Allison O'Brian on Her Own Read online

  She wondered about her grandfather. Was it too late? Would he still be alive? Would he be glad to see her?

  The next day they crossed the border into Oregon. Allison and Mr. O’Conner threw a private party at lunch to celebrate.

  “Here’s to Oregon.” Mr. O’Conner toasted his root beer high.

  “Here’s to a good homecoming!” agreed Allison with her cola.

  Later on, she looked out over the massive Columbia River in awe. The mountains of the gorge seemed to jut right out of the water. Then they passed the majestic Multnomah Falls, and Mr. O’Conner described its beautiful scenery. Allison hoped maybe someday she could return to see the falls. Mr. O’Conner pointed out Mount Hood and told her all about the skiing there.

  “Well, Allison, we’ll be in Portland soon. Do you have your connections made to get you to your grandfather’s?”

  “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I just figured I’d catch the next train. I don’t think Tamaqua Point is too far from Portland.”

  Mr. O’Conner laughed. “It might not be that simple. Unfortunately, there are no trains that go to the coast. I’m not even sure about buses. Do you have a place to stay in Portland if you’re laid over?”

  Allison looked at her hands and frowned. She hadn’t stopped to consider how she’d get to the coast from Portland. When she’d looked at her map, Portland seemed so close to her final destination.

  “Well, you’re welcome to stay with me and my family,” Mr. O’Conner smiled warmly at her. “And we’ll help you figure out a way to get you safely to your grandfather.”

  Allison beamed. “Oh, thank you so much. That’s such a relief.”

  “We’re not exactly the Ritz, but we know how to be hospitable.”

  Allison stuck with Mr. O’Conner for the rest of the trip and at the train station. He helped her round up her bags, then they made their way to the terminal where his whole family awaited him. She instantly recognized them from earlier conversations. The petite blond woman with a sweet face would be Mrs. O’Conner, and the girl with the mischievous twinkle in her eye would be Sharon. Of course the tall young man who definitely took after his father was Mark. Allison stood back shyly as Mr. O’Conner greeted and hugged his family. It was one of those perfect train station reunions she loved to watch.

  “Allison, I’m Susan, and this is Sharon and Mark,” Mr. O’Conner’s wife said. “And we’d love to have you spend the night with us!” The boy smiled and took her bags.

  “You can stay in my room!” Sharon said with enthusiasm. “I just adore your outfit. My dad says you’re from New York. That must be so exciting. I want to go to New York someday—or maybe Hollywood.” She paused to blow a bubble with her gum, then snapped it noisily. “That’s where all the action is—Hollywood, you know. You see, I plan to be an actress someday.”

  Allison gasped silently as they walked across the wet pavement. But Sharon didn’t miss a beat. She talked nonstop all the way to the car.

  “I’ll drive us home, Dad,” Mark proclaimed proudly.

  “Heaven help us!” cried Mr. O’Conner in mock fear.

  Actually, Mark drove very carefully, almost too carefully. Allison wondered if they’d ever get there. She admired the many tall evergreens as they made their way up a winding road. Everything seemed very green and very wet.

  The O’Conner home, they informed Allison, had been built after the war. It was a sweet little house with dormer windows tucked into the roof. Mrs. O’Conner had a feast prepared. Baked ham and potatoes, homemade biscuits, coleslaw, and fruit salad.

  “Well, this sure beats train food, eh, Allison?” Mr. O’Conner quipped.

  “You said it. This is fabulous, Mrs. O’Conner. I can’t remember the last time I even had a home-cooked meal.” And that was the truth.

  Later Allison joined Mark and Sharon in the family room for a game of Monopoly. Before long, Allison was winning.

  “Where does your grandfather live?” Mark asked as he landed on Allison’s Boardwalk.

  “Don’t you try to distract me! You owe me some money. Now, pay up. And he lives in a place called Tamaqua Point. Sounds like an Indian name.”

  “Here’s your money. You should’ve warned us you were the Wolf of Wall Street,” Mark teased. “And just for that I won’t offer to drive you, because I was considering it and I even happen to know where Tamaqua Point is.”

