Spring House
Page 5
“You don’t have to come back,” Megan said.
“We’ll save the tough stuff for you.” Lucy faced Rick. “I’m not going to deliver a baby because she can’t slow down.”
“She doesn’t know when to quit,” Rick said.
Megan rose. “And I’m still here.”
Rick pointed a finger at her. “No heavy lifting.”
She straightened. “I know my limits.”
“So do I,” Lucy said. “Don’t worry, Rick. She points, I lift.”
“You’re my boss,” Megan said. “I work for you.”
“Yeah, well, I was raised by a woman who didn’t put much stock in labels, so you’re just going to have to deal with a more casual relationship.”
Megan shook her head, already feeling like she was letting Lucy down. A year ago, she would have dived into this project and been able to knock out twelve- to fourteen-hour days.
“The Buchanans have their pride,” Rick said. “She’s going to try to work when you’re not looking.”
“I’ve noticed that,” Lucy said. “But I suppose that’s a good thing. Every ship needs a captain, and if I were in charge of this project, I’d be ordering that flamethrower right now.” She held up her hand when he frowned. “I promise the fire won’t get out of hand. I’ll drag the garden hose around for good measure.”
“No arson,” he warned.
Lucy shrugged. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
“Now, last I remember, you have a fender bender to see to,” Lucy said. “So skedaddle, Sheriff, so Megan and I can get to work. Once Natasha gets home from school, it’s going to be bedlam.”
“Do you want me to pick her up?” Rick asked.
“Thanks, Hank’s bringing her.”
Like a century-old tree, Hank Garrison and his family had deep roots in this community. When he had moved back last year, he’d staked his claim. Megan envied that sense of permanence; however, her trip to Cape Hudson, like all the ones she’d made as a kid, would be short-lived. Though she would be here about a year, eventually the winds would shift, and she’d move on.
Megan looked around the room, feeling overwhelmed and wishing a stiff breeze would blow her to a place where she fit. “Scurry on then. The sooner we dive into this, the sooner we’ll be done.”
“If you return at six and can’t find us, send in a search party. We’ve no doubt been swallowed up by a mountain of magazines,” Lucy said.
Rick glanced toward Megan, and again she felt an annoying heat rise up her body. “Will do.”
“Thanks, Rick,” Lucy said.
Megan looked up from a stack of papers. “Thank you, Rick.”
“Anytime,” he said. He left, and the front door closed.
“Whatever history is in this room doesn’t compare with whatever was between you two,” Lucy said.
Megan shook her head. “It’s not what you think.”
Lucy grabbed a box and set it beside the desk. “Maybe not for you.”
“He was Scott’s best friend. I was engaged to Scott. That’s all we have in the way of a connection.”
Megan lifted a scrimshaw paperweight from the desk. Engraved in the yellowed ivory was a bluebird, its wings extended as if caught in a gust of wind. The bird mirrored a tattoo on Lucy’s wrist. Lucy had said her mother sported a similar tattoo.
Megan placed the paperweight in the Keep box. She touched a stack of papers on the desk. “The desk alone is going to take days.”
Lucy lifted a pile of yellowed newspapers. “My mother saved a lot of stuff that didn’t make any sense to me. When I cleaned out her apartment after she died, it took me days.”
“There’s a lot of history in this room. At least let us get through this desk without a dumpster. This was the heart of your grandfather’s life, and if there is something he’d have wanted you to have, it would be here.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Why are you afraid?” Megan asked.
“My mother left this house and this town when she was eighteen and pregnant. There had to be a very good reason.”
“I thought that had to do with your birth father.”
Lucy shook her head. “This town rallies around its own, and Beth was one of them. Samuel was her father. He should have protected her.”
“I’ll be very careful as I go through all this. If there is anything to be discovered, I’ll find it.”
Megan leafed through a magazine dating back to March 1971. A receipt fell out, and she carefully inspected it before placing it to the side.
Lucy set the Trash box by Megan. “I didn’t mean for this to be an archeology dig, Megan. We don’t have the time to scrutinize every receipt.”
“It’s history.”
Lucy glanced at it. “That receipt is for groceries.”
“From 1971. Have you looked at these prices?”
Lucy picked up the receipt and tossed it in the Trash box and then took the next magazine and quickly thumbed through it before tossing it. “I’ll give you until four, and then I’m getting my gasoline can and match.”
Megan removed the magazine and put it in the Donate box. “The library will want that.”
“We can’t save it all.”
“But we can’t have a scorched-earth policy either.” She yanked open a side drawer and found it was crammed with stuff.
Lucy pulled the drawer out the remainder of the way and carried it to the front porch.
“What are you doing?”
“Sorting faster.”
Megan followed Lucy, stepping outside to see her dump the packed drawer onto the porch deck and begin to sort. Paper clips, rubber-band balls, gum, glue, and old batteries.
“It’s all trash.” Lucy held up a handful of dried ink pens as proof.
“I see a glimmer of silver,” Megan said. “Is that an ink pen?”
Lucy quickly studied the pen and then tossed it into the Keep box. “We’ll look at it later. On to the next drawer.”
