Part six

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear. Trixie felt cheerful as she sat down to breakfast with Ivy. She was happy to find that Ivy called her by her own name and was also in a pleasant mood. They talked about matters of little import, but the meal passed soon enough. When it was finished, Trixie went for a walk to get a little exercise, then returned to her room to compose an email. She had considered a number of different approaches to her problem, but in the end decided that the written word was a little more suited to the task than a phone call. At least, this way, she could edit what she said; in a phone conversation, she couldn’t take back those things that came out the wrong way.

Biting her lip, she opened a blank email and began her task, first adding an email address and then the subject ‘Hello from Ridgefield CT’. That done, she started on the message.

‘Dear Jim,

‘How are you? I hope you’re well.’

She frowned and deleted everything she had just written, judging it to be too formal. He had been her friend for so long now and he deserved to be treated as such. She tried again.

‘Hi Jim. How is your trip going? I hope you’re finding out all kinds of useful stuff. I’ve been in my new job for a week now and it’s been an interesting week to say the least. The old lady that I’m working for is 96 years old and sometimes has trouble remembering that it’s now and not a long time ago, but I like her and it’s interesting to talk to her. That’s lucky, because that’s one of the main things I’m supposed to do.’

Having found her rhythm, Trixie began to enjoy her task. She continued writing with an ease that had seemed unattainable only a few minutes before.

‘It’s been really interesting looking into her past and her family, but sad as well. It’s kind of made me think about my own friends and family and how much I’d miss them if they weren’t around (which is part of the reason why I’m writing this). So I guess I just wanted to say that I miss you and that I want to try harder to keep in touch.

‘Talk to you soon!

‘Trixie’

Without even stopping to read it through, she clicked send. She opened another new email and this time addressed it to her eldest brother. This time, she did not have to revise what she wrote. The quick note was intended to bring Brian up to date on what she had been doing and to enquire as to his latest activities. She did not expect an answer from him for several days, as he was always busy. She had just clicked send when the new email notification sounded. To her surprise, the email was from Jim.

‘Good to hear from you, Trixie,’ he had written. ‘I’d like to say that my trip is successful, but that would be too much of an exaggeration. The short version of the story is that everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. Or, should I say almost everything? I still got your email, which means that something goes right every so often. Right now, I’m stranded in an airport in Nebraska waiting for a connecting flight. Before you ask, no I wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Nebraska. My last plane was diverted due to a fault in the air con.

‘I’m glad I got your email just when I did. It’s been a really difficult couple of days and my temper hasn’t been under as tight a control as it should have been. You probably just saved the poor woman next to me from hearing about what I think of her disgusting perfume, her poor parenting skills and the screechy sound of her voice.

‘I just had a thought. If you’re still there, do you want to chat for a while? I have hours to kill.

‘Jim’

As soon as she read the last line, Trixie returned to the chat room that all of the Bob-Whites used and found that Jim was waiting for her.

Trixie: Hi Jim. That sounds pretty bad. Are you okay?
Jim: Yes. Just tired and grouchy.
Trixie: That’s not like you. What’s been happening?
Jim: Cancelled meetings. Delayed flights. Diverted flights. Traffic delays. And food poisoning.
Trixie: Ouch. And I thought the start of my summer was bad.
Jim: I’m giving this trip another week and if it doesn’t improve I’m going to cut my losses and go home. I’m sure I can find something better to do than sit in airports while other people’s kids scream in my ears.
Trixie: Have you considered moving to another seat?
Jim: Different seat, different screaming child.
Trixie: If you’re going to be a pessimist …
Jim: Sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.
Trixie: It’s okay. I’ve been pretty grouchy myself over the last few weeks.
Jim: So, tell me about the job. Honey said you’re investigating something.
Trixie: Trust the Bob-White grapevine. That’s right. I need to find out why Ivy wrote some things in her will.

For the next few minutes, they discussed her situation and the particular difficulties of the task at hand. She explained the difference between Ivy’s states of awareness and the way she addressed her as Edith, along with the emotions that provoked.

