Chapter 8 - Rebecca Vale's Third Child
Rebecca Vale had been dead for decades.
At least, that was what everyone had told Evelyn.
Yet there she was in a photograph taken in November 1986, standing outside St. Matthew's Hospital with a newborn in her arms.
A newborn who might have been me.
Evelyn took the phone from my hand.
“No.”
Her voice was barely audible.
She enlarged the photograph.
Rebecca's face became grainy, but the resemblance remained unmistakable.
My eyes.
My cheekbones.
Even the slight asymmetry in my smile.
I had spent my whole life being told I looked like nobody.
Rachel had Dad's forehead.
Mom's smile.
Grandma's stubborn chin.
I had always been the odd combination people politely described as “taking after some distant relative.”
Now a dead woman was looking back at me from 1986.
And she looked more like me than anyone in my family ever had.
Evelyn turned to Martin.
“You said my mother died in 1981.”
Martin looked sick.
“That is what I was told.”
“By whom?”
“Eleanor.”
Evelyn laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
I stared at him.
“You never verified it?”
“I saw a death certificate.”
“We've established that documents don't mean much around Graybridge.”
“I know.”
“Where did Rebecca supposedly die?”
“Boston.”
“Cause?”
“Pneumonia.”
Evelyn's eyes narrowed.
“And you believed that?”
“In 1981? Yes.”
“Did Dad believe it?”
Martin hesitated.
“Thomas began questioning it later.”
“When?”
“After you came into his life.”
He meant me.
I stepped closer.
“What does that mean?”
“Thomas began receiving letters.”
“What letters?”
“Anonymous ones.”
“About me?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“That the child he had brought home wasn't the child he thought she was.”
My mouth went dry.
“When did they start?”
“1988.”
I would have been two.
“What did Dad do?”
“He investigated.”
“Without Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He was afraid Margaret would lose another child.”
Another.
Charlotte had been taken from Mom.
Grace had been stillborn.
Then I arrived.
Even if I wasn't biologically hers, I suddenly understood something about the ferocity with which Mom had sometimes controlled my life.
Perhaps losing me had always felt possible to her.
“What did Dad discover?”
“Very little at first.”
“Then why the DNA tests in 1998?”
“Because the letters became more specific.”
“How?”
Martin glanced toward Evelyn.
“One claimed Rebecca Vale was still alive.”
Evelyn looked away.
“And Dad believed it?”
“Eventually.”
“Did he find her?”
“I don't know.”
“You really expect us to believe that?”
“Thomas stopped trusting me around that time.”
“Why?”
Martin didn't answer.
Evelyn did.
“Because of me.”
He looked at her.
“You let me believe Thomas was my father.”
“Yes.”
“Thomas knew you were doing that.”
“Yes.”
“And he agreed.”
“At first.”
“What changed?”
“He discovered I had hidden Elizabeth's existence from you.”
Evelyn stared at him.
“So Dad—Thomas—was angry because you kept my twin from me?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you?”
Martin's face hardened with old shame.
“Because Eleanor told me Elizabeth was safer if nobody knew she existed.”
“And you obeyed her?”
“For too long.”
“How long?”
“Until Thomas discovered the ledger.”
“When?”
“1997.”
One year before the DNA tests.
I was beginning to see the shape of Dad's final years.
He hadn't simply been a father going to work, paying bills, and coming home.
He had been investigating us.
His own family.
Graybridge.
Rebecca.
Me.
Maybe even Daniel.
“What happened after the DNA tests?”
Martin took a breath.
“Thomas confronted Eleanor.”
“And?”
“She denied everything.”
“What did he ask?”
“Who Hannah really was.”
I swallowed.
“And Grandma said?”
“That you were Margaret's daughter.”
“But the test proved I wasn't.”
“Yes.”
“So Dad knew she was lying.”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He threatened to reopen the Graybridge investigation.”
Evelyn frowned.
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
“What stopped him?”
Martin looked at me.
“He died.”
The words settled heavily between us.
I had always known Dad died in 2004.
Sudden cardiac arrest.
At home.
Mom had found him.
An ambulance came.
There was nothing anyone could do.
That story had been fixed in my memory for twenty-two years.
Now even that felt unstable.
“Are you suggesting Dad didn't die naturally?”
“No.”
“That's exactly what you're suggesting.”
