David Richards's letter to Stephen Ward was found by workmen renovating the Ward home, and a copy was mailed to John five years after the tornado that marked the rebirth of Richards Spur and the beginning of our life together.
There was no way of knowing how Stephen Ward, staunch Presbyterian and elder of his church, reacted at first to David's request. His reply, if written, has long been lost. But the court records reflect that he acted as trustee of David Richards's estate until his own death in 1932.
And there is no way of knowing how different the life John and I share would be had we known of the letter earlier. Would I have chosen John and life, or would knowledge of that letter have kept me immobile in the doorway and cost John his life? Distanced by years and the happiness I fought for, I can say I would have chosen as I did. But occasionally, late at night, I wonder.
Was David successful? John says no. Obviously not. Because he has me. But he no longer hates David. And he no longer denies his heritage.
Joannie's baby was born healthy and normal. He's seven now. His little sister is three, a month younger than the daughter who fills our hearts and the hallways of our home with joy.
And Joannie is walking—with the aid of a loan we practically had to force on her and Mack. We've widened and smoothed the road across the hilltop, and often on a spring evening she and her entire family will walk to our home for a laughter-and-love-filled visit.
John and I kept only two of the Wards: the pink landscape and the portrait of Eliza. The others are where they belong, in museums where they can be seen. Recently we received an offer for Eliza's portrait. We don't know yet if we will accept the offer, but if we do, her portrait will hang beside the one of David that I first saw when I was twelve.
Stanley McCollum made the mistake John was waiting for and has been convicted of embezzlement, from my trust and from others.
I began working with Gail on the Saturday after the storm and continued even after the sanity hearing was dismissed. She's perceptive, nonjudgmental, and understanding—another friend in a life that for too long had no friends.
Gail asked permission to share my story with some of her colleagues, and I agreed.
More than one theory has been advanced about what I experienced. The most frequent one is reincarnation—that somehow David and Eliza did return to a specific location, and that David planned the return. In that scenario the terms of the trust make sense: Eliza had been a child when he first met her, only twenty-one when she came under his protection—she must be an adult this time. And before, it had taken a year for her to admit her love; he would give her that much time.
Another theory is that the spirits of the two lovers were so strong that anyone sensitive would have felt them.
And there are others.
Working with Gail I explored most of these possibilities. Was this reincarnation? Through hypnosis, I was able to go back, but never with the clarity of the recall I no longer experience. And if we were reincarnations, who were the major players?
David was easy. He'd been here all along, and I didn't need hypnosis to recognize him. I did that on my own, after I almost lost him, although I'm not sure he will ever want to know.
And Owen? Owen was here all along, too, though not where I thought. And no one but Gail and I will ever know of that identification. Revealing it would only bring pain, because at last Owen has found the ability to give love, and in so doing to receive love.
Reincarnation? Genetic memory? Spiritual energy and thought transference? Possession? Or a window in time? All have been suggested. But does it really matter which of those, or none of those, it was?
David and Eliza are at peace.
John and I, with our daughter, are storing up our own memories.