Father has become aware of my nighttime wanderings around the house. I tell him it’s the creaking of the house that is unsettling to my soul and makes me pace.
The stories he told me as a child of ghosts and goblins float in my mind keeping me awake for fear I shall be whisked away. He says it’s rubbish. I tell him I wouldn’t lie to him. My tears come easily, naturally, persuading him for the moment.
It’s not fear of him causing my grief, but what shall become of my Clifford if the truth is free.
This had all the makings of a tragic love story. Star crossed lovers, one married and the other not, who couldn’t be together yet couldn’t stay apart. There was no way for it to end other than heartbreak.
The next few entries were of daily life. Bland compared to the angst over her relationship with Clifford. Even in the dull retelling of outings with her mother and sewing with her sisters, there was a longing in the words. Esther wanted more from her life than entertaining and helping with sisters. She wanted a life of her own. One with Clifford.
The diary was coming to an end, and my eyelids were getting heavy. Where was Ted? I skipped to last the page, needing to know how the love story turned out. There might be another diary. I’d have to find a way to get back into the Everton house and find it.
I have wrought shame onto my family and my love. How can this be? What am I to do now? My father and mother will have no choice but to disown me. I have dishonored them. And myself. How will Clifford feel? How will his son and his daughter-in-law feel knowing that—
The narrative abruptly ended. Pages were torn out.
The book downstairs was empty. Was there another diary hidden in one of the boxes or bags?
I ran downstairs. I opened one of the plastic bags and started pulling out the items, placing them on my couch. Embroidered hankies, a ledger of the household expenses, and two small leather books. More diaries. My heart sung.
I opened one and disappointment flooded through me. Pressed flowers were between the blank pages. The next one was not the continuation of the part of Esther’s life I was reading, it was the start of her and Clifford’s love affair.
Today I am seventeen. A woman. The day when my father said I could move from the room I share with my sisters into my own. I’ve yearned for it for the last three years. My mother says I need to look after my sisters, they are too young to be left alone. They are three and four years younger than me. I was responsible for myself and them when I was six, why can’t they be responsible for themselves now?
We have many rooms, but they are for the hands my father needs to keep up with the property and help for my mother. My mother’s maid has her own room, but I do not. The cook has her own room. I do not.
Now Father has gone back on his word, saying I am too young to sleep in the attic room. It’s too far from him and mother. If there was a fire, how would I get out?
Do they not know that if there was a fire, my feelings are that I would stay? I’d sit amongst the flames and the smoke, waiting for it to take me. My heart is desperate for a space to call my own. A place I can be me without being judged, laughed at. Even now, I am hidden in the cellar, writing in you. Talking to you. A book. You are the only one who listens. Who cares. The only thing in my life that is interested in my thoughts and feelings.
I am nothing more than a mother’s helper to Mother. I’m to help her look after my younger sisters. I have no identity to her beyond that. To Father, I am a failure. I am not what a first born should be nor what a daughter needs to be. The first born should be a boy. A son to carry on the family name. Nor am I what a daughter should be. I am not delicate in appearance. My complexion not fair. I do not look like a fairy tale princess like my sisters, Laura and Mabel. Father fears he will not be able to marry me off well. He’ll have to settle for whoever would take me.
Do they not see I am not wanted by my sisters? Always it has been Mabel and Laura. Laura and Mable. You’d think they were birthed together or they only have one sister each instead of two. I am the forgotten one. I’d like one space where I can feel important. Like I belong.
I don’t feel like I belong when I’m around my sisters.
Or my Mother.
Or my Father.
Tomorrow, I shall venture over to Mr. Montgomery’s house. He helped Father build our home. He might know of how another room can be added onto the main floor for me.
I placed the diary down on the couch. Tears trickled down my cheeks. My heart hurt for Esther. I swiped away my tears and stood, needing a break from the sadness of Esther’s life. My parents died before I ever knew them and the pain still creeps up on me on occasion, but how much more pain was it to have your parents alive and know they didn’t care about you.
