by Lesley Diehl
“I’m Sara.”
“What is going on, Megan?”
“I was worried about Sara. I went back to get her. I thought she could stay here with us.”
“She should be with her parents. Where are they?”
“Dead,” said Megan.
“Please don’t send me back there.”
“Back?”
“She means back to Father. When he finds out I took her, he’s going to be angry at both of us.”
“You must have a guardian, right? ”
“Could you put down that flashlight? It’s hurting my eyes,” said Megan.
“Oh, of course. The power went out, but my generator kicked in.” I got off the cot and hit the wall switch. The lights came on in the small room. “You both are soaked through. Where were you during the storm? Outside?”
“No, we went to my favorite hiding hole, that old hops barn up over the ridge.”
The hops barn. So many memories for me there. It was where Ronald, Michael, and I went as kids to play brewer.
“But most of it has fallen down. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking it was the last place Father would look for us.”
She was right about that. I considered telling her Father had seen the two of us together, and he might suspect she was staying with me, but I decided it was more important to get my visitors into dry clothes and feed them.
“You’re both shivering, and I’ll bet you’re hungry, too.”
Sara looked up at Megan. “It’s safe to eat her food? It won’t kill us like it did Bruce?”
“Yes, perfectly safe. I had a cup of herbal tea here earlier.”
Sara gave me a smile. “Oh, goody. I’m awfully hungry.”
I opened the outside door and walked into Father Charles. He was not alone. Two young men, taller than I and muscular, were with him. I felt trapped in my own barn. That made me angry enough to say the one thing I knew he hadn’t counted on.
“Run!”
Megan and Sara dashed across the tasting room toward the door to the patio. Megan twisted open the lock, and they sped up the hill toward the trees while I got as much of my body into the way of the three men as I could. The taller of the two younger men knocked me to my knees and ran across the room and out the door, pursuing the retreating girls.
“Let them go,” called Father Charles.
“You can’t make Megan come back. She’s an adult, and Sara has a guardian who might want to know what happened to her,” I said.
Father threw back his head and laughed.
“I don’t know what you find so funny. I think I’ll put in a call to Deputy Ryan right now and tell him you were trying to kidnap the girls.” I took out my cell and flipped it open.
“You do that, and we’ll see who’s charged with kidnapping.”
“Me, you mean?” Now it was my turn to laugh.
“I’m Sara’s guardian.”
I flipped my phone closed.
“How can that be?”
“The court appointed me after her parents were killed in an auto accident. There were no other relatives. I was the pastor of the church they attended, and I was happy to step in. Sara has been quite content living with me and the other lambs. Until now, that is. I don’t know how you won their loyalty, but it’s not good for either of them. Megan has a dark side, and I fear she may have been responsible for her brother’s death. Now she’s trying to lead Sara down the same road, a bad one, the road to you, to damnation.”
“Get off my property. You’re trespassing.”
“If you hear from the girls, I’ll expect you to get in touch, or you’ll hear from my lawyer.”
He walked out of the tasting room door. The two men hesitated and eyed me as if they expected Father might have further orders as to my disposal.
“Take your goons with you,” I shouted. Brave words, but my knees were shaking.
I made certain all three of them had left, then completed my call to Jake.
“I’d better come over and help you look for the girls,” he said.
“I can find them by myself.”
“If you do and harbor Sara, Father Charles will have every legal right to bring in his lawyer, and I’d have to arrest you for kidnapping a minor. You know the law, or you did until you let your emotions get in the way of good legal sense.”
I thought about his words. He was right.
“So where do you think they went, Hera?”
“Uh, I’m not really certain I know.”
“You’re lying to me. I can hear it in your voice.”
“I can’t let that man take her with him. I don’t care if he is her legal guardian. There’s something funny going on in that group.”
“Abuse? Emotional, sexual?” he asked.
“Maybe both. It might be best if I petitioned for a hearing in family court to have his guardianship set aside and someone else appointed in his place.”
“Who would be willing to take on any of those odd children other than their own parents? And those kids don’t want to go back to their parents. Sara can’t.”
“Me. I would take her.”
In case Father and his two muscle men were watching my house, I made my way over the ridge and to the old hop barn without using a flashlight. I’d gone this way so many times in my childhood, I could walk it with my eyes closed. The storm had passed hours ago, but colder weather followed it, the first we’d had this fall. I pulled my old barn coat around me and clasped my knapsack to my body. In it I had packed clothes for cold weather, some hot cocoa and peanut butter sandwiches. I remembered Sara’s yearning for food earlier tonight.
Clouds hid the moon. I picked my way along the path with caution, aware that the storm might have knocked down branches. When I descended the hill just above the hop barn, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
“Megan?” I startled a deer who had bedded down for the night in a grassy area to the side of the path.
“Sorry.” I gave a self-conscious laugh for my apology to an animal who couldn’t understand me.
The barn burned years ago, and the community had blamed Ronald Ramford for setting the fire. Most of the building was fallen and charred timbers, but one corner still supported a section of roof. If the girls were here, they would be tucked back under that crumbling section.
