by Geeta Kakade
“It would be a wonderful memento,” Bridget sounded really enthusiastic.
“It sounds like quite a bit of work,” Christy looked concerned.
“It isn’t,” Laurel replied. “I like keeping busy and I want to get into my own routine here so Jacob can do his own thing. If you pick out twelve of the best paintings or sketches I can have them scanned in town at the printers and then have a hundred calendars put together for a start. I just thought of this when you showed me your father’s art.”
“You get the best ideas,” Bridget picked up a picture of the lake painted from the attic. “This is one of my favorites.”
“I could do a doll calendar for you as well if you give me all the details,” offered Laurel. She’d seen the dolls in the cabinet and Mrs. Kemp had told her how Bridget and Christy had found the collection and Bridget now had an online business selling dolls. “I could photograph the dolls you want for the calendar. In fact a desktop version in addition to a wall calendar would give you both the option of choosing what to send or give.”
“That’s a great idea but it’s a lot of work,” Christy objected. “This is your vacation.”
“I love it,” Bridget added. “But don’t wear yourself out with this. We can file your idea and do it next year too.”
“I want to start now,” Laurel was firm. “I have an idea I don’t like having time on my hands so the calendars will give me a chance to explore one of the things I could do in the future.”
The unspoken thought her military career might be over hung in the air. She couldn’t believe she had voiced the ‘what if’s’ that came up in her thoughts these past few days.
What if she regained her memory and was court-martialed?
What if she never regained her memory and couldn’t go back to her job?
Her pro-active mind was already looking for alternates.
“I’ve thought of travel videos with documentaries too for the future,” Laurel wanted to air her ideas. “The other thing I could do at present is help Jacob by starting a photography class on the Reservation. He’s considering starting more interest groups to get them involved and show them the future does hold more for them than drinking, drugs and lazing about.”
“The stuff you can do is amazing, Laurel.”
Everyone should have someone like Bridget in their personal cheering section.
“You have impressed us all so much with the way you cope with things,” Christy’s voice had a shake in it.
“I’m just experimenting with ideas for the future,” Laurel brushed off the praise.
She didn’t want to add her personal crystal ball was so fogged up now she couldn’t see more than a few hours ahead at a time. The sooner she made a new life for herself the sooner she could set Jacob free of the responsibility of caring for her.
“Mrs. Kemp wants us to come down and try the almond cookies she’s baked,” Bridget told them as they repacked the sketches and paintings.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ma loved being in the attic with all three young women. It touched her that Bridget and Christy cared about Laurel and her problem. Laurel was fighting back and Agnes was orchestrating as many incidents as she could to trigger her flashbacks without giving her a shock.
The neurotransmitters that had been affected needed time and the right balance of good eating, healthy surroundings and positive interactions among other things to repair themselves. It would take time.
Pa came in as everyone went downstairs. He was happy to see his wife in the attic for once.
“Stephen’s spending a great deal of time on Brian’s farm in Australia,” he said. “I’ve visited there too to understand what he has to do. The letter from Lucy has brought back the past to Brian and he’s unwell. Stephen feels badly about everything.”
“Good. He needs to realize how much Brian loved Lucy.” Agnes sounded stern.
“I’m sorry too,” Phillip said in a quiet voice.
“What about?” Phillip had probably apologized once to her in all the years they had been married. He’d been a proud man and the words hadn’t come easy to him.
“About Jacob,” Phillip said. “I didn’t know any different back then. Forgive me for hurting you too.”
Agnes felt a great love for her husband sweep through her. “I didn’t know different either. I thought I had to obey you in everything and kept quiet when I could have said something to him. Besides you were trying to protect him. Children don’t understand the long term implications of an unsuitable marriage. Each generation learns from the mistakes of the past and both sides have to understand the other’s point of view. We are extremely lucky, Pa, to have this opportunity to repair the wrong we did.”
Phillip nodded. “Yes, we are.”
He promised himself he would do his best not to mess things up this time and he would help Stephen as much as he could.
They could call him the turnaround ghost.
“I’ve got to call the chimney sweep,” Christy mentioned as they went into the kitchen. The aroma of baking that filled the house was amazing. Maybe, thought Laurel, she could learn how to bake cookies.
“There’s something in the living room chimney that sounds like a bird’s fallen in and can’t get out,” Christy bit into a cookie and closed her eyes for a minute. “Mark and I heard this chirping yesterday. We can’t light a fire there till it’s taken care of. I got the ladder out after Mr. Kemp and Toby left for the greenhouse. I don’t want either of them getting up on the ladder. I thought I’d do a quick check before calling the sweep.”
Bridget, Moira and Mrs. Kemp stared at Christy. Their expressions told Laurel they couldn’t believe what they were hearing.
“No!” Mrs. Kemp looked worried. “Isn’t that how you hurt your ankle?”
“You have no head for heights and you’re not going up that ladder.” Bridget added firmly. “Mark wouldn’t allow you to and in his absence I am in charge of you not going up anything.”
