Finding Laura (44 page)
Authors: Kay Hooper
Laura expected to be on her own for at least a couple of hours, and it seemed like a good time to read the rest of
Dena’s research and learn the rest of the mirror’s history. It was the only thing still a question mark in her mind, the only mystery left unsolved, and she thought it might be why she still felt just a tiny bit wary. It was time to deal with that.
She took a cup of hot tea upstairs with her and went into his—their—bedroom. The big armchair made a very comfortable place for her to curl up and read, and the room was peaceful. She opened the envelope and dumped its contents onto the hassock. There were several typed sheets of paper clipped together, and a fairly small leatherbound book with a rubber band holding it closed and a note in Dena’s scriptlike handwriting.
Read the report first, Laura
.
Intrigued, Laura left the small book on the hassock and leaned back to read the typed report. It opened with a brief note from Dena, just a reminder of where they had left off, with the deaths of Brett and Shelby Galvin. And then the report continued briskly.
In 1952 a man named Mark Coleman, 23, bought an old silver mirror at a secondhand store near San Francisco. The clerk told him that if he was interested in mirrors, he might want to attend a church auction being held nearby the following Saturday. The church was selling items donated to them by the estate of Andrew Galvin (Brett and Shelby Galvin’s surviving son, who had done very well in shipping and died, unmarried, at 50 by drowning). Mark went to the church auction, where he bought the brass mirror.
And where he found Catherine Archard.
She was 18 when they met, and deeply religious. She was also, from all reports, somewhat fragile, both emotionally and physically. Apparently, Mark’s courtship of her was slow and gentle;
letters from Catherine to friends are filled with her happiness. Next to her God, she loved Mark.
A year and a half after meeting, they were engaged. Then, on Christmas Eve, 1954, just weeks before their wedding, Catherine and Mark apparently had some sort of disagreement, the nature of which he never confided to anyone else. She got in her car and drove off into a heavy rain. He followed in his own car. Catherine, known to be an uncertain driver, lost control and went over an embankment. Before Mark could get to it, the car burst into flames.
That’s all I could find about the accident.
Mark Coleman was apparently devastated by his loss. Some friends even say he was still grieving ten years later, when he was killed in a plane crash.
He willed all his possessions to charity, including, specifically, the mirror. An antiques dealer from San Francisco bought the mirror, along with various other items. He reportedly placed the mirror in his shop—and there is no record of it being sold. The dealer went out of business in the early 1970s; his stock was liquidated. But there is no further mention of the mirror.
Here the trail stops, somewhere between 1964 and 1974.
Postscript: Laura, I can’t really explain the enclosed journal. Maybe you can. When I contacted a friend at a California archive for news clippings and so on relating to Catherine Archard and Mark Coleman, she found a few of Catherine’s letters for me (copies appended). And then, the very next day, she was browsing at a junk shop and found the journal. She called it an incredible coincidence, and FedExed it to me immediately. After reading the
journal, I’m not sure I’d agree that coincidence had anything to do with it. But you’ll have to let me know what you think. Read the whole thing, when you have time. But it’s the final entry I especially want you to read. I’m almost afraid to draw my own conclusions … but if you think about it, the journal entry offers an explanation of sorts for the mirror’s history.
Let’s talk about this.
Laura shook her head, baffled and curiously uneasy. She read the copies of Catherine’s letters first, studying the childish, loopy handwriting and the sweet sentiments—mostly about Mark, although there was a good bit about her church and her God as well.
Laying the sheets on the hassock, Laura picked up the journal and removed the rubber bands holding it closed. She flipped through the pages quickly, not reading but noting the strong, clear handwriting so neat it was almost print. She found the last entry, dated October 23, 1952, and beginning abruptly.
