DeBeers 01 Willow Read online

  "Why, property, of course. Real estate is the best sort of investment these days, Aunt Agnes. I'm surprised you don't know that."

  "I know it. What sort of real estate.

  commercial?"

  "No. Please, don't bother yourself so with all this. You have so much going on back there with the wedding and all. I'll be fine. I have Mr. Bas singer helping me, of course."

  She was silent a moment, digesting it all quickly. "Why would you return to that place, considering the information everyone there has about you and your... real mother?" she asked.

  "Daddy taught me never to run and hide but to face my problems head on and never be intimidated by them. Good advice, don't you think?"

  "No," she snapped. "I would prefer living where people didn't resent me or mock me."

  "There is probably no place in the world where that doesn't happen. Aunt Agnes," I said. I meant to her, of course, but she missed the point and rattled on and on about how I should put such an idea to bed and come live with her. She made the argument that using my inheritance, she and I could fix up her property and make it very comfortable. In time, she would introduce me to fine young men of some social standing, and I, like Margaret Selby, would marry. The very idea of such a thing nearly made me sick.

  I thanked her but tried to make my no as definite as I could. She refused to accept it as such and ended by predicting that I would realize she was right and turn to her one day.

  "I'll be here for you, waiting." she promised. "Out of respect for my poor dead brother."

  "That's very kind of you, Aunt Agnes. Have a wonderful wedding party." I added, and hung up, feeling as if I had just cut the last cord tying me to my old life.

  It was time to start anew.

  However. I didn't want to give up on my career and education, so next I looked into what educational institutions were available. I located Florida Atlantic University in Jupiter, which was about a forty-minute drive from Palm Beach. I called and learned they had the program I wanted to pursue. I next asked that my transcripts be sent from the University of North Carolina and made arrangements to matriculate the next semester.

  Feeling I had taken a good hold of my life and the future for my mother. Linden, and myself. I completed the rest of my arrangements. I decided to keep my father's old Mercedes. He had always maintained it well. It looked practically brand new. Right after the escrow closed. I packed the car with as much as I could and had the rest of my things sent to my mother's home-- my home. now.

  "I'm coming!" I cried into the phone. "I'll be leaving for Palm Beach in the morning."

  "I can't deny I'm very excited about it. Willow. I did sit with Linden today and explain it to him, and his eyes did seem to widen and brighten with interest."

  "Oh, good."

  "Then he returned to his depressed state, the light dimming again."

  "We'll get it burning brightly. I won't stop tying until we do."

  "I know," she said. "I'm grateful." Then she paused and said, "Thatcher called this morning. He had heard from my accountant, and he was quite shocked, 'I can't guarantee you that my parents will remain your tenants.' he said. and I said I was not expecting them to remain and, in fact, would like not to go on renting the property."

  "What did he say?"

  "He thought I had taken leave of my senses, of course, and tried to convince me that I was making a very big mistake. Then..."

  "What?" I could sense her hesitation, "He didn't threaten you?"

  "Oh. no He was very soft-spoken and

  concerned. I meant to say he asked about you."

  "He did?" My heart began to pound, even though I didn't want to feel that I would go running back to him the moment he showed me the slightest interest, "What did you tell him?"

  "I asked him why he didn't just call you directly, and he said he was planning to, but he wanted to give you a chance to settle down. I know he thinks you're not coming back here, at least for a while. He did sound very sad about it. In the end, he muttered that he was going to call you soon."

  "Won't he be surprised," I thought aloud.

  "Yes. I imagine he will be quite surprised," my mother said. "I'll see you very soon," I told her.

  "Have a safe trip." she said.

  I had thought a great deal about Thatcher during the time I had been home. Every time the phone rang. I had expected it to be him, making some excuse for why he hadn't called earlier, blaming his work or whatever. I was even prepared to be understanding and hide my disappointment. After all. I was sure his parents, and especially his mother, had put all sorts of pressure on him. But it was never him calling.

