Five minutes later, at two fifteen, or shortly after a piano concerto at the University of Chattanooga had come to a close, Margaret carried her sleeping charge into her room and placed her in her crib. She stuck around for a few seconds to see if Hannah would remain asleep and then exited the room, closed the door, and moved toward the living room. She made it about five steps when the house's lone telephone began to ring.
Margaret rushed into the kitchen and picked up the receiver on the third ring. She answered with a simple "hello."
A woman with a pleasant voice responded.
"Is this Mrs. Rasmussen?"
"No. This is Margaret Doyle, Mrs. Rasmussen's neighbor. I'm watching her daughter while she and her brother are attending a piano concerto."
"Oh. Well, this is Linda at Dr. Johnston's office. I'm calling to let her know we have rescheduled an appointment she made for Hannah."
Margaret looked around the kitchen.
"Can you hold for a moment while I look for a pen?"
"Of course," Linda said.
Margaret gave the kitchen a quick inspection. Seeing no pen or paper, she moved to the living room and then David's bedroom. She opened the center drawer of what looked like a writing desk. She found a pad of paper, two pens, and a host of other things.
Sensing that Linda from Dr. Johnston's office was getting impatient, Margaret grabbed the pad and one of the pens and raced back to the kitchen. When she arrived, she lifted the receiver off a Formica counter, put the pen to the pad, and started talking.
"I'm back," Margaret said.
"OK. Just tell Mrs. Rasmussen that Dr. Johnston would like to see Hannah at nine o'clock on August 17 instead of July 17," Linda said. "That's a Friday. Did you write that down?"
Margaret scribbled on the pad.
"Yes. I did."
"Then that's all you need to remember."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," Linda said. "Y'all have a good day."
"You too."
Margaret hung up, tore the top sheet from the pad, and left it by the phone. Then she walked back to the bedroom to return the pad and the pen to their rightful places.
She reached the desk a moment later and placed the items in the open drawer. As she started to close the drawer, however, she noticed two envelopes with South American postmarks. Succumbing to curiosity, she picked one of them up.
Even before she looked at the letter inside, Margaret suspected something funny. Who besides diplomats and businessmen corresponded with people in Buenos Aires? She scanned the letter and saw more that did not make sense. What did the writers, a Geoffrey and a Jeanette, mean by "fellow travelers" or "comparing notes" or "embassies" or a "rendezvous" on September 27? Who were these people?
Margaret quickly went through several other items, including a letter from Cartagena, birth certificates, a college degree, medical records, and information that suggested false identities. She read as much as she could until she heard a car door slam.
She stepped to a window that faced the street, saw David and Claire get out of their car, and then rushed back to the desk. She put all but one of the papers where she had found them, closed the drawer, and ran out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
Margaret picked up the note and considered her limited options. If she left the note by the phone, Claire and David would know she had gone through the drawer. If she memorized the time and the date of the doctor's appointment, she could share the information verbally and perhaps buy some time.
For thirty seconds, she wrestled with guilt, shame, and indecision. She closed her eyes and tried to think of an easy way out, but she couldn't. Then the front door opened.
"Hello," Claire said. "We're back. Is Hannah still up?"
Margaret examined the note one more time, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the living room. When Claire repeated her question, she tucked the note in a pocket, picked up her pace, and turned a corner. She greeted her neighbors with a nervous smile.
"No," Margaret said. "She's not up. I just put her down for a nap."
CHAPTER 42: DAVID
Sunday, July 1, 1945
Carrying a folder filled with letters, certificates, and documents, David stepped out of his house, walked to the patio table, and took a seat opposite his sister. He didn't really want to talk about the items, but he knew that they had to. When you discovered that someone had gone through your personal papers, you talked about it.
David settled into his chair, gently placed the folder on the table, and waited for Claire to speak. When she didn't, he did.
"That's everything," David said.
"Are you sure?" Claire asked.
"I'm sure."
"How do you know?"
David sighed.
"I know. It's not like Geoffrey gave me the Library of Congress."
"Can I ask an obvious question?"
"Why not?"
Claire frowned.
"Do you think Margaret did it?"
"I don't know," David said.
Claire studied her brother's face.
"I think you do. You know I didn't do it. Hannah couldn't do it. Ron's been gone for weeks. Unless Mr. Finch went through the house while we were away, no one else could have gone through our stuff."
"I just can't believe Margaret could have crossed that line," David said. "What possible reason would she have to go through my desk?"
Claire tilted her head.
"Maybe she was looking for something and found the papers by accident. We know she took a call from Dr. Johnston's office. Maybe she sought a pen and paper and looked in the only place in the house where she could find a pen and paper."
David took another breath.
"Suppose you're right. Suppose she discovered the papers by accident. Does that change anything? If she took the time to examine the documents, she knows we're not who we say we are. She knows her new neighbors are imposters and maybe worse."
