by Karen White
Heath didn’t say anything for a long moment as they both watched the sun rise higher over the marsh and the lighthouse beyond like a glowing benediction. “I’d like to read the letter.” When his eyes met hers, Emmy saw that he no longer looked angry.
She pushed back her feeling of hope. “Why? Why now?”
He looked down at his feet for a moment. “After seeing Lulu in the hospital, I couldn’t help but think about her dying and how neither one of us is ready for that. And it’s more than just me not being ready to lose her. She’s been hiding something all these years, since long before I was even born. The only reason I could think of for somebody to hide something for so long is guilt. Or fear of punishment.” He shook his head. “I don’t want her to die without forgiveness.”
She touched his arm because she couldn’t think of anything to say to that—anything that would comfort someone who knew what dying with unfinished business was really like. She handed him the letter and watched him as he read.
His expression changed from expectation, to relief, then confusion. He read it twice, then looked up at her. “So what does this mean?”
“My mother and I are pretty sure it’s a suicide note. Unfortunately, your dad was too young to remember Cat, and the only person I know to ask is in the hospital in ICU.”
“What makes you think this has anything to do with Lulu?” He seemed almost hostile, but Emmy knew enough now not to take offense. He wasn’t arguing with her; he was fighting the vagaries of fate and how death happened whether people were ready or not. Emmy had already learned that lesson, but secondhand. She imagined that staring it in the face would be a lot like seeing your own ghost.
“Lulu played her disappearing act as soon as you discovered the box of books. She’s the one who put them there, so she had to know what was in them. Your mother told us that Lulu was the last person to see Maggie, and Maggie gave her a box of her favorite books before Lulu evacuated with your family. So it had to be her who put them in the attic before it was sealed sometime during the restoration process. Nobody else knew about the box.”
Heath shook his head. “It’s just that Lulu was a little girl when Cat died—and I can’t imagine her being ashamed of a suicide in the family when she had nothing to do with it. There has to be something else.”
“There might be. Your mother said something about where Lulu was found on the old lot. She had a spade in her hand as if she were digging something up.”
“I know, but I can’t imagine what could be buried there. After Hugo, my dad went out there with his metal detector and shovels to find if anything valuable was left. We found a few things—kitchen pans and utensils mostly—but not much. Hard to believe we missed anything.”
“Unless it was buried afterward.”
“But why would she bother? That was nineteen eighty-nine.”
“You said she was the last person to see Maggie. Maybe they talked about something then—something that convinced Lulu that whatever secret she’d been hiding needed to stay secret.”
Heath frowned at Emmy. “You’re good at this, you know?”
Emmy took a deep breath, trying not to smile. “I once traced a single document to the library of a remote castle in Scotland for one of my mother’s customers. Nothing is too improbable for me.” Serious again, she said, “But this is your family, not mine. And if you want the story to end here, it will. I figure it got me here to Folly, and that should be enough.” She shrugged as they both recognized the lie. “Or I could make it be enough.”
“It could be.” He looked down at the letter one more time before handing it back to her. “But if Lulu was digging something up, then I’d have to guess that she didn’t want it to be buried anymore.” He rubbed his hands over his face, his shoulders sinking in resignation. Walking back toward his truck, he called over his shoulder, “Come on. Let’s go get my dad’s metal detector and see what we can find.”
“Now?”
“Unless you feel like waiting.”
“Not at all,” she said, relief and excitement running through her in equal measure. She followed Heath to his truck, sensing the calmness of the marsh behind her and thinking of Maggie again, of how she had died and whom she had been waiting for.
THE SUN HAD DESERTED THE sky when they reached the vacant lot, and dark plump clouds nestled against one another on the horizon like the paws of a pouncing cat. The air was heavy with moisture, the palmetto trees and even the grass seeming to droop with dampness.
“The ENT said she was found about six feet away from the cross.” Heath pointed to the white painted cross in the middle of the yard. “Lulu put that up for Maggie when we figured we’d never find her.”
