The View from Prince Street (22 page)

“This is what I picture when I think of you,” Susan said. “Young. So very young. And now it's nice to see you've become such an accomplished woman.”

I studied the picture an extra beat. “Michael is still a tiny baby in
my mind. It'll take some adjusting to the fact that he's becoming a grown man.”

Silent, Michael traced his finger down the condensation on the side of his glass. Susan sat back in her seat, looking exhausted. Overwhelmed, I looked down, needing time to shore up my senses before I looked at him or even Susan. My roller coaster of emotions ranged from exhausted to exhilarated.

When the waitress arrived, the only one able to speak was Lisa, who grinned and ordered two pizzas—one cheese and the other with pepperoni.

“I'm proud of you all,” Lisa said, shattering the silence. “None of this is easy and yet you're all here.” Susan looked up, clearly ready to focus on anything different. “Without heaping TMI on you, I'm in AA. We talk a lot about secrets. They all eat away at you. Make life tough. Lead us to drink so that we won't feel as much. Talking is good. This is healthy.”

Michael studied her, trying to get a read on her. “I guess.”

“Rae, you should tell him about the family papers that you're having a historian study,” Lisa said. “Michael, Rae recently had an old hearth fireplace removed from her backyard. It was built in the mid-1750s.”

“Wow,” he said.

“It had become a tumble of rocks, not a hearth anymore.” I felt Lisa's elbow nudge me and I gladly reached for benign facts that were only a curiosity to me. “The first McDonalds in Alexandria came from Scotland in 1749. Their names were Patience and Michael McDonald.”

“Is that where my name came from?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I just liked the name. I didn't know about the first Michael when you were born.”

“Oh.” Michael asked.

“My family has always been good about saving family papers, and I recently gave the letters to a local historian who studies the city's history.
She found letters from Patience that she never mailed. They're quite detailed.”

“Turns out,” Lisa said, leaning forward like a conspirator sharing a secret, “that there are three families that are connected.” She explained that the families all still had descendants in the area. She now had an attentive audience, so she added the story of the three witch bottles for good measure.

“Can I see the bottles?” Michael asked.

“I believe they'll be on display very soon,” I said. “If you're interested, I'll send you an e-mail when the exhibit opens.”

“Yeah, that would be cool.”

I reached into my purse. “You'd also asked about the family's genealogy. This is a printout of all the generations dating back to Patience and Michael.”

He scanned the pages. “Wow. Mom, your family only goes back a couple of generations.”

Susan shrugged, looking a bit chagrined in the face of the McDonalds' long history. “We came from Ireland about eighty years ago and don't have many records. You're lucky that Rae can trace the McDonalds back so far.”

Lisa tapped a finger against the side of her glass of tea. “My people were here early, but I'm not thinking they were such nice people. They transported indentured servants and slaves.”

I tapped Patrick McDonald's name, which rested under Patience's and Michael's. “The historian thinks he was adopted. There are letters that suggest Patience adopted one of Faith Shire's twin sons.”

“Really?”

“The historian has a couple of portraits. One of Patrick and one of Faith's other son, Marcus. They look like they could be brothers.”

“Cool.”

The pizza arrived and we all welcomed the chance to eat and
reflect. Susan nibbled at the crust of her pizza but didn't eat more than a bite or two. I wanted so much to ask her about her illness but sensed she did not want to discuss it in front of Michael.

When we'd finished eating, we boxed up the extra for her to take home for Michael and made our way out to the parking lot. The wind had picked up and blew a paper cup randomly across the lot, but the skies had cleared and the sun was warm.

I'd feared and dreaded this meeting for years, and now I had met Michael. Why couldn't it have been so much sooner? We stood on the curb, Michael's hands tucked in his front pockets as Susan loaded the pizza boxes in the backseat. When she faced us, a sense of awkwardness bloomed. Did I shake hands again? Would a hug be out of the question, and if I hugged both, how long was too long? Judging by Michael and Susan's expressions, they were just as uncertain.

Lisa picked up on this and quickly leaned in and hugged Susan first, and then when Michael pulled his hands from his pockets, hugged him. She was our Switzerland. Our safe place. Following suit, I quickly embraced Susan, and cringed when I felt the bones in her back. “I'm sorry,” I whispered.

She squeezed me with a surprising strength. “It's okay. Really.”

Tears burning my throat, I turned toward Michael. We both hesitated, but I put my arms around him. I wanted to hug him. To feel him. Hear his breath. Just as I had when he was a tiny baby.

After a not-too-quick hug, I backed away and tucked my hands in the folds of my jacket. “It was really nice to meet you, Michael.”

“Yeah, Rae,” he said.

