The View from Prince Street (18 page)

“I still can't believe they could send a woman here on such bogus charges,” Addie said.

“They could and they did,” Margaret said. “She was said to be pretty, which would have caught the attention of many. She could have served her time in a Scottish prison, but I wouldn't be surprised if those who trolled the prisons for new indentured servants didn't cut a deal somewhere along the way to commute her sentence from prison to indentureship in the colonies.”

Lisa sipped her coffee. “Collecting people from the prisons is kind of a soulless job.”

Margaret tapped the table in front of Lisa. “As a matter of fact, it was Captain Cyrus Smyth and his young wife, Imogen, who did this very work.”

“How would you know that?” Lisa asked.

“Because Imogen confessed it to Patience. Imogen told Patience that Faith was ‘cargo' held in the hull during the voyage that brought Imogen to the Virginia Colony.” Margaret retrieved a stack of copied letters. “These are the letters that Patience McDonald wrote to her mother, but she never mailed the letters because her mother was already dead.”

“Wow,” Lisa said.

“Imogen was only twelve when the captain first met her. She was not as highborn as she pretended but very pretty. He married her when she turned fifteen, and she set about putting distance between herself and her old life.”

Lisa tapped a finger against the side of her cup. “Reinvention is not a crime.”

“No, it's not. Neither was spiriting people away to the new world. But the lengths Imogen and Cyrus Smyth went to so that he could fill
the hull of his ship were shameful. She mentioned taking women and children from the streets. Of luring men onto the ship with the promise of ale and bread. A calculating woman.”

“So,” Addie said. “Imogen ends up in a town recognizing Faith, a woman who could expose her sordid past.”

“That's exactly right. And I would bet her best solution was to discredit Faith as mad, or better yet, accuse her of witchcraft,” Margaret said. “Discredit Faith and neutralize her as a threat. Although, I think Imogen Smyth believed in witchcraft. Otherwise she'd not have gone to such lengths to create the bottles.”

“How could three bottles make such a difference in our histories?” I asked.

“Basically, the charges of witchcraft drove Faith out of the city of Alexandria,” Margaret said. “Until I read your letters, I didn't know what happened to her. There were no more public records about Faith. I knew her son Marcus did well for himself in later years, but never knew what became of Faith and her son Cullen. Reportedly, she was buried in the Christ Church cemetery in 1783, but Cullen vanished.”

“And now you do know,” I said.

“Now I know she moved to the McDonald farm with her twin sons soon after Ben Talbot died. She lived on the farm for over three decades until her death.”

“Didn't she start off with the McDonalds and didn't they send her away?” Addie asked again.

“You're correct.”

“So then why allow her back?” Addie asked.

Margaret spoke about the possibility that the McDonalds lost a third infant son just days before Faith arrived with her twin sons. “Later records only mention one of Faith's sons. The logical conclusion is one of Faith's babies died. That happened all the time. But . . .”

We all watched as she reached for her coffee and took a deliberately long sip and a bite of cookie for effect.

“And thumbs up to Rae for this theory I'm about to share. The McDonalds actually lost all of their first three sons who died before the age of one.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Addie said. “Who sired the McDonald line? It didn't die out.”

Margaret hesitated, savoring the secret she was about to share. “I believe Faith relinquished, under duress, one of her twins to the McDonalds.” Margaret reached for an envelope and pulled out a copy of two old paintings. “This is Patrick McDonald, the only male child of Patience's to ‘survive' to adulthood. The other is a portrait of Hanna McDonald Dowd, the McDonalds only surviving daughter.”

We all saw a dour-faced man in his midthirties with pale reddish hair and green eyes. Gazes then shifted to the daughter's dark hair and brown eyes.

“The two don't look anything alike,” I said. “But that's hardly irrefutable proof.”

Margaret leaned forward, her eyes glistening. “The third portrait is of Marcus Shire.” Marcus and Patrick shared the same lightly colored eyes. Although Patrick's hair and skin tones were lighter than Marcus's, the resemblance was uncanny. “Granted, these are paintings, but come on, guys. Not identical twins, but definitely brothers.”