When the clerk told me that the estate of Andrew Galvin had donated items to be auctioned for charity, I could hardly believe it. It’s always been difficult for me in concept—the death of a child of a previous life—but this is the first time I’ve been faced with the cold fact of it. My God, I could have gone to San Francisco and met Andrew, this son of my last life! I could have known him as an adult, a man older than I am myself. Strange. And unsettling. As I have so often before, I feel a guiding hand, destiny’s touch, perhaps, for Andrew’s death has enabled me to find the mirror once again. And to find her. Her name this time is Catherine.
She’s very young, just eighteen. Very gentle and serious. Very devout. I will have to be patient.
Laura sat for a long time, not moving, gazing at nothing. Thoughts tumbled through her mind so rapidly she could barely grasp them. All the inexplicable events and feelings of her life began to come into focus, to finally make sense to her—if, that is, she accepted one very simple impossibility as truth.
And, dear God, how could she do that?
I
T WAS JUST
before five when Daniel came into the bedroom, and as soon as he saw the papers spread out on the hassock, the journal, he went cold to his bones. He looked around quickly, saw her standing at the window, and the relief was so great he nearly groaned aloud. Instead he went as far as the chair and put his hand on the back of it, looking across the few feet that separated them with so much hope and fear, he felt raw.
“Laura?”
She didn’t turn, and when she spoke her voice sounded almost absentminded. “You said that David got the idea for the maze from a stranger in a bar. Tell me about that.”
There could be no more prevarication, Daniel knew. No more lies, no more evasions. Between them now there could only be stark truth.
He drew a deep breath and held his voice steady. “In 1955, David was in San Francisco on business. In a hotel bar, he met a grieving young man who had buried his fiancée the year before. The young man had a mirror made of brass lying in front of him. A mirror with an elaborate, mazelike pattern stamped into the metal. The young man had had too much to drink, and he talked. He told David that the pattern stamped on the mirror was
called Eternity, that the mirror had been specially commissioned to celebrate … an eternal love. And while David traced the pattern over and over with a finger, the young man told him a fantastic story about reincarnated lovers. They talked until dawn, and then the young man took his mirror and left. The story haunted David. When he came back home, he had the maze put in. And as you can see, he remembered the pattern very well.”
“You can only see it clearly from this window,” Laura murmured. “This was David’s room, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She turned, finally, leaning back against the window casing. Her face was pale but calm, and he couldn’t read her eyes.
“Laura—”
“It was you, wasn’t it? That grieving young man in the bar. It was you. Ten years before Daniel Kilbourne was born.”
Daniel nodded slowly. “It was me. Another face, another time. But me.”
“And you were grieving … me.”
He nodded again. “I made a mistake. I told you about us too soon. Your faith was too absolute to allow for such a possibility, even coming as it did from the man you loved. You were … distraught. Frightened. You ran from me. And you died that night.” He tried to steady his voice. “And I lived on, ten eternal years without you. I swore I wouldn’t make the same mistake again, Laura. I wouldn’t tell you the truth until I was certain you were ready to hear it.”
“That’s why you didn’t want to talk about the mirror.”
“Yes.”
She was silent for a moment, then murmured, “I’ve always hated Christmas. And never knew why.”
Daniel took a step toward her, but stopped when she
held up a hand warningly. She wanted the distance to remain between them. At least for now.
Please God, let it only be for now …
“I don’t remember,” she said. “I … feel things. But I don’t remember.”
“I know. You never do. It’s one of the crosses I’ve had to bear, that you don’t consciously remember me. Or us.”
“But you remember? What do you remember, Daniel?”
“At first, in childhood, there are only flashes, dreams. As I get older, the memories slowly come into focus. By the time I reach adulthood, I know the truth. And I begin searching for you.”
“But what do you
remember!”
she asked, suddenly intense.
He drew a deep breath. “I remember the first time I ever saw you, a long, long time ago. I remember every face you’ve ever worn, even more clearly than I remember my own. I remember the times we were able to grow old together, and the times when our lives were short. I remember our tragedies, and our triumphs. I remember every place we’ve ever lived together, every home we’ve had.”
“Scotland,” she realized suddenly. “My painting.”
Daniel nodded. “We were happy there.”
