The View from Prince Street (25 page)

“Patience speaks often of the witch, but Patience died in 1770, thirteen years before Faith passed.”

“What does Patience say about her?”

“That women from town still came to see her. Faith was very close to Patience's daughter, Hanna, whom she practically raised.”

“And Patience's husband?”

“Mr. McDonald died a few months before Faith.”

“So they were here at the house alone for thirteen years.”

Margaret grinned. “And he never remarried.”

“Do you think there was something between them?”

Margaret shrugged. “Sure makes sense, but who knows.”

“Funny that Patience's letters would survive. If Mr. McDonald didn't want the world to know Patrick wasn't his biological son, I would think he'd have destroyed them.”

“Very likely he never knew about them. And if Faith knew, she would have saved them to prove Patrick was her son Cullen and Marcus's fraternal twin.”

Shaking my head, I asked, “What about Lisa's genetic markers?”

“Would you believe she's related to the McCraes?”

“How?”

“That, I don't know yet. But rest assured, I'll figure it out.”

“Is there anyone in Alexandria who's not related?”

Margaret laughed. “Maybe one or two people.”

My Dearest Children,

The farmer's wife no longer writes her letters and she remains bed ridden. She rarely speaks, and when she does, it's always about Patrick. As much as I hate the lie, I see that the boy will have far more than I could ever give him. Marcus, the oldest of my boys by minutes, will take over his own father's lands when he turns eighteen this year. He now lives in Alexandria, where he apprentices for the owner of Gadsby's Tavern. Patrick is away at school and will go to the university in Williamsburg to study the law.

—F

Rae McDonald

W
EDNESDAY
, A
UGUST
31, 1:00
P.M.

T
his morning, I had risen early and was restless. After my morning run and my client appointments, I still couldn't calm my thoughts. I decided to go see Michael's birth father on a long shot he might know something. We hadn't seen each other in over sixteen years. At our last meeting we were just kids, and it had been awkward.

Of course, I'd kept tabs on him over the years. We didn't speak, but I felt a need to know how he was doing. He was the other half of the boy, and whatever genetics he had, the boy shared. A year older than I, Dan had finished college at Virginia Tech and gone on to become an engineer and join the family firm in Fairfax County. He married. Had two more children. Girls. No boys. But we didn't talk or communicate, and I had no idea if he'd ever thought about the boy or me.

Now, I needed to see him. I needed to talk to him and tell him about my meeting with the boy. I needed him to acknowledge that Michael's birth, which had changed me so deeply, had left some kind of impression on him. Something. Anything.

I found the engineering offices in Fairfax easily enough and parked.
The building his company owned was made of brick and looked as old money as his family had been. There was a time I would have been terrified by all this raw emotion, but now I didn't care who I upset or how I felt.

I needed to know.

Inside the lobby, I walked to the receptionist with my shoulders back. She was young and pretty and wore a blue dress. When she looked up at me, the smile reached her expressive blue eyes. “Can I help you?” she asked.

Quickly, I shored up the ice, hoping it would protect me a little longer. “I'm here to see Dan Chesterfield.”

“Is he expecting you?”

“Yes,” I lied. “My name is Dr. Rae McDonald. We grew up together in Alexandria.”

Let the name from the past jostle him. Let it upset his day. If only just a little.
I needed to know I wasn't alone in this boat.

She cradled the phone under her chin as she pressed buttons. “I'll buzz him.”

“Thank you.”

I didn't sit but turned and moved to the window. The view wasn't spectacular. It was a busy side street that butted up against the parking lot. At one o'clock, the traffic was already growing heavy and would make the trip home twice as long.

Suddenly, my reasons for coming seemed silly and selfish. In fact, I felt foolish. What did I hope to prove by coming?

“Rae?”

I turned at the sound of his voice. He was as tall as I remembered, but that thick hair had thinned just a little and his face was rounder. He wore a crisp, monogrammed white shirt, red tie, and suit pants that looked custom tailored. He also wore a wedding band.

I wasn't sure how I'd feel when I saw him, but there was no animosity. “Dan. Thank you for seeing me.”

He nodded toward the inner office door. “Why don't you come into my office and we can talk?”

“Of course.”

