I asked Daniel to explain what he meant, but he said he would only discuss it in person. I told him that he had already promised to come to our house and had broken that promise. If he wanted us to trust him, he would have to give us something more than warnings.
“Margaret isn't who you think she is,” he said.
“You've told me almost nothing about her. How am I supposed to know what to think?”
He fell silent.
“Did she take Emily away?” I asked.
“No.”
“Did she arrange for Emily to live with another family?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me why you say she made sure Emily never came back.”
“Because she believed she was doing the right thing. And she may have been. But that doesn't mean she told us everything.”
I pressed him for more, but he refused. He said he would call again the next morning and ended the conversation.
Sarah had listened from the doorway. When I put down the telephone, she looked as though she had aged several years.
“Margaret was kind,” she said. “She cared about Emily.”
“People can care about someone and still make a decision that hurts them.”
“I know.”
“Do you think Daniel is telling the truth?”
“I think he believes what he's saying. That isn't always the same thing.”
We decided to visit the address the woman had given me. I did not tell Daniel where we were going. I also left the photographs at home, taking only copies of the notes and the address from Michael's desk.
The following morning, we drove through a quiet neighborhood lined with small houses and mature trees. The address led us to a pale green bungalow with a narrow front porch. A wind chime hung beside the door, and several flowerpots stood empty beneath the windows.
I rang the bell.
No one answered.
I waited, then rang again. As I stepped back, I noticed a curtain move in the front window. A moment later, the door opened a few inches.
A woman in her late sixties looked out at us. Her hair was silver, cut short around her ears, and she wore a cardigan fastened with mismatched buttons.
“Are you Sarah?” she asked.
Sarah nodded.
The woman opened the door wider but did not invite us inside immediately. She studied Sarah's face with an expression that seemed to contain recognition, resentment, and relief all at once.
“You took your time,” she said.
Sarah looked startled.
“I didn't know you were here.”
“No. You didn't know a great many things.”
The woman stepped aside.
Her name was Ruth, not Margaret. She explained that Margaret had been her older sister, and that she had used Ruth's telephone number because she no longer wanted unexpected callers reaching her own home.
“Margaret is alive,” Ruth said as we sat in her kitchen. “But she won't speak to anyone connected to Michael's family.”
“Why did you agree to speak with us?” I asked.
“Because I heard that someone had started looking for the photographs again. And because Sarah deserves to know what her choices cost.”
Sarah sat very still.
“Where is Margaret?”
Ruth poured tea into three cups before answering.
“She lives in a small town near the coast. She moved there after the clinic closed. She hasn't spoken to Daniel in years.”
“Why not?”
“Because he accused her of betraying Emily.”
Sarah looked at me, then back at Ruth.
“What did she do?”
Ruth placed the teapot on the table.
“Margaret arranged Emily's placement with a family who wanted to adopt her. She believed the child would be safer away from Michael's relatives. Daniel agreed at first, but later he wanted to reverse the arrangement.”
“Why?” I asked.
“He believed the family had information about Michael's missing records. He thought keeping Emily close might help him find them.”
I felt anger rise in my chest.
“Was Emily being used to get the documents?”
“I don't know whether Daniel thought of it that way. He believed he was trying to protect her and expose what had happened to Michael. But Margaret thought he was losing sight of the child herself.”
Sarah lowered her eyes.
“Did Emily know about any of this?”
“She was too young to understand the details,” Ruth said. “She knew the adults around her were frightened. She knew people argued about where she should live. She knew some people promised to visit and then disappeared.”
The words struck Sarah harder than any accusation could have.
“Did she ask about me?”
Ruth nodded.
“She asked why you didn't come back. Margaret told her you had moved away and were trying to build a new life. She didn't tell Emily that you were forbidden from contacting her.”
“Forbidden by whom?”
“By no one officially. Margaret believed that contact would draw attention to the family caring for Emily. She thought distance was the safest option.”
