Echoes (27 page)

She hurried inside the library, breathing heavily as the door closed behind her. Was she being followed? Yesterday the thought would have struck her as ridiculous. But now everything had changed. She stood in the shadows and looked out the glass pane inset that framed the door. No movements. No cars suddenly starting and driving away. Nothing but the certainty that eyes watched her, even now.

She moved deeper into the old stone library where the smell of must and silence hung thick as dust. Burgundy carpet worn pink by years of traffic laid a trail through the entryway and into the main chamber. To the left of the front door a battered table displayed voter registrations, income tax forms, and brochures from the Chamber of Commerce. Pictures of a historical Mountain Bend hung in black framed groupings throughout the lobby and beyond.

Feeling better away from the windows, Tess looked from one picture to another, reading the small gold plaques mounted beneath. The earliest photo had been taken at the opening of the Weston Mill, circa 1870. It showed a paddle wheel forever frozen as it dipped into the river and turned through the wooden structure that housed it. From the doorway, a tiny shadow waved.

In 1877, a church was built. Tess recognized the building as the same one she'd seen in the school counselor's office. In later years it would become the first schoolhouse. A bank opened in 1878 and by 1880 a full-fledged town had blossomed.

She moved down the ramp into the main room, past an entrance closed off by a sheet of plastic. A sign hung in front of it announcing, "renovations on hold." A giant handmade card from the students of Mountain Bend implored the citizens to donate to their cause. In the center of the card a photograph showed Craig Weston surrounded by a hundred or so children, all with books clasped in their hands and bright shiny smiles on their faces. Their signatures made a color framework around the photo.

Did Craig know that less than an hour ago his brother had ridden off in the backseat of the sheriff's cruiser? Did he know about Tori and his father? Did he harbor the same burning resentment as Grant that she'd insinuated herself into Frank Weston's life and finances? And why had Craig claimed to know Tori only as well as he knew any other parent, when Caitlin said her mother had dined with all three Weston men?

And could he be the man
Lydia was not officially engaged to? If he was, there'd been ample opportunity for him to mention it last night at dinner, but he hadn't said a word. Nor had he acted like an engaged man. There'd been nothing inappropriate said or done, but the way he'd looked at her had definitely left the impression that he was available. Her mistake or his?

The books were kept in a large room that was divided into aisles by shelves, which in turn were divided into sections that fanned out from an apex. In the center the card catalog and an assortment of tables and chairs waited in view of the information desk and check-out counter. Not surprisingly, online systems hadn't ventured as far as Mountain Bend.

The middle-aged librarian gave her a suspicious look, making her feel like a teenager caught smuggling chocolate into the reference section. At least the feeling of being watched had subsided. She felt safe, if only for the time being. Tess walked purposefully to the card catalog and fingered down to the M-N drawer. The librarian watched as she pulled it out and took it to a table before stepping from behind her counter.

"May I help you?" she asked.

She spoke in a mock whisper, though as far as Tess could tell, they were the only occupants of the library. The woman had a short upper lip that didn't quite manage to cover her teeth. When she spoke, her nose wiggled, as if tugged down by the effort to overcome the deficiency.

What would the woman say if Tess actually told her what kind of help she needed?

"Thanks, I'm just looking."

The librarian watched her for another minute and then said, "You're not from Mountain Bend."

"No." Tess paused, trying to find the least descriptive way to say who she was. "I'm visiting my sister."

"Caitlin's mother," the librarian said with a satisfied smile. "You look like her."

"That's a first. Tori and I don't really—"

"I meant Caitlin. You look like her. She's a sweetie, that one. And so bright. Her class was just here on Monday. Terrible business with her mother, though," she said, frowning. "Has there been any word?"

Tess shook her head.

"I'm sorry. I'll keep her in my prayers tonight."

"Thank you." Tess smiled politely, and went back to the card catalog. She didn't want to talk about Tori, not with a stranger who'd no doubt heard only gossip about her sister.

"Are you sure I can't help you find something?"

"Well, actually, I'm interested in the history of Mountain Bend."

The librarian's brows shot up at that. "Are you writing an article or something?"

"No, I'm just a history buff."

"A writer?" There was a distrustful lilt to the question.

"Lord, no. Not a writer."

Apparently, those were the magic words. "I don't mean to sound so suspicious," she said with an embarrassed titter. "You see,
I
am a writer. Not a real one, of course. I mean, of course I'm a
real
one. I haven't published, though. You won't find my name on any of the spines on these shelves."

The last was said with a defensive shrillness. Tess felt a little like a voyeur, peeking in on this woman's therapy session. "I think writers are amazing," she said cautiously. "I have difficulty writing a to-do list. A book is something I can't even imagine."

The librarian stared at her for a moment, her nose wiggling a bit, as if she were sniffing out falseness in Tess's statement. Evidently Tess passed the truth test because the other woman beamed suddenly and said in a confidential tone, "My book is an anthology of sorts. On California settlements. My husband's family has lived here for generations."

"Really?"

"I can't help but be fascinated by that. I was an Army brat so I never lived anywhere very long."

"Me too. Air Force, though."

If she'd been gambling, Tess would have hit the jackpot with that one. The woman introduced herself as Karen Post and sat down at the table.

"What is it you want to know?" Karen asked.

"What I'm most interested in is the founding. The Weston Family."

Karen gave her a hard look, obviously trying to make a connection between Frank's death, Tori's disappearance and Tess's curiosity about the founders of Mountain Bend. Tess waited, knowing the librarian would never figure out the real reason Tess wanted to know.

