She wasn’t dead. Thea sat in the bed, propped up by luxurious pillows and covered in a velveteen quilt. She was in the Fortunes’ home, and the poisons that had wracked her body were vanishing. Health returning.
The sequence of events that had brought her to this place still bewildered her. But Mrs. Amos had told her the story on her last visit. How Simeon had beckoned the older woman to go to the Coyle home later that afternoon to relieve Rose, as he had to confront Mr. Fortune. How Mr. Amos had insisted on accompanying Simeon and the confrontation that ensued. How Mrs. Amos had finally arrived at the house to assist Rose, only to have the men, along with Mr. Fortune, arrive almost simultaneously. Mr. Fortune had been frantic to get to Thea. He’d been suspicious but not convinced she was his granddaughter, but once Simeon revealed it to him, the arrogance had faded into distress.
She wouldn’t be safe at the Coyle home, he’d argued. Something wicked lay inside. He’d suspected it for years, ever since he’d confronted Mathilda with his suspicions of her own darkness and she had admitted to him that she’d killed Misty Wayfair.
It was Simeon who arrived at the startling realization that Rose was the only unaccounted for factor. They’d all come upon Thea’s room as Rose had admitted to Thea her deluded and misguided horrors.
A knock on the door brought Thea’s attention off the events that had happened while she lay unconscious. It opened a crack, and Mr. Fortune peeked through.
“May I come in?”
Thea nodded.
He entered, the self-confidence back in place on his face. The commanding presence and a slightly lessened air of entitlement. He was, after all, still a Fortune.
Mr. Fortune lowered himself onto a chair. He gave Thea a small smile. “Your mother, Penelope, named you Alice.”
“Then you knew about me,” she replied.
This man, this stranger, had been so deviant himself. Perhaps now he wished to pay penance for his sins. Perhaps that was why he and his wife had taken in his illegitimate child with Misty Wayfair.
He cleared his throat. “She told us of you, when she returned home and was unwell. Penelope had been gone from our care for several years by then. I’m not sure of her story or how you even came to be. But she said you existed and she knew she wasn’t well. She told me she didn’t want me to have you, so she left you at an orphanage somewhere. I don’t even know why she told me of you, yet she begged me to leave you be, away from this wretched town. She gave you a new name, she said. You were no longer Alice Fortune.”
“Dorothea Reed,” Thea responded.
“Yes.” Mr. Fortune nodded. “That was my mother’s name.”
Thea tried to comprehend. Her name was not even her own. She was Alice Fortune. Not in Mr. Fortune’s direct line of inheritance, due to the illegitimacy of her mother, but his granddaughter nonetheless.
“How did you not immediately know who I was? When I took your photograph?” Thea had to ask, to understand why he’d been so silent.
Mr. Fortune shifted in his chair. The look he gave Thea appeared more that he wished to unburden himself rather than seek forgiveness.
“As I said, I suspected. I didn’t know for sure.”
Thea nodded, but his words stung. It wasn’t until her life was potentially in danger and he was cornered by Simeon and Mr. Amos that he’d come to face the truth about her.
Mr. Fortune cleared his throat. “I didn’t know Mathilda Coyle killed Misty until years later. Truly, I didn’t. I suspected. It ate at me. I couldn’t tell my wife. In the end”—he looked down at his hand—“I allowed the story of her husband, Fergus, and the suspicions that he was Misty’s lover to be believed. It cleared me of my transgressions. But you must know, I had no intention of it becoming this—this legendary. Of Misty being concocted into a ghost story! It all became so much larger than it was ever supposed to be.”
Thea waited. She watched her grandfather drag his hand over his eyes as he took in a breath to continue.
“Mathilda already had a falling-out with her father, my uncle Reginald Kramer. The Coyles never would have become his heirs because my uncle disapproved of Fergus. After Misty was found, I . . . I went to the . . . I went to where she stayed. One of the ladies there was caring for your mother, Penelope. I offered to take her in and be her benefactor. They didn’t ask questions.”
Thea blinked but said nothing. Let the old man confess and come clean, if he must. The only balm to Thea’s soul was knowing the truth, as painful as it was.
Mr. Fortune continued. “I tried to take care of Penelope as best I could. My wife didn’t know until years later that Penelope was really my child and not just a recipient of our good graces.”
“And yet you put her in an asylum.” Thea’s throat choked, though she didn’t break her stare from her grandfather’s face. “You let them experiment on your own daughter.”
Mr. Fortune lurched from his chair and stalked across the room. He looked out the window, his coat pushed back as he rested his hands at his waist. Thea watched his shoulders, stiff and unyielding, at last sag in defeat.