Emmy nodded, saddened by the sight of the small memorial, a tangible reminder of Lulu’s sister. Twenty-one years was a long time to wait for the grief to go away.
Heath flicked a switch on the metal detector. “I’ll start at the cross and move in a gradually growing circle. If I get some kind of signal, I’ll start digging.”
He began hovering the rounded coil of the detector low over the ground, sweeping it back and forth like a vacuum cleaner. The telltale prickling began at the roots of Emmy’s scalp, slowly tiptoeing down her spine just in case she’d missed the message. Without asking, she went back to Heath’s truck and took out the shovel he’d brought with them.
She didn’t sit down or place the tool on the ground, sensing they were very close to whatever it was they were supposed to find. When a beeping sound came from the metal detector, Emmy almost laughed out loud.
Heath stopped the sweeping motion and began to be more specific with his placement, stopping when the beeps became a constant line of sound. “Whatever it is, it’s less than a foot below the surface.” After flipping off the detector, he laid it on the ground behind him and reached for the shovel.
“What can I do?” Emmy asked, impatient to see what lay hidden under the grassy dirt.
Heath pretended to contemplate the question for a moment. “You can either stand back and let me dig, or you can dig by yourself. I don’t think this will require both of us.”
He’d taken off his sweatshirt and stood in the cool wind in just jeans and a T-shirt. She eyed his biceps and thought of her own pitiful attempts at running. “You go ahead. Let me know if you need me to wipe your brow or anything.”
“Will do.” His face serious again, he stabbed the earth with the tip of the shovel and began to dig.
Heath made shallow scoops of earth, the dirt softened by an overnight sprinkle. The tingling that had started at the back of Emmy’s neck now raced up and down her arms, and she had to force herself to stand still instead of dance with anticipation.
He’d only been digging for about ten minutes when the shovel made contact with something hard. He sent a glance of warning to Emmy. “Don’t get too excited—it could just be a rock.”
“It’s not. It’s what we’re looking for.”
He leaned his hands on the shovel. “You know, huh?”
Emmy bit her lip. “Yep. And I’d bet money that you’re about to find whatever it is Lulu was looking for.”
With a dubious look, he continued taking shallow layers of dirt out of the hole he’d made until he uncovered what appeared to be the smooth top of a small wooden box.
Their eyes met over the hole. Without a word, Heath began to use the shovel tip to loosen the dirt around the edges of the box, pulling enough away to make room for a hand to slip down the sides and lift the box out of its prison.
Indicating the box, Heath said, “Stick your hands in and let me know if you can feel the bottom edge of the box. I’m thinking it’s only three to four inches wide, so the hole should be deep enough.”
Not caring about the damp ground, Emmy eagerly knelt and wiggled her fingers into the space Heath had created with the shovel. “It’s good,” she said as she concentrated on digging her fingers under the box to give her enough leverage to lift it out.
She was able to
place her thumbs on top of the box and the rest of her fingers underneath, and the box lifted easily as if it had been waiting for her. Emmy had expected it to be heavier, and the unused force jerked her back into a sitting position next to the hole, the box held in her hands.
Carefully, she brushed the dirt off of it, revealing a rectangular box with a metal latch and hinges, and a lacquered surface with hand-painted flowers decorating the lid. She looked up at Heath. “I think it’s a jewelry box.”
Heath lay the shovel aside and squatted next to her. Suddenly unsure, her eyes met his and she said, “It’s your call.”
He took the box from her, and for a moment, Emmy thought he was going to replace it in the hole in the ground. Instead, he very gently opened the lid. A faint scent of perfume wafted from the red velvet interior and then was gone as soon as it had appeared, making Emmy wonder if she’d imagined it. Heath sat down next to her as they both peered inside to find out what Lulu had thought important enough to bury.
“Go ahead,” Heath said, offering the box to Emmy.