I stepped across the old threshold not expecting the log which lay in my path. I fell face first, catching myself with my hands before my head hit the dirt floor.
“That’s new,” I said to myself. Before I could get up, someone delivered a blow to my head, and everything went black.
I came to slowly with Megan kneeling beside me, a look of worry on her face.
“We didn’t know it was you. We dragged the log there to trip anyone coming in, then I used this,” she held out a tree limb the length of her forearm, “and hit you.”
“It happened just like we planned it,” said Sara.
“Not quite,” I rubbed the side of my head where the make-shift weapon had made contact. “You ambushed the wrong person.”
“I know, I know. I’m so sorry, but it was too dark to see your face,” said Megan.
I sat up. The movement made me dizzy. “How long was I out?”
“Oh, not long. A few minutes,” Sara said. Megan nodded.
I was glad the blow was delivered by Megan, who was small and not very muscular. If someone had put punch into it, I might be dead.
“Okay. Where’s my knapsack?”
The girls felt around on the floor and found it where it had fallen.
“There are clothes and food in there.”
They put on the flannel shirts and jeans I’d packed for them. The garments were too large, especially for Sara, but rolling up the sleeves and cuffs made them wearable.
“Oh, peanut butter. I love this. I haven’t had it for a long time.” Sara bit into the sandwich and continued eating until it was gone.
“There’s cocoa, too.” I watched t
hem eat as if they’d never had such a feast. What was that man feeding the people in his flock? Everyone in the group, with the exception of Father and the two men with him tonight, looked pale and much too thin.
When they finished, I knew I had to tell them my plan for Sara’s emancipation from Father. It would take courage on her part, and I worried she might not be up to facing him down in a courtroom. Yet, both she and Megan had shown plenty of determination with their booby trap. My head hurt, and I probably needed to see a doctor to determine whether I had a concussion, but the future of the girls came first.
“You’ll have to tell the judge what happened with Father and why you don’t want to stay with him,” I said. “Do you think you can do that?”
“Do I have to tell you about it?” she asked.
“If you want to, but not now. Now we need to get out of here and get you someplace safe.”
~
Several hours later my friend from county social services had finished talking with Sara. Kathleen Genovese came out of the room into the hallway at the county office building where I was waiting, nursing my headache.
“You look terrible,” she said, “but I guess I would look as bad if I’d been chasing these girls around the county in a thunderstorm.”
“Right.” I rested my elbow on the bench’s arm and propped up my aching head with my hand. I thought it better not to tell Kathleen about the ambush at the hop barn.
“Well, here’s where we are. Megan is an adult, so I can’t help her, but I can put Sara in a foster home until we get a hearing. Since family court is backed up, I don’t expect that for a month or so. Until then, I can’t let her go back to Father Charles, not with what she told me about him.”
“He hurt her.”
“From what she told me he was emotionally abusive. He liked to use humiliation as punishment. Sara apparently has become the group’s scapegoat. I don’t think she’s told me everything, but she’s very clear about being terrified. For that reason alone she shouldn’t be with him.”
Kathleen took a seat beside me on the bench. “Here’s the problem. She refuses to go to a foster home. I can understand her fears. She’s only known the horrible side of someone other than her parents looking after her. I think if I place her, she’ll simply run away. We can’t have such a fragile child, well, any child really, out on the streets.”
“I’ll take her.”
Kathleen shook her head. “Any other time, I’d say yes, but with the controversy over the murder at your place, I can’t do that.”
“You’re going to listen to the rumor mill in town?”
“I won’t, but the judge might. There have been no other complaints against Father’s group. He may be viewed as odd around here, but he’s done nothing criminal so far. I want this procedure as squeaky clean as it can be. Father doesn’t like you, Hera, and he’ll try to make the case that social services didn’t do the best for Sara if I place her with you. We need a neutral party and one she’ll stay with instead of bolting.”
“I have just the solution,” I said.
The paperwork was finished quickly. Kathleen drove Sara to her temporary home that morning. I followed in my truck. I had let Kathleen make the call to Sara’s new foster parents, but I worried that, being the generous people I knew them to be, they had agreed to take Sara because she had no other place. I should have known better.
It was perfect. Ronald and Deni welcomed Sara as if she were one of the family. As for Sara, the first thing she asked Deni was, “Can I have bells on my skirt hem too?”
From the moment Sara walked into Ronald and Deni’s kitchen, she was their child. The only one who worried about the immediate bonding was me. What if the judge decided Sara had to go back to Father Charles?
As for Megan, I had invited her to live at my place. I told myself and Megan the offer was not merely charity. Without students interning at the brewery, Jeremiah and I could use another hand. She was reluctant at first, but she acquiesced. I convinced her to fill out the necessary W-2 form, which I would drop in the mail on my way into town. No one could say I was taking advantage of the young woman if she was legally one of my workers. I had gotten a bit paranoid with the college and community gossiping about my supposed role in Bruce’s murder.