When he spoke, his voice bounced off the windowpanes. “I built the asylum to get Penelope the help she needed. What did I know of proper medical care for her? She would pitch and roll. Foam at the mouth.” Mr. Fortune turned, and Thea could see genuine agony in his expression. “My daughter needed help. Dr. Ingles said such things would . . . help her.”
And so many others had also been told the same. Thea recalled Mr. Fritz’s story of other asylums. Other abuses. It was nothing new to mental institutions, and only recently had such practices been exposed.
“What will become of Rose?” She skirted her grandfather’s explanation.
He blinked, surprised she had nothing to say. What could she say? Her grandfather had committed no crimes. He’d been selfish. He’d been underhanded and manipulative. He’d tried to atone for this by caring for her mother as a child and then as an ill woman. His attempts were a sad extension of a man who knew nothing but his own ambition to save his good name.
“Rose will answer for her crimes.” He gave Thea a nod. “She’s been taken to a hospital farther south until then. To be treated. She is very . . . unwell.”
Yes. Thea nodded.
“But, I will monitor her care,” Mr. Fortune added quickly. His mustache twitched as he sniffed. “She won’t suffer what—” he stopped and met Thea’s eyes—“she won’t suffer what your mother suffered.”
Thea gave her grandfather a small nod, resolution filling her. She would not look for herself in this house. She would take whatever time was needed to make peace with the history that had wrapped its ugly, sinful grip around her family, and Simeon’s family too.
For the first time, Thea breathed a prayer as she studied the old man at the window. She saw the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and the concocted air of superiority that kept his jaw straight and rigid.
Her prayer was to her Creator. Finding herself here was not satisfying. But she had been given life, after all. So there was a reason for her existence.
Maybe Simeon was right. That ceasing to uncover one’s purpose, but instead finding out who one’s Creator was, would be the most satisfying story of all to uncover. A bigger story than her own. A story of creation and of meaning, which was so much larger than a fallen family, and the whisper of a ghost’s memory who, in a way, would forever haunt them all.
Heidi
Heidi slipped the Ducie scarf over Emma’s head and leveled it around her neck. The morning had brought with it a measure of hope. Only a little, but with it came the promise that it might grow, that healing was possible. Emma gifted Heidi with an enormous smile, her hands stroking the beloved scarf. Even Ducie struggled to his feet, tendering his leg still cast in plaster, and nosed Heidi’s hand.
Connie laughed and reached out, embracing Heidi. They held each other for a long moment. No words were necessary, for really, what could anyone say? The revealing of Heidi’s past, of her family, of their local ties, and the secrets were more than an empathic statement could account for.
When Heidi pulled back, Connie grasped her shoulders, looked deep into her eyes, and gave her a firm little shake. “You won’t run, Heidi.”
Heidi mustered a smile. “No. I won’t.” She drew in a long sigh. She’d wanted to run, multiple times during the night, as she lay in fitful rest in the guest room at the Crawfords’. But this time she also wasn’t alone anymore, and in a strange way, she was starting to see who she was.
“And your mother—Betsy?” Connie asked.
Heidi shook her head. “I don’t know. Vicki texted me and wants me to come with her today and help figure it out. Together.” That was a new idea Heidi wasn’t sure how to process. “But, we’ll make sure she gets back on her medications, and then see what happens. Vicki seems to think—well, maybe we can get Betsy institutionalized again, but in a place that offers effective treatment. Depending on what obligations on her record she still has to meet, we may try to search out a faith-based hospital.”
Connie offered a reassuring smile and drew Heidi in for another hug. She pulled back. “Let this be a time of healing. For all of you. For Loretta too.”
Heidi nodded. “I’m not sure if we’ll tell her about Betsy.”
“All in good time.” Connie stepped back and glanced out the window. “But for now, Rhett’s here.” Connie gave her a nudge toward the front door. Rhett was waiting outside in his truck, the engine running.
As Heidi climbed into the truck, Rüger nosed her leg, and she buried her fingers in his familiar fur. Archie yowled at her from the dash while Rhett maneuvered the stick shift into gear.
The trees whizzed by along the country road. Heidi contemplated today, the implications, and the brand-new journey in front of her. She considered the photograph of Mary Coyle, the story of her brother Simeon who married Alice Fortune, and the foggy legend of Misty Wayfair that really was never fully explained. She even considered Thea Reed’s trunk and wondered how the local photographer had ended up with Coyle keepsakes.
And then there was Rhett.
