Chapter 4
4
Esther
E sther pressed the spring-tensed button at the top of the stairs, illuminating the space in a stale yellow.
The third floor had held the Platt family’s staff quarters back in the house’s heyday then was leased out as rooms when the house could no longer support staff, and finally—after gathering the requisite layer of dust—the inner walls were torn away one by one for the sake of storage. Now, overflowing shelves of earthy browns and fading jewel-toned manuscripts lined the sloping walls, while boxes of loose-leaf piled into a maze across the worn floorboards. An old, wooden desk was crammed under the window at one end, nearly hidden under the stacks of acid-free tissue, Mylar sleeves, and piles of moldy paper Esther still needed to dry wash before labeling, recording, and fitting safely in their sleeves.
She tossed her bag by the desk and dropped into the old wooden chair. The chair listed backward, wooden wheels finding the undetectable tilt to the floorboards, and forcing Esther to grab the desk before it carried her across the room.
“Not today, Trouble.”
Its rusty springs groaned a reply as she pulled back into place. She couldn’t be sure if the sound was reluctant acquiescence or a threat of future mischief. Probably both. But Esther couldn’t complain. This was her ideal environment—quiet solitude and the control over her work that came with no one watching.
She’d underestimated the level of conservation this project needed, and part of her worried she wouldn’t finish by the time her nine months were up. She still hoped to digitize the bound books for her final report.
When she’d first moved to Plattsburgh for her LIS degree, the fight for internships was competitive and some people were doubling up to pad their resumes. Through luck or timing or both, Esther had stumbled on one of the few paid openings in town through a fellowship program with the Plattsburgh Historical Society. When her year was up, they would box up the documents and continue whatever conservation and cataloging she hadn’t finished. That plus the free housing she snagged in her uncle’s spare bedroom and the GA position with Professor Jenkins meant she was able to cover the cost of food and even pay upfront some of the tuition her scholarship didn’t cover.
She placed her hand fondly on the stack of yellowed paper awaiting her attention. Loose pages should be addressed first and save the easier, bound books for last. But with August’s request to find this missing book, her plans had to change. She scooped up the papers from the desk, placed them lovingly into an acid-free box in the corner, and covered them in fresh silica gel packets, assuring them she would return soon.
Most of the sorting was done. Bound books in one spot, journals in another. Loose-leaf had its own space and odds and ends like photographs, portraits, and maps in another. There were labels and rules and procedures, simple steps so whoever took up this project next could continue with ease. Rules cut back on recommendations. If she messed up, it was because she missed a step or a rule was faulty. Not because her recommendation was a bad one. Not because her suggestion had impacted someone’s life.
She pulled out her laptop and fired up the catalog system, letting that load while she grabbed a small stack of books from the shelf. Here in this attic, she lost herself in the easy movement of checking off lists and following the natural and well-researched order of archival work.
First up, and probably all she’d have time for today, was a small, handwritten journal. The leather cover remained soft but cracked near the spine, its edges hardened from the touch of decades of curious fingertips. She slid on her cotton gloves, cradling it in her palm as she turned the tissue-thin pages, yellowed with age and filled with tight but neat cursive. There was only a couple dozen pages. If she was diligent, she could finish transcribing by the end of the week.
Her transcription slowed as the journal drew her into a manifesto. Or maybe the making of a gothic romance. The nameless author spoke of duty handed down for generations, a secret society with the task of “containing the contagion of the night.” With another flip of a flimsy page, she reached the end, only to realize she’d read the whole thing and only transcribed the first page. She checked again for an author but found no clue. Maybe August knew more, or she could ask a family member familiar with the collection. She would love to interview an elder Platt on some of the obscure things she’d found, but that wasn’t part of her internship. She shouldn’t be stepping outside the tasks outlined to her.
The clock downstairs chimed, breaking her focus. That couldn’t be right. Six already? Esther pulled out her phone and confirmed the number of chimes matched what the modern world was touting as the current hour. She finished transcribing the sentence she was on, left enough notes in her notebook to remember where she’d left off, and packed up her bag to leave. Chair with a capital Trouble took its final opportunity for mayhem and shot out the second she stood, leaving Esther to chase it across the room and back into place.
“And stay there!” she commanded, stuffing a fistful of acid-free tissue under one of its wheels, pinning it under the desk where it belonged. It was a waste of resources but worth it if that damn chair would behave. “I’ll see you next week.”
