Dear Evie: The Lost Memories of a Lost Child (6 page)

“How can I find my brother? Where do I start?”

She smiled at me and gave my hand a pat.

“Let me write down a few suggestions on where you might start.”

Chapter Five

Finding answers was now my new passion. Jason had been very sympathetic of my pain and promised to help me, but once the shock wore off, he just couldn’t handle the drama of it all. He tried to be patient with me, but we had started arguing more. We didn’t argue over anything serious, just petty things to release the built up tension. He didn’t seem to understand why my past life mattered so much. Why wasn’t my life with him and Gracie enough?

“Kat, no one remembers everything about their past. Can’t you just be happy with the way things are? Our life is a good one, and we are happy; so can’t you just… you know… get over it?”

“Well, Jason, maybe I could ‘get over it’; if I knew what I was supposed to get over!”

I screamed at him and quickly regretted it. I knew he was feeling neglected, but he would just have to be the one to
get over it
for now. I was on a mission to save Evie and maybe in a way I wanted to save myself. I tried not to get angry at him, because this was not easy to deal with; but I felt like he should be supportive of me.

The one area he was helpful in was watching after Gracie. I had become so obsessed with my search that I forgot to pick her up at school one afternoon, which frightened me and sent him through the roof. It was as if my brain had all these doors that were opening and closing continually. I was rushing in and out of the area that was reserved for Evie and next would be still making a list of questions for Dr. Anna and for my parents. There has never been a scarier moment in my life than when I sat there running through all the different areas, and I noticed my daughter the area dedicated to finding my brother. I had the area just standing there among the thoughts in my head as if to say “Excuse me, but haven’t you forgotten something?” I screamed out loud, scaring our dog half to death, and flew out the door.
How could I forget my own child? What kind of mother am I?
Believe me; I was beating myself up plenty while driving back to the school. The look on the teacher’s face said it all, and poor Gracie had been crying, afraid she would be left there alone. I begged Gracie and the teacher to forgive me, and used car trouble as my excuse. I hated to lie. I tried to always tell the truth, and Jason and I had made it a point to teach Gracie to always be honest, so I felt guilty for telling such a whopper. But there was no way that I would admit that I’d actually forgotten my own daughter.

Jason was furious when Gracie announced her scary moment to her dad as soon as he walked in the door. I had hoped just a little that she would not mention it, but I knew I had to be honest with him. Once he calmed down he worked it out with his mom to pick Gracie up for us each day, and one of us would swing by and get her as soon as we could. She lived not too far from the school and was thrilled to be able to see Gracie so often. He gave her the excuse that I was doing research on the history of my family and sometimes needed more time at the library. I guess that wasn’t exactly a lie. A part of it was very true. We knew she assumed it was the history of the Tipton family, and we just allowed her to think that.

My first course of action was to go back to my parents’ house and ask more questions. I hoped they would know what my birth parents’ names were and possibly an address for the house that had burned down.

My mother was still feeling very guilty for having kept the truth from me for so long. She wanted more than anything to help me now; but she really didn’t have a lot of knowledge of my life before I came to live with them. She knew I had come to the hospital from a town near us. My home, as far back as I remembered, had been in Charlotte, North Carolina. My mother did tell me the foster care agent assigned to my case had told her that before that, I lived fifty miles north of Charlotte in the small town of Harmony, North Carolina.

I had to admit the name of the town was ironic. My life was anything but harmonious from what I could tell. That would be my next stop on the journey. I would go backward in time in hopes that I would be able to move forward. Jason was not happy about my wanting to stay in Harmony for a few days, but it was the only way I could think of to do a proper search for the truth. I knew I would have to go back to the beginning. To a place where Evie once lived and there was no Katherine. I needed to know what happened in Harmony that caused that fact to reverse.

“I need to get some answers, and I don’t think one day will be enough,” I explained.

“What if you find out something that is too much for you to handle? Who will be there for you?”

“Jason, darling, I will be fine.” I hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Please don’t worry.”

I understood his concern and actually appreciated it, but I explained to him that Dr. Anna had said she truly believed that the reason I started having the dreams was because my mind was ready to accept the past. She had explained to me that sometimes a person’s brain seems to lock memories away that are too scary or painful to deal with. For example, often when a person is in a bad car accident, they can’t remember anything about it. She told me that she believed that my brain was letting go of a little information at a time, giving my heart a chance to process it.

“Jason, it’s only fifty miles away. You could get to me in less than an hour if I needed you, and if you or Gracie should need me, I am only a phone call away. I’ll be fine honey; please, I have to do this.”

Jason reluctantly agreed but made me promise to call several times a day so he would know I was okay. I tossed my small bag into the backseat, and then kissed them good-bye before he could change his mind again. Jason and Gracie stood waving at me as I drove off, looking abandoned and helpless. Why could he not see how important this was to all three of us? The last thing I needed right now was a guilt trip put on me; but guilty was exactly what he had made me feel.

The drive to Harmony was pleasant enough. It was pretty much a straight shot with beautiful countryside to keep my mind calm; but as the town grew closer, my mind got busy again with calculations as to how I would solve this mystery. I had ended up in the hospital in Charlotte in early May. I knew I was almost eleven years old when I first came to stay with my adoptive parents, which meant it was 1992 when the house burned down. I guess my first stop needed to be the library to see if they kept copies of the town’s newspaper that far back. The town was like the fictional town in an old television show or storybook. I almost expected to see Sheriff Andy and his deputy, Barney, strolling down the sidewalk. The only hotel was one story, and it only had about twelve rooms. It wasn’t anything special, but it was clean, and they had flowers planted in boxes under the windows of each room. It was welcoming and comfortable. Once I checked in, I tossed my bag onto the bed and headed to the library. The woman who ran the hotel had given me the simple directions. Just pull out of our parking lot, turn left at the first stop sign, and go one block.

