“I’m not sure I’m staying.”
His gaze held hers. “I hope you do.”
She drew in a quick breath and closed the front door, then leaned against it for a long minute. Andrew Schilling had once been the star of her teenage fantasies, but she wasn’t that girl anymore, and he wasn’t that boy. They couldn’t go back; the past was gone. Now she had the present to worry about—and there were some things she didn’t want Andrew to ever find out about.
Opening the door that led from the kitchen into the basement, Jenna paused on the landing to flip on the light switch and then slowly descended. She’d been down here once before when she’d first rented the place to make sure there was no outside access. A few six-inch-long windows ran along one wall, but they were far too small to allow anyone to climb in. At the moment, she was looking for any clues to the owner to figure out why she and Lexie had been sent to this particular house.
“What are you doing?” Lexie asked from the doorway above.
“Just looking around. Careful,” she added, as Lexie came down the stairs after her.
“This place is spooky,” Lexie declared.
Jenna turned on a light, relieved to see some of the shadows disappear. Like Lexie, she was not a fan of spooky, especially after the last two months.
There wasn’t much in the basement: a bureau, a
desk, two old lamps, and a large trunk that looked about a hundred years old, along with a water heater and some rusted lawn furniture.
“Whose stuff is this?” Lexie asked.
“I’m not sure,” Jenna said. “It might have belonged to the woman who used to own this house. Her name was Rose Littleton.”
“Rose. That’s a pretty name,” Lexie murmured, her tiny brows pulling into a frown. “Mommy talked about someone named Rose.”
“She did?” Jenna was becoming more and more convinced that Angel’s Bay had not been a random choice in which to relocate. “What did your mommy say about Rose?”
“I don’t remember. Oh, wait, Rose is an angel,” Lexie said, her face brightening.
Great
.
“And she had an angel’s kiss, just like me and Mommy.”
Jenna stared at Lexie. “You mean Rose had the same mark on her heel as you and your mother? How would your mother know that?”
Lexie shrugged. “How come you don’t have an angel’s kiss?”
“I don’t know.” Jenna had never considered the birthmark on Kelly’s heel anything special. She didn’t think her mother had had one, but she honestly couldn’t remember. Some days she could barely remember her mother’s face. And most of her memories were a blur, a mix of her own thoughts and what people had told her about her mother. She wondered
what Lexie would remember about Kelly twenty or thirty years from now. Probably not much.
Lexie moved over to the trunk. “What’s in here?” She pulled on the lid, but it wouldn’t budge.
Jenna yanked up on the handle and in a sputter of dust, the lid opened. She coughed and waved her hand in the air to dissipate the dust.
“Clothes,” Lexie squealed, kneeling down next to the trunk. “We can play dress-up like me and Mommy used to play.” She pulled out a dress that seemed to go on and on, a white dress with old, faded lace. “Is this an angel’s dress?”
“No, honey, I think it’s a wedding dress.” That was odd, since Kara had told her that Rose had never married. Maybe the dress had belonged to Rose’s sister.
Lexie dug deeper into the trunk, pulling out a veil, a pair of yellowed elbow-length gloves, a tarnished silver comb and brush. The pile grew higher and higher, capped off by a small leather-bound black journal. While Lexie put the veil on her head, Jenna opened the journal and sat down on the floor. The first page had an inscription.
“My dearest Rose,”
Jenna read aloud,
“for the times when you feel alone, know that you are not. If you listen to your heart, you will hear the whispers of those who have gone before you. You are an angel, and one day you will fly again. Love, Mother.”
“I told you she was an angel,” Lexie said, sitting next to Jenna.
“Yes, you did,” Jenna murmured as she turned the page.
“What else does it say?” Lexie asked.
The first diary entry was dated June 8, 1950.
“We buried Mitchell today,”
Jenna continued. “
Yesterday was supposed to be our wedding day, but instead I buried my fiancé in the hard, cold ground. I threw roses on his casket. I listened to Reverend Jacobs talk about Mitchell’s life. I know he’s gone, but I still can’t believe it’s true. I feel so alone. Mother and the girls have tried to make me feel better, but my heart is broken. I don’t know how I can go on. How can I live without him? All of our dreams, all of our plans gone—just like that. When I came home, I sat at the piano and tried to play. Music has always been my comfort, but I can’t even escape there now. Nothing will ever be the same again.”
