Loving You (Remembrance Series, Book 2) (20 page)

He shook his head and leaned in to whisper, “Grandpa’s got his top sales, engineering and marketing guys sitting with him. While dad could be used in this meeting, he felt it better to stay at home and keep an eye on the workings of both companies while Grandpa is away.”

The stewardess offered the gentlemen some refreshments before closing the doors and going through the emergency procedures protocol. The captain announced that flight pre-checks were complete and we would begin taxing to the runway. Once we reached the runway, we were third in line, behind some major commercial flights. It was fascinating see everyone working away, while we were awaiting take-off.

Once in the air, we accepted the breakfast, which consisted of egg and cheese croissant sandwiches, fresh squeezed orange juice and hazelnut coffee. The food was delicious; and in no time, I felt my eyes closing, lulled to sleep by the purr of the engines.

Gregory gently shook my shoulders. “Jordan, we’re about to fly over Philly. Did you want to watch as we land?”

I would have imagined him by his grandfather’s side, discussing the upcoming presentation; however, he was still holding me against his shoulder, in the same position that I had fallen asleep. The care he gave me made my heart swell with pride.

The skyline of Philadelphia was amazing. We came in over the Delaware River, whose shoreline was captivating and the area oddly familiar. The city was vast. I could see why it was declared the first capital of the United States of America, before the White House was built in D.C. I began to wonder how on earth would we be able to find what we needed in a city so big. Our only hope would be in the guide Ray promised to provide.

We gave Grandpa a hug and wished him and his team well with their meetings making tentative plans for dinner for the following night.

I was about to ask Gregory if we were renting a car to drive around, when a familiar white town car pulled up.

He picked up our luggage and proceeded toward the car when out stepped Anderson, the same guide we had on our trip to Richmond, Virginia, to find out what happened to us when we were Angeline and Daniel. “How? When? Why?” I wasn’t able to form a coherent sentence.

Anderson smiled, reaching out to grab my hand in greeting and nodded. In a barely audible whisper, for only me to hear, he explained. “I was reassigned to this area, since it is the place of my birth and where I spent a good majority of my life. Someone you know felt it might be helpful for me to guide you through the historic district.”

Gregory finished putting the bags into the trunk and came around. “Anderson, is that you? What are you doing here?”

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Riley. I was recently transferred back to this area. I assure you I know the city and its history well.” He extended his hand in greeting to Gregory, before asking, “Where would you like to go first, sir?”

“We’ll be staying at Norriston House Inn on South 8
^th
Street,” he replied with a smile. We both climbed into the backseat.

Anderson took off without needing the GPS or any additional information. The ride from the airport was a long one, but slowly the skyline began to shift and a sense of familiarity surrounded me.

For a moment, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. One minute I would see people dressed in current fashion, the next I would see them in petticoats, breeches and cravats. I shook my head to dispel any strange notions, when Anderson explained, “Several of the locals are extreme history buffs, who like to put on shows for the tourists. The closer we get toward the original part of the city, the more you will encounter people dressed like Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson and the like.”

I was seeing these reinactors, but I was also catching glimpses of the past. Certain buildings and streets appeared to me as they were in their heyday, with horse-drawn carriages lining the streets.

Gregory’s arm circled around my shoulders, pulling me close. “It’s okay. We will probably get flashbacks from time to time, being back here. There’s still so much we have to uncover. Let’s get to the Inn and check-in; then we can give my dad’s cousin a call and see if she’s ready for us.”

Norriston Inn was a sight to behold. The building had a sign indicating placement on the National Register of Historic Places, having been built in the early 1800’s. The street around it had been renovated with all the modern conveniences, but the building looked like it was fresh from the Colonial period, all brick with white, wooden-framed windows and shutters and a black iron fence surrounding the exterior, running along to a courtyard and garden in the rear.
Why does this place seem so familiar?

