Clare brushed at her arms. “That makes my skin crawl.”
The timer on the oven beeped. Excusing herself Clare went in and set the ham slices on plates and added sweet potatoes. She carried the plates outside and then returned for the ramen salad. Dishing it up into wooden salad bowls she added slivered almonds that she had browned earlier. For a while the talk between them was general, but eventually Ruth asked about Clare’s day. The older woman listened intently as Clare described her discoveries.
“So it was the squeak of the door and the angel doorbell that brought back some of your memories?”
“Not enough unfortunately,” Clare said. “I can’t really understand why I can’t remember anything concrete before I was four. The pictures of my parents don’t trigger any reactions. Only things about the house have nudged at my subconscious.”
“I’ve read about people who have something like situational amnesia. Something has happened — an accident or some tragedy — and their mind has blocked the entire incident from their memory. It’s as if it never happened.” Ruth finished the last of her salad. “I think it’s God’s way of protecting us from deep pain.”
“Do you think I saw my mother murdered?”
“It’s possible I suppose. It seems more likely that your memory lapse was due to the sudden separation from your parents. Just imagine what a trauma that would be to a child.”
Clare poured them each another glass of wine and they drank in silence, watching as the light changed over the lake in the setting sun.
“How did you like Nathan Hanssen?” Ruth asked.
“He was incredibly kind.” Clare felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “Our phone call had been rather bristly so I was not prepared to like him.”
“By the look on your face, I’d say it was quite the contrary.”
Clare tried to ignore the twinkle in Ruth’s eyes but her mouth widened in a grin. “I have to admit I liked him very much. He invited me to the Farm Exhibit on Sunday.”
“Ah men. Always trying to seduce women through the viewing of man toys.”
“Really, Ruth.” Clare tried to look arch but ended up giggling.
“I think it would be good for you to get to know Nate. He’s had some rough times in his life and he has a quick mind and might be able to help with your search.”
“I know his wife drowned, but I don’t have many details on that. According to my notes, it was after her death that he went into his reclusive state.”
“The town grapevine had it that the marriage was on rocky ground. Nate had been dating her so long that it was more or less expected that they’d marry. From what I could gather, Rebecca Hanssen was basically a small-town girl with no ambition other than to be a wife and mother. No question that they loved each other, but no one thought it was a good match.”
“What a shame. Erika could use a mother.”
“So the fair-haired child was there. What did you think of her?”
Clare hesitated, unsure how to put her opinion into words.
“She’s not exactly spoiled,” she finally said. “It’s more a case of a bright child who knows how to push all the buttons to make her father react.”
“Very good. And much kinder words than most people would have used to describe the girl.”
“I can imagine. It’s an interesting dynamic between the two. They’ve been together so long that Erika knows her father’s emotional moods. She knows how to keep his attention.” Clare pursed her mouth in dismay. “As you might have sensed, she saw me as a rival.”
Ruth nodded in agreement. “Yes, that would figure. I saw something similar quite recently when Erika and Nate were at the library. He got to talking to the mother of one of Erika’s classmates, a divorced woman, when suddenly Erika knocked over one of the rolling carts. I just happened to be looking in that direction and realized the girl had done it deliberately to get her father’s attention.”
“I suspect they’re in for a rough patch. Even knowing him so little, I sense he’ll eventually see the problem and try to correct it. It’s logical that Erika should almost feel like a surrogate wife since they’ve been each other’s companion for so long.”
“And when the hormones start bubbling up, Erika will need the strong support of a father not a friend.”
“Doesn’t he have any family here?”
“No. His parents were living in Florida when his father died. His mother’s still there. Nate’s an only child and there are no aunts, uncles, or cousins around.” Ruth smiled across at Clare. “You see. You have more in common than you knew.”
To get Ruth off the subject, Clare said, “I almost forgot the dessert.”
She hurried inside and set the water to boil for tea while she cut two pieces of the coconut cake. She got out lemon and sugar and tea and set them on a tray. When the water was ready, she carried the tray outside. At the first taste of the cake, she was reminded of the incident at the grocery store.
“I almost forgot to tell you what happened yesterday. It’s got me somewhat freaked out.”
While Ruth ate her dessert, Clare told her about the woman in the grocery store. When she finished, the older woman looked puzzled.
“Are you sure she called you Abby?”
“Absolutely. It came out as naturally as if she’d always known me.” Clare set her empty plate on the tray. “Since I don’t look much like either my father or my mother or Rose, I thought she might have seen a picture of me sometime after I’d grown up.”
“Could Rose have been in contact with someone in Grand Rapids all these years?” Ruth asked.
“Isuppose it’s possible. I wasn’t aware of anyone. At one point I was sort of into stamp collecting and Rose saved me some stamps. States other than Illinois but none that I can remember. I was far more interested in the stamps from other countries.”
“Were there a lot of those?”
Clare squinted her eyes as she tried to remember. “There were quite a few. Mostly from Europe, but one or two from China. The Chinese stamps fascinated me. When I asked who sent them, Rose said they were from her best friend from high school.”
