Даниэла Стил - Finding Ashley [calibre]

“Thank you,” Michaela said, profoundly moved by what was happening. “Should I call you Aunt Hattie now?” It had been strange asking for her as Sister Mary Joseph at the convent, since she had introduced herself as Hattie Stevens when they met, and had been wearing normal clothes. Michaela was still surprised that she was a nun.

“You can call me anything you want,” Hattie said, and promised to call her as soon as she had told Melissa. It was a moment Hattie was savoring, the opportunity to help heal her sister’s wounds of the past.

Mother Elizabeth saw her face after the call. Sister Mary Joe was beaming.

“It’s a match,” was all she said, and the superior understood immediately.

“Congratulations. That should cheer you up.” She knew how she had been struggling.

“I’d like to go up and see my sister this weekend,” she said hopefully, and the superior nodded.

“Of course, you have my permission. Stay overnight if you’d like to. That’s a long drive to do round trip in one day.”

“Thank you, Mother,” she said gratefully. All she wanted now was to see the look on Melissa’s face. It would make everything worthwhile, no matter how much the trip to Dublin had challenged her faith ever since. It was a small price to pay compared to what her sister had been through.

—

Melissa was sanding the fifth door when Norm came by at the end of the day. He had promised to bring her more fine-grained sandpaper. She had seven more doors she wanted to do, and was just halfway through the project. He’d gone to Maine for a few days with friends to go sailing, and she missed his impromptu visits. He was the only person Melissa saw and spoke to on a regular basis. He’d been dropping by more frequently since the fire.

“How was Maine?” she asked him.

“Great. Perfect wind conditions for sailing and fresh lobster every night.” To his knowledge, she hadn’t been on a vacation since she’d lived there, and he wondered why she never went away. But she had nowhere to go, and no one she wanted to be with, so she stayed at home and worked on the house. “I’ll bring you some lobsters from Boston the next time I go,” he promised, and she laughed at the suggestion.

“I wouldn’t know how to cook them.”

“I’ll cook them for you.” It was the first time in four years he had suggested a meal with her. Usually they shared lemonade or iced tea on the porch, or a cup of coffee in winter. He had never invited her to dinner, but she seemed friendlier since the fire, so he risked it, and she didn’t seem to mind his suggesting a meal or offering to cook for her. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“Two more doors.” She smiled at him.

“You need to get out of here once in a while,” he said cautiously.

“Why? I’m happy here.”

They sat on the porch for a while, and she poured him a glass of wine. She was wearing shorts, and he couldn’t help noticing her long legs and the graceful way she moved.

Everything was back to normal since the fire, except for the people who had lost their homes. They’d both read in the paper that the arsonist was back from his psychiatric evaluation and had been declared fit to stand trial as an adult, which was legally fair but unbearably sad. He had ruined his life along with those of the people he had harmed when he set the fire. He would certainly go to prison, at seventeen. Melissa felt sad every time she thought of it, and sorry for him. He had never had the chance for a decent life, and he surely wouldn’t now.

It was after six o’clock when Norm left. He said he was having dinner with friends at the tavern that night. He didn’t ask her to join them, and knew she wouldn’t have anyway. She was like a wild horse, always skittish. It had taken years for her to get comfortable with him, while they worked on her house together.

She was putting their glasses in the dishwasher after Norm left, when Hattie called her. They hadn’t spoken since her supposed retreat. Hattie had been avoiding her until she got the results of the DNA test.

“What have you been up to?” Hattie asked her, as though they spoke all the time.

“Sanding some doors, clearing away brush in case there’s another fire.”

“Don’t you have people to do that?”

“I like doing a lot of it myself. How was your retreat?”

“Interesting. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”

“I can hardly wait,” Melissa said sarcastically, and they both laughed.

“I have some time off this weekend,” Hattie told her.

“Do you want to come up?”

“I’d love it. I have permission to spend the night.” Her saying it that way made Melissa wonder how she stood living such a restricted life, needing permission for every move she made. But that was the life she had chosen. She had given up her freedom forever. Melissa couldn’t have tolerated anyone telling her what to do, and never had.

“You’re welcome to stay.”

“I’ll be there by lunchtime. I’ll get an early start,” Hattie said, barely able to contain herself. “Do you need me to bring anything?”

“Just you.” And the best news she’d ever had, Hattie said to herself. She couldn’t give her Robbie back. But she had found Ashley. Michaela Ashley. Hattie couldn’t wait until Saturday. She was counting the hours.

Chapter 8

Hattie left the convent at seven a.m. on Saturday morning, and kept her foot on the gas all the way from New York. There was no traffic at that hour, and she kept the convent station wagon right at the speed limit the entire time. She couldn’t wait to get there and see Melissa’s face when she heard the news. Hattie was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. The morning had been cool when she left the city. It was the end of summer, and what a summer it had been. Hattie’s spirits had risen ever since they got the results of the test. Michaela had called every day, wanting to know if Hattie had told her yet, and she had to keep reminding her that she wouldn’t see Melissa until Saturday.

She made it in just under four hours, which was some kind of record. Melissa was pushing a shiny green wheelbarrow full of twigs and branches when Hattie drove up and stopped the car. She got out quickly, and hugged Melissa, who looked happy to see her. Hattie pointed at the wheelbarrow.

“You look like a farmer.” She laughed at her, and Melissa grinned.

“That’s what I am. I’ve got six boxes of apples for you to take back to the convent. I’ve got tomatoes too, if you want them.”

“They’ll love it.”

“Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“Actually, I’m starving,” Hattie admitted, as she followed her up the steps to the kitchen. She’d left the convent before breakfast. And as soon as they walked in, she could smell cinnamon buns in the oven. Melissa had bought them for her again. She put two on a plate, set them on the kitchen table, poured the coffee, and a minute later they sat down.

“You look happy,” Melissa commented, as Hattie took a single bite of the bun and set it down.

“I am. Mellie, I have something to tell you,” she said, as her older sister raised an eyebrow in interest. “I didn’t go on a retreat. I went to Ireland, to Saint Blaise’s.”

A cloud crossed Melissa’s face instantly at the words. “Why? We already know they destroyed the records. Why did you do that?”

“Because I hated the look in your eyes when you talked about it the last time I saw you. I thought that maybe, as an insider, I could talk to some of the nuns, and find someone who’d been there when you were, and might remember something useful.”

“And did you?”

“Not at Saint Blaise’s. They have a new mother superior, who gave me the party line. God, what an awful place that is. It made me cry, thinking of you there. It’s a home for old nuns now. I walked around, but no one told me anything, or had been there then. They’ve all died or been dispersed. But I discovered that there’s a book about the convent, about the adoptions they did there, and what it was like then. It’s called Babies for Sale and it was written by an ex-nun. I’ll give it to you,” she promised. “Her name is Fiona Eckles. She’s a professor of literature at Dublin University now. She was a midwife at Saint Blaise’s then, when you were there. She’s been released from her vows. Her name was Sister Agnes. She didn’t remember you. I showed her a picture of you at sixteen.”