by ANN HYMES
Theresa was anxious to find the other tower, so she climbed down the stairs and checked the bedrooms until she found another door leading up. Similar steps led her to a second platform with a huge light. This one was cloaked in green glass, and similar doors and windows as the other tower surrounded it. She assumed the light’s color corresponded to the paint color of the tower, but she could not be sure without venturing out onto the balconies to see the house. Red and green towers; red and green lights. What was the reason? And did Grandmother create this curiosity?
Theresa spent the remainder of the morning bringing things in from the car and putting them away. She hung the two hanging baskets of pink petunias on the porch and stepped back to admire them. “Just right.” She smiled.
She liked the feel of the porch and was surprised that the furniture cushions had a floral pattern similar to one she had selected for her own screened porch. She and Grandmother liked pink flowers, but the bright pink trim on the house was still beyond Theresa’s grasp. Life choices can, and sometimes should, defy the logical, she thought. And remembering the bank trustee saying her grandmother was “a character,” she said aloud, “Good for you, Theodosia Hampton; you had guts.”
Now that the Jeep was empty and the dog snored contentedly next to her birds, Theresa was ready to explore the town. She wondered whether people locked their doors here and decided against the idea. Leaving Gypsy in charge of security, she drove the car back down the bumpy gravel drive. “Red Rover,” she said, tapping her hand twice on the dashboard. “You shall be called ‘Red Rover.’ You’ve brought me on quite an adventure.” Another affectionate tap, and the matter was sealed.
More people were on the streets midday than Theresa had seen the evening before on her way through town. There was not the sense of a beach town or casual resort area. Women were smartly dressed, with matching blouses and pressed slacks. They wore cardigan sweaters with bold brassy buttons and small embroidered designs. Many walked purposefully, carrying bags from shops and greeting others on the sidewalk. Theresa noticed handbags of delicately woven basketry, with carved scrimshaw on top, and wrists loaded with gold bracelets. These women did not have sand between their toes.
It was easy to park the car, and Theresa left Red Rover in front of the ice cream shop and walked down Main Street to the bank. The trust officers were at lunch, but a package was waiting for her, and the receptionist asked whether she’d like to open it in a private room. “No, thank you,” she replied, lifting the box to test the weight. “I’ll just take it along.”
She signed for the package and saw a phone number taped to the top. It said “Rick’s phone. Don’t lose.” How nice to be so valuable, she thought.
A two-scoop strawberry ice cream cone sounded like just the right lunch, and Theresa carried her grandmother’s safe deposit secrets into the shop that boasted “the best homemade fudge and ice cream.” Being somewhat of an expert on this topic, she sat at a round table in the window and began the evaluation. Chunks of icy strawberries lingered in her mouth as the creamy flavor melted on her tongue. It was delicious. The waffle cone was fresh and crispy, and she had to fight the nagging urge to order another one. Ice cream was definitely heaven’s food—or hell’s temptation—and she was its tester.
Theresa watched the people who passed by the window and tried to determine who was a tourist and who was local. Some stood just a few feet from her, chatting with an animated, soundless enthusiasm on the other side of the glass. Others stopped, looking up and down the street, as if waiting for directions, or inspiration, on which way to go. She noticed that many of the cars were expensive or classic models, with license plates from Massachusetts or Connecticut. Perhaps Cape Cod was exclusively the playground of the Northeast—and of the privileged.
It suddenly dawned on Theresa that she didn’t know a single person here. She was an outsider, a visitor, like the tiny wandering sea creatures she’d seen at the Aquarium that crawl into empty shells left behind. She had no experience in travel, in adapting to new places. The beautiful shell she’d been given was not her choice, and it had not been washed clean of its former occupant. It might not fit. Like Gypsy, she was being let out of the space she knew and given freedom she didn’t even know she lacked.