I wanted the moment to linger just a little longer. “If you have any questions about those papers, just e-mail me.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Susan smiled. “Thanks, Rae. This really has been great.”

There was so much I wanted to thank her for doing. I understood
that this moment was happening because she was supporting Michael as he reached out to me. “Thank you, Susan.”

They drove off while we climbed into my car. For a moment, I simply sat, completely exhausted, unable to start the car.

“Very intense,” Lisa said.

“Did you see his expression? He looked moodier toward the end.”

“It's a lot to absorb. Seems there's no easy way to do this.”

“As a psychologist, I can tell you that he underestimated the emotions of today. Until now, I've been a curiosity. A make-believe person he could tuck in a box and ignore or pay attention to when it suited him.”

Lisa clicked her seat belt in place. “No one can predict how they'll feel in this kind of situation. I think all in all, it went pretty well.”

I sighed, fastened my seat belt, and started the engine. “We're in the honeymoon phase.”

“What is that?”

“Where we're polite and everyone was on their best behavior.”

“Maybe, but Susan seemed really cool about the whole thing.”

A dull headache throbbed behind my eyes. “I had no idea she was sick.”

“You think it's cancer?”

“She shows signs of undergoing chemotherapy treatment.”

“Shit. How sick do you think she is?”

“I don't know. She never mentioned it in her letters.” My head dropped back against the headrest. “And still, she's here with Michael, and so gracious.”

“You picked a good mom for him.”

“I wish I could take the credit, but that was all Mom.”

“How?”

“She never said. But when I met Susan, I instantly liked her.” My hands trembled. “Mom was always good at introducing people that got along well.

“I wonder what he would have been like if I'd raised him. I barely
knew how to take care of myself then, let alone a baby. He's very together and secure.”

Lisa was quiet for a moment. “So where to from here?”

“Unless I hear from him, I'll give him a little time. When Margaret displays the witch bottles, I'll invite him and hope that this whole thing doesn't scare him off.”

“You're not a scary person, Rae. You may put up a front, but today the true Rae was there.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let's face it, Rae. When you're doing your I-must-be-perfect mode like your mother, you're a little Stepford Wife–ish.”

“I am not.”

“You
are
, Rae. But when you're like this, you're pretty cool. Kid, you need to loosen your grip on the wheel of life.”

Sliding on my sunglasses, I backed out of the parking space and drove toward Duke Street. “Yeah, right.”

“See, there you go again, Rae. You're shoring up the defenses.”

“Control is not a bad thing, Lisa. You attend your AA meetings in an effort to stay in control.”

“No argument here. But I also know I can't control everything around me. I can only manage and accept.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

When we pulled up in front of the Prince Street house, a white Mercedes was parked in front. The front door was ajar and there was an
Open House
flag planted by the For Sale sign. The real estate agent, I figured.

“Great,” Lisa said. “I was hoping she'd be gone by now.”

“You don't like her?” I was now ready to talk about something else.

“She's a bitch.”

“Like me?”

“Not at all like you. I know you have a heart in there somewhere. Not so sure about that one.”

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

“Would you?” Her look of genuine relief surprised me. She'd handled the restaurant so well and now she was melting because of a real estate agent.

“Of course.” I parked and we walked into the center hallway. Charlie barked from his crate, clearly not happy with people in his house. Lisa hurried to the kitchen and let him out. He jumped up on her and she greeted him with a quick hug before she hustled him out the back door into the yard. She picked up a red chew ring and tossed it, and he took off running. She tried to slip back inside unnoticed, but the dog barked at the door. “Rae, I'll be out here with Charlie if anyone needs me.”

“No trouble. I'll call out if you're needed.”

“Thanks.” She turned to wrestle the red ring from the dog and threw it again.

I turned to study the interior of the house. It had been years since I'd stood in this hallway. There'd been so many renovations that I barely recognized the place. “I like what Amelia did with the place,” I said to Lisa, who was still standing just outside the back door.

“I do, too. She always wanted to give it back to me one day in better shape than when she received it.”

Upstairs, we heard footsteps and then a couple appeared at the top of the stairs. I recognized them immediately. It was Samuel and Debra. Each was smiling and both were equally shocked when they saw me standing at the base of the bullnose staircase.

“Dr. McDonald?” Debra asked. Her face reddened a tinge, but she summoned a grin.

Samuel was more relaxed, extending his hand. “What brings you here? You thinking about buying the place?”

“I'm a friend of the current owner. No interest in buying.”

He studied the entryway, admiring the house. “This kind of house doesn't come on the market very often,” he said. “When my agent, Ms.
Tuttle, telephoned me, I told Debra she had to see the place.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and grinned. “We told our families that we're getting married. Buying this house will top off the wedding perfectly.”

Hormones and ego were driving this couple. But clear thinking? No way.

