Catching the Wind(43)

The man beside her opened the door. “Willkommen zu Hause.”

Welcome home.

Frau Terrell began to cry.





CHAPTER 26





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On Friday morning Quenby packed a bag and took a direct train south to Newhaven. By early afternoon, she found herself in the hills overlooking the River Ouse. The wide river flowed through town, severing it into two pieces, and she could see the long breakwater that stretched out into the English Channel.

After securing a room and her luggage at a local inn, Quenby located Newhaven Library. The reference section contained a collection of ordnance maps, and she searched through the decades of maps until she found Kelmore Street listed on one from the 1940s. The short road was once north of the library, near the River Ouse.

The map in hand, she greeted the librarian at the reference desk—a woman named Annie—then pointed at the laminated paper. “I’m looking for this street.”

Annie lifted the horn-rimmed glasses dangling around her neck and studied it. “The Kelmore family used to own all that property.”

“Who owns it now?” she asked.

“It’s woodland.”

“Public woodland?”

“I believe so, though . . .” Annie examined the map again. “It looks like that road backed up to the Logans’ farm.”

Quenby snapped a picture of the map on her phone. “How far away is the farm?”

“About three or four miles north on Lewes Road.”

“Walkable miles?”

“If you like to play chicken with the traffic.” The librarian handed her a card. “Better off to ring for a cab.”

“Thank you.” She slid the card into her backpack. “Is there a mill near the river?”

Annie pointed to a blue stripe on the map, on the opposite side of the woodland. “Some of the buildings from Camford Mill are still there, but the operations closed down about a century ago.”

Quenby stepped out of the library and glanced at the time. There were still several hours of daylight. If she didn’t find Kelmore Street tonight, she would set out again to search in the morning.

The cab drove her north on Lewes Road and turned right, into the farm. No one answered her knock at the farmhouse, but a public footpath led through an empty field behind it. Quenby slipped through the turnstile and crossed the muddy land.

She clicked on the picture of the map, but when she enlarged it, trying to determine if the old road was north or south, it was impossible to figure out the direction without any sort of landmark. So she opted to hike east toward the river.

According to Google Maps, there were acres and acres of forest on the other side of the field. And somewhere in those trees was her street.

What an odd place for Olivia to relocate during the war, so close to the English Channel, while Germany was dropping bombs along the coast. Was she desperate for some reason to get away from Breydon Court? Or did she relocate here for work?

She could understand Olivia wanting to leave Lady Ricker’s employment, especially if she discovered her boss was helping the enemy, but if she wanted to leave, why would she give her new address to Lady Ricker? It seemed the women continued some sort of relationship through their correspondence.

Mrs. Douglas had said her mother didn’t believe Mr. Terrell when he’d claimed ignorance as to Olivia’s whereabouts. Had he joined his wife here later? Perhaps this was the only place they could find—or afford—to live after the war.

Mrs. Douglas hadn’t mentioned the Terrells having biological children. Perhaps Brigitte and Olivia grew close during their time here, isolated from the rest of the world. If she could find out what happened to Olivia, she might find Brigitte as well.

Quenby stopped at the edge of the trees. The official footpath meandered north, skirting the forest, and several overgrown paths snaked back into the woodland. Perhaps one of them had once been a road, but it was impossible to say.

Taking a deep breath, she chose one of the paths leading east, into the forest. Mud clung to her shoes. Branches scratched her face. And the worn footpath vanished under all the weeds.

Even if she found the house, she couldn’t imagine there would be much of it left under this mess. The forest had probably devoured the dwelling and any hint of Brigitte or the Terrells.

Her mobile phone slipped out of service, leaving her with the picture of the useless ordnance map. She was all turned around now in this maze of shadows and trees. Was she walking toward the river or away from it?

Something rustled in the brush, and Quenby stopped. When she ran the trails at Hampstead Heath, there were always people near, swimming in the ponds or hiking through the forest. Here she wasn’t certain she wanted to find another person. And certainly not an animal.

She didn’t like being out in the wilderness by herself. Hated it, really, this feeling of isolation and vulnerability. The unknown. It reminded her too much of that day she’d spent a lifetime trying to forget.

The sun began to settle behind the trees, and her head began to spin as she lost herself inside her fears. Almost like being trapped on the Dumbo ride when your mom walked away.

It had been the happiest day of her life, back when she was seven. In the happiest place on earth. As she flew through the sky, ribbed with clouds, she thought she was the happiest kid on earth too.