Jenna looked at the wedding dress again. “I guess that was her dress.”
“She never got to wear it,” Lexie said. “That’s sad. What else did she write?”
Jenna turned the page. The next date was a month later, July 14, 1950.
“I have been trying to pass the time since Mitchell’s death by researching the shipwreck. I know that Mother and I share the same birthmark on our heel as Gabriella, the lost baby of the wreck. It appears that every first daughter descended from Gabriella shares the mark. Legend has it that an angel grabbed Gabriella from the swirling ocean waters by her foot and carried Gabriella to safety, laying her gently on the shore. The mark on her heel is the mark of her angel. But what the legend doesn’t tell me is what happened to Gabriella’s parents. Who were they? How did they die? How did a small baby come to be separated from her mother?
“My mother says that every woman born with the mark has tried to find those answers, but no accounts from the wreck mention Gabriella’s parents. In fact, most of the survivors swore they never saw the baby until the morning after the ship wrecked. How could that be, when they were on that ship for nearly two weeks? Was Gabriella an angel sent to earth to start over? Some people think so, but it seems like a fanciful thought. It’s hard for me to believe in the angels anymore. I can’t understand why God would take Mitchell so young. But I am trying to pass the time.
“I went to the library today and did some more research. I found an entry in a journal written by Samuel Martin, one of the sailors from the ship. He heard a terrible fight in the minutes before the ship crashed into the rocks, a gunshot, and a baby’s cry. Unfortunately, none of the bodies that washed ashore had bullet wounds, so he can’t be sure of what occurred. I think something happened on that ship before it went down, something that had to do with Gabriella’s parents, my ancestors. But will we ever know?”
Jenna turned the page, expecting the story to continue. But there was a new date, two months later, September 9, 1950.
“A lot has happened since I last wrote. Mother became ill with a terrible fever. At night I would bathe her forehead with cool water and listen to her ramble about joining my father in heaven. I tried to make her fight, to stay with me and my sisters, but she got weaker, and last night she passed. We’re all alone now. I have three younger sisters to raise, as well as the baby growing inside of me. How can I possibly do it all?”
“She had a baby?” Lexie asked.
“It looks that way,” Jenna said in surprise. She turned to the next page, dated March 10, 1951.
“I gave away my child today. I had only a few moments to hold her in my arms and say good-bye. The woman who took her assured me that my baby will be raised by a kind and loving family, who can give her everything I cannot. It was the most difficult decision I have ever made, but I don’t have enough money to take care of my sisters and a baby. I hope one day I will find her again. I am comforted by the thought that I will know she is mine by the birth-mark on her heel, the one that matches my own. No matter how far apart we’ll be, we’ll always be connected by the angel’s kiss. I also tucked the locket that Mitchell gave me into her blanket, so she will have a piece of her parents with her forever. I hope she will forgive me for letting her go. Perhaps someday she will come back to me.”
Jenna flipped through the rest of the pages, but they were empty. She looked over at Lexie, realizing the little girl had gone unusually quiet, and there was a confused look on her face. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Mommy had a locket. It opened up, and she said she was going to put my picture in it. Do you think it was Rose’s locket?”
“I don’t know how it could have been,” Jenna said slowly, not sure at all. If Rose had a birthmark and she gave away a daughter, who had the same mark as Kelly and Lexie…
Jenna went back to the passage in the journal, and the date suddenly jumped out at her. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. Her mother, Crystal Ben
nett, had been born on March 10, 1951, the same date as the baby born to Rose. But Jenna had never heard that her mother was adopted. Had her mother known? Had Kelly?
Kelly must have known, must have traced their family tree back to Angel’s Bay. That’s why they’d been sent here to Rose’s house—
to her grandmother’s house
.
Her pulse tripled in time. It hardly seemed possible, but all the facts were pointing in one direction. Even if she could dismiss the dates as coincidence, Lexie’s birthmark was undeniable.
Rose Littleton was her grandmother.
And she and Lexie were connected to this town by the blood of their ancestors. Kelly had wanted to start over where she had a past, where their mother had been born, had been given away. A shiver ran down Jenna’s spine at the connections. She could almost hear Rose’s voice in her head, the sound of her sobs as she gave away her child. She could feel her desperate need to one day see her baby again.