When I looked to Gregory, his eyes were wide with the recollection of memories from times past. I watched as he shook his head a couple of times. I was about to ask if something was wrong, when he grabbed our luggage and ushered us inside.

The interior was a little more modern, reflecting an eclectic mix of vintage Colonial and Victorian furnishings and artifacts. The hostess, Ms. Norris, gave us information regarding the breakfasts, historical tours, and then guided us to the room Gregory had reserved, which contained a rich, walnut four-poster bed, a modernized Jacuzzi tub and a old world fireplace.

Gregory walked off, to look over the rest of the room, almost in a haze, while I thanked our hostess for the accommodations and was told that Afternoon Tea would be in the courtyard at 4:00 PM.

The sense of déjà vu still hadn’t escaped me. The room seemed familiar, but different. I realized the bathroom was a modern convenience that would not have existed in the past. I kept trying to rack my brain as to where I’ve seen this place before, when Gregory finally spoke up. “This is, or rather was, my parents’ house; the house I grew up in. This room was mine!”

No wonder everything seemed familiar. I had visited with his family on a number of occasions leading up to our intended wedding.

Gregory still seemed in a stupor when my cell phone rang. “Hi, Mom. Yes, we made it to Philadelphia just fine. I’m doing well, feeling better than I have the past couple of weeks. We just checked in and are about to go get lunch in Center City before meeting up with Douglas’s cousin.”

I was glad that we would be staying a few days with her after this trip. If it followed the same pattern as the trip to Virginia, I would need her comfort and emotional support to keep me moving forward.

I was about to elaborate on our plans, when Gregory snapped out of his haze and motioned to his watch. I nodded.

“I hate to cut this short, Mom, but we need to go. Love you, too. Bye.”

Gregory walked over and pulled me into a deep embrace. He looked a bit shaken by what he had remembered. “Are you all right?” I asked.

Before the words had completely left my lips, his were surrounding mine; kissing me as though his life depended on it. I finally had to bring my hands up to his chest and push to break things off, so I could catch my breath. He was about to protest, trying to pull me back in for another lip lock, when he realized Anderson was still waiting for us downstairs.

We both laughed, “Guess it’s time to start our adventure and grab some lunch.”

Anderson, who was still waiting, patiently, by the car suggested that we might as well go to the Reading Terminal Market where we could dine on an authentic Philly Cheesesteak sandwich.

The “Terminal” turned out to be a treasure trove of vendors and eateries, with everything from produce, meats and fine chocolates, to a flower market, an entire Amish section, and restaurants serving every type of food imaginable.

To my surprise, I recognized several of the food vendors as having been featured on
Food Network
. Plus, the floral and deli area reminded me of the movie,
National Treasure
. No wonder everything seemed familiar.

The place Anderson recommended for Cheesesteaks, was amazing. I had always been a fan and even had a favorite spot, LaSpada’s in Orlando, where I would go when I had a craving for one. But even theirs didn’t compare to a “real” Philly Cheesesteak. I could easily get addicted.

We had planned to spend a few hours checking out the Market before meeting up with Douglas’s cousin, Barbara Caldwell; but soon after we finished our sandwiches, Gregory received a text message from her.
Have a change of plans this afternoon. We can still meet, but needs to be in one hour. Can you make it?

Gregory quickly responded that we would be there and found Anderson standing beside one of the exit doors, waiting for us. We quickly gave him the address to Barbara’s house. It was only a twenty minute drive, on the outskirts of the historic district, close to the waterway.

The house was an older home, though not specifically built during the Colonial period. Barbara was waiting outside the door when we pulled up. She had some of the semblances of Douglas, the kind eyes and a salt and pepper hair. You could easily tell they were from the same family.

She quickly ushered us in and offered us some tea or coffee. We politely declined, since we had just had lunch. Gregory got straight to the point. “Can you tell us anything about an Aaron Anthony Williams and a Hannah Olivia Clark?”