“I am saying Thomas was preparing to expose Graybridge when he died.”
“Was there an autopsy?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“His physician signed the death certificate.”
“Who was his physician?”
Martin hesitated.
I already knew I wasn't going to like the answer.
“Dr. Richard Crane.”
Evelyn stared.
“Crane?”
I looked at the photograph.
“Judith Crane.”
Martin nodded.
“Her husband.”
My stomach tightened.
“The nurse who reported the missing baby was married to Dad's doctor?”
“Yes.”
“And nobody thought that mattered?”
“At the time, I didn't know Judith was connected to the missing child.”
“But Grandma did.”
“Probably.”
Evelyn said, “And Rebecca?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at the message again.
COME TO THE MERCER HOUSE.
BRING EVELYN.
NOT MARTIN.
Whoever sent it wanted us separated from the one person who had been present through almost every stage of this story.
Maybe because Martin was dangerous.
Or because Martin knew enough to recognize the next lie.
I couldn't tell which.
“Where is the Mercer house?”
“About thirty-five minutes away.”
“Then we're going.”
Martin shook his head.
“No.”
“My mother may be there.”
“And whoever contacted you specifically told you not to bring me.”
“Which is exactly why you're coming.”
“Hannah—”
“I'm done following instructions from anonymous people.”
Evelyn nodded.
“So am I.”
I looked toward Emma.
There was one problem.
My daughter.
I wasn't taking her to another location connected to Graybridge.
I called Rachel.
She answered immediately.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“Claire is still here.”
I heard Daniel speaking in the background.
“Listen carefully. I'm sending you a location.”
“Where?”
“A diner.”
“What do you need?”
“Come get Emma.”
Rachel didn't hesitate.
“We're leaving now.”
“Bring Daniel.”
“What about Claire?”
I looked at Martin.
“Don't bring Claire.”
Claire's voice came through the phone.
“I can hear you.”
“Good.”
“Hannah, going to the Mercer house without me is a mistake.”
“Probably.”
“Richard may be there.”
“Then tell me what he wants.”
“The same thing everyone wants.”
“The box?”
“No.”
“The ledger?”
“No.”
I frowned.
“What?”
Claire answered:
“Rebecca.”
Evelyn grabbed the phone.
“My mother is dead.”
Claire said nothing.
“Claire.”
“I don't think she is.”
Evelyn went white.
“What evidence do you have?”
“The same photograph you're looking at.”
“How do you know about that photograph?”
Another silence.
Claire knew too much.
“Did you send it?” I asked.
“No.”
“Did you send the message telling us to go to the Mercer house?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I think Judith.”
The woman in the green coat.
“Why?”
“Because she wants Rebecca found before Richard finds her.”
Martin stepped closer.
“Claire, how much contact have you had with Judith Crane?”
“Enough.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don't know.”
“Why does she have Margaret's necklace?”
“I gave it to her.”
My anger returned immediately.
“So the diner was arranged.”
“Yes.”
“You sent Judith to my daughter?”
“I sent her to you.”
“She approached Emma.”
“That wasn't the plan.”
“You seem to have a lot of plans involving my child.”
Claire went quiet.
“Stay away from her.”
“Hannah—”
“I mean it.”
I ended the call.
Evelyn stared at me.
“Claire thinks Rebecca is alive.”
“Yes.”
“So do you?”
I looked at the photograph.
“I think someone wants us to believe she is.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“It's the only one I have.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Rachel and Daniel arrived.
The moment Emma saw Rachel, she ran to her.
Rachel dropped to her knees and held her.
I watched my sister's face.
She had been crying.
Daniel remained near the door.
He looked hollow.
His wedding tie was gone.
His shirt collar was open.
Only hours earlier, he had married Rachel.
Since then, he had been told she might be his sister, then told she probably wasn't.
No marriage should begin like that.
Rachel came to me.
“What did you find?”
“More questions.”
She almost smiled.
“Of course.”
I gave her Mom's necklace.
“Judith Crane gave this to Emma.”
“Who's Judith?”
I explained briefly.
Rachel looked at Martin.
“So now Hannah may be Rebecca's daughter?”
“Possibly,” he said.
Evelyn corrected him.
“Third daughter.”
Rachel stared at her.
“Third?”
“Me. Elizabeth. Maybe Hannah.”