“Do you believe they knew?” I asked.

“I'd say they did. Neither spoke of a connection, but the next couple of generations of the Shires and McDonalds were close. They had quite a few business ties.”

“But there's no way of proving it,” I said.

“In my backpack I have three genetic testing kits. They simply involve a cheek swab. I have a lab friend who will test the sample for free. I bet we find markers linking at least Addie and Rae.”

“Then why run mine?” Lisa asked. “It's a waste of time.”

Margaret shook her head as she nibbled a second cookie. You never know what will shake out. And what could it hurt?”

“Which brings us back to the bottles,” I said. “Why did the good ladies of Alexandria construct the bottles?”

“Because they were deeply afraid of Faith and her powers.”

“They really thought she was a witch?” I understood that one person's fear could infect an entire group. “Or perhaps they were afraid she would talk.”

Margaret leaned back in her chair and held up an index finger. “Faith had the potential to cause problems for all three women, so it was easy to convince themselves she was a witch. They gathered in secret, cast protection spells, and declared their wishes.”

“Unfortunately, their wishes were curses,” Addie said. “Sarah wished to be free of her sister and for generations, Shire women have been bound to sisters stricken with the curse of madness.”

“You don't believe that,” I said.

“I can't speak for the entire bloodline,” Addie said. “But I'll spot you heavy odds that I'm right.”

“When Addie's bottle broke, we found a scroll inside encased in candlewax,” Margaret said. “Sarah was afraid the world would know Faith was her sister.”

“Do the other bottles have scrolls?” Lisa asked.

“Based on X-rays, I think they do. I can't read the other two scrolls without breaking the seal. Otherwise I could tell you what your ancestors wished for themselves.”

“I suppose Imogen wished her secret would stay a secret,” Lisa said, almost to herself.

I could imagine Patience McDonald's wish after witnessing the death of so many children. The agony must have been unbearable. Was it a wonder the women in my family wished to distance themselves from their secrets?

“Should we break the bottles and see what the scrolls say?” I asked.

Margaret held up her hands. “As curious as I am, no. Breaking them would not be good. They're so valuable because they're intact.”

“What are you proposing, Margaret?” I asked.

“I'd like to do an exhibit in town and maybe give a lecture discussing the families. You've provided so much detail. And the DNA swabs would prove or disprove my theory about Patience McDonald's son. It's all a very fascinating story.”

We were tugging at the threads of so many secrets and memories that had remained undisturbed, much like their relatives in their graves. Lisa looked at me, and for a moment, I tensed. She was one of the very few people who knew about the boy. Would she blurt out my secret tonight?

There were so many reasons to shut all this down now and to forget about the McDonald family history. But they were all trumped soundly by the boy.

I held out an open palm toward Margaret. “I'll do it. Give me the swab.”

Grinning, Margaret fished out a swab and handed it to me. “This is awesome. You won't regret this, Rae.”

I read the instructions and, tearing open the package, swiped the inside of my cheek. This might be a fascinating tidbit for the boy. I sealed the swab and handed it back to Margaret.

Lisa shrugged. “What the hell. Why not?” She repeated the process and gave her sample to Margaret.

Addie swabbed her cheek and gave the swab to Margaret.

“I'll send this off immediately.” Margaret sealed the three samples in a padded envelope. “This could be the way to solve the mystery of the missing twin, and who knows, maybe we can confirm Amelia's birth parents.”

“Amelia?” Addie asked.

“My aunt,” Lisa said. “She's in a nursing home. She believes her birth father was a McDonald. If I swab her cheek, we could determine if she's related to Rae.”

“We could.” Margaret fished out a fourth test kit and handed it to Lisa. “Have at it.”

“You carry spares?” Lisa asked.

“I know you are doing a family search for Amelia,” Margaret said.

Lisa accepted the swab. “I'll swing by the home in the morning.”

Addie shook her head. “I'm confused. So Lisa's aunt Amelia is really Rae's aunt?”

