True Colors (22 page)

Mr. Gilpin looked up from his desk when I walked in, gave a nod, and went back to writing.

Raleigh was sweeping up.

“Baby,” he said. Oh, no, he was on that again.

“No, I haven’t seen Rodney, and I didn’t see any other babies on the way over here,” I said, and hurried past him before he could say anything else.

I found the story and pictures of Teddy Roosevelt coming to the fairgrounds, and the pictures of the old plane that Hannah had taken her ride in. I searched again through all the newspapers for 1941 to see if there was anything I’d missed about Peddler Jenny (there wasn’t). I wasn’t sure what year Mr. Webster had written his articles, and there were too many stacks to search through. Besides, my head hurt from looking at all those old newspapers. I’d have to come back another day.

Standing up, I toppled over a stack of newspapers. They skidded and scattered across the floor like a lava flow. Stupid old newspapers. I kicked at the pile and another stack toppled over. I stamped my foot. It was going to take me at least two hours, I bet, to gather them back up and put them all in order.

I got on my knees to start sorting them and saw a photo with the words
DEATH NOTICE
over it, but it was the name underneath that caught my eye: Herbert Spooner.

Hannah’s husband. I looked at the date on the paper. September 7, 1938. That was three years before Hannah found me.

I sat down on the newspapers and read the whole article, about how Herbert had been wounded in the First
World War; had been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for extraordinary heroism in action near Saint-Mihiel, France; had worked at the post office for twenty years; was an elder at the Presbyterian church; and would be interred in the East Craftsbury Cemetery. But it was the next sentence that made me stop breathing.

“He leaves a wife, Hannah, and a daughter, Myrtle Rose.”

chapter 28

The stairs creaked.

“Blue,” Mr. Gilpin said. “I was …” But his voice trailed off when he saw the article in my hand.

I ran up the stairs, pushing past him, into the
Monitor
office. Raleigh looked up, startled, from his sweeping.

“Blue,” Mr. Gilpin said again, and I spun to face him.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me Hannah has a daughter?” I said, and Mr. Gilpin’s expression changed to that of a boy who’s been caught stealing frosting off a cake.

“Myrtle,” Raleigh said, and it was my turn to feel stunned. The only words I’d ever heard Raleigh say were
Blue True, baby
, and
pat cat
.

So. Even he knew. If Raleigh knew, everyone in town did.

Everyone except me.

I hated Raleigh then. I’d trusted him, I’d even tried to
protect
him, but he’d lied to me, he and Mr. Gilpin and
Hannah and everyone in this town. They’d pretended to care, but all along, they were just a bunch of liars.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“California, I think,” Mr. Gilpin said.

“How come I’ve never heard of her?” I asked. “Why hasn’t she ever come back?”

“I think you’d better ask Hannah about that,” he said.

“What, so she can just lie about it some more?” I said, and turned toward the door, fighting back tears.

“Wait,” Mr. Gilpin said. “Let me explain.”

Raleigh stepped in front of me, waving his hands out to get me to stop.

“Blue True,” he said, but I pushed past him. He reached to grab my arm, but I snatched it away.

“Don’t touch me, you stupid ret—” I caught myself before I’d said it, but Raleigh jerked back like I’d punched him.

“Blue!” Mr. Gilpin thundered.

I ran out the door and leaped on Dolly’s back, digging my heels into her sides. She blew out a long breath, surprised, and trotted a few bone-jarring yards before settling back into a slow walk.

“Blue!” Mr. Gilpin called after me, but I didn’t stop.

Dolly might have been slow, but my mind was racing. Why hadn’t Hannah ever told me she had a daughter?

I rode up to the highlands, found my mossy rock, and sat looking over the valley, but it didn’t really help. I’d always loved it up there, but now it seemed like a lie, too.
From up here, at a distance, everything looked so pretty, but all you had to do was look close to find people who were mean and told lies, just like anywhere else.

Sitting there, my fingers tracing the carving of the heart and the two initials, I wondered what had happened to whoever had carved it. Had they lived to be old, or died young, like so many of the people back then? What had their life been like? Had it been full of love and happiness, or had it been weighed down with heartache instead?

When I finally rode home, Hannah was in her flower garden, her arms full of yellow roses and lilies.

“Aren’t these just the prettiest things?” she said, smiling.

Myrtle Rose. It made sense that Hannah had used flower names for her daughter. But why had she just named me Blue? Why not Lily or Iris or Violet?

Hannah looked over at me and frowned.

“You all right, Blue?” she said.