Rachel looked at me.
Something painful passed through her expression.
If Rebecca was my biological mother, then Rachel and I weren't biological sisters.
But I realized I didn't care.
Rachel was still my sister.
Biology had caused enough damage tonight.
I touched her arm.
“Take Emma somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
“Not Mom's.”
Daniel said, “My parents' house.”
Claire's adoptive parents.
I shook my head.
“No.”
Daniel looked hurt, then understood.
“We don't know who was involved.”
“Exactly.”
“A hotel?”
“Police station,” Martin said.
Everyone looked at him.
He continued.
“If someone is watching the family, the safest place for Emma is somewhere they can't approach unnoticed.”
For once, I agreed.
Daniel nodded.
“I'll take her.”
Rachel looked at me.
“I should come with you.”
“No.”
“Hannah.”
“Emma trusts you.”
“So?”
“So I need someone she loves with her.”
Rachel understood what I was really asking.
Protect my daughter.
She nodded.
Then she hugged me.
We hadn't hugged like that in years.
Not politely.
Not because someone was taking a photograph.
Like sisters.
“Come back,” she whispered.
“I will.”
When she released me, Daniel approached Martin.
“I want those DNA results.”
“I'll give you everything I have.”
“Tonight.”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at me.
“And Hannah?”
“What?”
“If you find Margaret…”
He stopped calling her Mom.
I noticed.
“Ask her who my mother is.”
“I will.”
He walked away.
Emma hugged me last.
“Are you going to find Grandma?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
I hesitated.
Then I remembered what promises had done to this family.
“I promise I'll try.”
She accepted that.
After they left, Martin drove.
Evelyn sat beside me.
The Graybridge ledger rested between us.
We followed narrow roads toward Bristol.
The Mercer house stood beyond a rusted gate.
Old farmhouse.
Two stories.
White paint peeling.
One downstairs light burned.
A black Mercedes was parked outside.
Mom.
“That's the car from the hotel,” I said.
Martin stopped.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Hannah—”
“She's my mother.”
Biological or not.
I got out.
Evelyn followed.
Martin swore and came after us.
The front door was unlocked.
Inside, the house smelled old.
Dust.
Wood.
Something medicinal.
“Mom?”
No answer.
Then a voice upstairs.
“Hannah?”
Mom.
I ran.
She was in a bedroom.
Alive.
Sitting on the floor beside the bed.
Her wrists weren't tied.
Nobody guarded her.
She looked at me and began crying.
I dropped beside her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Where's Richard?”
“I don't know.”
“You came willingly.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said Charlotte was in danger.”
Claire.
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“Then why did you disappear?”
“Because I thought I could end this before you learned everything.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Too late.”
She looked at Evelyn.
Then Martin.
Her face hardened.
“You brought him.”
“I brought the man everyone keeps telling me not to trust.”
“For once, you should have listened.”
Martin said quietly, “Hello, Margaret.”
“Don't.”
I took out the photograph of Rebecca.
Mom saw it.
Her entire expression changed.
“You found that.”
“Is Rebecca my mother?”
Mom stared at me.
“Hannah—”
“Answer me.”
“I don't know.”
“Did Dad bring me home in November 1986?”
“Yes.”
“Was I the child you intended to adopt?”
“No.”
“Did you know who I was?”
“No.”
“Did you care?”
Her face crumpled.
“No.”
That answer broke something open inside me.
Not because she hadn't cared who I was.
Because I understood what she meant.
She hadn't cared where I came from.
She wanted me.
Mom reached for my hand.
“You were three days old. Thomas put you in my arms, and I didn't care what paperwork existed. I had buried Grace eight months earlier.”
She was crying now.
“I thought God had given me another chance.”
I let her hold my hand.
For a moment, I was a child again.
Then Evelyn asked:
“Did you know Rebecca?”
Mom looked at her.
“Yes.”
Evelyn's breath caught.
“Was she alive in 1986?”
“Yes.”
Martin whispered, “Margaret.”
Mom ignored him.
“She came here.”
“To this house?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To get her daughter.”
“Which daughter?”
Mom looked at me.
“Hannah.”
My heart stopped.
“She came for me?”
Mom nodded.
“Three weeks after Thomas brought you home.”
“What happened?”
“I refused.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas told me Rebecca was dangerous.”