Theresa picked up her sealed package and headed back to the car. She felt disconnected and lonely. All around her spring was announcing its arrival in bursting buds and trees with new leaves the color of delicate green lace. She climbed into the Jeep, closed the door and locked it. Eagerly, she broke the seal on the box and lifted out several small boxes and a handful of letters.
Her curiosity led her first to the velvety jewelry boxes. Inside she found gorgeous pearls, a diamond and ruby ring, and a large pin with swirls of sapphires and diamonds in the shape of a flower. Another box held a huge solitaire diamond ring and a ring with diamonds all around the band. Theresa slipped the diamond band on her finger, wondering whether it had been her grandmother’s wedding ring.
The last box was a plain white box made of cardboard. It was lined with cottony puffs, as if cradling something extremely delicate or breakable. Theresa gently poked a finger in and found a note: “Here’s a Glory-of-the-Seas treasure for my land treasure. With love, Stormy.” At the bottom of the box was a seashell. Its elegant lines curved gracefully in a spiral coil at one end, the other end tapering off to seal the opening. It was about five inches long, a rusty orange color, splashed with dabs of yellow. Or maybe it was really a yellow shell with brownish patterns like a tightly wrapped net. Either way, it was wonderful to look at and to hold. It had been caressed by a thousand waves, given by someone with great love, and now was carefully protected with Grandmother’s valuables.
The jewelry was breathtaking and expensive, but Theresa sat staring at the long shell and could not put it down. She wondered where it had come from and who Stormy was. The mystery of the giver could not be solved just then, but information about the shell would certainly be available at the public library. She would begin her learning about the ocean with a lesson on shells.
The library was farther down Main Street, and Theresa packed up the box again, careful to keep the letters together. She wanted time to read them in a quiet place when she would not be distracted, and she was already wondering whether two weeks would be enough time to sift through all the mementos and questions she was finding.
“Good afternoon,” the woman at the front desk said, looking up from stamping books. “How may I help you?” she asked, as if she really meant it.
“I’m looking for reference books on shells. Something with identification pictures.”
Theresa noticed the woman’s name tag. It said, “Need help? Ask Ana.” The name was written in calligraphy, and its spelling prompted Theresa to ask about the nationality.
“Portuguese,” she replied. “My ancestors came here several generations ago, and I’m still here. Never even been off Cape.”
“Not even to Boston?” Theresa asked, incredulously.
“No. We live quietly and have everything we need right here. I like to stay pretty close to home.” Ana showed her where the reference books were kept and pointed to several large ones on the shelf.
Theresa noticed the woman did not wear a wedding ring but decided she was already getting a little too personal to pursue the family history. “Thanks for your help,” she said, unable to call a woman so much older than she was by her first name. “I’ll come back if I get stuck.”
“I’ll be here,” replied Ana, genuinely. “You’ll find lots of books on the ocean and marine life.”
Theresa was fascinated by the pictures of beautiful shells from waters around the world. She read the descriptions and tried the Latin names. She traced some of the shapes with her finger. The colorful bumps and spikes and ridges, so smooth on the page, were plucked from a palette of nature’s colors. No human could put together such combinations, she thought.
&n
bsp; Her grandmother’s shell sat on the table in front of her, and she occasionally looked up to compare it with a picture. She was amazed at the diversity and the similarities, but none quite matched the shell in front of her. Finally, in a book about highly collectible shells, she found “Glory-of-the-Seas” in the index. Her fingers fumbled to the page, and there it was—as beautiful and perfect as her grandmother’s. “Considered one of the most valuable at auctions. Expect to pay at least a thousand dollars. Very rare. Found mostly in museums.”
She went on to read that Glory-of-the-Seas is found in the southwest Pacific, around the Philippines and Indonesia. Not exactly a Cape Cod native! “It has long been associated with romance and intrigue, theft and deceit, and is highly sought after by serious collectors.” As Theresa reached to put a protective hand around the shell, she saw Ana standing nearby watching her, her face drained of color.
