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I caught my breath. No. It can’t be. I retraced the lineages, reread the names, then double-checked the dates. Married 1899. Chills slid down my spine as I sat back, staring at the computer screen without seeing.
“Is anything wrong?” Mamie lightly touched my shoulder.
“No, I…” I took a deep breath, still struggling with the idea, then pointed to the screen. “According to these charts, I’m related to that same Mateo Ramirez we just researched.”
“And you didn’t know?” A smile spread over Mamie’s face.
“I had no idea…” I blinked. “If you hadn’t pointed me toward the right links, I might never have made the connection.” What are the odds?
Chapter 10
“So, then Mamie checked the public records.” I relayed the story as Luke helped me put away the groceries. “It turns out—about six title deeds ago—Mateo Ramirez owned this land.”
“The vineyard?”
“Yup, and he’s my great-great-grandfather through a woman named Valentina Isabella Perez—Tina for short.”
“Mateo, the same Mateo that married Marianna?”
“One and the same.” Groceries forgotten, I gave him a wry smile.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope—and there’s more.”
“My head’s spinning now.” He shook his head as if to clear it.
“My grandmother married Mateo’s grandson, Matthew.”
“And you didn’t know?”
“Nope—I knew nothing about Matthew Taylor or his side of the family. Grandma never mentioned him, other than to say he died just after my mother was born.”
“So…?” Tilting his head, he paused, listening.
“So, it appears Matthew hadn’t left her widowed. Instead, he just left her, remarried a woman named Luisa, and had a daughter Barbara, who married a John Perkins.”
“Barbara Perkins…that name’s familiar.” Squinting, he stared at nothing.
“Think.” I let him struggle a moment before relenting. “Who else do you know named Perkins?”
“Bea?” He caught his breath. “Barbara was Bea’s mother, the one who left her the vineyard next door.”
I nodded as part of the puzzle emerged. “Your property and hers must’ve been part of the original 640 acres.”
“That’s a whole lot of coincidences.”
“No, sir, I do not believe in coincidences.” I shook my head. “But how are these pieces tied together? What’s the common denominator?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are all these flukes located here—between us, surrounding us?” I frowned, straining for answers. “Why are we seeing these parallels between timelines, people, and places? There’s got to be a reason—a message—something. What do we share in common?”
“I think better on paper.” He grabbed a pad and pen, then sat at the breakfast bar. “Let’s make a table of the three families: Cadence and Ben’s, Marianna’s, and Mateo’s. Right now, the connections are too hazy to see any pattern. Once we diagram the bloodlines, generation by generation, maybe we’ll see the link.”
“Good idea.” I pulled up a stool beside him. “Only instead of three families, chart four.”
“Who’d be the fourth?”
