Amazing Grace (19 page)

“Oh?”

Nan touches my knee. “Rose and Mae were the dithering type, so Trixie would run to them and cry about how mean Aunt Pearl was, and Rose resented Pearl for trying to discipline Trixie. It was a mess. I hate to say it, my dear, but your mother broke your grandmother's heart.”

“She broke mine too.”

“Oh dear. That's not good. Whatever became of her?”

“I wish I knew.”

Nan tsks and shakes her head. “Imagine. Not knowing what happened to your own mother. That's a sin, child. A real sin.”

I take a slug of my tea.

“I heard rumours when you came back home, but I'm one to mind my own business. I'll just say I'm sorry for your troubles.”

“Thank you.”

“And I'll tell you this, young lady. Your Aunt Pearl thought the world of you.”

I look up from my mug. “She did?”

“Never stopped telling me what a smart little thing you were. And she loved your spunk. She'd say, “That girl will make something of herself, you just watch. She's like the daughter I never had.”

At first I can't speak, and then I clear my throat. “Thank you. I'm so glad I found you.”

“You come by here anytime. I like company. More tea?”

The days go by and I visit Aunt Pearl and Aunt Mae in the cemetery, bringing them flowers to leave at their graves. It helps a great deal to know that Aunt Pearl believed in me. What would she want me to do now? Can she feel my spirit draining away?

When I get back from the cemetery, I check the mail, only to find another lead in the search for my sister has come to nothing. This Maria Fairchild lives in Texas and has no siblings.

I have no family here, not my darling Jonathan, not my crazy aunts. There's only one thing to do at this point. I have to go back to Guelph. My best chance at finding my family is to physically be there, in case leads do come up. I'm wasting time here. I need to look people in the eye. Surely someone knows where they are. I close up the house once more and give the keys to Bruce. After that I drive up to the garage to say goodbye to Fletch.

“Are you sure you should be driving by yourself all the way to Ontario?”

“I'm not a weak little woman, as you know.”

“The world's changed. It's not as safe as it used to be. Don't pick up hitchhikers.”

“I promise I won't.”

“Do you know when you'll be back?”

“I can't say, Fletch. But I will miss you.” I reach over and give him a hug. He pats my back.

“Take care, Grace. I'll keep an eye on the house.”

“Bruce is looking after—”

“And I'll make sure he's doing his job.”

“Thank you for everything, Fletcher. You're the best friend a girl could have.”

I hurry to my car and wave goodbye before I start sobbing. There he is in the rear-view mirror, waving back. My gentle giant.

The compound was on the outskirts of the city, farm country, but I forget exactly where. Just driving here makes my upper lip sweat. My mission is to find my relatives; I didn't think I'd go back to the camp. And yet here I am, driving up and down these country roads, trying to see something that looks familiar. Why would it? I never went off the property until my drive in the police car, which I only remember in bits and pieces.

For three days straight I search, each night going back to the motel defeated. It's not like I have any idea what I'm going to do if I find it, but I have this pull I can't explain. There's a diner near the motel where I go to eat. One of the older waitresses is friendly, or more likely nosy, but I'm so lonesome I talk to her anyway.

“I've worked here forever.” She wipes the counter as I sit on a stool eating my ham and cheese sandwich and glass of milk.

“Did you work here in the mid-sixties?”

“Yep. Told ya…forever.”

“Do you remember a fire in 1965 that burnt down the buildings in a commune around here?”

“Sounds familiar.” She looks at an old fella at the end of the counter. “George, do you remember a fire here around 1965? Some sort of commune?”

“Yeah, the old Wainwright property. Weirdo religious hippie freaks burned the place to the ground. They almost burned the neighbouring farms too. People around here were glad to see them leave. Strange goings-on up there.”

“Where did they go?”

“Who knows? Who cares?” George goes back to his coffee.

The waitress frowns. “He's a bit of a crank.”