Megan had started to reexamine what had been tossed away when Lucy headed back inside. Fearing she’d miss something, she hurried after Lucy.
Lucy worked the drawer back into the desk. “I’m ready for the next.”
“It’s not possible to sort this fast,” Megan said.
“My grandfather and my mother were hoarders, Megan. Just because something is saved, or old for that matter, doesn’t mean it’s valuable. I’m sure George Washington had a trash pit.”
“Sacrilege.”
“Said the would-be hoarder to the sane woman.” She pulled out the second drawer. “I shall return.”
“Let me see what’s in the Trash box.”
“No. Keep thumbing through the magazines.”
“Oh, no, I’m making sure you don’t toss anything valuable,” Megan said, following her back outside.
The second drawer was much like the first. More office supplies than any human man would ever use, empty ketchup packets from who knew where, bundles of crackers, and two cans of chicken soup that had expired in the eighties.
“Jesus, Samuel, did you think world famine was imminent?” Lucy asked.
She returned the drawer to the desk and reached for the third. Deeper than the top two, it was heavier and tougher to move. Outside, she dropped the drawer, and it landed with a hard thump.
“Careful,” Megan said.
“Feels like he stored bricks in there.”
On the top were letters to Samuel from the merchant marines. There were certificates along with a blue box that contained a gold watch, which caught the sunlight and shone as if it had been waiting to do that for a long time.
Megan turned the watch over. Its inscription read, SAMUEL JACKSON JESSUP. 1931–1981. FAITH, DUTY, AND HONOR. The sea had been his life for fifty years. Fifty years. She removed her glove and held the smooth, pristine gold in her palm. It retained its polish and looked as if it had just been removed from its original packaging. She doubted Samuel had even touched
it. She carefully placed the watch in the empty Keep box.
Megan sat on the top step and then gently patted the floor of the porch. “I think this drawer might be interesting.”
Lucy sat beside her and lifted the watch from the box. “This is stunning.”
“Samuel’s retirement watch.” Megan traced the face. “It was shoved in the drawer.”
“He probably hated receiving it. It marked the end for him.”
“He lived another thirty-six years.”
Lucy shook her head. “Can you imagine how awful that would have been for him? All those years on the sea and to be landlocked in this house.” Claire, who had been trying to see to his welfare, had unwittingly imprisoned him by giving him Winter Cottage. “Why would he accept the responsibility?”
“Maybe because he wanted your mother and you to have it.”
Lucy was silent for a moment. “Maybe.”
Megan shifted through odd utility bills that covered the electric and water, which she tossed in the trash box. Next were more retirement documents and social security papers. She found five gold coins in a wooden box. “Now that’s a nice find. Five ounces. That’s at least five grand. What are you going to buy for yourself as a treat?”
The pieces appeared to be heavy in Lucy’s hand as she turned them over before she tucked them in her pocket. “Braces for Natasha.”
“Seriously?”
“The dentist recommended we have her teeth straightened, plus crooked teeth really bother her. The kid really wants to fit in.” Lucy sighed as if her sister’s insecurities bothered her more than the crooked teeth. “Hank assures me the contents of this house are mine to sell.”
“And you are just going to sell your family history?” Megan asked.
“My little sister is very smart, and she’s going to college. I’ll sell every stick of furniture in this house if that’s what it takes to get Natasha educated. One day this place will make money on its own, but I can’t bank on turning a profit within five years and being able to afford college tuition.”
“Natasha is smart. She might get a scholarship.”
“She may, but again, I can’t count on that. I’m not taking a chance.”
“Winter Cottage, this house, and eventually the lighthouse are going to be showpieces,” Megan said.
“I’m counting on it and the unlimited potential of the house and the vineyards.”
“For your event business?” Megan asked.
“You bet. Once you’ve done your historical-restoration thing, the cottage will be a perfect wedding and event venue.” Lucy’s mind was always racing toward the future. “I’ve been on a few wedding-venue sites. You would be amazed what they can charge.”
“If you build it, they will wed?” Megan asked, grinning.
“Yes. We could even do a historical angle. I have the wedding pictures from George and Julia, and I have Claire’s wedding portrait and her gown. I’m telling you, this could be a good gig.”
“Claire was an entrepreneur herself. With all her monies in a trust for her son, she was forced to make a living sewing and selling booze.”
“Claire was a bootlegger?” Lucy asked.
“Apparently, she had quite the network in Maryland and Washington, DC. She kept many of the local establishments in business.”
“How did she get the booze?”
“I don’t know. All I know is she sold a distilled liqueur called Calvados as well as white sparkling wines. Her stash was never found.”
“I tended enough bar to know that Calvados is French.”
“From the Normandy region of France. That’s why she was so popular. She had the good stuff.”
“In all the videos my mother made with Claire, she looked so formal and traditional,” Lucy said.
“I think she did what she had to do to keep her family together and to hang on to Winter Cottage.” Megan dropped her gaze to a box in the drawer. “I would have done the same. Winter Cottage is a magnificent property.”
“Maybe Claire did us both a favor. The house is an anchor for us both.”
Megan opened the box and carefully removed a stack of letters. Thick black ink scrolled into an elegant handwriting that adorned each envelope.
