A Visitor

My Dearest Stephen,

My search for Sarah is not going well. I have been all over New England and still I cannot find one trace of her. I am starting to believe that she told me a lie about her going to Maine. I am also starting to believe that I will never find her, and I am not sure what frightens me more. As of now I am heading to New York, I think this is where she is, something I think I have known all along. Where else could she be so well concealed? My train should arrive at Grand Central sometime this evening. I am planning on staying at the Plaza Hotel; you know the one that opened a few years back? I know back when we said goodbye that I told you I wanted to do this alone, but I fear that I must abandon my pride and say that what I said then no longer applies. I miss you so very much. Please, my love, I need my port in the storm. Please come to me, joining me in New York my dearest friend. I will send you more details upon my arrival. I hope to see you soon.

All my love,

Ramona

Stephen felt a grin stretch across his face. She wanted him to join her! He was happy that she had had the experience of independence that she had needed, yet Stephen had missed Ramona with every breath he had taken since she had left Boston in search of her half-sister. He raced with boy like speed to find his trunk. He dove under his bed, and found it, coated in dust when the bell rang.

“Damn!” He swore as his head collided with the bed bottom. Emerging from beneath his bed, and covered in dust, Stephen nursed his bumped head. He heard the Butler answer the door below, but could not hear who was being greeted. Stephen lugged his trunk to the top of his bed, and began to hastily pile clothes into it. So emerged in his packing he did not hear the door to his room open, and was taken by surprise when out of the corner of his eye he saw a shape in the doorway. He jumped, making a yell of surprise and amazement when he saw his brother, Eric standing in his room.  Eric looked very much like Stephen. His hair was lighter, and he had gray eyes, but he was still sturdy and strong like all Scots men. He was dressed in travel clothes, and had his hands in his pockets.

“Eric?” He said, sounding more confused than jubilant. His last encounter with his brother had not gone well. Eric had stormed out of the house after an argument they had had about his studies and money. He had not seen his younger brother in months, nor had he any idea he was coming home to Boston, for they did not keep a correspondence.

“Hello Steve” Eric said, a tone of cockiness in his voice that Stephen loathed. He supposed the tone was due to the fact that Stephen, covered in dust and shirt un-tucked, looked a mess. Stephen squared his shoulders, and straightened up.

“What are you doing here, Eric?” He asked, bitterness clinging to every word. The euphoria that had held him captive with the reading of Ramona’s letter was evaporated, now all he felt was the pent up resentment towards his brother that had held him captive before he had met Ramona. Eric gave him a coy smile, and walked farther into the room.

“Mother wrote to me, and I have business with a… a friend of mine.”

Stephen took that to mean that Eric had some rendezvous with a woman he had met in college, that or worse.

“You know you are not welcome in this house.”

Eric smirked at him in response. “Mother told me to come, and this is her home.”

Anger boiled through Stephen’s veins. “You know as well as I that this is my home now, Father left it to me in the will.” Stephen saw Eric’s brows crinkle at this retort. He hated being the younger brother, and Stephen, always playing the role of the elder brother played off this hatred like a game. He knew it was childish to play off his brother’s childhood resentment, but at this moment he did not care. The minute Eric had taken his inheritance and abandoned his family; Stephen had all but counted his brother as dead.  It was taking every fiber of his being from beating Eric to a pulp where he stood.

“Where are you going?” Eric asked, looking at the trunk, overflowing with clothes.

“Not that it is any of your concern, but I have business in New York.”

“Oh?” said Eric, sounding amused. His tone perturbed Stephen to no end. He turned his back on his brother, attempting to continue packing.

“Out of curiosity Steve, would this “business” happen to include a Miss Ramona Ramsey and a Miss Sarah Turner?”

Ice flooded Stephen’s veins, as he quickly took control of his fear. He was a lawyer after all. He would put his education to use. Slowly he turned to look at Eric.

“What do you mean?”

Eric’s smirk reemerged on his face. “You know exactly what I mean. And there is no use in pretending you don’t know. You see I have had a letter from darling Sarah.”

And the cool disposition Stephen was trying to exude escaped him.

“You … you know Sarah?” He stammered. But how? When? None of this made any sense.  Eric walked over to Stephen’s dresser and picked up a baseball that had been sitting there. They had played catch with it years ago. Now his brother tossed it up and down, as if the ball was Stephen himself. “How do you know Sarah?” Stephen asked, trying to sound as assertive as possible.