It might just be Esther’s interpretation of her parents’ actions and feelings toward her. She was a teenager, and seventeen was a hard age. Teens get so much wrong...but sometimes they get it right. Was Esther? The only way to know her better was to read more.
I wandered into the kitchen and took out a wine cooler. I padded back to the couch and picked up the diary, moving over to the upholstered chair that used to belong to my grandpa. Wherever Ted and I decided to live, the chair was coming with me. Settling into the chair, I tucked my feet under me, placed my drink on the side table, and picked up my reading where I left off.
Hope dances in my heart tonight. Mother was in dire need of an embroidery floss color to finish her project, and our mercantile had none so I mentioned that Mrs. Montgomery is also an embroiderer.
As Mother only leaves the house once a week, and Mabel and Laura are not allowed to travel alone, I was instructed to go inquire about buying floss from Mrs. Montgomery. I acted as usual, asking when Laura and Mabel would be made to help as I traveled farther alone when I was younger.
Mother scolded me for my ungrateful attitude and willingness to risk the safety of my younger sisters. They were delicate. I was a hardy girl.
I arrived at Mr. Montgomery’s with my heart pounding. I had thought of what to say. The butler opened the door and let me in. I thought my heart would fly out of me when I made my request, stumbling out the lie about wanting floss for my mother instead of what I truly wanted was to speak to Mr. Montgomery. How could I ask for him? It was not proper for a young woman to visit with a married man.
Mr. Montgomery came downstairs to greet me. He said his wife was unwell but had sent down her collection of thread with him as she wouldn’t be using it. I thanked him and said my mother only needed a green, an evergreen color, but he insisted I take it all. His wife’s eyesight was going and she had no need of the floss. I smiled and curtsied.
He asked what troubled me. He saw there was no happiness in my eyes. Before I could heed better judgment, I unburdened myself. He nodded at parts of my story, frowning at others. He promised to stop for a visit in a few days and speak with my father, and I should not fret over what I may overhear, for sometimes one must use a little trickery to get what they need.
I yawned and rearranged myself on the chair. I read the next few entries of Esther pining for the visit, then worrying about it, and finally admitting to herself she was a foolish child. Mr. Montgomery had only been humoring her, being kind to a spoiled child who was speaking poorly of her parents.
One more page, I told myself.
He came! Mr. Montgomery came. His wife is severely ill, he told my father, and needs constant looking after. Mr. Montgomery’s business has been suffering for he cannot leave the house as the doctor, a man, cannot be in the home all day without there being another person present. It is not proper, and his son’s wife is busy at her own home and cannot sit with his Margaret.
Was it possible that my father’s oldest...the Esther girl...could come and stay during the day? He is so grateful that he had the foresight to add on a nurse’s quarters onto the main floor. It might be something my father should consider. He had h
is on the first floor and added a bell. It makes it easy for the nurse to get what is needed from the kitchen, pantry, or water from the well in a timely matter. He had considered hiring on a nurse, but Margaret is not ready to concede to the severity of her illness. All she wants is a companion.
Father nodded and said it was a good idea, and tomorrow morning he would send Esther to care for Mr. Montgomery’s ailing wife. No need for Mr. Montgomery to waste his precious time to fetch me as I was a quite capable.
Mr. Montgomery agreed, saying I was quite capable indeed.
My heart flickered a little as the words held a hint of wonder when Mr. Montgomery said “capable.” It was something likable and unique about me.
I shall show Mr. Montgomery how capable I am. No one would give his wife greater care than me.
Thirteen
My body jerked upright. A thud sounded at my feet. I squinted, turning my head to avoid the sunlight streaming into my eyes. Pain arced through my neck, and I kneaded the sore muscles. I fell asleep reading Esther’s diary.
