Epilogue

You actually read Dora’s letter to her nanny?” Grace sat next to Claude on the ferry back from Kitsap’s county seat. There, Claude had reported on behalf of a family member in California whose mother had died “at the hands of Dr. Hazzard.”

“I did. Then sent it as a cable to Australia but with the letter too. So they’d see it was in Dora’s handwriting, recognize Dora’s words were written by her, but realize something was terribly wrong. I only wished I could have intervened before Claire’s death.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a Pinkerton detective working for one of Dr. Hazzard’s victims? You can’t imagine all the terrible thoughts I had of you.”

“Oh yes I can.”

“Thank goodness Dora Williamson’s nanny arrived and she and the British consulate are taking charge of the prosecution. What we have to share will only increase the likelihood that Linda Hazzard and her husband will be brought to justice.”

Claude put his arm around Grace. They’d be at the hotel for a few more weeks until Rebecca was strong enough to travel. And Claude would travel with them. A Pinkerton man could find work anywhere justice was in need of wisdom.

“Here we are, Rebecca. Home at last.”

Caroline ran across the lawn to her mother, wrapped her little arms around her skirted legs. Lilacs bloomed and sent their fragrance across the banks of the Columbia in their own celebration of life.

“You’re home, Mama. You’re home. Aunt Grace brought you home.”

“I only helped,” Grace said. “As you did keeping your mamma in your prayers.”

“This is Grace’s friend,” Rebecca said. “Well, mine too. Claude Millikan, doctor and detective.”

Claude bent down to be at eye level with Caroline. “Is this the artist who drew that lovely river picture?” Caroline nodded. “It is as fine as any I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, Mr. Claude. So you helped my mamma?”

“He did,” her mother said. “And we will all be forever grateful, won’t we, Caroline?”

“Oh yes, Mamma. And thank you, Aunt Grace. I’m so glad you answered my letter.”

Grace stroked Caroline’s hair, then looked up at Claude. “And I’m so glad you wrote it. Otherwise I might never have found the true music of my heart.”

Grace wouldn’t be returning to the Roaring Springs Ranch. Instead she’d join Claude in San Francisco, a city she’d always wanted to visit. He also had a sweet grape arbor where she could rest her eyes on green vistas. This time, she’d stay, marry the desire of her dreams, and be satisfied and busy teaching music to the Millikan children, once they all arrived. It was the truest way to satisfy the hunger of the soul.