"That's a big if," Claire said. "I think it's possible, even likely, that Margaret opened that drawer. I don't think it's likely that she pulled up a chair and read every piece of paper that she saw. That's an assumption I'm not willing to make at this point."
David nodded.
"It's an assumption I don't want to make."
"I know," Claire said. "I feel the same way. I want to believe that a woman I trust to look after Hannah is a woman I can trust to look after our personal belongings."
David smiled sadly.
"I do too."
"I hear doubt in your voice. Do you think there's even a chance someone else could have gone through your desk?" Claire asked. "If you do, then now is the time to speak. I want to explore this matter thoroughly before I allow Margaret back into our house."
"I don't know what to think."
"David? If you have something to say, then say it."
David fidgeted in his seat.
"I'm not quite sure how to put this."
Claire stared at her brother.
"Just speak plainly."
"OK. I will, if that's possible," David said. He paused. "I think we're being monitored."
"Monitored?"
"You heard me. For weeks I've had the feeling we're being watched. Since I started working for Carter Galloway, the feeling has intensified. On several occasions, while making my rounds, I've noticed the same men in the same places at the same time of day. It could be just a coincidence, but I don't think so. I've seen these men too many times."
Claire laughed.
"Is this my rational brother talking?"
"No," David said. "It's the brother who has believed everything is possible since walking through a magic tunnel and popping out in 1945."
"Who would monitor us?"
"I don't know. I just know that anyone interested enough in me to follow me on my rounds might be interested enough in us to go through our house."
"I agree," Claire said.
"There's another thing too."
"What's tha
t?"
David frowned.
"I have the feeling someone is reading our mail."
Claire sat up straight.
"I've thought that for weeks."
"You have?" David asked.
Claire nodded.
"Every letter I've opened in the past two months has been loosely sealed. I dismissed it at first as a coincidence, but now I'm not so sure."
David leaned forward.
"You know the military censors mail."
"I do," Claire said. "I assume that every letter from Chicago has been read at least once, but I'm not talking about Ron's correspondence. I'm talking about virtually every letter I've opened, including the ones from Geoffrey and Jeanette."
"What should we do about it?"
"I'm not sure there is anything we can do about it."
David frowned.
"You don't think Margaret is responsible, do you?"
"No," Claire said.
"I don't think so either."
"I'm glad you feel that way."
"Why?" David asked.
"Isn't it obvious? If we thought Margaret was opening our mail, we couldn't possibly justify continuing our friendship with her. We couldn't justify associating with her in any way, shape, or form. If we can't trust her with our mail, we can't trust her with anything."
"So what do we do next?"
"We trust her," Claire said. "We trust her and watch her and hope that if she really did go through your desk, she did it for the best of reasons."
David looked at his sister thoughtfully.
"Is she still spending the Fourth with us?"
Claire nodded.
"I called her this morning to confirm. I want her to spend the whole day with us. I think it's important that we give her the benefit of the doubt, at least for now."
"I agree," David said.
Claire gazed at her brother.
"I'm going to check on Hannah and see if she's still asleep," Claire said. She put her hand on David's arm. "When I do, I want you to put those papers away. Put them in a place where no one can find them easily. I want to put this matter to bed."
David nodded and sighed.
"I do too."
CHAPTER 43: MARGARET
Walker County, Georgia – Wednesday, July 4, 1945
The mood on America's 169th birthday was festive. Despite concerns over a likely invasion of Japan and the lingering effects of a five-month recession, the United States, or at least this corner of Georgia, was happy, optimistic, and buoyant.
Thousands of people from three states had descended on this lakeside retreat to enjoy water sports, amusement rides, food, music, and fireworks. If there was a Grumpy Gus on the grounds, Margaret Doyle didn't see him. All she saw on the Fourth of July were smiling parents, excited children, and love-struck couples.
Margaret waved to one smiling parent, Claire Rasmussen, and her excited child as she moved with David Baker through a rope line at the Ferris wheel. She liked sharing smiles with Claire, who was celebrating a birthday of her own, almost as much as she liked spending time with her gregarious, fun-loving brother.
Though she sensed a slight chill in her relationship with her neighbors, she suspected it would not last. Claire, David, and Margaret had too much in common to let a bump in the road, if that's what it was, get in the way of friendship.
Margaret hoped that was the case anyway. Four days after perusing papers she was not supposed to see, she still felt the sting of guilt, shame, and remorse and just wanted the whole thing to go away. She valued her neighbors and wanted to keep them in her life.
At eight fifty-five, just as the setting sun dipped below Lookout Mountain, Margaret handed a ticket to the ride operator and led David to an empty chair. A moment later, they settled into their seat, snapped the safety bar into place, and braced for the ride.
Though the Ferris wheel was arguably the least taxing of the park's ten rides, it was the most popular and had been for years. A hundred feet high, it was as tall as a ten-story building and offered commanding views of the grounds and the Georgia countryside.
