At the Corner of King Street

by Mary Ellen Taylor

  “How old was I when I started showing signs?”

  “When you were little you cried a lot. You were afraid of shadows. Afraid of the dark. But Mom thought it was kid stuff. Quirks.”

  She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “When did you know?”

  “When you were eleven. Remember when you took your shoes off in the winter and ran around the snowman I built? Your feet were blue by the time I convinced you to go into the house. You kept laughing. Calling me silly. An old woman.” Even our mother worried over her daughter’s blue toes.

  Janet tipped her head back, coaxing the memory from the shadows. “I thought it was so much fun. I thought I was the snow maiden.”

  “Yeah, I remember. It got worse in high school. The boys. The parties. You never ran out of energy. And then one day when you were in the eleventh grade you didn’t get up in the morning. You stayed in your room for two weeks.”

  “The first crash into depression.”

  “Yeah.”

  She cradled Carrie in the crook of her arm. “I don’t want her to run circles around snowmen.”

  “Neither do I. But she might.”

  Janet stared at the baby, carefully placing her palm under the baby’s hand. “Such a tiny little hand. So vulnerable.”

  A knock on the downstairs door made Janet wince. She couldn’t bear any more stimuli and I didn’t want to leave her alone with the baby, but I rose and walked to the threshold. A glance down the stairs, and I spotted Zeb and Eric.

  Eric was grinning, holding a colorful red box. As always, Zeb’s expression remained guarded against the unexpected. Smart man.

  “Zeb.” My tone added sharp edges to his name.

  His hand went to Eric’s shoulder, stopping the boy’s advance up the stairs. “What is it?”

  “I have a visitor.”

  Darkness hardened the line of his jaw. “Scott.”

  “No.” The baby began to cry. I didn’t know how to say this without Eric hearing. There was no softening the blow. “My sister.”

  The words didn’t quite connect with Eric immediately, but they slammed hard into Zeb. His fingers tightened on Eric’s shoulders, and he slowly knelt in front of the boy. “Did you hear that Eric? Addie’s sister is here. Your mom is here.”

  The boy’s eyes widened, and he jumped up and down. “Mom is here?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’s she doing?” the boy asked. “Can I see her?”

  Zeb looked up to me, his expression asking: What kind of disaster are we walking into?

  Carrie’s deep-throated cry wafted into the rafters. “The baby is fussy, Eric.”

  He rolled his eyes. “She’s always fussy. Can I see Mom?”

  “Sure. But you need to come up the stairs slow and soft.”

  “Not like a herd of elephants? That’s what Dad says when I run up the stairs. Elephants have big feet.”

  “I know. But your feet aren’t that big.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Come up quietly, and you can see Carrie and your mom.” I glanced over his head to Zeb. “Give me a second or two head start?”

  “Understood.”

  I hurried back to the room where Janet was jostling Carrie, who grew increasingly fussy. “Janet. We have visitors.”

  She looked up at me, the flicker of panic clear and sharp. The baby’s cries were unraveling her loosely woven composure. “Who?”

  “Eric. And Zeb.”

  Her eyes closed and for a moment she shook her head, hinting this was too much. “That’s great.”

  I moved forward, my hands outstretched. “Let me take the baby.”

  Janet’s grip tightened.

  “Eric is going to require all your attention.” I moved closer. “He’s a spitfire.”

  Just as I spoke, little elephant feet clamored up the stairs, and Janet allowed me to take the baby into my arms. I held her close, so grateful to have her back in my arms that tears burned my throat. She wasn’t my child. I had no legal rights, but I couldn’t give her to Janet and simply hope that my sister kept her life together.

  I rocked Carrie slowly from side to side, and her cries softened as Eric ran into the room. “Mom!”

  The baby startled and turned toward the sound of her older brother’s voice, accepting loud yells as part of her odd little family.

  Janet rose and turned to face her son. Weeks after giving birth, her frame was thin and her blond hair full and bright. Just like all the pictures Zeb saved for Eric.

  Janet extended her hands, and he ran toward her and burrowed his face into her belly, hugging her so tight his little fingers whitened. She raised her arms and very slowly tightened her grip. For a long time Eric stood there, holding her, trying to make up for years of no hugs or kisses.

  Both Janet’s children forgave her. Eric and Carrie didn’t care about curses, long absences, highs and lows, or bad choices. They loved Janet. Her spirit or aura ensured that no matter how much trouble she made, she’d always win them back.

  I wanted Eric to be happy. I wanted him to love his mother, but it hurt a little to see him so enamored with Janet. When my sister arrived, I became invisible to Carrie and Eric and everyone else. More threads of connection thinned.

  Drawing in a breath, I held Carrie a little closer. When I looked up, I found Zeb staring at me. His features hardened, reflecting a brittleness akin to ice. Eric and Carrie may have forgiven their mother, but Zeb had not.

  A smile fluttered at the edges of my lips. It was a pitiful attempt to say, I know. I know. She’s lobbed another grenade into our lives.

  He looked away, unwilling to accept an alliance, any connection or kinship with a Shire. His son was all he needed.