Was there another book? The last page I had read was Esther’s first week working for Mr. Montgomery and his wife. Part of me was creeped out about Clifford Montgomery’s attention toward Esther because of her age, and I knew what was coming, but I also felt happiness for her as someone was finally treating her with tenderness.
Ted’s ringtone blared. I bet that was what woke me up. I snagged it from the coffee table, the light for the battery flashing red. I was in the danger zone.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Not so much. Pancake Storage was broken into last night. All the contracts for the units were taken and their computer smashed to bits. Did you leave anything in the unit you won?” Ted asked.
“Wyatt was clearing it out for me,” I said. “He brought some items over last night, but I don’t know if it was everything.”
“I’ll give him a call. And...” Ted voice shifted from concern into his Mr. Detective tone. “I’m sending over Officer Mitchell to pick up the items from the attic and the storage unit.”
“You’re going to what?” I squeaked out. I wasn’t sure if I was more upset he was confiscating all the history or sending Mitchell. Mitchell did not like me. Not that the feeling wasn’t mutual. “You can’t do that.”
“Of course, I can. It’s evidence in a murder. I have a warrant for the items in the attic and the storage unit, including the ones you have. I’m following regulations, Faith,” Ted said, annoyance loud and clear.
“I wouldn’t expect you not to. I meant you can’t send Officer Mitchell to get them. There are other officers on the force, send one of them. You know my history with Officer Mitchell.”
“Precisely why I’m sending him. Don’t interfere with his job because he will drag you to the police station.”
In handcuffs. I plugged my phone into the charger. Before I ran upstairs to shower and get dressed, I placed the items from the couch back into the plastic bags. I hated giving it all back, but I had no choice. Okay, I could bar Mitchell from my house but that wouldn’t be the wisest or law-abiding thing to do. I put the bags and the boxes from the attic near the front door. I placed the box that was dropped off at Scrap This on my craft table. There wasn’t anything to tie it to Ollie—yet. If I found something, I’d call Ted to pick it up. In case it was, I’d wear gloves when I looked through the items later.
I beat my record in taking a quick shower and was downstairs in fifteen minutes, presentable to the world. No calls from Ted or Mitchell, so that meant the officer hadn’t dropped by yet. My cell rang. I unattached the cell from the charger. It was Georgia. Did something else disappear during the night?
“Good morning, Georgia. Is anything wrong?”
“I didn’t think I’d ever be able to clear out Edward’s junk, but knowing there is a purpose for his collections is making it easier.” She sounded bright and cheerful. Not at all the same fretful woman as yesterday. “I have some items I thought you’d like for the town’s scrapbook. I have them boxed up for you. I’d like for you to pick them up this morning.”
This morning? I had a slew of items on my to-do list: find out more information from Ted, talk to Wyatt, meeting with Steve’s dad, research the Everton and Montgomery family, call Bob, look into adverse possession and how or if it would affect Scrap This...not to mention working at the scrapbook store. “I can stop by tonight.”
“If you can’t come by for them, I’ll just toss them out.”
“I do want them.” Maybe he had a diary of Esther’s or the missing pages had been in Georgia’s family trunk. “My schedule is just full this morning.”
“It’s not good for me to keep this stuff here.” Worry leaked into her voice. “Sorting through Edward’s belongings has been hard for me. I’m afraid if I don’t part with them soon, I’ll decide to keep them again. My sons are insisting that I purge some of the items in the house. If I don’t show them I’m making an effort, they plan on doing it for me this weekend. I don’t want that. They’ll throw everything away.”
Neither did I. A car pulled into my driveway. I peeked out the window. It was a police cruiser. Officer Mitchell. “I’ll stop by in fifteen to twenty minutes.”
“Thank you.”
I ended the call then opened the door before Mitchell knocked. I pointed to the boxes and bags. “All those boxes and bags are what Ted wants.”
“Why are you in a rush?” Mitchell grabbed a bag by the tied knot and heaved it over his shoulder.
