She clicked on the picture of the map, but when she enlarged it, trying to determine if the old road was north or south, it was impossible to figure out the direction without any sort of landmark. So she opted to hike east toward the river.
According to Google Maps, there were acres and acres of forest on the other side of the field. And somewhere in those trees was her street.
What an odd place for Olivia to relocate during the war, so close to the English Channel, while Germany was dropping bombs along the coast. Was she desperate for some reason to get away from Breydon Court? Or did she relocate here for work?
She could understand Olivia wanting to leave Lady Ricker’s employment, especially if she discovered her boss was helping the enemy, but if she wanted to leave, why would she give her new address to Lady Ricker? It seemed the women continued some sort of relationship through their correspondence.
Mrs. Douglas had said her mother didn’t believe Mr. Terrell when he’d claimed ignorance as to Olivia’s whereabouts. Had he joined his wife here later? Perhaps this was the only place they could find—or afford—to live after the war.
Mrs. Douglas hadn’t mentioned the Terrells having biological children. Perhaps Brigitte and Olivia grew close during their time here, isolated from the rest of the world. If she could find out what happened to Olivia, she might find Brigitte as well.
Quenby stopped at the edge of the trees. The official footpath meandered north, skirting the forest, and several overgrown paths snaked back into the woodland. Perhaps one of them had once been a road, but it was impossible to say.
Taking a deep breath, she chose one of the paths leading east, into the forest. Mud clung to her shoes. Branches scratched her face. And the worn footpath vanished under all the weeds.
Even if she found the house, she couldn’t imagine there would be much of it left under this mess. The forest had probably devoured the dwelling and any hint of Brigitte or the Terrells.
Her mobile phone slipped out of service, leaving her with the picture of the useless ordnance map. She was all turned around now in this maze of shadows and trees. Was she walking toward the river or away from it?
Something rustled in the brush, and Quenby stopped. When she ran the trails at Hampstead Heath, there were always people near, swimming in the ponds or hiking through the forest. Here she wasn’t certain she wanted to find another person. And certainly not an animal.
She didn’t like being out in the wilderness by herself. Hated it, really, this feeling of isolation and vulnerability. The unknown. It reminded her too much of that day she’d spent a lifetime trying to forget.
The sun began to settle behind the trees, and her head began to spin as she lost herself inside her fears. Almost like being trapped on the Dumbo ride when your mom walked away.
It had been the happiest day of her life, back when she was seven. In the happiest place on earth. As she flew through the sky, ribbed with clouds, she thought she was the happiest kid on earth too.
None of her friends had flown on an elephant. Or eaten chocolate mousse under the Eiffel Tower. Most of her friends had never even been to Florida. But her mom, with all her failings, had brought her there. Just the two of them, to play on their own.
She had waved at her mom again as her elephant, strewn with candied pink, circled the carousel. Up and down. Round and round. On the other side of the black fence, her mom waved back. But then, the next time around, she wasn’t there.
Quenby had strained her neck as the elephant flew higher, searching the fence for her mother’s face. The line for the vendor on the sidewalk. And fear had sparked through her, long before she got off the ride. Her mom liked to play, but like a magician, she was also good at disappearing.
The elephant landed with a thud, and Quenby jumped from her seat, circling the fence on the ground this time. Shouting for her mom to stop hiding. This wasn’t fun anymore.
A security guard had found Quenby, hours later, balled up in the passage under Cinderella’s castle. She never saw her mom again, and in the years that followed, she doubted anyone, except her grandmother, who said they cared about her.
It was fascinating, really, in a sad way. Her own mother had left, without a trace, and never returned, while Mr. Knight had been searching to find someone he loved for more than seventy years.
She blinked. It was half past six now, and she wasn’t at Disney World. Her aloneness wasn’t because someone had left her. Still, she didn’t want to find herself lost in the maze of trees after the sun disappeared. She’d have to search for the Mill House again tomorrow.