Travelogue: Elsewhere
Florida
December 14th, 1981
1:00 am
Two hours after falling asleep, Wesley Hart sat straight up in bed, rousing his wife, and reaching for his watch. Pressing the buttons, he read the date. “Oh, crap,” he whispered.
“Wes?” Catherine Hart murmured, “What’s wrong?”
“Today’s the fourteenth,” he said, his voice gaining force. “The fourteenth!”
“I know,” Cathy said. “In fact, it’s one a.m. on the fourteenth. Why is that important?”
“Sarah and Tessa were scheduled to arrive on the twelfth. Today is the fourteenth!”
Cathy sat up next to her husband. “Oh my goodness! With all the commotion around here, I completely lost track of the days.”
“Me too,” Wes said guiltily. “I have to call Sarah and explain.” He reached for the phone, but Cathy stopped him.
“Sweetheart, if you call her at this time, you’re likely to scare her to death. Wait a few hours. I am sure Sarah will understand.” Wes covered his face with his hands and moaned. “Wesley,” his wife continued. “Sarah will understand. With your father having another heart attack, and then your mother collapsing from exhaustion--you’ve been overwhelmed.”
“Cathy,” he groaned. “Overwhelmed, while an understatement, is an excuse for forgetting a luncheon date, not for forgetting to send the plane for my widowed sister-in-law and teenaged niece! I didn’t even call!”
Cathy Hart wrapped her arms around her husband and held him, whispering, “I’m sure she’ll understand. We’ll get it figured out in the morning. Get some sleep while you can.”
“You’re probably right.” Wesley forced his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.
Cathy waited until his breathing became rhythmic before allowing herself to drift. Her last conscious thought was, But why didn’t Sarah call us?
December 18, 1981
Department of Child Welfare
3:30 pm
524 Harts in FL, 16 unlisted. 927 Harts in the state of New York, 228 in NYC, 32 not listed. 132 Beldens in NY -10 not listed. 52 Beldens in Illinois, 5 in Chicago, 3 unlisted. 17 Beldens in Idaho, 36 in Iowa. 4 Beldons in Illinois. 0 Beldons in Idaho. 0 Beldons in Iowa. 5 Beldons in NY, 2 unlisted.
Margaret Ramirez read the census report for the third time in ten minutes and closed her eyes. This whole case was difficult. Tessa Hart was a conundrum Margaret wasn’t sure she would ever solve. The girl had been through the traumatic death of her mother--an event that rendered her unable to communicate for several days. When she finally regained her powers of speech, she hadn’t been able to give Margaret much information.
Margaret rubbed her eyes. Tessa wasn’t from New York. She and her mother had been staying in an apartment near Central Park, but the girl had no idea of the address. The grandparents lived in New York and in Florida, and were named Hart. Tessa knew that she had relatives named Belden--or maybe Beldon--Margaret hadn’t felt comfortable trusting the spelling of a thirteen year old, no matter how smart she appeared. Of the Belden relatives, some lived in New York, some in Idaho, Illinois and/or Iowa. Tessa knew, also, that her Uncle Andrew Belden had recently signed papers, in Chicago, making him her legal guardian, if anything happened to her mother. Unfortunately, trying to locate any of the relatives was going to be a labor-intensive endeavor.
Tessa was safely housed with Paula Kawolski, one of Margaret’s Transition Care foster parents. Paula was good with kids, especially those who were grieving. The girl could start school after the holidays, if needed, and Paula was a wonderful cook. Tessa was a little too thin and pale for Margaret’s liking.
Sighing, Margaret looked at her list again. Chicago was the last place Tessa had seen her uncle. There were a total of 8 Beldens showing as residing in Chicago. It made sense to start with the easiest task, and move on to the more difficult. The certified letter informing Mr. Belden of his sister’s death and his niece’s circumstances was all ready to mail; all she needed was an address.
December 18, 1981
New York City
7:35 pm
Jasper Perkins knocked for the fourth time, and then used his key to enter the apartment. He was tired and more than a little worried. Wesley Hart had been trying to reach his sister-in-law for four days with no success. In desperation, he had called Jasper back from his business trip to check on Sarah and Tessa. Jasper had caught the first plane from Stockholm, and after twelve hours and two weather related delays, he stood in the entryway, looking for signs of life. “Sarah?” he called. “Tessa? It’s Jasper.”