“What’s that?” Lucy asked.
“Letters to Claire Hedrick Buchanan.”
“Our Claire?” Lucy asked.
“Yes.” Whoever had written Claire had been prolific. “They appear to all be from DH. Claire did have a sister, Diane. Diane Hedrick. DH.”
“It makes sense that the sisters would correspond. But why did Samuel Jessup end up with them?”
“No idea.” The envelopes felt heavy in her hand. Given her druthers, Megan would have slipped away to a quiet room and read through each and every one of them now. But they would have to wait.
Megan reached in the back of the drawer and pulled out stacks of unused stationery with the initials SJ at the top. “Trash?”
Lucy accepted the stack. “I don’t write letters, but Natasha has a thing for paper and nice pens. She’ll use it all.”
Megan lifted a burgundy velvet bag with a gold cord tied into a tight knot. She dusted it off and started on the knot, which would not give.
“Wait, I have four thousand paper clips in the trash box.” Lucy dug one out, unfolded it, and handed it to Megan.
Megan wedged the metal paper clip between the silken strands and gently loosened the cords. “Important not to move too quickly.”
Lucy flexed her fingers and reached for the bag. “I don’t think you could move any slower.”
Megan moved the bag out of reach. “Patience, grasshopper. The fabric is old and can tear.”
Ignoring Lucy’s raised brow, she coaxed the bag open. Setting the paper clip aside, she pulled out three spinning tops fashioned out of silver and encrusted with rubies. Each side was marked with a faded Hebrew letter. “Dreidels?”
“Were the Jessups Jewish?” Lucy asked.
“No.” She lined each up carefully on the porch. “They were Methodist, as were the Buchanans and Hedricks.”
“Samuel traveled the world and has a house full of memorabilia to prove it. Stands to reason he’d have something like this.”
“These are very old and would have been prized in a family,” Megan said. “Not the average thing someone would give a merchant marine.”
She fished deeper in the bag and removed a wooden box. She opened the brass clip and found a finely crafted heart shaped from a piece of polished wood nestled in the velvet-lined interior. The piece was encrusted with red and clear glass stones that encircled a hollowed-out center. She flipped it over, and engraved on the back was Paris, France.
“It’s a planchette,” Megan said. “The word means little plank.”
“Looks like the playing piece for a Ouija board,” Lucy said.
“That’s exactly what it is. Funny, I just bought a Ouija board set today at an antique store. I thought Natasha might get a kick out of a vintage game.”
“We used to set up several Ouija boards and tarot cards in the bar at Halloween. It was amazing how freaked out both drunks and sober people got when a piece of wood levitated across a board and answered a question with a yes or no. If only I had a nickel for all the people asking if they’d find love or money.”
“They are two of the greatest motivators of all time.” She studied the pieces, wondering how two very different games had come to be together.
Lucy took the planchette from Megan and studied it. “You spend your life digging into the lives of dead people. I’d think you’d be interested in talking to a few.”
“I study whatever they left behind.”
“So you’re not interested in talking to them directly?” Lucy asked.
“Are you?”
“Sure, why not?” Lucy held up the planchette to the sun, peering through the circular opening. “Talking to the dead would clear up a lot of mysteries in my life. Like why I have this house and Winter Cottage.”
Lucy shook her head, looking up at the house that was as foreign to her as her mother and grandfather had been. “Dreidels and a planchette. What’s it like to come from a normal family?”
Megan skimmed her fingers inside the drawer but found only dust. “You’re asking me?”
“The Buchanans are about as conventional as they get.”
“Yes, they are. Unfortunately, I am not.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Not really. It’s just that Mom would have liked me to be popular and be the girl that dated the football player. I wasn’t interested. I was a bookworm more interested in meandering through historic homes.”
“Aren’t you the rebel?”
“What can I say? I walk on the wild side.”
Lucy handed her the planchette. “Are your parents back in the country yet?”
Megan shook her head as she carefully placed the device back in the bag. “Not for several weeks. Mom is tracking me via my phone.”
Lucy scratched her head as she shook it. “Nice.”
“They’re worried. Not only did I pass up law school for a PhD in history, but I also broke up with their idea of a dream guy. I’m sure they think I’ve lost my mind. And they now have a baby to worry about.”
“You’re stable,” Lucy said. “God knows you’ve read enough baby books. I think you’re pretty grounded and will make a great mom.”
Megan brushed her bangs back. All the research in the world wasn’t a guarantee that she would get it right with the kid. “I hope so. The future scares the hell out of me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Megan
Monday, March 5, 2018
Cape Hudson, Virginia
3:00 p.m.
Megan and Lucy spent the entire afternoon working on Samuel’s desk. While Lucy cleared the stacks of magazines and books and hauled them out to the growing Donate bin, Megan dug through the drawers. It was amazing how a man could accumulate junk that spanned the globe and the better part of the last century. The Keep gems she discovered were a collection of pens encased in carved ivory, a small dented metal box filled with silver dollars that dated back to the 1930s, and several compasses engraved in gold. At the rate they were going, Lucy was going to be able to buy braces for Natasha and send her to a great school.