“Well, that’s no bigger than a womp rat,” came Uther’s voice.
Oh, Uther . Midway down the stairs, she cringed in the secondhand embarrassment wafting up from the floor below. She’d completely forgotten her promise to him until now. And that wasn’t even a sexy movie quote.
She raced down the last flight, the creaking wood covering any further conversation until she joined them. “All right, I’m ready to go.”
Uther turned to her, his face somehow conveying both relief and disappointment.
“No luck today,” she said to August, “but I’ll continue on the books next week. Do you know if it’s a bound book or more of a journal?”
“No worries,” August said. “You’ll know it when you see it.”
Not helpful, but the one joy of hourly minimum wage was dropping everything at the end of the day and not thinking about it again until clocking back in.
Esther adjusted the strap on her bag and headed for the door when Uther coughed pointedly. She spun to see what she’d forgotten. Uther’s eyes widened in a silent plea as he nodded toward August.
Right. She was supposed to be a supportive friend and get her bestie laid. Or at least a coffee date. Though she wasn’t sure how salvageable that prospect was at this point.
She scrunched half her mouth and tilted her head, silently asking Uther if he was sure because they could bail now and save face.
He narrowed his eyes and shook his head just enough for her to see.
Well, if he insisted.
“Hey, August,” she said.
August turned back from his retreat to the other room, and she had to hurry to come up with something—anything—to say that might keep him there.
“I hope it’s okay,” she said. “I asked Uther if he would give me a ride home. Now that it’s getting dark earlier.”
“Oh, that’s no problem.” He turned to Uther. “You’re in my photojournalism class, right? With Dr. Welch?”
“Yes.”
Esther waited for Uther to say more, but he seemed to have short-circuited.
Telepathically, she fed him the start of conversations: Was August also majoring in journalism? What were his thoughts on the teacher? The freaking weather, for goodness’s sake. Anything.
But he just stood there like a statue until the tension was too much for Esther to stand and her thoughts shifted from conversation starters to ways to get out of there. Maybe she could start a small fire.
“Well, I suppose I’ll see you at class.” August released them from this purgatory, patting Uther’s arm as he did so.
Esther knew she’d be helping him analyze this interaction the entire car ride home.
“Sure,” Uther responded, his body finally reanimating. “It was good catching up.”
They left the house, Esther first, Uther lagging as August closed the door for them with a smile. Maybe Uther still had a chance.
“You were kind of floundering a little there, friend,” Esther said. They walked down the porch steps to the curb where Uther had parked.
“Not all who wander are lost,” Uther replied with the smallest smile. “Did you see when he touched my arm?”
She nodded along, hiding her smile. “I did. It’s getting pretty serious.”
A breeze smelling of the chilled earth of fall pulled at her hair and stirred the leaves. She paused in the patch of grass between the sidewalk and curb and closed her eyes, letting the moment wash over her.
“Esther?” The newcomer’s voice, bright and sweet as a peach, surprised Esther. She thought she’d imagined it, some piece of magic blown in with the wind. “How funny running into you here.”
A cool hand touched Esther’s arm, and she opened her eyes to look up into the face of Ashley—there on this sidewalk, of all sidewalks, in all the world.
Was Ashley always so tall? She was like an Amazon. That time after class, she must have been leaning against a desk because now she was like a tree towering over her. A curvy tree with impressive arms. How did she find the time to work out?
Ashley was still touching Esther’s arm, a fact Esther noticed but did not point out. There was something nice about her touch. Calming in a way, like a cool breeze on a hot day. The red sky framed her long, blond hair and ocean eyes. For a moment, the rest of the world faded away, and they were the only two people on this street, in this galaxy.
“You didn’t answer my text,” Ashley said.
“Right.” Esther backed away a step, returning from her journey through the stars.
Ashley’s hand slid from her arm, and she remembered she was supposed to set up a date—or not a date—but a meeting of some sort. A get-together? Appointment? The name didn’t matter. She was digressing.
“Yes. Sorry. I was…” She gestured vaguely at the Platt house, as though that was a real answer.
“Oh, right.” Ashley glanced at the house, her face temporarily obscured, before turning with her usual smile. “You were seeing your guy.”
“Excuse me?” Uther chose this moment to hop into the conversation. Because of course he did. “Are you talking about August? August is not her guy . He’s not your guy, right? Esther, answer me!”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s not my guy. Calm down, Uther.”
