Chapter 13 - THE DAUGHTER BEFORE US
I had believed Brenda was my father's eldest child.
Now a dead woman's journal suggested otherwise.
The name Eleanor Whitmore appeared on a birth record from a different state.
The mother was listed as Helen Mercer.
The father field was blank.
That record did not establish who Eleanor's father was.
It did establish that she existed.
Mara urged caution.
“People can write speculation in journals,” she said.
“We need independent records.”
We also needed to respect Eleanor's privacy if she was still alive.
But the implications were difficult to ignore.
Margaret's trust referred to descendants in language broad enough to include children outside the marriage.
If Charles had concealed an heir, the transactions might be more complicated than anyone thought.
I wanted no part of humiliating a stranger to expose my father.
Our attorney sought records lawfully and left personal contact to a professional investigator.
Meanwhile Toby returned to school for half days.
The teacher welcomed him with a handmade paper bridge across the classroom door.
Other children signed it with cheerful messages.
He came home exhausted and proud.
“Everybody helped me carry my books,” he said.
“That sounds like a good day.”
“Except one kid asked why Chloe hates me.”
I sat beside him.
“What did you say?”
“I said I don't know.”
“That was a good answer.”
He picked at the edge of his cast.
“Maybe if I'd moved my pencils faster—”
I stopped him gently.
“No.”
“But—”
“Chloe was responsible for how she treated you.”
He nodded, though I could see the question was not gone.
That evening the investigator found Eleanor.
She was forty-nine and lived near the coast.
She had spent years working as a paramedic.
She did not want money from my family.
When she heard my name, however, she became very quiet.
Then she said she had met me once.
“When?” Mara asked.
Eleanor answered with a date.
May you like
It was the day my son was born.
