The View from Prince Street (30 page)

Dearest Children,

Mr. McDonald died today and I fear I will soon follow him in death. However, I refuse to pass until Hanna has her child and Patrick returns home. Hanna's belly is so swollen and heavy, her time is so very close. I fear Hanna will lose this child as she has her others. I will not die until I see my children safe. I forbid it.

—F

Lisa Smyth

F
RIDAY
, S
EPTEMBER
2, 10:30
P.M.

S
econds after the door closed behind Rae, Addie came up to me and took my hands in hers. “She's hurt and she's upset. She just needs a little time to absorb it all, and then she'll come back and talk to you.”

I wiped away a tear. Secrets were meant to be kept buried for a reason. I knew this. And yet, I was compelled by the moment. “You don't know Rae or the McDonalds. Once they slip behind that wall of ice, they don't come back.”

Margaret gaped at the shattered bottles. “That's the secret you've been carrying for all these years?”

“Yes.”

The urge to drink rose in me like a demon wrapping around my mind and soul, chasing away the good sense that was still lingering. Just a couple of sips to take the edge off. Just one drink. I didn't need an entire bottle, just one drink.

I turned my head from side to side, wondering where Jennifer's voice was now. The voice that had stalked me for sixteen years was
painfully quiet. Maybe she only lingered close to me while the secret was intact. Now that Rae knew, there was no reason for Jennifer to stick around.

“You were a kid,” Addie said.

“A very foolish and spoiled kid. I never thought about the consequences.”

“But a kid,” Margaret repeated. “A clueless child.”

“How many of them kill their best friend?”

“Lisa,” Addie said. “It was a car accident. You were probably less intoxicated than Jennifer and got stuck with driving.”

I stared toward the door. “So many times I knew Rae wanted to tag along with us. So many times. But I didn't want to share Jennifer. I wanted her to myself. She had a sister and I didn't. I was jealous of Rae.” In the center of the broken pieces of my witch bottle littering the floor lay the scroll covered in wax. Carefully, I picked it up and placed it in Margaret's hands. She peeled away the wax and slowly unrolled the parchment. Margaret studied it for a brief moment and said, “
Keep my past a secret
.”

“Did your mother know?” Addie asked.

“Yes. She made me swear never to tell. She said because it was Jennifer's car, everyone would assume she'd been driving.” I shook my head. “We Smyth women were always good with secrets.

“Margaret,” I said, my voice tinged with sadness. “I'm sorry I broke your bottle. But I thought I could break whatever spell is cast and life would settle onto stable ground. But I've only made it worse.”

“You didn't screw anything up,” Addie said. “Give Rae time. She'll come around.”

I moved toward the door, pausing, but not looking back. “I'm sorry. And I know that's not enough.”

The walk up Union Street and over to Prince Street took less than five minutes, but each step was labored. This would have been the time to find a meeting and reach out to my friends while I weathered this
storm. But I didn't feel as if I deserved any forgiveness or help. I'd ruined too many lives to simply get a pass because so much time had separated me from murder.

I went straight to my car, not able to deal with Charlie right now. I drove directly to the grocery store with the big wine selection. This time, I didn't circle the aisles or pretend that I'd come to buy other things. I went straight to the wine section and purchased five bottles. I couldn't even tell you if they were red or white. I didn't even notice the price as the lady rang them up and I swiped my credit card. Nothing mattered other than getting home and forgetting.

I loaded the bottles in the front seat and leaned over to open one when I saw a police car pass through the lot. Getting arrested would stand in the way of me getting blind drunk, so I held off while I drove the few blocks back to the house.

Inside, Charlie ran up to me, wagging his tail. God, the way he looked at me almost broke my heart. He was always so glad to see me and shower me with unconditional love. Even with all the changes in his life, he was never cross. I didn't deserve him.

“Hey, boy.” I dropped my purse by the front door and kicked it closed with my foot. I let Charlie out the back door and when he bounded outside, I screwed off the top of the bottle and hesitated only a beat before I drank. The cool liquid poured down my throat, exorcising the despair from my body. Success and failure all wrapped up in one moment. Slowly, I slid to the floor and took another pull from the bottle. My head tipped back against the door as the tears rolled down my cheeks. It had been over a dozen years since my last drink, but that didn't count for much now.

