Hidden Dreams

by Darlene Franklin

He draped her shawl over her shoulders—this late in September, the evenings often turned quite cold—and led her into the crisp evening air. “We could drive, but I thought you might enjoy a walk under the canopy of God’s artwork.”

  Mary Anne nodded. She had never seen so many trees in one place, all changing color, vivid reds and oranges and golds. Out in the forest, the sight must be glorious. “Do the birds migrate?”

  “Not many, no. The geese fly farther south, of course. I always look forward to their return in the spring.”

  Upon their arrival at the restaurant, Mary Anne’s mouth watered for homey fare, and she settled on a meat loaf sandwich with mashed potatoes.

  “You can have anything on the menu,” Wallace said after the waitress wrote down his order for a T-bone steak with baked potato.

  “I like meat loaf.”

  While they waited for the opening course, a vegetable soup, Wallace placed a single copy of the Gazette on the table. Above the fold, on the front page, Mary Anne’s smiling face stared back at her. The headline announced, Maple Notch Newcomer Claims Both Awards.

  “Go ahead, read it.” He grinned at their private joke.

  Mary Anne relived the experience through the reporter’s impersonal words, learning details that had escaped her notice while she focused on her next turn.

  “I’m sure you’ll want several copies of this for your records.” Wallace handed her a bag filled with extras.

  Mary Anne flipped the paper over to read the caption beneath the photograph. She read her name and froze.

  With this good a picture—and the same initials she had left behind in New York—she remained instantly recognizable. People in this town wouldn’t knowingly betray her, but how far did the paper travel?

  “Anyone who might want to hear the news?”

  Mary Anne fought the urge to throw up. A better idea might be to burn every copy of the paper.

  * * *

  On Friday, Wallace spent the day in his attic room, putting the finishing touches on his manuscript. This weekend he intended to repeat his request for Mary Anne to edit the book. He didn’t need a proofreader; Mary Anne’s expertise lay in fact checking and wording.

  A sharp rap sounded on his door, the kind Clarinda made when she demanded his attention. Placing the page he held aside, he stood and opened the door. “What is it?”

  The first face he saw was Aunt Flo’s. Her thin lips stretched in a severe line. “We need your help, Wallace.”

  Aunt Flo only called him Wallace when she was seriously upset. His heart tripped. “What is it?”

  “Mary Anne has left town, that’s what happened. She’s cleared out all of her things, both here and at the seminary.”

  Wallace turned his attention to Clarinda. She nodded. “She came by here for her car.”

  Wallace dashed down the stairs and out the door without waiting for the women to follow. The dark recesses of the barn shouted the truth of their disclosure. The glorious Victoria Coupe, which Mary Anne had arrived in, had disappeared. How had he missed the noise of the car engine starting while he was working in the attic?

  He ran back to the house, ready to check her room. The two women waited at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Is everything gone?” The words forced themselves out of his dry throat.

  “Both here and at the school. Her suitcases, her old clothes, her new clothes, even her books.” Aunt Flo’s clipped voice stripped away any remaining hope.

  “She left this.” Clarinda handed him an envelope. “It’s addressed to you, so I haven’t read it.” She squeezed past Wallace. “But let’s go to the kitchen while you read it. I suspect we can all use a bracing cup of coffee.”

  A bracing cup of coffee sounded right. No sweet tea could soften this news.

  He opened the letter, written on lined paper. Several crossed out words and ink smears indicated her agitation as she wrote—otherwise she would have taken the time to figure out the correct spelling and prepare a clean copy.

  He told himself to expect the worst. What had she hidden that she didn’t think he would understand? Maybe she’s married. Somewhere she has a family she abandoned. That didn’t fit the Mary Anne he knew, but what had compelled her to disappear without warning?

  “Go ahead and read it. I’m sure she wouldn’t leave without a good reason.” Aunt Flo tapped the paper. “You can share with us whatever you feel is appropriate.”

  Enough with the rationalizations. He read silently, in case she had included any personal message.

  I’m not who I claimed to be. I ran into someone from my past, and he poses a real threat, not only to me but to people I hold dear. I don’t dare stay here in Maple Notch for fear he will harm you in his pursuit of me. You asked me once where I was headed when I ran into your car on the bridge. I was on the run, getting as far away from New York as possible. I should have continued on my way a long time ago, but I grew comfortable with you and your family.

  Wallace forced himself to continue reading.

  I am so sorry. You have all been so kind to me, and Wallace, I have come to care for you more than I should. I have allowed my feelings to overcome my better judgment. Only God knows if we shall ever meet again.

  Tears formed in Wallace’s eyes, and Clarinda laid a soft hand on his shoulder. “We all care for her, Wallace. This is hard for us all.”

  Nodding, he shared all the news, all except the last bit.

  “She’s not who she said she was. After living with someone as long as she was with us, I feel like I know her well. I know who she is, although the details may have changed. Like her hair.” Clarinda poured freshly brewed coffee into mugs and handed one to each of them.

  “But where would she have run into someone from her past? And whom?”

  “The newspaper.” Now Mary Anne’s hesitation made more sense. “It included her picture and name and even where she’s been living. She paled when I suggested sending a copy to people she might have known in New York. Perhaps the wrong person got ahold of a copy and came up here to find her.”