  Up until my final night in the house. I was hoping he would call as he had told my mother, but the phone didn't ring at all after Mr. Bassinger called to tell me every-thing had been done, my accounts set up, my investment made, my inclusion on the property deed now just a matter of time.

  The last, most difficult thing for me was to look into my father's empty office, the furniture all taken and put in storage, the shelves bare. It was truly as though it made his death final, a period placed at the end of a sentence, a door shutting, a light going out Everything that had been him, that had kept his memory vivid in my mind and in my senses, was gone from this room, the room in which he had done so much of his thinking, his dreaming, and surely his regretting.

  "Goodbye, Daddy," I whispered. "I hope what I'm doing would have pleased you, will please you It's too painful for me to be here without you. I'm going to be with the one living person who remembers the sound of your voice, your laughter, as vividly as I do and cherishes those memories as much. We have you to share and to bring us closer together. Thank you for that."

  I didn't think I would sleep. but I did. It wasn't to relieve fatigue: it was to find escape, to stop my mind from thinking and worrying and mourning. I was up almost with the sun itself. When I walked out of the house for the last time. I took a deep breath and looked over the grounds. So much of what I was. what I had become, was created here. The halls still echoed with Amou's voice. I could even hear my own little footsteps on the stairway, It was time to shut the door on all that. I thought.

  I hurried to my car, started the engine, looked back at the front door only once, and imagined they were all there waving goodbye to me: Miles. Amou, and, of course. Daddy. They were all smiling proudly, urging me on, and telling me not to be afraid, to believe in myself.

  I couldn't help but look ahead with trepidation. however. There were so many questions looming out there, waiting to be answered.

  What would life really be like for my mother and me? Had I made a terrible error using my fortune to keep us in Palm Beach?

  Would Linden ever accept me as his sister, and would I bring him hope and help him regain his confidence and his life?

  Would Thatcher be amazed and overjoyed at the sight of me and the realization of what I had done?

  Everyone out there suffers from loneliness in one way or another. I thought. All the rich and the famous weren't really very different from even-one else. They were just as frightened as my mother and Linden and I were. They could surround themselves with glitter and with lots of chatter. but in the end, it was only the music of the heart that brought any real comfort, and that music couldn't be bought at any price.

  That music was the only true gift we could bestow on each other, the gift that would end the fear of being alone.

  There was a line I remembered from my father's diary when he was trying to express how much he really did love my mother, when he was trying to explain why he was so positive it was love, grand and beautiful,

  All I know, he wrote. is I couldn't be happy, ever be happy, if she is not, and I know she feels the same way about erne,

  That was the gift of love, the music of the heart we could give each other that would keep us from being alone.

  Daddy spent so much of his life searching for it, and then he had to lose it.

  I pledged to myself that if I ever found i
t as he had. I would never lose it.

  Do you think you can find it? I could hear him ask.

  Yes, I have to think that I can, Daddy.

  Then you will, he told me.

  I could hear him say it over and over as I drove on. Then you will.

  .

  Dear Willow.

  I have read your story with great interest because, like you, for most of my life I did not know the truth about myself. I did not know who my real father was. My family had many reasons for their well-kept secrets hung in the backs of dark closets. It all began when my grandmother, my mother Heaven's mother, died and my grandfather decided that the best thing for him to do was sell off his children. My mother spent a good deal of her young- adult life trying to reunite her family, her brothers and sisters. Her journey took her down a long, convoluted road of discovery that brought her from abject poverty to the world of wealth, glamour, and prestige. She was a woman whom my great-grandmother would call "full of grit," for she battled against many discouragements and many cruel people to finally become the elegant and beautiful woman she was.

  I have no doubt that you would enjoy reading her story, which is told in books entitled Heaven, Dark Angel, and Fallen Hearts. My story is in Gates of Paradise. My grandmother Leigh's story is told in Web of Dreams, and in that story we learn why she left the wealth and position of Farthinggale Manor to marry a drifter and live the hard life in the hills of West Virginia. How ironic it is that my mother made the full circle and returned to Farthinggale to discover the family secrets!