For a small town, the library was amazing. It was a very old house like something from
Gone with the Wind
with tall columns on a porch that covered the full front of the house. Through the double doors, the lobby was home to a magnificent staircase and beautiful tapestries graced the walls. When I entered the vestibule I could imagine a table may have been placed there in the past with fresh cut flowers to greet guest. Now instead there was a counter where the librarian met and greeted patrons and helped them check out books.

“May I be of assistance?” asked the lady behind the counter.

I smiled and just commented on how impressive the old house was. Then I began to look around. She seemed please that I was there and followed me, telling me about the grand house. To the right and left were rooms filled with shelf after shelf of books. She explained that one room had been a formal dining room in its past life, and the other was the parlor for entertaining guests. There was a beautiful fireplace that was a piece of art with intricate carvings framing it and a mantel of polished marble. The room had a tall ceiling with a large chandelier hanging in the center that sparkled with tear-shaped crystals. Above the fireplace mantel was an oil painting of the family that had owned the house. The librarian told me they were founders of the lovely town. In the painting was a man with a dark mustache that almost hid his upper lip completely. He appeared to be much older than the lady in the picture. He was sitting in a chair, and his wife stood to his right. She appeared to be young but was a very plain and frail woman with dull brown hair pulled in a bun so tight it made her face look strained. Their only child stood to the left of her father. The little girl with straight brown hair and close-set eyes looked just like her mother. The librarian was more than happy to tell me all about the historic family and the little girl who had left the house for all to enjoy.

“She never married and lived in this house all alone after the death of her parents.”

The librarian explained that the young woman had been a writer of poems and short stories. They had never been formally published, but she’d paid to have one copyedited and enclosed in a lovely binding for her own enjoyment. When she died, she’d left the house to the town with the stipulation that it would be used as a library and that her work would be made available for people to read.

I was enjoying the tour and the history lesson very much, but realized I had a job to do, and so I brought myself back to the purpose of my visit. If I had not been on a mission, I think I would have enjoyed just choosing a book and sitting in one of those marvelous rooms, letting my mind wander on what might have taken place there.

I wondered if the librarian might relate to the little girl in many ways. She was the perfect model of the “old maid” librarian from the movies: tall and thin with gray hair pulled back in a bun at the base of her neck. She probably wasn’t more than fifty years old, but her dress and demeanor made her appear much older. She wore a sweater over her shoulders despite the warm temperature outside. I suppose the air conditioner made her chilly, but to me the library was pleasant. She also wore glasses that rested at the very tip of her nose and the type of shoes older women often wore for support. Every stereotype ever dreamed up for the character of a librarian was played out in this woman. I explained to her my interest in newspapers from 1992, and she pointed up the staircase behind her.

“Go up these stairs to the room at the end of the hall. We go back as far as nineteen hundred. Some of the actual papers are up there but most are on microfilm. If you need to make a copy of anything, we charge a fee of fifty cents per copy. Let me know if I can assist you any further.”

I thanked her and went on my quest. The room was a large one, possibly the master bedroom suite for the couple in the painting. There was a long table the length of the wall, and it was covered with large thick books holding thousands of copies of newspapers. The books seemed to begin with 1900 and went to 1955, but after that most were on microfilm. I was glad because the books were dusty and very heavy and hard to handle. I started with March of 1992 since I had no idea if my arrival in Charlotte had been days or weeks after the fire. My scars covered a large area of my hands, so it could be that they were infected or something and that is why I was transferred to a larger hospital. It was all guess work. I poured through paper after paper. Who would have guessed such a small town would have a daily paper?

As I searched, my eyes began to burn and my head started to throb. I was so hungry, I could hear my stomach rebel more and more as the day wore on. I was at the end of April when I was interrupted by the librarian, who I now knew was Miss Crawford because she had taken several trips upstairs to check on me and was more than a little curious as to what I was looking for. I had even asked her if she remembered a house burning down in 1992 where the parents died and two children survived. She explained that she had only lived in Harmony since 1994 and had no memory of the story. She had moved there to care for an elderly aunt in the final stages of cancer and had just loved the little town so much she stayed.

“My aunt had been the librarian, and so when I applied for the job, it just seemed fitting that the job go to me.”

I think the librarian felt bad that she couldn’t help me solve my mystery.

“Mrs. Hunter, I’m afraid we will be closing in fifteen minutes. You will need to conclude your search for today.”

I was ready to call it a day and accept that I would have to return the next day to continue my search, when on the last page I glanced at I saw the caption, “Couple Dies in House Fire.” It had taken place on April 29, 1992. With the clock ticking, I didn’t take time to make sure it was what I needed, I just printed it off, paid my fifty cents. Then I rushed to my hotel room to examine my prize.

The house at 104 Maple Ave. was completely destroyed by fire early this morning. The couple that shared this home perished in the fire while still in their bed. Ralph Dark and Grace Moon were burned beyond recognition before firemen were able to put out the fire. The two children who lived in the home were found outside. The little girl, age ten, was holding her brother who looked to be less than a year old. The little girl suffered severe burns on her hands, but the baby seemed to be unharmed. The fire marshal was uncertain about the cause of the blaze at print but said an investigation would be conducted.