Dearest Mother,

My health worsens with this pregnancy and it doesn't feel like the others.

The girl, Hanna, is nearly five. She is a chubby child, very bright and continues to spend her days with the witch. Patrick is now writing his letters and proves to have lovely handwriting. Marcus is learning the tobacco trade with Mr. McDonald. Marcus loves the outside as much as Patrick loves his books. Patrick is very bright, learns quickly and rarely needs me to read to him.

As I watch Hanna and the witch tend the herbs in the garden, I feel as if I never knew the girl. She is always pleasant to me but when she falls or needs help she goes to the witch. Though I am content with this arrangement, I dread the day my son will leave.

My belly swells and Mr. McDonald is thrilled at the prospect of another child. However, I've felt no quickening in the womb and each time the witch looks at my belly, she slowly shakes her head.

—P

Lisa Smyth

S
ATURDAY
, A
UGUST
27, 3:00
P.M.

A
fter the prospective buyers left, Rebecca mentioned that another couple might be coming by for a showing. So I hooked the leash on Charlie's collar and we made ourselves scarce.

We walked from Prince Street down to Union Street and along the Washington & Old Dominion Trail. A gentle breeze blew off the water and it felt good to exercise. The buyers looked excited and Rebecca had seemed pleased, whispering to me that she expected an offer.

When we left the trail and headed back to the house, I saw that Rebecca's car was still parked out front, so we turned and headed down King Street. When I saw the salvage yard sign, I remembered the picture of Amelia taken in front of the warehouse and decided to pay them a visit.

The bells on the front door jingled as I pushed through the door. I wasn't sure if they could help me with the image but decided it was worth a try. Maybe if I knew Amelia's past better, I could help her recall other memoires as well.

Addie Morgan stood behind the front counter sorting what looked like hundreds of keys. Her smile was quick and bright. “Lisa! Did you come in search of more glass plate negatives?”

“No, but if you come across any, keep me in mind. Do you mind if I have Charlie in here?”

She pushed up off a stool and stretched her back. “No, he's fine.”

“Where's the baby?”

“Upstairs sleeping. She's been very fussy today and is cutting teeth. We both could use a nap.” Addie held out her hand to Charlie and let him sniff it. When he licked her hand, she patted him on the head.

I fished the picture out of my purse and showed it to her. “My aunt's attorney gave me this picture. He found it in her late husband's papers. I was hoping you could help me figure out who's in the picture. The young woman in the center is Amelia.”

Addie looked at the image. “She was lovely.”

“She taught high school music for a year, and judging by the teens around her, I think this was her class. And they appear to be in front of your building.”

“That's the warehouse. But no sign on the front door.” She studied the date. “Taken 1968. We didn't officially become a business until 1969. But I think that's my aunt Grace to the left.” She tapped the face of a midsized woman with long curly brown hair wearing jeans, a tie-dyed shirt, and sneakers. “Grace was quite the hippie. But I don't see my mother.”

“Grace's sister?”

“Yes. If this were 1968, it would have been around the time my grandparents died. We should ask Grace.”

“You don't think she'd mind?”

“I don't see why not. Let me call up to her. Be right back. Would you man the fort?”

“Will do.”

She ran up the stairs, leaving Charlie and me alone to study the keys laid out on the counter. Most were thick, old, and rusted, and looked like they were at least a hundred years old.

“I like this place. Full of so much life,” Jennifer whispered.

I almost asked why she was whispering but then realized that answering a make-believe voice was somewhat insane. She wasn't real. She was me. My own thoughts echoing back, I think.

“If it makes you feel better, pretend it's not Jennifer talking to you. But it is!” she said louder. “I've been with you since the accident.”

“Then why haven't I heard you before?”

“Oh, you heard me. You just weren't listening.”

“So are you with me forever?”

“That depends.”

The sound of footsteps on the staircase sent color rushing to my cheeks. God, I hoped they didn't hear me talking to myself.

Addie appeared, with a baby in her arms and an older woman moving slowly behind her. I recognized the woman immediately as the girl in the picture. Gone were the long brown locks and the tie-dye, but her eyes sparked with the same brightness.

Addie adjusted the baby in her arms. “Lisa Smyth, this is my aunt Grace. Grace, this is Lisa.”

Grace extended her hand. “Lisa, how is Amelia these days?”

“She has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's.”

The lines around Grace's lips deepened with a frown. “She was one of the sharpest gals I knew. Always so funny. And she had a voice like an angel when she sang.”

“Grace, I was hoping you could help me with this picture. Amelia's attorney recently found it in her papers.”

Grace pulled her glasses from the pocket of her shirt, settled them on her nose, and studied the image. She chuckled and looked up. “1968. God, that transports me back.”

