Innocent (15 page)

“Do you think he was the one who committed the crime?” David asked.

“I considered that,” my father said. “But really, isn’t he too slow to pull off something like that?”

David turned to me. “You know him better than we do. What do you think?”

I felt my whole body stiffen. I wondered if David would mention Richie hitting the squad car with a shovel. Should I tell them about his breaking the pigeon’s neck, or how difficult he got when routines were broken—routines like my mother and me living there?

“I don’t know. I know he’s different, but I don’t know. I could try to figure it out, spend more time with him and—”

“No!” my father exclaimed, cutting me off. “You need to leave there. I’ll do my time. It doesn’t matter. You need to be safe!” He jabbed a finger at David and suddenly jumped to his feet. “You need to get her out of there, find her a place to go, another job, anything! Just get her away from that house!” he yelled.

The guard rushed over to his side. He was holding the billy club in his hand.

“That’s it! This visit is over!” he ordered.

There was a look on my father’s face that I couldn’t even describe—rage, worry, upset, anguish all rolled into one frightening expression. His whole body seemed to get larger; his shoulders went back, and his fingers curled into fists. Was he going to strike out or—? He let out a big sigh and, like air escaping from a balloon, his whole body sagged and his fingers uncurled.

“Sure, boss, no problem,” he said to the guard. With that, the guard seemed to relax as well.

My father sat back down. “I want to thank you both for coming. It means so much to me to have you here again. I love you, little angel.”

I felt my whole body melt.

He turned directly to David. “You’re going to have to keep her safe. It’s your job. If anything happens to her, these walls and that badge aren’t going to be enough to keep you alive.”

There was hardness in his eyes, and I saw David shrink back into his seat. I wasn’t the only one who believed what my father had just said. He got to his feet again—this time slowly. He walked over to the guard and they left the room.

David took my hand. “I’m not going to let anybody harm you.”

AS DAVID STARTED
to drive away after taking me back to the mansion, I waved him down, and he skidded to a stop. I ran over and leaned in his window.

“I just wanted to thank you for everything, for being there, for caring, for understanding, for driving me all around this afternoon.”

We’d driven for two hours after the visit with my father. I didn’t want to return to the house before I’d calmed down.

“It’s no big deal. Just trying to help my girlfriend.” He gave me a big, bright smile.

I gave him one more kiss.

“If you want, you can climb back in and we can go for a longer drive,” he said.

“I wish I could. I have to go in and help with dinner. I’ve been gone too long already.”

“We’ll talk. Soon. You’ll be fine—there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I know. I know.”

He reached out and gave my arm a squeeze. Releasing it, he put the car in gear, and I stepped aside. I watched him drive away. I felt alone and afraid. I turned and faced the rear gate, framed by the high hedges. Behind it was the house. The one my father wanted me to leave. The one my mother had left, taking me with her. I didn’t have to go through that gate. I didn’t need to go into that house. Was there really something for me to fear?

I’d only gone a few steps when I caught sight of Ralph working on one of the flower beds. He looked up and waved, and I waved back. There was nothing for me to worry about. Inside the house were Mrs. Meyers, James, Nigel and Ralph, Mrs. Remington and Richie. These people—all of them—cared for me.

I stopped once again at the door and gave my face another rub. I was pretty sure I’d gotten rid of the signs of tears. Thank goodness I hadn’t cried the night of the dance, or David would have thought I cried every time I saw him.

He had been so good today, so supportive, so understanding, so kind. He’d said reassuring things but tried to keep me level-headed. He was going to try to track down those witnesses and talk to them further. Maybe they had lied at the trial for my father and now, with years past and him in jail, there was no point in lying anymore. He was going to take that old detective out for another coffee and ask him more questions. He promised me he’d get answers, even if the answers might not be what I wanted them to be.

I wanted my father to be innocent, to have been arrested unjustly. It would make me feel better, would help me understand why I was abandoned. Still, what I really wanted was to know the truth about my father.

My
father
. I turned the word around in my mind. It was as foreign as the word
mother
. I didn’t remember my mother, but she seemed more real to me than the man I’d met twice. Everybody told me how much I looked like her, acted like her, even laughed and sounded like her. But him? That hulking man sitting across the table from me, that man who had been jailed before for violence, who had been convicted of murdering my mother, well, was he really even my father?