“This is your chance to call me a dumbass, Jennifer. This is your chance to tell me to put the bottle down and walk away.”

Silence echoed in the house. Somewhere a clock ticked. Outside Charlie barked.

“What? Nothing? You've had a shitload to say for the last sixteen
years. Why so quiet now?” I drank from the bottle, burying this terrible day as fast I could gulp. My phone rang and I glanced at the display, half hoping it was Rae. Maybe Jennifer's ghost had gone back to Rae and they were rallying and coming to my rescue.

The real estate agent's name appeared on the display, but she didn't leave a message. Seconds later she texted:
Deal on the house has fallen through. Back to square one.

“Shit, of course.”

Dearest Children,

Hanna's birthing was not easy, but I stayed at her side the entire night. At sunrise she delivered a girl and told me she would name the babe Faith. I left her home and returned to my cottage which stood in the shadow of the big house where Mr. McDonald lived. As I lay down, I heard the whispers of my mother and grandmother, beckoning me home. I am almost ready to leave this earthly realm.

—F

Rae McDonald

S
ATURDAY
, S
EPTEMBER
3, 7:00
A.M.

W
orried about Michael and furious with Lisa, I'd barely slept last night. At one
A.M.
, I'd called the hospital, but because I was not family, they refused to release any information. I'd explained I was his birth mother and that I'd donated blood for him, but none of that mattered.

This long night pricked and prodded and wouldn't allow me to sleep, to eat, or to sit still for more than minutes at a time. Would morning ever come?

By two
A.M.
, I sat at the kitchen table with the box of papers that my mother had saved. I'd given all the McDonald papers to Margaret except for those that belonged to my mother. She'd been dead over two years now and, though once or twice I'd considered going through the stacks, I'd avoided it as if I'd feared I would stumble across her truest feelings, the ones that she'd hidden so deeply for most of my life, as well as hers. Prying felt oddly invasive.

Carefully, I set the top aside and pulled out the binders of papers. No need to put things in chronological order because Mother had
done that. She thought in straight clear lines, and nothing was ever out of place. Notes were recorded in clear, precise handwriting. Receipts kept in order with notations. And pictures carefully marked, leaving no question of when and where they were taken or of whom.

We were so much alike and yet, toward the end of her life, we could barely speak to each other. Always polite. Always considerate. But we never talked about anything of substance.

Oddly, she had not saved as much as her mother and the other McDonald women before her death. What mattered to her was condensed to a single eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch box.

My brother's death certificate.

Jennifer's death certificate.

A petition for divorce from my father dated two months before his death. I remembered Dad “traveled” a lot during that time, but I didn't think he was so unhappy that he planned to leave my mother. She'd never once let on that her marriage was falling apart.

My son's original birth certificate.

She'd lumped Michael's birth certificate with the other tragedies in her life. Carefully, I set the other papers aside in their own pile. I traced Michael's name and then mine, which was typed into the spot designated for
Mother
.

Rising from the table with Michael's birth certificate clasped in my hand, I went into my office, where the box holding the family Bible was kept. I set the book on my desk and switched on the lamp. Using my best ink pen, I found the space in the book just below my name and wrote
Michael David McDonald
, along with his birth date.

Sitting back in the chair, I studied his name in the family Bible. A deep satisfaction warmed inside me.

Yes, Susan was his mother.

But he was
my
son.
My
flesh and blood. A McDonald. And no one could ever deny it.

Gently, I blew on the ink and only when I was certain it was fully dried did I close the Bible. As I lifted the book, I spotted the slight edge of a yellowed piece of paper that was peeking out from the back pages. I tugged and pulled it out.

It appeared to be an old envelope addressed to Mr. Samuel J. Smyth. Postmarked 1948, the letter had clearly been opened and resealed. Across the front, in bold letters, was
Return to Sender
. I removed the letter and carefully unfolded it.

