CHAPTER SEVEN: A FAMILY OF MY OWN

"Good-bye, Spring." Brad took my hand in his and gave it a squeeze. He and his mother were seeing me off on my journey to Virginia, to find Eugene and Beatrice O'Reilly, grandparents I'd never known. Grandparents of whom I'd been robbed.

The man I called Daddy had not wanted to accompany me to the train station. Instead, he sent an envelope stacked with hundred dollar bills and a short note, warning me about getting into trouble and tarnishing his good name. I tossed the note in the trash at the station and stuck the money in a secret compartment in my jacket.

I kissed Brad on the cheek and got on the train, waving at Margaret and Brad as the train pulled out of the station. I clutched a photograph of Mommy in my hand, hoping her spirit would guide me.

"Please, Mommy," I begged, crossing myself as I'd seen her do many times. I was never religious, but I used to watch Mommy pray to her saints when Daddy wasn't around. Mommy grew up Catholic and Daddy was Protestant, but neither of my parents practised religion in our house. Mommy's praying to her saints was a secret she and I kept from Daddy. "Help me find my grandparents."

I imagined she whispered in my ear, "I will guide you to them, Spring. Trust in me."

I nodded to myself. "I promise, Mommy. I'll never stop trusting you."

When I awoke several hours later, I was at the train station in Virginia. I peered out the window and saw an elderly couple standing with a chauffeur, who was holding up a sign reading 'Danielson'. The old man was gentle-eyed and kind looking, with soft blue eyes and a bushy silver moustache. His wife had silvery, white hair tucked into a chignon at the nape of her neck, and she wore an emerald brooch on the collar of her tan pea coat. My grandmother clutched my grandfather's arm in her hand, and they searched the train, looking for me.

I realised I had the old woman's facial structure, her high cheekbones, her eyes. I grabbed my bags and hurried off the train for my grandparents.

"Spring?" the old woman asked, taking a tentative step forward, as smoke billowed around our legs. She held out a gloved hand to me. "I'm your grandmother. This is your grandfather, and this is Geoffrey, our driver."

Geoffrey tipped his hat at me. "I'll take those bags, miss." He grabbed them out of my hand and led the way to the limousine that would take me to my birth father's childhood home.

"Jeremy Danielson told us all about you," said my grandfather. "He says you're a very bright girl, and that you do very well in school. He also says you're helpful with your stepmother and half-brother."

I nodded, modestly. "I enjoy school."

My grandfather nodded as Geoffrey brought the limousine around. "Well, I'm sure we'll have a wonderful time getting caught up on lost time, Spring."

Geoffrey chose a scenic route. We travelled down sun-drenched back roads, draped in canopies of weeping willows, passing huge white mansions, large plantations, left over from the Civil War era.

"You see those mansions?" asked my grandfather. I nodded. "Those are left over from the War of Northern Aggression."

I smiled. "Up north, we call it the Civil War," I said.

Grandfather let out a booming laugh. "Civil War It wasn't a very civil war, in my opinion." He rubbed his moustache, his eyes sparkling.

Grandmother smiled. "You're going to like it here in Virginia, Spring. You'll be so sick of Southern hospitality by the time it's time for you to go back home, you'll be begging for your father to pick you up."

"I doubt that", I mused to myself. I hadn't realised I'd spoken out loud until my grandmother and grandfather both took on expressions of confusion.

"Whatever do you mean by that, dear?" asked Grandmother Beatrice.

"Oh, um, nothing. Really." I forced out a laugh, smiling tightly at my grandparents. "So Will my father be home? I want to see him."

Grandfather Eugene coughed, lightly, and lowered his eyes to his feet. "Your father, Spring He was murdered."

"Murdered?" I gasped, my heart sinking to my feet. Then it was true. That man did murder my real father. "Someone killed him?"

Grandfather Eugene nodded. "In cold blood. The killer was never found."

I put a hand to my cheek, in utter shock. I wouldn't tell them Daddy, Jeremy Danielson, was the killer. At least, not right away. "I'd wanted to see him To catch up on the lost years See if we bore any resemblance to one another"

Grandmother Beatrice took my hand in hers, rubbing it. "When Priscilla called him to tell him she'd given birth to you, he put aside some things for you, when you came of age Your grandfather and I kept everything, knowing one day we would be reunited And Patrick has three brothers and a sister. They've all been so anxious over your return. They'll be very glad to see you." Grandmother smiled at me, but the sadness in her pale grey eyes tore at my very core.

My father was dead I would never be able to meet him now.

When we reached the mansion, my breath was taken away. I'd never seen a home this large. It looked to be even larger than the White House.

Grandfather Eugene laughed. "Impressed?"

"Very, Grandfather Eugene It's lovely," I gushed.

He and Grandmother smiled. "We know you'll enjoy it here Let's introduce you to your uncles and aunt before you unpack." Grandfather Eugene took me on his arm and led me into the house and to the dining room.

The dining room had to have been the size of Brad Anderson's entire house. It was huge, with rich mahogany moulding, and a long mahogany table. Seated at the table were three young men and a woman close to my age.

"Spring, this is your uncle Owen." Grandfather Eugene put a hand on the first man's shoulder. He looked to be in his early twenties with brown hair that brushed the collar of his polo shirt. He offered me a smile. "He's twenty-three, and the baby of the family."