I nodded. “Amelia's biological father was Jeffrey McDonald. His younger brother, Stuart, would have been my great-uncle. And my mother, Diane, is Amelia's half sister.”

Addie shook her head. “So, that would make Rae and Lisa . . . what?”

“Lisa and Rae are connected but its by adoption and not biological,” Margaret said. “Now that Addie and I have completed the job at the church and processed what we salvaged, I have a day to figure Fiona's story. Digging back seventy-five years has got to be easier than going back to colonial America.”

“Famous last words,” Addie said.

•   •   •

I left Lisa, Margaret, and Addie at the warehouse to head home, but as I approached my turn, I felt a tug. Something in me said I needed to see Amelia.

It was early evening and the commuter traffic on the Beltway had thinned, so the drive went fast. As I pulled into a parking spot, a quick check of my watch told me I had a half hour left before visiting hours ended. Grabbing my purse, I moved across the parking lot, nearly swimming in the humid air. Air-conditioning chilled my skin as I walked through the automatic doors and held up my identification to the front desk nurse.

“Dr. McDonald,” the nurse said. “It's been a couple of weeks.”

“How's Amelia doing today?”

“Comes and goes. Hard to say.”

“May I go in?”

“We're glad you're here. Visitors are always welcome.”

“Thank you.” I slowly walked to Amelia's room thinking about what Margaret had said earlier.

Her door was slightly ajar, allowing a trickle of light into the hallway as I knocked gently. When I heard no answer, I slowly pushed open the door. Amelia wasn't in her bed but sitting in a chair by the window that overlooked a parking lot. The clouds were thick again, blocking the moon and the stars. The only illumination came from two large lamps that cast light on the few remaining cars and the thin ribbon of woods separating this property from a shopping mall.

I hesitated until she turned and acknowledged me. Amelia's hair was styled in a curly coiffure of soft, bluish white curls that framed her lined face. I knew from the staff that she had her hair done weekly and most days insisted on a hint of rouge to brighten her pale cheeks. The lamp glowed warm and inviting, brightening her smile. She appeared lucid until I spoke her name.

“Amelia?”

She looked away from the window. “Diane. It's so good to see you. It's been ages.”

I could have corrected her, explained I wasn't my mother, but then each time I did, she became upset and confused, so I simply smiled. “Do you mind if I visit with you for a minute?”

“No, no,” she said, smiling. “Always good to see you.”

Moving across the room, I pulled a chair closer to her. “I've missed you.”

As long as I can remember, Amelia, a friend of my mother's, was pegged as the vivacious “aunt” who always came by bearing some exotic toy that kept Jennifer and me delighted for hours. I had always assumed the term
aunt
was figurative but now realized it was indeed genuine. No one ever gave a hint to the biological relationship, and it saddened me now to believe Mom had lived her entire life never knowing she had a half sister.

“So tell me what you've been up to, Diane? How are the girls? Jennifer
should be excited about high school. Hard to believe she'll be out of middle school at the end of this year.”

Jennifer had been more than ready to leave middle school by the summer of Amelia's visit. At that time, Jennifer spent a good half hour showing Amelia all the pictures she pulled from the teen magazines showcasing favorite outfits. I'd accused my sister later of pandering for money, but instead of getting mad, she shrugged and laughed.

I didn't bother to correct Amelia and played along. “Jennifer would like to go to the Governor's School, but I doubt her grades will be good enough.” As it turned out, Jennifer's grades were not up to par.

“Rae has the grades,” Amelia countered. “She's always had the better report card. That girl is going places. Jennifer is smart. She's just a little lazy.”

Leaning in a little, I smiled. “It's true.”

I took her lined hand in mine and traced a raised vein on her hand. Would I one day end up in a place like this, alone, with no one to visit me? What right did I have to saddle the boy with my care when I hadn't raised him?

Sighing, I forced a smile. “Both girls just haven't bloomed yet. I think each will find her own way.”

“The girls love you, Diane, and I know you love them.”

Emotion tightened my throat. “I know.”