She looked at him searchingly. “We weren’t always happy?”
He hesitated. “It hasn’t always been easy for us, Laura. Sometimes I found you after you’d already been promised to another man. Sometimes our lives were torn by violence. But we always knew we belonged together.”
Still her eyes searched his face, and Daniel couldn’t tell if she looked at him in wonder or in doubt. “Why can’t I cut my hair?” she asked abruptly.
“Because of something that happened long ago,” he answered readily. “You lived in a small village, and when I
found you that time, you were already married. An arranged marriage your father had forced you into—had virtually sold you into. And it was a very unhappy marriage, even before I showed up. There was no way out for you, not then, but we had to be together. We took … insane risks.” He paused, then went on with more difficulty. “When your husband found out, he beat you terribly and cut off all your hair. He meant it to be a badge of shame, a kind of scarlet letter proclaiming you an adulteress. You weren’t ashamed of loving me, but in cutting off your hair, he hurt you far worse than he did with his fists and words. You swore no one would ever again cut your hair against your will. In every life since, you’ve worn it long.”
“What happened?” Laura asked. “In that life, what happened to us?”
In a matter-of-fact tone that came from lifetimes of reflection, Daniel said, “I killed your husband and we ran away together. It was a hard life, but we had each other. That always got us through.”
Laura shook her head a little. “This is so hard to believe.”
“I know, love,” he said gently. “But it’s the truth, I swear to you.”
“The mirror. It’s been … guiding us? To each other?”
He nodded. “I don’t know how. I’ve learned to accept that there are patterns in fate, threads of destiny we always seem to follow. Like the mirror. Ever since I had it made for you, it’s been somehow involved in our meeting each other in a new life. This time … I have no idea how it ended up here, in this house. With this family. If I had to guess, I’d say that Dad probably found it in a shop somewhere and brought it home for Mother. He was always doing that when they were first married, buying her things she never had much interest in. But all I know for certain
is that when I saw the description of the mirror on the inventory, I thought there was a chance it was ours. And sent Peter to you to buy it back.”
“If you thought it might be our mirror,” she said slowly, “then why did you send Peter? Why not come yourself?”
“I was afraid,” he answered simply. “Afraid it wouldn’t be our mirror. That it wouldn’t be you. Afraid to hope, after so many years without you. Then Peter came back, and when he told me about your collection of mirrors, I knew it was you. It had to be. Mirrors fascinate both of us, they always have. In fact, Peter needled me a bit that afternoon, saying that you were probably my soul mate because of the obsession with mirrors.”
Daniel frowned suddenly. “That must have been what Amelia overheard. She made a comment later—the first time you came here—about the mirror. All I could think was that David must have told her something when he had the maze put in. And maybe he had. Or maybe she simply overheard my conversation with Peter. In any case, she knew enough to suspect that you would be the perfect distraction for me. And so she brought you into the house.”
After a long moment, Laura drew a breath and let it out slowly. “There’s one more thing I need to know.”
He took a step toward her, his heart thudding, once again afraid to hope. “What, love?”
“Is this … our last life? Or only our next one?”
Daniel smiled. “I can’t see the future, Laura. Only the past. But I can tell you this much. We always live as if this is the last life we’ll be given. Because it may well be.”
Laura moved away from the window and crossed the space between them. Looking up at him gravely, she said, “Then we’d better get started on it, don’t you think?”
“Laura …”
“I love you, Daniel.” Her arms went around his neck
and her body pressed close to his, and her smile was so tender it almost stopped his heart. “And I want this life to be the best we’ve ever had.”
As his head bent and his lips touched hers, Daniel had no doubts at all.
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR
KAY HOOPER
, who has more than four million copies of her books in print worldwide, has won numerous awards and high praise for her novels. Kay lives in North Carolina, where she is currently working on her next novel.
If you loved Kay Hooper’s
FINDING LAURA
you won’t want to miss any of her novels of psychic suspense!
Turn the page for her next tantalizing thriller
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