Page 100 of Broken Princess

“There was one more question I had.”

“Sure.”

“Do you know what the terms of the sale were for the land that used to be owned by Bruce Shaw?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. That story I’ve heard enough times to recite by heart. There was an issue with the property divide, separating Ruttledge’s land from great-grandpa Bruce’s, though I suspect the animosity was all because of granny Judith’s broken engagement.”

“Your great-grandmother was originally engaged to Kenneth Ruttledge?”

“Yes, she was. I’m told her father liked the Ruttledge’s well enough but Kenneth wasn’t the first-born son, and there was already an agreement in place to marry her off to Bruce Shaw who was.”

There goes more of that old elitist hierarchy shit I can’t get on board with.

“So you think Ruttledge retaliated and stole the land?”

“That’s the version of events I heard. Grampa Bruce could never prove it. At any rate, I think I have the land deed for that parcel you’re talking about.” She pulls out a card and passes it to me. “I don’t keep the provenance documents to any of our valuables or important papers here. They’d be in my family lock box at this bank.”

I agree to meet her at nine in the morning, excited to get a look at that deed.

Five minutes to nine, I’m in front of the bank, waiting for Daniella Rossi. The doors swing open and the manager ushers me inside. “Mrs. Rossi is waiting for you downstairs. Right this way.”

I follow him passed the vault and down a flight of stairs to the safety deposit boxes. He steps forward with his key. He and Daniella unlock the box, which should be called a mini vault, and places it on the table between us.

Daniella hands me a stack of papers which turn out to be a series of portraits. I unfurl the third one. “Huh. They say there’s a double of everyone in the world and I guess it’s true, because she looks like my sister, Summer.”

“Summer? Where did you say you were from in the states, dear?”

“I’m originally from Fairview, Connecticut, but now we live in Kingsley Bluffs, New York.” Daniella has the same look on her face that she had yesterday when she saw the picture of the ring. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Well, as you know, New York is, where my granny Judith’s family is originally from. I’m not familiar with your town, though. Perhaps it used to be called something else. Is your given name Jordanna?”

“Yup. I’m named after my mom’s grandfather and favorite aunt. My sister was named in honor of the maiden name of some ancestor on my dad’s side. I guess you weren’t the only one tuning out on long, boring stories.”

She pulls out a photo album and flips through the pages. “No way,” I gasp, looking at the family portrait. The older man looks like an age progression of my dad.

“This is my great grandmother, Judith Summer, and this gentleman is her father Elijah. The portrait you said looks like your sister is of his wife Charlotte.” She points to another person, “And this is great-great-uncle Batholemew again. I’m told there was a third sibling that no one really talks about. Growing up, I used to hear whispers though. When my great-grandmother got older, she started telling stories about her childhood. A lot of the family dismissed them as confused ramblings. We now think she had Alzheimers but there was no official diagnosis of things like that back then.”

She rubs her hand across the photo. “When I got older, I would sit and listen to her stories, though. She told me she had a sister, who also found love with someone their father didn’t approve of. But she ignored her parent’s wishes and married the gentleman, anyway. She was disowned for her disobedience and everyone pretended she never existed.”

“This is granny Judith with the ring from your picture, on a chain around her neck.” Pointing to another picture, she says, “Here a year later, she still wears the chain, but the ring is missing.”

I take a picture of the deed to compare with the one on file with the city. “What do you think happened to the third sibling?”

Daniella stares at me, unblinking. “I think my great-great aunt must’ve gone on to live a marvelous life, raised a family, and passed down the only thing she could. Our name.”

This is a lot to take in. The photo of the guy who looks like my dad, and the woman who looks like Summer. And, Daniella’s great-grandmother was engaged to a Ruttledge.

Daniella walks to the storage vault again. “My mother was working on something for years. Some kind of hobby that she wouldn’t tell us about, and stored it in this box. I could never get a straight answer when I asked her about it. Right before she passed, she told me the key was sent somewhere for safekeeping.”

“What’s in here?” I ask, when she sits a smaller locked box on the table in front of me.

She gives me a pointed stare and I realize I’m toying with the key I wear on the chain around my neck. “I think you havethekeyto answer that question.”

I consider her words and slip the chain over my head. It slides easily into the lock and turns. The safety deposit box has two things inside it. An unfinished family tree and a picture of my dad when he was little, wearing his lucky number on his basketball jersey.

During the flight home, my mind is swirling with everything I heard and saw on my trip, and what it all could possibly mean. Once again, I feel like my world’s been flipped upside down and I’m faced with the startling reality that I know nothing about my family. I could have been on a beach with Logan, having a normal spring break experience, instead of feeling like I’m losing another piece of myself while cruising 37,000 feet in the air.

We land and my thoughts still haven’t steadied. Today I want my brushes and canvas, and the familiarity of Logan’s studio, but he’s at some kind of charity event. Plus, what right do I have to ask anything of him after the fight we had before I left? He was choosing to spend time with me, but I pushed him away to pursue my story. It’s my own fault I’m heading back to campus a day early, and alone.

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