Shadows of Lancaster County (11 page)

The night didn’t go quite that smoothly, but I did manage to grab several hours of sleep off and on, punctuated by a lot of shifting and resettling. At six a.m. sharp, the cabin lights came on, the morning beverage service rolled through, and then we began our descent. With money as tight as it was, I had been hoping for a free breakfast, but the best I got was a tiny, plastic-wrapped cheese Danish with my coffee.

Walking off of the airplane and into the Philadelphia airport felt familiar, of course, but it didn’t give me the feeling that I had come “home.” Instead, as I walked up the long corridors, along the moving sidewalk, and then down the escalator to the baggage claim area, it just seemed more like déjà vu, as in “been there, done that.” I made a quick stop in the restroom to freshen up, and by the time I reached baggage claim, the bags were starting to come out. I grabbed my dinged-up black suitcase as it rolled past, but I didn’t head straight for the rental car area just yet. First, I went over to Ground Transportation and checked the train schedules to see if my theory held water. Sure enough, Bobby would have been able to go from the Philadelphia airport to Hidden Springs by train, with just one quick switch at 30
^th
Street Station.

I would have to take a shuttle to pick up my car, so I stepped outside, not thinking, into the January winter air. I gasped, shocked at the depth of the cold. I didn’t remember it being this freezing here. I quickly pulled on my coat and gloves, feeling foolish. I might as well have the word “Californian” stamped on my forehead. At least the shuttle was prompt, though once I was at the car rental company and inside their heated building, I had to take it off again as I waited in a slow-moving line.

There was a seating area over to one side with a television flashing pictures but no sound, and underneath that a coffee service and a small tray of donuts. I took a pass on the donuts, but the coffee smelled good.
As I awaited my turn, trying to decide whether to make a cup now or after I had finished my transaction, one of the images on the television caught my eye and nearly stopped my heart: It was a photo of Doug Brown’s face, smiling at the camera. That image dissolved into a picture of Bobby, with his name across the bottom and the words “Sought for Questioning.” I wanted to run over and turn up the sound to hear what was being said, but I didn’t dare. Instead I just stood there watching as Bobby’s face faded into a reporter talking into the microphone. Then, much to my dismay, the next image shown was the famous photo of the group that the press had dubbed the “Dreiheit Five.” There we were, all five of us: Bobby, Doug, Reed, Haley, and me. In the photo, we were frozen in time, walking down the steps of the courthouse together, the guys in suits, Haley and me in dresses. The first time I saw that photo was in an article in
Newsweek
magazine, with the heading “Final Hearing for Wild Teen Party-Turned-Nightmare.”

The camera then zoomed in to our individual faces, lingering on each one for a moment. When they got to mine, I literally couldn’t breathe, standing there gazing at the eighteen-year-old girl with the sad face and the short, dark hair. Self-consciously, I smoothed my bangs toward my eyes, while wondering if my face was distinctive enough that I would be recognized immediately despite the change in hairstyle and color and the fact that I had aged eleven years since then. Frantically, I dug in my carry-on for my sunglasses, and I was slipping them on just as I heard the woman at the counter say “Next?”

She must have thought I was a little bit nuts, considering that I never met her eyes or even looked up for the entire transaction. Nevertheless, she rented me the car I had reserved, the cheapest last-minute rental I could find. After I loaded my bags in the trunk, I got in the car and just sat for a while, trying to recover from the shock of seeing my old self on TV.

I didn’t want to be here.

I really, really didn’t want to be here.

But what else could I do? My brother was obviously in trouble and needed my help—and to be honest, I was probably better suited to finding him than anyone else on earth. It wasn’t just my professional experience,
my knowledge of skip tracing, that made me perfect for the job. It was that I knew my brother, I knew how he thought, how his mind worked. If anyone could find Bobby, I could.

Reluctantly, I started up the car and pulled out from the lot, following the signs for 95 South. Almost on autopilot, I took that for several miles before moving to the Blue Route, which would bring me to Valley Forge without having to pass directly through downtown Philadelphia. Glancing at the dashboard clock, I was glad to see that I should make it to my nine o’clock meeting on time, even if I ran into some rush hour traffic along the way.

As I drove along, I listened to the news on the radio, but the story told me nothing I hadn’t figured out by watching the photos flash by on the television. Turning off the radio, one photo kept coming back into my mind, the picture of the five of us leaving the courthouse. We were so young then, so burdened by what we had done. In the years since, we had each taken a different path to self-forgiveness. Bobby had lost his way for a while but eventually ended up where it had all begun, there in Dreiheit with Lydia. Haley and Doug had found solace with each other, though from what I understood their marriage wasn’t exactly a resounding success. According to Bobby, Haley spent most of her time at the bottom of a bottle; Doug had consoled himself by spending her father’s money. I had managed to carve out a life for myself once I started over in California, though it was nothing like what I had pictured when I was younger.

