Time Goes By (31 page)

Another letter with the photos arrived in a few weeks’ time, after Kathy had replied to the first letter. She had told Nat of her disappointment and sorrow that she was too late to meet her mother, but of how delighted she was to hear of her three step-siblings.

Kathy gasped, and so did Tim, when they looked at the photos that Nat had sent.

‘Wow! She looks just like you,’ he said. ‘You could be twin sisters.’

The image he was referring to was that of her mother, Barbara. One was a family group – Barbara and Nat, whom they agreed appeared to be a nice, friendly sort of guy, and the three children, taken several years ago, Nat explained, before the eldest two had married. Beverley resembled her father more than her mother, and so did the son, Carl. They had the same fairish mid-brown hair and wide smiling mouths. The younger girl, Anne-Marie, looked more like her mother. She was dark-haired and petite, although a little on the plump side.

So was Barbara, Kathy noticed. She had a full face and a nicely rounded figure, dark curling hair, and the expression in her brown eyes was the very same that Kathy saw when she looked in the mirror. Barbara looked relaxed and happy; and Kathy felt, again, a momentary sadness. Why did it have to happen like this, only a year too late?

O
ver in Vermont the Castillo family agreed that the wrong that had been done to Katherine all those years ago must be put right, or as right as they could possibly make it. Anne-Marie was to be married in early August. What a splendid idea it would be if Katherine and her husband and children were to be there as well.

The invitation arrived in the February of 1974, and Kathy and Tim wasted no time in making all the necessary arrangements. Sarah and Chris were thrilled at the prospect of flying in an aeroplane all the way to America, but no more so than their parents; it would be their first flight as well.

There was all the excitement of getting passports, visas, and buying new clothes and suitcases, before they boarded the aeroplane at Manchester airport one early afternoon in August.
They touched down in Boston some seven hours later. It was evening now by their reckoning, but it was still afternoon in the USA. It was certainly going to be a long day ahead of them!

No one was sleepy, though, with the myriad sounds and sights and impressions that followed one another in quick succession. They had no difficulty in finding Nat or, rather, he found them. He hugged Kathy, making her feel at home right away, and shook hands with Tim and the children. Then they were all bundled into his Cadillac and were soon on their way along the wide straight highways leading north.

They travelled at a speed they had never experienced before, but were not scared because the roads, though busy, did not appear so, and the traffic was well controlled. Back home in England the motorways were starting to be congested at busy times, with aggravating hold-ups and traffic jams. But there was so much more space over here, Kathy mused, as they travelled mile after mile through scenery that became more beautiful – with mountains, river valleys, and great stretches of verdant trees and pasture land – as they went northwards.

The Castillo family home, where only Nat resided now, along with his live-in employees, was a comfortable, homely hotel, now partially converted to a motel. It was very different from
Holmleigh, the hotel-cum-boarding house where Kathy had lived as a child. There was plenty of room for the Fielding family, especially as Nat had restricted the number of guests staying there in the weeks leading up to and following Anne-Marie’s wedding.

The following day Kathy and her family had the pleasure of meeting some of the members of Nat’s large family – his brother and sister, and just a few of their six sons and daughters; and there were numerous grandchildren who would all be present at the wedding. Nat’s mother and father – Mom and Pop – now well into their eighties but still spry both in body and in mind. They told Kathy how much they had loved Barbara and how her death had saddened them.

‘But now you’re here with us, my dear,’ said the old man. ‘We couldn’t be more delighted to see you and your family. Gee! It’s almost like having Barbara back with us, isn’t it, Martha?’

The dear, old, rosy-cheeked lady nodded and smiled. She hugged Kathy. ‘Yes, it sure is wonderful,’ she said. ‘And you’ve brought a smile back to our Nat’s face, honey!’

Then there were her half-siblings: Beverley, her husband Greg and their five-year-old son, Freddie. Beverley was the young woman whom Kathy had spoken to on the phone – they had conversed again since that first call – and she proved to be
just as friendly and welcoming as her voice had suggested she would be. It was Beverley who spoke out loud what was in all their minds.

‘You’re more like Mom than any of us,’ she said, ‘and we sure are glad to meet you at last.’ The two half-sisters, less than two years apart in age, hugged one another without any restraint, just a real feeling of sisterhood. They knew at once that the two of them, possibly even more so than the rest of the family, would become firm friends.

There was Carl too, with his wife Donna, and their cute little two-year-old Patsy-Lou; and Anne-Marie with her ruggedly handsome fiancé, Bruce, who would be married in a few days’ time.

The wedding took place at a typical New England church, a white wooden building with a tall spire, on top of a hill and surrounded by maple trees. The church was almost full with the many wedding guests – countless numbers of relatives of both the bride and groom as well as numerous friends – and other well-wishers too, who had come along to share in the joy of the popular young couple.

The reception afterwards was held at the family hotel, an informal affair where Kathy and Tim and their children had the pleasure of meeting their many new relatives, and friends of the family too, who had heard of the daughter back in England.

Anne-Marie and Bruce had planned a honeymoon in San Francisco, far away on the west coast of the USA. They were to set off on the long journey later that evening; but before that, as Anne-Marie told Kathy, there was something that she wanted to do.

They left their children behind in the care of the many relatives, then Nat and his three children and their spouses, with Kathy and Tim, made their way, in two cars, back to the same church on the hill.

Barbara’s grave was in a secluded spot at the edge of the cemetery, beneath an overhanging willow tree. There were flowers in the glowing colours of late summer – red roses, yellow and orange dahlias and early flowering chrysanths – in a large earthenware vase. They looked fresh and vibrant, and Kathy guessed that Nat renewed them frequently.

The family group stood in silence as Anne-Marie placed her wedding bouquet of white roses next to the vase of flowers. ‘God bless you, Mom,’ she said quietly. It was Anne-Marie’s day and she wanted her beloved mother to be a part of it.

Kathy read the gold lettering on the black marble headstone.

‘Barbara Jane Castillo, 1920–1973. Beloved wife of Nat and dearest mother of Beverley, Carl and Anne-Marie.’ And below, in brighter letters
that must have been added fairly recently, ‘And mother of Katherine, in England.’

Kathy’s eyes misted with tears. ‘Thank you, thank you …’ she whispered. ‘That is … so lovely.’ Beverley, standing next to her, took hold of her hand and they smiled at one another.

Kathy’s heart was too full for words. She felt very close to the mother she had never known. She knew that not meeting Barbara was something she would always regret. But now she had found two sisters and a brother … and England and the USA were not all that far apart.

T
he question I am most frequently asked as a novelist is ‘Where do you get your ideas?' It is not easy to answer. Sometimes they just happen, but more often they arise from an incident in my own life or in that of a member of my family or a friend. In this novel it was an incident in the life of my sister-in-law, Linda, that gave me the initial idea, and I thank her for that.

The story, however, is a work of fiction, and all the characters and happenings therein exist only in my mind.

I decided to set this book in my hometown of Blackpool, as I did with my earlier books. The setting of Blackpool is, of course, real, and the boarding house where the Leigh family live resembles the one in North Shore where I was born and lived as a child.

The childhood memories are mine, as are the recollections of the day to day life of a primary school, experienced during my time as a teacher of infant and junior school children.

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M
ARGARET
T
HORNTON
was born in Blackpool and has lived there all her life. She was a teacher for many years but retired early in order to concentrate on writing. She has had twenty novels published.

Above the Bright Blue Sky

Down an English Lane

A True Love of Mine

Remember Me

Until We Meet Again

Time Goes By