Heidi didn’t bother to hide the fact she was studying his features as she looked at him. His jawline, his greasy cap, his gray eyes, his expressionless face. The man had hardly uttered a word since last night, but as Heidi approached her newly revealed family secrets with trepidation, a different worry gnawed at her.
She continued to eye him, yet he remained impassive.
Well, Rhett sure wasn’t going to say anything.
Heidi raised her eyebrow as he cast her a glance. He looked back at the road.
“So?” she asked.
Rhett braked as a turkey bobbed across the road in front of the truck. “So, what?”
Heidi bit the inside of her cheek. Fine. She was just going to ask. “So, was I just another one of your rescues? Like Archie, or Rüger?”
Rhett’s brows furrowed. He shot her another glance.
Heidi tried a different approach. “You’ve—you’ve been here for me. But now that I’ve uncovered what I needed to, I was just wondering if—well, if you’d still be around?”
A slight smile quirked the side of his mouth. “I wasn’t planning on moving.”
Heidi rolled her eyes and delivered a soft punch to his arm. “Come on. You like to rescue things—people. Your mom told me. She said you’re a softie.”
Rhett frowned.
Heidi pressed on. “I just didn’t know if I’m just your latest rescue.”
The turkey had crossed into the field on the driver’s side. Rhett put on his turn signal and pulled the truck onto the shoulder. He shifted it into first gear, then shut off the engine. Twisting in his seat, he pushed Rüger to the floor. The dog lay on top of Heidi’s feet with a grunt as Rhett slid over.
He leaned forward and studied her, his moody eyes roving her face.
Rhett didn’t say anything.
Heidi was almost afraid he would.
Finally, he did.
“You never needed rescuing, Heidi. You just needed help aiming.”
She smiled. Rhett and his archery references. She sort of liked it. Sort of liked him. Well, sort of was an understatement.
Rhett’s eyes narrowed, and he studied her briefly. Then he shook his head. “I told you before that I thought you were cute.”
Heidi gave him a quizzical look.
He shrugged and waved his hand at Archie and then at Rüger. His voice lowered, and before Heidi could move, Rhett leaned forward and pressed his lips against her temple. “I have a habit of adopting cute creatures.”
Heidi couldn’t move away. Surprise and a funny swirling sensation filled her. Only this time, it wasn’t panic.
She offered him a silly grin. “I’m not a creature. Sorry.”
Rhett’s face relaxed with humor, and he gave her a crooked smile in return. “No. You’re much cuter.” He pulled back, pushed down on the clutch, and started the engine.
Heidi leaned her head back against the seat and drew in a deep breath. Like a prayer. A promise.
“Ready?” Rhett asked.
Heidi nodded. “Yeah.”
She had let the arrow fly. Now she would see where God would take it—take her. It was time to go meet her mom.
Thea
They sat by the river, evening fast approaching. Their walk from the Amos home to the riverbank was more peaceful tonight. The story between them known. She had left the Fortunes as soon as she was well. Thea knew she’d never truly be one of them, even though she’d discovered she was legally named Alice Fortune.
The river rolled on, its current the same habitual fervor as every night before. Simeon gazed out over it in his usual quiet fashion. His features were calm. He was at peace.
“How is Effie?” Thea ventured.
Simeon’s mouth flattened, and he gave a thoughtful nod. “She’s better. Dr. Ackerman was able to get her nourished. She did have an episode yesterday, I heard, and has been a bit catatonic since. But that was expected.”
“Yes.” Thea was grateful she needn’t worry anymore that Dr. Ackerman would do anything but restrain Effie. She’d spoken to him at length, and while she felt his tactics somewhat extreme, there were no “experimentations” in Effie’s future, or in the futures of any other patients. Nothing that would infringe on Effie’s overall health. She would live out her life at the asylum. God willing, a full life.
Thea had no intention of abandoning the woman who had been her mother’s confidante.
“And—Rose?” Thea asked.
Rose. The unspoken between them. The one neither would forget. The sister Simeon grieved over as much as he had Mary, and the woman Thea wished had received more nurturing and guidance instead of becoming so disillusioned.
Simeon tossed a stone into the river. “I’ll visit her. When she stands trial, I will be there.” His voice was resolute.
Thea nodded. “I will be there too.”
He searched her face. Simeon’s eyes were turbulent. She wondered if he would ever truly find happiness. But then perhaps sometimes one’s life wasn’t about happiness, but rather about finding contentment in spite of one’s circumstances.
A distant expression filtered across his face. “How did I not know? How did I not even see a hint of the signs? I shouldn’t have been so blind to Rose. I was suspicious of my grandmother, yes, but I had no idea Rose would—my mother, and Mary . . .”