Theresa stood up, awkwardly clutching the shell. She wanted to tell Ana she’d been successful in her research, but the woman was gone.
Chapter Six
THERESA DEBATED the wisdom of disturbing Kevin at his office, of having personal conversation during business hours. She was not trying to burn her bridges, at least not yet consciously. Their communication was increasingly a minefield of emotions, but stalemate allowed neither party to forgive. She wanted to keep trying.
“Do you have a minute?” she asked, holding the phone with one hand and rubbing Gypsy’s neck with the other.
“You bet. I’m trying to rewrite this brief, but it’s just not coming together. The client is stressed, and we are all working long hours. Everything okay with you?”
“Everything is fine. Would you rather I call you at home tonight?”
“No, this is great. I miss you, Theresa. What’s the word from Whimsy Towers?”
“Well, I ventured into town today and got the things from Grandmother’s safe deposit box. Seems she valued a seashell from somebody named Stormy as much as some incredible jewelry that must have come from Grandfather. Or maybe other men in her life came bearing gifts.”
“No other clues?”
“Not so far, but there are some letters that I’m about to read. I’m both excited and apprehensive about what I may learn, and I want to sit in the sunshine at Whimsy Towers and let the truth unfold. My family seems to reveal itself in print better than in person!”
Kevin laughed. “Have you been to the beach?”
“I haven’t actually been on it yet. Thought I’d take Gypsy for a beach walk this afternoon.” She decided not to mention her discovery in the boathouse. Kevin would worry, and she didn’t want to alarm him with uncertain news.
“I could use a long walk on a beach. Sounds wonderful. And the towers?”
“Oh, yes, the towers! Amazing! They have lights in them like lighthouses. One green and one red.”
“Green and red? Your grandmother must have thought she lived on a boat! Sounds like the adventure rolls on, Theresa.”
“Yes, I’m settling in and finding my way around the place. The weather is beautiful, and spring is just beginning to show off. Everything all right at home?”
“The house is too quiet without my girls. I’ll probably work late here tonight. The finish line is almost in sight on this case. Maybe I could fly up and join you next weekend. I know we need to talk.”
Theresa did not immediately answer. “Well, let’s see,” she replied, not sure whether she was ready to include him.
Was she searching for the family she didn’t know or trying to dispose of the one she did? Her hesitancy was obvious. She sensed that Kevin didn’t want to push her over the edge and didn’t know how to catch her before she slipped.
The dog was safe territory. “Gypsy doing okay?” he asked.
“She seems fine, a happy mix of curiosity and contentment. There’s lots of room to run and sniff. I think we’ll have some outside relax time this afternoon. I’m anxious to get into the letters. Do you remember my father ever talking about a Claude or Stormy?”
“No, but Cape Cod was a closed door; we knew not to try to open it. Maybe the letters will help.”
“Maybe,” replied Theresa, looking down at the new diamond band on her right hand. “I’ll let you know.”
She hung up the phone and held her two hands out in front of her. Her plain gold wedding band was the only jewelry she wore. They had been married too quickly to worry about an engagement ring, and it seemed silly to buy one after the wedding. She always thought of the white roses as engagement flowers. Theresa smiled at the thought of Kevin nervously waiting for her with an armful of flowers and a heart full of anxious love. They had jumped into marriage with the optimism of youth.
Now she had jewelry from her grandmother’s marriage, but that union, too, lacked sparkle, and the glitter of diamonds could not fix it. She wondered why Kevin never bought her jewelry. They exchanged gifts that were practical and predictable, with little risk of disappointment. They usually knew exactly what was coming, and the unwrapping was just a formality.
Theresa picked up the packet of letters and stepped out onto the porch. Gypsy didn’t wait to be called; an open door was all the invitation she needed. The dog ran ahead out onto the lawn, and Theresa sat down on the steps. The first letter, addressed to her grandmother, had never even been opened. She recognized the handwriting immediately and slid her finger under the flap to break the seal.
