Girl From the Tree House

by Gudrun Frerichs

  “Let’s meet at 9.30 so you can avoid peak traffic,” was Patrick Armstrong’s advice when he rang this morning after I came back from my run with Prince. I almost spilled my tea avoiding bursting into laughter. So much I’ve already learned on the remote West Coast, a man and his dog classify as a crowd and three cars on the road are considered peak traffic.

  It should’ve been child’s play to get to Port Somers in time had I not wasted precious minutes in front of my wardrobe choosing what to wear. Being late causes my stomach to twist and my heartbeat to race. In my childhood running late was never an option and came with unpleasant consequences. I hoped that wouldn’t be an issue anymore since I’m free of Horace and Helen.

  Wrong. The fear of getting punished is spreading like wildfire through me until breathing becomes hard labor. That was the end of my quiet morning. I fed Prince, had a shower, and stood in front of my wardrobe, trying on clothes I then discarded quicker than you could say hold on a minute.

  That’s ridiculous. What sane person spends thirty minutes unable to decide what to wear? I’m not a TV presenter or a public figure that has to look impeccable every minute of the day. It’s just little old me. I know what’s going on and I would stamp my foot if it would do me any good. Rather than continue taking part in the battle of the parts about what to wear, I take a deep breath and wait.

  “Will someone please pick an outfit and be done with it?”

  Why didn’t I ask the Tribe earlier? I still have a choir inside my head, but we’ve made huge strides in the black book. Life has become a little easier with less time-robbery and more time-sharing. In the twinkling of an eye, I find myself clothed in a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, a blazer, and a blue scarf. It’s not what I would’ve chosen, but it looks… fresh and confident. Much more confident than I feel. From what I’ve learned in the last week about the Tribe, I guess Lizette dressed me this morning.

  “Thank you, Lizette. Merci.”

  All I get back is a giggle. But at least it’s some kind of communication, isn’t it? I have twenty minutes left to get to the lawyer on time. That’s not much, but I can make up time once I’m on the State Highway. I let Prince into the backseat of the van and start the motor.

  The rest is a blur.

  I must have driven like a race driver, because I arrive at Patrick’s office, sweating, out of breath as if I ran all the way, but with three minutes to spare. Heather, Patrick’s secretary surprises me by jumping up with much more vigor than I expected from a woman her age. She ushers me through with a wide beam on her wrinkled face and winks as she opens the door to his office.

  “Patrick is ready for you.”

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Elise. Please take a seat,” He points to the armchair and beams almost as much as his secretary. What should I make of such early-morning-cheerfulness? I’m surprised. That’s a good word for it. Something is happening or has happened, and I don’t have the smidgeon of a clue. On first glance it looks like good news.

  “I’m having a coffee; may I offer you one too?”

  “Yes, thank you.” My response is automatic. I don’t really want a coffee. What brought Patrick to call me in so early?

  He pushes the intercom. “Heather, please bring a coffee for me and Ms. Seagar.”

  “Mrs. Reid.” Before I can stop myself, I turn my head to see if someone else is standing behind me. Perhaps my mother’s ghost?

  Patrick chuckles and rubs his hands. “There is no way to say it any other way, Elise, you are still Ms. Seagar.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Yes, dear, you are still Ms. Seagar. I discovered that the marriage between you and Horace Reid is not legal.” He pauses and studies my face as if he’s looking for a sign of a nervous breakdown or something. I admit I feel a bit lost at sea and numb. Yes, numb is a good word to use.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I checked the register. There is no mention of a marriage between you and Horace Reid.”

  Does he think I’m soft in the head? “I don’t understand. I married on May 1, 2001 in Auckland. I told you.”

  “You did. But the marriage is a fake. There never existed a registered wedding celebrant by the name of Thomas Wicklethorn.”

  “How can that be? There were at least eighty people at the wedding ceremony. Are you sure you didn’t make a mistake?”

