Within moments, Jason had passed the gloves out to everyone, and the four of them were heading up the first flight of stairs. As they turned to the second, he noticed Paloma beginning to tremble.
“Are you sure you want to do this,” he asked as he walked behind her. “You don’t have to, you know.”
“I have to, Edward. If there’s really something we’ve missed… something this monumentally huge… then what is to say there might not be more than one panel? What is there to say there may not be something inside one of them that will be another piece of the puzzle,” she said, her voice muffled through the bulky blue scarf she’d wrapped around her face to keep dust out. “I don’t want to miss that any more than you do.”
Edward heard the attic door creak as Jason unbolted and opened it, stepping aside to let the other three pass inside before he entered. They moved past the boxes, heavy with dust, and made their way to the center of the room, where the mirror was.
Once the lights were on, Masao and Edward carefully removed the tarp and dust cloths from it, with some assistance from Jason while Paloma held it steady to the best of her ability.
“So where should we begin? You know what you found and we don’t,” Edward said, trying his best not to get irritated at his lack of understanding for this particular assessment. “What are we looking for, exactly? And was there anything specific about the type of wood to look at, or did it just say the wood? Because that covers the top, sides, the bottom edges, and the whole back if that’s the case.”
He moved toward the back of the mirror as he spoke, glancing it over carefully.
“Nothing that we know of on the back, but it doesn’t hurt to check it over along with the sides and top, which I understand are the main areas that may have these compartments. We know there are at least three, but not the size or shape of them.”
“Please pardon me for saying so, Nephew,” Masao said as he moved away and looked at himself in the mirror, a smile crinkling across his face, “but can you tell us anything else that could help narrow things down? That is a lot of territory with all the folds and nuances in the wood; these waves, or wings, or whatever they are, have been so meticulously put together and detailed – even for someone of our time, let alone for an antique – that we may be here a very long time, even with one person on either side. And we will need a ladder to look at the very top in good detail.”
“Well, I… I was hoping to wait until Monday to get into that, but I guess that isn’t very practical anymore. At least not for the whole thing… some I don’t know off the top of my head, but I know the basic gist,” Jason told them, picking up one of the dust cloths from the floor and carefully running it over the wooden areas he could reach.
“Basically, there is indication that there might be a note from someone in Edward’s past in a compartment. The mirror was sold, we understand from a journal that was found last year, to someone living in the Pyrenees Mountains, and that’s the connection to Rose’s grandfather… at least we think so.”
“But, how,” Paloma said, cutting herself off. “I… I don’t see how it is that there would be a journal hidden all these hundreds of years. Did it say where in the mountains? Who sold it, who bought it, anything like that?”
She reached for Edward’s hand and he gladly took it as he began to tremble.
He waited with the others in silence as Jason told them more about the journal and where it had been found before he actually answered the question. “That said,” the man continued, “we have reason to believe that the journal may have belonged to none other than Mary Beatrice Stuart.”
Edward felt his knees begin to buckle and the room started to spin, even as the others moved toward him and helped him stabilize himself. Masao pulled the single chair in the room over for him to sit on and he gladly accepted it.
“Your…”
“Yeah… she was my…”
“Oh, Edward, I’m so…”
“Please don’t say it. I can’t bear to hear people tell me they’re sorry about things that can’t be changed. Besides, if she and I had…”
“That’s true, my Love… very true.”
“So it’s just as well, if we find what was written, that we know ahead that she might be who…”
“Absolutely.”
Paloma put her arms around him, and Jason and Masao moved closer. "In that event,” she said again, “maybe we should pray before we do this search. Because whatever we do or don’t find will affect things for a very long time, I’m sure.”
Nods created shadows in the light around him, and he bowed his head. Once Masao prayed, they set to work, meticulously running their white-gloved hands over the various surfaces of the wood, taking turns, two at a time.
After an hour and a half, Edward’s energy began to flag and his hopes of finding anything began to dim. Would anything pop up, or was this merely wishful thinking?
Suddenly, he heard Paloma gasp. When he glanced at her, he noticed a thin section of the top left edge had popped out about three inches. He looked around to see if Jason and Masao were watching; they were.
“I can’t see inside; I’m too short, but… Edward, maybe you can see, or we can have someone stand on the chair,” he heard his wife say through the thick fog of thoughts that were rolling in on him.
He watched her move aside, his body feeling heavy with anticipation and emotions spiraling and swirling within him, he stepped forward.
He, too, was too short to see what was inside, but with all gentleness, he felt along the edges of the panel that had sprung open, then reached inside. His gloved hand trembled as he pulled out something that looked like a scroll.
Aware that all eyes were on him, Edward carefully brought it toward his nose and sniffed it; time had not entirely removed the familiar odor of James and Mary’s water-milled stationery, and the brightness of one of Mary’s pale blue ribbons mostly retained. Then, without further ado, he held the letter out for Jason, who placed it in a plastic bag he’d been carrying in his pocket.
