The Boaz Stranger–Chapter 37

As promised, the back door was open. I wondered if Kyla’s late ‘need to use your bathroom’ trick was the reason.

I walked into a long narrow den overfilled with furniture.

Lillian followed. “Jane’s parents added the deck and this room when we were in high school.” I couldn’t help but think of Mom and Dad here two years ago.

I walked forward three steps and stopped, resting my hands on the top of a love seat. New Year’s Eve 2018 had been Blaine and Zadie Fordham’s turn. My parents and Jane’s folks had alternated hosting the end-of-year party for countless years. The thought of that happy and lighthearted evening was smothering. “This is like going back in time.”

Lillian stood beside me and rested her hand on mine. “It’s so sad. And to know that Blaine and Zadie would suffer the same fate.” I shook my head sideways and was reminded how unfair life can be. It was nigh unbelievable that the Fordham’s had died in a car accident mid-July 2019 while returning from a week’s vacation in Gulf Shores.

I didn’t need or want to think of death. Plus, Lillian and I had work to do. “Come on, let’s get with it.” I eased through the den, meandering around chairs, tables, and piles of books, magazines and newspapers.

“You’re headed to the kitchen. The bedrooms are this way.” I’d missed the sliding glass door to our right when we’d entered from the deck. Curtains hung from ceiling to floor.

“I want to see the entire house. This way probably ends up in the same spot.”

“Okay.” Lillian said, walking to me and the cased opening leading to the utility room. “Can you imagine living in one spot your entire life?”

“Jane?” I hadn’t thought about it. I knew she had never married, but I’d assumed she had moved back to her home place after her parents died.

“Yes. Jane’s been here for sixty-six years.” Lillian nudged me forward when I looked through a half-glassed door onto a carport.

“That too is sad.” The kitchen was a rectangle about as long as the add-on den but felt wider.

“This room used to be the kitchen and the den.” Lillian pointed to the far end. “During their remodel, they removed this wall.” She pointed as she walked to the other end of the room. “What used to be the living room is now the dining room.” I joined Lillian and saw a large table, a buffet, and a china cabinet. So far, the floors, except for the carpeted den, were cheap linoleum.

“I take it you came here a lot while growing up.” Lillian nodded affirmatively and disappeared into an adjoining hallway.

I almost opened the front door to my left but joined Lillian instead. By now, she was inside a bedroom at the end of the hall. There was a closed door to my left. “This was Blaine and Zadie’s bedroom.”

The room was small, just large enough for a regular size double bed, an upright chest of drawers, and a mismatched dresser with a cracked mirror. I walked inside and to my right, past a small bathroom and a narrow closet with its door wide-open. Nothing but clothes. “I don’t think we’ll find anything here.”

“Two more bedrooms. Come on.” Lillian walked back into the hall and turned right, opening a closed door as she moved forward. I heard the click of a light switch. Before I could exit the master, Lillian semi-yelled: “oh my god.”

I was equally shocked when I arrived. Photographs, large and small, and countless newspapers clippings, filled the back wall. We both eased forward like zombies. The only furniture was a small wooden desk and chair in the middle of the room. Along the walls to the right and left were three-foot-high narrow tables lined with books and supported by heavy angelic-looking bookends. They reminded me of Rachel’s Heavenly figurine collection. “Ray Archer,” I said before I reached the back wall.

It didn’t take Lillian but one visual pass across the huge montage to see something that caught her eye. “Damn, look at this.” I edged her way. “This has to be Ray and Jane at the Valentine’s Dance.” The photo was an eight by ten color photo of a tall, muscular Ray with a solemn face standing beside a skinny girl with a giant smile and heavily make-upped face. I hardly recognized her.

I gazed around the central photo. It was the only one that included Jane. All others were of Ray, including his senior portrait and several feature shots of him playing sports: football, basketball, and baseball. There was one of him standing outside his red Mustang. Newspaper articles encircled the photos. After a cursory glance, I concluded they dealt with Ray’s professional career. Those across the top and down the left side focused on his pharmacy empire, from the first operation on Mill Avenue to the last sale of 232 stores to Walgreen’s in 2015. The articles underneath and to the right concerned Rylan’s. In two of these articles, Jane, someone, highlighted several sentences. I chose not to read.

“God almighty, you got to see this.” Lillian snapped her fingers and head motioned me to her side. During my focus on Ray’s photographs and media coverage, she had slid to the left of the back wall’s central window. I had subconsciously assumed that half-wall contained more of the same. It didn’t.

Like the Valentine’s Dance photo of Ray and Jane, this wall contained a central feature. It was a young girl sitting upright in a metal bed. She was wearing a white tee-shirt or gown and was holding a baby, a very tiny baby. “Who’s that?” I asked, squinting my eyes while moving my head closer to the smaller picture. My conclusion shocked me.

I silently breathed to myself, that’s Rachel, the instant Lillian said, “She never had an abortion.” The words sounded like she spoke to them from a faraway foghorn, distorting enunciation and emphasis. I couldn’t tell if Lillian was making a statement or asking a question.

“Oh my God.” I asked Lillian to read the hand-printed text below the photo since I couldn’t.

“The chosen one. Elita Ann Kern. Born June 1, 1970.” Lillian started counting backwards, “May, April, March, February…” My mind and ears stopped working. It was like someone flipped the switch off. I backed myself to Jane’s desk and sat along the edge. I don’t know how many times Lillian said it, but I finally heard, “Lee, talk to me.”