She traced a bent finger over the faces, surprised by the image of herself at such a young age. “Where does life go?” she asked. “I was only eighteen when this picture was taken.”

“What was Amelia doing there that day?”

“School had just started and she was producing
The Sound of Music
—or maybe it was
The Music Man
. I don't remember, but she decided to tackle this ambitious project and she told her class that if they wanted extra credit they had to meet her at this corner.”

“Why this corner?”

“Scavenging. My parents died shortly after I graduated high school, and the warehouse was my inheritance. My mother, Lizzie, collected every bit of junk and salvage she came across for years and stowed it all in this building. I was overwhelmed with what I found and decided to start selling it. Out of that eventually came this business. Amelia's parents had owned their house on Prince Street then, and she was familiar with this warehouse. She called ahead and asked if she and her students could scavenge. I was more than happy to have them take whatever they could carry.”

“Alexandria was kind of a rough place then.”

“It's not what it is now, and it probably wasn't smart for either one of us to be on the streets alone, even in broad daylight.” A smile tweaked the edge of her lips. “In those days, I was always about taking chances.”

The baby in Addie's arms hiccupped. Addie shifted her to her opposite shoulder and patted her on the back. “I like the idea of you being wild and reckless. I'll remind you of that when you tell me to be careful.”

Grace waved a hand at her. “You're different. You've got a baby. I didn't have anyone depending on me.”

“Where was Mom then?” Addie asked.

“She must have been in school.”

Addie glanced at the picture. “You looked pretty composed, considering you'd lost your parents.”

“I was terrified. But that's the way it went. Amelia was always so talkative, and she told me about the high school play she was producing and that she needed props.”

“I told her she could have whatever she and her students could carry away from the warehouse if they paid me twenty bucks. That was a fortune to me then, and I thought she'd laugh it off, but she agreed.”

“Do you remember who was in the picture?”

Grace straightened her shoulders. “Well, let me see. You know that's me and that's Amelia. That good-looking young man is Robert Murphy.”

“Amelia's husband,” I said.

“Yes. They met that day. One of the schoolgirls saw him passing by the warehouse and asked him for help with a trunk. He came inside and saw Amelia and he was hooked. Heard he followed her to New York when she took the train up for one last audition.”

“She said they met in New York.”

“She might have noticed him in New York, but they met here.”

“I wonder if she got the part in the play.” I mused.

“She did. Turned it down,” Grace said.

“Really? Why?”

“Fell in love with Mr. Murphy.” Shrugging, Grace tapped a bent finger on the face of a young girl. “That girl, Diane, she was about eighteen and a senior in high school. She was the one that pulled Robert off the street for Amelia. What was her last name? Saunders. Her name was Diane Saunders.”

“That's Rae McDonald's mother.”

“I suppose so. In fact, that's Stephen McDonald, the one she ended up marrying, right there next to her. He was also one of Amelia's students.”

“Who's the older woman next to Diane?”

“That's her mother. Nice lady. Felicity. Fay. Fran.”

“Fiona?” I asked.

“Yeah. That's it. Fiona Saunders.”

“Oh, my God. That's Fiona?” I asked. Fiona must have known who Amelia was and never said a word. Did Amelia know she'd stood just feet from her birth mother?

“Who was Fiona?” Addie asked.

“Amelia's mother.”

“No, Amelia's mother was Marjorie Smyth,” Grace said. “She came to the warehouse several times when she was restoring her house.”

The secret didn't really need to be a secret any longer. “Fiona was Amelia's birth mother. She just told me a few days ago that she was adopted.”

Grace rubbed her hand over her chin. “I didn't know that.”

“She was having a good day and wanted to set the record straight about her parents. She gave me the baby book that Fiona and her first husband, Jeffrey McDonald, made for her.”

“She was married to a McDonald? I never would have guessed it.”

Addie shook her head. “What is Amelia holding there? I think I know, but I want you to tell me.”

Grace shrugged. “Let me get my magnifying glass.” She moved to the front desk and retrieved a large round glass that she held over the picture. “Well, I'll be damned. Addie, look at this.”

Holding the baby close, Addie looked through the looking glass. “Lisa, you'll never guess what Amelia is holding. It's the witch bottle.”

“The one that Margaret and I scavenged from the Prince Street house?”

“It appears so.”

“How'd she get it?”

Grace shook her head as she pulled off her glasses. “I told them they could take whatever they wanted and they all spent hours
scavenging the warehouse for chairs and tables and props for their play. Amelia must have picked it up here that day.”

“According to Margaret's research,” Addie said, “she believes those bottles were likely made in Alexandria.”

“And they have all found their way back to the corner of King Street, the heart of the city,” Grace said. “I'm not a statistician, but what are the odds?”