Thea reached out and rested her hand on his elbow. “You weren’t blind, Simeon. You love Rose. She’s your sister. You didn’t want to believe that of her.”
He gave a curt nod. “I didn’t want to believe it of my grandmother either.”
Thea left her hand on his elbow. He didn’t seem to mind, and she wanted to touch him, to feel his tenuous strength.
“I don’t understand why Rose didn’t try to—” Simeon cut off his words.
“Try to what?” Thea pressed.
Simeon’s gray eyes were rife with emotion. “Why didn’t she try to take my life too? To save me, as she saw it?”
Thea squeezed her eyes shut. Against the pain on his face, the strain in his voice. When she opened them, he was staring back over the water. His jaw was set, his face calm regardless of recent events.
Thea knew why Rose had spared her brother. It was obvious to her.
“Because you are strong, Simeon. Rose didn’t feel she needed to rescue you. You didn’t need saving.”
His hand clasped hers at his elbow. He worked his jaw back and forth. “I don’t feel strong. I never did.”
Thea moved closer to him. “Strength isn’t a feeling,” she whispered. “It’s the will to forge ahead regardless of circumstances.”
A tiny smile touched Simeon’s mouth, and he chuckled. “That sounds a bit like faith.”
Thea matched his bittersweet smile. “Yes. I suppose it does.”
Simeon turned toward her, drawing her hand from his elbow and gripping it in his own.
She waited. Knowing how he felt, because she felt it too.
“I’m not certain where to go from here, Thea.” Simeon moved as if to touch her cheek, his fingertips hovering just above her skin. His eyes narrowed. “But, I believe we were meant to find each other. I’m unwilling to be defined by the people around me. I always have been. And yet I cannot reconcile that you came here by accident—by happenstance.”
Thea reached up and placed her hand over Simeon’s and pushed his palm to her cheek. His eyes closed at the feel of her skin. She turned her face, and her lips pressed into the heart of his hand. She heard him breathe deeply, and she looked up at him.
“Do you believe—is it foolish to believe that, regardless of the tragedies, of the sorrow, there is a design to our lives?”
Simeon’s eyes opened. His thumb stroked a light path over her lips. His eye twitched ever so slightly, and he shook his head. “I don’t believe it’s foolish. No more foolish than believing we simply exist and then we die.”
Thea nodded, relieved that Simeon didn’t scoff at her fledgling faith in a Creator. In a God who had seen fit to craft her into being. Her life had taken a defined path, steered by choices of her family in the past, herself, and the results that followed. But also directed by her own growing belief that life catapulted a soul toward the Creator, whether the person acknowledged it or not. The evidence of the fingerprints of design were on her life. On Simeon’s life. Of the gifts amid the darkness. People like Mr. and Mrs. Amos, who were there when no one else was. Effie, whose loyalty to a friend from long ago had brought resolution to Thea’s questions. Even Dr. Ackerman, whose care for his patients would be a small step in correcting the misinformed perspectives on those who struggled to find peace in their mental illnesses.
Thea drew back, tracing her fingers down the column of Simeon’s neck.
“I need to know more,” she whispered. “I need to understand why He formed me into who I am. I—I need to know Him.”
Simeon released her and bent, picking up a river stone and feeling it in his hand. Thea laid hers over it so that their hands fully engulfed the stone.
“If I were to carve words into this for this moment”—Simeon stepped closer to her, the stone clasped between them—“I would etch the words In spite of.”
“In spite of?” Thea watched as Simeon’s forehead moved nearer and rested against hers. They both opened their hands and studied the rather plain-looking river rock.
Simeon’s words hovered between them. “In spite of the darkness, in spite of the crushing weight, this is not the last page. We are not finished, Thea. This place—this life—will break us. But from above, our Creator reaches into the depths, and He will carve into us something new.”
Thea raised her eyes and met Simeon’s. So close, so deep, so unguarded and honest she had to ask, just one more time. “You truly, truly believe that? That God will begin to bring restoration?”
“He has already started.” Simeon closed the inches between them, a quiet confidence in his voice as he brushed her lips with a tender caress.
Thea could sense Simeon’s belief in his kiss, his care, and his faith for more than their eyes could see. She could sense his soul melding into her soul, traveling a path with her, fragile but tipped in promise.
She drew in a deep breath of anticipation. Every creation was intended for a purpose. In broken places, beauty could be found. In beauty, she would find the Creator’s perfect story. A story that didn’t need to be rewritten, because it already was. Her story. She was Dorothea Reed. She was Alice Fortune. She was . . . created. And being created was no small thing.