I stared at her. All this time, I thought I’d known her. I’d trusted her, completely. I
loved
her. But she’d been lying to me all these years. What
else
hadn’t Hannah told me?

There was so much I wanted to ask her. But I didn’t. I turned and went to the barn instead.

Cat ducked behind one of the milk cans. I squatted down and waited. Cat poked her head back out. When I didn’t move, she sat down, watching me.

She’d kind of betrayed me, too, letting Raleigh pat her, but I didn’t have anyone else to talk to, so I told her all the
questions I had about Hannah and Herbert and Myrtle Rose. Cat didn’t have any answers, but she tipped her head to the side and listened.

I did all my chores, milking, feeding the calves, my mind trying to solve why Hannah’s daughter had disappeared and never come back. Had she and Hannah had a fight? Had Myrtle done something bad?

All through supper, Hannah kept looking over at me, but I didn’t say anything.

It took a long time for me to fall asleep that night, and when I did, I had dreams of a dark-haired woman sewing letters into the corner of a quilt.
MRS, MRS, M R S
.

My eyes snapped open and I sat upright.

M R S
.

Myrtle Rose Spooner.

chapter 29

I don’t think I slept a minute the rest of the night, questions piling up in my mind like a snowdrift, but all of them melted away when it came to the biggest question of all.

Was Myrtle my mother?

Maybe there was another explanation. Maybe the person who’d wrapped me in that quilt had exactly the same initials as Myrtle. Or maybe Myrtle had made that quilt for someone else and that person had used it to wrap me in the quilt.

You don’t believe that for one minute, the little voice in my head said.

I tugged too hard while milking Iris, and she kicked over the milk bucket. I didn’t even care. All I could think about was Myrtle, wondering how I could find out for sure if she was my mother. I’d have to meet her before I could be certain. But how? Where was she? Was she even still alive?

I stared hard at Hannah while she bustled around fixing breakfast.

Did she know? Was she ever planning to tell me about Myrtle Rose?

My very next thought made me feel short of breath.

If it was true that Myrtle was my mother, then Hannah was my real
grandmother
.

Had she ever planned to tell me
that
?

I opened my mouth to ask her, but then I shut it right up again. Hannah had kept this secret for ten years. How could I trust anything she told me now?

“You’re looking a little peaked this morning,” Hannah said. “You feeling all right?”

No, I wanted to scream, but I just nodded. I didn’t think I could speak a word anyway.

“Maybe you need a dose of castor oil,” Hannah said.

What I need is someone to tell me the truth, I thought, but I just shook my head.

Hannah had orders for me to deliver, but I went first to the
Monitor
office (I’d been afraid of seeing Raleigh after what I’d said, or almost said, to him, and breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t there) and marched right up to Mr. Gilpin’s desk.

“You knew about Myrtle,” I said. “All this time, you knew, everyone in town knew, and no one ever told me.”

“Blue—” Mr. Gilpin began, but I didn’t let him finish.

“You were all laughing at me behind my back.”

“No one was laughing at you, Blue,” Mr. Gilpin said, but I didn’t believe him. “It was Hannah’s place to tell you, not ours.”

“Then why didn’t she?”

Mr. Gilpin shrugged.

“Every family has secrets,” he said.

I delivered the rest of Hannah’s orders but hardly noticed where I was, and I could barely speak to Mrs. Wells, Mrs. Thompson, and Mr. Hazelton. I was mad at them, all of them. No one had told me the truth.

Maybe that’s how Nadine was feeling, too, because I hadn’t told
her
the truth.

Mr. Gilpin’s words went round and round in my head.

Every family has secrets
.

I’d kept secrets all summer, too, but none of them seemed like anything compared to
this
secret. The other thing I’d found out about secrets was that they have a way of coming out.

Back home, I counted up how much money I’d saved over the summer.

Eight dollars and thirty-three cents. I didn’t know how much a train ticket to California cost, but I was sure it was a lot more than eight dollars and thirty-three cents.

Right then, I decided I wasn’t going to wait until I earned enough to get me to California. I’d go as far as eight dollars would take me, then sneak onto trains like a hobo. I didn’t know how I’d ever find Myrtle, but I was going to
try, and I’d find out from her whether she was my mother or not.

The sesquicentennial celebration would be a perfect time to leave. Everyone would be in town, and it would be hours before anyone noticed I was missing.
If
anyone noticed I was missing.

I had to pack in secret, so Hannah wouldn’t see. I thought hard about what to take because I knew I had to travel light. I stuffed dungarees, shirts, and a sweater into a grain bag and hid it in my closet. I’d have to leave my books. I figured Myrtle would buy me new books when I got to California.