Chapter Two

The drive from Small Heath to Warwickshire took nearly an hour, and Anna's limbs were fraught with tension. She tapped her toe in a light, repetitive rhythm on the floorboard of the car as the priest, who had now introduced himself as Father Jeremiah Jesus (she'd barely concealed an exclamation of disbelief at this revelation), drove purposefully and without speaking.

She had thousands of questions but all of them seemed to stick in her throat, practically gagging her. Breaths were becoming harder to come by, and her head started to tighten with anxiety. What on earth am I going to say? Her errand seemed suddenly ridiculous: to just waltz up to a stranger's door and say, "Hullo, I'm your long-lost daughter whom you believed dead. Pleasure to meet you," had to be the most foolish idea in the history of Birmingham.

This was not Anna's way. She rarely questioned herself so severely. She was a woman of action: she decided, and she ran toward her decisions with reckless abandon. At times this had led to trouble, but often her confidence was rewarded. Somehow this seemed more important than any of those times.

"Australia is a long way to travel," Father Jeremiah commented, pulling her out of the web of panicked thoughts that was trapping her.

"It is," Anna agreed, preferring not to dwell on or discuss the claustrophobic boat trip. She didn't do well in confined spaces - having only the ocean on any side of her was terrible.

"Is Australia as wild as they say?"

"I don't know," Anna replied, looking over at him. "What do they say?"

"They say it's a lawless country. All sorts of strange creatures running about."

A smirk pulled at the corner of Anna's lips. "The people or the wildlife?"

"Both," said Father Jeremiah, taking his eyes from the road for a moment to smile at her.

"I suppose it's true," she said. "Though I'm hardly the right person to ask. There's a chance that England will seem just as strange after so much time away."

"Wisely said," said the priest, reverting to silence. He wasn't rude; his silence was the thoughtful kind, the kind that allowed others to think. She was both grateful for this and not as the wheels of her mind spun fast and loose.

"Do you have any idea what happened to… to Michael?" Anna asked as another few miles disappeared under their tires. Michael was a nebulous being to her, a name on paper, a vague memory of a small, smooth hand in her own. For the blink of an eye, someone who had looked out for her.

"He's here," Jeremiah said, his eyes fixed on the road.

"He came back?"

Jeremiah nodded.

A mother and a brother. Anna's anxiety ramped up another level, but these nerves were colored with impatience. Michael might be the only person who could really, truly understand what Anna's life had been like, what she had gone through. She had so many questions for him, so many things she wanted to ask and tell him. She hoped he would feel the same way.

"He's got his own flat closer to the city. Moved out of Polly's last year. He's a good friend of my son's."

Anna eyed him curiously. Weren't priests supposed to be celibate?

"I became a man of the cloth after my wife passed on," he said, clearing his throat. "It's been just me and my Isiah for quite a few years now."

"I'm sorry," Anna said, both for her rudeness and for his loss.

"The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away," mused the priest diplomatically.

"He does indeed," she replied quietly, though she'd never put any stock in God or his so-called blessings. But she knew what it felt like to have people taken away.

Anna stared out at the unfamiliar landscape, trying to get some kind of sense of kinship from the rolling hills, the orange and brown leaves clinging to the trees in their last days of life. The skies were gray and clouded, dense with the promise of rain. She hadn't once seen the sun since arriving in England, and she found herself missing its warm embrace. She'd grown accustomed to the sunny Australian climate. There, the weather had just started growing warmer. Here, she knew she would be in for a long, cold winter.

They followed a wide curve, and then on their right a long driveway appeared. They passed through a wrought-iron gate and a house appeared - a big house, that could have housed all the girls from Anna's place in Melbourne two times over. It was an attractive and well-kept colonial style building, brick with black shutters and white trim. Parked in front of the house was a stunning, glossy black Bentley. The whole place reeked of class; none of it was overstated, but all of it looked expensive.

Anna swallowed hard.

This was not where she had come from. If her mother had been this type of person, with this type of money when Anna was a child, no one would have dared taken Michael and Anna. What had happened in the years Anna had been gone? Had her mother married rich? It was certainly a possibility, but it didn't explain anything about the aforementioned Shelbys, and what they had to do with this. Her curiosity was burning, but so was her fear. As Father Jeremiah parked the car, her heart began to pound hard enough to break her ribs.