"Hello, Spring." My uncle Owen gave me a quick, awkward hug before looking back at his brothers and sister. "She looks just like Patrick."

Grandfather Eugene moved on to the next uncle, a man with his brown hair buzzed into a crew cut. He had the demeanour of a military man. "This is your uncle Jack. He's the oldest of the boys."

Jack nodded at me. "Hello, Spring." He looked at Owen, nudging him. "She's the spitting image of Pat. It's uncanny."

Grandfather moved on to the last uncle, who appeared to be in between the ages of Jack and Owen. "This is Ryan, your father's twin brother," said Grandfather Eugene. Ryan had blond hair, blue eyes and a soft, gentle disposition. "He's a little slow," Grandfather whispered, his hands on Uncle Ryan's shoulders.

"Hi, Spring." He broke into a happy grin. "You look just like your daddy, my twin brother. I hope you're going to stay with us for a while."

I smiled at him. "I hope so too, Uncle Ryan."

He smiled and looked at his brothers. "We get to keep her?"

Grandfather moved on to my aunt, taking her hand in his. She wiped tears from her eyes, her hands trembling. "This is our eldest child, your aunt Julia."

My aunt Julia had long brown hair and large blue eyes. She smiled, tentatively, and walked toward me, sniffling away her tears. "Hi, Spring," she whispered, with a small voice. She looked so frail; I thought she would probably be lost in a heavy gale.

"Hi, Aunt Julia," I said.

She took me in her arms and hugged me, tightly. "We're so happy to have you here," she sighed. "You're going to have to meet your cousins. They're all so eager to see you."

"I'm glad to be here," I answered, truthfully. The sleeve of my sweater slipped, revealing a patch of dull bruising. I quickly pulled the sleeve down, but Aunt Julia saw.

"What happened to your arm, dear?" she asked; pulling at the heavy cable knit sweater. "Oh dear." She pressed a hand to her mouth. "Father."

Grandfather Eugene joined us and looked at what Aunt Julia was looking at. My uncles shared worried glances before joining us as well. "Spring, who did this to you? That Danielson man?"

I cringed. "He he did what he thought he had to do."

Aunt Julia shook her head. "Father, you have to do something about that." She scratched her chin. "Remove your sweater, Spring."

I obliged slowly, and folded the sweater, holding it in my arms. My bruises caused my aunt and uncles to gasp. "So what?" I mumbled. "Maybe I deserved it."

Grandmother shook her head. "Eugene, you've got to do something."

Grandfather nodded. "Of course, Beatrice. Call Harry Neale up immediately."

Uncle Jack put a hand on Grandfather's arm. "Father, I've got a friend who specialises in family court. Jonathan Chartrand. He can help us more than Harry can."

I stood back, my aunt holding on to my shoulder. "You're going to sue my father?"

Grandfather turned his blue eyes on me, shaking his head. "Your father is in heaven, Spring. This man who did this to you is a monster."

I sat on the dock, dangling my feet in the water. I tossed a rock into the lake, heaving a sigh. Everything was happening so fast, my head was spinning.

"Are you okay?"

I turned to see Uncle Owen approaching me, holding a beer in his hand. He was wearing the same purple, short-sleeved polo shirt and khakis; the cuffs rolled up, and he wasn't wearing any shoes. "I'm alright."

"What did he do to you, Spring?" he asked, sitting beside me.

"He hit me, that's all," I said, turning back to face the lake, tossing in another rock. "It was nothing."

"That's all?" Uncle Owen scoffed. "You know that Father and Mother are going to try and gain custody of you."

"I barely know them," I admitted.

"We're more family to you than Danielson is," Uncle Owen muttered. His dark expression softened. "I'm sorry Would you like to hear about your real father?"

I nodded. "I'd like that very much." I set down my last rock.

"Your father was the wildest of us kids," he said, a grin sneaking onto his face. "He made Mother ride on his motorcycle He was always very opinionated He let everyone know what he thought. He was a gay rights advocate He was a women's rights advocate He always fought the good fight" Uncle Owen paused. "He was the bravest of all of us"

"Jeremy Danielson said your parents didn't approve of my parents' relationship," I said.

Uncle Owen nodded. "In the beginning They'd picked a girl for him to marry, Lilia Banks. An old Southern family. They'd had everything planned out, right down to the names of the grandchildren and the years they would be born. Your father didn't like having his future written out for him. 'I'm going to make my own destiny,' he'd said. 'I'm not going to let you write it out for me. You can't write out my destiny. Destiny will find me.' He started to see Priscilla, your mother, on the side, while courting Lilia Banks On the night before his and Lilia's wedding, Priscilla came to him at the law firm where he and I worked and told him she was pregnant."

"With me."

"That's right, with you," Uncle Owen said. "The three of us went home immediately, and he told Father and Mother he didn't want to marry Lilia. He wanted to marry Priscilla Needless to say, Father was unhappy. He ordered your mother out of our house and forced your father into marriage with Lilia Not his best judgment, I have to say Priscilla married Jeremy Danielson on the rebound And four years later, your father was found dead in his bed, an apparent suicide." My uncle finished off his beer and tossed the can into the lake.

"You really shouldn't litter," I said, standing up and brushing off my jeans.

He smiled and held out his hand. "Help me up, Spring I'm drunk," he laughed.

I did as he asked me to and we walked back to the mansion.