Carefully, Emmy lifted out a roller-skate key. She turned it over to see if it had any markings, surprised at how cold it felt in her palm. She placed it on the ground next to her, then reached in and pulled out sand-dollar earrings and a tortoiseshell barrette, a long strand of brown hair still caught in the clasp. Fighting back her disappointment at finding such inconsequential things, she pulled out the last items in the box, an old penny, a handkerchief, and a lace hair ribbon, the fabric soft and yellowed like an old photograph.
She studied the penny with the familiar Lincoln bust, then flipped it over to see two wheat sheaves bordering the words one cent and United States of America. “It’s a 1933 penny,” she said holding it up.
“That’s the year Lulu was born.”
She placed the penny on the ground with the other items, then smoothed the handkerchief over her leg, noticing the monogram in the corner. She wrinkled her nose at the smeared lipstick and makeup that stained the fine linen. “Who’s PWK?” She rubbed the black thread of the embroidery and its unfamiliar letters as if they could tell her something. “P could be for Peter, but his last name was Nowak.”
She dropped the dirty handkerchief in her lap, not wanting to touch it anymore, and picked up the penny again. “I can’t believe this is all there is.”
“What’s that?” Heath asked, indicating the spot where the ribbon had been.
Leaning over, Emmy noticed a small, rolled-up piece of paper that had been wedged between the bottom and sides of the velvet lining. Using her fingernail, she pried it out, then held it between two fingers. “It’s rolled small—like a person would do if they wanted to stick it in a bottle.”
His eyes met hers and she knew he’d been thinking the same thing. “You read it. I feel enough like an eavesdropper on your family.”
He surprised her by not arguing, trading the box for the rolled piece of paper. Slowly, as if to avoid tearing it, he unrolled it and flattened it against his palm. He squinted to see the tiny handwriting before reading the words out loud.
My darling Margaret,
I need to talk to you, to explain everything. What I’ve done is despicable. But
I need to tell you why—not to justify anything, but to keep you safe. Just give me this one last chance—that’s all I ask. I want to take you far away from here, someplace you and I can start anew and leave this all behind us.
I promise that if you walk away after I’ve told you everything, I will never bother you again. And if you don’t come at all, then I’ll have my answer. I’ll do what you ask, and marry Cat and be a father to the child, and I’ll find a way to protect you from afar. But if you ever loved me as I still love you, you’ll come. Meet me Wednesday night at our special place near the lighthouse at eleven o’clock. I’ll be waiting.
Heath looked up. “It’s not signed.” He handed it to Emmy so she could get a better look.
Her blood seemed to flow more slowly in her veins as she stared at the familiar handwriting. “I know who wrote this.”
He raised his eyebrows in question.
“Peter. I recognize his handwriting from the inscriptions in the books to Maggie and Lulu. I wouldn’t except the capital M and the lowercase g are unusual enough for me to have noticed them and remembered.” She indicated the capital M in Margaret’s name. “See how there’s a tail before the first leg and after the last? And how the g doesn’t just have an umbrella handle at the bottom but actually duplicates a typewritten g? I noticed that right away—it’s one of the criteria I used when I determined that the Peter who inscribed the books to Maggie and Lulu hadn’t written the notes in the book margins.”
Heath pulled back. “Then who did? I can’t picture my grandmother with multiple lovers. She wasn’t like that.”
Emmy touched his arm. “I know. But maybe Peter did write both. And for some reason disguised his handwriting in the inscriptions. Which would make sense . . .” Her words trailed off as she realized what she was about to say.
“Go on,” Heath said. “We’ve gone too far to quit now.”
“Well, I was saying that it would make sense that he was disguising his handwriting if he were having an affair with Maggie and didn’t want Cat to recognize the handwriting if she should ever find one of the notes.”
“But who is Cat’s baby? And what did Peter do that was so despicable?”
Emmy studied him silently for a moment. “And why did he need to keep her safe?”
Heath nodded, staring at the lone white cross that rose out of the dirt like a question. “There’s only one person who can answer any of this.”
After picking up all the items from the grass, Emmy stood. Handing the empty box to Heath, she said, “It’s up to you to decide what to do next. I’ll understand if you don’t want to upset her.”