"I'll tell you what I know, but I'm afraid it's not much."

With an enthusiasm that made Tess suspect she was starved for interested listeners, Karen launched into details of the early settlement that had become Mountain Bend. Despite her claim that she didn't know much, Karen relayed an astonishing amount of facts. She never mentioned Adam and his family, though. Because they weren't real? The thought formed with conflicting feelings of relief and disappointment. Karen's next words replaced both with shock.

"November 1870 was when Francis A. Weston filed the first claim."

"Francis
A.
Weston?" Tess repeated, hoarsely.

"That's right."

"What does the "A" stand for?"

"I honestly don't know. All of the records used to be stored in the church basement. It burned down twenty-five years ago and everything in it went as well. A Weston died in that fire, as a matter of fact. Grant and Craig's mother. A lot of people died." She paused reflectively before taking a deep breath and continuing. "As I understand it, there used to be a wealth of information on the history."

Oblivious to the reactions her words caused, Karen went on. Very little was known about Francis A. Weston himself. She speculated that his journey began in Ohio in the spring of 1849 and that he "jumped off" from Independence, Missouri. The Weston name appeared on a register from a large company led by George Hanson who had left Independence in May of that same year.

George Hanson. With a queer sense of horror, Tess put a face to the name.

"After that, the details are sketchy about what happened to the Westons," Karen was saying. "Now I've read in several places that there seemed to be two of them. Brothers. But I only ever find the one name so I can't figure that out."

Tess could. They both shared the family name so it could be carried on by either of them. She forced her clenched hands open and laid them flat on the table. Her palms were damp. Karen went on.

"The rest of the original Hanson party arrived in Sacramento five months after leaving Independence. Generally it was considered a four month journey, so it took them some time to get there."

"Was he alone when he settled here?"

"Well according to the Hanson registry, there were five of them when they started out, but close to twenty years passed before he made it to Mountain Bend, so I don't know."

"There's nothing on the years in between?"

"Nothing that I've found."

Tess exhaled, frustrated. "Don't the Westons have a family history archive? Wouldn't they keep information on their family and the town?"

"They did. They donated it to the historical society in the fifties."

Her tone answered Tess's next question, but she asked it anyway. "And it was stored in the church?"

"Just makes me sick to think of all that history burning up."

A phone began to ring and Karen excused herself to answer. Sighing, Tess pushed her hair back and stared past Karen to the framed pictures that hung in the lobby. She'd hoped to find some solid proof that the Westons who had settled Mountain Bend were nothing to the Westons who filled the gaps in her reality. She'd found just the opposite. So what did she make of that? Did she now accept that the visions were not delusions, but rather latent memories from a...from a past life, for heaven's sake? It sounded no less whacko, but she had to acknowledge there were too many coincidences to pretend otherwise.

Not only was there the Weston name itself, which had actually been the key point in convincing her that the "happenings" were hallucinations brought on by extreme stress, there was Vanessa who had a child conceived out of wedlock and Tori who was pregnant and unmarried. Vanessa had trapped the first available bachelor she could find into marriage. Tori had designs on a man old enough to be her father. Was she motivated by the same need to cover up the illegitimacy of the baby? But why? Tori never conformed to anything. Caitlin said the relationship her mother had in Los Angeles was a secret. If the man was married with no plans to leave his wife, why wouldn't Tori have just moved on with her life? Unless Frank Weston was the baby's father and her relationship with him was born of love? If that was the case, had it made someone angry enough to forcibly put an end to it?

And what about the parallels between Molly and Tess? Tess's house on
W. 80th Street was walking distance from where Molly had lived on Columbus Avenue. In fact, Tess had chosen the neighborhood because she loved to walk past the historical homes there. Coincidence? Not likely. Both Tess and Molly had traveled west to take care of their sister's child. Both women had been raised by a cold, dictating man—a man of God, no less. Neither woman had a life of her own. Molly's sister was dead when she arrived... Tess's sister.... She forced her thoughts away from that.

The same comparisons couldn't be made about the Weston men, though. Adam was a pioneer man who cared about his brother. Grant was a washed up actor who'd last been heard of when he checked into a rehab for alcoholism. Flesh and blood, complete with tawdry past and human error, not to mention an intense dislike of his brother….and a grudge against her sister. How could she possibly draw a parallel there? Unless she was comparing the wrong men. Hadn't Craig struck her as the kind of man someone could depend on? Didn't he seem grounded? A person who cared about others and had a gentle way with children? Didn't that sound like Adam?

She clenched her fists. For the love of God, this was insane.

At least now she knew one thing for certain—the past was real. More to the point,
Molly’s
past was real. In her mind she heard the echo of Rosie's voice, "
... all the Weston boys carry the family name...Francis Arlington...Francis Adam...Francis Ambrose…
"

Tess's argument that the episodes were fabricated from bits and pieces of forgotten books, movies, and conversations then compounded by stress would not stand up to the plain and simple fact that she could not have dreamed up multiple Francis "A" Westons. She could not have dreamed up George Hanson. And since they were actual people that could be traced through history, then so too must be Molly.

They were real and they'd lived over a hundred and fifty years ago. So why had they decided to replay their lives in Tess's head now? Why had she seen Adam on horseback that first day? He'd been calling Molly's name. What was the connection between Tess Carson and Molly Marshall? Was it Mountain Bend? Was it the Weston brothers themselves? Or was it Vanessa and Tori? Was it possible that Molly had come "back" to help Tess find her sister?

She sighed, shaking her head in frustration. It could be any of those reasons. It could be all. It could be none.