 “In the biblical sense.” Eric replied, chuckling as he continued to toss the ball up and down. Stephen’s heart began to pound when it dawned on him what his brother meant. Stephen looked into Eric’s cool calculating gray eyes.  Regardless of how Eric knew Sarah, one thing concerned him above all else.

“How do you know about Ramona?”

Eric stopped tossing the baseball, and looked at his brother.  A grin as cold as his eyes spreading across his face.

“Oh Stephen, the question is not how I know what I know, but how much I do know. And more importantly, what information I have that can reunite you with your darling little ginger girl.”

“It seems we have much to discuss.” Stephen said through clenched teeth.

“It seems we do,” said Eric. And with that he placed the ball back on the dresser and exited the room. Stephen looked at his trunk, then at the ball, and finally at the door. Sighing and saying a silent prayer for strength, he followed 

Known and Unknown

The white stone seemed to shine in the grime of the city. Putting her shoulders back, just as her mother taught her, Ramona climbed the marble steps, hoping and praying she would find her sister within these doors.  

Reaching the top of the steps, Ramona was stretching her gloved hand towards the brass knob on the door when she heard her name.

“Ramona! Ramona!” Shivers bolted up her spine. Only one voice in the world could say her name like that. She spun around and there he stood.

“Stephen!?” She exclaimed with amazement. Tears filled her eyes and before she knew it she was running to him. She flung herself into his arms and held him tight. He was so solid and firm. Real. She inhaled his smell and looked up, searching for the familiar green gaze, and she found it. His eyes were sparkling and she noticed they were also a little damp from tears, yet a smile was spreading across his face.

“I have missed you so much!” She said her voice full of breathless delight.

He chuckled in response “And I you my love.” My love. Oh! He still loved her! It had been more than a month since she had last seen him. Since she had last been in his arms. Ramona had almost forgotten the warmth and safety that she had come to know there. She looked up into his green eyes again. She had expected him to come when she had asked in her last letter, but one thing puzzled her. New York had hundreds, goodness thousands, of people how did he find her here?

“How?” She asked, “How did you find me?”

Stephen bit his lip. It was a nervous habit of his. “It is a long story Mona. I would much rather tell it to you at your hotel.” She looked up at him with even more bewilderment. Stephen answered her look at once.

 “I know where Sarah is.” 

A Man's World

"Jim_MEY!"
"Damn!"  She had jumped so hard that her finger had slipped and now three "f's" resided in the center of her perfect typed copy."
"Best run, word has it that good ole' Charlies on the warpath and all the junior editors are in an extra pissy because of it."  She nodded and reminded herself not to simper- it had taken a good month for her to remember not to try to flirt her way out of trouble here.  She still had to pinch herself to remember to answer to "Jimmy;" on her very first day she had almost given herself away when she hadn't reacted with enough gusto to the questionable pictures of showgirls that one of the copy editors had provided.  Sighing she pulled the cover over her Underwood No. 5, her pride and joy and her only possession of any value.  When she had first moved to the city she had paid for it dearly; ruefully running her hand over her slowly returning brown locks she wondered what her friends and family would think if they could see her now.
The editors office was never a safe place for an aspiring reporter, you were twice as likely to get fired as you were to get words of praise.  Steeling herself she pushed in the door.
"About time, Mullen.  Sit."  She did, reminding herself to keep her legs spread wide and not cross her ankles as her cotillion teachers had once so forcefully instructed. 
"Now, I've read your latest article."  She kept her eyes on her knees, barely letting herself breath.
"And It's horse shit.  Mullen, you've got a good brain for prose but no one cares about this nonsense.  People want a REAL headline, Bobby Millers been writing up a piece on prizefighting and I'm fixing to run it on the front page."
"I'm sorry sir, I just thought-"
"Stop thinking!  I don't pay you to think, I pay you to write."  She sighed, inwardly.
"Yes sir."
"Now, I have an assignment for you, something that people really do want to read about.  Some society lady from Boston is in town and she's throwing a charity ball down at the Metropolitan Art Museum, go see if you can chat her up, get her story.  Shouldn't be too hard of a job, pretty ladies, plenty to eat-after the shit you send me I shouldn't be rewarding you like this."  She nodded, rising and brushing her trouser legs off as she did.
"Saturday night, nine pm.  Oh, and Jimmy?  Don't give me any more of this shit."  He slapped her article into her chest and she turned, letting the door close behind her.
Back at her desk she slid the rejected article into her bag.  "Hundreds of Women Assaulted by British Police in Brutal Attack against Peaceful Protesters."  Her British brethren would have to wait.  Silently she cursed whatever Bostonian aristocrat was making her leave her impassioned writing for a night of silly talk and town gossip.  Reaching her hand into her pocket she let her fingers graze the black velvet box that she had taken to carrying with her.  Timothy no doubt had given up the ring for lost, along with his would be betrothed- but somehow by holding the ring she felt closer to him and closer to home. 
Though she hated to admit it, Sarah was just a little bit homesick. 

