Until Spring (29 page)

"I'll pay for it," Duncan said, whipping a credit card out of his wallet while Jane turned toward the window and stared out at the street as though she had seen a ghost.

"Shanti Village is about thirty miles north of here on the highway. You'll see a sign on the side of the road right after the railroad tracks," Mrs. Beasley said.

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than Jane was out the door, walking at a fast pace.

Fortunately, the street was miraculously devoid of traffic. Duncan managed a few disjointed words of thanks to Mrs. Beasley, then sprinted after Jane, his long legs barely keeping up with her shorter ones as she clipped smartly along to their car, still parked across the street at the gas station.

"What was that all about?" Duncan asked, trying to get a good look at her face.

"Shanti Village. I've
been
there, Duncan! I know a woman who lives there. She's a weaver, like I am. And this street—it seems so familiar!" She kept walking, apparently propelled by the strength of her own convictions.

Duncan was amazed at this revelation. "Jane, are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"I haven't had a loom since I first became Jane Doe, and maybe if I had, I wouldn't have known what to do with it. But I know now. I used to spend my days at a loom, working in a rhythm, a certain rhythm that was as natural to me as the ebb and flow of the tides is to the sea. How could I not have known that about myself? And I'm certain that I must know other people at Shanti Village besides Moonglow. I
know
it! Oh, Duncan, don't you see? It's coming back to me, something's making me remember!" Her eyes sparkled up at him.

"Moonglow? Is that a person?" he asked, feeling at a loss to cope with all of this information at once.

Jane got into the car and pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Duncan, she's a friend of mine, and she lives in Shanti Village. I'm feeling chills run through me, just thinking about seeing her again. She's somebody I knew, Duncan! Don't you see what a breakthrough this is?"

Duncan pulled her hands down from her face and kissed her. He couldn't help smiling back at her, she looked so happy. And he was happy, too. It didn't matter how or why she remembered. All that mattered was that she remembered. He could only hope that at last they were on the right track.

He started the car and pulled onto the highway.

"What brought all of this on, anyway?" he asked.

"I don't know, it's like a—like a light suddenly went on in my head, illuminating all the dark corners. I must have lived at Shanti Village, Duncan, don't you see? Because I remember my loom! It was set up in the same room as Moonglow's, we used to talk about the patterns we were weaving and I would spin the wool that we both used, because she used to hate to spin, but I was good at it, and—oh, Duncan, that handbag I had! The one that Rosemary Sanchez mentioned? I made that, and I must have made dozens like it! I sewed little labels in them and sold them."

"Why wasn't there a label in the one you had? Didn't Rosemary tell you that there was no identification in it?"

"I remember that handbag and why I had it! It was a reject, one that wasn't good enough to sell, and I kept it for myself. That's why there wasn't a label in it! Those labels were expensive, and I didn't use them on things I made for myself."

"What about this—this
Moonglow
! How did you meet her?"

"I don't know. I only remember that I liked her a lot. And she was having some kind of trouble, some difficulty and—and because of that I moved in with her. What was it, what was wrong?" Jane racked her brain for some sense of Moonglow's trouble, but she couldn't think of it.

Finally she gave up and focused on her friend, whose face she could see clearly in her mind. "Moonglow has long dark hair, and there's a baby, too. A tiny blond baby who sleeps nearby while Moonglow works at her loom. We knew each other well, so well that we used to go shopping for food together in my blue van.
My
blue van, Duncan! The blue van is mine!" She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling and watched the road unfurl in front of them. But it was different from all the other roads she had followed—this one led to Shanti Village and to Moonglow. And it led to her past, she knew it.

"Who was with you when the Coke spilled all over the floor of the van?" Duncan asked.

Jane frowned and bit her lip. "I don't know," she said. "I can't remember that, just like I can't remember my own name. But Moonglow will know. Surely she will, won't she?"

Duncan curved an arm around her shoulders. "I certainly hope so," he said quietly.

Jane stared out the window, willing the memories to surface, trying to recall her name, trying to figure out why she had been in a blue van when Coke had been spilled, but when she thought about it, all she got was a strong feeling of anger, foreboding, and something amiss. It was akin to the emotion she had felt when she revisited Carlton Jones's field and tried to remember the events of the night when someone had dumped her into the ditch. But this time she refused to despair. She would find answers soon.

Before long, they crossed railroad tracks and came upon a fancifully lettered sign that pointed in the direction of Shanti Village. They set off on a narrow road that passed several farms and then curved through a patch of woods. When they came out of the woods, Shanti Village lay before them.

It consisted of a neat clump of houses gathered around a large central hall, and at the end of the street was a gaily painted building with a sign designating it the Shanti General Store. Two children pulled another on a bright red sled in the distance, and several people hurried along the sidewalk. Jane scanned their faces to see if she knew them. If she did, she didn't recognize them, nor did anyone recognize her.

Duncan pulled the car to a stop in front of the store. "Want me to go in with you?" he offered. He wasn't sure that it was a good idea to get their hopes up about this place or about Jane's sudden memories of this Moonglow person, whoever she was.

"I'll just run inside and see if anyone knows Moonglow," Jane said, and he hoped for her sake that this was a real lead.

Jane went inside the store, which was deserted except for a man sitting behind a counter watching a game show on a small television set.