Neither of us spoke as we walked down the carpeted hallway past beautiful color pictures of buildings that I assumed his company had done the engineering work on.

Inside his office, he closed the door quietly and held out his hand toward a chair. “Why don't you have a seat, Rae?”

A part of me wished I could summon a witty quip or something to draw the pure awkwardness out of this moment. But I had nothing, and I could see that he was a little nervous. So I simply said, “Thank you.”

Dan took the seat to my right instead of behind his desk. I took that as a good sign. He wasn't going for the power position. In this, he saw us as equals.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “You look great, by the way. You've barely aged at all.”

“You look good as well, Dan.”

“I try.” He tugged at his cuff and sat a little straighter. “Not possible to look like the eighteen-year-old track star these days. A thriving engineering practice and a couple of kids running around the house make it hard to find the time to work out. I only run a few days a week at best.”

I raised my chin a fraction at the mention of children. “How many children do you have?”

“Two girls. Alexa and Madison. They're ten and seven.”

“I bet they're beautiful.”

On the credenza behind his desk were pictures of his wife and their two daughters. Michael didn't look like his half sisters. He looked like me, and the girls favored their mother. For some reason, I was glad he didn't have a son.

“Are you married?” he asked. “Do you have more children?”

More children.
The subtle acknowledgment of Michael didn't spin me into a panic as it might have years ago. “No, to both.”

He let a sigh leak over his lips. “I've thought about you over the years and wondered how you were doing. Susan sends me pictures of Michael every year. He really looks so much like you.”

He'd opened Susan's envelopes. He'd gotten on with his life. I cleared my throat. “The pictures are amazing. I really do appreciate her.”

“She's been great. You did a fantastic job choosing her.” He cleared his throat. “The older I get, the more I realize how much I dumped on your shoulders back then. I was so scared that I didn't think about anyone but myself.”

“We were both so clueless.”

“Yeah, but I could have done a hell of a lot more.”

There was some comfort in knowing he was affected by the boy's birth. “Michael sent me an e-mail a few weeks ago. He wanted to meet and I agreed. I met him and Susan in a restaurant a few days ago.”

His smile was genuine, warm. “How did it go?”

“Initially, it was hard facing him.”

“Why?”

“Because I gave him away.”

“Rae, you were a kid.”

“He was my child.” The words sounded rougher than I would have liked.

Absently, he twisted his wedding band. “We did right by him, Rae. Neither one of us was in a position to give him what he needed. You were at least enough of a parent to see he had good people to raise him.”

“Do your wife and children know about him?”

“My parents do, of course, and so does my wife. We'll tell the girls when they get older.” He shifted before looking at me. “You okay, Rae?”

“Did you know Susan was sick?”

A wrinkle deepened across his forehead. “No.”

“I think it must be cancer, judging by her pale skin and hair loss. I didn't ask her about it because I didn't want to upset Michael.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

I moistened my lips. “I hate the idea of him losing her.”

“Rae, medicine is pretty amazing these days. Cancer isn't the killer it used to be.”

“It doesn't look good, Dan.”

He drew in a deep breath. “She's still married?”

“Yes.”

“Good. They aren't alone.”

“But the boy still needs his mother.”

He studied me. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

Dark eyes studied me with a maturity absent from my memories. “I haven't seen you in over sixteen years, and now you're here.”

Fine
was the first word to spring to the tip of my tongue. I
was
fine. Wasn't I? The ice was cracking. Emotions were bubbling up. I could feel my life's direction changing whether I liked it or not. “I just thought you might like to know I saw him. And that he's doing well.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“I don't know how to answer the question. I thought I had my life figured out and now, I'm not so sure.” I drew upon a smile I used for emotional patients. “Once I have the emotions sorted and put back in their boxes, I'll be fine.”

“You didn't use to be so careful. You used to laugh and have fun. That's what I always liked about you. You were never afraid to try or do things.”

My breath caught in my chest. “That was before I handed Michael over to Susan.”

His eyes now showed a surprising sadness. “I thought you wanted the adoption, Rae.”

“It was practical. Made sense. My mother wanted it. You and your
parents wanted it. I don't think I did.” I turned the wattage up on the smile. “But what's done is done.”