One Step Closer

Ramona bustled around the crowded streets of New York. She had been here a week, and still she could not grow accustomed to the amount of people that lived here. Where did they all come from? There did not seem to be enough buildings to house all of them, yet still they came ever pushing and shoving onto the busy street. Every time she stepped off the front steps of The Plaza, she felt as if she were taking a plunge into the sea, yet this sea was made up of bright colors, and at times just as unforgiving as the water.

Today, Ramona was sure she would make progress. She could feel it in her bones. Her eyes fell to the address she had scribbled in haste. Why was it she could never read her own handwriting? One Times Square, 1475 Broadway was her destination.  Ramona felt the crowd jostle her to and fro as she made her way to Broadway. In no time she was there. Standing in front of the New York Times building. The white stone seemed to shine in the grime of the city. Putting her shoulders back, just as her mother taught her, Ramona climbed the marble steps, hoping and praying she would find her sister within these doors.  

Clues

Rain streaked the windows of the rolling train. Ramona watched as the raindrops blend together in a watery blur. She leaded her cheek on the cool glass, and the heat from her breath created fog on the icy window. For it being summer, the weather outside was unbearably bleak. Sarah’s letter lay crumpled in Ramona’s gloved hand. She had read it so many times she feared that the ink would soon disappear from the page. Her search in New England had not been productive. She had worn herself almost thin looking for her lost friend.  If she did not find Sarah at the next location she would abandon her search.  Ramona’s mind flickered back to a night, like this, when she and Sarah had curled up on Sarah’s bed to talk about the future. Sarah had gone on and on about being a writer. It was that night that she had shown Ramona her works under her pen name James Mullen.

Ramona bolted upright. James Mullen. Her mind raced with a swirl of uncontrollable thoughts. She un- crumpled the paper and found the line she had look at so many times:

Where I go, I shall no longer be Sarah Turner.

It all fit! She knew where to look now, though it would not be easy...   

Ramona could hear the echo of Sarah’s lark sounding voice, “One of these days I am going to New York. I will show the world that a woman can write just as well as a man. And you will come with me, wont you Mona?” 

New York! Ramona’s mind wheeled and turned, then the jubilation came to a startling halt. New York was one of the larges cities in the country, far bigger than Boston. How in the world was Ramona going to find Sarah in that city?

Father, she prayed, how am I going to find her? How?  Then it came to her from the dark shadows of her memory. A newspaper. Sarah had to be at a newspaper, and Ramona was going to search every single one till she found her friend. 

A Port in a Storm

Tears streamed down Ramona’s face as she lay on her bed. The afternoon light was shinning in her yellow room, far to bright for her discomfort. Her chest ached as she pictured the look in Sarah’s eyes when she had confessed the “truth”. The letter Sarah had sent her lay wrinkled at her side. Ramona’s eyes found the paper and she held it before her, blinking it into focus.  

And now, my darling Mona, I shall not tell you where I am going, except that it is not to Maine. I may once have been pregnant, but now I am utterly without child again. Where I go, I shall no longer be Sarah Turner.

And that was her biggest clue of all. Slowly she got to her feet and searched around for her old hat box and found it on a shelf in her wardrobe. She had not touched it since her mother had died and a thin layer of dust covered the faded pink lid. Lifting the lid she found dozens of folded pieces of paper. Each one had a prayer scribbled on it. It was her prayer box. Every time she had a prayer she would write it down on paper, date it, then toss it in the box. Once the paper was in the box it was in the Lord’s hands.  Ramona carried the box to her writing desk scribbled a prayer on to a fresh piece of paper, dated it, and placed it softly in the box. She put the lid back on then looked around the room. Relief and peace flooded through her veins as she walked back to her wardrobe. She removed simple clothing, a few blouses and skirts, and folded them neatly into her carpet bag. Ramona shrugged on her light blue travel jacked and was tying the ribbons of her hat under her chin when a knock came on the door.