Then there was Reed. As the oldest one in the group, he had suffered the harshest penalties, in more ways than one. After the fire, he had spent three months in the burn unit at the hospital. When he was released from that prison, he moved onto the next. Convicted of reckless endangerment, involuntary manslaughter, corruption of minors, and a misdemeanor drug charge, he was sentenced to a year in jail and three years of probation.

His road had been the toughest, and yet in a way, he had managed to bounce back more thoroughly than any of us. After the fire, Doug and Bobby both gave up their dreams of medical school and, in fact, never even finished college. But Reed stuck it out. When he got out of prison, he returned to medical school, earned his degree, and then went into research.

Nowadays, from what I understood, he lived in Washington, DC, and worked in the field of DNA—not just the science of it but also legislation and ethics. Somehow, Reed had managed to become a success in the work world despite having a police record, something not easy to do. Reed’s family was very wealthy, so I had always figured they used their money and influence to pave the way, both by convincing the medical school to let their son back in once he got out of prison and by helping him land a prestigious position once he was finished.

I hadn’t seen Reed Thornton since the day he was sentenced. He already had a guilty verdict from the jury, and the only hope we were able to hang onto between that and the sentencing was that the judge would take into account the fact that Reed had no prior offenses, he was a first year medical student with good grades, and he had acted heroically at the scene of the fire, running inside and saving a child before nearly being consumed by flames himself. It was obvious he had already been through physical agony; did he really deserve to spend several years in prison for what was essentially an accident?

I would never forget the first thing Reed did when the sentence was announced. After absorbing the news that he was to spend the next year of his life in prison followed by three years of probation, he simply turned around and looked at me. With his beautiful blue eyes, he looked at me, his expression a combination of fear and sadness and regret. As I met and held his gaze, I thought about what he and I could have been to each other, about how it had been love at first sight as far as I was concerned, how it had taken all summer of hanging around together and getting to know each other for him to discover that he had feelings for me in return. Finally, I thought about that one kiss we had shared, that single kiss that had held such promise and ended up being the last good moment of the worst night of my life.

I will always love you,
I said with my eyes, hoping he understood. Then the bailiff took Reed’s arm and led him out of the door of the courtroom, and I was truly alone.

I had never seen him since.

Seeing his youthful face on the television screen today had brought it all
back, the grief, the yearning, the loss. Bobby kept me posted on everyone, and according to him Reed had never married. Moving into the right lane for the exit that was coming up, I wondered if he was happy now, if he enjoyed his work, if he had a good life.

Most of all, I wondered if he still thought about me as often as I thought about him.

May 20, 1812

I am pleased to report that though I am now five months with child, the Empire waist remains in fashion. This news is very helpful to me, as such a style is perfectly suited to my growing shape. I have kept the royal dressmakers busy this month, but I feel confident that my new gowns will suffice through the fall.

Upon return from his most recent travels, Karl presented me with a copy of La Belle Assemblée and several yards of rose-colored silk fringe. I do believe that my husband finally has a growing fondness for me, for how else would he have arrived at such thoughtful gifts so well suited to this transplanted Parisian? Last night I dreamed of Versailles, and today my heart yearns for the beautiful gardens of home.

Other than Karl’s recent kindness, life at the palace is still quite disagreeable. This morning I came upon Luise and her son, Leopold, whispering in the salon. Upon realizing that I was there, they gave no greeting but simply turned and departed. Their snubs continue to sting.

Someday, perhaps I will come to understand what my husband’s grandfather saw in Luise when he chose to take her as his second wife—in
a morganatic union at that. I find her unattractive inside and out, and Leopold has inherited his mother’s bitter and vindictive manner.

At least the palace is large enough that I am able to pass days at a time with only minimal interaction. I long for the day, however, when peace is made between all members of this family. I do not want my child to be born amid the whispers and snubs of such domestic distress.

Mr. Carver, my dad’s old friend, was waiting for me when I walked into the coffee shop in Valley Forge. He was sitting in a booth by the window, and I spotted him as soon as I came in the door. He gave me a smile and a wave, and I joined him at the table.

We talked about the weather, me saying how cold it was outside and him replying with a chuckle that actually it wasn’t all that cold right now; it probably just felt like it because I wasn’t exactly dressed for the weather. He was right, of course. I had on a light cotton short-sleeved shirt under my peacoat. As soon as I got to Lydia’s, I was definitely going to have to borrow some sweaters.