December 18, 1981
Florida
7:55 pm
Wesley Hart felt his heart sink into his stomach as he listened to Jasper’s words. “It’s as if they’ve just vanished, Wes. I spoke to Magda. She cleaned on Saturday, and again on Wednesday, as scheduled. She said that it looked as if nothing had been touched since her last visit. I checked their rooms, and all of the luggage they brought with them is still here. There are clothes in the closets, and Tessa’s purse, along with her school identification and a few dollars, is sitting on the bed. I’m sorry.”
“Jas, you don’t think she would have been so upset when the plane didn’t show up, that she would have just left, do you?”
“No.” There was no doubt in Jasper’s voice. “First, she would have called you. The number is right there by the phone in the kitchen. Second...” There was a hesitation. “Secondly, she wouldn’t have left her personal things. Pictures of Jack and John Jr. are still in her room. She wouldn’t walk away from those, even if she were the type to walk away--which I don’t believe she is.”
“You think something happened.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” Jasper said, “I think something happened, and I don’t think it was good. I’ll call the police next, I just wanted to check in first.”
“Thank you, Jasper.” Wesley hesitated. “I’m sorry to lay so much on you, it’s just...right now...”
“One crisis at a time Wes, old pal, one crisis at a time. You handle Florida, I’ll take care of this. I think I will call Davis in the morning if the police don’t have anything for me.”
“That’s a good idea. Tell him to spare no expense.” Wes sighed. “Jasper, keep me informed, no matter what the news or the time. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much anyway.”
“Have you told the others?”
“Just Cathy.” Another sigh. “The girls are all up in arms about Dad, and now Mother, and Mother can’t handle any more right now. I’ll fill them in later, when we have something concrete.”
“Give them my love,” Jasper said. “I know better than to tell you not to worry, but try to...I don’t know... “
“Thanks, Jas.” Wesley didn’t try to hide his emotions. “Thanks.”
“You’re not just my boss, Wes, you’re family. I’ll be in touch. ‘Night.”
“‘Night, Jas.” Wes held the phone for a long moment, before hanging it up. Overwhelmed didn’t even come close to how he was feeling.
December 28, 1981
Chicago
Michelle Tucker, administrative secretary to Andrew Belden, wiped her reddened nose with a tissue, and listened to annoying hold music. Finally, a girlish voice came on the line. “Thank you for holding,” the voice said breathlessly. “How can I direct your call?”
Michelle rolled her eyes. “Trisha, it’s still me, Michelle. You put me on hold, remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” This time Trisha giggled. Michelle stifled a sigh. This receptionist was not going to work out. She’d been working for the company for nearly three months, and still hadn’t figured out how to transfer a call without hanging up on the caller.
“Trisha, I still have the flu,” Michelle said slowly and clearly. “I need you to collect all the mail that has come in during the last week. Anything that requires my immediate attention, bills, invoices, important documents-- things like that--put on my desk. Everything else, put in one of the overseas envelopes and send to Mr. Belden’s UK address. The envelopes are in the green file, and the mailing labels are in the top left drawer. Can you do that, please?”
“I’m not an idiot, Michelle.” Trisha sounded offended. “I can sort mail.”
“Good,” Michelle said wearily. “I’m hoping to be back by Wednesday. Call me only if it is an emergency, okay?”
“I’ve got it under control,” Trisha almost sounded professional, but she couldn’t keep the giggle out of her voice. “Feel better, Michelle. I’ve got to go, that cute UPS guy is outside the door. Bye!”
Trisha hung up the phone and fluffed her platinum blonde hair. She opened the door for the man in brown, and took several minutes to flirt with him as he unloaded his cart. Once he was gone, Trisha started sorting the large pile of mail. Thinking about Frank, the UPS man, she didn’t even notice the Certified letter from the State of New York sandwiched between the New Yorker and Time magazines.
January 12, 1982
British Ship, The Woolgatherer
Falkland Islands
“Peter? Peter!? Can you hear me?” Andrew Belden shouted into the ship to shore radio receiver.
After a pause, his brother’s voice came back over the line. “I can hear you Andy. Where are you?”
“I’m still on the ship, down off of the Falklands. We had some storm damage and had to put in for repairs. That’s why I called. I was hoping Sarah was still there, with you.”
“Andy, Sarah never came.”
“What? Why not?”
“I don’t really know,” Peter said. “She called in December to tell us that her father-in-law had had a heart attack and her plans had changed somewhat. At that time, she planned on coming here around the second, but she didn’t, and she hasn’t called either. I take it you haven’t heard from her?”
“No.” Peter heard the worry in his younger brother’s voice. “It’s a mess down here, Pete. Argentina has new leaders, and they’re out to start something with Great Britain. Communications come and go, and I have no idea how long it’s going to be before we can get back on the water. I’d fly home, but it’s a little dicey with all the tension. As soon as we can make a safer port, I’ll hop a plane back to Scotland. Maybe they’re there, or left a message. At least I have Sarah’s numbers there.”