Heath was silent as he considered her words. “It’s been long enough,” he said. “I think Lulu knew it, too, and that’s why she was trying to get to the box. A lifetime is a long time to live with unfinished business. Or guilt.”
Closing the box’s lid, he turned it upside down to study it more closely. A short thunking sound came from inside, surprising them both.
“I thought the box was empty.”
“Me, too,” Heath said as he flipped the box again and the heard the same sounds. He opened the lid and they both looked inside, seeing only the red velvet lining.
“Switch with me.” Emmy gave him the items she held while she took the box and pressed her fingernail into the small crevice where she’d found the note. Then squeezing her two fingers together, she tugged and was rewarded with the lining pulling out of the box, revealing a small cavity between the lining and the bottom of the jewelry box. Turning the box on its side, Emmy hit the corner and a gold ring clattered out of the box and into her opened palm.
She held it up for both of them to examine. It appeared to be a man’s signet ring, plain yellow gold with a flat black onyx square at the top and the initial K in gold standing out in bold relief against the onyx.
“I’ve seen this ring before,” she said. “In a photograph of Peter, he’s wearing it on his right hand. It’s definitely the same one.”
“But his last name was Nowak. Where does the K come from?”
Emmy frowned. “Maybe it was a gift or something. Or an inheritance.”
“Possibly,” Heath said, not sounding convinced. “Of course, this gives the monogram on the handkerchief new meaning, too.”
A drop of rain landed on the box, and they both looked up at the sky. “Come on,” Heath said. “Let’s put everything back and go find out how soon we can see Lulu.”
They replaced the earrings, barrette, skate key, handkerchief, ribbon, note, and penny, but Heath held on to the ring. It began to rain harder as they ran back to the truck, both of them sodden by the time they’d closed the doors.
Heath started the engine just as Emmy’s cell phone began to ring. She looked at the number and saw i
t was from Paige’s Pages.
“Mama?”
“Hi, Emmy. We’re swamped and I only have a minute, but I wanted to tell you something before I forgot.”
“What is it?”
“Remember how you told me to call you and let you know if I remembered anything about Folly’s residents or its history?”
“Yes.” Emmy looked at Heath and shrugged.
“Well, I thought of a few things that I thought you might find interesting. They probably don’t have anything to do with what you’re looking for, but I thought I’d tell you anyway.”
“Sure—go ahead.”
“Let’s see. . . . Did you know that Folly Beach was first called Coffin Land? It was because all the ships heading toward Charleston harbor had to drop off their sick passengers so no sickness would be spread in the city. When the ships came back to pick them up, most of them had already died.”
Emmy raised her eyebrows in Heath’s direction. “That is interesting. Anything else?”
“Now I know this one is definitely too late for your time frame, but did you know that Folly Beach had its own serial killer? A man abducted and murdered three teenage girls in the early seventies and buried their bodies. They did catch him, thankfully.”
“That’s awful. Again, not pertinent . . .”
“Oh, I know. And there’re other tidbits, too, like how it’s rumored that Elvis Presley vacationed there before he was a star, and how some big gangster was arrested in the fifties by FBI agents on the corner of Erie and Center Street. Or was it East Ashley and Center? Oh, never mind. You did ask.”
Emmy smiled into the phone. “I did, and thanks. It’s all entertaining and I appreciate hearing about Folly. Please let me know if you think of anything else.”
“I will. Oh, wait. There was one more thing. I was talking with your father this morning about Folly Beach and how my favorite restaurant when I was a girl was the Atlantic House, which isn’t there anymore because of Hugo.”
“I know. Heath told me. What about it?”
“I remember a local historian coming to talk to us in grade school, and he mentioned that the old house that eventually became the restaurant was an abandoned structure during the forties, and that some thought it was used by Nazi spies to signal out to the U-boats offshore. It probably has nothing to do with anything, but I thought I’d tell you just in case since we’re talking the same time period.”