“Then it’s possible that she did keep in contact with someone. And if so, she might have sent pictures of you as you were growing up.”
“Now all I have to do is find someone who went to school with Rose and lived in China.” Clare’s voice held a hint of sarcasm in it. “I wonder if it was the woman in the grocery store.”
“It’s curious that she left the store without talking to you again. Why would she avoid you?”
“That’s just one more thing I don’t know. It worries me that someone knows who I am though. I’d hoped to keep my identity secret.”
“It doesn’t sound like this woman is going to spread it around since she didn’t have the courtesy to introduce herself.” Ruth waved her hand in dismissal. “Just go along as before unless someone challenges you. For all anyone knows you’re Clare Prentice, here to do a story on Nate and an update on the famous murder.”
“My whole life has been based on some sort of deception. I hate lying to anyone here.”
“Other than holding back your real identity, your cover story is the truth.” Ruth set her empty cup down with a soft clink. “My that was a wonderful dinner. I especially loved the cake. A perfect end to the day.”
“I’m so glad you could come tonight. It’s wonderful to have someone to talk over all this with. My head’s whirling with each new fact and discovery.”
“You’re welcome to tell me anything,” Ruth said.
“Thank you,” Clare said, feeling slightly guilty.
Although she felt at ease talking to the older woman, she hadn’t shared the fact that Nate had given her the plastic bag and the box. It was something she wasn’t ready to talk about since her own feelings were so ambivalent.
“What’s your plan for tomorrow?” Ruth asked.
“I want to go to city hall and look up whatever records I can find on my parents. Once
I have some actual facts I can begin to build a picture of what my life was like.”
“Good girl. You may not find the answer that you’re looking for on why your father killed your mother, but at least you’ll have a sense of time and place.”
Asense of time and place. Clare ran the words over in her mind after Ruth left. Perhaps that was what she was seeking. She cleaned up the kitchen and got ready for bed, pointedly avoiding looking at the closed drape across the closet. Tomorrow she’d open the box. She needed the safety of sunlight around her in order to delve into any more family secrets.
She read for a while in bed. The air felt heavy with humidity but there was still a good breeze through the open window. Turning off the light, she lay relaxed, listening to the sound of the loons on the lake, as she drifted away.
The explosion woke her. She sat up in the darkened room, shaking from the sound in her head. A flash of light blinded her and she screamed.
S
Chapter Nine
Another flash of light blinded Clare and the explosion that followed brought her fully awake. It was only then that she realized that it was thunder and lightning. She turned on the light and, seeing the open window, she threw back the sheet and hurried across the room to close it. The floor was wet beneath her bare feet.
Taking a towel from the bathroom, she wiped off the windowsill and the dresser, then the floor. She hung the wet towel over the shower rail and returned to the bedroom. The clock on the bedside table read four o’clock. She didn’t think it had been raining long since there wasn’t that much water on the floor. Chilled and shaking, she climbed back into bed.
She bunched the pillows up behind her and pulled the sheet and a blanket up to her chin. Her heart was still pounding in her ears and she tried to slow her breathing to a more even pace. When she closed her eyes, quick bursts of pictures, like a broken series of films, played inside her head.
It was the old dream.
When she was a child, Clare had been plagued by a dream that turned into a nightmare when she was stressed or upset. As she got older, the dream had only come occasionally and had stopped altogether until she discovered that she was adopted. Then it returned. At the time she put it down to stress, but now she wondered.
It was always variations of the same dream. In this one she was running. Lost in the woods. It was raining. Just a slow misting spray and then it turned into a steady downpour. Lightning flashed all around her. She was holding something in her hand, trying to protect it from the rain. She saw an old wooden boat. A pirate appeared in front of her with a knife in his teeth. Suddenly she tripped and fell. There was blood on her nightgown and thunder crashed all around her.
Then she woke up.
Huddled under the blankets, Clare could still hear the thunder but now it was farther away. Her breathing wasn’t so labored and she could feel her heart beat slowing to a more normal rhythm. With the light on in the bedroom, she felt safe. The fear engendered by the dream was fading, however, in its place was a vague uneasiness.
This time the dream had started with the squeak of the screen door.
It was the sound she had heard at Nate’s house. The sound that had first triggered her fainting spell. Had the dream actually happened? Was she just reliving something that had really occurred in her own house twenty-five years ago?
So many questions. An occasional answer, all leading to more questions.
The dream was probably a combination of things. Maybe it revolved around her being taken away from her parents at the age of four. Maybe she had morphed the whole trauma into being kidnapped by pirates and trying to return to her home in the woods. She probably would never know the true meaning of the dream. It would eventually fade away again, to return, she supposed, when she was upset.
The storm had passed and now the thunder was a low rumble, well spaced from the occasional flashes of lightning. Warm and drowsy after her scare, she snuggled deeper in the covers and reached up to turn out the bedside lamp. She watched the flickering glow outside the window, her eyes heavy-lidded as sleep approached.