“How will I get in touch, if I hear from her?” Peter asked.
“If you hear from Sarah and Tessa, call my office in Chicago. Michelle will find a way to get hold of me.” The line crackled with static and went dead, leaving each Belden brother holding a dead receiver.
February 10, 1982
Edinburgh, Scotland
No messages, no visitors, and no answer in Hawaii. Andrew Belden ran a hand through his sandy hair and opened the three overseas mailers sitting on his desk. He had been back in his flat for two days, and he was even more worried than when he had finally been able to leave South America. Sarah and Tessa Hart had apparently vanished into thin air.
Peter had spoken to Sarah on December eighth. Andrew’s New York lawyer, Jake Medle, had spoken with Sarah on the morning of the ninth, arranging to have the passports delivered by the eleventh. On the eleventh, the doorman had turned the messenger away, after Sarah had not answered the call from the lobby. Somewhere, somehow, between the ninth and the eleventh, Andrew’s sister and niece had gone missing.
Aimlessly, Andy sorted a months worth of correspondence; Magazines in one pile, solicitations in another, letters in a third. A particular letter caught his attention. Certified, it was from the State of New York, and postmarked December 24th. Fighting a feeling of dread, Andy turned the letter over in his hands. Steeling himself, he opened the envelope and removed the letter.
Dear Mr. Belden,
It is with regret that I inform you of the death of Sarah Kai’nehe Kaneohe Belden Hart...
February 15, 1982
New York City
“What do you mean you’ve lost her?” Andrew Belden tried to stay calm as he faced off against the social worker. “How do you lose a thirteen year old girl?”
“Mr. Belden, I assure you, this is a most unusual situation.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Andrew was incredulous.
“No, sir.” Margaret Ramirez struggled to find the right words. “Until Friday, Tessa was safely living in foster care. Something happened Friday night--I don’t know what. I only know that I have a foster parent in the hospital, along with her son and her son’s girlfriend, and two foster children just gone.”
“Kidnapped?” Andrew asked.
“I don’t know, Mr. Belden. The police are investigating, but right now I just don’t know.” The social worker looked close to tears. “Believe me when I tell you that this has never happened to one of my cases before.”
“The police are investigating,” Andrew repeated. “I assume that means they are looking for my niece?”
“Yes,” Margaret Ramirez assured him. “But they haven’t had much luck yet.”
“Mrs. Ramirez,” Andrew clenched his jaw as he spoke. “While I sympathize with your problems, I am most concerned with finding my niece. I am leaving this office and going directly to my lawyer. Once there, I will engage his services in hiring a private investigation service, which I will have investigate your office, as well as my niece’s whereabouts. If anything has happened to my niece, I assure you that I will hold you and the state of New York responsible. Do I make myself clear?”
Andrew did not wait for an answer. He spun on his heel and stormed out of the office. He would do as he had said, but first, he needed to call Peter.
February 22, 1982
New York City
“I’m sorry, Wes.” Jasper looked into the eyes of his friend and employer. “Sarah is dead. She was killed in a traffic accident on December ninth.”
Wesley sat back as if he had been struck. “Tessa?” he asked.
“She was taken to the hospital in severe shock. Once she had recovered, she was placed in foster care.” Jasper paused, biting his lip. “Tessa and another foster child disappeared from the home on February twelfth. They haven’t been found yet.”
“Do we have people looking for her?”
“Of course. The best we can hire.” Jasper reached out to grasp Wesley’s hand. “No ransom has been requested, so it probably wasn’t a kidnapping.”
Wes looked at him with pain-filled eyes. “At least not one for money. My God, Jasper, she’s a thirteen year old girl. What if some pervert has her? She’s my brother’s child...” His voice drifted off in horror.
“I know. I had the chance to meet her, remember?” Jasper asked. “But Wes, she had a strength about her. I believe she will survive whatever life throws at her: Jack was her father, you know. She is a Hart.”
“I can’t tell Mother, not this, not now.” Wesley covered his face with his hands. “What am I going to tell her?"
“Tell her that we are still looking. Sarah’s remains were claimed a few days ago by her brother. I’ve been told that he, whoever he is, has people looking too. We will find her. Right now, we just keep it under wraps, and keep looking.” Jasper stood, patting his old friend on the shoulder.
Wesley stood, too, and the two hugged briefly. Then Jasper left and Wesley sat quietly, looking at a photo of his own children, and praying.