“Let me take a quick look,” Laurel offered. “I’m good with heights and ladders.”
“You’re going to get all dirty,” protested Christy looking at Laurel’s white shirt and brown pants.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m used to dust.” As Laurel picked up her second cookie, a picture of the dry barren land around the village jumped into her mind.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Mrs. Kemp looked worried.
“I know I can do it,” repeated Laurel standing up. At last there was something she could help with. “I was always a tomboy and loved climbing trees and jungle gyms as a kid. My Dad even had ropes attached to the trees in the yard so I could shin up them. Later he took me to a climbing wall at a local gym and they told him I might be a mountaineer.”
She’d been meaning to ask Mark if she could attach a rope to the tree that held Frank’s commodious tree house. Knotted at evenly spaced intervals, it would give the twelve year old an alternate means of getting up and down and be good exercise.
She helped Christy set the ladder up inside the wide fireplace and then Laurel extended it as far as it could go checking to make sure it was secure. Christy had covered the floor with old bed sheets and she handed Laurel a Maglite which she tucked into the waistband of her jeans.
“Don’t go too high,” Christy urged as Laurel stepped on the first rung.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
Every couple of rungs Laurel shone the torch around and examined the sides of the chimney. “Nothing here,” was her first comment.
“Nothing here either,” was her second.
“That’s far enough,” Christy said after each report. “Come down.”
“Wait a second. There’s some kind of ledge here and I want to look at it and see if the bird’s lying there.”
She went up another two rungs and looked at the ledge. Nothing. She was about to start her descent when she noticed something strange. The brick that stuck out on one side of the ledge had no corresponding brick
sticking out on the other side so it wasn’t a pattern. Why would someone design a chimney like that? Was it to help the boys chimney sweeps had used long ago to clean chimneys gain a foothold?
Something about that brick bothered her and Laurel decided to reach up and check if it was secure. It could do a lot of damage if it was loose and came tumbling down on a lit fire or even on someone’s head as they cleaned the grate.
Mark had mentioned the first night that Christy liked a real fire in here instead of the gas ones in the bedrooms.
Laurel put one hand up to see if she could move it and it slipped out of its niche very easily. Her torch picked up a reflection from the aperture behind it and Laurel decided to check the space with her hand. Taking her silk scarf off she wrapped it around her hand as a glove. Shining the torch into the opening she told herself there were no rats there if she couldn’t see shiny eyes staring back at her. Hopefully no spiders either. Her fingertips came into contact with something and she felt gingerly across the top till her fingers encountered a latch. Laurel’s eyes widened. She slid the box forward surprised it moved easily. The light of her torch showed her it was about ten inches by six and eight inches high.
Exciting!
Taking the scarf she had on off she secured the box in it and then tied the two ends of the scarf around her neck. Hands free was a rule she had followed with her 9 mm weapon that she’d strapped to her thigh so she could take good pictures. This tin box was heavy but nothing compared to the gear she carried while she accompanied the unit in a combat zone. In addition to her cameras her day pack had held all the essentials. Binoculars, energy bars, extra camera, water canteen, elbow and knee pads, Kevlar cushions for her helmet, baby wipes, gps, radio, flashlight, watch with compass, a sling for her rifle.
Laurel paused for a minute. That memory had come back clearly and out of the blue.
“Laurel?” Christy’s voice reminded her of the job at hand.
Pushing the brick back as far as she could make it go Laurel climbed down the ladder.
“I’m coming down,” she called.
“About time,” Christy said sounding relieved.
She was still holding the ladder and looking up anxiously.
“Close your eyes,” said Laurel, “so you won’t get any dust in them.”
A part of her wanted to surprise Christy too.
“Open Sesame,” she said as soon as her feet touched the floor.
Christy did and stared. “What’s that around your neck?”
“I found this up there,” said Laurel putting the scarf down on top of a bed sheet. “I feel I’m Santa’s helper in training and I’ve just passed my first test for the job. I’ve managed to come down the chimney with a present.”
Christy’s squeal brought Bridget and the other two in from the kitchen.
“What’s happened?”
“Look!” Christy had one hand over her mouth the other pointing to the old tin box sitting on the scarf. “It was in a secret hiding place in the chimney.”
“Goodness!” Mrs. Kemp had a hand over her heart. She sat down quickly.
“That looks interesting,” Bridget sounded excited. “Wonder how long it’s been there?”
“Old houses often had hiding places for valuables,” Laurel added, “but has no one mentioned the cubby hole in the journals?”
“No,” Christy wiped the box with a rag. “And my Dad didn’t know about it either or he would have told Mark about it. Grandmother Brianna might have been the last person in the family to know about it.”
“Where is that hole?” Moira wanted to know.
Laurel described the jutting out brick that had caught her attention. The ledge below it hid it from view if anyone looked up which is why it hadn’t been noticed before.
“As soon as I removed the brick I saw this area behind it.”
“The chimney sweeps have been here two years running and none of them found a thing,” Christy said in wonder. “Of course they only use long brooms these days. No one actually climbs into the chimney.”