Trixie: It’s really made me think about my life and my friends. Wouldn’t it be terrible to stay in one place just waiting for everyone to leave you?
Jim: I don’t think you’d do that, Trixie. You’d always follow your dreams.
Trixie: Would I? I’m not so sure any more. I feel like all of my dreams have gotten lost.
Jim: Yeah. I understand.

Trixie stared at the screen, wondering what he meant.

Jim: I think I’ve got to go. Sorry to leave so soon Trix. See you sometime later.

Before she could reply, he had left the room. For several long moments, she stared at the words he had written – and at the tag which showed he was no longer there. She typed the words that she wanted to say to him, but couldn’t: ‘I miss you. I wish I could see you in person. I’m tired of being left behind.’ They remained in the input area; she did not send them into the empty chat room. After a moment, she deleted the words and left the chat room. She needed to get out of the house and breathe some fresh air. She felt as if she could not sit still a minute longer.

At breakfast on Monday, Trixie was pleased to find that Ivy was still quite well-connected to the present day. This worked well with the plan to spend some time that morning talking to her and trying to find the answers to a few more questions. When they had both eaten Trixie asked whether she might come back with Ivy to her rooms and look at her photographs again.

“Oh, yes. That would be lovely,” Ivy replied. “I have some others, if you’d like to see them.”

Trixie was pleased with this turn of events. “That’s great. I’d love to.”

They went together to Ivy’s sitting room and Trixie helped her to get out some large albums with black covers. After she had laid one on a table, Ivy opened it and began identifying points of interest.

“This was taken just after we moved to this house,” she explained, displaying a formal portrait of her mother and the surviving daughters. “We didn’t have our own camera in those days.”

When she turned to the next page, it was filled with snapshots.

“These were taken by Myrtle, with her first camera. I think you’ll agree that she was not very good.” Ivy pointed a shaky finger at one rather blurry shot. “This is me. Look! I’m holding Father’s watch. That was one of the last times I saw it until you brought it to me.”

A number of pages were filled with photographs, some badly focussed, others of inartistic composition and many showing both of these faults. Ivy turned another page and the quality improved dramatically.

“These ones were taken by Rosemary, I think.” Ivy traced the edge of one photograph, a faint smile on her face. “She was always much better at lining up the camera with what she wanted to take.”

“Is this you?” Trixie asked, pointing to one shot. “Are those friends of yours? I don’t think I’ve seen them before.”

Ivy beamed in delight. “Yes. That is me with some of my friends. I was about twenty, I think. Such happy days, while we were all together.”

“What are their names?”

“Now, let me see.” Ivy adjusted her glasses and peered at the photograph. “I think this is Millie. Yes, that’s right – Mildred Hepplewhite. This one, with the dark hair is Ruby Danvers. Next is me, of course. And this is Edith Townsend.”

Trixie’s heart constricted with excitement and she took a moment to scrawl the names in her notebook. She gazed at the young woman, whose fair hair was set in waves. The image was too small to get any real idea of what Edith had looked like, but Trixie imagined that she saw a superficial resemblance to herself.

“This is the woman you’ve been talking to, thinking that I’m her?” she asked, hoping this would not upset Ivy.

“Oh! I suppose so. Yes, it would be. I don’t know any other Edith.” Ivy looked back at the photograph, deep in thought. “Such a pretty girl. Such a shame, really.”

“What was a shame?” Trixie asked.

Ivy shook her head. “That she decided to marry that man and go away, of course. She could have had a long, happy life here, like I did, but instead she chose to leave. You never can tell what’s out there; it’s a wicked world.”

“Maybe she wanted some of those other experiences,” Trixie argued gently. “Weren’t there any other things you might have liked to do?”

The old fingers fumbled to turn another page. “I am satisfied with the life I led.”

Something in those words touched Trixie deeply and she reached out to grasp Ivy’s hand. “I’m glad,” she told her. “I’m glad that you’re satisfied.”