  It must be true. The expression of pity on his face is more than I can bear. It pulls the rug of reality from under my feet. Something inside me shatters into a million pieces like delicate Venetian glass falling onto a quarry stone tiled floor. “I lived a lie for the last twenty-four years?”

  “I’d rather see it as you are falling victim to an elaborate scam that involved many people.”

  My head was spinning a minute ago. Now there is utter silence where the usual choir resides. Someone puts their hands on my shoulder, but there is nobody behind me when I turn my head. It’s Sky.

  “All will be well.”

  I’m not sure whether I said it out loud or just thought it. It didn’t even feel like my thoughts, but I knew they were true.

  Patrick takes a sip of his coffee. I like how he gives me time to collect my thoughts and to process what he said. Not that it makes sense yet, but it will once I have all the data. He swallows and the smile has left his eyes.

  “There’s more. According to the official entries, Horace Reid married Helen in 1973. They never divorced. She is his real widow.”

  “But she’s his sister. How is that legal?”

  “I checked. She’s his cousin from his father’s side. Her name was Helen Banister. Actually, they were both born not far from here in Mosvale, in the New Gateways community. That’s where they married. Your parents lived there too. I found their death certificate. Did you know?”

  An elaborate scam, that’s how Patrick calls it. I know it’s even more elaborate than he imagines. Everything is connected. Someone coming to the house and, going by the scratch marks at the door, trying to get inside. The Tribe filled lots of pages in the black book about the New Gateways community after Maddie saw its photo in the newspaper. Everything is connected. It’s alarming.

  “Why did he become my guardian? And why would he stage a fake wedding with me? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I can’t answer that yet. There must have been an advantage for him.”

  “To take care of a ten-year-old orphaned girl? I can’t see how that is of any benefit to him.”

  He sends me a knowing smile that tells me he’s holding more aces in his hand.

  “My father was the probate lawyer that dealt with your parent’s will when they died. Horace Reid was the appointed executor and named as your guardian. I searched through the old files from before I took over my father’s practice and found some interesting documents.”

  “Horace was my guardian. I can’t believe they were married all the time. Why would they lie to me? I trusted Horace to have my best interest at heart. At least in the beginning. I can’t even find words to express how angry I am.” Somehow my mind refuses to comprehend what Patrick just told me. It can’t be true. Maybe he made a mistake?

  “You are sure you didn’t make a mistake? You had the right names and dates? It’s not a different couple you researched?”

  “I’m so sorry, Elise, so very sorry. Remember you didn’t get anywhere with your search. Horace and Helen betrayed you.”

  Inside my usually busy and vocal mind is now an all-encompassing, deafening silence. I wish I could disappear and not have to see the pity on Patrick’s face.

  “Do you know how large your parent’s estate was and who the beneficiaries were?”

  “No. I was ten years old. I barely knew my name. I did not understand what was up or what was down. I never saw a will or anything like it.”

  “I didn’t think you would. Your parents were rich even by today’s standards. We could hire a specialist to investigate where the money they left went. I fear though, there will
not be much left.”

  “I don’t care about the money. What is the situation with my aunt’s house?” I never expected my parents left me anything other than bad memories. Hearing Horace and Helen might have spent everything my parents left behind didn’t bother me in the slightest.

  “The title transfer to you went through without a problem.” He passes me an envelope. “Here is the deed to Wright’s Homestead. I’m glad to see another Wright woman living in it. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, I guess.” I’m exhausted. My emotions are all over the place. I’ve had about as much as I can tolerate. Given that I’m not alone in this body, I would love if someone would take over from me. Now would be a good time. No. Now would be an excellent time, because I’m about to crack. I’m waiting, but nothing happens. Thanks for nothing. It looks like the nervous breakdown has to wait till later.

  “Are you okay? Can I get you something? A glass of water, a coffee, something?” His eyes cloud with concern as he studies me. If I look how I feel I must be a sight to behold. Why do I have the sense there is more to come?

