MacKlenna Farm, July 2012
KIT OPENED THE letter from the Bank of San
Francisco and began to read:
Dear Ms. MacKlenna,
The Bank of San Francisco has been holding the
attached letter for Kitherina MacKlenna Montgomery since September 1852. There
were no instructions other than to deliver the letter to this address this
year.
Although we have no information about its
origination, we will be glad to discuss its discovery with you at your
convenience.
Sincerely,
Philip Nelson
President, Bank of San Francisco
She jumped to her feet and
paced. A letter had survived all these years in a bank vault. Sarah would call
its survival a miracle. Kit patted her baby bump. Miracles do happen.
Using a letter opener
she picked up off the coffee table, she eased the blade through the sealed
envelope’s seam, then carefully removed two sheets of folded paper. She prayed
the missive wouldn’t be as transforming as her father’s letter had been month’s
earlier.
September 5, 1852
My Dearest Kitherina,
Five days ago, a special courier delivered your
traveling trunk containing a most unusual collection. Rest well knowing I will
protect your supplies until we next meet, for I am certain we will.
The courier also delivered the news of your
departure and Cullen’s disappearance. I, of course, feel personally responsible
for both. I deeply regret abandoning the wagon train and allowing you and
Cullen to come to such great harm. The discovery that Cullen survived his
near-death experience does partially assuage my guilt.
Tears rushed to her
eyes. My God. He’s alive. She wrapped
her arms around her belly and wept. “Your father’s alive.” Tears turned to sobs
as the pain of losing her husband collided with the pain of not being there
when he returned. The sobs turned to sniffles, bringing a hunger for the rest
of Braham’s news.
For you see, he was the courier who delivered
your possessions into my safekeeping as you directed. I was delighted to see
him, unaware that he carried such dreadful news.
You are probably wondering what transpired
during his absence. He was unable to explain, as he has no memory of what
occurred on the cliff or how he survived a fall from such a great height. He
only remembers climbing out of the water and drifting between two worlds for
three excruciating days, before later arriving at the wagon train after your
departure.
He suffers from severe headaches, dizziness, and
blurred vision, most likely from hitting his head when he fell.
She wanted to shoot Cullen
for his stupidity, then hug him for his tenacity. Lord, her emotions were
scattered shotgun pellets. With an exasperated sigh, she continued reading.
Fortunately, these ailments are not totally
incapacitating, but he has ventured upon a quest detrimental to his full
recovery. Reasoning with him, as you well know, is utterly impossible once he
sets his mind on a particular course. I write that piece of tittle-tattle in
confidence, my dear, as he would profess to reasonableness at all times.
It came to him in a moment of absolute despair
that while in his ghostly form he assisted in the selection of Thomas
MacKlenna’s final resting place. Cullen has always taken his obligations quite
seriously and has placed himself upon a monumental task, believing there is
more to your vision than simply marking snow-covered ground with a shovel. It
is his belief he will discover a way to communicate with you once he arrives at
MacKlenna Farm.
Kit walked back to sofa
and sat, rubbing her belly. “Cullen, don’t. You’re not well for God’s sake.”
How in the world could he travel cross-country in his condition? Had he lost
his ever-loving mind? Maybe Braham talked him out of traveling. Anxious for the
rest of the story, she continued reading.
I, on the other hand, have chosen letter writing
as my form of communication, as there have been no reported appearances of my
doppelganger. The capricious hand of fate will ultimately decide which of us
has set himself upon a fool’s mission.
So, my dear Kitherina, it is our deepest desire
to see you once again. Please, with haste, return to us.
Your loyal and devoted friend,
Michael Abraham McCabe
Return? Of course, she’d
return. But to where? And what did this mean a century and a half later? What
had happened to Cullen? Had he made it to the farm? Yes, he had made it, and
that’s why he’d been haunting her for all these years.
“Kit? Where are you?”
Elliott called from the hallway.
“In here.”
He stopped in the
doorway, bracing his hands on either side of the frame. “I know it’s cliché,
but you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I have, and now I know
why.” She patted the sofa cushion beside her. “You’d better sit.”
“Don’t keep me in
suspense. Spit it out.”
She handed him the
letter. “Cullen’s alive.”
He took the yellowed
paper. “Unless he found a way to jump through that frigging time warp, I’d say
that’s highly unlikely.”
“Why do you have to be
so pragmatic?”
“My nature, I reckon.”
He read the letter and then walked to the wet bar. “It’s five o’clock
somewhere, right?” He poured a double.
“I shouldn’t have come
home.”
“You did what you had to
do.” He knocked back his drink.
She said nothing, gazing
at her feet propped up on the table. Her index finger gently tapped her chin.
“You’re going back
aren’t you?”
“How could I not? Every
breath I take has a catch in it as if Cullen has hold of my heart.”
Elliott dropped the
letter on the coffee table and crossed the room to the built-in bookcase. “Several
years ago, Sean asked me to give you something.” He pulled a handful of books
from the second shelf and pressed a lever. A small door in the back wall slid
open. He removed an envelope and handed it to her. “He wanted you to have this
if you ever decided to leave the farm.”
“I knew you were keeping
something else from me.”
“Did you have an itch
about it?”
“Yes, and I’ve been
scratching it so long I’ve drawn blood.” She pointed toward the bookcase. “I
never knew that compartment was there.”
“Sean discovered it when
the roof leaked and the workers emptied the bookcase to make repairs.”
She ran the envelope
back and forth between her fingers. “Do you know what this is about? I’m not
sure I can handle any more surprises today.”
“Sean didn’t tell me.”
Her eyebrow arched. “And
you didn’t ask?”
Elliott returned to the
sofa. “Let’s just say I intuited he didn’t need me to know.”
She ripped open the
envelope and read aloud.
Dear Kitherina,
Elliott’s instructions are to give you this
letter if you ever decide to leave the farm permanently. There is only one
reason for you to do that. You have decided to return to the past. Either you
have found your birth family, or you have found someone to share your life and
that person prefers not to live in your time.
I wholeheartedly support your decision, and I
have laid the groundwork for you to “vanish” to the MacKlenna estate in the
Highlands. The estate, as you know, is very remote and you can announce that
you intend to live in seclusion. No one will ever know you’re not in residence.
At your direction, our attorneys have
instructions to create a revocable trust. In the event you decide to return at
some point in the future, you can sign a revocation and the farm will once
again revert to your control. If you never revoke the trust, then the trust
becomes irrevocable twenty-one years after your “death or disappearance” and
ownership of the farm passes to your heirs. In the event you have no heirs,
ownership will pass to the University of Kentucky.
Your mother and I wish you a long and happy life
wherever you choose to live. We love you,
Dad
She crumpled into
Elliott’s warm embrace, sobbing. “He had my life all figured out and never once
thought he needed to discuss arrangements with me.” Her tears soaked his green
polo shirt. “Why?”
Elliott pressed her head
closer to his chest. “He didn’t want to lose you forever and neither do I.”
“My son deserves to have
his father.”
Elliott tensed against
her. “How soon will you leave?”
“I’d leave today if I
wasn’t at the mercy of attorneys and CPAs.” She wiped her eyes. “I have the
baby to consider, too. It’ll take a few weeks to get everything worked out.”
He snatched a tissue and
blew his nose. “I’ll go with you.”
She shook her head. “Does
that sound practical?”
He walked to the bar and
poured another drink. “Do you think you’ll land in Independence again?”
She scrunched her face,
thinking. “That seems to be the landing spot. I can take a steamboat from there
to Kentucky.”
“What you’re planning is
dangerous.”
“Living is dangerous,
Elliott, regardless of the century.”
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