. Let the others see her first and decide.”
Kari and Mixxie sat at the kitchen table in silence. Kari looked at Mixxie and finally spoke, if just to break the wall of ice. “Your family is a bit old-fashioned.”
The girl snorted and cracked her gum. “You . . . have no idea.” She eyed Kari and then looked away, drumming her fingers on the table.
“So . . . Mixxie is a cute name. Different. I’ve never heard it before,” Kari tried again. “Is it a nickname?”
Mixxie cut a glance at Kari, suspicion oozing from her narrowed eyes. “The family saints cast long shadows,” she muttered cryptically.
Huh? “Uh, sorry—I don’t understand.”
“You came in here yesterday asking my great-aunt if she were Mei-Xing Li, as if—as if!—Mei-Xing Li would still be alive in 1991? Even our family saints don’t live to a hundred!”
She added in a snarl. “That woman’s shadow has hung around my neck like a millstone all my life.
Mixxie.
Mei-Xing?
“You’re named for her?” Kari breathed. “Your name is Mei-Xing?”
“Don’t call me that. Ever.”
The kitchen went silent, the atmosphere icy again. Kari studied the worn wooden table, wondering how old it was, wondering if Rose had sat at it, had sat in her chair.
It’s the same room, even if it’s not the same furniture, she consoled herself.
“Still, it must be great to have a family.” Kari ventured further, hoping to raise the temperature a notch.
No response other than the fingers tapping in time to some unheard beat.
“I don’t know what having lots of relatives is like,” Kari added. “See, I don’t have any family at all.”
Lame, she ridiculed silently. Pathetic.
She cast around the kitchen, trying to imagine Rose and Breona having coffee together in the early mornings before the rest of the house awoke. She was really getting into it, envisioning Marit rolling out her famous ginger cookies, when she realized the tattoo on the table had stopped—and had been replaced by Mixxie’s “evil eye” drilling into her.
“Don’t even start with your phony sob story,” she hissed. “The whole ‘I don’t have a dime’ and ‘you must be my long-lost family’ is wasted on me. Got it?”
Kari drew back at the girl’s vehemence. “I-I’m sure I don’t know what you mean—”
“I said, got it? Don’t waste your breath on me. In fact, just shut it altogether.”
Kari exploded. “I’ve had just about enough of your vile attitude and lack of manners, little girl. Where I come from, children don’t speak unless spoken to and when they are spoken to they answer ‘yes sir’ or ‘yes ma’am’ or they keep their yaps shut. I suggest you do the same before I shut yours for you.”
Mixxie’s mouth went slack in shock. Kari could see Mixxie’s wad of gum, pale green, on the back of her tongue.
Disgusting.
While she still had control of her hands and hadn’t committed battery, Kari stormed out of the kitchen and down the long foyer. She stood in front of the double doors leading into the great room. She was shaking with rage and frustration and almost flung open the doors. Almost.
This is by far the weirdest—and rudest—experience of my life, she fumed.
Instead of barging in, she turned around and paced to the foot of the beautiful staircase and stared up to the landing, one hand on her hip. The wood was polished until it burned with an inner fire. The carpet runner was classic Victorian, all brilliant budding and blooming flowers.
I’d so love to go up and look around, she yearned. I know just which room Rose used. Perhaps Shan-Rose will allow me to. Or maybe she will ask one of the relatives to take me on a tour?
The doors to the great room opened and Kari, reluctantly, turned toward them.
“Ah, Ms. Hillyer.” It was Fen-Bai, Mixxie’s mother. She looked around. “Mixxie isn’t with you?”
“Your daughter has quite the mouth on her,” Kari said bluntly. “I decided not to keep her company in the kitchen any longer. Speaking of ‘longer,’ how much longer will this family confab take? Shan-Rose invited me here today to talk about Rose and about Palmer House, but so far all I’ve gotten is grilled by all of you.”
Kari waved her hand in the direction of the great room, and did not mask her irritation.
“Just so. I am so sorry. Yes; Mixxie is quite a handful, and I apologize both for her behavior and for our leaving you to her, er, devices. Please accept my humble apologies for all of us.”
Kari looked aside and decided to shelve her annoyance. “All right. I accept your apology.”
She sighed. “It’s just that I have come a long way to learn more about this amazing woman. I mean, I didn’t even know I was pronouncing her name wrong. Tor-eh-sen, is it? Shan-Rose promised to tell me about her. I imagine there aren’t many still alive who can.”
Kari’s voice had grown plaintive at t
he end and Fen-Bai looked at her strangely.
“And what is with the way all of you keep looking at me?”
Her question was cut off, though, as the doors to the great room opened. Quan nodded to her. “Ms. Hillyer? Will you join us again?”
Kari shot a glance at Fen-Bai and then followed Quan into the great room. They were all watching her again, one or two speculatively, but most with simple curiosity. And acceptance?
Shan-Rose patted the arm of Kari’s chair so Kari walked over and sat down.
“Ms. Hillyer, you came to Denver to discover what you could of Rose Thoresen and the others who lived at Palmer House. We’re so glad you did. In fact, we believe The Lord himself directed your steps, and we have truly enjoyed making your acquaintance.
“We will be taking our leave in a few minutes. However, Alannah has agreed to stay and give you a tour of the house. I hope you will enjoy doing this?”
He looked for Kari’s agreement and she nodded vigorously. “Yes, I certainly would.”
“While she is doing that, I believe my sister will take a short rest. Then, after lunch, she would be pleased to share many memories with you, but we feel there are others who can—and who would be honored—to tell you even more.”
Quan smiled a little. “We would like to send you on to RiverBend, Nebraska, Kari.”
Kari caught her breath. “Isn’t that where Rose and Jan lived?”
“Yes, it is. And you—I mean, they, that is, Jan and Rose and Joy—still have much family there. We will call ahead and let them know you are coming.”
Kari blinked. “That is so very . . . nice. But won’t they, I mean, they don’t even know who I am—won’t that be quite an imposition?”
Quan smiled wider and Kari decided she really liked this old man. “My dear, leave it to me to let them know,” his smiled deepened further, “who you are.”
He placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “Please trust me: They will be quite happy to see you.”
~~**~~
Chapter 17
Quan looked around the room. “Shall we conclude this family gathering with prayer?” Heads nodded and a few replied, “Yes.”
Lost Are Found (A Prairie Heritage, Book 6) Page 19