"Are you coming, Miss Gray?" he asked, coming around to open her car door. She sat with her hands folded, gathering composure.

"Yes," she said, grabbing her bag. "I am."

She straightened her spine, shook off her nerves, and followed behind him. He lifted the golden door knocker shaped like a lion's head and politely rapped on the door.

A maid opened the door, a slight, blonde-headed girl with a smattering of freckles across her nose. She peered out at them curiously. "How may I help you, sir?" she said, addressing the priest and casting no more than a glance toward Anna.

"Is Mrs. Gray at home?" he asked. "We'd like to speak with her."

"Who shall I say is calling, sir?"

"Father Jeremiah Jesus," he said, tipping his black fedora.

"I'll see if she's accepting visitors," said the maid, turning to disappear into the house and leaving the two strangers standing on the porch. Anna fiddled with the strap of her bag.

"A maid," she said, more to herself than to him.

He smiled at her. "Things have changed a bit since you've last been here."

"I see," she said blankly.

She heard footsteps approaching, but it wasn't the maid who returned. It was Polly.

She was dressed well, in a black pinstriped skirt and a red silk blouse. Her dark curls curled elegantly around her ears and her eyes were glittering, as though she'd been caught in the middle of a laugh. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and she looked to Father Jeremiah both warmly and curiously. Then, her eyes went to Anna.

Anna never would have been able to conjure the image of the woman who stood before her; her memories were too weak, and she knew too little. But as soon as the woman's deep brown eyes met her own, a flood of memories came back to her like frames from a picture show. She remembered the sound of Polly's voice, the touch of her hand, the way her earrings had glittered in the evening sun. Anna remembered the feel of Polly's skirt between her fingers, and the taste of her own dirty thumb in her mouth as she followed her mother around the kitchen. She remembered the sound of Michael's quiet tears as they slept in an unfamiliar room among other scared, lonely children, and her heart was suddenly more alive than it had been in years. It was alive, and it ached. Her eyes burned with tears.

Polly was greeting Father Jeremiah with jovial familiarity, but Anna heard none of their exchange. She was transfixed, frozen, paralyzed. Jeremiah's hand was on her upper arm, nudging her forward. Polly stared at her with some confusion, obviously wondering who the emotional young waif was that Jeremiah was foisting upon her - and why.

Anna tried to speak, but her throat was dry. She extended her hand for Polly to shake, and Polly took it warily, gripping it lightly as though it might break. "I - I've been trying to get to you for so long," Anna said, a tear escaping its hold and dripping down her cheek.

"I'm sorry," Polly said, still loosely holding Anna's hand. "Who are you?" She turned her gaze on Jeremiah, as if to seek answers from him.

"I'm Anna, Mum," she sobbed. "It's Anna."

She wanted Polly to take her into an embrace, to hold her and never let go, but she only retracted her hand. The same hand flew to her mouth and her eyes became wide, shiny mirrors.

"That can't be," she said, turning again to Jeremiah. "How dare you -"

"Polly," he said in a low voice. "It's true. Look at her eyes."

"If this is some kind of cruel joke, or - or ploy for money -" Polly sputtered.

"You know I would never," Jeremiah said, taking Polly's hand in his own. "It's her."

Now, Polly stepped toward Anna, who was sobbing unintelligibly, trying to get herself back under control. She reached out her hand and put it under Anna's chin, lifting it gently.

"I dreamed about you," Polly whispered. "I dreamed you were dead, and then it was true."

Anna shook her head fervently. "I ran away. I ran away in Melbourne, and they said I was dead, but it wasn't true. I have the papers. I'm Anna. I'm Anna Gray," she babbled, swiping the tears off her face. She hadn't cried since she was a child, and she hated the way it felt, hated the way her nose ran so ungracefully and the way her saliva was thick and salty in her mouth. "I tried to run back to you. I did, but they sent me away."

"But you came back," Polly whispered, her lower lip trembling.

"I had to," said Anna. "Please believe me," she begged. "I want to come home."