  “This isn’t the end yet, is it?”

  He lets out a sigh. “No, I don’t think so. I stirred up too many sleeping dogs. Your parents owned properties. The courts will follow up on your parent’s will. I reported the illegal wedding to the authorities. I had to.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve cleared up a mystery for me that had me puzzled for ages. I think I’m fine. Thank you. I want to go home and digest the news if you don’t mind. This is all a bit much for a normal Monday morning.” I need to get away and pick the broken remains of myself off Patrick’s office floor.

  “Let me get a driver for you. You had a great shock. It would be safer.”

  “Thank you for that offer. I will be fine.” Another stranger sitting next to me making small talk is the last thing I could tolerate right now. What I need is to be alone and get my thoughts sorted. A slow drive home through the forest is just what I need.

  “Promise me to be careful.”

  “Thank you, Patrick. I will be.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I know more. It may take a few days.”

  I leave the office and half-wave goodbye to Heather who is on the phone. How different the world looks now, even though only half an hour has passed since I arrived. I should celebrate that I never was married to Horace and that Helen has no power over me. But inside me is only confusion.

  My whole life has been a scam, an illusion. Not because I’m a multiple. That’s the easy bit to understand. No, because my whole life was built on intricate and cunning lies that feel more real than what I’m facing now. How could they? How could my parents leave me unprotected and put me in the hands of these crooks?

  Tears well up in my eyes. Only when I leave Patrick’s office behind me do I feel safe again. I can’t get into the van quickly enough. In my van, there are no surprises. In here it’s just me and Prince. He waits for me and greets me with a nose-nudge and a thumping tail. I throw my arms around him and breathe into his fur. At least he recognizes who I am, even if I don’t.

  I start the motor and maneuver out of the parking lot, almost scraping the sides of two black hatchbacks parked on the opposite side of the road. I stop and dry my eyes with a tissue. I don’t need another accident to round off this morning. I’ve got enough to deal with.

  At the next petrol station, I stop to fill the tank before I leave Port Somers. I won’t break any speed records on my way home. At only twenty miles per hour, a long line of cars is building up behind me. That’s slow even for me. I pull myself up and step on the gas. There’ll be time to mope around when I’m back home.

  I steer as far to the left as I can to let the following cars pass. Only one black hatchback is staying behind, following me at a safe distance. It looks like one of the cars that was parked opposite Patrick’s office. That’s odd. My heartbeat increases.

  “Don’t be such a stupid twit,” I shout through the van so that every single part of me can hear what I have to say. “Stop being paranoid.”

  I reduce my speed even more. The hatchback does the same. Then I step on the gas and accelerate to the speed limit of sixty miles per hour. The hatchback must have sped up too because it’s still behind me, keeping the same distance as before. I no longer feel paranoid. I am paranoid. They are after me. Whoever they are. They followed me from Patrick’s office.

  The turnoff to Flatbush Creek Road can’t come quick enough. The road is so curvy; I can’t see whether I’m still followed. I race down the gravel road, past the turnoff to my house, and drive straight to Scott’s place. I can’t think of anything else to do.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lilly: 30 November 2015, Midday, Scott’s Place

  So, this is Scottie’s place. I didn’t have time to peek at it when Elise dropped him off the other day. I’m not impressed. The rough, hewn tree trunks of the outside wall have weathered from light brown to dark black. Some areas are patched up with planks and I wonder how dry it is inside during the typical West Coast winter storms. A rusty corrugated iron roof extends off the front and gives extra shelter from any rain. The hut can’t be bigger than three hundred square feet, large enough for one person.

  After I let Prince out, I need to stretch. I feel itchy as if I need to get used to my skin all over again. That often happens when I come into the body after Elise. It’s as if you slip into a coat that shrunk in the wash. I’m afraid I’ll have to get used to it because it appears, she and I are becoming bosom buddies.