  “The poor child.” Clarinda shook her head before blowing on the steaming coffee.

  Wallace wanted to jump into his truck and chase after her. “Do you know when she left?”

  Clarinda shrugged. “She told Aunt Flo she wanted to take the car out for a spin herself, and that she wanted to see the fall leaves.”

  The kind of trip Wallace had planned for them.

  “She even said she might spend the night on the road, since it was the weekend, and not to worry about her. It was a little odd, but I didn’t think anything of it until Aunt Flo arrived here with the letter.”

  So, she had a head start of several hours, in a car faster than his truck, headed to an unknown destination. “What can we do?” He ached to pursue her, but knew the futility of it.

  “We pray.” Aunt Flo spoke with straightforward authority.

  Times like this, prayer never seemed like enough.

  Chapter 17

  Mary Anne handed cash to the hotel clerk on a back street in Montreal. Thank God she had found a place with English-speaking employees that accepted American money. The question of a different currency hadn’t occurred to her as she prepared for flight.

  The trip to Montreal hadn’t taken nearly as long as Mary Anne had feared. Driving through until she arrived at the small boardinghouse on the outskirts of the city, rather than making frequent stops, had sped her on her way.

  “Comment vous appelez-vous?” The petite brunette’s face expressed the universal expression of polite inquiry.

  “I only speak English,” Mary Anne said. Perhaps she should push herself to continue on to Ottawa, where English was the primary language.

  “English? Of course. What is your name, mademoiselle?”

 
“Mary Anne.” She hesitated and then added, “Lamont.”

  “Bon.” After they completed the check-in, the clerk escorted her to a comfortable room and handed Mary Anne a sheet of paper. “This is our menu in English, for your convenience.”

  Mary Anne ordered the first item on the menu, some kind of fish, and asked for a cup of café au lait. Although she had never drunk it, it sounded deliciously decadent. While she waited for the food, she stared out the window at the narrow street in front of the house. Her coupe took up a large part of the converted carriage house behind the building. If not for that, she didn’t know where she would have parked her car. Tomorrow, she’d go to Ottawa, or even farther, far enough away that she could relax for a few days.

  She took out her new Bible, inscribed with her alias. After giving consideration to leaving it behind, wanting to forget the web of lies she had spun while in Maple Notch, she decided against it. It meant too much to her, as well as the book of Shakespeare’s sonnets for winning the reading competition. Less than a week had passed. How could something so good turn into the occasion of her discovery?

  Aunt Flo had used a couple of sonnets for reading material. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.” Rhyme and rhythm made the old-fashioned words easier to read, and each line reminded her of Wallace. Now that she had left him behind, she didn’t know if she would choose to struggle through any more of the poems.

  But Shakespeare was a master. She’d rather wrestle with his words than worry about the man she’d spotted at the store. The man with cold blue eyes and impossibly black hair had killed her father and then discovered he’d had a witness.

  After she had spotted him, she’d backed out of the store without drawing any attention to herself. She rushed back to the school, stuffed everything into her suitcases and headed out of town as soon as she picked up her car. Leafing through the book of sonnets, Mary Anne found one that started “When, in disgrace with fortune.” Disgrace, she understood, and lately she felt like fortune had forsaken her. She continued reading until she encountered a strange word, breaking it down the way Aunt Flo had taught her. Be, followed by weep. Beweep. A fancy way to say he was crying.

  The food arrived, and Mary Anne decided she liked the fish sauce, as well as the flaky roll that melted in her mouth. She might even enjoy this trip if...if she wasn’t all alone, beweeping, an outcast as Shakespeare had put it.

  Although she made each bite last as long as possible, the food disappeared quickly. By now, the folks in Maple Notch knew she had left. Were they worried? Disappointed? Angry? Any of those, or all, made sense.

  Oh, Wallace. He had given her so much, and she had betrayed his trust with lies and deceit. Even if she wanted to go back, she couldn’t, not unless she was willing to face all the lies she had told.

  After dinner, bubbling foam helped soak out the day’s aches. As she lay in the water, scrubbing her skin as if she could remove fear and self-loathing with the sponge, she realized she had never asked for forgiveness from the One who promised it. How could she expect God to direct her paths when she had unconfessed sins in her life?

  Right then and there, she prayed. “And tomorrow, Lord? Give me a clear sign about where You are directing my steps.”

  With that, she climbed onto the high mattress under warm comforters and rested. After a hard night’s sleep, she awoke early, before the day had quite dawned.

  * * *

  Shortly after Mary Anne rang her bell, the hotel clerk appeared, bearing a cup of hot coffee, perfect for clearing the dregs of sleep from her mind. Eager to start the day, she read her Bible, begging God for guidance, but nothing crystallized in her mind.

  She had to make a start, and the map seemed like a good place. Yesterday she couldn’t make sense out of it, but perhaps when she spread it out on the table so she could see it all at once, she would understand it better.

  The clerk at the gas stop had marked her starting point as well as several nearby cities. Mary Anne asked for the location of several places, in New York and New Hampshire as well as Canada, to confuse possible pursuers.