I had no time to obsess about Sara or Megan. I’d done what I thought was best for them. I jumped back into my truck and sped down the road for home. I had less than an hour to spare before the meeting set up with Marshall Harrington, his lawyer, Sally’s attorney, John Costa, who was her close friend, and the individual handling the Ramford estate, Ramford Senior’s lawyer, Reginald Farraday. I had promised Sally I would be there in her place. Headache or not, I had to attend.
I needed a quick shower, not only so I would look presentable, but to help wash away the fatigue of too little sleep the last few nights. I looked at myself in the rear view mirror as I drove. It will take more than soap and water to make this face look human, I thought. Maybe a little mascara and blush, and a lot of concealer under my eyes.
~
“Go on in,” said Claudine, Farraday’s secretary.
“I’m late, I know.” I took a deep breath to settle my nerves.
Who was this man who claimed to be Michael Ramford Sr.’s son? If his claim was legitimate, he could stand to inherit much of the Ramford estate. He could be the only son of Mr. Ramford if Ramford’s wife Claudia’s demented ramblings were true. She sometimes claimed one or both of her sons were my father’s and not her husband’s, yet at others, she denied this. DNA would finally reveal the truth, but were any of us involved ready for that? With Marshall Harrington making a claim on the Ramford estate, we had no choice but to let science settle the issue.
I turned the doorknob and stepped into the room. The man standing at the window across the room was no stranger. He smiled and held out his hand.
“Michael? But you’re dead!”
Eight
“I assure you I am very much alive, but my name is Marshall, not Michael.”
The headache I thought I’d successfully conquered in the hot shower came roaring back like someone clanging pots inside my skull.
“You must be Hera,” he said.
I managed to nod.
“Maybe you should sit down,” Farraday said. “There’s no color in your face.”
I tried to gather my senses together. “I had an accident earlier today. Nothing serious, but my head isn’t quite right yet. I’m fine.”
“He does look like Michael, doesn’t he?” John Costa, the lawyer representing Sally, whispered to me. “Imagine what the shock would do to Sally if she were here.”
It wasn’t merely that his physical appearance was the same. He was Michael. He even had Michael’s mannerism of constantly running his fingers through his curly hair. Only his voice was different, lower, and fine lines around his eyes argued he had to be older than Michael. Still, the resemblance was uncanny.
“From what I’ve heard about you, Hera, I’m surprised my appearance would shock you. Aren’t you the tough one?”
Maybe I did have that reputation. After all, I ran a brewery, typically a man’s job. I had been a tomboy all my life. Tough? But this? How tough can a person be when confronted by a dead man?
“I apologize for staring so. You do look similar to, uh, him. Well, it’s a shock. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.” In my mind, I knew I would not get used to seeing Michael in front of me, because he was someone I thought about often. Did I really try hard enough to save him? I replayed the scene over and over in my mind, my hand reaching for his, the look on his face as he let go.
Attorney Farraday introduced me to Marshall’s legal representative, Dominik Esperanza, and we settled down to discuss the estate and those making claims on it. Since Ronald was one of the inheritors, along with his mother Claudia, today’s meeting included only those individuals who were not named in the will but were responding to the ad in the newspaper, asking for claimants to come forward.
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I had difficulty following what was said during the meeting. I continued to stare across the table at Marshall while he smiled back at me.
“We’re meeting here today informally as a prelude to settling the Ramford estate. Michael died without a will, having inherited, along with his brother and mother, the Ramford estate. My client, Sally Granger, is soon to give birth to Michael’s only child, so she has a legitimate claim on the estate for her unborn,” said John.
“If she allows a DNA test of her child. And maybe it’s not Michael’s only child, if he takes after his old man,” Marshall’s lawyer said.
Horrid man. That was in poor taste.
“That will be a matter for the court to decide, not for speculation or rumor,” I said.
“Oh, boy. I got the little lady going, did I? I understand you and Michael were romantically involved,” Esperanza said.
“Leave it.” Marshall’s tone of voice was commanding, and the lawyer sat back in his chair and took to doodling on his note pad.
“I’m ready to submit to a DNA test to establish my claim on the estate. I’m not trying to take away from your friend Sally, but simply to obtain what my father, if he knew of my existence, would have wanted me to have,” said Marshall.
“That sounds reasonable, but I’m wondering why you came forth now and not earlier, when Ramford Senior was alive?” I knew I asked the question on everyone’s mind.
“My mother married when I was young, and although she told me about my biological father, I always thought of Donny, her husband, as my father. I didn’t want to hurt him. He’d done everything for me, but he died just a month ago. When I read the announcement in the newspaper, I thought it was time to step forward. I know the timing is awkward.”
“Awkward or convenient?” John asked. His tone was testy. This was not going to be the friendly meeting the claimants might have expected. What if there were more who came forward, I wondered?
“I’m sorry it looks that way. I’m not trying to make anyone’s life difficult, but I am a Ramford.”
I jumped in. “You’re within your right to come forth. There’s no point in arguing about why now and not before, because these claims center on DNA testing. It’s that simple. The law must entertain your case as it will any others who claim a part of the estate, and there may be others.” My tone was snappish.