“My name is Cameron Mackenzie,” said Cameron, “and this is my friend Lori Shepherd. We’re looking for a young woman. Her name is Aubrey Aroha Pym.”
Daniel’s smile faded and he glanced anxiously toward the house. “May I ask why you’re looking for her?”
“I’ve come all the way from England to deliver an important message to her on behalf of some distant relatives,” I explained. “Alison at the Copthorne told us that you might know where she is.”
“You’d better speak with my wife.” Daniel gestured toward the benches surrounding the octagonal table. “Have a seat. I’ll get her.”
Cameron and I chose a bench on the far side of the table, where we had an unimpeded view of the house. Daniel crossed the clearing, climbed the stairs, and went through the front door. Several minutes passed before the door opened again. When it did, I stiffened slightly and gasped in surprise.
The woman who followed Daniel onto the elevated porch was in every respect save one the spitting image of Bree Pym. She had the same petite build, the same heart-shaped face, and the same long, lustrous dark hair, but her eyes were sea green instead of rich brown.
“She was right,” I said under my breath. “Bree was looking for her mother.”
Cameron gave me a questioning look. “She?”
“Never mind,” I muttered. Nothing on God’s green earth could have forced me to admit to Cameron Mackenzie that I had an invisible friend who wrote to me on the pages of a blank journal.
The woman was barefoot and the hem of her colorful cotton dress brushed the grass as she walked toward us. Her sole piece of jewelry was a polished stone pendant similar to the one Toko Baker had worn. She carried herself with great dignity, but her expression was difficult to read.
Cameron and I stood as her husband presented her to us.
“Amanda Rivers,” he said. “My wife.”
“I think our guests would like a cold drink, Daniel,” said Amanda.
When her husband hesitated, she reached out to squeeze his hand, as if to tell him that she would be all right without him. He kissed her forehead and went back into the house.
Amanda motioned for us to be seated and lowered herself gracefully onto the bench opposite ours. She studied us in silence, then asked abruptly, “Did Ed send you?”
My heart plummeted. In the rush of events, I’d forgotten that Nurse Bridgette had been unable to communicate with Edmund Pym’s ex-wife, either before or after his death. I didn’t want to be the bearer of such tragic tidings, but I couldn’t think of any way around it.
“No,” I replied. “Ed didn’t send us. I came to New Zealand on behalf of two Englishwomen named Ruth and Louise Pym. Ruth and Louise are Bree’s great-grandaunts.”
“They’re real,” Amanda said half to herself.
“I beg your pardon? ” I said.
“I thought the English aunts were a fantasy,” she told me. “Ed cursed them sometimes, when he was drunk. I thought he invented them.”
“He didn’t,” I said. “Ruth and Louise Pym are as real as you and me.” I clasped my hands together and leaned forward on the picnic table. “I shouldn’t be the one telling you this, Amanda, but there’s something you need to know.” I took a steadying breath and looked her straight in the eyes. “Edmund Pym passed away yesterday morning.”
Her expression remained impassive as she asked, “Was he alone? ”
“No,” I said. “He was in the hospital. A nurse was with him when he died.”
“He drank himself to death? ” she asked.
I nodded.
“Bree thought he would,” she said. “She told me he went on a bender after A. J. died. She took off because she couldn’t bear to watch her father kill himself.” Amanda lowered her eyes. “I didn’t leave her with him, you know. I left her with her grandparents. They disowned Ed years before he met me, but they welcomed their granddaughter with open arms.” She shook her head. “I thought Bree would be safe with them. I never dreamed that they would take Ed back.”
I glanced uncertainly at Cameron. Amanda’s confession had caught me off guard. The news of Ed’s death had evidently reawakened memories she’d tried to forget.
“Amanda,” I said, “you don’t have to explain yourself to us.”
“I’m not,” she said softly. “I’m trying to remember why I abandoned my child.”
“I’m sure you wanted what was best for her,” said Cameron.
“I did,” said Amanda, still gazing at the table. “Ed didn’t just drink, you know. He gambled, lied, slept around. I waited far too long to divorce him. By the time we split, I was a broken woman. I was certainly an unfit mother.” Amanda closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “Bree’s grandparents made me promise not to contact her after they took her in. I was willing to make the sacrifice because I believed they would raise her properly, send her to a good school, see to it that she had everything I couldn’t give her. I didn’t know that Ed would worm his way back into their good graces.”