  Don’t ask me why because we are like chalk and cheese. If I could choose a sidekick, I would go for Amadeus. We complement each other well. He has grit and isn’t afraid of anything. Yip, that’d be a good match. Elise is more like a floppy doll, without a spine to hold her upright. To be fair, not all the time. But when she flops, it’s inconvenient. She’s also very naïve. Hasn’t that girl gotten any brains?

  Take this morning. Patrick’s revelations threw her. Okay, I admit it we are all pretty stunned. I mean, hey, you don’t wake up one morning expecting to find out your marriage of over twenty-four years was a big hoax. But we knew something was fishy. Something was wrong. I bet Horace and Helen, brother and sister my foot, found a way to siphon-off the Seagar money.

  Why else would they take in a young child? Not for the love of children. There was no love the way they both treated Elise. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put one and one together. How they got away with it is the million-dollar question. We underestimated them, a mistake that cost us dearly. For twenty years Horace and Helen kept the charade up. We all thought they were stupid yet during all that time they were the ones pulling our strings.

  Then Elise races over the unsealed road as if the devil is at her heels. Even if the devil was in the car following her, doesn’t she know we are not helpless, for crying out loud? Amadeus could have given the scumbags a lesson they wouldn’t forget for a while. Instead, she runs to Scottie like a child runs to its daddy; and then she disappears, leaving me to pick up the pieces, as usual. What does she expect me to tell him?

  I wish I had more time to come up with a cunning plan, but before I even close the driver’s door behind me, he appears from the back of his house. At the sight of me, he takes off his hat and wipes his arm across his forehead. He wears nothing but a pair of work boots, jeans, and a black singlet.

  His skin stretches over some impressive looking muscles glistening with sweat. Popeye the Sailor comes to mind and I’m already making a mental note to bring him a can of spinach. He’s not the George Clooney type. He’s too rough around the edges and bulky rather than athletic. The new gash on his head from the accident joined several other scars on his face and his upper body. One thing is sure, he never used a stand-in when he got into fights.

  Scottie holds an ax in his hand, which he drops at the sight of us. I guess we surprised him. We are not the kind of neighbors who drive by to have a little chat about the weather or some
thing. We are odd. Everyone says so. But so is he. Perhaps we are like two peas in a pot of chilly beans? Who knows?

  I’m surprised too, though for other reasons. I’ll have to talk to Sky. She has to explain why I have butterflies in my tummy and why he can’t be my boyfriend. Because, holy smoke, he’s a fine-looking specimen, and he is a nice guy. So says Elise, and the Tribe agrees.

  “Hi, this is a surprise.” He doesn’t let on whether it’s a good or a bad surprise.

  I nod toward the ax. “Are you an escaped ax murderer or have you been chopping wood? Is this a bad time?”

  “It’s not the right time for ax murderers. They only come out at night.” He grins from ear to ear. “Just kidding. No, your timing is perfect. It’s time for me to have a break.”

  I put my hands into the pockets of my jacket and walk up to him.

  “You’ve got a nice place here.”

  He squints at me and dips his head as if he’s checking out a scratch in my paintwork. I know I’m lousy at small talk. But does he have to be so obvious?

  “What can I do for you?”

  He comes straight to the point. No pussyfooting around. I have no idea how to ease into our story, so I’m blurting it out. It comes shooting out of my mouth like a squall of vomit.

  “I think we are in trouble and need help.”

  “Please come in.” His face turns immediately from teasing to concerned. He motions to his hut and holds the door open for me. Just like the perfect gentleman. I step into his hut and I’m surprised.

  By the look from the outside, I expected some sawn-off tree trunks masquerading as a table and chairs. Instead, his hut has, as far as I can see, two rooms. The large living space has a wood-burning oven in the right corner at the back of the room, a large leather couch and a chair and a small coffee table in front of a bookshelf overflowing with books.