Chapter Five #2
“I hope Hugh read this after she died. He loved her.”
“He kept it,” Cleo pointed out. “Kept it locked here in her desk, so I think he did. Read the last entry, Sonya.”
Sonya turned to where the red ribbon marked the last entry.
“‘Though I have been ordered, quite firmly, to remain in bed, I have slipped in here for just a few minutes. I find some quiet and calm in this room, and in writing my thoughts in this book.
“‘I suppose I waddled like a duck here from my bed, and must admit even that short journey tired me.
The midwife believes I carry two, and this I know is true.
I feel my babies, and often think they play energetically together already.
Even while they keep me awake there is such joy for me in those fierce movements.
“‘Soon I will be a mother. At times it seems only days have passed since I became a bride. At other times it seems years since I carried these precious lives inside me.
“‘Hugh is so attentive. He sits with me as often as he can, and brings me the news from the village and beyond. He rarely speaks of the war unless I press him. I know he is troubled, and I know Atlanta has fallen. We have hope the battle and the blood will end soon.
“‘But here, I am safe, my babies are safe. Soon, I’m assured, I’ll hold them in my arms, see their faces, count their fingers. As I love their father, I will love them always.
“‘When I do, it will be the happiest day of my life.’”
Sonya let out a sigh.
“She barely had any time to hold them.”
“It matters that you have this,” Trey told her. “That you know, however short, she had a good life here.”
“It does. You’re right, it does. I’ll read through the rest later. Maybe there’s some clue in there. Something she wrote down she saw or heard or felt that could help. Meanwhile.”
“We take the desk down.”
“Yeah, and find a chair.”
When a dustcover slid off a chair, Cleo walked to it. “I think we just did. I’ve got it.”
Once they had the desk and chair in place, they brought up the monitor and keyboard.
“The printer’s small, but I still don’t want it sitting out. We’ll find something for it.”
“Good luck with that. Jones and I have to take off. We’ll be back later. Three hours, maybe four.”
Sonya checked the time. “I guess I’d better put that pork on. It cooks for hours.”
“Want help?” Cleo asked her.
“I think I’ve got this part, but I’ll send up an SOS if I run into a wall. I’ll come back up.”
She walked down with Owen, the dogs, the cat, while Trey and Cleo went back to attic duty. Then she split off to go back to the kitchen.
Odd how quiet and still the house felt, she thought, and pulled up the recipe on the kitchen tablet.
“Okay, Clover, I could use some confidence music as I transform this hunk of meat.”
Sia’s “Unstoppable” fit the bill.
It took longer than she’d anticipated—but what cooking deal didn’t, in her estimation. Eventually she had chunks of spice-rubbed pork browned up, then swimming in beer.
She hauled the Dutch oven to the wall oven, slid it inside.
“That’s supposed to do it for about three hours. Fingers crossed.”
She set a timer on her phone, then looked around the kitchen.
“Molly, I hope you don’t mind cleaning up. I’d like to get upstairs.”
Clover answered with Stevie Wonder. “Don’t You Worry ’bout a Thing.”
“Thanks!”
When she reached the second floor, she heard Trey and Cleo in the guest office, so walked down to it.
She saw a drum cabinet against the left wall, the love seat moved to the right, along with a two-tiered piecrust table topped by a pretty lamp that favored the deep green wallpaper with its pink and white roses.
“Still looking for the right desk lamp,” Cleo told her, “but that works for the printer. And it looks better with the love seat here.”
“No coffee table. It’d crowd the room. Maybe an occasional chair there.”
“Reading my mind.” Hands on hips, Cleo glanced around. “And I’m thinking—we get nice light in here—maybe bring up one of the potted plants from the solarium. There’s that big African violet—the purple one.”
“I like it! And I’d like a mirror in here, a wall mirror.”
“I guess we’re going back up. But before we do.”
Trey reached for the box and took out a stack of paper. “Kids’ drawings.”
“We found the stack of them in a drawer,” Cleo said. “Cute mostly, and mostly what you’d expect. Crazy, colorful scribbles, or drawings of houses with big yellow suns, stick people. But there’s one.”
“Signed Jack.” Trey took it off the top of the stack.
“Our Jack, you think? Oh.”
He’d drawn the manor, and well for a child so young. The turrets, the big entrance doors, the shades of the stones. The weeping tree at the corner, not as tall, but leafy green as it was now in summer.
He’d drawn a boy—himself, no doubt—and a large spotted dog in the front yard. Both looked up.
On the widow’s walk stood a figure in black, all shadows, arms lifted. Though her face was indistinct, she clearly looked down at the boy and his dog.
