The lonely feelings she kept between herself and her only child.
Harper opened her mom’s manila envelope and dug through the school reports and medical records until she found the single sheet that recorded her mom’s admission into the children’s home.
According to the summary, a girl had been found wandering in a nearby forest in October 1943, dragging a pillowcase with an apple, an old Hollywood magazine, and the novelSparrow Island, autographed to someone named Izzy. The child of a drifter, the note read. Perhaps one of many in that era. Since the orphanage didn’t know when Angeline had been born, they’d assigned her a birth date of July 1, 1941.
Her mom once told her she’d worn holes in the pages ofScreenlandduring her younger years, fixating on celebrities from days gone by. She’d been devastated as a teenager when the magazine disappeared, probably disposed of by someone who thought it trash, but the dream had already been planted in her to move west. The day after she turned eighteen, she spent her small savings on a train ticket to California.
Harper paced around a broken plank on the porch, trying to reconcile the details. Olivia Belle Farrow disappeared in October of 1943. Could her mom’s arrival at the orphanage be somehow related? Or was her imagination out of control again, begging for a better ending?
Finn would think her crazy if she even suggested it, but not Kelsey or Betsy at The Book Barn. They would support her wondering.
If she found out why Olivia disappeared, perhaps she could also find out what happened to her mom.
27:Olivia
Olivia eyed the evergreen trim on the pristine residence near Winfield. Steep eaves framed its second story, the lawn neatly mowed. Her husband’s house, elegant and quite proper with the Pierce-Arrow likely stowed in the attached garage.
She hadn’t known what to expect, but for some reason, the classic Colonial Revival didn’t quite fit the man who enjoyed the quiet of her country home. Here in Winfield, he was a respected academic with a demanding schedule of teaching and writing. An entire life, separate from hers.
Floral curtains colored the glass, and daffodils brightened the base of a manicured hedge. When Ruthie was alive, she must have had a tremendous influence on the design and care. So much so, Olivia almost felt like a trespasser, intruding on the sacred space that Simon had shared with his first wife.
Wiping her damp palms on her skirt, she scolded herself for this sudden fit of nerves. It was her husband, for heaven’s sake, on the otherside of the door. Not a stranger. While they didn’t see each other often, their hearts still beat as one. They would settle this misunderstanding, and then have a delightful week with his parents and sister as they prepared for Easter. Or maybe she’d stay an entire month, finally making Winfield her second home.
She should be excited at the thought of seeing Simon, not nervous. If only someone—he or his housekeeper—had answered the telephone when she called yesterday, so her visit wasn’t a surprise. But after five months of marriage, after more than a year filled with his visits to Haven House, it was time for them to truly become one in their merging of lives. She’d step fully into Simon’s world and then find out why he’d asked her publisher for money.
As she followed the stone path up to the front door, her legs ached from the long drive through rainstorms yesterday and sunshine this morning, plus an additional three-hour delay after her error in reading the map. Even though she’d stopped overnight at a roadside inn, her body still protested the journey.
How had Simon managed that drive so often? All those miles, and she’d never once heard him complain.
Standing on the stoop, Olivia knocked and then smoothed the loose strands of her neatly pinned updo, wishing she’d thought about lipstick before the door swung open.
The young woman on the other side wore trousers and a pink sweater, her floral apron dusted in flour and her hair wrapped in a kerchief. Even dressed in work attire, she was stunning.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Olivia said. “Is this the Farrow residence?”
“It is.”
Was this woman his sister or Isadore, the housekeeper who’d answered when she phoned last year? “Is Professor Farrow home?”
“I’m afraid not. He’s teaching this afternoon.” The woman’s eyes widened. “You’re Via Belle.”
“That’s right.” Simon should be the one introducing her to his family and anyone who worked for his household, but she was incredibly relieved that this woman knew her name. It would save her the awkward explanation. “But please call me Olivia. Are you Isadore?”
“Most people call me Izzy.” The woman matched her smile. “I’m surprised you remember. There were so many people at the panel...”
Now Olivia recognized her—one of the students who’d approached her afterward to sign a book. Was she working for Simon? Hopefully, she would graduate soon and find a nice young man to marry. “You were friends with Annabelle.”
Her smile fell. “Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all right. We all went different ways after graduation. I heard one of your books was made into a movie.” Izzy’s smile spread again, lighting her blue eyes. “I haven’t seen it yet, but I will, as soon as—”
A cry echoed through the parlor, startling Olivia. “There’s a baby?”
“It’s my daughter,” Izzy said. “I’ll be right back.”
As she waited on the doorstep, Olivia slowly fit the pieces together. A college student with a child, employed in a professor’s home. She wouldn’t pry, of course, but she hoped Izzy had married the baby’s father. Either way, it was kind of Simon to allow his housekeeper to keep her baby close while she worked.