Barbara nodded. “I haven’t heard those names in forever. They were a part of our ancestral past, but no one really knows what happened to them.” She started looking through the boxes she had placed on the coffee table and floor. “I know I’ve seen hand-drawn depictions of them, along with some
Pennsylvania Gazette
clippings.”

She held up the hand drawn picture and gazed up at us, her eyes wide with shock, and nearly dropping the sketch. “It can’t be,” she exclaimed.

Gregory reached over to claim the item in her hand. When he turned it over, it was a perfect representation of us. We were not surprised to see our images, just different clothing and hairstyles. It was definitely a likeness of us.

“How can you…? What’s going on…?” She couldn’t complete a single sentence.

I took one of her hands in mine, nodding my head in understanding of what she was asking. “We don’t understand it, either. We wanted to trace our ancestry and prepare a genealogy tree to display at our wedding and, maybe one day, give it to our children. In doing so, we’ve discovered that we resemble some of our ancestors who were destined to be married.”

I gave her hand a gentle squeeze as she looked back and forth from one of us to the other. “We don’t understand it, either. All we are trying to do is fill in some of the blanks that we were unable to do with Internet research. Could you please tell us any information you might have in regards to why Aaron and Hannah’s existence just ended?”

She squeezed my hand back, smiling. “The resemblance is just uncanny. I’ll be happy to help anyway that I can, but my knowledge is fairly limited.”

Gregory reached forward, placing his hand with ours. “Just tell us what you know and if there is anywhere we can look for more information.”

Barbara started enlightening us with all the details she knew; most of which were things we had already discovered through our Internet and Genealogy searches.

“Do you happen to have any drawings of family members or any old letters that might shed some light on things?”

She reached for a box of letters. I couldn’t believe how organized she was. She had them sectioned by year and subdivided according to who they were to and from. We were instantly able to find letters that had been written to and from various family members, discussing the details of our intended marriage and what joining our two families could do for the community. It turned out that both of our father’s had hoped to launch better efforts for healthcare and legal assistance, with the support of Benjamin Franklin, a printer and diplomat who owned the
Pennsylvania Gazette
.

I showed the letter to Gregory, having to reread it myself. All the times I had heard the name “Franklin” in my dreams, had actually been about my family knowing and working with Benjamin Franklin. I just wish I could remember more about one of our country’s most respected founders.

While he read through some additional letters, I looked through the box of photos. There were two drawn pictures of women, but they seemed to have acquired some water damage through the years. “Do you happen to know who these people are?” I held out the photos to Barbara.

“One is supposed to be of Nathaniel’s wife, Rebecca, and the other was of some woman named Lucinda. From family gossip, I understand that at one point she was a potential wife for Aaron. She supposedly lost her mind and tried to kill his beloved Hannah, injuring him in the process. I know she ended up in an asylum for a few weeks, before some captain of one of her fathers’ ships stole her away and took her back to England to marry.” I took a deep breath in; realizing my vision about Lucinda holding a pistol was true.

Gregory spoke up. “You wouldn’t happen to have any letters shared between Hannah and Aaron, by chance?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been told they wrote love notes to one another, often. But, no one could find what happened to them. It’s as if they vanished along with the two of them.”

We asked in unison, “What do you mean vanished?”

“There was a great debate over certain evil spirits being amongst the colonists during those times. One such person, who was accused of darkness, was Aaron’s sister in-law and her husband, too. It was never proven, but word is that the colonists rounded them up one night and dragged them to the river, trying to get a confession out of them. Some apparently stated that Aaron and Hannah led the rebellion against them, but others swore that they didn’t remember who did what, only that they were suddenly at the river without any knowledge of how they got there or why. There is another theory, which more colonists seemed to have remembered. They stated that Aaron and Hannah were last seen by the river, amongst the colonists, protesting against Rebecca being a traitor. After everything was done, some claimed to overhear them talking about running away to another colony and starting a new life for themselves, by eloping.”