His gaze ping-ponged between her and Ashley, brows furrowed before lifting to his hairline and nodding. She had no idea what he was nodding about, but whatever it was, she didn’t like it.
“Hi, I’m Uther, Esther’s best friend in the entire world.” He offered his hand, and Ashley took it.
A vision flashed before Esther’s eyes. The two of them, Ashley and Uther, going to brunch and laughing together, sitting on the little stools at the window table of that café downtown because the hostess knew to put the happiest-looking people on display. They were free marketing. Come eat brunch here and you can be as happy as these two . Ashley would claim him as her friend to whoever asked with no restraint, and Uther would return every text she sent him with the utmost punctuality.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Ashley.” Ashley shifted a lock of hair behind her ear, nails the soft pink of clouds passing in and out of sight. “I’m in Esther’s Anthro 101 class.”
“Oh, the one where she’s GA?” Uther tucked a fist under his chin as though this was the most fascinating conversation.
Esther could let this happen. They would make the perfect best friend pair. Ashley was fun and outgoing, and Uther, while shy in a crowd, made an excellent confidant. She could fade into the background and let nature take its course. He was supposed to be temporary, a phase to get her through school. Maybe it was for the best to let him go now. But picturing that future carved a hollow tunnel in her chest and a feral part of her extended its claws.
“Yes,” Esther said. “They’re partnering up to do an ethnography in her class, and I agreed to pair up with Ashley.”
“You did, did you?” Uther said the words slowly and with a meaning Esther couldn’t quite follow. She was still reeling from the unmoored feeling of losing Uther.
Ashley jumped in. “And it was so nice of you to offer to help like that. I had a family emergency when everyone was pairing up. Anyway, we still need to set up a date, or umm, a time to meet up and, you know, study each other?”
“Oh, studying each other.” Uther turned to Esther, still using that weird, slow voice and nodding like some knowing idiot. Behind a hand, he mouthed the name Legolas before nodding to Ashley, and Esther glared at him. Maybe losing her best friend wouldn’t be a bad thing.
“She means for the ethnography,” Esther said. “Obviously.”
“Obviously. Well.” Uther clapped his hands and rubbed them together, backing up toward his car. “I don’t want to keep you two from planning your not-date to study each other.”
“Uther,” Esther hissed, but he continued to open the door and get inside without her. “You are my ride home.”
“It’s not that far,” he said. “Ashley can walk you. Give you time for that planning.”
Esther was going to murder Uther. This was not the plan.
“I’ll see you for brunch this weekend.” He put on his sunglasses, despite the sun being long gone, and took off.
“Oh god, I miss brunch.” Ashley sighed, her eyes soft and her gaze distant.
Right. Now she was here. Alone. With Ashley.
Deep breath.
“Warm butter melting over a fluffy pancake.” Ashley’s gaze was a mile away. “And when you heat up the syrup just right so it drizzles over the side and you have to soak it up with each cakey bite.”
Esther’s mind followed Ashley’s, slicing into the pancake with the side of her fork, lapping up syrup until the piece was dripping, then for some reason, reaching across the table and offering the bite to Ashley, who waited, her lips soft and expectant, her gaze hungry.
Esther’s stomach rumbled, breaking the silence. She needed a glass of water. For some reason, all the moisture had left her mouth.
“Sorry.” Ashley clapped once, breaking them from the daydream and turned to Esther with a smile. This did nothing to settle Esther’s nerves. “Which way are we walking?”
Thank goodness, a question she could answer. Or at least something to break her silence. “You don’t have to walk me. You’re obviously here for something else. I can walk myself.”
“Oh.” Ashley’s smile wobbled and seemed like she might lose it, but she got it back in line. “It’s no trouble, really. Plus, buddy system and all.”
Fine. Esther turned and began down the path, a merry tap of heels behind her the only clue that Ashley was following.
“So. how does this ethnography thing work?” Ashley’s shoulder brushed hers, and Esther course corrected to make space for her. The contact tangled their orbits. No matter how closely Esther hugged the edge of the sidewalk, she remained aware of the exact distance between her shoulder and Ashley’s. “You just watch people and…write down what they do? Sounds a little creepy.”
Esther shrugged. “That happens. The point is to try to keep as much of your personal bias out of your summary. For example, I could see someone wandering the sidewalks at night in ankle boots and assume she has no sense of preservation for her ankles, but maybe she just came from an event that required formal footwear.”