“Can you tell me where this Wainwright place is?”

The directions take me further afield than I realized, almost fifteen miles to the north. The closer I get, the more I tremble, but I need to see it. It's the last place I saw Mom and Maria, so it's almost like a homecoming, but in a terrifying way. I have a tiny, tiny hope that I may find something that leads me to them.

As I approach the property, I have a flash of recognition about the landscape. Something seems familiar and yet strange, but then I never lingered outside the gate, only looked at it from the inside.

I pull the car into an overgrown dirt driveway, but stay near enough to the highway that I can see it. When I get out of the car, I lock it and put my purse strap across my shoulder. My camera is in my hand. I'm still not sure if I'm going to use it.

The walk down the driveway seems long, but that's because I take baby steps, as if creeping up to surprise someone. Before I'm totally prepared, the compound comes into view. All the buildings are gone, but you can tell something used to be here, and the barn's foundation is peeking through the tall grass.

It's so much smaller than I remember. What I thought was a field is only a large backyard next to the woods. I walk around in a daze, trying to remember exactly where our bedroom was, the dining hall, the classroom. All the people are gone now, but did they take their memories with them? Do they live with them still? This place is quiet but the air is thick with the cruel things that happened in this space.

How could our mother bring us here? Why did she run towards something so dark? I'm so angry with her. I'm now the age she was then. Would I take Jonathan to a place like this? Would I let my son suffer like my sister and I did?

The barn is like an open wound. I don't go near it, but I feel it follow me everywhere. I remember the tree house and walk towards the woods, but it looks like it was burnt to the ground as well. My eye catches a glint of something in the dirt. I brush it away with my hands and find a spoon covered with muck. Helen and I used to take things so we could pretend the tree house was our home. I wipe it with my bottom of my jacket and put it in my purse.

Then I head for the bog, thinking some of the stuff I buried might still be there. But the hike into the woods is fraught with emotion. With the memories of my mother, sister, and me running, and then crouching behind the rock, all of us touching, our breath intermingled.

When I get to the big rock, I foolishly hope that Buddy will be sitting on it. Once again I wonder what happened to him. The guilt I feel about leaving him behind—is it the same guilt that my mother and sister felt, leaving me?

Rooting around in the dirt by the rock, I come up with one of the shoes I stole from a girl so long ago. I put it back; it was never mine. I sit on the rock and listen to the silence, and eventually I take out my camera and snap pictures of the bog, the surrounding trees, the rock itself, and the spot where we hid.

When I notice the shadows getting longer, I get up and leave the bog behind. Passing through the yard, I know there is no need to take pictures of phantom buildings and a destroyed barn. I'm glad they're gone. I have no wish to bring them home with me.

When I'm back in the car I take a deep, slow breath. Then I drive back to the motel and spend a long night looking at the ceiling.

It's too expensive to stay in motels forever, and soon I rent a room in a boarding house and start a job as a cashier at the local grocery store. I miss Marble Mountain, but I'm alone here or there, so I might as well focus on my mission.

My job at the grocery store lasts a year. On my days off I frequent social service departments in Guelph, Brampton, Waterloo, and Kitchener, the agencies that would have had my records. The foster homes that took me in were in this area—surely someone must remember something. Any information, no matter how small, I keep. That and look through the missing persons records at the police station, trying to find a paper trail, but it all leads to nothing. It's like they walked out the bedroom door and evaporated.

There's a woman who works with Children's Services in Guelph, a Mrs. Nearing, who's found some of my records from when I first left the compound. There isn't much in the file, just that I was being passed off to Kitchener Children's Services. But there is one reference that perks up my ears.

“It says here that you left the facility with only the clothes on your back and a cat.”

I jump out of the chair. “Buddy! Is he still here? Where did they take him?”

“I'm sorry. It doesn't say. And I don't imagine the cat is still alive.”

“There's no need to remind me of that!” I collapse back in the office chair. “I'm sorry. You're only trying to help.”

