Part 31 (1/2)
”Yes, but-”
”Do you know a forensic linguist?”
”Yes, but-”
”Well enough to ask him to do a comparison?”
”I suppose.”
Dropping both hands to the table, Harry leaned forward onto her forearms. ”Evangeline and Obeline are both gone. That book is all we have left. Don't you want to know if Evangeline wrote it?”
”Of course I do, but-”
”And get Evangeline's name on record? Make her the published poet she always wanted to be?”
”But wait. This makes no sense. You're suggesting Evangeline wrote the poems and that Obeline had them printed by O'Connor House. But why would Obeline use the name Virginie LeBlanc? And why wouldn't she cite Evangeline as the author of the collection?”
”Maybe she had to hide the project from her creepozoic husband.”
”Why?”
”h.e.l.l, Tempe, I don't know. Maybe he didn't want old dirt stirred up.”
”Evangeline's murder?”
Harry nodded. ”We know Bastarache used to beat the c.r.a.p out of Obeline. He probably scared her.” Harry's voice went hushed. ”Tempe, do you think he's now killed her?”
”I don't know.”
”Do you think she's even dead? I mean, where's the body?”
Indeed, I thought. Where is the body?
The check arrived. I did the math and signed.
”There's a problem, Harry. If I still have any of Evangeline's poems, and that's a big 'if,' they'd be in Charlotte. I have nothing here in Montreal.”
A smile crawled Harry's lips.
24.
W HEN HEN H HARRY PLAYS COY, THERE'S NO CRACKING HER. THOUGH I asked repeatedly, she'd tell me nothing. My sister loves being on the giving end of surprises. I knew I was in for one. I asked repeatedly, she'd tell me nothing. My sister loves being on the giving end of surprises. I knew I was in for one.
Twenty minutes later we were in my bedroom, the odd samplings of my past staring up at us. The arm-in-arm friends. The ticket. The napkin.
But Harry didn't linger on that page of the sc.r.a.pbook. On the next she'd pasted three items: a tiny Acadian flag, that being the French tricolor with one yellow star; a quill pen sticker; a cream-colored envelope with metallic lining and Evangeline Evangeline stenciled on the outside. stenciled on the outside.
Raising the flap, Harry extracted several pastel sheets and handed them to me.
The room fell away. I was twelve. Or eleven. Or nine. Standing by the mailbox. Oblivious to everything but the letter in my hand.
By reflex, I sniffed the stationery. Friends.h.i.+p Garden. Sweet Jesus, how could I remember the name of a childhood cologne?
”Where did you find these?”
”When I decided to put my house on the market, I started gophering through boxes. First thing I hit was our old Nancy Drew collection. Found them stuck in The Pa.s.sword to Larkspur Lane The Pa.s.sword to Larkspur Lane. That's what sparked the sc.r.a.pbook idea. I like the pink one. Read it.”
I did.
And stared into the unfinished country of Evangeline's dream.
The poem was unt.i.tled.
Late in the morning I'm walking in suns.h.i.+ne, awake and aware like I have not been before. A warm glow envelops me and tells all around, ”Now I am love!” I can laugh at the univers for he is all mine.
”Now listen to this.”
Opening the purloined copy of Bones to Ashes, Bones to Ashes, Harry read, Harry read,
”Laughing, three maidens walk carelessly, making their way to the river.
Hiding behind a great hemlock, one smiles as others pa.s.s unknowing Then with a jump and a cry and a laugh and a hug the girls put their Surprise behind them. The party moves on through the forest primeval In a bright summer they think lasts forever. But not the one ailing.
She travels alone and glides through the shadows; others can not see her.
Her hair the amber of late autumn oak leaves, eyes the pale purple of dayclean.
Mouth a red cherry. Cheeks ruby roses. Young bones going to ashes.”
Harry and I sat in silence, lost in memories of four little girls, smiling toward life and what it would bring.
Harry swallowed. ”The two poems kinda ring the same, don't you think?”
I felt an ache so deep I couldn't imagine it ever ending. I couldn't answer.
Harry hugged me. I felt her chest heave, heard a tiny, hiccupping intake of air. Releasing me, she slipped from the room. I knew my sister was as devastated by Obeline's death as I.