I didn't sleep much that night.
Thomas's voice kept returning to me, especially the way he had asked about the blue ledger before answering my questions. He sounded neither frightened nor eager to meet us. He sounded like someone who had spent years preparing for a conversation and had finally decided there was no point in postponing it.
At seven the next morning, I went downstairs and found my mother sitting at the kitchen table. She had made coffee but hadn't touched it. Beside her lay the photograph of Evelyn and the boy, which I had left in the folder the previous evening.
She looked up as I entered.
“You found him,” she said.
I stopped beside the table.
“How do you know?”
“Because you have the same expression your father had when he discovered something he couldn't explain away.”
I pulled out a chair.
“Thomas called me last night.”
My mother's hands tightened around the mug.
“Did he tell you where he was?”
“He agreed to meet us at Northfield.”
She closed her eyes.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke. I had expected relief, perhaps even disbelief. Instead, she looked as though a door she had kept shut for thirty years had suddenly opened without her permission.
“Did he ask about the ledger?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
My mother nodded, almost to herself.
“Then he knows more than I thought.”
“What does he know?”
“I don't know, Mara. I only know what your father told me.”
“And what was that?”
She stared into her coffee.
“That Thomas would eventually come looking for the truth. Robert said that if he did, I should not try to stop him.”
I leaned forward.
“Why did you tell me not to look for him?”
“Because Robert also said that the truth could hurt people who had done nothing wrong.”
“That doesn't give you the right to decide what we can handle.”
“No,” she said quietly. “It doesn't.”
Her admission caught me off guard. For once, she wasn't trying to defend herself. She looked tired, and I could see how much the years of withholding information had cost her.
“Did Dad ever tell you whether Evelyn was alive?”
My mother shook her head.
“Not directly. But shortly before he died, he received a letter. After reading it, he went into his study and stayed there for hours. When he came out, he told me that the past had finally caught up with him.”
“What did the letter say?”
“I never saw it.”
“Where is it now?”
“I don't know.”
I thought of the hidden compartment in the storage room, the missing pages from the notebook, and the repeated references to June. It seemed my father had left us a trail of partial answers, each one ending just before the truth.
“I'm going to meet Thomas,” I said. “Daniel is coming with me.”
My mother looked toward the stairs.
“What about Lily?”
“Our neighbor will stay with her. We won't leave her alone.”
“Good.”
I waited for my mother to ask me not to go. Instead, she reached across the table and took my hand.
“If Thomas tells you that Robert did something terrible, listen to him before you defend your father.”
The words stung.
“I don't intend to defend anyone until I know what happened.”
She nodded, but her eyes filled with tears.
“That's what I should have done thirty years ago.”
Daniel arrived shortly before nine. He had brought a small recorder, a notebook, and copies of the documents from the archive. He wanted to record our meeting, although he agreed that we would ask Thomas's permission before doing so.
We drove north under a pale sky. The old Northfield schoolhouse had been converted into a community building after the residential program closed. Thomas had chosen to meet us in the parking area behind it, away from the main road.
When we arrived, a man was standing beside a silver sedan.
He wore a dark jacket and held a folded newspaper beneath one arm. His hair had begun to gray at the temples, and a thin scar crossed his left eyebrow.
I recognized the scar from my mother's description of the boy she had seen decades earlier.
Thomas watched us approach.
“Which one of you is Mara?” he asked.
“I am.”
He studied my face for several seconds.
“You look like him.”
“Like my father?”
“Yes.”
His voice carried no warmth or hostility. He sounded as though he were making an observation he had waited years to make.
Daniel introduced himself, and Thomas shook his hand. Then he led us into the building, where a caretaker had unlocked a small meeting room for him.
The room contained a table, four chairs, and a window overlooking the overgrown grounds. A faded sign on the wall still displayed the school's former name.
Thomas sat opposite us.
“Before we begin,” he said, “I need to know whether you found the blue ledger.”
“No,” I replied. “We found references to it in my father's notebook and in letters connected to Arthur Bell. We also found evidence that someone has been accessing records under my name.”
Thomas nodded.
“Then the ledger may still be where it was left.”
“Where?”
He looked toward the window.
“Your father told me it was hidden somewhere nobody would think to look. He said the location was connected to a promise he had made to my mother.”