Now, Polly wrapped her arms around Anna, so tightly that she could hardly breathe. It was the most exquisite suffocation Anna had ever experienced. She was sobbing and so was Polly, so much so that Anna could no longer tell whose shuddering movements were whose. When Polly pulled away, it was unwillingly, as though she were forcing herself.

"I suppose we don't have to discuss all this in the parkway," she said, wiping her eyes and bursting into an almost hysteric laugh. "A proper lady would have invited you in for tea by now."

"I… I didn't mean to shock you so," Anna replied, suddenly apologetic.

Polly wiped a mess of tears away from Anna's cheek, and ran a soft thumb along Anna's cheekbone. "My Anna. It really is you."

Anna nodded, and just as she was sure she would crumple again, Polly darted toward Jeremiah. At some point he had gone to put petrol in the car, giving the women their privacy. Anna remained at the front door, weighed down with shock.

"Jeremiah," Polly said, reaching out to take his hand. "You must stay for dinner."

"Thank you, Polly, but I should get back. And I'm sure you two have plenty to talk about," he said with a grin.

"How can I thank you?" Her voice wavered, but it was just loud enough that Anna could hear. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"It was all her, Polly. I just drove the car," he said, smiling up at Anna. Anna looked away. "She's like you."

"God." Polly made a somewhere between a hiccup and a sob. "I hope not."

The two exchanged embraces and goodbyes and then Polly turned back to the porch where Anna was standing warily, a stranger in an unfamiliar place.

"Would you like to come inside?" Polly asked gently.

Anna nodded tentatively, peeking up at her mother from under dark eyelashes.

Polly took Anna's arm in the crook of her elbow, and Anna leaned against her weakly. God. She couldn't remember the last time she'd allowed herself to be weak. They entered the grand house and shut the door behind them. The day was slipping away and there was much to discuss.

Hours later, after the sun had long left them behind, two dark-haired women were sitting and laughing on a mahogany sofa, their inhibitions lowered by tea spiked with whiskey, their knees comfortably brushing against each other.

It had taken some time for Anna to explain everything - from the beginning, per Polly's request. She had told it as delicately as she could. Even now, it still stung, and she could see the pain in her mother's eyes. She left out some of the most unforgivable things. They visited Anna's nightmares enough; there was no reason to invite them to Polly's.

She spent most of the time talking about Australia: about Sophie, about dancing, about the fabulous clubs and the other women she lived with. Polly was curious and interested, and asked a great many questions but always without judgment.

When Anna had finished, Polly had begun, telling her about the war, about the family business and their relatively recent rise to power and wealth. Anna could tell that Polly, too, had edited her version of the story.

"I've taken a step down from the business, though," Polly said, her gaze traveling toward the window. "I decided to cash out before my luck turned, if you will."

Anna nodded understandingly. "And what about Michael?"

Polly pursed her lips. "Michael still works with Tommy. I hear he's got quite a senior position these days," she said, sounding vaguely annoyed.

"You hear?" Anna asked, her heart briefly seizing with fear. She wanted to know Michael - she didn't want to hear that he and Polly were at odds.

"I've asked him not to discuss business with me when he visits," she explained, and Anna relaxed. "And I don't speak to Tommy anymore."

Anna was about to ask for further clarification when they heard the front door open.

Polly looked up, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Ruben, is that you?" she called.

"Yes, darling," his disembodied voice replied from the foyer. Anna could hear his footsteps tapping along the tile. "Sorry to be late. You know how Jack can be when he starts on his war stories, hmm?"

"Is it late?" Polly asked, looking up at the clock on the mantle. She giggled girlishly.

Ruben entered the room, loosening his tie and smiling warmly. When he noticed Anna he stopped in his tracks.

"Oh darling, I wasn't aware you had company. I'm sorry," he said, approaching Anna.

Anna turned to Polly, her eyes wide and somewhat stunned. Polly had mentioned Ruben, her lover and her partner, the artist. They'd been living together for almost two years now. However, Polly hadn't mentioned what she was going to say to him about Anna.

Anna stood and extended her hand, not knowing what else to do.