In one of her lifted hands, she held a bolt of lightning.
“He saw her,” Sonya murmured. “He saw Dobbs. Look at the sky, how he brought in storm clouds. It’s clear over here, but you see the storm moving in.”
“He had talent, and yes,” Cleo agreed, “he saw Dobbs. He couldn’t have drawn her otherwise. He had to be frightened. I wonder if his parents believed him, if he told them.”
“Probably not,” Trey decided. “Placated him, reassured him. He’s got a few more in there, and she’s in a couple of them. Standing on the seawall, at night.”
“He saw her jump.” The thought of a little boy seeing such horror hurt Sonya’s heart. “What an awful thing for a little boy. We’ll keep them all. I can get a kit and make a protective book. We’ll put it together, keep it in the library.”
“That’s a nice idea.” As he handed her the stack, Trey kissed Sonya’s cheek. “Something the mistress of the manor would do.”
“I’ll put them in the library for now. Meet you back upstairs?”
After she put the drawings on a table in the library, Sonya went to her desk. She took out a sketchbook, a spare pack of colored pencils. She carried them down to the kitchen, set them on the island with a note.
For Jack.
“I hope he’ll take them.”
Since she was there, she took a peek at the simmering pork. Hoping for the best there, she closed the oven door and went back upstairs.
As she passed the third-floor landing, she glanced down the hall. Red light eked out of the Gold Room to outline the door.
“Watch how much you matter,” Sonya said, then turned her back and continued up.
Cold air rushed after her so her breath came out in clouds as she continued the climb. Though her belly quivered, she kept walking, and followed the sound of Cleo’s voice to the attic.
“This isn’t what I had in my head, but I’m all about this chair. How do I miss pieces like this on other go-throughs?”
“You’re looking for something else every time. This, the ballroom, the basement, all the storage areas are like some big, never-ending bazaar.”
“That’s exactly it. Well, we’ll see what Sonya thinks of this one.”
So saying, she turned and sat in the chair with its high, straight-lined back framed in wood, set her elbows on the curved arms.
“Looks comfy,” Sonya decided as she worked her way back to them.
“Is comfy. I had something more office-like in my head, but this?”
“Unique, pretty. The wide stripe pattern reads practical, but the shape says interesting. Add that rose color will work with the wallpaper.”
“You’re cold,” Trey said when his arm brushed hers.
“Just Dobbs blowing cold air. Like a little chill’s going to spook me.” But she leaned against him a moment for the warmth. “I’m saying yes to that chair.”
“I guess I’m hauling it down.”
With a smile, Sonya squeezed his right biceps, widened her eyes, said, “Oooh.”
“It’s a good thing I like the way you’re reclaiming rooms.”
When Cleo rose, he lifted the chair. Gave one annoyed grunt, then carried it out.
“Trey said this is all like some endless bazaar, and he’s right. Every time, new treasures. So, lamps, wall mirror?”
“Yeah, but I’m sticking with the process. Systematically.”
“You know I love a good process, but systematically doesn’t work for me up here.”
“You go your way, I’ll go mine.”
They high-fived, separated.
Sonya uncovered what she thought qualified as a hall rack—enormous with a storage seat—empty. She imagined people had hung their hats, coats on the brass hooks, stored boots inside the seat.
She found a washstand, and immediately wanted it in one of the bathrooms. Pretty hand towels on the bar, she envisioned, an old bowl and pitcher, a tiny vase of flowers.
In her search through the drawers she found a small box. It held little silver bars, very tarnished. The monogram etched in each read HCP.
“Hugh Charles Poole,” she murmured. When she heard Trey coming back, she called out to him. “I found these in this washstand—that’s also going down somewhere. They’re monogrammed. I don’t know what they are. Not nail files, they’re silver.”
“Collar stays.”
“Collar stays?”
“Yeah, mostly plastic now, I guess.” He pointed at the invisible collar on his T-shirt. “They give the collar structure.”
“He used this stand. Marianne’s husband, Owen and Jane’s father. Lisbeth’s grandfather. Maybe in his dressing room. He used these in his shirts. All these things.”
She set the box on the stand, looked around.
“People used these pieces of the manor day after day, night after night.”
“Don’t hate me,” Cleo said as she came through holding a lamp with a clear glass dome. “But I think this would be the perfect desk lamp for— What’s wrong, Sonya?”
“Collar stays.” She shook her head, swiped at a tear. “It’s weird what will hit the emotions. Hugh Poole’s collar stays. And that lamp is perfect. I’m adding on a project.”
“I hope it includes this.” Cleo set the lamp on the washstand. “It belongs in the bathroom near my studio.”