A soft smile played across Ivy’s face. “I’ve lived a long time. I may not have done the things that others thought I should do, but I have lived my life as I thought I should. Oh, look! Here is a photo of Edith’s wedding and me as one of her bridesmaids.”

Trixie considered all of the dresses in the photo to be ugly, but decided not to share this with Ivy, who was exclaiming about how lovely they looked. She turned her attention to the men in the shot, who all looked strangely nondescript in their matching suits. Due to the way that the group was arranged, she was not even certain which one was the groom.

“What was Edith’s husband’s name?” she asked, hoping for another clue to Edith’s identity.

Ivy, however, still did not know. “I don’t remember. I didn’t know him at all, really. I was lucky that Mother even allowed me to go to the wedding. For a time I thought she would refuse, but Mrs. Townsend came and convinced her. Mother looked up to Mrs. Townsend so much, you know, since she was such a well-respected woman and Mr. Townsend a pillar of the community.”

Another few pages turned before Trixie found anything that she could use. This time, it was more to the point of her paid investigation, rather than her rampant curiosity.

“Here is Myrtle and her friend … now, what was her name? I remember that she had actually been to college and studied history, of all things.” Ivy’s brow creased as she thought. “Mother was terribly disapproving, but Myrtle would not budge. Oh! I remember. It was Margaret Miller. They used to spend hours talking about things from the past”

“You mentioned that Myrtle told stories from your family history,” Trixie noted, trying to find a way to ask what she wanted to know. “Do you think she might have tried to find out more about it?”

The old woman shook her head. “Mother forbade it. Myrtle wouldn’t go against Mother’s wishes. That would have been terrible!”

“But, if your Mother hadn’t, Myrtle would have been interested, don’t you think?”

Ivy turned another page and frowned at a picture of herself. “It doesn’t matter what she wanted because she couldn’t do that.”

Seeing another dead end, Trixie gave up that approach and tried something different. “I wondered if you remembered the stories that Myrtle told. Were there any about your father’s time in California?”

Ivy shook her head. “Mother did not allow her to tell us anything like that. It was not suitable. Look – here is Rosemary. Oh, I’m afraid that she’s not looking at all well.”

“Is that when she was getting sick?” Trixie wondered. “I don’t think I know what it was that she had.”

Elderly lips pursed into a thin line. “We don’t talk about that. It’s indelicate.”

Trixie was surprised at the answer and did not know what to say in response. She was saved from having to say anything by Ivy’s next exclamation.

“I’d forgotten this one. It’s such a long time since I’ve looked through these. It’s so lovely to see these faces again.” She pointed to one photograph. “Here is Ruby, come for a visit.”

“Those are her children, I suppose.” Trixie looked at the assorted youngsters, three with dark hair like Ruby’s and one little girl a blonde.

“Ye-e-s,” Ivy drawled. “I think so. Yes. Or, some of them are hers, at least. I can’t quite remember. It’s hard to keep the details straight when you hardly ever saw them. All of my friends had husbands and children, but I can’t remember all of their names or how many each had or whether they were boys or girls.”

For a moment, Trixie contemplated a life in which she did not bother to remember those things about her closest friends. The thought horrified her.

“But didn’t you keep in touch with them?” she asked, feeling distressed. “Didn’t they write letters?”

“Oh, yes. And sometimes – like that time – they visited. I’m sure I knew who they were back then, but now I don’t remember.” She sighed. “They’ve all been dead for such a long time, Millie and Edith and Ruby and all of their husbands, too. It’s hard to keep thinking of people so long after they’re gone.”

Seeing the sadness in Ivy’s face, Trixie wished that she had said nothing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

Ivy patted her hand. “It’s quite all right, dear. It’s just one of the problems of living to my age.”

In that moment, Trixie sincerely hoped that she would never be in a situation like Ivy’s where all of her family and friends had gone before her and she was left all alone. She also felt the deep desire to build more of a family than Ivy had, one that would span generations into the future. It did not matter whether it was a family of blood or of love; all that mattered was that those deep bonds of belonging be forged and maintained.