  Eric kissed his mother. “Mom, I missed you so much! I got all the birthday cards you sent me! I keep them in my room.”

  Janet looked at him, her fingers smoothing his short-cropped hair. “Cards?”

  “The birthday cards!” he said laughing. “The last one had a race car on it.”

  Confusion darkened her gaze. “Baby, you said a race car?”

  “A red one. You sent him a card with a red race car on it. Don’t you remember?” Zeb asked, as he shifted his stance. “Hello, Janet.”

  She didn’t quite raise her eyes to meet her ex-husband’s. “Zeb. You look good. Eric looks great.”

  Zeb nodded, but said nothing.

  “I’ve grown a lot since you last saw me.” Eric stood a little straighter to exaggerate his height.

  “But you still have the same nose and the same eyes,” she said.

  Eric touched his nose. “How do you know I have the same nose?”

  “Because it’s like mine. When you were a baby, I could look at you and know you were mine because of your nose.”

  “People say I look like Dad.”

  “You do. Every other part of you is him.” She touched his nose with the tip of her finger. “But not your nose. That is me.”

  He giggled and touched his nose again with chubby fingers. “I like my nose.”

  “Good.”

  Eric looked toward me. “Addie, you don’t have our nose.”

  “No, honey, I don’t. Mine is shorter.”

  The boy inspected his sister’s face. “What kind of nose does Carrie have?”

  I glanced at the baby, whose eyes were wide, alert, absorbing it all. “I don’t know. It’s all hers. Very pretty.”

  “But not Mom’s nose. Not mine.”

  “No.”

  He grinned, clearly glad he shared something special with his mother. “That’s okay. She looks like Mom more than me.”

  Zeb cleared his throat. “Janet, where’re you staying?”

  “With a friend.” She brushed her fingers against Eric’s cheek.

  “Are you
staying in town?” The question was soft, conversational, with no hints of the fear and worry I knew raced through his mind. Janet had turned his life upside down once before, and he weathered the storm. But he and I knew we all swirled gently in the eye of the hurricane and it was only a matter of time before the winds picked up and blew faster and faster until they reached a crushing strength. Zeb and I could ride out her next storm, but Eric and Carrie would be swept away by it.

  “I don’t know.” She smiled at Eric. “I’ve missed my boy.”

  Zeb’s jaw tightened as he slid his hands into his pockets. “How did you get here?”

  “I took a cab.”

  “Eric and I can give you a ride. No sense you spending your money.”

  Her fingers stilled as she brushed Eric’s bangs back. She didn’t like being told what to do. We all knew that. But her pale, gaunt features and the tremor in her hands told us both she was tired. Rest was critical for her now. Sleep allowed her brain and body to heal. We’d avoided the problem of Janet for the last couple of weeks, but she was here now and wasn’t going away anytime soon.

  I smoothed my hand over the top of Carrie’s head. “Go get some sleep, Janet,” I said. “No one is going anywhere, and you do need to sleep.”

  She turned toward me. The apology that lingered behind her eyes when she arrived had vanished. “Sure, but I’m coming back.”

  “I know.”

  She hugged Eric close. “I love my kids.”

  “No one doubts that,” I said. What we doubted was her ability to care for the children.

  Zeb rattled the keys in his pocket. “I’m parked out front.”

  “Always so organized,” Janet said. “Always.”

  She walked toward me and leaned down and kissed the baby. I didn’t tense, reach out, and touch Janet or offer her a hug. I was too scared. Too worried that she’d take my baby away.

  Eric took Janet by the hand. “Come on, Mom. You can see our car.”

  She kept smiling. “I can’t wait, baby.”

  “I’m not a baby, Mom.”

  She rustled the top of his hair with her delicate fingers. “You’ll always be my baby.”

  Eric giggled.

  Zeb looked at me. “You have everything you need?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Janet shook her head. “She’s like you, Zeb. She’s always had her act together. I’m the one that’s broken.”

  Eric squeezed her hand tighter. “You’re not broken, Mom. “You’re perfect.”

  “Thanks, baby.”

  I followed the sound of their footsteps down the stairs and listened as Zeb closed the main door and locked it behind him.

  Just Carrie and me. Alone. The tears caught in my throat loosened and within seconds fell down my cheeks.

  * * *

  When Scott called an hour later, I was sitting in the living room with a glass of wine in my hands. Carrie had fallen into a heavy sleep, but my nerves were wired so tightly I wasn’t sure if I would ever sleep again.

  “Scott.” I nestled close to the phone, needing him. Tell me it’s going to be all right. Tell me we are fine.

  “You sound tired.”

  “It’s been a long day. Crazy.”

  “I saw the e-mails you copied me on. You’re staying on top of the business. I don’t know how you do it.”

  That rattled an unsteady laugh. “Neither do I.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He lowered his voice and hesitated, knowing he entered dangerous territory. “How’s the baby?”

  “She’s fine.” I held the wineglass up to the light, turning it and watching the wine slide down the inside of the glass. When the wine dripped like this, experts called this tears. “Janet is out of the hospital. She came by today.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  When she was in the hospital, we were all assured a little normalcy. Now, it was anybody’s guess. “It should be.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  He didn’t understand the disease or the curse. Both never fully relinquished control of our lives. “Time will tell. I’m hoping she can hold on to this.”

