CHAPTER 9: The Harbor of Memories
The autumn rain in Maine was cold and unrelenting.
Clara stood on the rocky cliffside overlooking the small harbor where she had spent her early childhood. Arthur stood a few paces behind her, holding a black umbrella over them both.
They had returned not to hide, but to visit Eleanor’s modest grave overlooking the gray sea. Clara placed a small bouquet of freshly picked white daisies beside the simple stone marker that read: *Eleanor Vance — A Soul of Light and Grace.*
“Mom,” Clara whispered to the wind, “we did what you asked. The children’s hospital in Boston is opening its free clinic next month. No one will ever be turned away again.”
As they walked down the winding coastal path toward the village church, Arthur’s phone rang. It was the estate security team from New York.
“Arthur,” the voice on the line was urgent. “Victoria and Marcus Cole checked out of Manhattan. Our surveillance tracked their rental car heading north on Interstate 95 toward Maine.”
Arthur’s face hardened. “Why would they come here?”
May you like
Clara looked toward the steeple of St. Peter’s Parish down the lane. “The parish archives. Father Thomas holds my baptismal and birth records. If she burns them, she thinks she can erase me.”
---