"Ruben Oliver," he said kindly. Anna liked him already. He had a playful, mischievous way about him; a fox-like quickness to his movements and a boyishness to his smile.

"Ruben," Polly said, her voice teeming with laughter. "I've a surprise for you."

He looked to her and then back at Anna, his eyebrows slightly furrowing. Polly stood up to stand next to her daughter.

"Darling, this is Anna. Anna Gray. My-my daughter," she said.

"Your what?" Ruben asked, leaning back to better study Anna's features. Anna gave the tiniest smile and then bit her lip, afraid of what he would say. "But I thought…"

"So did I," Polly said. "But here she is."

Ruben was still for a moment except for his eyes, which traveled back and forth between the two women warily, as though they might be playing a joke on him. He seemed to decide something inside of himself, and then he reached for Anna, pulling her into a fervent embrace. Anna stiffened at first, but the man's warmth was infectious, and within moments tears had sprung to her eyes again.

"I don't know that I can believe it," he said, his voice slightly muffled in her hair. "But welcome, Anna. Welcome home."

Anna laughed wetly, clearing her throat of tears. She'd cried more today than in the past ten years combined. She wondered if it would ever end. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Oliver."

"Ruben," he corrected. "That accent. It's so charming. I want to know everything."

"The girl's exhausted, Ruben," Polly chided, but she was grinning from ear to ear. "We've been talking for hours."

"Have you two eaten?" he asked.

Anna realized that her stomach was empty, beginning to gurgle with hunger. She shook her head, and Polly looked at her with concern - with maternal concern.

"I completely lost track of time," she said. "I'll have the maid bring something out."

"You don't want to go out on the town? This feels like a celebration," Ruben commented, waggling his eyebrows gamely.

Anna chuckled, but Polly shook her head.

"There's plenty of time for that later," she said. "This day has been… overwhelming."

"Yes, yes, you're right," Ruben conceded. "I'll go find the maid then."

He grinned at Anna before disappearing down the hall. Anna turned to Polly. "I like him," she said.

"Yes, he's rather charming, isn't he?" Polly said, her cheeks flushing.

"Very charming," Anna agreed with a smile. "I'm so happy for you."

Polly looked down at her hands, studying them carefully. A strand of hair fell in front of her face, hiding her right eye from view. Silence rang between them; like synchronized gymnasts on a balance beam, they had stopped to catch their breath before beginning their dangerous routine. One wrong step could ruin all of it, and Anna chose her words carefully.

"When I came here," she began quietly, "I wasn't sure what to expect. I didn't… I don't remember much about Small Heath." I don't remember much about you. "They told me things about you…"

"I know," Polly interjected. She reached out for Anna's hands, and Anna gave them freely and looked into her mother's imploring eyes. "It's not true, what they said in those papers. I loved you, Anna. You and Michael. You were everything to me. I wasn't a perfect mother, but I would never hurt you. Never."

"I know," Anna replied. "I don't know how, but I always knew."

Another few moments passed. The clock on the mantle ticked loudly, matching Anna's heartbeat.

"I suppose what I need you to know is… that fifteen years is a very long time," Anna said.

"It is," Polly agreed.

"You may not have hurt me, but other people did, Mum," Anna said, the intimacy slipping through her lips before she could stop it. "Fifteen years is a much bigger ocean than the one between Australia and here. I'll not pretend it was smooth sailing."

"Not here, either," Polly said. Her lower lip trembled, and Anna squeezed her hand.

"I know," Anna said again.

Polly pressed her forehead to Anna's, two sets of dark eyes morphing together in blurred, teary vision. Her breath was spiced with whiskey as she whispered, "It can never be the way it was supposed to."

Anna closed her eyes as emotion shuddered through her like an angry ghost. Polly was leaning against her, anchoring her down, keeping her home.

"It can't," Anna murmured.

"I'm so sorry, Anna," Polly rasped. "I'm so sorry, my love."

She hadn't wanted the apology, and for a moment she considered protesting it. It wasn't Polly's fault. It never had been. But even as Anna's mind knew this, her heart began to flutter its broken wings. "I forgive you," she said.

When Ruben returned, it was to an embracing mother and daughter who had completely forgotten about dinner.