Dear Theodosia,
We have found a house in a nice neighborhood with big trees and a school nearby. Theresa watches the children walking with their mothers to school and asks me if Mommy will come back before she starts kindergarten. We both struggle to find our way here, even after two years. I am able to write copy at home for the ad agency where I work, and I’m glad for the time with Theresa. She often cries at night from bad dreams, and I’m afraid Emily is beginning to mingle with other faces and people in her young mind. I do not know how or if to hold onto the memory of a mother she will never know.
When I called today and you did not know who I was, tears of loss and anger welled up in me. Your softened voice, now empty of remembering, is like a distant echo of our happy days together as a family. Perhaps I just ran away, like a confused child who wants to hide from reality. I am so sorry, so very sorry, for the pain of our parting.
You are in good hands with your nurse. If you are able to understand this letter, please know that I love you and will be forever grateful for having your beautiful daughter in my life,
Tim
Inside the envelope was a photograph of a smiling Theresa. She was dressed in a navy blue coat with white trim and a little straw hat with flowers on top. She looked to be about three or four and stood proudly holding an Easter basket full of colored eggs. Theresa read the letter again. She could not imagine her father running away from anything; he had been her rock.
Sitting in the warm sunshine, Theresa looked out across the lawn towards the water and realized that she, too, was running, looking for escape from a situation she did not know how to handle. And she smiled at the ironic thought that her flight had brought her back to the beginning, back to the place that began the journey.
The afternoon sky was gray blue, with wisps of white clouds separating it from the blue gray ocean. Theresa reflected on how nature’s elements come together at the horizon, always out of touch and distant. They do not argue where they meet; the storms occur before that faraway, closing line.
She watched sailboats of varying sizes skim across the water and wondered whether she would like sailing. The boats often turned sharply to catch a breeze, and some had brightly colored sails in front that looked like puffed trumpeters leading into the wind. Her mother had been an excellent sailor, but she didn’t know whether her father had ever tried it again after his wife’s death. Until the letter he’d left her, with the details of her mother’s accident, Theresa had never known her fam
ily’s connection to sailing and the fury of the ocean.
Looking out on the scene of leisure and sport, she squinted in the bright sun. No hint of danger lurked, no threat of harm, no dark cloud. The water was a friend to fun, she thought, and she gazed absently at the waves licking the shoreline like a persistent mother cat cleaning her kitten. Looking back at the pile of letters in her lap, she picked up the next one and stared at it.
The date stamped on the front of the envelope was October 31, 1929. Theresa rarely wrote letters herself and realized how lazy the convenience of telephoning had made her. It took patience and organization to sit down and write a letter. Words had to be chosen that could sit awhile on the page and be reread without regret. Perhaps she would write Kevin a letter, she thought.
The handwriting was bold, with the graceful flow of an old-fashioned fountain pen.
Dear Theodosia,
I am writing you with grave news and hope not to alarm you with any urgency in my voice or manner. The stock market has crashed to an unimaginable level, and my holdings are entirely lost. I am sure you have heard the radio reports and seen the news in the papers. The fall on Wall Street has driven some men to desperate measures. They are unable to face the future that seems to lie ahead.
We must try to be sensible and evaluate our position. It is necessary to trim all extra expenses and look toward the possibilities of rebuilding our assets. Without the dividends and sales from stocks, our income is greatly diminished. The law firm is stable, and my position is secure, although some employees will be released.
I see no way for you to remain in Cape Cod, and I will make temporary adjustments in my personal and social arrangements for your return to our house. It may be necessary to send Emily to a different school or to a non-boarding school when you are back in South Carolina. These changes need to be made to protect our family name and prospects.
Most sincerely, James
Theresa searched for answers to questions not asked: Was Whimsy Towers to be sold? Abandoned? Did Emily suddenly have more time with her parents? Had Grandfather been living with a mistress? She laughed at the suggestion of “temporary adjustments”!