Jane barely glanced at the batik wall hangings, the hand-quilted bedspreads, and the woven blankets draped over a stair rail.

"I'm looking for someone named Moonglow," she said to the man.

He cast her a brief look. "You a friend of hers?" he asked.

She nodded, her throat feeling dry. She felt a need to explain but didn't want to waste the time. She wanted to find Moonglow now, right away.

"Third house on the left. The yellow one," he said, returning his attention to the TV set.

Duncan, waiting outside, drummed his fingers impatiently on the back of the seat. He couldn't help the sensation that things were moving too fast. All this talk of someone named Moonglow and Shanti Village—where would it lead?

All at once he recalled the story of the man who had lost his memory due to a blow on the head and regained it only after a second head injury many years later. He was struck with the certainty that Jane's recent fall was a factor in the sudden return of her memory now.

"Any luck?" he asked when she slid back into the car.

Jane felt jittery and on edge. "The man inside says that Moonglow's in the third house on the left."

"Hey, are you sure you want to do this?"

"I'm scared," she admitted. "What if she doesn't know me? What if it's the wrong Moonglow?"

"How many people named Moonglow have you known in your life?" Duncan grinned as he started the engine, and with that Jane relaxed slightly. He
did
have a point.

When Duncan drove up in front of the yellow house, she hesitated.

They walked up the path to the house together. Jane took in every detail about the place: the window boxes that must have held flowers in the spring and summer, the green shutters and white trim, uncurtained windows hung with small stained glass sun catchers. If Moonglow had been her friend, wouldn't she remember this place?

And then she did remember. The house hadn't always been painted yellow. Once the clapboards had been white. But the porch floor had always been painted dark green, just as it was now. And—

Duncan rapped sharply on the door.

"Come in!" called a voice, a familiar husky voice. Moonglow's voice.

"Should we?" asked Duncan. Jane's legs felt rubbery and she was clinging tightly to his hand.

"I said, come in!" the voice said more impatiently, "I'm changing a diaper."

"She's a trusting soul, letting in people she can't even see," Duncan muttered as Jane reached out a trembling hand and turned the doorknob. He was nervous, too, though he never would have admitted it.

Inside, the sweet fragrance of sandalwood incense hung in the air, and it was overlaid with the aroma of freshly baked gingerbread.
Gingerbread—it's one of Moonglow's specialties,
thought Jane. A white cat jumped off the windowsill and proceeded to wash her face under a loom in the corner, and the word
Lotus
appeared unbidden in Jane's mind. It was the cat's name.

"Lotus?" Jane said tentatively. The cat stopped washing, the tip of her pink tongue protruding from her mouth, and Jane smiled. She and Moonglow had always laughed at Lotus when they caught her with her tongue hanging out.

"Be with you in a minute!" Moonglow called from somewhere down the hall, and Jane knew that she would be standing at the old dresser that they had converted into a dressing table for Moonglow's baby. Somehow it heartened Jane to think that she hadn't been gone long enough for the baby to be toilet trained yet.

Then she heard brisk footsteps on the hardwood floor, and Moonglow Everlight, the familiar gold ankh at her throat, stood at the entrance to the room.

They stared at each other. Moonglow's face drained of all color. Jane didn't know what to say, could have said nothing, even if she'd tried.

And then Moonglow gasped, "Celeste! Oh, Celeste! You've come back!" Bangle bracelets jangling, long brown hair afloat, Moonglow hurtled headlong into Jane's arms.

Chapter 15

Celeste. Jane's real name is Celeste,
Duncan thought as the two women embraced. And then he thought,
I would have never pegged her as a Celeste.

"Where have you been all this time? Do you know how hard I've tried to get in touch with you? Why didn't you call or email or something? I've been frantic!"

Jane, still in shock over finding someone who actually seemed to know her, gently disengaged herself. Suddenly she found herself in the position of having to explain, and she knew that it wouldn't be easy. There were still so many blank spaces.

"I think we need to talk," she said, and Moonglow, after a curious glance at Duncan, drew them over to a couch where they all sat down and, in sudden embarrassment, kept looking from one to the other.

Jane was the first to pull herself together. She introduced Duncan, and then she began to relate her story. At first Moonglow was incredulous, but as the story progressed, she had to dab at her eyes with a tissue more than once.

"I can't believe that someone could get so lost," she kept saying.

"So," Jane said, finishing up, "I'm here to find out about my life. I don't know if I have a family or children, and only today did I figure out that I was a weaver. Please tell me everything you know about me."

Moonglow reached out and gave Jane an impulsive hug. "I just can't believe that you're sitting here beside me after so long," she said apologetically. "And you're my best friend and I know a lot about you, so it's going to take a long time to tell you everything."

"Please," Duncan said. "Tell us."

So Moonglow told them that Jane's real name was Celeste Norton, and that she and Moonglow had both been weavers in this small community of craftsmen before Jane disappeared.

"You had a disagreement over policy with the community leaders," Moonglow said. "They wanted to turn this place into a tourist attraction in the summer months, with an amusement park for children, a petting zoo, and even a miniature train that would circle the village and feature cowboys and Indians jumping out of the woods. We both felt that the prime purpose of Shanti Village was to give artists a place to create, not to provide fun for tourists. The people who were in favor of this amusement park concept argued that it would bring more people to the village and thus provide more customers for our crafts, but you said you didn't want them turning our community into a circus."