The lines feathering from the corners of Dan's eyes deepened. “I didn't realize you wanted him. When I saw you sixteen years ago, at that Christmas party, you looked so in control and back on track. I was your typical eighteen-year-old male. Drunk. Foolish. Selfish. And relieved I hadn't lost my future. But now that I'm older, there are times I wonder what it would have been like for you and me to raise our son. He looks like a great kid.”

“He is. We missed out on a lot.” There was comfort knowing this had not been easy for him.

“No, it's good to talk about it, Rae. I don't talk about him much and that seems wrong.”

“If I have more updates, would you like me to send you an e-mail?”

“That would be great. I sincerely do.”

I extended my hand. “Thanks for your time. I know this visit is the last thing you ever expected.”

“I'm glad you came by.” He took my hand and shook it as if we were business associates. “Take care, Rae. Any time you want to talk. And if you or Michael or his parents ever need me, let me know.”

“Thank you.” But of course, it wasn't likely I'd ever visit him again. I'd allowed emotion to drive this entire scene, and I felt weak and foolish for it.

My fingertips prickled, as if warming from frostbite. “Best of luck to you.”

“You, too, Rae. Let me show you out.”

“No. That's not necessary. Really.”

He nodded. He understood.

I left Dan standing in his office, with the pictures of his lovely children and wife smiling back at me from the credenza.

My Dearest Children,

The crops have been bountiful for the last decade and Mr. McDonald has declared a handsome profit. Mr. McDonald works even harder on the foundation for the fine brick home near the cottage. The hard labor seems to ease his sadness. He seems to accept that his dreams for a son have ended with his wife's illness. The growth in her belly is not a living creature, but something dark that drains life from her.

Hanna is now thirteen, and she is very pretty. Many of the young men in Alexandria have taken notice. We spend most of our days together and I am now teaching her the magic of the herbs. She is an apt student and may one day be a better healer than I. The farmer speaks of her making a fine marriage one day, but I rarely dwell on any notion that leaves me with no children in my care.

—F

Lisa Smyth

W
EDNESDAY
, A
UGUST
31, 4:00
P.M.

S
ince I'd retrieved the box of glass plate negatives from the salvage yard, I'd avoided them. Common sense told me they wouldn't be as technically sound compared to the work I was doing now, and so I allowed myself to believe it was my artist's ego that kept me from inspecting them. I looked up from the computer, glanced over at a sleeping Charlie, and then studied the dusty wooden box at the end of the table. It looked as if it belonged in another time and place.

“If you walk that dog much more, his legs will fall off. And I swear, if you watch any more astrology on YouTube, I'm screaming.”

“It's either that or drink.”

Charlie opened his eyes and stared at me.

“What happened to work? You used to work all the time. And you've got a whole box of negatives that must be a real trip down memory lane.”

“I can't mess up the house. And I'm not developing more negatives in the alley. That was maddening trying to keep the dust off the prints.”

“The basement, duh.”

“I hate the basement.”

“I hate the basement.” The inner Jennifer-like voice mimicked a child's voice. “Baby, baby, baby.”

Irritated, I shut the laptop and rose. I opened the refrigerator. All that remained was a carton of milk and Chinese food from last night. Charlie stood and walked toward me, his tail wagging.

“Keep eating takeout and you'll get fat.”

I shut the door. “What do you care?”

“You know how I loathe shopping, and if your ass gets fat we'll have to shop for new jeans. Just the drama of that moment makes me want to cringe.”

“I'm not getting fat.”

“Fatter. Go to the damn basement and make some pictures.” She giggled. “You know you want to.”

Rolling my head from side to side, I realized I did want to make prints. The few I'd developed the other day in the alley had whetted my appetite and reminded me why I loved photography.

Grabbing a water bottle, I headed to the door that led downstairs. Flipping on the light, I stared down the shadowed steps, wondering why the space bothered me so much. Charlie stood beside me. I was fearless until my return to Alexandria. Grabbing my phone, I plugged in my ear buds, cranked the music, and tucked it in the waistband of my yoga pants. Charlie barked and looked as if he would follow, but I ordered him to stay.