“I need to get to work,” I said to his back.
“Work as in the scrapbook store, or work as in poking around in investigations?” Mitchell asked on his return trip.
“Work as in making a scrapbook of the town history. I was hired by the historical society to create it. I am not interfering in an investigation.”
“I’ve heard that before.” Mitchell picked up a box and placed it in his cruiser.
Mrs. Barlow was taking a lot of interest in the happenings of my house. That was good. Within five minutes, everyone in Eden would know that the police collected items from my house, which meant whoever broke into Pancake Storage would know I no longer had anything at my house.
Unless they didn’t keep up on social media.
I neared Georgia’s house and spotted a raised, black pickup truck in her driveway. Georgia hadn’t mentioned a visitor. Was it one of her other sons? Matthew? It wasn’t Hank’s truck, so I wasn’t worried about stopping to pick up the items for the historical society.
Small flakes drifted down. The weatherman’s predication was coming true. We were getting snow. I hoped it stayed like this and didn’t become the fluffier snow that accumulated. I was not a good winter driver, and I had thirty-five-minute drive to Buffalo Wild Wings in a few hours.
I stopped at the curb and got out, retrieving my coat from the passenger seat. The mild, for February, temperature we had yesterday morphed into a biting cold. The wind stung my cheeks as I jogged the few yards to Georgia’s front door. The grass crackled under my feet.
Before I reached the door, it was yanked open, and Hank stepped onto the small porch. I glanced around the street. His car was parked a few houses down. Why hadn’t he parked in his mom’s driveway? Scrap it all. I should’ve checked out the whole neighborhood. Hank stared at me with fury.
His angry gaze snapped at me. “What do you want?”
“Your mom has some items for the historical society. She asked me to come get them.”
“She isn’t home.”
“She called me less than fifteen minutes ago.”
“She’s not here now.”
The corner of the curtains pulled back. Georgia peeked out, tears running down her cheeks. I pointed, keeping a light tone in my voice. “Isn’t that your mom?”
He spun. Georgia’s eyes widened and she released the curtain. “She isn’t feeling
well today. It’s best you leave.”
Hank’s behavior was clanging all sorts of warning bells and cymbals in my head. “She insisted I stop by to get some things that were for Ruthann Pancake and the society.”
“You’re lying. I’ve been watching my mom all morning. She hasn’t made a call.”
That statement made me take root on her porch rather than leave. “I can show you my cell and prove your mom called me. I’m not leaving until I pick up the items your mom put aside for the society.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Neither is me leaving.”
“You’ll leave.” Hank stepped forward, hunching over to literally tower over me.
I hated bullies, and it appeared Hank was bullying his mom. I crossed my arms and glared up at him. “I won’t leave until I talk to her.”
“And I’m telling you that won’t happen. I’ll ask you nicely, one more time, to leave. You’re trespassing.”
“No, I’m not. Georgia asked for my help.” I refused to relinquish my spot on the porch.
“You’re not helping her. Don’t you understand that? Agreeing to help her find a murderer has upset her. I don’t want you encouraging her delusions anymore.”
She told Hank. “They’re not delusions. If you’d listen to your mom—”
“I’ve listened enough to her, you, and the police.” Hank grabbed my arm, starting to drag me from the porch.
“Let me go.” I grabbed onto the porch rail.
“I asked you to leave. I have no choice but to remove you.” Hank tried prying my fingers from the rail.
Two of my fingers bent back. I howled in pain. “Stop it.”
“Let her go, Hank.” A voice rumbled from the doorway.
Immediately, Hank released me. I turned.
Standing in the doorway was Matthew, Hank’s eldest brother. I remembered him from childhood. He lacked any kind of sense of humor and was so no nonsense he came across as surly. His eyes were an unusual color, not quite blue but not gray, almost a silver. He fixed a stern gaze on his brother before switching a softer one to me. “My mom isn’t up for visitors.”
Altered to Death Page 13