  She took a piece of paper and used its edge to draw straight lines between stars. Now to choose her destination. She put her thumb at the star that represented Montreal. “Lord, show me where.” Closing her eyes, she let her fingers wander around the map. When she opened her eyes, her pointer finger had stuck at a town just south of the place she purchased gas: Maple Notch. God, this isn’t funny.

  Still uncertain, she packed her bags and went to the front desk to check out. The desk clerk, a more matronly version of the young woman who had greeted her last night, smiled at Mary Anne’s approach. “You must be the mademoiselle my daughter told me about last night. How lovely you were, how brave you were to travel all alone...” The woman continued babbling, and Mary Anne wondered if she would be so noticeable everywhere she traveled. Was there nowhere she could go and remain unnoticed?

  She chatted longer than she wished to out of politeness before leaving the hotel. As she turned the coupe onto the street, she studied the choices before her. East or west? North or south?

  The map pointed to Maple Notch. Mary Anne chewed on a fingernail. Was it possible that leaving Maple Notch would create the notice she wanted to avoid? People might comment if she missed church and school, a mere week after creating such a public splash. Her attempt to escape detection might instead send her pursuers on her trail.

  God, show me if I’m wrong. She turned south, heading back toward Maple Notch, praying the Tuttle family would welcome her back into their embrace. Her fingernail tore away, ripping a bit of skin in the process. She deserved the pain. Steeling her backbone for a rough road and an even rougher reception upon her return, she took the winding road at a tourist’s pace.

  * * *

  Saturday morning Wallace awoke to his new reality. Mary Anne was gone. Permanently. He escaped to his refuge to give his heart time to heal. The cabin would keep him warm for a few days and maybe weeks.

  He picked a posy of asters to lay at the grave Mary Anne had claimed as her own in the family cemetery. The last time she had visited the graveyard, he had walked with her. Only a week ago, they hunted the wrens together. The male soared in the sky overhead. Of the female, they found no evidence.

  As he approached the cabin, he realized he had made a foolish choice. Every inch of space carried some memory of his time with Mary Anne. He was better off in his attic sanctuary, where he could add this latest heartbreak to the other pains he had endured while pacing the floorboards.

  Torn between two places certain to bring pain, Wallace remained in the one that witnessed generations of his family’s deepest sorrows. The ancestor who had given his life at the second battle of Fort Ticonderoga during the Revolutionary War had christened the plot with his bravery and patriotism. Others had died from illness and wounds and old age. Among the most recent additions were his parents and Grandma Clara. If Wallace’s heart stopped beating the way that it wanted to, he might take a spot next to them sooner than he should. Nonsense, Wallace. Having this tangible place to remember each lost loved one reminded him of Mary Anne’s loss, her flight from the home where both of her parents had died.

  Bunching up his fists on both sides of his head, he boxed his ears. Mary Anne, Mary Anne. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. At least at the farm Clarinda would bring him an occasional cup of tea and cookies.

  Him, a grown man, wanting his sister to mother him like a hurt child. He refused to do that. This afternoon he would head to the fields to help Howard with the harvest. His brother-in-law wouldn’t ask questions. His silence would give Wallace a chance to wash away the pain in his heart.

  That decided, he headed back down the path toward home. As he neared the road, he heard the purring of a motor that sounded like the coupe’s engine once Mary Anne had tinkered wi
th it.

  He was in bad shape if even the sound of a car reminded him of Mary Anne. A car rounded the bend, the shiny blue that sparkled better than a clear night. The driver of the car had gleaming brown hair...

  It couldn’t be.

  It was.

  Mary Anne had returned. He ran onto the road where she must see him, then backed out of her way. She applied the brakes and waited without moving. She looked stunned into silence, as if another accident had robbed her of her voice.

  This time, he took the first step. Walking up to the passenger door, he peered in. “Welcome back, Mary Anne.” Or whatever your name might be.

  “Bonjour, Wallace. See, I learned at least one French word.”

  So she went to Quebec. He didn’t know how to respond. “Has the danger...passed?”

  She froze at those words. “Has anyone been asking about me? Or possibly a—” He could see the gulp sliding down her throat. “—Marabelle Lamont?”

  Marabelle Lamont. The name matched the woman who had arrived in Maple Notch. He shook his head. “Is that your real name?”

  “Lamont is. Mary Anne is my given name. Marabelle was a name I picked for myself.” She waved with her hands, as if dismissing the questions. “Am I welcome at the farm?”

  If he wanted the answers to a dozen questions, she needed the answer to one simple request. Did she have a home to return to?

  “Of course. Clarinda just got the room ready this morning.” She’d been searching for clues to Mary Anne’s reasons for her abrupt departure, but she didn’t need to know that. He opened the door and slid into the passenger’s seat. “Shall we go?”

  Chapter 18

  On the Friday following Mary Anne’s return, Wallace was tempted to stop by Mary Anne’s room but knew he would receive the same answer he had been given every day this past week: she was indisposed and didn’t want company. From Clarinda, he knew Mary Ann planned to return to work at the seminary on Monday. Did she intend to speak with him before then?