Chapter 5 - THE FARM NEAR THE RED BRIDGE
By dawn the following morning, Victor’s black sedan crossed the Pennsylvania state line. He had refused to send private investigators; after twenty-eight years of lies and paid silence, he needed to see this through with his own eyes. Kiara sat in the passenger seat, navigating with the worn note clutched in her hands.
They drove down a gravel lane flanked by rolling cornfields until the road crossed a weathered wooden covered bridge painted faded red. On the other side stood a humble white farmhouse with peeling paint and a wide porch overlooking a modest apple orchard.
A middle-aged woman wearing a denim apron and heavy garden gloves stood near the porch steps, cutting dried herbs. She paused as the luxury car came to a stop in the dirt driveway.
Victor stepped out, the crisp country air filling his lungs. For the first time in his adult life, he felt utterly defenseless.
“Can I help you folks?” the woman asked, wiping her hands on a towel. Her voice was cautious, her eyes darting between Victor’s tailored coat and the expensive car.
Kiara stepped forward. “Mrs. Hayes? My name is Kiara. I lived at St. Jude’s with Clara.”
The woman’s posture softened immediately, a warm look replacing her wariness. “Little Kiara? Good heavens. Clara talked about you for years. Look at you, all grown up.”
Victor stepped forward, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Mrs. Hayes, I’m Victor Alliance. Clara... Clara is my sister, Helena.”
Martha Hayes didn’t look shocked. Instead, an expression of profound sorrow washed over her weathered face. She looked down at her work-worn hands and let out a long, ragged breath.
“I knew this day would come,” Martha whispered. “When they brought her to me, they told me she was an orphan whose family had died in a fire. But she was terrified of men in dark suits, and she cried every night holding a little silver bird.”
“Where is she?” Victor’s voice broke. “Please, where is my sister?”
Martha looked toward the small barn behind the house, then back to Victor with tears brimming in her eyes. “Helena passed away three years ago, Mr. Alliance. An illness that took her fast. I’m so sorry.”
Victor stumbled back, catching the frame of his car as the world seemed to lose all air. All the hope of the last twenty-four hours vanished into a dark void.
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“She’s gone?” Victor choked out. “I was three years too late?”
“She didn't leave this world empty-handed, Mr. Alliance,” Martha said gently, gesturing toward the orchard. “Come. There is someone you need to meet.”