Sarah pressed her fingertips against her forehead.
“So she made the decision for me.”
“And for Emily,” Ruth said. “That was what she believed she had to do.”
I asked whether Margaret knew anything about the second copy.
Ruth looked toward the window before answering.
“She knew Michael had left something with someone he trusted. She didn't know exactly what was in it, but she believed it could prove that several people had been moving money through properties owned by his family.”
“Did she have the copy?”
“No.”
“Did she know who did?”
Ruth hesitated.
“She knew the person's name. Michael told her before he died, but he made her promise not to reveal it unless the records were in danger of being destroyed.”
I leaned forward.
“Who was it?”
Ruth shook her head.
“I'm not going to tell you. Margaret has to make that decision.”
“Then why did you ask us to come here?”
“Because I wanted you to understand that the missing photograph isn't the only thing someone has been looking for. There were letters, too. Margaret kept copies of some of them. She believes the person who contacted Sarah is trying to find out whether those letters still exist.”
“Why would they contact Sarah rather than Margaret?”
“Because Sarah was in the photograph. Because she made the promise. And because someone may believe she knows where Michael hid the records.”
Sarah looked at me, her expression full of dread.
“I don't know where they are.”
Ruth's face softened slightly.
“I believe you.”
She stood and walked to a cabinet. From a drawer, she took a small envelope and placed it on the table.
“This was sent to Margaret six months ago. She gave it to me because she didn't know what to do with it.”
I opened the envelope carefully. Inside was a photocopy of a handwritten letter, dated several years after Michael's death.
The message was addressed to Margaret. It said that Emily was doing well, that she had begun school, and that the family caring for her hoped she would grow up without the burden of the past. The writer asked Margaret not to contact them again.
At the bottom was a name.
Emily Ellis.
Sarah stared at it.
“Ellis,” she whispered.
“Was that the surname of the family who adopted her?” I asked.
Ruth nodded.
“They wanted her to have a name that belonged to her new life.”
I read the letter again. It contained no address, only a postmark from a town several hours away. The message had been copied so many times that some of the writing was difficult to make out.
“Does Margaret still have the original?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Would she let us see it?”
“Perhaps. But you need to understand something. Margaret has spent decades believing that she did the right thing. If you arrive demanding answers, she'll shut the door on you.”
Sarah looked at the envelope.
“I don't want to demand anything. I want to know whether Emily is safe.”
Ruth nodded slowly.
“Then tell Margaret that. Don't begin with the records. Begin with the child.”
Before we left, Ruth gave us Margaret's address and a telephone number. She also asked us not to share her involvement with Daniel.
“He will assume I've taken sides,” she said. “I haven't. I'm tired of watching people protect their pride and call it protection.”
I thanked her, and Sarah did the same. As we reached the car, Ruth called after us.
“One more thing.”
We turned.
“If someone comes asking for Michael's records, don't assume they're trying to expose a crime. They may be trying to erase evidence of one.”
The drive back was quiet. Sarah held the photocopy in her lap and traced the name with her finger.
“Emily Ellis,” she said.
“You could still find her.”
“After all this time?”
“It's possible.”
She looked out the window.
“What if she doesn't want to see me?”
“Then you'll have to respect that. But at least you'll know you gave her the choice.”
When we returned home, there was an envelope tucked beneath the front door. It had no stamp, no return address, and no name on the outside.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed a woman standing beside a young man in front of a university building. The woman was in her twenties, with dark hair and a familiar shape to her face. She held a folder beneath one arm and smiled at the camera.
On the back, someone had written two words.
Emily Ellis.
Sarah took the photograph from me with trembling hands.
I looked at the date.
The picture had been taken less than a year ago.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Recent Photograph Proved Emily Was Alive, but the Message on Its Back Suggested Someone Had Found Her First
The Night My Granddaughter Reached for the Telephone and Exposed a Secret Our Family Had Buried for Years
Part 7 of 20
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