Margaret waited for the ride operator to load the next couple in the car ahead and then turned to her neighbor and friend. She wanted to gauge his mood and perhaps ask a few questions she couldn't ask in the presence of others.
"Thank you for bringing me," Margaret said. "You didn't have to."
David met her gaze.
"Of course we did. You're our friend."
"You know what I mean."
"I suppose I do."
"You've made other friends here," Margaret said. "You could have brought Betty or Barbara or even one of the clerks at the other firms. Constance tells me you're pretty popular there too."
David chuckled.
"Your friend talks a lot."
Margaret frowned.
"David?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you upset with me?"
"No," David said. "Why do you ask?"
"I guess because I sense a change in you."
"I'm not upset. I'm just a little sad. I have a lot on my mind. I don't know how much longer Claire and Hannah and I are going to stick around."
"Claire told me as much today," Margaret said. "She said you're planning to fly to San Francisco in a couple weeks and may not come back."
David frowned.
"Then you know the source of my sadness."
Margaret paused as the operator loaded more passengers and her chair moved ever closer toward the top. She wondered what he meant by "sadness." Did David think of her as more than just a friend? All of a sudden, Saturday's discovery did not seem that important.
"I would understand if you decided to stay in California," Margaret said. "It's your home. You have to do what makes you happy."
"That's the problem," David said. "I don't know what makes me happy. I do know that I've enjoyed my time here and that I'm not quite ready to move on."
"I understand."
In fact, Margaret didn't understand a thing. She was more confused than ever. Was David sending a message? If so, did it matter? She was engaged — happily so — and had no more reason to be troubled by David's departure than that of any other neighbor on St. Elmo Avenue. Even so, she was curious and wanted to know more.
"Have you told Mr. Galloway you may not return?"
"No," David said. "I haven't."
"Are you going to?" Margaret asked.
"I haven't decided."
"That's not very professional."
David smiled sadly.
"No. It's not."
Once again, Margaret scratched her head. Why was David telling her things he had not told his own boss? Why was he telling her anything important?
"Well, for what it's worth, I hope you stay," Margaret said. "I have enjoyed your company and the friendship of your entire family. I will miss you if you go."
"Thanks."
David smiled, this time warmly, and placed his hand on hers. The surprising gesture sent a subtle surge through her body and left her excited, frightened, and confused.
The moment did not last. David released Margaret's hand as soon as the Ferris wheel, which had for minutes moved in fits and starts, began a steady roll.
Margaret cheered.
"Here we go!"
David chuckled.
"Here we go."
The friends smiled and placed their hands on the safety bar as the wheel completed its first rotation. Both seemed to be in their element.
A few minutes later, as she and David again reached the top of the wheel, Margaret noted the sights below. There was a lot to see. Even at dusk, she could see Claire and Hannah and hundreds of people doing hundreds of things. Many waited in lines or watched others enjoy rides. Some walked through the grounds with ice cream cones, boxes of popcorn, or spools of cotton candy. A few found quiet contentment on benches or blankets.
No matter where she looked, Margaret saw people having a good time on one of the most glorious days of the year
. She saw the kinds of things she had sought for twenty-four years and rarely managed to find. If this was how normal people and normal families spent their holidays, she wanted more of it. She wanted a lot more of it.
So, apparently, did David. He waved to Claire and Hannah as they neared the bottom of the wheel and smiled as they began one more trip toward the top.
"This is fun," David said. "I haven't done this in years."
"Don't you have Ferris wheels in California?"
"Oh, we do. I just don't ride them."
Margaret laughed and then gazed at her companion with admiration. Of all the things she would miss about this man, she would miss his sense of humor the most.
Margaret started to say something but stopped when the brightly lighted wheel began to slow and a memorable experience drew to a close. She frowned at the prospect of getting out of her seat and doing something else. She wanted to ride the wheel again.
"I suppose we'll be the first ones off," Margaret said.
David looked at her.
"That's usually how it works."
To Margaret's surprise, it didn't work that way this time. When she and David reached the bottom of the ride, they didn't stop at the bottom. They stopped one place up. Instead of unloading the first seat first, the ride operator started with the second.
"It looks like he forgot he loaded us first," Margaret said in a cheerful voice. "Maybe he'll let us ride again."
David laughed.
"You're an optimist."
Margaret smiled.
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"It is."
"What do you want to do next?"
"We should probably join Claire and Hannah and find a place to sit," David said. "The fireworks will start in fifteen minutes."
Margaret waved to the toddler.
"Do you think Hannah will like them?"
"Do little kids like bright lights and loud noises?" David asked. "Yes, she'll like them. She'll probably squeal her way through the whole show."
Margaret considered a reply but decided to keep it to herself. She had little doubt that Hannah would welcome her first fireworks display with unbridled enthusiasm.
She waved to Hannah one more time and then turned back to David as they inched toward the top of the wheel. She noticed that he seemed preoccupied.
Hannah's Moon (American Journey Book 5) Page 18