She walked to me and took my face in her hands. “This is too much.” I’m sure I mumbled.

“It’s too shocking. Now I know for certain Rachel lied to me.” Her competing stories about the pistol seemed unimportant, nothing like the deception I’d just experienced. Lillian pulled me into her bosom and rubbed my head.

“Maybe she was trying to protect you.” Lillian’s words were the dumbest I’d ever heard. They made me mad. The hair on my neck bristled. My eyes shot poison rays towards the immoral woman in front of me. I stood, causing Lillian to stumble backwards.

“You can be so stupid. Rachel had a baby. She didn’t even know I existed.”

“Lee,” Lillian reached for my hand as I returned to the wall. “I’m sorry. My statement made no sense. What I should have said was that not telling you all your married life was her way of protecting you.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry for my response. Come here.” We returned to Rachel’s picture. For the first time, I scanned the wall encircling the baby photo. Jane had covered the wall to the left of the window with newspaper clippings and hand-scribbled notes whose subject was Rachel Ann Kern, my deceased wife.

“Jane was not only obsessed with Ray, but Rachel also obsessed with her. Look here.” Lillian had removed the push pin holding a 4 by 6 card. “It’s yours and Rachel’s wedding invitation.” I ignored it and kept scanning the wall.

“Here’s the bulletin from mine and Rachel’s college graduation. How the heck did Jane get this? I sure don’t recall her coming to Charlottesville.”

“Jane must be omniscient.” Lillian said, repining the invitation and pointing to another picture. This one to her left and higher on the wall. “How did she get an article from Australia? Uncanny.” I moved next to her and started reading the text.

The Blue Mountains Gazette had chosen “Dream Comes True for Local Couple,” for the article’s title. Frank and Gina Packer had been home less than a week with their newly adopted daughter. The June 8th, 1970, story described the Packer’s long attempt to have children on their own. Two paragraphs on in vitro fertilization led to the end of the page. “Continued on Page 9” was italicized. Lillian flipped the semi-yellowed paper. There, in the lower right corner, was another photograph, no doubt showing the Packer’s, with Gina holding a pink clad little girl with two green ribbons tied to her jet-black hair. The caption underneath the photo said they took it at the couple’s Blue Mountains cabin. A newspaper used color photography over a half-century ago. Amazing.

Lillian and I finished the article, learning the Packer’s were prominent citizens of Sydney, and had made their fortune in iron ore mining. My guess is the couple was in their mid-forties. “What’s your conclusion?” I asked. I knew my own but wanted to hear Lillian’s.

“It’s not dispositive, but the Packers are the couple who adopted Rachel’s baby. Especially since Jane posted this clipping on ‘Rachel’s wall.’” Lillian handed me the article and used both hands to signal quotation marks.

While I kept staring at 16-year-old Rachel in the hospital bed holding her baby daughter, Lillian removed several newspaper clippings and returned to Jane’s desk. “I wonder if Rachel sent these.”

“To Jane? What are they?” I needed to stay near Rachel.

Lillian sat and paused a minute to review the articles. “All are from the New Haven Register. Two concerns. One’s about Rachel being teacher of the year at Amity High School. The other shows her with a student who made straight A’s her senior year.”

“2008. The student was Isabella Lopez, a special needs girl Rachel taught and tutored for three years.” The memory of a teacher and student spending hours on Saturdays in Rachel’s basement flooded my mind. “What about the others?”

“A group of cheerleaders, including Leah. One is dated May 18, 2004. The next one is Leah and three others winning the regional debate tournament.” I could see Lillian had stacked these to her left. She was staring at another photograph in the last article. “Lee, come here.” I guessed it might be Lyndell running track or pitching a baseball.

Lillian stood and clutched the article to her breast. She insisted I sit. I followed her instructions and again was shocked by what she laid on the desk in front of me. “Reward” blazoned across the top of a flier stapled to the newspaper clipping. I continued to read, searching for a date. There wasn’t one, but I soon figured it out. Fifteen-year-old Elita had run away. The Packer’s offered a million dollars for information that lead to her discovery and return.

Lillian leaned over my shoulder to read the smaller text below the teenager’s ninth grade school photo. “Elita was last seen by a driver for Maxi Cabs who dropped her off at Sydney Kingsford Smith Airport.”

My iPhone chirped the second I flipped back to the newspaper article. It was from Kyla. “We’re fifteen minutes from Jane’s. She’s stopped for gas. The movie was horrible, so she insisted we leave.”

“Change of plans. We need to go.” I showed Lillian the text.

“Quick. I’ll snap some photos and you explore Jane’s desk.” Lillian removed her iPhone from her jeans and returned to the back wall.

I rolled the chair backwards and opened the lower right drawer. As expected, stuffed with file folders. I read a few labels, Elita, Leah, Ray, The Packer’s, and decided it was time to leave. “Lillian, let’s go.”

“Just a minute.” I could tell she was video recording everything on both sides of the window. I stood and walked to the bookshelf closest to the bedroom door. After seeing half the books read ‘Diary’ on their spines, I whispered, “shit, shit, shit,” knowing that Lillian and I were likely leaving a ton of relevant information tucked inside this room.

When I backed the Hyundai onto King Street, Lillian ordered me to, “go back, we forgot.” I rejected her demand and drove north towards Summerville Road.

“It’s too risky.” I couldn’t believe we’d been so distracted and left the stack of newspaper articles on top of Jane’s desk.