Footprints At Dawn (Book 2)

Chapter Thirty-Three

On the fifth of January, Thomas was laid to rest beside his wife, Mary Ellen, at Clay's Cottage.

It was a small funeral with only the Valentine family, Robbie, Nicholas and myself attending, followed by a wake inside the cottage. I was finally able to meet Mr. Valentine's three other sons, and was reunited with Isabella and her children. Each family member had a sweet or funny story to tell about Thomas, and it was a lovely way to say goodbye. Nicholas agreed.

"I am utterly exhausted," I said later on that night, as I plonked down beside Nicholas on the sofa. "Both physically and emotionally exhausted. Teddy agrees with me," I added, watching him lying flat-out in front of the fireplace. Isabella's three children played with him for hours, and it wouldn't surprise me if he slept for a week.

"It's been a long day," Nicholas replied, who I noticed was staring down at a sheet of paper in his hand.

"It's been a long few weeks. We've been on quite an adventure since we met, haven't we?"

He turned his head to look at me. "Yes, my life has certainly become a lot more interesting since I met you," he said, lips curling up into a smile. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Even the near death experiences?"

"All right, I admit, I could do without those."

I laughed. "How are you doing?" I asked in all seriousness.

"Surprisingly well."

"Whatcha got there?" I glanced over his shoulder at the sheet of paper, and he handed it to me.

"My father's death certificate."

My eyes skimmed over the old-fashioned handwriting. I had seen many like it during my genealogy research, but only digitised copies.

"Thomas Clay, died 1870, Launceston," I mumbled to myself, reading from the paper.

"Strange to see, isn't it? After seeing 1854 on his headstone for so long."

"No, wait... I remember something... when I was searching for his death notice... The closest Thomas Clay I could find to his age was a Thomas Clay who died in 1870 in Launceston. Oh my God, Nicholas, it was him. He was right in front of me and I had no idea. This would've been the proof I needed to know he was still alive. Jesus."

Nicholas took the paper from me and placed it onto the coffee table. "Don't worry about that now. We found him in the end."

"It was a good thing your father was still living under his real name. He would've been a lot harder to find."

"He told me he'd only been using his real name since moving to Launceston eight months ago. Apparently for the last fifteen years he'd lived in a new town every year with a different name every time. He knew his health was deteriorating and if he were to die in Launceston, he wanted his headstone to read his real name."

"That makes sense," I replied.

He repositioned himself on the sofa so he was facing me. "So I found my father and said my goodbyes, and Doyle can no longer bother us anymore." He paused and I nodded, wondering what his point was. "I suppose that means you've done what you came to do?"

"Well, not everything. There's still the mystery of why you disappear."

"Is there, though? Doyle's dead. I'm no longer in danger."

"You're no longer in danger of Doyle, but we don't know for sure if it was Doyle who was responsible for your disappearance. We don't know anything." I sighed in frustration.