I took one more deep breath and then opened the door and entered. “Sorry I’m a little late!”

Mrs. Meyers was at the counter and Nigel at the stove. Both turned and gave me welcoming smiles.

“Not a problem,” Nigel said. “We managed without you for over a decade, so a few minutes isn’t going to matter.”

“There’s something there on the table for you,” Mrs. Meyers said.

There was a big brown envelope. Even from this distance I recognized the writing on the front. Big, flowing, graceful—Mrs. Hazelton!

I rushed over and grabbed the envelope. It was bigger than a regular letter. In fact, it was the same size as the envelope she’d given me before, back in her study on that fateful day. I found myself struck by a terrible fear. Was it going to contain more information about my past? I shook my head slightly at my own silly thoughts. That couldn’t be it. I knew that.

I’d always admired Mrs. Hazelton’s graceful script. It was still beautiful, but I could see a slight wavering in the letters and could picture the shaking of her hand. She was getting weaker, sicker. Would I ever see her again?

“Unless you’re like Superman and you have X-ray vision, you’re going to have to open that envelope to know what’s inside,” Nigel said.

I turned it over and carefully tore it open at the top. There was a large sheet of thick paper inside. I pulled it out. At first it didn’t make sense.

Then I gasped. “Oh my goodness!”

“What is it?” Mrs. Meyers asked.

“It’s a diploma, a secondary-school graduation diploma.” I turned it around so she could see it, and she took it from me.

“Not just a diploma but an honors diploma. You must have been a very good student. It says,
This honors graduation diploma is granted to Elizabeth Anne Roberts
.”

“Elizabeth Anne. But how did the school know to put on my real name?”

“Probably that matron of yours,” Mrs. Meyers said.

“Mrs. Hazelton.”

“Yes, she must have arranged it.”

“Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” Nigel added.

“But there must be more.” I turned the envelope over, and a folded page fell out. I unfolded it. It
was
from Mrs. Hazelton.

Dear Betty…or should I say Elizabeth,

Congratulations on obtaining your diploma. I was so very pleased when I saw that you received honors. As I always said, hard work will lead to rewards.

You must be pleased to receive your diploma. All of the girls successfully completed their school year and either received a diploma or the credits for course work completed. I thought it was unfair that circumstances beyond your control could have stopped all of you from reaching goals that were not only important but imminent and deserved. I spoke first to the principal, who was less than agreeable to my suggestion. There was a subsequent conversation with the superintendent of education and finally the director of education.

My discussion basically centered upon what would happen if a student a few weeks from graduation fell too ill to take the exams. They said that all previous marks would be summed and if sufficient, regardless of marks to be gained through the examinations, a graduation diploma would be issued. In review, all of you girls had sufficient marks to pass without having to complete the final examinations, so really they had no choice but to relent.

There was a further complication with your diploma, as I wished it to be awarded in your real name. I know you have plans beyond secondary school, and I wanted this diploma to be your “invitation” to go further. I expect you to go further.

I will not bother you with an account of how I am faring, but it is suffice to say that I continue to move forward. As I know you will.

I look forward to finding out more about how life is proceeding for you, and be assured that I will reply and that you remain in my thoughts every day.

With affection,

Agnes Hazelton

“Congratulations!” Mrs. Meyers said. “Does this mean you could go to nursing school this fall?”

“I don’t think I’ll have enough savings.”

“As I recall, Mrs. Remington said she would provide you sufficient support regardless of your savings. Correct?”

I thought back to our conversation, but all the details seemed vague—she had offered that, hadn’t she? Everything seemed foggy. Things kept rushing at me, overwhelming me. Just when I tried to make sense of one thing, something else came up.

“Are you going to open the other letter?” Mrs. Meyers asked.

“Other letter?” I turned around to the table. There was another envelope—this one white and smaller—sitting beside where the first had been. It had been blocked by the larger envelope and I hadn’t seen it. The writing on it was as distinctive as Mrs. Hazelton’s. It was from Toni!