  “She saw the baby?”

  “Yes.” I pictured Janet holding Carrie. Fear circled but I chased it away.

  “You don’t sound happy,” he said.

  “I want the best for the baby.”

  “Isn’t being with her mother the best thing for her?”

  Carrie had settled easily into Janet’s arms. She hadn’t cried. She cooed. “If Janet is healthy.”

  “You just said she was doing well.”

  “For now.”

  “You sound like you don’t want to give the baby back to Janet,” he said.

  “Honestly, I don’t.” The words rushed out before I could wrestle them back.

  “Addie, we’ve talked about this.”

  “Have we, Scott? You said you didn’t want a baby now. I, like always, agreed.”

  “Like always? What does that mean?”

  Frustration scraped and scratched under my skin. I went along, very willingly, with everything Scott wanted up until this moment. He knew what he wanted, and it was easy, exciting even, to follow a dreamer with a plan. I rose and walked into the kitchen and stared out the window toward the busy street below. “I’m not blaming you.”

  “You’re still not explaining yourself.” His tone turned crisp, sharp, as it did in the wake of a hailstorm at the vineyard.

  I traced my fingers in circles on the counter. Round and round and yet going nowhere. “Janet may think she can care for Carrie alone, but she can’t. She’s going to need help.”

  “That’s what Social Services is for, Addie.”

  “No, Scott, it’s my job to keep the Shire family on track. I’ve done it since I could barely walk.”

  “Then why did you move down here? You haven’t seen your family in seven years.”

  “Time doesn’t seem to matter. I’m here, and I’m needed.”

  “What if Janet doesn’t want your help? You’re making a big assumption.”

  My voice sharpened to a knife’s edge, freshly honed on a whetstone. “I know. But I will be there for the baby’s sake.”

  A frustrated sigh leaked through what I imagined were clenched teeth. “So you’re just not coming back.”

  And there it was—the choice—stripped bare for us both to see. Scott or the baby. “I was hoping we could figure this out together. I thought we were a team.”

  “We’re a team. But getting between a mother and child is huge. It’s also not smart or very legal.”

  “She’s sick.” Janet’s time in the hospital did not mean she was fixed. She’d never really be fixed.

  “Did she act sick when you saw her?”

  Frustration rose up within me. “She seemed fragile.”

  “Was she acting crazy?”

  “No.” Not yet. Not now.

  “Give her a chance.”

  His arguments all made good sense, and any smart lawyer could conceivably convince a judge that I was overstepping. But I knew it would end badly. “I can’t trust that Janet and the baby will be fine. I can’t watch her drive out of Alexandria with my fingers crossed and hope.”

  “You’ve been the caregiver in that family for all your life. You just admitted that. Maybe you don’t know how to be around the family unless you’re running the show.”

  “Do you think this is something I wanted? I thought we had a pretty good thing.”

  “I thought we did, too. I also thought we were on the no-kid plan. We’ve always said kids were a very, very distant idea.”

  My grip on the phone tightened. “I didn’t create this problem.”

  “And you don’t have to solve it either. Carrie is Janet’s child.”

 
“Janet is sick.”

  “You haven’t given her a chance.” After a long pause, he said more softly, “Addie, I love you. I love the life we have. The life we had.”

  I closed my eyes, wishing for a clear solution. But left or right, up or down, in or out, someone was going to lose this battle. The baby’s fussing would grow louder and louder until she got her bottle. “I love you, too, Scott. But I have to go.”

  “This is not over. We have to talk this through.”

  “Sure.” Talking wouldn’t change the choice. “We need to talk again.”

  “I love you.”

  I hung up the phone and leaned against the counter as the baby’s cries magnified. Scott and I could talk all we wanted. We could examine the pros and cons. And, in the end, a choice would have to be made.

  And someone would lose.

  October 5, 1751

  There was an accident at the tobacco warehouse today. A stack of hogsheads toppled on Ben Talbot. Dr. Goodwin was summoned but he pronounced the man dead. Faith came running to the warehouse screaming when she heard the news about her husband.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  When the front bell rang the next morning, my first reaction was annoyance. The baby was taking her morning nap, which meant ninety minutes of silence to upload the pictures I took of the salvaged items from the Prince Street basement and get them listed in our new online eBay store.

  When the bell buzzed a second time, my thoughts skittered to Janet. She had great timing. When I needed something, so did she. Time, Carrie, none of it mattered. Janet simply took.

  Rising, I moved quietly down the stairs, summoning more reasons why the baby needed to stay with me.

  Standing on the stoop was a tall, lean man dressed in a charcoal gray suit. His hair was cut neat and crisp around his angled face. He wore dark sunglasses and carried a slim briefcase.

  “Can I help you?”

  He studied me closely. “I’m looking for Addie Morgan.”

  “I’m Addie Morgan.”

  He reached in a coat pocket, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me. Raised letters and a linen stock told me he cost big money. Harold S. Gray, Attorney-at-Law.