But Rose hadn’t seen her child, as far as Jenna knew. And Rose had died two years ago, probably before Kelly had made her plans to run. Yet somehow they’d ended up here.
Lexie stood up and sneezed, bringing Jenna back to the present.
“Can we go to the carnival now?” Lexie asked.
While Jenna was still caught up in the past, Lexie was already moving on, which was probably a good thing.
Jenna set the book down and stood up, knowing that she had to address something very important. “After what happened last night, Lexie, I think we should stay home.”
Lexie’s face fell. “I’ll be good. I’ll stay with you, and I’ll call you Mommy. I promise,” Lexie said with an earnestness that made Jenna feel like crying. “I won’t forget. Kimmy said there’s a bonfire on the beach tonight, and everyone roasts marshmallows. There are going to be fireworks, too. Please, we
have
to go.”
“What about the angels?” Jenna asked. “Are you going to run off and look for them again?”
“They won’t come during the fireworks, because it will be too loud,” Lexie said with an authoritativeness that made Jenna smile.
“What about before or after the fireworks?”
Jenna could see the indecision in Lexie’s eyes. “I won’t look for them, but if they find me, I’m going to ask them about Mommy,” she said stubbornly.
“Honey, it doesn’t work that way.”
“You don’t know how it works. You’re not in heaven, and you don’t know anything about angels. If the angels are going to talk to anyone, it will be me, because I have the angel’s kiss on my foot.”
Jenna could hardly argue with that. “All right, but no angel hunting without me. Deal?”
“Deal,” Lexie said happily, skipping away before Jenna could change her mind.
Jenna slowly followed. At the top of the stairs, she gave the basement a last look, then flipped off
the light and shut the door. She’d come back later and look for more clues to the past. In the living room, the old piano called to her. She crossed the room and sat down at the bench, imagining another woman sitting on this very seat, her hands resting on the same keys. Jenna remembered Rose’s words about turning to the piano for comfort. Music had played through their family for generations. She hadn’t inherited the angel kiss birthmark, but she had inherited a gift for music.
Jenna rested her fingers lightly on the keys and, without conscious thought, began to play. She didn’t know the tune, didn’t know where the notes came from. When she stopped, she shivered. Turning her head quickly, she felt a slight breeze coming from somewhere, but the windows were closed. She had the oddest feeling that Rose had just played a song for her. That was crazy—Rose was dead. But as she got up and left the room, a tiny voice reminded her that many people believed music was the voice of the angels.
Jogging was Charlotte’s stress reducer, but there were too many people out and about today and she didn’t want to risk another encounter with Andrew, so she’d hopped on her bike instead. While she usually enjoyed chatting with her friends and neighbors, there were a lot of things she wasn’t in the mood to gossip about today—like Annie’s baby, Andrew’s return, and her mother’s eviction, all topics that were no doubt being discussed all over town.
She needed some time to herself to figure out how to deal with Andrew. Not that she intended to have any sort of relationship with him, but their paths would cross. Her mother expected her to go to church on Sundays, and if Andrew was moving into their house, she would no doubt have to deal with him about those issues.
Turning down one street, she headed for the next hill, feeling her thighs begin to burn, but it was a good pain, and one she knew how to fix. The pain from her youth had never healed, just scarred over her heart.
Seeing Andrew again had brought back a lot of memories, both good and bad, and she didn’t particularly want to remember that time in her life. She’d moved on, and she was terribly afraid that Andrew would ask her questions she didn’t want to answer. Mostly she was afraid that she’d start to feel something again for him, and that was the last thing she wanted.
She pedaled harder, her lungs straining as she reached the top of the last hill. She turned down the street, her pulse slowing as the street leveled out. She knew her mother would try to push her and Andrew together. She had already seen the wheels spinning in her mother’s head at the thought of a potential marriage between her daughter and the new minister—as if history would repeat itself, that she would lead her mother’s life. That was not going to happen. She didn’t want that life for herself, nor did she want to be Andrew’s wife anymore. Too much water under that bridge.
Pushing Andrew out of her head, she tried to appreciate the ride. Now that she was back, she was beginning to realize how much she’d missed this town: the crisp, clean air, the ocean views from just about every part of town, the smell of the sea, the sense of community. Like it or not, she was a local girl and always would be.