“Also perfect. Display cabinet. There’s bound to be one, glass front.
Maybe two of them, or one big one. We’ll know when we find it.
I want things like the collar stays—once I polish them up.
Lisbeth’s fountain pen. Little everyday things, important things, personal things. In the Gold Room, with the photos.”
“A walk through Poole history,” Trey said. “That’s a good project, and I think you’re finding these things so you can do just that.”
“And I think this is why you’re here, Son. Why this is your house, and your quest. It’s a quest, the seven rings.”
Hands on hips, Sonya looked around. “Not getting very far on that.”
“Farther than anyone else,” Trey corrected. “The portraits in the music room. They’re part of it. The mirror, what you’ve seen on the other side of it. Those are reasons why something like these”—he picked up the box of stays—“why it matters to you.”
“It does matter, so let’s keep going.”
When Owen returned, he found Sonya in the kitchen taking the next step in pulled pork. Removing the lid.
“Smells like you know what you’re doing.”
“You don’t have to know what you’re doing if you follow directions. Remove lid, cook another one to two hours. So I’m going with an hour and a half.”
As the dogs decided to greet Jones with madness, Owen opened the back door. Three dogs and one cat bounded out.
“How’s the search going?”
“Well, we haven’t stumbled across seven wedding rings, but it’s going well in other areas. I’ll show you the guest office on the way up.”
“Any interference?”
“She tossed some cold air at me, and that’s about it.” She turned, and noticed what she’d missed. Her hand reached up to her heart. “Oh, he took them.”
“Who took what?”
“We found kids’ drawings. A nice stack of them. Some were Jack’s.” She filled him in as they began to walk.
“Seeing Dobbs? Bound to give a kid some nightmares.”
“And a grown woman, too. I got a sketchbook and some colored pencils, left them on the kitchen island. They’re gone.”
Owen said nothing for a moment.
“That’s a damn nice thing to do.”
“It’s all I could think of. It’s hitting my feels, Owen. I didn’t know it would hit them so hard, finding all the little things we’re finding.”
She led the way to the guest office. Owen stepped in, took stock.
“Looks good. Chair’s a winner. So’s the floor lamp.”
“We just found that one. I think it’s Tiffany.”
“Probably. Desk lamp’s no slouch, but the drum cabinet? The champ. Burr walnut, like the desk. Pristine. Doesn’t look like you guys need me. Maybe I’ll get a beer and sit on the deck.”
She gave him a finger poke in his rock-hard belly.
“Fat chance. I want a wall mirror right there. And we’re finding things like baby rattles, collar stays, an antique yo-yo, an old cocktail shaker, a silver pocketknife engraved 1916. And I want more.”
He paused at the third floor, looked down at the red glow around the Gold Room door.
“She’s stirring around in there.”
“It’s been like that for hours. She doesn’t like what we’re doing, which just makes me want to do it harder.”
“I’m on board with that.”
When they reached the attic, he let out a laugh. “Man, you’ve been through a lot, that’s some pile of dustcovers.”
“It’s a system. It’s working. And if there’s anything you want—”
His eyebrows drew together as he shoved at his dense brown hair. “Don’t start that.”
“Owen, if and when I manage to switch things around, furnish every room, I’m still not going to be able to use everything. We’ve still got the ballroom to go through, the servants’ quarters, the basement.”
“My house isn’t finished. And I’m barely there as it is.”
She would, Sonya determined, wear him down on this issue.
“You can earmark things for down the road. Anyway, if you want to start over there—”
“Got some mirrors here,” Trey called out. “I don’t think they’re what you’re looking for, but they’re mirrors.”
“Let’s see.”
She made her way over.
“Hey,” he said to Owen, then looked at the three small mirrors he’d uncovered. “Got some wear on the glass.”
“That just adds to the charm. I love the etching, the flower motif, the shapes. All different, but the same feel. Hang the three together, it’s a statement.”
“Okay.”
Curious, Cleo wandered over. “I love them! Hang these, and we’ve transformed a room. A good day’s work. I’ve got a couple bowl-and-pitcher sets on the other side of the attic. And we’ve got the trunks to get through.”
“What happened to a good day’s work?” Owen wondered.
“Day’s not over,” Cleo told him.
“The trunks can wait. I’ve got about an hour before I have to shift to kitchen duty, and I’m sticking with my system. But I want to see the bowls and pitchers.”
When they walked to the other side of the attic, Owen scanned the space. “You know, all this? It could take months. Literally months.”
Trey just shrugged. “You going somewhere?”
When Cleo let out a laugh and Sonya’s rolled with it, Owen let out a sigh. “Doesn’t look like it.”