Thelast thing she saw was the angel doorbell at Nate’s house. Although this time the angel was on the front door of an older version of the house. The house she had been living in at the time of the murder.
Clare came awake slowly. It was eight thirty. The cottage felt stuffy with the windows closed. She padded across to the window and frowned as she stared out at the gloomy day. It looked like the storm of the night might still have some rain to deliver. The sky was overcast and the water in the lake was a gray, leaden color. It suited Clare’s mood.
She had slept fitfully after wakening in the night. Each time she dozed she would find herself inside another dream, one more unsettling than the last. It wasn’t the recurring dream. Just a series of nightmares where she was being chased or she was chasing someone.
After her shower, she felt considerably better. She put on white cotton slacks and a blue and white striped jersey. She carried her sandals to the living room, dropping them by the back door. The paper was at the front door and she flipped through it while she had breakfast. A small town newspaper felt so much more personal than the Chicago papers she was used to. She was almost finished when she heard the scrape at the back door. Opening it she found Waldo, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth and tail fluttering in greeting.
“Good morning to you too,” she said. “How about a stroll to the dock?”
Refilling her mug with hot tea, she slipped on her sandals and went out to the porch, stopping to pat the dog. He followed her asshe walked down to the dock and sat beside her with his head on her knee.
“Your owner must have to bathe you every night.” She stroked his head, feeling the silken fur under her fingers. “Was it Jack? No, Jake, I think.”
She stared across the lake, wondering which house was his. It wasa long way to the opposite side, and unless the man was using binoculars she wondered how he’d spotted Waldo with her on the dock. Of course, with Waldo’s habits, the man probably spent all his time searching for him.
Drinking her tea, she tried to plan her day. Despite the fact she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was inside the box, she knew she had to open it. Even out of sight, behind the curtained doorway of the closet, it was on her mind. She might as well do it when she went back up to the cottage. Then she could get on with her day doing research at the courthouse.
“Well, my friend, it’s time for me to get to work.” She nudged Waldo’s head and he reluctantly moved so she could stand up. “There must be a shoreline full of dead fish for you to roll in. You might rethink your day. Find that patch of mint and spend a little more time in that.”
Walking back to the cottage, Waldo padded after her, leaving her at the steps to the porch. She cleaned up the breakfast dishes and then reluctantly returned to the bedroom. Pulling back the closet drapery, she took the box from the shelf. Back in the living room, she sat down on the sofa.
The box was about a foot square, sealed with packing tape. An envelope was taped to the top. On the front of the envelope the name of Thatcher Hanssen was written in a bold cursive. Underneath his name in smaller letters it said: Hold for Abby.
She pried off the envelope, slit the flap with her thumbnail and drew out a handwritten note.
Thatcher, I tried to deliver the box Jimmy Newton left behind for Abby, but Rose refused to accept it. She doesn’t want the child living in the shadows of the past. She doesn’t want her to know anything about her background until she is older. Please keep this until Abby comes to get it.
Yours,
Owen It took a moment before she could take in the real import of the letter. Nate’s father apparently knew she was living with Rose. And Owen had to be Judge Owen Shannon, Ruth’s brother and her best friend Gail’s father. The man she knew as Uncle Owen had known her identity all along. Had he somehow arranged everything? Was he the one who had provided the fake birth certificates for both Rose and her “adopted�
� daughter? She wondered howmany other people had known who she was and where she was.
She dropped the letter on the coffee table where it lay, face up. Over and over she reread the sentences. She couldn’t bear to think about Rose’s refusal to take the box. Without knowing what was in it, she couldn’t make a judgment. Clare didn’t know what she would have done in a similar case.
Her overriding emotion was anger. It was just another example of the conspiracy of silence that surrounded her whole life. She could understand that Rose wanted to protect her while she was a child, but when had she planned to tell her? Clare had been twenty-six when Rose died. She had known she was dying because she had a very aggressive form of breast cancer. Clare had quit her job to be able to help care for her.
Yet Rose never said a word.
In the last days of Rose’s life, Clare never sensed that there was anything her mother wanted to say to her. Never any indication that there was unfinished business between them. It had to have been a conscious decision on Rose’s part not to tell her about the adoption. Did she assume that it would never surface?
Rose must have forgotten that she’d told Dr. Craig about the adoption when she became their family doctor. Except for the coincidence of the breast biopsy, that one fact might never have cometo light.
Furious at the deception, Clare couldn’t remain still while her emotions were in such upheaval. She got up, pacing the living room, front door to back door, side to side. She wanted to throw something as the anger built inside her. She felt like a child, crying out that the world wasn’t fair.
The phone rang in the midst of her turmoil.
For a moment she felt disoriented and stared blankly at the cell phone beside her purse. The second ring brought her back to reality and the third ring broke through her immobility and she crossed the room to answer it.
Conspiracy of Silence Page 12