Blood Kin

by Judith E. French

  “Tea is fine.” Delicious scents rose from a basket of scones, a flowered plate of tiny crescent sandwiches, and a crystal bowl of strawberries dipped in chocolate.

  “Sugar?” the attorney asked. “Please. Help yourself. I’m famished. Didn’t have time for lunch before I left the mainland. My sister Maude had these waiting for me when I got here.” He arched a graying eyebrow mischievously. “That and a tongue-lashing for keeping you waiting. She won’t let me forget it anytime soon.”

  Bailey took a deep breath and plunged in. “I went out to Elizabeth Somers’s farmhouse today. Tell me that that splendid old house isn’t what she left to me.”

  Forest shrugged. “I’m afraid it is. The farm is the only property she owned, two hundred and forty acres, a twenty-two-foot skiff, and the household furnishings. Savings aren’t much, somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred and sixty-seven thousand, I believe, mostly in CDs. Elizabeth wasn’t into taking chances in the stock market.” He took a sandwich. “Try them, please. She-crab with just a hint of chives. And Margaret makes her own bread. Wonderful.”

  Her hands began to tremble so that the thin porcelain cup and saucer began to rattle. Bailey set them down on the table, opened her mouth to make a reply, and came up blank. “I’m sorry,” she stammered when she could finally speak. “Did I hear you correctly? The bequest to me is a hundred and sixty-seven thousand dollars, that house, and over two hundred acres of waterfront property?” When Forest nodded, smiled, and took a bite of his sandwich, she continued. “An aunt that I never knew existed left all that to me?”

  Forest finished the sandwich, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and met her disbelieving gaze. “All of the land isn’t waterfront. Much is marshland, woods, and upland pasture. It’s in the form of a trust, so some, but not all, of the bequest is sheltered from taxes, but you will owe quite a bit to federal and state agencies. With the price of land today, you should have no problem covering those expenses.”

  “But why me?”

  “Simple. Elizabeth was a childless widow, your grandfather Owen Tawes’s only sister. Owen had a twin brother. There was just the three of them: Elizabeth, Owen, and Will. Your grandfather died long before you were born. Other than her estranged brother, you’re the closest relative Elizabeth had left alive. Real blood kin, as we like to say on the island. Elizabeth’s always taken an interest in your welfare. She was instrumental in your private adoption. Actually, both of your adoptive parents have distant ties to family on Tawes, but that’s going back generations.”

  Bailey couldn’t feel her feet or her hands, and she had the distinct sensation that her brain was as numb as the rest of her. “I understood that adoptive children couldn’t inherit from birth relatives. Isn’t there a law—”

  He chuckled. “Elizabeth could have left her worldly goods to the SPCA if she’d wanted to. She told me that if you turned out to be responsible, she’d always intended that you should have her home.”

  “I don’t even know . . .” She tried to organize her thoughts. “The church cemetery. I was . . . rather . . . Yesterday I was looking around. I found Elizabeth’s . . . Aunt Elizabeth’s grave, and . . .” She balled her hands into fists on either side of her lap. “Elizabeth—Beth Tawes, the sixteen-year-old. Was she my birth mother?”

  “Yes, she was.” Compassion swirled in his brown eyes. “She was a sweet girl, very bright. Everyone loved her. Except for hair color, you’re her spitting image. Beth was blond, like her mother. You have the Tawes look about you. Elizabeth’s hair was a dark auburn. Will’s too, when he was younger.”

  “How did she die? My mother. Complications of childbirth?”

  “She’d suffered some injuries in an accident. I believe the cause of death was listed as blood loss, but I suspect it was a combination of factors.”

  “What about the father? My father? Surely—”

  Forest shook his head. “Beth never said. There were speculations, of course, but no one came forward to claim paternity. You might check the church records. You were christened here at Thomas’s Chapel when you were several weeks old. There might be information there.”

  “I wasn’t placed for adoption immediately?”

  Forest shook his head. “No, if I recall correctly, you were closer to three months of age when you left the island.”

