Chapter 7

Rex Marshall leaned back in his leather chair and stared out his office window as the sun rose over Asheville. He'd had a restless night. He could tell that Joan hadn't slept any better. His wife tossed and turned most of the night and Rex guessed that thoughts of Belle were keeping her up as well. She voiced her suspicions the day before when Belle phoned to cancel their dinner date. Joan told him she had detected a note of urgency in Belle's voice and was afraid she was going on another witch hunt. Rex tried consoling her, telling her Belle very well could be swamped with her new design business and needed Sunday to catch up. He could tell by the way she acted the rest of the day that she didn't believe it. Rex was afraid he didn't believe it himself.

He understood the curiosity of one searching for their birth parents. He also knew that learning the truth was not always in the best interest of the adopted child. That was especially true in Belle's case. He'd tried calmly explaining to her that digging through the past would be long and tedious, and that the end result might not be worth the effort. Belle eventually dropped the subject, but he and Joan had a sinking feeling that she had not forgotten about it.

Rex checked his watch. He worked for a major brokerage firm and the building would soon be swarming with personnel and clients. He'd have to put thoughts of Belle aside and focus on his work. How he'd manage it, he didn't know. All he knew was that Belle was better off not knowing of her first eight years of life. For if she dug too deep, she just might unearth some dirt that even Joan didn't know about.

* * * * * * * * * *

Bleary-eyed and exhausted, Belle reached for the off button on her alarm clock. She'd checked her appointment book when she arrived home late last night and knew she had a busy schedule. And as much as she loved her design business and felt such a sense of accomplishment with each new creation, she wished she had an assistant to turn it over to this particular morning. It was going to be hard to concentrate on anything other than what she'd learned from Doris Felton.

She crawled from the bed and entered the bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face, she tried to wash away all signs of a troubled sleep. She patted her face dry with a towel and stared at her reflection. Good morning, Jessie Simms, she thought to herself. But even as the name traveled through her thoughts, it didn't sound natural. Annabelle Marshall was beginning to take on a surreal quality too. She was now convinced that she was Jessie Simms, but she still had no memories of the young girl who clung to her eccentric uncle as if he were the only anchor in her life.

It was obvious that both Mory and his mother saw something recognizable in Belle's face. Both thought she had been to the diner before. But it was what Doris Felton had shared with Belle - and Belle's reaction to what she heard - that cinched it for Belle. She was definitely Jessie Simms and had no idea what that meant.

Doris had leaned over the table, her hands wrapped firmly around a coffee mug. "Rueben Simms came here a lot. He even brought recipes for me to try. He thought it would be neat if we offered a limited time only dish and watch the results. Most of his dishes didn't belong in this diner with my regulars. Set a chicken fried steak in front of them and they're happy. Anyway," she said, then took a sip of her coffee, "I will never forget the day he came in here and told us about Jessie going off with her mama. Her mama, I believe her name was Sylvia, showed up with one of her good-for-nothing boyfriends and Jessie went ballistic. Rueben said she kept screaming 'no, I don't want to go. I'm scared of the water! He puts me in the water and I can't breathe. No! I won't go! Don't make me go, Uncle Rueben'."

Doris shook her head as she remembered that day. "I don't know what the poor child meant. But the townsfolk began talking about it and when Jessie never came back, they said she was drowned."

For a reason Belle couldn't understand, her throat suddenly closed up and she gasped for air. She didn't know if her arms were flailing or if they just felt like it. Her legs seemed to move as if she were struggling for footing, and the alarm on Doris's face was distorted for an instant, as if a murky film had suddenly divided the diner table.

"He tried to drown me," Belle whispered in response to Doris's unasked question. "I remember the struggle, the fear. I don't know who saved me. I can't see any faces, but I know it happened. I felt it just now . . ."

Doris had stared at her with a blank look on her face. She reached over and cupped Belle's chin in her hands and examined her closely. "For goodness sakes," she exclaimed. "It is you, Jessie. What in the world happened? Where have you been? What became . . ."

Belle held up a hand to silence her. "I don't know," she said, still shaken by the revelation. "I was adopted when I was eight. Only now I'm getting brief flashbacks to my life before that. I need to know more. Please tell me more."

Doris glanced toward the kitchen where she knew Mory would be washing dishes. "Mory will be thrilled," she revealed. "Once he's able to comprehend this, he will be thrilled."

"May we talk again?" Belle persisted. "Next weekend, you, Mory and I can talk again?"

Doris had assured her that they would. Belle left the diner and drove back to Asheville, her mind trying so hard to pull up more memories from the past. Sometimes she could hear a man's voice telling her to clean her plate, or stop slamming a door, or asking if she wanted her long dark hair in pretty French braids. Mostly, though, she could feel the tighening in her chest, the gulps of water filling her lungs, and a strong need to fight for her life. Only words, a feeling, and no faces to help her sort it out.