  Sharon laughed. “I don’t know if you should be relieved or insulted, Allison. At the rate Mark drives, you probably wouldn’t make it to Tamaqua Point for at least three days!”

  “True. I could probably walk there faster.” Allison smirked.

  “That’s right, go ahead and gang up against me. I’m tough, I can take it.”

  “Then fork it over, big brother. Because you landed on my Vermont and I just put up a hotel,” Sharon announced. Mark rolled to the floor as if mortally wounded while the girls giggled.

  “Hate to break up the party, but it’s getting a little late. We need to decide how to get Allison to her grandfather’s.”

  “I would have gladly driven her if she hadn’t robbed me,” Mark exclaimed. Mr. O’Conner looked puzzled, then noticed the game. “Honestly, Dad. I could drive her if it’s okay. I’ve been doing really great. Just ask Mom. And I know how to get to Tamaqua Point easily. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so I don’t work, and I don’t suppose it would kill me to miss church.”

  “Hmm, but how does Allison feel about this? Is she willing to put her life in your hands?”

  “Dad!” Mark exclaimed.

  “It might work, but let me talk to your mother first. You know she runs this household now. She just keeps me around for my good looks.” He winked at Allison.

  Soon it was settled. Mark would drive Allison and they would leave right after breakfast. Knowing what the next day held in store for her, Allison wanted to go to sleep as soon as possible. She followed Sharon to her room.

  Allison liked Sharon’s little room. There were twin beds with matching lavender coverlets, just the color of spring violets, and priscilla curtains framed the window.

  “Sharon, your room is so sweet and cozy,” Allison complimented as she sat on the bed.

  “Oh, thanks. My mom sewed the curtains and stuff, but I picked it all out. Lavender is my favorite color, you know,” she said proudly.

  Allison didn’t mind Sharon’s incessant chatter as they prepared for bed. Sharon continued talking even after the lights were turned off. But it didn’t matter since Allison could hardly sleep anyway. Tomorrow she’d meet her grandfather for the very first time—if only his health had held out. It’d been almost two weeks since he’d written, but to Allison it seemed a lifetime. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps she should have telegrammed him of her arrival.

  “Allison, are you asleep?” Sharon whispered.

  “No, I was just thinking. . . .”

  “Well, I was just curious if you ever go to the theater in New York. You know . . . the Broadway productions?”

  “Oh sure. I went to one just last Christmas.” Allison remembered going with Marsha and Stanley. She’d felt so out of place. Everyone was in jewels and furs, and she’d looked like a little schoolgirl in the red woolen coat that Lola had bought for her with Marsha’s money.

  “Broadway . . . Sharon sighed dreamily. “I think that would be so exciting. I think I’ll go to New York and aim for the theater. It’s probably more exhilarating than motion pictures,” Sharon stated dramatically. “Besides, I hear it’s easier to get started in theater and then move on to films afterward.”

  “Sharon,” Allison said with real concern. “Do you really think you’d like it? From all I’ve heard it can be a horribly demanding life.” Allison wouldn’t wish the life of an actress on anyone, and especially not dear Mr. O’Conner’s daughter.

  “Oh no, I think it’d be thrilling and glamorous! You get to wear beautiful clothes, meet other famous people, and go to all of the best parties.”

  “I suppos
e so. . . . But there’s another side, too. An actress loses a lot. She can lose her family and even her privacy. And it seems with every production she loses her individuality. Some even lose their morals.”

  “Oh, Allison, you make it sound just awful. What makes you such an expert, anyway? Just because you live in New York doesn’t mean you know everything. I know a lot about actresses. I even read movie magazines.”

  Sharon sounded irritated and Allison wondered if she should just let it go, but somehow she thought Mr. O’Conner might appreciate it if she could give Sharon some good advice.

  “Sharon, I suppose you’ve heard of Marsha Madison.”

  “Of course! I just saw her in Desert Rose. She’s an amazing actress. I just love her movies. I heard she started out on Broadway.”

  “She’s my mother.”