  “But why? Who took care of me? And why—”

  “Your great-uncle, Will Tawes, Owen’s twin. He assumed custody at the time of your mother’s death. Elizabeth wanted you, but Will was always stubborn. He felt you were his responsibility.”

  “But why did he give me up a few months later? And why didn’t Aunt Elizabeth step in then? Why place me for adoption if—”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer those questions.” He looked uncomfortable.

  “So the only one who can is Will Tawes himself?”

  Forest set down his cup and saucer, folded his arms over his three-button sport shirt, and leaned back in his chair. “He could give you the details if he wanted to, but he may not. Will’s not an easy nut to crack.”

  “He could at least tell me about my mother’s death. And he could identify my birth father.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not sure how much he knows. Most people on Tawes think that if he did know who your father was, he’d have shot the man years ago.”

  A shiver flashed under Bailey’s skin. “He’s a violent person, then.”

  “I don’t know if violent is the right label for Will Tawes. In my opinion, he’s a tortured soul who’s suffered great personal loss and may have been wronged by the justice system. He is a hard man, but fair. Will lives by the code of simpler times. He may have been a hell-raiser in his youth, but to my knowledge, he hasn’t been in any real trouble for a quarter of a century.”

  “He was at Elizabeth’s today. Upstairs. He said he was looking for something that belonged to him.”

  “He spoke to you?” Forest looked surprised.

  “He told me that I shouldn’t have come to Tawes, that it wasn’t safe for me here.” She edged forward in the seat. “Should I be afraid of him?”

  “No, I highly doubt that. He’d have no reason to—”

  “What if he’s angry that his sister left her estate to me?”

  Forest shook his head. “Will wouldn’t have expected anything. He’s not avaricious, and he’s no thief. If he told you that he was hunting for something of his, believe him. Will is somewhat of an eccentric. He keeps to himself, and when he does show his face, people stay clear of him.”

  Forest offered her a scone, but as appetizing as they looked, she was no longer hungry. “I’m sorry. I wanted . . . That is, I’d hoped . . .” She exhaled softly. “I’m not usually at a loss for words. I teach fourth grade, and I’m used to keeping my students’ attention for hours at a time.”

  “You were naturally curious about your birth family.”

  “Exactly. My parents—my adoptive parents—were very good to me. I never wanted for anything. But they were older when I came to live with them. I spent a lot of time in day care, and they were never . . .” She forced a smile. “I don’t mean to whine. I loved both my mother and father, and I had great respect for them. But I always felt that I was an afterthought. That perhaps they would have been happier with a miniature poodle.”

  “They were dog people?” He glanced at the retrievers and smiled. “At times, I can see how someone could prefer dogs to—”

  “No. We never had any pets. Mother said she didn’t care for dog hair or the mess. Both of them were conscientious, active in community affairs—simply not very affectionate. I always knew that I was adopted, but it wasn’t a subject that was discussed in our home.”

  “So you knew nothing of your background?”

  “Nothing. I had a lively imagination, and I came up with all sorts of scenarios. My favorite was that I was a princess stolen by kidnappers and sold on the black market when it became too dangerous to collect the ransom.”

  “Sorry. No royalty. T
he closest the Tawes family can claim to royalty is the daughter of a Nanticoke sachem back in the early seventeen hundreds. Her name was Leaf . . . Leaf something. Matthew would probably know. You’ve met our pastor, I understand.”

  “Everything I’ve done since I’ve set foot on this island seems to be common knowledge.”

  Forest laughed. “You think it’s bad for you? I was born here. Matthew’s wife, Grace, can probably tell you every misdeed my father ever committed in the first grade. We like to think of Grace as our community conscience. She hears, she remembers, and she records for posterity. She’s younger than I am, but she seems to have mind-melded with some higher source that all ministers’ wives have access to.”

  “I suspected that when I met her, but she was pleasant to me, invited me in for coffee. She loaned me her bike to use while I was on Tawes.”

  “Good. I’m glad you have transportation, because things may take a little longer to resolve than I first thought.”