“Or maybe,” Ashley flipped a lock of gold over her shoulder, “the extra inches make her feel powerful, like every step she takes is at a starter block. So, she wears heels constantly, but ankle boots are the best for wandering sidewalks at night.”
Esther’s cheek tugged into a smile. She let a lock of hair block it from sight. “You realize you’re already a giant, don’t you?”
“Jealous much?” Ashley propped the back of her hand under her chin like it was a pedestal and laughed at her own antics. “What else?”
“What do you mean, what else?”
“This ethnography thing is fun. What else do you see?”
What else did she know about Ashley? Not much really. Esther always sat at the front of the class, so the only time she saw Ashley was when she walked into class, her hair long and shiny like some anime character, heels as previously described. She wore that trench coat every day, rain or shine, but some days, it was thrown artfully over her shoulder as she sauntered into the classroom, shouting a greeting at the first person she saw and three others before taking a seat. It was always a production. What did they do that weekend? How was that project they were working on?
“You care about people,” Esther said. “Which works because you’re an extrovert that thrives under being perceived.”
“What?” Ashley’s laugh stuttered. “You got all that from my choice in footwear?”
But there was something more. All that energy projected outward, a grand and last-minute entrance that always centered the conversation around others. Was she hiding something? Or maybe she was just a private person. Esther understood and appreciated privacy, though boisterous conversation wasn’t an approach she’d ever considered.
“It’s just the way you carry yourself,” Esther said.
“Like a tall badass, right?” Ashley bumped Esther’s shoulder and gave her a wink, crashing into her orbit again. “I’m going to have to watch you. Looks like there’s more I could learn.”
Esther’s gut clenched. Despite that being exactly the point of their shared assignment, being noticed was not high on Esther’s list of fun.
“So, what were you doing at the Platt house?” Ashley asked. “If you’re not…”
In the unfinished sentence, Esther remembered Ashley assumed Esther was with August. “My internship,” Esther explained. “I’m cataloging their records, the Platt family’s. It’s going to be donated to the historical society. So, I’m there two days a week going through papers.”
“And you’re a GA the other two weekdays? Plus classes. Sounds like a busy schedule.”
“That’s how grad school works.” Esther shrugged. She knew when she signed on it would cost her two years of her life on top of tuition. “I have classmates with two internships and two student work jobs. Everyone feels the need to work harder, but there will always be someone doing more or better.”
“How does anthropology fit in?”
The memory filled the space behind Esther’s sternum with a warm fuzzy feeling. “It was my undergraduate degree. I loved anthropology. Every class was more storytelling than lecture. Humans are fascinating.”
“Ha, you don’t say. But you didn’t stay in it?”
“You’re good at these ethnographies already.” She needed to sidestep, to delay Ashley’s probing questions. Their quickfire was sending her arm hairs to standing attention and making her long for a dark cave to hide in. Luckily, they rounded a corner and came in sight of her uncle’s house. “I wanted…I guess I wanted something more behind the scenes. Something stable.”
Ashley nodded earnestly. “Stability. I get that.”
The front porch light flickered on behind Ashley’s head. Her uncle’s signal that she was in sight and expected. He would be setting out dinner soon.
“Friday works, by the way,” Esther said. “Did you want to come by for dinner? I think the assignment was to watch an everyday ritual, so dinner should fit.”
“Sure, I could come by for dinner.” Ashley’s smile grew at the invitation, the brightness drawing Esther’s eyes like a tractor beam.
She cut her gaze to over Ashley’s shoulder, trying to avoid the funny feeling she got when she met Ashley’s eye. “Before you agree, I should mention,” Esther said. “I’m staying with my uncle and cousin. They can be a lot, and I know family wasn’t part of the deal for this assignment. We could do another time if that doesn’t work.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem. I love meeting family.”
“Great,” said Esther, surprised at how cool Ashley was by the situation. But she could be just being polite. Who loved meeting family? “Well, I should get to dinner. Can you be by at six?”
“I can,” Ashley cheered.
Esther chuckled at the enthusiasm. It was refreshing. Maybe she could take a leaf from Ashley’s book.
“All right then.”
There was a pause like Esther was supposed to say something more but didn’t know what. Of course, she had to make this awkward. Maybe Ashley’s bubbly and friendly personality would rub off on her. In the meantime, she made a gesture she hoped looked like a wave and jogged back to the house.