― Sylvia Plath
Madeleine Thickett
I've been alone too long.
Was it trauma, the death of my father or the loss of my memory that left me without kin?
I came back to West Harbour to make connections, to see if there was anything here I could recover, but the very people I needed betrayed me and others who were strangers took me in.
If not for Clay and Sylvia Lightbourne I might never have met Clare; and if not for Nat Cohen I might never have understood why Fate brought me here.
I needed to take inventory, to know where to go. Even though I wanted more than anything to run and leave this fight unfought, life was demanding something of me, whether I could do it or not.
But there's no accounting for life's ironies. It's mad. There's an unmarked car outside my door and cameras recording my every move, but as much as I want to run, something deeper keeps me here.
My soul is in this town―in Nat and Sylvia, even in the ghosts I sense all around. If these stones could speak, what tales they would tell.
This house is more than a century old and I haven't even explored all its rooms. And why?
I've been seeking my roots in people ignoring the fact the past can speak through places too.
And that's how I made my plan for the day―I'd touch base with Nat and Clare while taking time to explore the house I inherited.
At that moment the phone rang and I picked up to a familiar voice.
"Hey there, City Boy. Haven't seen you around town."
"Hi Tess―yeah, I've been busy changing lawyers and trying to sort out a few things."
"Speaking of which, I went through the contents of the Yardley estate and found some interesting items. Why don't you drop by the store after five?"
"Sounds good. Mind if I bring a few friends?"
"Knock yourself out, Boy. See you then."
Even on the phone I could feel the sensual pull of Tess. There was something about her that drew me in spite of myself.
I phoned Clare hoping to assuage my guilt but to no avail, the moment I herd her soft cultivated voice I felt remorse for the way I responded to Tess.
"Hey Clare, we need to talk."
"Is anything wrong?"
"There have been developments. I'll pick you up around five―we'll swing by the library and grab Nat too. And by the way, Tess has discovered some items of interest from the Yardley estate and i know both you and Nat will want to see that."
"Sounds good, Marcus. See you at five― and stay safe."
Her voice dropped to a soft plea. I heard her worry and reassured her I was safe―I'd remain indoors until then.
I was touched though by her concern. It felt good to be cared for although I wasn't sure I deserved it.
I glanced at the clock-―almost noon. Lots of time to see if these walls held anything of use to me.
I started with the attic, figuring I could work my way down to the basement.
But I was appalled, not by an anticipated mess, but by its cleanliness. It looked staged―as if every personal item had been removed. And I wondered to myself if Arthur Reid arranged that.
Exploring all the rooms on the second floor yielded the same result. Things were getting curiouser as I was getting angrier. Bad enough I had no memory but now i was being deprived of my heritage as well.
For a pacifist, i was entertaining murderous thoughts toward Arthur Reid now.
There was no sense in exploring the first floor since I had effectively visited all the rooms there, so that left the basement although I had little expectation of finding much there but I went.
I descended the old rough plank stairs and stared at the neatest basement I had ever seen. There was an old coal chute in one corner, rows of empty cupboards that at one time probably stored preserves and a new gas furnace.
It was denuded and sterile. I felt sick and desolate. I sunk down to the floor and stared round the empty walls.
There was nothing left to do but ask Luther to look into the matter to see if he could ascertain from his connections what Arthur may have done with the contents.
I took one last look around the room and happened to notice a dark wood frame just slightly protruding from the top of the row of shelves.
I tried to reach it but couldn't. I found an old wooden Bon Ami soap box by the laundry tubs and standing on it could just grasp the frame and slide it down
It was a framed painting of a woman and I knew her instantly.
It was Madeleine Thickett. I was especially moved by the picture since my own mother had died in giving birth to me. I never knew her.
Bu this woman I knew instantly as Paul Thickett's mother and in the same moment as my own mother too.
The tie between mother and child being such a strong bond, the floodgates were opened―I knew all of Paul Thickett's history while ironically being deprived of my own.