  “How so?”

  “Yesterday, when I was going over old deeds in the courthouse, I came upon a little snag, a minor conflict about property lines going back to the mid-eighteen fifties. Nothing to trouble yourself about. It all goes to you, but I need to clear this up so that there will be no problems if you decide to sell the property.”

  “How long are we talking about? Should I go home and—”

  “No, no need to do that. A few days, perhaps a week. Certainly no longer. I think you should stay on at Emma’s, take the opportunity to see something of the island. I understand the school where you teach doesn’t open until September.”

  “Yes, after Labor Day. But I didn’t plan on staying so long.”

  “Sometimes, Miss Elliott, the best things in life come to us through serendipity. You really should know something of your heritage. Tawes is quite an amazing place, unmatched anywhere in the world. The islanders, for all their quaint ways, possess an amazing strength, sustained by their faith in God and the bounty of the earth and the tides.”

  “You sound more like a poet than a lawyer.”

  “You’ve caught me out. I’m a secret romantic.” He chuckled. “Seriously, Miss Elliott—”

  “Please, call me Bailey.”

  “Bailey. You should take time to get to know us, to find pride in your heritage. Matthew can give you all sorts of information about the Tawes family and the island’s turbulent past. Our men and women have fought in every war since the French and Indian, including the War on Terror. We lost relatives in the World Trade Center attack and in the terrible disaster in New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. And if you aren’t personally interested, it’s a legacy you should have, to pass on to your children and grandchildren, if you ever—”

  “I’ve never had a child. I’d like to, but . . .” She spread her hands. “Who knows? Perhaps one day . . .”

  “Don’t wait too long,” he advised. “Find a good man and take the leap. I once thought that Elizabeth would be my wife.” He smiled regretfully. “We were engaged to be married, but we argued, and we were both too stubborn to realize that giving in would have been better than ruining what we might have had together. Enough of that. There never was a finer woman than Elizabeth Tawes. Her death was a great shock to me and to a lot of us. You would have liked her.”

  Bailey felt a great sense of loss for this aunt she would never know. “Why didn’t she ever contact me?”

  Forest resumed his professional countenance. “She felt it was best for you.” He rose. “You are more than welcome to have another cup of tea.” He glanced at his watch. “I don’t want to rush you, but I’d like to return to the mainland. The sooner I can begin work on that snag in the deed . . .”

  “Of course.” Bailey knew a polite dismissal when she heard one. Forest McCready was clearly embarrassed that he’d allowed personal feelings to intrude on what should have been a business discussion, but she was glad he’d spoken out. If Aunt Elizabeth had had to die young, it was nice that someone mourned her.

  “You’ll stay on a few days, then?” Emma asked. “God knows I’d appreciate the extra income. Folks aren’t exactly lined up to take your room.”

  “They would be if you’d advertise,” Bailey said. The two were seated on the back porch. Emma was peeling potatoes for supper, and she’d given Bailey a dishpan full of green beans and instructions to snap them.

  The backyard was enclosed with a white picket fence. To the right, on the far side of the grass, in a large wire run, chickens scratched in the dirt, chased one another, and clucked softly. Beyond that, perhaps two hundred feet from the house, was the Chesapeake. The tide was low, and gentle waves slapped against the foundation of Emma’s shedding house, the dock, and a wide stretch of sand. Emma’s boat was snugged against a tarred post with enough line to allow for the rise and fall of the tide.

  “Advertise?” Emma grimaced. “And put up with God knows who tramping through my house and insulting my cooking? I do well enough with visiting relatives and such as you.” Her gaze became intense. “It won’t put you out any, leaving your own place empty?You won’t come home to find you’ve been robbed, will you?”

  Bailey laughed. “I hope not. But I have good neighbors on both sides. One is a Newark policeman. Mine’s a town house, two stories, but small. Just the right size for me. No pets, although I’ve been thinking of getting a cat.”