  “Oh sure, and I’m Elizabeth Taylor! Come on, Allison, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

  “Well, she is. And I can attest to the fact that her life is nothing to strive for. At least I know I wouldn’t want it.”

  “You’re making this up, Allison. I bet my dad put you up to this just to discourage me.”

  “No, Sharon. In fact, I don’t usually tell people about my mother. Frankly, she embarrasses me. She’s never been a mother to me. She practically gave me to my grandmother as a baby, and she makes me call her Marsha and pretend I’m her sister. I’ve spent the last eight years in boarding school, and I would give anything, anything, to have what you have! And you just take it for granted.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t realize how lucky you are to have a home and a family that loves you. I’ve seen firsthand how the life of an actress can destroy all those things.” Sharon was silent. Allison wondered if she’d said too much.

  “Do you mean it? Is Marsha Madison really your mother?”

  “Yes, and if you don’t believe me I can prove it.” Allison still had the letter from her grandfather addressed to Marsha.

  “No, Allison. I believe you. I’m just in shock! It’s so incredible. . . . Marsha Madison’s daughter right here in my bedroom!”

  Allison laughed. “Well, I didn’t mean to rain on your parade, but I thought you should know what it’s really like.”

  Sharon thanked her and chattered on and on about how amazing it was to know someone famous. Allison only hoped that somehow her words of advice would be remembered somewhere down the line. At least she had tried.

  “How can I ever repay you for your hospitality?” Allison asked the next day as she said her good-byes to the O’Conners.

  “You just take care and enjoy your visit with your grandfather,” Mr. O’Conner answered kindly.

  Allison and Mark loaded the car up with her bags. She took a moment to thank the O’Conners one more time for opening their home up to her. She didn’t know what she would have done without them. Then she was on her way.

  Mark carefully navigated the bulky Packard over the maze of bridges and out of town. Allison didn’t mind his cautiousness so much now and felt she was in good hands.

  “Allison, Sharon told me about your mother. I could hardly believe it. But then, there is something about you . . . I mean, I can imagine you being the daughter of a celebrity.” Mark said it in such a flattering way it made her blush.

  She admired the rugged terrain as they traveled through the coastal mountains. Nothing like the Rockies, but still a bit untamed in a milder way. They passed some heavily loaded logging trucks climbing slowly up the hills.

  “Do you realize that just one of those logs could probably build a couple of homes?” Mark told her informatively.

  She couldn’t begin to imagine. Actually, all she could think about was her grandfather. What would he be like? Would he be ailing in bed, barely holding on to life? What if she was too late? She couldn’t think about that. What would he think of her? What if he didn’t like her? Would there be a grandmother or any other relatives?

  “You can see the ocean when we come over this hill,” Mark informed her, breaking into her thoughts.

  Her heart beat a little faster. There on the horizon lay a thin strip of blue. “That’s it! I can see it! It’s the first time I’ve seen the Pacific Ocean. Marsha promised once to take me to the West Coast and Hollywood, but it never happened. I don’t care, though. I’d rather see it like this.” Allison smiled.

  They drove down the twisting highway along the cliffs overlooking the coastline. Mark was painstakingly cautious. She knew it was for the best, but just the same, she wished he’d step on it. Allison distracted herself with the fascinating landscape. It wasn’t at all like the East Coast. Though she couldn’t put her finger on it, for some reason she liked it better. A fog bank rolled in off the ocean. Soon they were draped in it, like a giant gray blanket, thick and dense.

  “We’re almost there. Maybe I should stop at a service station to find out exactly where your grandfather’s place is,” Mark suggested. They entered the tiny town of Tamaqua Point, population 987, and found a small gas station.

  “O’Brians’? Yep, it’s just round the next bend.” The uniformed attendant looked into the car curiously. “You’ll see the lighthouse, then about a mile, I’d guess.”

  The lighthouse was shrouded in fog, but they could make out the light flashing steadily. Allison held her breath around the bend—she couldn’t believe this was happening. She spotted a white mailbox on the edge of the highway with O’Brian stenciled in big black letters.

