Page 44 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

That would be a supreme sacrifice. Merle O’Shea was terrified of flying. “No, Mother. It’s helped so much just to talk to you. Really, I’ll be fine. I have to be for Melanie’s sake.”

“She sounds like such a sweet girl.”

“She is. We really feel like sisters.”

Her mother stumbled over her next question. “Erin, did—I mean did you find any information about your—real mother?”

Erin smiled into the receiver. Her mother couldn’t help a little spark of maternal jealousy. “No, Mother, I didn’t.”

“I’ll never forgive myself for destroying those records they gave me at the orphanage before I even read them. When Gerald and I got you, I was so thrilled and so selfishly possessive of you—”

“Mother, please. We’ve been through this a thousand times. At the time, you felt that you were doing the right thing for me. Besides, I’m not sure I want to know anything more now. I don’t think I could stand another disappointment.”

Each of them was lost in thought for a moment before Merle asked, “This Mr. Barrett, is he nice? I hope he’s not some insensitive tough guy.”

Erin had deliberately refrained from any mention of her personal involvement with Lance Barrett. Was he nice? “Yes, he’s nice, I suppose, though he’s handled everything very professionally. I wouldn’t call him insensitive.”

Her mother seemed satisfied with her answer. “Good. You have that to be thankful for.”

“Yes.”

“When are you coming home, Erin? I’ll feel so much better when you’re back in Houston. You won’t seem so far away.”

Erin sighed. She hadn’t made any plans to go home, though she knew now that she must. “I don’t know, Mother,” she answered honestly. “I want to make sure that Melanie is going to be all right. Within a few days for sure. I’ll let you know.”

“Please do.” Merle paused for a long moment; then she said, “Erin, I know how much this meant to you. If I could spare you this heartache, I would. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Sometimes things happen in our lives for which there isn’t an explanation. I hope this hasn’t lessened your faith that God takes care of you.”

“No. I need that faith now more than ever.”

“You’ll be in my prayers. I love you, Erin.”

“I love you, too. Good-bye, Mother.”

“Good-bye.”

Erin replaced the receiver, hating to break that communicating thread with the loving woman who had given her life, if not birth.

Listlessly, she returned to the guest bedroom to finish dressing for the funeral. In Houston, she had packed a simple Halston dress of black wool jersey to wear to dinner should the occasion arise. Now she was wearing it to a funeral. Black textured hose and black suede pumps completed her outfit. Her only adornments were a pair of pearl studs in her ears and a strand of pearls around her neck.

Erin looked good in black and wore it often. It complemented her dark hair and eyes and her fair complexion. But Melanie wasn’t so fortunate. The black dress she had borrowed from Charlotte Winslow wrapped around her like a shroud. Her fair hair was still peeled away from her face in a severe style. The black dress made her wan complexion look even more sallow. Her eyes, which Erin had seen sparkle with childlike excitement, were lackluster and vacant.

It was a strange cortege that proceeded from the house to the chapel in the cemetery. Erin and Melanie rode in the somber limousine provided by the funeral director. They were accompanied by Melanie’s parents, who appeared annoyed by the whole affair. Disparagingly, Erin wondered if the funeral had conflicted with a bridge tournament or a golf game and inconvenienced Melanie’s parents.

Lance, Mike, and Clark followed at a sedate pace in their unmarked government car.

Melanie seemed to have cried herself dry last night before boarding the airplane. After landing, when Erin and Lance had roused her, she had remained composed, if somewhat aloof. She withstood the funeral service stoically.

A grief she hadn’t experienced since the death of Gerald O’Shea washed over Erin as she looked at the unpretentious coffin covered with the spray of copper chrysanthemums that contained her brother’s body.

She had come so close to knowing and loving him. So close, and yet she would never see him alive. Never hear his voice. Never enjoy the nuances of his personality. Had she entered his life a few days earlier, could her appearance have altered the course he had taken? Would her existence have made a difference in his life?

During the funeral service, she performed much like Melanie. She was vague and disoriented, mired down in a miasma of despair.

It was almost dark by the time they returned to the Lyman residence. Erin went upstairs with Melanie and left her at the door of her room. Before she did anything else, Erin wanted to take off the black dress. She doubted she would ever wear it again.

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