Chapter 23 Harper
This isn’t your story to write.
Finn’s words looped through her head as Harper read a stack of newspaper articles at the Lititz Public Library.
The librarian located the file of yellowed clippings when she’d asked about material on Via Belle.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only person over the years who’d inquired about the missing novelist, but it seemed no one else except Elijah Lamb had stepped up to write a book.
Sissie was curious about Harper’s idea to base a screenplay on Olivia’s life and disappearance.
Not enthusiastic, exactly, but interested.
The threat from the estate didn’t faze her, but she was concerned about the ending.
Harper could alter details, liberate facts even to make the story more compelling, but Sissie didn’t want any surprises.
If Olivia was dead, her estate had no grounds for a defamation suit.
Sissie gave her another week to uncover the truth about Olivia’s disappearance, but no ending meant no script. It wasn’t illegal for an adult to run away on their own terms, but Harper suspected a stronger motivation for Via Belle to leave.
“What happened to you?” Harper whispered as she unfolded another clipping. This one dated October 22, 1943, from the New Holland Clarion.
NOVELIST’S CAR ABANDONED NEAR PHILADELPHIA
Harper stared at a photo of Olivia beside the newsprint, her hand clutching a summer hat as if trying to keep it from soaring away. Her smile was wide, her face lifted to the sun. The picture was taken in 1941, perhaps not long after she’d remarried.
The second photo was of Olivia’s car, the front end partially obscured by an overgrown bush. Did she leave it there? Or had someone else tried to hide her automobile?
Police found Via Belle’s Plymouth sedan on Thursday near the old Concord Flour Mill, roughly 25 miles west of Philadelphia. While investigators combed the area for hours, they were unable to locate Mrs. Belle.
“We didn’t see any evidence of foul play,” said Randolph Henry, Philadelphia’s police chief. “We’re hopeful that Mrs. Belle will contact her friends or authorities soon to let them know her whereabouts.”
Mrs. Belle, also known as Mrs. Simon Farrow, was last seen the night of October 14 by her neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Garrett Lamb.
“She didn’t say anything about going to Philadelphia,” Mrs. Lamb said. “We pray every day for her safe return.”
Mrs. Belle’s novels have sold more than two million copies. Her publisher, Herring & Son, declined to comment about the author or any knowledge of her present location. Her next novel is expected to release before Christmas.
News of her disappearance has left friends and readers deeply concerned. Investigators urge anyone with information regarding Mrs. Belle’s disappearance to contact police.
Harper slid the article back into the file.
How were Elijah and Ingrid Lamb connected to the Mr. and Mrs. Lamb recorded in the story?
Brett had left Ingrid’s number on the kitchen counter, and Harper still needed to thank the kind woman for her stew. Perhaps she could also help Harper understand why Elijah had written the biography and where he thought Olivia might have gone.
The collection only contained a handful of clippings after 1943 with several people who claimed to see Olivia in places across the country, but as far as Harper could tell, none of those sightings were verified.
The last mention ran in the 1950s when restoration began on the flour mill.
A construction worker said they discovered a purse with Mrs. Farrow’s driver’s license, not far from the train station.
He disagreed with the police assessment of no foul play.
Olivia’s story might have ended in 1943 or maybe she began again someplace new. If she lived, where had she gone? And would she have started over without her husband?
Not one of these articles quoted Mr. Farrow or mentioned his return from the war. Simon Farrow, it seemed, was a significant missing piece to this puzzle.
“How can I find information about local obituaries?” Harper asked the reference librarian when she handed back the file.
He pointed her toward a card catalog. “That’s our index.”
Harper pulled open the drawer marked F and began flipping through notecards. When she couldn’t locate Farrow, she returned to the librarian’s desk. “I couldn’t find the name of the man I’m looking for.”
“Are you certain he lived in Lititz when he passed away?”
“He might have died overseas during World War II.”
“A family member would have submitted a notice to the Record Express,” he explained. “The paper always honored the fallen soldiers.”
Unless Olivia was already gone before he died. Or maybe they had relocated someplace else together for their remaining years. “He may have moved to another city after the war.”
“If you find out the city or county where he died, the local library or funeral home should be able to find it for you.”
Harper slung her backpack over one shoulder. Had Olivia left Catawba with Simon or had she gone alone? If her life ended tragically, this wouldn’t be the nostalgic story for her or Sissie to tell.
Then again, no matter how tragic the ending, it seemed the best way to honor a storyteller was to tell her story.
The words echoing in her head, she paused again at the librarian’s desk. “You wouldn’t happen to have any records from the old Lititz Children’s Home, would you?”
He shook his head. “The Community Church holds all their records.”
She’d stopped at the church with her mom in 1993 on their way to visit the now shuttered orphanage.
The clerk had given her mother a copy of her file, and Harper remembered how her mom stared at the slender stack, the information about how she’d become a resident of the orphanage sparse. Unsolvable, she’d said.
Instead of taking the road east out of Lititz, Harper drove south for three miles and then stopped on the side of the road, needled cedar limbs bowing and rising in the breeze. Somewhere nearby was the children’s home, but Marcia didn’t answer her call for directions.
Last time she visited, Harper had thought how fun it must have been for her mom to grow up in a mansion—instead of an apartment—with dozens of other children running around to play.
Years passed before she really considered what it must have been like to not know your history or birthday or have even one parent to call your own.
Her mom must have felt terribly alone.
Harper returned to the Sutton home, and when she pulled into the driveway, she saw a red MINI Cooper parked near the front door. Was the gardener working today? Or had Finn changed his mind?
She hopped out and tucked her phone into a back pocket. No one was inside the vehicle, so she rounded the house to find a familiar face wandering through the gardens. “Betsy?”
The woman turned and waved.
“What are you doing?” Harper asked, knowing full well she couldn’t criticize anyone for trespassing.
“Exploring until you returned. I’m green with envy over Marcia’s gardening prowess.” Betsy dropped her enormous purse and began rummaging inside it until she pulled out a book.
Harper stared down at the cover with its moonlit lake and a glowing bank of flowers. A rickety boat rested partially in the reeds like it was ready to take readers on an adventure.
She looked up. “How did you find it?”
Betsy inched the book forward, a grin lighting her face. “Someone owed me a favor.”
“Did you already reread it?”
“Maybe.” Betsy winked. “I’m curious to hear what you think.”
“I’ll start tonight,” Harper said. “How much do I owe you?”
Betsy shook her head. “It’s a gift.”
“No—”
“To remember your mom.”
Harper hugged the book to her chest. “That’s the best kind of gift.”
“Angeline was a firecracker.”
Harper smiled. “I wish I could share it with her.”
“I’m sure you’ll be thinking of her as you read.”
That night, Ingrid Lamb returned her call and invited Harper over for coffee in the morning. Then Marcia texted directions to the children’s home, saying she wished they could visit the old property together.
After coffee with Mrs. Lamb, she would visit the former orphanage. Sit on its porch and remember her mom.
While she wanted to find out what happened all those years ago to her mother, some mysteries, she knew well, would never be resolved. Her mom had lived with that reality her entire life.
Harper settled into a living room chair that night to read Moonflower Lake.
Uncovering her mom’s story might be impossible, but she would search until she found out what happened to Olivia Belle.