  “Cats are good company.” Emma reached down to pet the scarred tabby curled around her ankles. “Cats are independent. You never own one, and sometimes you think they own you. But you’ll never have mice in the—” A phone rang from inside the house. “Wait until I answer that.” Emma hurried inside and a minute later called through the dining room window, “It’s for you, Bailey. No, just take it from there.” She pushed open the screen and handed her the receiver.

  “Bailey?”

  “Elliott. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “I’ve had my cell on. I’ve been trying yours, but no luck. All I get is, ‘Service not available.’Where are you? The dark side of the moon?”

  Bailey laughed. “You’d probably think so. No problems. Well, actually, a little one. But nothing’s wrong. Phone signals out here are spotty.”

  “Nonexistent, if you ask me. When are you coming home?”

  “I’m not certain. A few more days. Wait until you hear my awesome news.”

  “Your aunt left you a crab trap and two stray cats?”

  “Nooo. Be serious. Better than that. You aren’t going to believe this. . . .”

  “Get out!” Elliott shouted when she filled him in on what she’d learned from Forest McCready. “Waterfront property? All the more reason to come home. Better yet, come to Rehoboth. I have to tend bar at the Driftwood tonight, but I have the next three days off. We’ll celebrate big-time. I’ve got a buddy who works for Seaside Realtors. He can probably give you an idea what the place is worth.”

  “I’m not sure I want business advice from any friend of yours.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he can’t be too bright, or he wouldn’t be a friend of—”

  “Low blow, Bails. Very low. But I’m in a forgiving mood. I get off at two. Could you—”

  “Not coming home tonight. Not coming to Rehoboth tonight. But I’ll do you one better. You say you have time off. Why don’t you come to Tawes? See the house for yourself? Bring your bike. There are lots of dirt roads we can—”

  “Dirt roads.” He groaned. “Can’t do, kid. I bent a front wheel last week. Betsy’s in the shop. You know Voladya, a genius at fixing bikes, but slower than hell. Sure I can’t persuade you to cut your little jaunt short and come down here?”

  “Next week, maybe. My attorney is working out some little deed problem here. I’ll call you as soon as I get back.”

  “All right. You’re a hard woman, Bails.”

  “Not hard enough.” After they’d exchanged a few more friendly insults, they said their good-byes and she handed the phone back to Emma.

 
“The ex?” she asked when she returned to the porch.

  Bailey nodded. “Elliott. He was worried. I gave him this number before I left. He said he kept trying that and my cell but—”

  “Couldn’t get through.” Emma returned to her potatoes. “Sounds like you’re more than friends.”

  “No. Just friends.”

  “You’ve got to work at holding a marriage together. Certain it can’t be mended?”

  “No.” Bailey sighed. “He loves me, but his first love is gambling.”

  “Ah, enough said.”

  Bailey concentrated on the snap beans, carefully removing the pointed tips and depositing them into a bucket at her feet. “Forest McCready knew my birth mother, Beth Tawes. Did you know her?”

  “A little.” Emma’s sunburned face reddened. “She was a pretty girl, always had a book in her hand. She sang in the church choir.”

  “Do you remember if she had any special talents? Did she draw or paint?”

  Emma rose abruptly, spilling potato peelings onto the worn cedar floorboards. “No, I don’t recall that. It was a long time ago. A pity she died so young. Nobody knew how it came to happen. Course, nobody knew she was in the family way, either.”

  “Do you have any idea who my birth father was?”

  The gray-haired woman stiffened. “Nope. Can’t say as I do.” Her round face creased into a scowl. “Best let that old dog lie. No good can come of stirrin’ up what’s long past. No good at all.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The scents of frying bacon, coffee, and hot cinnamon buns lured Bailey from her bed early the following morning. Daniel, looking like a country version of Keanu Reeves and smelling faintly of shaving lotion and new denim, was already at the dining room table. His hair was still damp from the shower, and Bailey had an almost irresistible urge to push back the single wayward lock that had fallen across his forehead.

  “Are those new Levi’s you’re wearing?” Emma teased. “Wasn’t certain I could pry you out of the old ones.”