Now, in the light of a brand new day, her confusion was still there. She knew she was Jessie Simms, but she knew nothing else. She didn't even know when she stopped being Jessie and started being Annabelle. More than ever before, she needed answers from her family. She would call a meeting, perhaps after she met again with the Feltons, and tell them what she knew. She'd remind them again of her love and devotion to them for all they'd done for her, but she had a right to know where she was born and who had given her life. It was such a simple thing that all children knew about themselves. She had a right to that information too. Her birth mother was Sylvia Simms but Belle knew nothing about her or the name of her father. Doris hadn't had much good to say about Sylvia, but that was okay. Belle still had a right to know.

Knowing she had to get on with her day and meet the commitments she had made, Belle took her coffee and sat in front of her computer. Suddenly, she remembered the e-mail that had lead her to Coal Junction and the mystery man who had called her on Taylor's phone. Taylor! What had happened to Taylor? How had Belle forgotten about her cousin? Had she been so wrapped up in her own life that she had easily forgotten about his? Quickly, she reached for her cell phone and punched the buttom that would connect her to Taylor. It was picked up on the first ring.

"Hi Jessie," the strange voice said. "How'd you like your reunion with the retard?"

Chapter 6

Mory’s face wrinkled in confusion. “No, no. Jessie’s gone, Jessie’s done gone.”

Belle continued, “But you said no one ever found a body…it is still possible. I feel--”

Visibly shaken Mory interrupted her, “No, ma’am. You said your name is ‘Belle’ and Jessie ain’t here no more. No…no…no.” The few diners lingering from the lunch crowd began to take notice of the disturbance at the corner table. And, alarmed by the sudden shift in her son’s demeanor, Doris hurried over to the table. “What’s going on, Mory?”

“Mama, this lady thinks she is Jessie. But Jessie is drowned and it makes me so sad to think about it. Tell her, Mama. Jessie’s gone.”

Doris slipped her arm around Mory and agreed, “Yes, Mory, you are right. It was a sad day when we lost little Jessie. Now, Honey, let me finish up here. Dougie needs some help with the dishes in the back.” Mory threw a suspicious look Belle’s way before shuffling back to the kitchen. He was thankful his mama was there to set this lady straight; and by the time he made it to the sink, he forgot the whole matter, just happy to suds up with Dougie.

Doris slid in the booth opposite Belle, “Okay, Honey, tell me what is going on.”

Belle felt a little reluctance at first but then, with nothing to lose, the words tumbled out. She tried to summarize the last 20 years and the recent events that led her to this very town and café.

Detecting the desperation in Belle’s voice, Doris reached out her hand to clasp Belle’s. “Oh, my dear. Listen, I will tell you everything I know. Can you sit a while? We will have a lull before the early birds come in for dinner. I want to help, if I can.”

“Yes, please, tell me anything you can remember. I feel so close—closer than ever—to knowing my true identity. But, first, is this Rueben in prison for murder? With no body, how was he convicted?” Belle had a million questions, it seemed, and just needed to get started.

“Oh, no, Honey. That is what Mory told you? Well, Rueben has been in prison for the last 3 years for tax evasion. Poor Mory, he hears all kinds of gossip waiting these tables. People ‘round here all have their own theories about Jessie and her Uncle Rueben. When Jessie first disappeared, Rueben was indeed a suspect for a short time. Many people were plum sure that he did it—not many folks understood Rueben and they were anxious to pass off the disappearance to the queer in the green house. Well, after the police wrote him off as a suspect, Rueben packed up all his stuff and left town. Just like that. We didn’t hear a word about him for like 15 or 16 years. No one knew where he went. Of course, that just fueled the gossip fire! But I knew he was a good guy and would never hurt that girl. I didn’t blame him for wantin’ to get out of here. No one looked at him the same. Finally, a few years ago we found out they got him for tax evasion. Well, a lot of folks think he is gittin’ what he deserves—no matter what the conviction, at least he is all locked up.”

“So, what about Jessie? Was it left as an unsolved case?”

“I suppose. They never found a body or any promisin’ leads. Not long after she disappeared, a body of a girl washed up on Lake Dillon. Oh, everyone just knew it was Jessie; but she was identified as a girl from Fairview. Her parents were charged—God bless her soul. But it only started rumors that Jessie could be found floating on some lake, too. Believe me, when something like this happens in a town like Coal J., it makes waves and becomes the stuff of legends.” Doris waved for another pot of coffee.

Belle’s stomach twisted with each sentence. How was she linked to this tragic tale, to the green house, to two dolls that once belonged to this pitiful little girl. Certainly, she could be Jessie—but how did she go from Jessie to Annabelle Mitchell. There were still too many missing pieces, and she wasn’t convinced yet that she was, in fact, that little girl.

“And Jessie’s mother? Mory said she was flighty—how does she figure into all this?”

“Honey, little Jessie, in my opinion, didn’t have a mother. That poor girl was like an unwanted puppy dog to her mama. That lady dropped her off at Rueben’s any chance she got—and Rueben, bless his heart, was not suited to keep a child, but he tried the best he knew how.”

“And the disappearance? Where was Jessie? Her mother?”

Doris again waved for the coffee. “Where is that coffee? We are going to need it.”