Part 107 (1/2)
”Spoken like a true Yankee.”
Abra came back with a vase of artfully arranged flowers. ”They're absolutely beautiful.”
”They really are. Should I put them in here, or in your bedroom?”
”In here. I'm spending more time sitting than lying down these days, thank G.o.d. Now that Abra's back, why don't we talk about what you really want to know.”
”You think you're smart,” Eli said.
”I know I am.”
He grinned, nodded. ”We're winding around what I really want to know. My way of thinking is the history of the house, of the business, might have some part in the whole. I just haven't figured it all out. But we can jump forward a couple of centuries.”
”I can't see his face.” Hester fisted a hand in her lap. The emerald she often wore on her right hand fired at the gesture. ”I've tried everything I can think of, even meditation-which, you know, Abra, I don't do particularly well. All I see, or remember, is shadows, movement, the impression of a man-that shape. I remember waking up, thinking I heard noises, then convincing myself I hadn't. I know I was wrong about that now. I remember getting up, going to the stairs, then the movement, the shape, the impression, and the instinct to get downstairs and away. That's all. I'm sorry.”
”Don't be sorry,” Eli told her. ”It was dark. You may not remember a face because you didn't see it, or not distinctly enough. Tell me about the sounds you heard.”
”I remember them better, or think I do. I thought I'd been dreaming, and may very well have been. I thought, Squirrels in the chimney. We had them once, long ago, but we put in guards, of course, since then. Then there was creaking, and half asleep I thought, Who's upstairs? Then I woke up fully, decided I'd imagined it and, restless, finally decided to go downstairs for some tea.”
”What about scents?” Abra asked.
”Dust. Sweat. Yes.” Eyes closed, Hester focused. ”Odd, I didn't realize that until now, until you asked.”
”If he came down from the third floor, is there anything up there, anything you can think of he would've been after?”
She shook her head at Eli. ”Most of what's up there is sentiment and history, and what no longer fits in the practical living s.p.a.ce. There are some wonderful things-clothes, keepsakes, journals, old household ledgers, photos.”
”I've been through a lot of it.”
”It's on my long-range plan to have a couple of experts in, catalog for, eventually, a Whiskey Beach museum.”
”What a wonderful idea.” It made Abra beam. ”You never told me.”
”It's still in the planning-to-plan stages.”
”Household ledgers,” Eli thought aloud.
”Yes, and account books, guest lists, copies of invitations. I haven't been through everything for a long time, and honestly really never through it all. Things change, times change. Your grandfather and I didn't need a big staff after the children left, so we started using the third floor for storage. I tried painting up there for a year or two. There was only Bertie and Edna by the time Eli died. You must remember them, young Eli.”
”Yeah, I do.”
”When they retired, I didn't have the heart to have any live-ins. I only had the house and myself to look after. I can only think this person was up there out of curiosity or hoped to find something.”
”Is there anything up there that goes back to the Landons from the time of the Calypso wreck?”
”There must be. The Landons have always been ones for preserving. The more valuable items from that time, and others, are displayed throughout the house, but there would be some flotsam and jetsam on the third floor.”