“This is a lovely one of Mother. She did not like having her photo taken, but every so often someone would get a good one of her.” She smiled at the image. “Look at the lovely dress she’s wearing. I always liked that one.”

Trixie tried to keep her distaste from showing as she dutifully examined the photograph. The dress in question was rather severe in its cut, but that suited the forceful set of the face above it. She could not in all honesty say that it was a flattering likeness of Cornelia Everett-Cooper, but it at least showed the strength of her personality. In the time that she had spent here, Trixie had developed a loathing for this woman and the damage she had caused to those around her.

“This is strange.” Ivy had turned another page and was staring at the empty place where a photograph had been. “Why would I have taken it out? Where have I put it?”

“Do you know what used to be there?” Trixie reached forward and put a hand on the old lady’s arm in comfort. “If you can tell me what to look for, maybe I could help you find it.”

Ivy nodded. “Oh, yes. I remember it very well. It was a lovely picture of Viola; one of the nicest ones I have of her. Oh, dear. I wonder where it could be.”

One of the first thoughts that Trixie had on the topic was that Viola was the most recently deceased sister and that perhaps the picture had been used for her funeral. Somehow, it did not seem tactful to ask that straight out, especially since she had just upset Ivy with talk of her long-dead friends.

“Could you have taken it out to have it copied?” she asked, not having thought of any better way to put the question. “Can you remember when you last saw it?”

“I don’t look at these albums often,” Ivy reflected. “It’s been years, I suppose. I have all of their pictures on the wall, you see, so I don’t need to look in here.”

“But, if you were looking for a really nice photo of Viola, that’s the one you’d choose?” Trixie gently prompted.

“Of course.” Comprehension dawned. “Did I take it out for her funeral? It really was the nicest one, the way that I’d like her to be remembered – young and pretty. I must have done that, but I can’t remember what I did with it afterwards.”

Trixie had been under the impression that Ivy and Viola would be in their forties or fifties in the pages they were currently viewing. To her, that seemed really quite old, but she did not argue with Ivy’s definition of young.

“Well, I’ll help you look, if you want me to, or I could ask William. He might know where it’s gone.”

The old lady nodded. “Thank you. I would like to see it back where it belongs. Shall we look at the rest of these first?”

Trixie agreed and they went through the remainder of the albums. Every now and then Ivy would exclaim over a photograph that triggered some memory or other. After Rosemary’s death, the pictures dropped in both quality and quantity. The last thirty years were depicted in a scant few pages. At the end, Ivy closed the book and asked Trixie to return all of them to their places.

“Would you like me to look for that photo now?” Trixie offered.

“Only for a little while. I’m feeling rather tired, dear,” Ivy answered. “Just try those two drawers for now.”

At once, Trixie went and pulled out the top drawer of a nearby writing desk. She was surprised to find it so full that its contents caught as she tried to slide it out. With a small amount of effort she freed it and could look through the items within. Letters, still in their envelopes, were tied with ribbon into bundles. Other papers lay loose in the drawer. Small keepsakes rattled against the bottom and sides as Trixie moved the papers around. She flicked through the loose papers twice before deciding that the photo was not there.

The second drawer was even worse. Nothing seemed to be in any kind of order and many of the papers in this drawer were of a smaller size. Receipts were mixed up with hand-written notes; recipes lay next to magazine and newspaper clippings. The photograph was not there either. With an effort, she managed to smooth down the papers enough that both drawers would close again. Turning to Ivy, she found her to be drowsing in her chair. Trixie looked around and found Sarah in the next room and told her of the situation.

“She’ll be fine. I’ll see to her now.” The older woman smiled. “You’ve got the knack of making her talk. She talks more for you than she does for most people.”

“I hope I’m not upsetting her too much,” Trixie answered, ruefully. “It seems kind of cruel to remind her of the people she loved and lost.”

