Part 23 (1/2)
Great day for Boston!
Wish you'd been at South End Grounds with me.
Must prepare Sunday's sermon.
Your servant and fond admirer,
William.”
”There aren't any numbers on that one,” Caroline said. ”No verse, or Scripture. Just the note.”
”What's the postmark on that one?” Gracie asked. ”The others are postmarked in 1880, but this one could have been written earlier-or later. There might be a reason why there weren't any numbers written across the top.”
Sam turned the card over to look at the postmark. ”Hmm, you're right. It was earlier. Two years earlier, 1878-that's around the time Jedediah died.”
”And now that you mention it,” Sam said, ”he died before most of the other postcards were sent.”
”So why hide them?” Caroline asked. ”It doesn't make any sense.”
”Personally, I think you ladies are trying too hard to find something where there's nothing,” s.h.i.+rley said, pus.h.i.+ng up from the chair. ”Those numbers are probably nothing more than doodles, scribbled by a man who had nothing better to do with his time.”
”You're probably right,” Gracie said. ”They're nothing more than postcards. No secret code. No secret alliance. Just a big joke between two old friends.”
”I hope you're wrong,” Caroline said. ”Though I am beginning to suspect that the joke's on us.”
”Please tell me you've done this before,” Gracie said, sitting cross-legged on the floor watching Sam tear apart one of the sofas. ”Covering one cus.h.i.+on on a simple French Provincial chair is one thing. Upholstering an entire sofa is another.”
”I watched Martha Stewart do this once. It was a piece of cake.”
”I certainly hope this piece of cake doesn't end up wasting yards and yards of expensive upholstery fabric-”
”I got this upholstery fabric for a song, I'll have you know.” Sam held up a length of cheerful blue, green, and yellow fabric against the side of the couch and nodded.
”Stop being such a fuddy-duddy,” Caroline called, laughing at Gracie all the way from the dining room. Caroline was working on the Web site, while poor Jamie was studying the postcards, a task she'd been at off and on for days. She wasn't going to discover anything, Gracie wanted to tell her.
”How's it going?” George sauntered into the parlor, looking for Caroline, no doubt. There were smudges of grease on his nose and forehead.
”If you're asking me and Sam,” Gracie said, ”I suppose it's going as good as can be expected, considering that two novice upholsterers are trying to perform miracles.”
”Jamie and I are in the dining room,” Caroline called out. ”But stay there. I need a break before I go blind staring at this computer screen.”
”In case Caroline hasn't told you,” Sam said to George, looking up from her work, ”she's putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches on the Web site, and it's looking awfully good.”
”I just hope we can get the bedrooms completely decorated before we go live,” Gracie added. She would be leaving in a little over a week, and she hoped they could finish before then.
”They'll be done, not to worry.” Caroline walked into the parlor and, with a tissue she pulled from her pocket, wiped the grease from George's nose. He'd been working on the Packard nearly nonstop since he'd arrived on the island the day before, and Gracie was beginning to feel as if he was as much a part of the inn as she and her two sisters.
”The Packard should be done before we know it too,” George said, sitting on the piano bench. Caroline took a seat beside him.
”Any luck with the gauges?” Caroline asked.
”I was afraid I'd ordered the wrong ones.” George combed his fingers through his hair. ”I had a terrible time getting the old gauges out of the dash, and I thought the new ones wouldn't go in, but just when I was about to give up-well, I won't bore you with the details. But the first time you drive that old car, you'll know exactly how fast you're going, how much gas you've got, and you'll even be able to play your favorite CDs. Of course, all that depends on whether or not I can find all the engine parts to get the motor running.”
”Is it that difficult?” Sam asked. She placed the old fabric she'd taken off the sofa over the new upholstery as a sort of pattern.
”Not really. There are a lot of parts dealers around who specialize in Packards, plus there are any number of clubs across the US. Fortunately, most everything on your car is in good condition. It's just a matter of taking all the pieces apart, cleaning them up, getting rid of any rust or corrosion, and then putting it all back together again.”
”That simple, huh?” Gracie helped Sam stretch the old piece of fabric over the new and then started to pin it down.
”I take pictures along the way. First time I restored a boat, I thought I could remember each step I took when taking it apart. Big mistake. Somehow I ended up with parts left over and had to hire an expert to help me out. Live and learn.”
”I'm thinking we might have to hire an expert to help us figure out William's postcards to Hannah,” Jamie said, coming into the parlor with Max hot on her heels, both of them munching on oatmeal cookies. ”They're frustrating, to say the least. However, I've been trying to look at them a.n.a.lytically.”
”Often a dangerous undertaking,” Caroline said, adding, ”for me, anyway.”
Jamie rolled her eyes. She looked so much like a taller, thinner, strawberry-blonde version of her mother. ”I've entered the postmark date on each card on my chart. I was hoping there'd be some rhyme or reason to the dates, like William sent them every third Tuesday, or something, but the dates are random. There are six weeks between the date the first and second postcard were sent, but it was nearly two years before he sent the next one-or at least the next one that we've found-and that was after ol' Jedediah kicked the bucket. After that, there were four weeks between the next two cards, three between the two after that, and just two between the final two.”
”As if it were becoming more urgent,” Caroline said.
”Exactly,” Jamie said, dropping down on a still-dusty club chair. ”But why?”
”I think maybe your schoolwork is getting to you,” Gracie said, smiling at her niece. ”As Festus said to Paul in the Bible, 'much learning doth make thee mad.'”
”Hey now,” Jamie said, playfully tossing a pillow toward her aunt. ”There are plenty of myths and legends here on Nantucket. My adviser was thrilled when I suggested coming here to do research. And this is a legend if I ever saw one.”
”And what happens if you don't unravel this particular legend before cla.s.s starts again next week?” Sam asked her daughter.
”Then I'll just write about one of the old whaling stories.” Jamie waved a dismissive hand. ”I can do that in an afternoon.”
”Do you think the pictures on the front mean anything special?” George asked. ”Were they places that had some special meaning to Hannah or to William? Places he'd like to visit again?”
”Could be either one,” Gracie said, ”not that we'll ever know for sure.”
”What about the numbers on the backs of some of the postcards?” Caroline asked. ”Have you figured out what they mean?”
Jamie shook her head and took another bite of the cookie. ”I tried comparing them with the date on the postcard, to see if there was some correlation, but I'm still baffled.”
”I think they weren't supposed to be understood by anyone but William and Hannah,” Sam said. ”Some secret code between the two of them.”
”It would be nice if we knew more about William,” Jamie said. ”We're guessing he was a minister, but he might not have been.”