“I don’t know about you,” Edward told the others, “but as much as I want to read that right now, I’m eager to see what else we can find, now that our spirits are raised that there are, indeed, compartments. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… Jason, I’m almost positive this really does have something to do with Mary.”
Four hours later, and six more compartments found, the group was exhausted.
The second through fourth and sixth compartments had been empty, and Paloma had watched as Edward’s shoulders sagged just a little more with each discovery.
But the fifth compartment had held something even older; it looked like it might be in Hebrew or Aramaic, but they had not looked it over thoroughly. The texture of the parchment – or was it skin? – it was on was rough side, and the ciphers, for the most part, were clear. She could hardly wait to learn what it was trying to communicate, and, if possible, from when.
And this last compartment?
This seventh compartment held the answer to a question they had pondered since the day of his heart surgery: a faded wedding photograph that was eerily familiar: their own. Shivers ran down Paloma’s spine and down to her fingertips and toes as she stared at it for the third time, and then finally relinquished it to Edward to see.
“I think we may have solved at least one mystery today,” she said as she placed it in his hand. “And I don’t know if there are more compartments or not, but for now, I really… I need a break. At least to get something to eat and recharge a little. We’re only two thirds of the way down the mirror, and it isn’t impossible that there’s something else, or even that we might have missed something again.”
Masao, Jason, and Edward nodded, but nobody spoke. She watched her husband wordlessly hand the treasured photo to her brother, who placed it in another baggie supplied from his pocket.
“I think it is wise to take some time for food and rest,” Masao finally said. “You are right. This is not an easy process, but l
ook at what patience has wrought to us… patience and faith.”
Again, Edward and Jason nodded, and this time, Paloma joined them.
“Let’s leave our gloves up here,” Jason said, his voice shaky. “May as well see about something to eat, and we can get a better view of what we’ve found in the light in Edward’s office, anyway.”
Consensus reached, they took their gloves off, folding them into pairs and leaving them in a row along the chair.
Jason picked the bags up and, dropping them off in Edward’s office, followed the rest of the group downstairs a few moments behind them.
“Well, we can have leftovers,” Paloma suggested once they’d all removed their dust-covered shoes at the bottom of the stairs and gone to wash up in the front bathroom. “Or we can order something in, maybe,” she suggested as Confetti bounded into the room to begin inspecting everyone’s feet, her little nose working overtime; her curl-covered tail dancing back and forth in delight.
“Pizza,” Edward asked, reaching for the cat once he was clear of the tangle of people.
“Chinese,” Masao suggested, smiling hopefully.
“Leftovers work for me, or anything else, as long as we’ve got root beer to drink with it,” her brother told her, pulling even more plastic bags from his pocket as he headed toward the kitchen and set them down on the counter. “Which I happen to have in my car. I forgot to bring it in, so we’ll need ice.”
They glanced amongst themselves even as Jason’s phone began to vibrate. He glanced at it, shrugged, and let it keep ringing as he set it on top of the bags he’d set on the counter, then sat down at the table, where the others quickly joined him.
“Who was that,” Paloma asked him.
It wasn’t like her brother to ignore a call… even if he was in the midst of something important.
“Blocked number, so I’m not going to worry about it. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message,” he told her. “And now that I think of it… I’m good with either Chinese or pizza. Maybe even both. I’m famished, and I don’t know about the rest of you, but my throat’s pretty parched.”
He got up again and began getting glasses down for everyone, running the water a few moments as they talked more amongst themselves to decide on what they’d do for their meal.
He filled them two at a time and carried them to the table as Edward placed a call in for their meal.
“This ordering-in of food – it’s becoming a habit,” Paloma told him after he hung up. “And even though it costs a bit more, it sure is easier sometimes. I’m just so used to cooking, that-“
“You always were a great cook,” Jason interrupted her. “But I think by now you know that even you need a break more often than you give yourself,” he continued. “So when you go on vacation, I better not hear that you’re cooking all the meals. Maybe breakfast, but would you just go out to eat the other meals of the day, or order in? Really… isn’t that what vacation’s for? To vacate the parts of your life that stress you out or add to your everyday workload?”
Paloma sighed as she watched her brother down his water, then get up for more.
Would he ever learn that, for her, cooking was generally a joy?
Boston, Massachusetts... December 28, 1941
Peter watched from the corner as Steven shook hands with the five men that awaited him in front of the stadium.
He had tried to call to his brother; he had tried to garner his attention, but with no success. Steven either was ignoring him, or was so concentrated on what he was doing and where he was going that Peter’s call had availed nothing.
Because they worked different hours, Peter had been surprised to see his brother walking out of his office building so early; he had been on the way to see about having lunch together so they could talk, and now, there was little chance of that happening; not today.
The waning light made it difficult for Peter to make out who the meeting was with, but when the men walked past the ticket booth and right into the stadium, he assumed they had to be people who worked there. He knew that Steven was friends – or at least on friendly terms – with a few players and some of the staff, but to what extent, his brother had never told anyone. Not even his own wife.