“The memories are all she has left.” Sarah made a subtle move for the door as she spoke, guiding Trixie out. “And while I personally think it’s better to let the dead rest in peace, she doesn’t really have anyone else.”

Not knowing how to answer that, Trixie just nodded and stepped through the doorway into the main part of the house. Something she had just heard was ringing a bell in the back of her mind, but she could not quite put a finger on it. Seeing that she could not talk any more with Ivy, she set off for the attic. There was still quite some time until lunch and she wanted to put it to good use.

Her first thought on surveying the damage in daylight was that it would be a lot of work to clean up. Then she remembered William’s direction to do nothing of the kind. She decided to compromise and roughly sort some of the items back into the boxes, as many of them were in the way of the area she wanted to search.

She was surprised to find how quickly the floor was cleared of debris. At the end of ten minutes, she had cleared enough space to work and had also reviewed exactly what was there. Nothing among the strewn items contributed to her project, but perhaps Ivy might like to see some of the things sometime.

Once she had moved the boxes aside and could see the floor, she began to go over it carefully, looking for anomalies. She worked her way back and forth over the area in question for some time, not finding anything of note. To her frustration, a wall ran through the attic near the point she was looking at, meaning that more than once she bumped her head. On the third occasion that this happened, she sat back on her bottom with a thump and stared at it.

“I am so stupid!” she exclaimed aloud. “This is what I’m looking for! I can’t believe I had to hit my head on it to find it.”

She began examining the wall, instead of the floor, finding that part of it was brick and part of some other, smoother material. With another mental slap, she deduced that the bricks belonged to the central chimney of the house. There was no opening to be found that would allow her past this wall to the other half of the ceiling cavity. She back-tracked all the way to the place where this wall met the outside wall at the rear of the house and followed it around two corners until it met the outside wall at the front, but to no avail.

“At least I have an explanation for why that wall is so thick,” she muttered to herself. “It must have a chimney running up through it.”

For a moment, she tried to think of a fireplace attached to this chimney and soon came to the conclusion that they must have been boarded up. In fact, she could not remember seeing a fireplace anywhere in the house, despite it having at least three chimneys that she had noticed. The thought occurred to her that even if the hearths had been closed off, the chimney did not take up the entirety of the space inside the wall between the two rooms. Looking back at the wall she had just searched, she then followed its line with her eyes. At the rear of the house, it was roughly level with the wall to Olive’s room, then it skirted the chimney and ran near where the wall to the sitting room must have been. With that clear in her mind, Trixie pounced on the section of floor that must be above the gap.

A more minute search on the exact spot was what was needed and she soon had found a board that was not nailed in place. It took some effort to move it from its place but she persisted until it was free. She shone the flashlight she had brought down into the cavity revealed, holding her breath as she did so. Inside was a drop of only about two feet onto the top of some kind of structure, which Trixie deduced to be a closet or bookshelf. For a few agonising moments, she thought that the space was empty, but then something caught her eye. The thick dust that covered it made it near-invisible in the gloom, but its irregular shape allowed it to be distinguished from the flat surface on which it rested. Trixie reached in and picked it up, finding that the shape was a plastic bag filled with light items and that the bag was brittle with age.

She gently put in down on the floor, trying not to lose any of the contents as she did so. The dirty plastic was easy to tear away, peeling it back so that most of the dust and grime fell on the floor and not the papers revealed. Trixie’s lips parted in a silent gasp as she examined her find. Within the small bundle was a secondary report from the genealogist, a yellowed sheet of notepaper with strong, masculine handwriting upon it, another sheet with a bluish tinge bearing a very similar hand and a faded and well-worn envelope addressed to Silas E. Creeper at an address in Petaluma, California.

Trixie could hardly bear to decide which item to examine first. She chose the report for the sole reason that it was typed and thus posed no difficulties with old-fashioned handwriting. Kneeling on the floor, she skimmed through it, trying to get a feel for its scope and major findings. Her keen eyes picked out a few key phrases and she read the section more carefully, learning that further research had supported the genealogist’s previously stated theories. In the course of her enquiries, the researcher had contacted certain descendants of the Silas Creeper who had abandoned his family in California and had obtained a sample of his handwriting for comparison. This was, the report indicated, enclosed.