My spirit lifting, I headed down the stairs, feeling the old planks creak under my steps. I moved toward the large, deep sink, which must have been used for washing clothes back in the day. The rusted hot and cold water knobs groaned as I twisted them. The pipes shuddered, as if shaken awake, and reluctantly spat out water. I dipped my fingertips under the stream to find clean hot and cold running water.

With a determined purpose, I moved toward the other lights dangling from the ceiling in the basement and tugged their strings, waking them up. “It's too dark.”

“Lamps upstairs, dumbass.”

“Right.”

Back upstairs, I unplugged a floor lamp from the front sitting room and lugged it down to the basement. Its light helped, but not enough. Three more trips up and down the stairs created a collection of fancy lamps that had no place in a basement, but their combined light chased the shadows from the space. No scary corners where danger lurked.

On the next trip up the stairs, I retrieved two folding tables from my SUV, which I set up along the wall. Next came the tubs for the chemicals. The entire process took me almost an hour, but by the time I was done, I had a workable darkroom.

On the first table I arranged three boxes of glass negatives I'd shot in the last year. I'd made one set in the Dakotas during the summer, and the others while driving back to Virginia. As I thumbed over the rough edges, I could picture each and every image: the Rocky Mountains, the musicians in Austin, and a singer's cowboy boots in a Nashville honky-tonk.

Restless, I retrieved the negatives from the kitchen. These were the images I'd captured before Jennifer's death. “I thought I lost these.”

“I guess Amelia saved them along with all the other stuff she couldn't bring herself to toss.”

“The same stuff I tossed without any thought the day Addie and Margaret were here.”

The first image I pulled out was a view down Prince Street toward the Potomac River. “When I left town after you died, this was my last view of the city. I swore I would never come back.”

“You used to say ‘never say never,' Lisa.”

“I know.” I held up the glass negative, allowing the light from a brass floor lamp to stream through the contrasting blacks, whites, and grays. “I wasn't patient then. I didn't realize it could take hours of waiting to catch the right light. As I went through the box, I realized only two were good enough to keep. The view from Prince Street, and the stoic picture of a girl with long auburn hair. Jennifer.

“Maybe the universe is sending you a message.”

I traced the outline of her eyes. “You look so much like Rae.”

“Thanks. That's a good thing.”

It was. “Do you think she'd be my friend if she knew the truth?”

“I know the truth and I'm still sticking around.”

“You're dead.”

“And your point is?”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I smiled. “You're such a pain in the ass.”

“Shut up and make some pictures.”

Even in negative form, I could see Jennifer staring boldly into the camera. She wasn't smiling, but there was a spark in her. She'd agreed to be my guinea pig that day. It had been a chilly spring Saturday and I needed a model.

“You ruined the first couple of attempts because you kept moving.”

“Sitting still has never been my style.”

“It's as good a place as any to start. Rae might like to have it.”

Time has a way of stopping when I'm in a darkroom. The outside world fades and I don't get hungry or tired. It's just me and the process. When I finally stepped back from the collection of prints fastened to a dangling clothesline, it was the early hours of Thursday morning. All the prints I'd done were of Jennifer, in varying shades of light and contrast. It had been so long since I'd seen her. For a moment, she was alive.

I moved back to the box and was about to stop when I found a negative of Jennifer and Rae. They were sitting close to each other, their heads tilted and touching. Both wore solemn expressions.

Excited, I made several prints. Despite all the skills I'd learned over the years, I couldn't quite compensate for the negative, which showed my novice status. Drips, uneven edges, and a smudge were impossible to fix, but after a few tries, I accepted that my inexperience added to the charm of the picture. Two young sisters and a novice photographer.

Feeling an acute sense of satisfaction, I climbed the stairs and let
Charlie into the backyard, and when he returned, I took a quick shower before falling into bed. Charlie jumped up on the bed and settled beside me. My eyes closed, I dropped into the darkness.

Colin West called at half past seven, waking me. I started up in bed, sure that something terrible must have happened to Amelia for anyone to call me at this ungodly hour. Blinking, I shoved hair out of my eyes and reached for my phone. “Hello.” I cleared my throat. “Hello?”

“I woke you?” Colin's voice was far too alert and cheerful this early. It was wrong on so many levels.

“Is there a problem?”

“I woke you.”

“I was up until four
A.M.
developing pictures.” Charlie stretched but didn't open his eyes.