December 2, 1948

Dear Mr. Smyth,

It has been a year since I returned to Alexandria. As you must know by now, I have married and plan to stay in the area. As you promised, I would like to see Amelia and work out a plan to transition her back into my life. Though I appreciate all that you and Marjorie have done for her and me, this arrangement was temporary. I am able now and want my daughter back.

Yours truly,

Fiona McDonald Saunders

For a long moment, I read and reread the letter. Fiona had wanted Amelia back. And yet the Smyths and McDonalds chose never to tell her.

Written on the back of the letter was another note, scrawled in thick, bold handwriting. It read:

Amelia is a Smyth now. She knows only Marjorie as her mother and to remove the child from a loving home now would be cruel. You made your choice when you left Alexandria and now we take
this opportunity to remind you of the papers you signed that made this adoption legal.

Mr. Smyth

This was the letter Amelia wanted. Needed.

I didn't owe Lisa anything.

But Amelia deserved to know.

•   •   •

I arrived at the hospital seconds after visiting hours began. Pausing at the nurse's desk, I said without hesitation that I was Michael's family and that his mother was expecting me.

The nurse gave me a pass and I went back to his room. I raised my hand to knock. I paused, wishing I'd not come empty handed. But I had no idea what candy he liked or what he enjoyed reading.

I knocked and heard a man's footsteps move toward the door. I braced, suspecting Michael's father, Todd Holloway.

When he opened the door, he didn't speak for a long moment as he stared at me. And then he leaned in and hugged me. “Thank you, Rae. Thank you for everything.”

For a moment, I didn't move, I was so taken aback by the physical contact. Slowly, I raised my hands to pat him on the back. “Is he better?”

Todd drew back and cleared his throat. “He is.”

A rush of relief washed through every cell in my body. “Thank God.”

“Susan told me you donated blood. Thank you.”

“It's the least I could do. If he ever needs anything, please know I'm here.”

He squeezed my hand. “I will.”

“Can I see him?”

“Of course you can see him. The doctors removed his spleen and repaired the internal damage that was causing so much bleeding. He
also has a concussion, which worried us and the doctors last night,” he said, releasing a ragged breath. “But he's proud of his broken arm and the bruise on his face.”

“I'll try not to make too much of it.”

“Even if you did, I think he likes the attention. And tell your friend Zeb thanks. I appreciated him picking me up at the airport.”

“Zeb picked you up himself?” I asked.

“He did. And he drove me to my house so I could get our other car. Solid guy.”

“He is that.”

He stepped aside and I moved into the room to see Susan sitting at Michael's bedside. He was indeed battered. His swollen, bruised right eye rocked me for a moment. I couldn't stop staring as I absorbed the damage. His right arm was in a full cast, locking it into an L.

Susan rose and smiled. “Rae. I'm glad you could make it back.”

Even as I cringed at her weary face, my attention shifted to Michael.

“As you can see,” Susan said, “he's looking a bit like he went a few rounds with a boxer.” Her tone was light, but I heard the fear still echoing around the words.

I kept my tone even. “What does the other guy look like?”

Michael raised his fingertips to his eyes, a slight grin tipping the edges of swollen lips. “I wanted to post it so my friends could see, but Mom said no.”

I took a step closer to him. “I think she's right. Some memories don't need to be shared on the Internet.”

Gingerly, he touched his shiner with a familiarity that suggested he had looked at it a lot. “I guess they'll just have to wait until I get back to school. My friends are going to be so shocked.”

This nightmare for his parents and me was a grand adventure for him. “I'm sure you'll be quite the attraction.”

Susan rose from her seat. “Rae, sit here. Visit with Michael.”

I tensed. “I don't want to intrude.”

“You aren't,” Todd said.

I lowered myself into the chair, feeling the profound weight of her gesture. They were opening their circle of family and allowing me to join.

“How did it go with the witch bottles?” Michael asked.

“A funny thing about those. They have a big story behind them.” I gave him the rundown of the women who'd made the bottles and the wishes that instead became curses, according to Margaret.

“So, can I see the McDonald bottle sometime?” Michael asked.

“Well, it's in pieces now.”