“Yes?” she said, and Gerald opened the door.

“Madame, Mr. Magathan is here.”

Ramona felt hot color flood to her face. How could she have forgotten about Stephen?

“Um… Tell him I will be down in a moment Gerald.” He bowed his head and exited the room. 

Ramona paced the room for a few moments, thinking about what to tell him, then with a deep breath she gathered up her bag and went down the stairs to the Parlor.

Stephen was standing with his back to her, examining a painting of a garden that hung on the wall. His dark locks shown in the sun that streamed in  through the parlor window. Her breath caught in her chest at the sight of him. She wanted to run to him, and it took all of her will power not to.

“Hello, Stephen.” She said.  He spun around and smiled at her. Oh that smile.  Ramona felt her knees beginning to shake. She smiled back at him, but weakly.  His smile faded a little.

“Were are you going?”

Ramona thought for a moment. She could not lie to him, whatever Sarah had said. She would not tell him everything but she could not lie to him.

“I need to go find Sarah. She is in trouble and I cannot leave her alone, she needs me.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow. “What sort of trouble?”

“I cannot tell you, I promised not to tell.”

He nodded solemnly. She knew he did not understand.

“Stephen, I don’t like keeping things from you… But you must know that I would tell you if I could.”

“Mona dear, you do not need to explain anything to me. “ He walked over to her and put his arms around her, holding her tight. She melted into his arms and for a moment time stood still.

“Can you give me an idea of where you are going? “ he whispered into her hair. “I must admit that I don’t like the idea of you traveling alone.” Ramona looked up into his light green eyes and saw that he was truly worried. Her stomach flipped as she realized this.

“Do not worry Stephen, I will be fine. I have prayed about this and know it is what I have to do.”

He sighed and nodded. She knew he would understand in time, but she did not know how much more time they would have. He needed to understand now. She was tired of lies. He had to know.

“Ste” she said (her new nickname for him) “I know my friendship with Sarah does not make any sense to you, but you need to know that she is not just my friend, but my sister.” He raised his eyebrows again. “Well yes dear, figuratively.”

Ramona shook her head. “No not figuratively. She IS my sister, though only half blood. She is my father’s daughter.”

“What?” he whispered.

Ramona sighed. “I don’t know if Sarah knows, I don’t think she does, but I discovered this only a few weeks ago. I was going through some of my mother’s things and found a box buried in the attic. It had letters in it dating back almost twenty years ago.  They were love letters, they were not to my mother, but to my father. And they were signed from Katherine Turner.”  

Stephen’s eyes widened as Ramona spoke, and she knew he was trying to sort all of this out in his legal working mind. She looked at the grandfather clock, time was running out, the train would be leaving soon.

“I am sorry I don’t have much time to explain everything, Ste.” She said taking his hand.  He looked down at her, and she noticed tears were on the brim of his eyes.  Her heart ached.

“Are you crying for me?” She said, placing her hand on his cheek.

“My heart mourns for you Mona. You have been through to much my love.”

“My love?” She whispered, softly, stammering over the last word.  

His ears turned a vibrant shade of red as he nodded.  Ramona’s heart pounded in her ears.

“I love you, Ramona.”  Their eyes met and Ramona could no longer feel the pain she had kept built up inside her for so long. Every thing that had happened with William did not matter. He was in her past, and now, she realized she wanted a new future, a future with Stephen.

“I Love you too.” She said as earnestly and passionately as she could. Tears were beginning to leak from her eyes again. Stephen reached up, and brushed them away with his finger. A large smile was stretched across his face and Ramona could not help but mirror it. 

He bent down and kissed her softly at first, then so full and deep that  Ramona  felt dizzy when they separated. Stephen held her tight for a long time until he spoke.

“Please let me come with you.”  He whispered. Ramona looked up at him and smiled weakly.

“Ste, I have never done anything on my own. I have never known much of the world outside of Boston.  I need to do this alone.  I need a chance to be an adult.” She was trying so hard not to cry. Why did she always get so emotional?

He was looking at her again, with that blazing look that sent shivers up her spine.  Oh how she loved him!

“Then go.” He said softly, his eyes full of tender warmth.  Ramona hugged him again.

“I will write when I get to where I am going.” She said looking up at him again. He nodded and took her hand slowly up to his lips and kissed it. 

“I will not stop praying for you till you are back here.”