“Do you often work through the night?”

The question irritated me. “I try not to, but when inspiration strikes, I answer.”

“More photos of the Prince Street house?”

“Some, yes.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

“Well, I've good news.”

I yawned. “I won the lottery.”

“Not exactly. But the real estate agent has a very good offer on the house. I wanted to show it to you.”

“That's great. When?”

“Twenty minutes. It's the only time I have today. I've got to be in court.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Sure. That should give me enough time to pull my hair into a ponytail.”

He laughed as he hung up.

Ten minutes later, I was resting my head on the kitchen's marble countertop, waiting as the coffeepot gurgled out a fresh brew. Charlie climbed back on his dog bed and drifted to sleep.

Though I had no idea where I'd live after the place sold, I was glad to be leaving. The past was not my favorite thing, and here I was surrounded by it. The doorbell rang before the pot finished brewing. Charlie scrambled to his feet and barked.

Casting a wistful glance at my yet-to-be filled cup, I moved down the center hallway toward the door. I opened it to a very bright and energetic Colin.

“Stop smiling so much,” I said. “That kind of cheeriness is wrong on too many levels this early in the morning.”

Charlie pushed past me to greet Colin, who rubbed him between the ears and patted him affectionately on his side. “It's the middle of the day.”

“Right, if you're a farmer. Come on in. I've got a pot of coffee that's brewing particularly slowly this morning.”

He closed the door behind himself, Charlie's paws matching his clipped steps. “You look pretty good for only a few hours' sleep.”

“It's a façade. I'm weeping inside. Black?”

He chuckled. “Any sugar or milk?”

“High maintenance,” she teased. I filled his cup and set it on the marble island, and Colin took a seat on one of the bar stools surrounding it. I set the milk carton and the entire sugar canister on the island. Rae would have done a fancier job of serving. She'd have used the right kind of milk pitcher and probably had those little sugar cubes like her mother used to keep on hand. I was just grateful the milk was fresh.

Charlie sat beside Colin as he splashed milk into his mug. I did the same and added a heaping teaspoon of sugar. Ex-drinkers gravitated to sugar, and I was no exception. The craving had something to do with the receptors in the brain.

I sipped. Added another teaspoon and then sipped again. If he hadn't been there, I'd have added another spoonful, but I decided to pretend I didn't have an overpowering addiction to sugar. “So, you have an offer.”

“I do.” He tugged a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket. He slid the number my way. I was impressed. “That's about ten percent over asking.”

“Rebecca's good at what she does.”

“How much of that does Amelia get to keep?”

He tapped a finger on the countertop. “Enough to keep her in her current situation for about five years.”

“Five years.”

I had no way of knowing if she'd live six days or ten more years. “Okay. Well, at least that gives me time to figure out what to do for her.”

“What will you do?”

“Not exactly sure. Maybe I'll finally get serious about my photography and find a way to support us.”

His stare was bold, direct. “I looked you up online. “You had some good reviews.”

“I never did much with them. I could have traded them for more gallery showings and better exposure, but I didn't.”

“Why not?”

Because there was a part of me that believed I didn't have the right to a full life. My stupidity cost Jennifer her life, so as long as she was dead, so was I. “Who's to say?”

“Been my experience that when people get vague, they have an answer. The just don't want to share.”

I tapped the tip of my nose. “You've got good senses.”

He sipped his coffee. “What do you think of the offer?”

“Take it. Just let me know where to sign and when I need to be out of here.”

“Where will you go?”

“Don't know, but I always land on my feet. I'm like a cat.”

“Can I see the pictures you developed?”

“Sure.” I pushed away from the counter with the cup in hand. “In the basement.”

“I didn't see equipment down there during the tour.”

“Don't tell Rebecca, but I set it up last night. Nothing that can't be broken down in about an hour.” Moving to the small side door by the kitchen, I opened it and switched on a light. I ordered Charlie to stay, but he tried following anyway.

Colin looked at the dog. “Sit.”

The dog sat, ready for his next command.

“Wow,” I said.

“You're too soft on him.”

“Right.” We stepped down the center staircase. I turned on the collection of floor lamps brought from upstairs.

“Looks like you raided every light in the house.”