In her father’s things lay the secret of how to find him. If only he had left a message, some note.
Herbs, mortar and pestle, Chinese scroll . . . all items of value, but nothing special. Nothing that betrayed the secret she was looking for.
Celia thought back over what she knew of her father. He had come to American when a young man, met her mother and married. The union was not a happy one. Her mother’s family opposed the marriage, and her father left the family when she was a toddler.
Somewhere, she knew, she had siblings. She had learned this much on her mother’s death. She had been given these things of her father’s in her mother’s will.
She picked up the items, one by one. Something came to her as she examined them, a feeling of familiarity. Was it possible she had overlooked something? Perhaps the words in the scroll would tell her something.
She decided to see if she could have the scroll translated. She would contact the local university’s Asian Languages department to ask about a translator.
And that is another story.