In the center of the clearing, an iron fence surrounded a single headstone.
Julia stopped in her tracks and another memory came to her, vague and blurry—her father carrying her into the woods, the two of them planting flowers inside a fence, then picking dandelions and laying them beside a square, gray stone. A hollow draft of dread moved through her bones.
“Who is this?” she said.
Claude said nothing and continued over to the fence. He kicked aside wet leaves and broken branches in front of the gate, lifted the clasp and opened it. The metal hinges screeched in the quiet forest and a rustle sounded nearby as some small creature scurried away. Claude gazed at her, waiting, his eyes tired, his face worn. She swallowed, stepped warily through the gate, and read the simple stone. Above a carved cross, it read:
BELOVED DAUGHTER
Julia blinked back tears and moved closer, trembling fingers over her mouth. Claude followed and stood beside her.
“How did you know she was here?” Julia said.
“I helped your father bury her.”
She drew in a sharp breath. A million questions raced through her mind, but she had to be careful and not push too hard. She needed Claude to tell her everything. “What happened to her?”
“I’ve never told anyone about this. And I’ve had to live with it all these years.”
“Live with what?”
“I was working late that night because a buyer was coming early the next morning and I had to get the horses ready.”
She looked at him. “What night?”
“The night I saw your mother, I mean Mrs. Blackwood, take the girl out of the house.”
The hairs on the back of Julia’s neck stood up. The girl. The feeling that she was about to learn a horrible truth fell over her like an icy shroud. “So my sister got out of the attic. And you knew about her all along. How long was she up there?”
He held up a hand. “Please. Just hear me out. I need to get through this.”
She clenched her jaw and waited.
“It was nearly midnight,” he said. “Mr. Blackwood was out of town, and I was having a quick smoke out on the other side of the barn. Next thing I know, I see Mrs. Blackwood leading the girl across the north pasture into the woods.” He paused to brush a tangle of dead leaves from the top of the gravestone.
“Then what happened?”
“I had no idea what they were up to and I didn’t know what to do. Of course, looking back, I should have done something. But at the time . . .” He scrubbed a hand over his forehead. “After a while, I saw Mrs. Blackwood come out of the woods alone.”
Goose bumps broke out on Julia’s arms. What on earth had Mother done?
“The next day Mr. Blackwood told me his daughter passed,” he continued. “I swear that was the first time he mentioned her to me. Up until then, I thought she was stillborn like they said.” His eyes grew glassy.
“Oh my God,” Julia breathed. She gaped at the tombstone and ground. Was this where her sister died after being locked up in the attic? Were they standing on the very spot she was murdered? She put a hand on her chest. It felt like the air was being pulled from her lungs.
“After he told me she was dead, I didn’t know what to do. I kept thinking I should have done something, anything to stop Mrs. Blackwood from doing whatever she’d done. I called in sick for two days because I couldn’t face them. I didn’t know if I should call the police or . . .” He hesitated as if searching for the right words, then looked at her with desperate eyes. “You have to understand, I had a wife and son to take care of and jobs were scarce back then. And God help me, I told myself there was nothing I could do at that point. What was done was done. Losing my job wasn’t going to bring that little girl back. So I went back to work and kept my mouth shut. That’s when Mr. Blackstone started drinking.”
The ground seemed to tilt beneath Julia’s feet. “Are you saying my mother . . . my mother . . .” She couldn’t finish.
He shook his head. “No, no. That’s not what I’m saying. I’ve had a lot of years to mull this over, and I think I figured out what happened. A circus was leasing land on the other side of the tree line, over past the north pasture. After they pulled out the next day, that’s when Mr. Blackstone told me his daughter was gone.”
She gaped at Claude, a confusing mixture of relief and disgust and adrenaline rushing through her. Relief because Mother wasn’t a murderer, disgust and adrenaline because she knew what was coming next. “Are you saying my mother gave my sister to the circus?”
He shook his head again. “No, I think she sold her to the circus.”
Julia’s heartbeat picked up speed. She was right. Lilly was her sister, not her father’s mistress. That was why he saved the circus posters and tickets. That was why he clipped those articles. Still, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Questions popped into her head faster than she could process them.
“But why? To get rid of her? It’s not like they needed the money.”
“I’m not entirely sure. But you have to remember it was the early thirties, during the Depression. The Blackwoods were struggling like everyone else, not horribly by any means, but they were still struggling.”
“I don’t care! That’s no excuse for—”
“Just hear me out, will you?”
She bit her lip, sorrow and anger like a growing mass inside her chest. No wonder her father and mother needed God’s forgiveness. She thought she might scream before Claude told her the rest.
“About a week after the girl disappeared,” he said, “the Blackwoods bought Blue Venture, the horse that came in second at that year’s Belmont Stakes and Kentucky Derby. After that, this farm really started raking in money. The Blackwoods hired a trainer, won a few races, then put Blue Venture up for stud. That horse saved Blackwood Farm. And buying him was Mrs. Blackwood’s idea.”
“Are you telling me my mother used the money to buy a horse?”
“I believe so.”
Julia closed her eyes for a moment to let it sink in. How could anyone be so heartless? Keeping your daughter locked in the attic was horrific enough, but selling her to the circus was disgusting and sick. She looked at Claude.
“How old was my sister when Mother sold her?”
“Must have been about nine or ten, I’m not completely sure.”
“Jesus,” she said. “She locked her daughter in the attic for ten years, then sold her to a circus? What kind of monster was my mother anyway?”
Claude looked away, a dark shadow passing over his face. He scrubbed a hand over his forehead again and sighed loudly, as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. Then he gazed at her with troubled eyes. “There’s something else.”
She steeled herself. She wasn’t sure she could take much more. “What?”
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Mrs. Blackwood wasn’t your mother. This is your mother, right here in this grave.”