“Did he tell you where she was?”
Thomas's expression changed.
“No.”
“Did you ever see her again?”
He lowered his eyes.
“Not after I was taken away from Northfield.”
I felt a sharp ache of sympathy, but I resisted the urge to reassure him. He deserved the truth more than he needed comfort from a stranger.
“Why did my father take you away?” I asked.
Thomas folded his hands.
“Because I had discovered that the letters from my mother were being intercepted. Michael helped me find out. We learned that someone had been opening the correspondence before it reached the school, and several letters had disappeared completely.”
“Who was doing it?”
“I don't know. But I believed your father knew more than he admitted.”
“Did you confront him?”
“Yes. He told me that the letters were being kept from me for my own protection. I asked him what I needed protection from, and he said that if I continued asking questions, I would lose the chance to see my mother again.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It felt like one.”
Thomas took a folded paper from his pocket and placed it on the table. It was a copy of a letter written in a child's uneven handwriting.
Dear Thomas,
I am still trying to come home. Please be patient. The people helping me say that I must wait until it is safe. I haven't forgotten you.
There was no signature.
I read the words twice.
“Did you believe it was from Evelyn?”
“I wanted to.”
“Was it?”
“I don't know. The handwriting looked similar to hers, but the letter arrived after she had supposedly disappeared. I asked Robert to tell me whether she was alive. He refused.”
Thomas looked directly at me.
“Your father removed me from Northfield the next morning. He said he was taking me somewhere safe. I asked whether Michael could come with us, and he said no. I never saw Michael again.”
I thought of the school notebook, where Michael had argued that Thomas had a right to know the truth.
“Did you ever find out what happened to him?”
“No. I searched for him years later, but his records were difficult to trace. Someone had changed his address, and the property company connected to his family had been dissolved.”
“The same company we found in the records,” Daniel said.
Thomas nodded.
“Michael believed Arthur Bell had been involved in hiding the ledger. He thought the book contained evidence that could explain why Evelyn had disappeared.”
“Did he ever tell you what was in it?”
“Names, payments, property transfers. I was too young to understand the details. But I remember him saying that people had been losing their homes because of false documents and secret agreements.”
I thought of my father's letter, in which he had warned me not to accept the first explanation I heard about his absence.
“Thomas, do you believe my father was responsible for your mother's disappearance?”
He didn't answer immediately.
“I believed that for years. I still don't know what to think. He took me away without explaining why. He allowed me to believe my mother had abandoned me. And when I asked for the truth, he told me that the people who could answer were no longer reachable.”
He paused.
“But he also paid for my education, arranged work for me when I was older, and made sure I had somewhere to live. I received money anonymously for years. I assumed it came from him.”
My chest tightened.
My father had helped Thomas, but he had also denied him the answers he needed.
“Why did you contact us now?” I asked.
Thomas reached into his jacket and took out a small envelope.
“Because six months ago, someone sent me a photograph of your house. Beneath it was a message telling me that the Ellis family had found the key.”
He placed the envelope on the table.
“I thought it might be a trap. Then I heard that someone had reopened the storage locker and searched the Northfield records under your name. I realized someone was trying to make you follow the same trail I had followed.”
“What do they want?” Daniel asked.
Thomas looked at him.
“They want the ledger destroyed. Or they want us to believe it no longer exists.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph of the old schoolhouse, taken from across the grounds. On the back, in unfamiliar handwriting, were the words:
June was only the beginning.
I looked up at Thomas.
He had gone pale.
“Where did you get this?” I asked.
“It arrived three days ago.”
“Do you know what it means?”
Thomas shook his head.
“No. But I think your father did.”
He stood and walked to the window.
“There is something else you should know. The last time I spoke to Robert, he told me that if I ever found the ledger, I must read the final page before reading anything else.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed the last page would explain who had been controlling the information from the beginning.”
Thomas turned back toward us.
“And he said that the person responsible might be someone we trusted.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: Thomas Gave Us the Location of a Hidden Box, but the First Document Inside Suggested My Father Had Been Protecting the Wrong Person
The Moment My Daughter Began Crying, I Realized There Was Something She Had Been Afraid to Tell Me
Part 14 of 26