  “That’s it,” she almost screamed. Mark pulled off onto the shoulder next to the gravel driveway and started to drive in.

  “No, Mark. Don’t pull in. I know it’s silly, but I want to walk in alone. We can just set my bags by that tree. I’ll get them later.”

  “But what if no one’s here? What if they’re not expecting you? I can’t just dump you on the side of the road.” Mark looked at her with serious eyes.

  “Mark, really, thank you so much for bringing me, but this is something I must do alone. If it doesn’t work . . . well . . . I’ll figure something out. Who knows, I may be back at your house by tomorrow,” she said, trying to sound light and cheerful.

  “Okay, Allison. You just take care. You’ve got our phone number, so call if you need anything, understand?”

  She nodded, then threw open the car door and scrambled out.

  She waited until the taillights of the Packard pulled out of the driveway, but she noticed the brake lights flash and saw the car park on the side of the road. That Mark, she groaned inwardly.

  Allison walked down the long gravel drive with no idea of what to expect. Maybe a cozy cottage like Nanny Jane’s. Or maybe a tumbledown old shack. She had once heard that her father came from poor people, but then, she’d heard a lot of mistaken information about her family.

  The lonely sound of a foghorn sent chills down her spine. Was that a house ahead? She distinguished a large, darkened silhouette in the fog. It looked neither warm nor friendly.

  Allison’s heart began to pound. What if this was a big mistake? What if her grandfather was a terrible ogre? Or worse yet, what if she was already too late?

  The closer Allison drew to the house, the bigger it became. Through the fog she discerned what looked like a Victorian shape, two or three stories high, with some kind of turret or tower on top. The windows were dark. What if, like Mark said, no one was home? Of course, with her grandfather so ill, he might be resting in bed. The house created an eerie image in the swirling mist. She almost yearned to turn back. Almost. Bravely, she walked on.

  “Hey there!” yelled a man’s voice. “What are you doing?”

  Allison jumped in fright, then noticed a large man digging near the house. He wore tall rubber boots and work clothes. He was probably the gardener.

  “Hello. I’m looking for a Mr. O’Brian. A Mr. Riley O’Brian.” She attempted to calm her quavering voice.

  The man, apparently planting a tree, made no move in her direction and continued to dig. “What do you wa
nt with him?” he asked suspiciously as he leaned upon his shovel.

  How rude, Allison thought. Then she remembered another one of Nanny Jane’s sayings. “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” Perhaps if she turned on her charm he would tell her something about her grandfather. “I’ve come to inquire on Mr. O’Brian’s health. How is he doing?” she asked politely.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I do. Is he all right? I know he’s been very ill.”

  “What are you, some sort of nurse?”

  “No. Actually, I’m a relative.”

  “Humph,” he grunted. “Probably came to leech off the poor old geezer—maybe get yourself into his will?”

  “I most certainly did not!” She’d had enough of his insolence and headed for the front door.

  The man dashed over and cut her off on the big covered porch. “Just a minute, missy!” He blocked her way with his bulky frame. “Who should we say is calling?”

  “Miss Allison O’Brian,” she stated indignantly, tired of the cat-and-mouse game.

  The shovel fell from his hands and he clutched his chest. “Allison,” he gasped. “You’ve come!”

  “Grandfather?” She helped him through the front door and eased him to a nearby chair. His face was turning gray as it contorted with pain. He reached into his shirt pocket and quickly slipped a couple of tiny pills into his mouth.

  “Oh, Grandfather, I’m so sorry I shocked you like that. I didn’t know it was you. Please don’t die,” she sobbed, clenching his rough tweed jacket.

  An elderly woman rushed down the hall. She grabbed a blanket from a closet and put it over him. “Now, calm down, Mr. O’Brian. Breathe slowly.” She grabbed the phone and called the doctor.

  “Help me get him to the den,” the woman commanded. They struggled to haul him into the den and settled him on the couch, pulling the blanket over him. Gradually the color returned to his face.

  “Now, now, you two take it easy,” he said slowly. “It’s just another one of my spells, Muriel. You didn’t go call Dr. Hartley, now, did you?”