I EXCUSED MYSELF,
left the others in the kitchen and retreated to my bedroom. I hoped they didn’t think I was rude, but I needed to be someplace private to read Toni’s letter. Closing the door behind me, I was alone. Just me and Toni’s letter. It felt right. It was like the two of us together in the room, sharing secrets once again.

Carefully, so as not to rip it, I opened the envelope and slipped out the letter. I wanted to read it, to hear how wonderfully she was doing, but I was afraid—what if things were going badly? How could I help her? Well, there was only one way to know if she needed help. I unfolded the letter.

Dear Betty,

Things are so unbelievable here in Toronto that I don’t know where to begin! It’s all good, mainly.

I let out a sigh of relief. That was what I needed to know, that things were good. I turned back to the letter.

Well, actually, it’s a bit of a roller coaster, and I’m still having the nightmares. But still good, you know? All in all, I’m pretty proud of myself. Like, there’s a billion people in this city and I even know some of them! I have this amazing huge room, but I’m the only one in it, which is good except when I’m lonely and when I have the dreams.

Anyway, when the dreams are really bad (you know, me screaming my head off), a very nice man who is a professor of literature at the University of Toronto comes down and knocks on my door until I wake up and answer it. Isn’t that sweet? I live in sort of a rooming house, but it’s just me and the professor who board here. Mrs. Grady Vespucci owns 75 Hazelton and she is the most beautiful woman you could possibly imagine, except she drinks a bit too much. She calls them “refreshments” but they’re spirits, Betty, no two ways about it. Grady gives me fashion advice and life advice and I tell her most everything when she hasn’t over-refreshed.

She wrote about the people she worked with and some musicians and a guy named Cassidy—that was the important part for her. She also mentioned someone named Ethan, the son of a Mr. Brooks Goldman, who was…

…this amazing musician whose band, The Ramblers, plays at the Purple Onion all the time and who, embarrassingly, I thought was my father for a minute. I also thought that Ian Tyson was my father (same amount of time). Don’t ask—it was HUMILIATING! I know, I know…I’m the one that teased you all for your stupid orphan fantasies, but get me out of the orphanage and my imagination goes haywire! Maybe it’s the alone thing. So in the end, unlike you, I haven’t made much progress in finding out who my real father is or was, and I haven’t tried real hard on the mother front. Actually, I am trying to track a lady down who was her best friend, but it’s complicated—she’s in a ladies’ prison!

I am so glad to hear that you are well settled with people who care about you. I am even gladder to hear that you have a young man! David sounds wonderful and the FIRST KISS sounds spectacular (I’m more than a little jealous)!!! I have a young man, too, except he’s older. Cassidy (it has just hit me that I don’t know what his last name is!) is a businessman, and he might be almost thirty! I know, I know…But he is SUCH a gentleman, and everybody looks when I’m with him because he is so handsome, and I’m not exaggerating for once. He is going to take me to a very posh party one day, and I’m already fretting about what to wear. He hasn’t kissed me yet—as I say, he is a true gentleman. He is very, very interested in my story about being an orphan. He really cares. I believe he will try to help me.

Anyway, anyway, I miss you to pieces and more. Actually, I miss all of us as an “us” more than I ever thought possible. I dreamed of being away and on my own, of having my own room, for such a long time and now that I finally have it…well, it’s just not like I thought it would be is all. Tell your fella I said hi and to treat you like a queen. Good luck at your end with everything, and write me soon if not sooner.

Love you lots,

Toni

xoxox

I put the letter down. It wasn’t long, but what I’d really needed to hear was in the first line. I’d show it to David and tell him hello from Toni. I felt better—and maybe a little uneasy.

Who was this Cassidy fellow, and were his intentions really honorable? He was awfully old. I wished I could meet him and judge for myself. Wait, that wasn’t just some silly fantasy. I could meet him. I could take the train to Toronto—or, better yet, have David drive me—and he could meet Toni. That really wasn’t so far-fetched. I knew it couldn’t happen quite yet, but I’d write to Toni about that very thing in my next letter to her. Maybe I hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, but I’d soon have a chance to say hello.