“I will return, with or with out Sarah. I just need to know she is safe.”

He nodded again. “Stephen, please do not worry. If there is one thing I know how to do, it is persevere.” She stood on her toes and kissed him. Taking in everything that she could, from his smell to the feel of his hair. Out of breath, she bent down and gathered her things. Looking into his green gaze again, she smiled.

“I love you Stephen Magathan. You are my port in a storm.”

He smiled at her. “Be safe my love.” And with her heart aching, Ramona turned and left. 

Our Place

Bugs swarmed in the summer air as George Ramsey made his way to his destination. The twinkle of stars were barley visible through the rising buildings and glowing lights of Boston, yet he did his hardest to find them as he walked toward the park. The glitter of stars always comforted him, and George knew that tonight was going to be one of the nights that he needed the comfort. In his left hand he held, a now crumpled, piece of paper. On it were scribed only two words: our place. He had known what they meant and when to go there. The summer crickets chirped as he made his way deeper into the park, following a familiar path that lead to a wooden bench. The bench was occupied, as he knew it would be. He approached and the shadowy figure came into focus.

“Hello Katherine.” He said, and occupant on the bench jumped.

“George! You gave me a fright.”

“I am sorry Katie.” He said softly as he moved to sit next to her. In all his years of knowing Katherine she has still managed to keep her youthful beauty. Her brown hair was speckled with gray, but to him she would always be young. Yet tonight there was something different about her appearance. Her hands were clenched in her lap and she had, what appeared to be dark shadows under her eyes that she had tried to hide with ample amounts of makeup.

“I am happy you came.” she said, her voice quivering for a moment.

“You knew I would.” He said tenderly, taking her hand.  He looked up at Katherine and noticed tears streaming from her blue eyes.

“What is wrong Katie May?” He asked, calling her by her old pet name.

Sorrow filled her eyes and she began to cry. “It is Sarah, George.”

“Sarah?” He asked.

“Yes. She has run away, and Tom and I don’t know where she has gone.”

George sighed. Sarah had always been rebellious, bit this was not entirely expected.

“Does Ramona know where she has gone?” He heard Katherine ask through her sobs.

“I do not know. Ramona does not speak to me about her friends.”

“Oh George how can you be so cruel? You know they are more than friends…”

George pressed his lips together. He knew Katherine would bring this up again. All he wanted was to be with her, yet all she could talk about was Sarah.

Sarah. 

“What do you want me to do about it Katie?” He asked, somewhat frustrated.

 She looked up at him, her blue eyes shining with tears. “George,” she said softly “She is your daughter.

George let a deep sigh escape pass his lips. True, Sarah was his daughter, but an illegitimate one at that, and she did not know, at least not to his knowledge. Nor did Ramona, and he was going to keep it that way.

“Katherine I am not going chasing after that girl of yours. If she has gotten herself into trouble then I do not want Ramona’s name tainted by association.”

Katherine looked at him, stunned.

“Tainted by association!” She squeaked, “How dare you! You have never been there for her, not once.”

“Katherine, she is my bastard and nothing more. Besides she looks nothing like me. How can you know she is mine?”

“George she is just like you! She has your brown curling hair, and your pig headed stubbornness. She thinks like you do, always planning her next step. She has a mind, and she is intelligent.”

“Which is proof she is not Tom Turner’s child.” He said sarcastically. Thomas Turner was not known for his intellect. He had bounced around from job to job, leaving the family almost destitute. If it were not for the money George funneled into an account they would be reduced to paupers.

Katherine took his hand and squeezed it tightly, and he returned the pressure.  She had been his sweetheart when he first came to America. Katherine had been hired as a recording secretary for his new bank and they had grown close, first friends, then lovers. Yet Katherine came from nothing, and in turn had nothing. His parents had refused to let him marry her, and they promptly arranged a marriage with Mary Mahoney.  At first George had gone willingly to Mary, yet after their first child had been born she had begun to change. Mary became hysterical and he could not cope. That is when he found Katie again. She took him back, and they started a long lasting affair, an affair that produced a child. Sarah.

“Do you have any idea where she could be?” He asked, as tenderly as he could.

“Somewhere in New England.”  She said softly, and George nodded.

“I will see if Mona knows something.”

Katherine sighed and looked relieved at his words.

“I am not making any promises Katie, but I will try.”

“Thank you George.”

He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips, then rose to go.  As he left he heard muffled sobs echoing through the dark night.