Evelyn stepped forward.
“My mother wasn't dangerous.”
“I know that now.”
“What did Thomas say?”
“That Rebecca had stolen you.”
“From where?”
“St. Matthew's.”
The missing newborn.
My knees weakened.
“Was I that baby?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Rebecca say I was hers?”
“Yes.”
“Did you believe her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she said something impossible.”
“What?”
Mom looked at Evelyn.
“She said Hannah wasn't her only daughter in danger.”
Evelyn whispered, “Elizabeth.”
Mom shook her head.
“No.”
Evelyn froze.
“Then who?”
Before Mom could answer, a floorboard creaked downstairs.
Martin turned.
Someone was inside the house.
He whispered, “Stay here.”
Mom grabbed his arm.
“No.”
“Who is it?”
Her face filled with fear.
“Richard.”
A man's voice came from downstairs.
“Margaret?”
Mom stood.
“Don't answer.”
He continued.
“I know Hannah is here.”
My blood ran cold.
Then:
“And Evelyn.”
Evelyn looked at me.
Richard laughed softly.
“You finally brought Rebecca's girls together.”
Girls.
Plural.
Evelyn and me.
My heart hammered.
Martin moved toward the stairs.
Richard spoke again.
“Don't come down, Martin.”
A metallic click followed.
Gun.
Martin stopped.
Mom covered her mouth.
Richard continued.
“I don't want anyone hurt.”
I almost laughed.
People who said that while holding guns usually meant the opposite.
“What do you want?” I shouted.
“The ledger.”
Evelyn grabbed it.
“No.”
Richard heard her.
“Hello, Evelyn.”
Her face tightened.
“You're my father.”
Silence.
Then:
“I am.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“And Elizabeth?”
A longer pause.
“No.”
Martin looked at her.
The recording had suggested the twins might have different fathers.
Evelyn asked, “Who was?”
Richard answered:
“Thomas Mercer.”
Everything stopped.
My father.
Dad.
Evelyn turned toward Mom.
Mom looked equally shocked.
Richard continued.
“Rebecca never told him.”
Evelyn's voice shook.
“Then Elizabeth was Thomas's daughter?”
“Yes.”
Dad had actually had three daughters.
Rachel.
Elizabeth.
And, in every way that mattered, me.
But Richard wasn't finished.
“Rebecca wanted Thomas to take Elizabeth.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Eleanor switched the girls before he arrived.”
Evelyn gripped the ledger.
“Why?”
“To keep Thomas from learning Rebecca had given birth to his child.”
“Where is Elizabeth?”
Richard laughed softly.
“You've already met her.”
Evelyn went completely still.
“Who?”
“Bring me the ledger.”
“No.”
“Then you'll never know.”
I stepped toward the staircase.
Mom grabbed me.
“Hannah.”
I pulled away.
“Tell us her name.”
Richard remained silent.
“Tell us!”
Then a new voice came from behind him downstairs.
A woman's voice.
“Don't.”
Richard said, “You shouldn't have come.”
“I couldn't let you lie to them again.”
I recognized the voice.
Judith Crane.
The woman in the green coat.
Evelyn rushed toward the stairs.
Martin stopped her.
Judith spoke louder.
“Evelyn, your sister didn't disappear.”
“Then where is she?”
“She grew up with another family.”
“Who?”
Silence.
Then Judith said:
“Her name was changed in 1980.”
“To what?”
“Catherine.”
Martin stumbled backward.
“No.”
Mom stared at him.
I didn't understand.
“Who is Catherine?”
Martin whispered:
“Daniel's mother.”
The world tilted again.
Evelyn's twin sister, Elizabeth—
Dad's biological daughter—
had grown up as Catherine Bennett.
Daniel's mother.
Which meant Daniel was Dad's biological grandson.
Rachel was Dad's biological daughter.
They weren't siblings.
But they were aunt and nephew.
And they had married each other only hours ago.
Then the bedroom window shattered.
Mom screamed.
Martin dropped.
Evelyn pulled me toward the floor.
A bullet buried itself in the wall behind us.
Downstairs, Judith screamed:
“RICHARD, NO!”
Another gunshot exploded through the house.
Then silence.
A body hit the floor.
And from downstairs, Richard said calmly:
“Now bring me the ledger—or Catherine learns who her real father was the same way Daniel did.”