31 #2
“This is my fault,” Daphne said, her gaze drifting to the ceiling painted sky blue with tufts of white clouds. “I should’ve
never booked that venue.”
“Here’s what we know so far.” Leo got her up to speed: Aurora, Luis De Leon, and a mysterious domestic servant who may or
may not have been imported from the Bahamas or Haiti.
“I’m not surprised you can’t find much information on a housemaid,” Daphne said. “Unless the family kept some record, her
life will be erased. If you’re interested in the history of the property itself, the library is a good resource. They’ve curated
a collection of renderings, paintings, and early photographs of the great houses of the late 1800s.”
Leo checked with July to make sure she was up for it. “Want to go?”
“What do you think?”
The scavenger hunt continued.
The library was a short walk away, housed in a historic building, the former city hall. Its dusty rose facade and pair of
jalousie doors welcomed them off the street.
Everything was stored online. The librarian, a pleasant lady named Gwen, sat them at a computer and gave them a virtual tour.
She first clicked open a folder labeled 1880–1889.
“If these grand homes are still standing today, it’s a testament of the resilience and ingenuity of our city.” She clicked
on a link to a portfolio labeled A Winter in the Sun.
“A photographer from Chicago spent the winter of 1885 here and couldn’t get over the subtropical weather.
He went around taking photos of everyday people, going about their daily business in the dead of winter.
Or what would be considered the dead of winter where he was from.
The architecture isn’t the focus, but you get a glimpse of warehouses and factories of the business district.
” She clicked on a photo to fill the screen.
“Here, a small group of men of all races are chatting outside a general store, and this might’ve shocked the photographer more than anything.
Key West was far less rigid and segregated than most cities in the South.
People congregated for survival. Interracial marriage wasn’t accepted, but some intermingling was allowed. ”
“We’d like to focus on the mansions,” Leo said.
“They are popular for a reason.” Gwen clicked open a subfolder. “I’ll give you a quick overview and let you peruse on your
own. Let’s start with this property on Eaton Street, currently The Artist House. It’s one of the most photographed homes in
Key West—and not just because of the doll in the attic. It stands out as an example of colonial Queen Anne architecture, a
true mishmash of styles that somehow works. You should return in October. They go all out for Halloween.”
“Is that doll still in the house?” Leo asked, mainly to pass the information on to Matty in support of his doll project.
“Oh, no,” Gwen said. “Robert is on display at a museum.”
Leo jotted down the doll’s name.
“This Victorian-style mansion on Caroline Street is the former home of Florida’s first millionaire,” Gwen continued. “Today
it’s an inn, and I wonder what the original owners would make of that. Probably turning in their graves.”
“I bet they are,” Leo said. “We’re staying on Caroline Street, at The Aurora.”
“The former Jacobsen house,” Gwen said. “We have a photograph, only not in this folder.”
With a few clicks, Gwen returned to A Winter in the Sun, scrolled a bit, and landed on a sepia-toned image of the two-story house that Leo would not have recognized if not for the distinctive tower.
“Here we go,” Gwen said. “We’re lucky it’s still standing because a nearby property was destroyed in the Great Fire, roughly
a year after this image was taken. Here’s a fun fact. Today is the anniversary of the fire, one hundred and forty years, but
I digress. As I said earlier, this photographer was less interested in fixed structures than the bustling streets. Notice
there’s no privacy wall, no locked gate, just an ordinary picket fence. And it’s yellow with white shutters and lace trim,
not that all-too-common blue of today.” Gwen paused, her attention drawn by what sounded like the faint whir of an ancient
fax machine. “I should check that. Please take all the time you need. If you have any questions. I’ll be at the desk.”
As soon as Gwen left, July took control of the mouse and expanded the image. She leaned into the screen, taking in every detail
from corner to corner. What she and Leo had spotted instantly was a young woman, tall and slender with July’s almond complexion,
standing near the fence. She wore a long skirt, a button-up blouse, and a simple straw hat. She looked away from the photographer,
her face partially concealed by the brim of her hat.
She had a life outside the home. She could steal a moment to meet with friends or take a lover.
Gwen the librarian was stumped when asked about the woman in the photo. “It could be anyone, a neighbor, a passerby, the help.
This photo is titled Sunday Morning on Caroline Street, 1885. This young person has on her Sunday finest. She may be on her way to church. It looks to me that she’s of mixed race. She
might’ve worked as a housemaid or nanny.”
“May I get a print of this photo?” Leo asked. He relied on visual aids to organize his thoughts.
“Prints are five dollars.”
Throughout this exchange July sat quietly, wide eyes fixed on the screen.
Leo wondered what she was thinking. Since lunch, she’d grown increasingly withdrawn.
He worried they were returning to the old pattern.
Would last night be cataloged to memory?
Leo would not let that happen without a fight.
His wait-and-see strategy would not get him over the next hurdle, which was to keep her with him always.
On their way back from the library, they stopped by Daphne’s office to share what they’d found. In turn she shared her resources
including newspaper clippings and magazine articles, everything she’d collected for her own research. At the end of the day
Leo had more than enough information to start his novel, which he would have to revise, but they were no closer to solving
the mystery of the girl in the photo and the message in his notebook. The answers kept eluding them, and Jules grew tired
and disappointed.
“The woman in the photo,” she said on the walk back to the inn, finally opening up. “She looks . . .”
He waited for her to finish her thought. When it was obvious she couldn’t, Leo helped. “She looks like you.”
She slowed her pace. “Maybe.”
“Do you think there’s a connection?” he asked.
“Now that you mention it, my grandfather has Caribbean roots. His mother’s family immigrated to Louisiana from Haiti in the
early nineteen hundreds. That’s the lore, anyway.”
“There may be a reason she reached out to you,” he said, “tried to fool you into connecting with her.”
“I wish I knew her name,” July said. “It’s nagging me.”
“I’ll get it for you,” he promised.
“How?” she asked. “We’ve been at this all day, and we’ve got nothing but a few more ghost stories to consider, nothing concrete.”
“You should know the power of a story,” he said. “I’m going to solve this mystery for you. Promise.”
“Please don’t take this as a challenge,” she said, “I know how you get, but I don’t think this is a promise you can keep.”
“Challenge accepted!” he declared.
She squeezed his hand. “I’m certain it’s her in the photo.”
“Me, too.”
“But I’m not sure how it all connects,” she said.
“All we know is that these spirits have been at this for ages. They’ll go on like this long after we’re gone, maybe forever.”
“It’s like she’s trapped in a time loop,” she whispered.
“Yes, but not us. We’re free to go.”
“Then why don’t we?” she asked. “All this madness ends if we check out of The Aurora. Look at Daphne, Vicky, and even the
couple we met at lunch. They’ve all moved on. Vicky’s obsession with Aurora phased out. Daphne had trouble sleeping during
her stay, and now she’s fine. I think we should pack up and go and find a five-star resort with room service.”
“You tried leaving and came right back,” he reminded her. “And I’ve never thought to leave.”
“Are you saying we’re trapped here?”
“We’ll see, I guess.”
“What?” She stopped to face him, halting foot traffic on the busy sidewalk.
Leo hadn’t meant to scare her. Not everyone shared his tolerance for ambiguity or his willingness to walk in darkness. “If
you want to leave, we’ll check out as soon as we get back. I don’t need to stay there if you don’t want to.”