I hurried to my car, started the engine, looked back at the front door only once, and imagined they were all there waving goodbye to me: Miles. Amou, and, of course. Daddy. They were all smiling proudly, urging me on, and telling me not to be afraid, to believe in myself.
I couldn't help but look ahead with trepidation. however. There were so many questions looming out there, waiting to be answered.
What would life really be like for my mother and me? Had I made a terrible error using my fortune to keep us in Palm Beach?
Would Linden ever accept me as his sister, and would I bring him hope and help him regain his confidence and his life?
Would Thatcher be amazed and overjoyed at the sight of me and the realization of what I had done?
Everyone out there suffers from loneliness in one way or another. I thought. All the rich and the famous weren't really very different from even-one else. They were just as frightened as my mother and Linden and I were. They could surround themselves with glitter and with lots of chatter. but in the end, it was only the music of the heart that brought any real comfort, and that music couldn't be bought at any price.
That music was the only true gift we could bestow on each other, the gift that would end the fear of being alone.
There was a line I remembered from my father's diary when he was trying to express how much he really did love my mother, when he was trying to explain why he was so positive it was love, grand and beautiful,
All I know, he wrote. is I couldn't be happy, ever be happy, if she is not, and I know she feels the same way about erne,
That was the gift of love, the music of the heart we could give each other that would keep us from being alone.
Daddy spent so much of his life searching for it, and then he had to lose it.
I pledged to myself that if I ever found it as he had. I would never lose it.
Do you think you can find it? I could hear him ask.
Yes, I have to think th
at I can, Daddy.
Then you will, he told me.
I could hear him say it over and over as I drove on. Then you will.
.
Dear Willow.
I have read your story with great interest because, like you, for most of my life I did not know the truth about myself. I did not know who my real father was. My family had many reasons for their well-kept secrets hung in the backs of dark closets. It all began when my grandmother, my mother Heaven's mother, died and my grandfather decided that the best thing for him to do was sell off his children. My mother spent a good deal of her young- adult life trying to reunite her family, her brothers and sisters. Her journey took her down a long, convoluted road of discovery that brought her from abject poverty to the world of wealth, glamour, and prestige. She was a woman whom my great-grandmother would call "full of grit," for she battled against many discouragements and many cruel people to finally become the elegant and beautiful woman she was.
I have no doubt that you would enjoy reading her story, which is told in books entitled Heaven, Dark Angel, and Fallen Hearts. My story is in Gates of Paradise. My grandmother Leigh's story is told in Web of Dreams, and in that story we learn why she left the wealth and position of Farthinggale Manor to marry a drifter and live the hard life in the hills of West Virginia. How ironic it is that my mother made the full circle and returned to Farthinggale to discover the family secrets!
I owe a great deal to my real father, just as you do to yours. When I read about your adopted mother. I couldn't help but think about my great-grandmother Jillian, especially the way my mother described her to me when she first met her. You don't have to imagine as hard as other people what it is like to be sent to live somewhere and not really be wanted. Just like your adoptive mother, my great-grandmother insisted my mother call her by her name so no one would ever know she was related. That's what my mother had to do. What grit my mother surely had to be dropped into such a world and yet be unafraid and determined. I often wonder if our children will think so highly of us.
Of course, you didn't have the step-grandfather my mother had. He was dangerous in many ways, and if it wasn't for my real father. I think my mother would have been so lost. That's probably the most interesting and exciting part of her story.
Like you, she traveled from one world and eventually ended up in another so different, it was like being on another planet. Maybe it was even more so for my mother, however, for the contrast between the world she was born into and the one she ended up living in was far greater. She went from practically being an orphan to being a foster child and then to being the unwanted yet not to be denied
granddaughter of one of the wealthiest women in Boston. Her life with her foster parents. Kitty and Cal Dennison, was so bizarre, it deserves to be a book in itself. I often wonder about what some people consider abuse today.
It was only after she had one through all those changes that my mother was eventually able to set out to do what she dreamed of doing: reuniting her family.
In some ways I think you were luckier to have been brought up as an only child. My mother had to contend with a sister who was a full-time
responsibility-- and not because of any handicap; unless you want to consider her promiscuity a handicap. Aunt Fanny was sort of the black sheep of my family. People who read about her often tell me they have a relative they try to keep hidden who reminds them of my aunt Fanny. Once you read about her and hear her speak, you know we could keep her hidden as much as we could keep an elephant hidden in a living room. In the end. though. I became quite fond of her. You will see why.
There was so much about my mother's life that was attractive and interesting. I don't want to make it sound too dark. She had a wonderful romance, and the toy company that she inherited was truly fascinating, Today. I see companies trying to do just what Tatterton Toys did with those dolls. What an eerie and yet fascinating thing it was You must tell me what you think of all that when you do get a chance to read her story and learn about it
I must tell you that in some ways your half brother. Linden, reminded me of my real father. They were both quite introverted, perhaps even hermit-like, and both had artistic abilities. Yet both were warm and sincere men. When you read about the wonderful garden maze at Farthinggale Manor and how my mother first met my father, you will. I am sure, feel some deja vu.