“I better wash my hands so I don’t get anything dirty. Don’t open it till I get back with my camera.” She’d brought it with her and taken pictures of the lake from the attic windows.
“Use our bathroom. It’s closest.” Mrs. Kemp urged. By the time Laurel had washed up Christy was ready to open the box. Laurel started taking pictures of the box and then of everybody’s faces as they watched as Christy tried to lift the old iron latch.
“It’s stiff,” she said.
Bridget looked at the latch and took out her penknife. “Let me have a go.”
She got down on her knees beside Christy. Carefully inserting the flat blade of her penknife between the latch and the box, she pulled both ends towards her.
It lifted up.
“Bridget’s our Resident Mrs. Fix It,” Mrs. Kemp told Laurel proudly. “She hasn’t met a tool she doesn’t like.”
They all laughed. Christy lifted the lid with hands that were shaking.
“We should really leave you alone to look at it,” Mrs. Kemp suggested.
“Yes,” Moira moved towards the kitchen.
Christy looked up at all of them. “I want you all to stay,” she said
No one was quite sure who made the Ooh sound as they all looked at the contents. Wrapped in thick plastic and tied with string there were what looked like a lot of papers. Under the plastic packet was a big black velvet bag. Christy took it out and undid the drawstring. She turned it over and a heap of jewelry fell out. They all stared at it in silence.
“Oh my goodness,” Mrs. Kemp sounded unlike herself.
Christy carefully picked up one piece at a time and laid it in a row on the sheet.
There was a very long string of pearls, bead necklaces, half a dozen brooches, assorted bracelets, a necklace with large green stones with earrings and a bracelet that matched. There were hatpins and little brooches and cameos that had fastened at the neck of women’s blouses. There were hair clips with white stones that looked like diamonds.
A clear case held four men’s watches. Vacheron.
“Emeralds?” asked Bridget in wonder picking up the necklace and looking at the large stones.
The bracelets were each set with different stones and the five strands of beads matched them.
“These look like all real stones,” Bridget picked up a strand and looked at the others. “If they are then they are sapphires, rubies, emeralds, amethyst and jade.” Christy announced faintly. “ A set to match every dress. Every generation seems to have loved good jewelry,”
“It was also a time when girls from well to do families got a lot of jewelry from their families when they married.” Mrs. Kemp told them.
“Grandmothers Agnes, Martha, Victoria, Christabel and Brianna were all from wealthy families,” Bridget added. “They say in the diaries how their families all gave them dowry chests when they married and kept sending them things from the East once the railroad opened up access to the wild west as they called it. They inherited a lot too from their parents.”
“I read about the gifts they got from their husbands too,” Christy mentioned, “but I thought all the jewelry had been sold or given to their daughters.”
“Who would have thought they had so much hidden away here?” Bridget questioned.
“Bridget and I are the only ones who came here with nothing.” Christy opened a small velvet bag and turned it into the palm of her hand. Twelve gold coins tumbled out.
“I don’t believe it.” Mrs. Kemp sounded weak. “It’s like Ali Baba’s cave.”
Everybody else was at a loss for words.
“Here’s something else at the very bottom,” Christy drew out a thin chain with half a pendant attached to it.
“Jacob!” yelled Laurel putting her camera down so she could verify what her camera lens had seen. The pendant dangling at the end of the chain was half a heart. Everyone looked at her. She was so white they thought she was going to pass out.
“Are you all right?” Christy looked at her carefully while Bridget rushed to her side with a glass of water.
“Shall we get Jacob dear?” Mrs. Kemp asked.
Laurel shook her head. “That chain. May I see it?”
They handed it to her and she looked at the pendant closely. She knew it would match the one Jacob wore.
“Jacob has one just like it.” She had a hard time getting the words out.
Four sets of eyes told her she had their complete attention.
“Jacob’s grandmother gave him the chain and other half of this pendant the first time we went to the Reservation, saying she didn’t want it stolen. She said it’s been in their family for generations passed down from the young girl who got pregnant but couldn’t marry the boy she was in love with in 1867.”
“White Feather,” breathed Bridget looking at Christy.
“And Jacob Cupid,” Christy looked pale too.
“The pendant is proof it is White Feather,” Laurel said. “It’s a common story of the times but who else would have a pendant exactly like this?”
Moira got a magnifying glass from a drawer in the kitchen and handed it to Christy. They took turns examining the pendant. It was thin and flat but scratched on it were the initials WF. The edges were jagged as if someone had cut the thin pendant with the point of a knife and a stone.
“I wonder if this is what Grandmother Agnes meant when she said in the first journal that she had cleaned Jacob’s room after he’d left and stored some of his things.” Christy said. “I wondered at the time what things a seventeen year old would have that were worth storing?”
“She must have found this chain and realized what it was,” Bridget’s gaze went back to it, “but been afraid to mention it because of Grandfather Phillip’s outrage over Jacob’s love for White Feather.”