“What happened?”

“I went to the warehouse last night straight from the hospital. I wasn't thinking too clearly and when Margaret suggested the curse could be broken with the bottle . . .”

Susan touched her lips. “Rae, did you break the bottle?”

“Yep. I dropped it right on the concrete floor. I thought Margaret was going to have a heart attack.”

Susan's shocked expression gave way to amusement. “So, do you think the spell was broken?”

“I don't know if there ever was a spell. But Michael has turned a corner and that's good enough for me.”

“Amen,” Todd said.

“Do you really think the McDonalds were cursed?” Michael asked.

“He's a big reader,” Susan explained. “Loved
The Hobbit
and
Harry Potter
.”

“Well,” I said. “I don't think we're cursed anymore. But that doesn't mean there wasn't a spell to be broken.”

“What about the third bottle?” Michael asked.

“Lisa broke hers as well.” As angry as I'd been with her last night, I couldn't hold on to it right now. Like the bottle, the anger slipped away.

“What about her curse?” Michael asked.

“I don't know yet,” I said.

“You should go see her today and ask her if she feels any different. You sure look different.”

I didn't hide my surprise. “I look different?”

“Yeah. More relaxed.”

“Michael,” Susan said. “Don't say that.”

“It's okay,” I said. “I can be a little stiff, and when I met you, I was pretty nervous.”

His brow knotted into a frown that looked like mine. “That makes two of us.”

“I think your mom was as well,” I offered. I gave Michael life and I would always love him. That would never change. But Susan was his mother.

Susan gently brushed a strand of auburn hair from his pale blue eyes, which mirrored mine. “I think it's okay to be a little nervous. Means we're all trying our best.”

“What's that quote about courage, pal?” Todd asked. “Fear's fine, but you got to saddle up anyway.”

The boy groaned. “Right, Dad.”

The nurse came into the room carrying a small tray filled with cups holding pills. “Mr. Michael, it looks like you're having a party.”

I turned, knowing he needed his rest. “He's quite the entertainer but I've got to cut this party short.”

The nurse appeared pleased I'd caught the hint. “You can come back tomorrow.”

“How long will he be in the hospital?” I asked.

“A day or two more,” Susan answered. “But please come back. Maybe you can give us an update on the third bottle.”

“I'd like that,” Michael said.

“Okay, I'll call your mom tomorrow and figure out a good time.”

Michael grinned, wincing as his bruised lip stretched. “I really want to know.”

“I'll find out.” I nodded to Susan and Todd. “Thanks.”

“We appreciate everything you've done,” Todd said.

I stepped into the hallway and took a few steps before the weight of the moment hit me hard. My body rushed with an array of sensations. Fear. Worry. Happiness. Joy. It was as if the floodgates had opened and long-pent-up waters were flowing freely over me. I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes, not fighting or resisting, but simply allowing.

When I opened my eyes, tears fell down my cheeks. I brushed them away, amazed at the feel of the moisture on my fingertips. It had been years of feeling nothing.

A gentle hand touched mine and I saw the nurse who'd been in Michael's room. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I'm fine.”

“He's a tough kid. And he's going to be fine.”

“I know. It's just such a relief.”

“That was a good thing you did, giving blood. Your type is rare and hard to keep stocked.”

“Glad to help.”

She leaned in a fraction and lowered her voice. “He looks so much like you.”

A lump formed in my throat. “He has great parents.”

She winked. “All of them.”

When I left the hospital, the air was dry and warm, and the sun was so bright that I dug my sunglasses from my purse. The sun warmed my face and chased away the chill that had lingered for what seemed like forever.

I drove to Prince Street, knowing I needed to see Lisa. We needed to talk about Jennifer. I needed to listen to her and remind myself that she was just a kid at the time of the car accident. No good was to come from beating her up.

I found parking at the top of the hill on Prince Street. As I got out, I savored the view down the cobblestone street. This street had been made
from the rocks that, like the hearthstones, had been ballast in the sailing vessels of the 1750s, and I couldn't help but wonder if some had come from the same place as the hearthstones on the McDonald property.