  I owe a great deal to my real father, just as you do to yours. When I read about your adopted mother. I couldn't help but think about my great-grandmother Jillian, especially the way my mother described her to me when she first met her. You don't have to imagine as hard as other people what it is like to be sent to live somewhere and not really be wanted. Just like your adoptive mother, my great-grandmother insisted my mother call her by her name so no one would ever know she was related. That's what my mother had to do. What grit my mother surely had to be dropped into such a world and yet be unafraid and determined. I often wonder if our children will think so highly of us.

  Of course, you didn't have the step-grandfather my mother had. He was dangerous in many ways, and if it wasn't for my real father. I think my mother would have been so lost. That's probably the most interesting and exciting part of her story.

  Like you, she traveled from one world and eventually ended up in another so different, it was like being on another planet. Maybe it was even more so for my mother, however, for the contrast between the world she was born into and the one she ended up living in was far greater. She went from practically being an orphan to being a foster child and then to being the unwanted yet not to be denied

  granddaughter of one of the wealthiest women in Boston. Her life with her foster parents. Kitty and Cal Dennison, was so bizarre, it deserves to be a book in itself. I often wonder about what some people consider abuse today.

  It was only after she had one through all those changes that my mother was eventually able to set out to do what she dreamed of doing: reuniting her family.

  In some ways I think you were luckier to have been brought up as an only child. My mother had to contend with a sister who was a full-time

  responsibility-- and not because of any handicap; unless you want to consider her promiscuity a handicap. Aunt Fanny was sort of the black sheep of my family. People who read about her often tell me they have a relative they try to keep hidden who reminds them of my aunt Fanny. Once you read about her and hear her speak, you know we could keep her hidden as much as we could keep an elephant hidden in a living room. In the end. though. I became quite fond of her. You will see why.

  There was so much about my mother's life that was attractive and interesting. I don't want to make it sound too dark. She had a wonderful romance, and the toy company that she inherited was truly fascinating, Today. I see companies trying to do just what Tatterton Toys did with those dolls. What an eerie and yet fascinating thing it was You must tell me what you think of all that when you do get a chance to read her story and learn about it

  I must tell you that in some ways your half brother. Linden, reminded me of my real father. They were both quite introverted, perhaps even hermit-like, and both had artistic abilities. Yet both were warm and sincere men. When you read about the wonderful garden maze at Farthinggale Manor and how my mother first met my father, you will. I am sure, feel some deja vu.

  My husband believes and I have come to believe, too. that where you live has a great deal to do with who you are and who you become. I don't mean the house only. I mean the natural surroundings, the land, the weather, all of it. My mother came from a beautiful but rather primitive natural world full of superstition and ignorance, and yet she was able to overcome that and even to hold her own with the wealthiest, most spoiled people you can imagine. But perhaps she was like the land on which she was born and lived her early life: relentless. unyielding.

  What eventually happened to her and my father is very tragic--so tragic I cannot even get myself to describe it to you here. It's something you will read and learn yourself.

  However, if there was one thing my mother taught me, it was how to contend with difficulties, how to escape from the grip of defeat, and how to find a rainbow after a storm. She was never depressed and cynical with me, and she was always encouraging and inspirational.

  I am, of course, looking forward to reading the rest of your story, but I hope that if you have the time, you will sit down and read about my family, too.

  Perhaps someday we will meet and have a cup of coffee. In the end. I believe, you-- like I-- will rejoice in life and its blessings.

  My real father was always afraid I would inherit his penchant for melancholy. When we met for the first time as father and daughter, he told me there was so much of my mother in me that he believed what I had of her would be strong enough to overcome any melancholy I had inherited from him. He was very happy about that.

  I think you will learn someday that you have inherited your real father's wisdom and compassion and that will help you overcome the dark forces that are so happy to do us harm.

  In that way as in so many others, we are truly like sisters.

  Annie Casteel