She does listen carefully to what I tell her about the compound and she's found records of some of the other children who were relocated after the fire, but there's nothing on Maria. I check in with her too often. One day I knock on her door and can tell by the look on her face, she's exasperated.

“Sit down, Grace.”

“Have you found anything?” I sit in the chair by her desk.

“No. If I do, I will call you immediately, but if I don't call it's because I have nothing. I hate to see you look so disappointed. You may have unreal expectations about this situation. It's been more than twenty years since the fire and anything could have happened to them. You have to accept that you may never know the truth and get on with your life. Do you have a life, other than working at the grocery store? Do you date, do you have friends, do you go out to dinner or a movie once in a while?”

“No.”

“Grace, I hate to say this, but they may be dead. You could search your whole life and in the end find nothing. Then your life has been wasted as well. You need to make your own family, and stop obsessing about this.”

“After losing my cat and spending four years in four different foster homes, I found my family. My elderly aunts took me in, but they died one after the other. I married and had a child, but my husband was killed in an accident I caused and then my son was taken from me by his grandfather. I've tried the happy family route and it isn't as wonderful as you people make out. I lose everything. That's why I keep looking. If there is any chance that I can find my mother and my sister, do you think I'd stop?”

She looks at me with such sadness. “I'm so sorry, Grace. You don't deserve this.”

“I'm sure there are people worse off than me.” I stand up. “Thank you, Mrs. Nearing. If you hear anything you have my number.”

At work later that night, around suppertime, I look up after giving a lady her change and there in the last checkout aisle is Helen. I'm almost positive. It couldn't possibly be anyone else.

“Helen!” I startle the man taking the groceries out of his cart. “Helen!”

Her head comes up and she looks around.

“Helen! It's me, Grace. Amazing Grace!”

Helen finally puts her eyes on me and her reaction is instant. “Grace! Is that you?”

We run to each other ignoring everyone else in the store. We stay in each others arms and hold tight.

“I'm so happy to see you,” I whisper.

“Oh, me too. Me too.”

We let go so we can look at each other again, both of us incredulous. I can hear my manager yapping at me to get back to work.

“I have to work until nine. Can we meet for coffee somewhere?”

“Sure. How about the Tim's on the corner at nine? I'll go home and then come back. Or why not come to my place?”

“Let's just meet at Tim's for now. I'm still too shaky to go anywhere.”

She laughs. “Okay. I'll be there.”

She runs back and gets her groceries and I skedaddle back to my post. The man I was serving gives me a smile. “An old friend?”

“Oh yes. A childhood friend. They're the best kind.”

Three hours never seemed so long. My stomach is chewed up. I'm terrified I'll wake up and this is a dream.

When nine comes I'm out of the store in a flash. I take the car and boot it down to Tim Hortons. I can see her sitting at a table by the window. When I get out of the car she spies me and waves. I quickly order a large coffee and hurry to her table. We embrace again before settling into our chairs.

“I would've known you anywhere, Helen. You look exactly the same!”

“Hardly, but thanks for saying so. I wouldn't have recognized you. You're only thirty-five and your hair is silver!”

“It turned that way a while back. I can't be bothered colouring it.”

She reaches over and takes my hand. “After all these years, to finally see you. I was so sad after the fire. I never saw you again and no one told me where you went. Mom didn't know and everything was messed up after that.”

“I went into foster care. A complete nightmare.”

“We ended up in foster care too.”

“But you had your mother.”

“My mother had some sort of breakdown and couldn't take care of us, so we kids were split up. I see some of them from time to time, but you sort of lose track of each other. Did you ever find your mom and sister?”

“No. I've been looking for them. So far no luck. But now you're here and I feel so much better. Do you live right in Guelph?”

She nods. “I'm with a friend at the moment because my boyfriend and I split up a couple of months ago. I have a little girl now. Do you have any kids?”