At this, Trixie abandoned the report and began examining the other papers. The letter she put aside, as it had clearly been written by someone else. The two sheets of notepaper remained. She chose to begin with the yellowed one. After a certain amount of squinting, holding the paper up at different angles and frowning at it, she deciphered most of the words contained upon it and guessed the rest.

‘My dear,

‘The situation at Holwyn’s is worse than expected and I will be staying a few days. If Mr. Ellis calls, tell him that I will see him when I return.

‘Silas.’

She then repeated the process on the blue-tinged sheet, but found it easier due to the prior experience.

‘My dear Myrtle,

‘I know that you are disappointed but your mother is right. I’m sure that the boy is every bit as respectable as you say, but we just don’t know enough about the family to allow this to continue. There will be other opportunities, I’m sure. You are still very young. I’m sorry that you are hurt but the answer is final.

‘Father.’

Having read both notes, there could be no question as to which one the researcher had supplied. Trixie was no expert, but felt sure that the two had been written by the same hand. There were similarities in the size of the writing, the shapes of the letters and even in the wording of the notes. Myrtle must have seen those similarities, leading her to hide both the report and the collaborating evidence.

Now that the point was settled, Trixie returned to the report and read it through carefully. The researcher had traced Silas E. Creeper’s abandoned family in California, finding that Minnie Creeper had later married Calvin Ellis – the same man as had been cheated by her husband – and had further children with him. There had been no record found of a divorce, so that marriage, as well as Silas’s second marriage, was most probably bigamous. The two daughters had taken the surname of Ellis.

The elder one, Daisy, had married a man named Timothy Butler in 1905 and three years later borne her only child, a son named Edward. The Butlers had moved to the East Coast in 1915, but the rest of the family had remained in California, where the elder generation ended their days. Calvin Ellis passed away in 1925 and his wife Minnie in 1944. Timothy Butler had died in 1965 and his wife in 1969, both in Hartford, Connecticut. Her sister never married or had children and died about two years later in Petaluma, California.

Trixie frowned. Not only was it unclear what had happened to Edward Butler, it was also unclear whether the handwriting sample had come from him, or from the descendants of Silas’s first wife with Calvin Ellis. Both of these were critical to her investigation – the former because Edward Butler’s descendants, if any, would be the nearest relations to Ivy on her father’s side. She was encouraged by the hint that there might be descendants of Calvin Ellis to find, as this had always been in doubt.

Next she turned to the letter. From its appearance, it had been folded and opened many times. The envelope was addressed in a flowing, feminine hand. From its lack of stamp, it appeared to have not been sent through the mail, but Trixie was not sure of how things worked in those days. The page inside was thin, but still supple. Sliding it out, Trixie opened it and tried to read the script. She found this even more difficult to do than when she had read Silas’s handwriting. At last, she settled upon an interpretation that both made sense and fitted with the facts as she knew them.

‘Silas,

‘For goodness sake, keep your head! Calvin begins to suspect that something is wrong and there is nothing I can do to stop that. If our plans are to be successful, you will need to keep calm. Your wife is such a silly little thing. I wish I could slap her. Make sure that you keep her in line.

‘I hope that this time next week we will be together and will have left both of them behind. Won’t they be surprised to find what we have done? I keep imagining the look on Calvin’s face when he finds out. It is almost a pity that I won’t see it.

‘Keep calm, my darling, and we will have everything we want in just a few days.

‘All my love,

‘Your Emmeline.’

Trixie released a whistling breath. By the looks of this, Silas had an accomplice in the cheating of Calvin Ellis. She had to wonder, however, who Emmeline had been. That she was someone close to Calvin was clear, as she called him by his first name and Trixie was reasonably sure that people were more formal in those days.

Having read all that there was to read, she scooped up the papers, leaving the plastic on the floor, and went downstairs to call William.

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