Moving toward Fenway Park, Peter got close enough to see that the ticket counter was staffed only by an older gentleman – dark-haired and wrinkled like a prune – who had fallen asleep. He crept past the booth and headed to the door he’d seen Steven and the other men disappear through; it was locked.
With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned back around and headed for home.
I guess I’ll just ask him about it next time we get together, he thought. Of course, I’d rather have gotten it out of the way. What if these are the very same men who were influencing him before Christmas? Has anything really changed?
Steven’s wife, Shannen, as well as her mother, Liraz, had come to Peter the Sunday before Christmas with some concerns that Steven had no longer been bringing home his whole paycheck.
It would have been one thing had Steven confessed to where the money was disappearing, but it was quite another that his brother felt he had to hide something from his family as though he was up to something no good.
Was he?
Peter thought back to the day Rose had “discerpeared,” has he’d called it back then. The day their sister had fallen backward through a mirror as the boys wrestled and the music played to distract them from the lightning storm that was wreaking havoc on their young hearts, causing them to fear.
Had the storm not come… had the music not been playing… had he, Steven, Michael, and Warren not been wrestling, would Rose still be with them? Would she still have fallen through the mirror, but on another day instead? Had her disappearance been inevitable, or was it something they could have prevented?
As he made his way back across the street and toward work, his lunch bag swinging idly in his hand, Peter allowed his thoughts to drift back even further. He let them drift all the way back to when Mother and Sarah Jene died; even further to when Gram-Papa Wishart had told them stories about how the mirror came to be in America; how he’d found it in the mountains between Spain and France during wartime.
He thought about his aunts and uncles; about his brother Warren, who had refused to leave Gloucester. Warren, one of the quiet boys among them; the one who had become the most stubborn and who insisted on staying not only to care for Father until he passed, but to become a fisherman, as Father had.
Warren, who insisted that if Rose ever came back, they would need a representative she knew staying at the house.
Someone she knew hadn’t given up on her.
As if the rest of us have, Peter thought for the millionth time. As if the rest of us ever will forget? As if we will give up on Rose? On finding her? I know I certainly haven’t.
“Hey, Peter,” he heard someone calling behind him as he turned to walk the last block to the factory where he worked. He turned around to see Steven.
“Were you calling to me earlier? I thought I heard your voice, but I was running late for a meeting,” his brother said as he caught up to walk side by side.
A meeting in the middle of the day when you’re supposed to be at work, Peter thought. Or had Mr. Faires sent him on an errand of some sort, and that’s what this was all about?
Not that it would explain the checks becoming smaller recently. And not that Peter wanted to get into the middle of Shannen and Steven’s business.
He had gotten rather angry at first, thinking of his sister-in-law, niece, and Mrs. Schwartz ending up with less for Steven and God only knew what reason. Was there a reasonable explanation, or was Steven in some sort of trouble?
“Oh, yeah,” he finally managed to say, trying to act nonchalant as he picked up the pace, hoping he wouldn’t be late for work a third time in the month. Thankfully this time, though, there was little snow left to impede the progress.
“Well, anyway,” Steven began again as they crossed the street, “
I’m glad I caught up with you. I had a favor I wanted to ask you, and didn’t want to ask in front of the womenfolk and children.”
Peter paused to glance at his brother, who stood a good five inches taller than him, before resuming. “What’s that?”
“I need to borrow a hundred bucks.”
“Borrow a…” Peter stopped in his tracks. “Borrow a hundred dollars? Do you know how much money that is?”
“Yeah; it’s a hundred dollars. You know I’m good for it. I just… I’m sure you already know this, but I’ve lost track on a few things; I ran behind on a couple of expenses, but I’m almost caught up. All I need is a hundred dollars to be square, and then things can get back to normal for all of us.”
“Back to normal,” Peter asked him as he started walking again. Steven hurried to catch back up. “Since when is it normal for you to come and ask me for money that can provide my family with groceries for the next four months, if I play things right? Since when is so much money all of a sudden due when, from what Shannen said, you have only got bills related to the apartment?”
“You’ve been talking with Shannen behind my back?” Steven’s accusation hung in the air, and he paused as Peter kept walking, then hurrying to catch up. “You two have been talking about me, and about our private finances, without my knowledge, as though I’ve done something wrong?”
“Have you,” Peter asked him bluntly. “Have you done something wrong?”
The words were out before he could take them back. He shifted his lunch from one hand to the other as he stopped outside the door to the factory, and when he turned toward Steven, he noticed the man was beet red. His fists were clenched and he moved a few steps closer to Peter, ignoring the other workers milling about.
“How dare you,” Steven said, seething. “How dare you question my integrity? As if you’re perfect, Peter? As if your life is a blissful contentment and you’ve never done anything warranting questioning? I’m behind on a few expenses… can’t we leave it at that,” he continued. “I never said they were bills. I’m not going to lie to you and say that they are. But since you want to be in our business, forget it. I’ll find the money elsewhere, somehow. I have to.”
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 32
