“Actually, Henry, you might find Aunt Millie’s story interesting.”
He sat up straighter and focused on her, his rapt attention encouraging her to continue.
“She was a world-renowned pianist during the 1940s.”
“Your Aunt Millie—who lived out here, in the middle of nowhere—was a world renown pianist?”
“I know. It’s as much a mystery to me, and I probably knew her better than anyone except her housekeeper, Sissy. But Millie never talked much about her past… After her death, she left me a strange letter. Something about how I would discover who she really was as I went through her things.”
“And have you found anything?”
“Nothing, really, but I’ve mostly been marking furniture instead of going through drawers and boxes. It’s something I hope to start today.” She gestured with her chin to his phone. “You should look her up.”
His phone lit to life at his touch.
“Her name was Amelia Dawn Rippey,” Julia continued. “But most of the time she went by Amelia Dawn on stage.”
The car became quiet as he read through the information Google pulled on her aunt. Stuff she knew because she’d researched it too.
“She toured for a couple of years on her own, then joined a cellist.” The old photograph of her aunt on stage in front of a piano filtered through Julia’s mind as she recalled her aunt’s history. What story was left to uncover?
“Lucas Randolph.”
“Exactly. And from the snippets I’ve been able to piece together from things Aunt Millie said, the two of them became romantically involved.”
“And a heartbreak pushed her from the spotlight?”
She rewarded his question with a grin. He was actually interested in this quirky little mystery of hers. Her twin brother, Greg, had yawned through her explanations, her dad only took in so much before he needed a change of topic, and her mom listened sweetly but didn’t ask many questions…and definitely didn’t make conjectures.
He gestured toward his phone’s screen. “That’s the abrupt ending of her career? Or as is reported here, ‘After her performance on March 7, 1944, Amelia Dawn disappeared from the musical world.’”
“She became pregnant.”
“Ah!”
“Right.” Julia’s kinship to her aunt deepened even more as she spoke. “So she came here, built an extravagant house in the middle of nowhere, and gave birth to a daughter.”
His raised brow asked the question Julia had known would be next.
“Her daughter, Roslyn, died when she was a child.”
“And so your aunt remained hidden from the world? Nursing her grief, I would suspect.”
Julia nodded, turning on to the crooked mountain road that lead into Shadow Gap. “She became the ultimate recluse yet kept her panache. Her house is immaculate, almost as if she were waiting for a very special guest to arrive at any moment.”
“Her lover, perhaps? Come to find her after all the years?”
“Oooh.” A chill ran over her arms at his suggestion. “Nice! Brainstorming with you is about as exciting as brainstorming with Sophie.”
His chuckle brewed across the space between them. “I can’t imagine anything competing with Sophie’s overall enthusiasm.”
“Oh goodness, no! You should see her after a candy run.” She waved a hand toward his phone. “You may as well put your phone away now, Henry. It’s going to become useless once we pass that red barn over there.
“What do you mean?”
“The mountains block any cell phone service from this point on.”
His brows crinkled into a V. “But when I purchased the phone for this trip, I was informed it should have excellent reception.”
“And it probably does…anywhere else except this part of the Blue Ridge Mountains. There are places around here that are notorious for cloaking reception or completely annihilating it.”
“Which does give an added mystery to your aunt’s story.”
Julia flipped her gaze back to his. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if she was determined to disappear or not have the world find her, she chose the perfect place.”
Chapter Thirteen
T he house stood frozen in time.
Henry had helped Julia tag a few furniture items in the parlor and the music room, labeling them storage, bakery, or sell, and a few special things, cabin. Each item, though decades old, remained in pristine condition, very much like the overall look of the house.
Amelia Dawn Rippey had not only been wealthy but sophisticated, carrying the refined taste of an artist. Her house could have been one of the celebrated homes of Derbyshire in style and furnishing—perhaps a bit smaller, but not a great deal.
After the first hour downstairs, he and Julia entered Amelia’s office where most of the furniture sat tagged for distribution. Their conversation had turned from one topic to another: favorite movies, previous schooling, childhood. Julia’s had been much more joyful and loving than his—though the memory of his grandparents softened the edges of his mother’s affectionless expectations.
“I haven’t been through the wardrobe there.” Julia nodded toward its glossy edifice of dark maple with ivy wood carvings framing its doors.
Henry half wanted to open it to see if Narnia waited on the other side. “It’s beautiful.”
She grinned. “Yeah. It’s going into my ‘someday bedroom.’ It won’t fit into the apartment, but once I figure out where I’m going to establish my B&B, it’s following me for sure. It just looks magical.”
“Quite Narnian.”
Her eyes lit with agreement, and he became caught in her gaze for the umpteenth time that morning. She made conversations so easy. If he’d known someone like her waited on the other side of the world, that a friendship with a woman could be so effortless and genuine, he’d never have fallen for counterfeits.
“If the grand piano downstairs goes with you, what do you plan to do with this upright?” He walked over to the beautiful old instrument and examined its structure. His brows rose. “A Steinway, no less.”
She walked to his side, arms crossed as she studied the piano. She’d worn her hair in a braid that fell over one shoulder, and his fingers twitched to give it a little tug. Would she grin? Be annoyed? And where did that desire come from, anyway?
“I’m donating it to the School of the Arts in town where I taught piano lessons for two years. I love the owners’ vision to offer affordable quality instruction, especially for kids whose families don’t always have money for those kinds of extracurriculars.”
“You do realize how much this piano is worth?”
“Yes.” She smiled at him. “But teaching a child the beauty of music…well, that’s priceless.”
“You know you’re rather extraordinary, don’t you?”
Her smile faded, and her large, dark eyes broadened as a rush of pink highlighted her cheeks in the most beautiful way. She looked ahead and cleared her throat. “I’m extraordinarily behind in getting this house cleared out is what I am.” She turned and approached the wardrobe, leaving him to curse himself for another unintended compliment-turned-mistake.
“I…I didn’t mean—”
She raised a palm to stop him but didn’t turn her attention his way. “It’s not you.” She pulled the door open to the wardrobe without another word on his error. “Are those…ballgowns?”
He approached, still attempting to decipher her reaction. Not him? Then what had gone wrong?
“These must have been some of the gowns she wore when she performed.” Julia’s fingers smoothed the fabric of one after another. “They’re amazing and in excellent condition.”
“Unbelievable.”
She glanced over at him, her gaze holding his before turning back. “Aren’t they? I never knew she still had these.” She reached for a dark blue gown. “This must be where she found the dress she gave me to wear for prom one year. I thought she’d bought it at some consignment store or ev
en ordered it from a company online that sold retro gowns, but now I wonder if it hadn’t been hers all along. I’ve always preferred vintage styles.”
A suitable choice for her, he’d say. “I suppose they’d be worth a hefty amount if they’re vintage.”
Julia rested her palms on her hips, highlighting her protruding abdomen. Oh yes, she was a mother! A sobering reminder of the differences between his interests and hers, no doubt. How did he keep forgetting that truth when lost in her conversations and kindness?
She had to have much more on her mind than an impossible romance with him.
“I’ll keep my favorites, I guess, but there’s no reason to keep them all.” She raised a brow and scrunched up her shoulders in a little apology-shrug. “Would you mind carrying them down to the car? I can sort through them at the apartment.”
“Of course.”
As Julia explored the drawers of the massive gold-trimmed desk, Henry took garments, and any other items Julia added, to the car until he’d reached the back of the wardrobe. But the final piece wasn’t a gown. Behind all the vintage glitz waited a garment bag with a men’s suit on display through the partially unzipped bag.
“Curious.
“What is it?”
He drew out the bag, the light showing the fabric’s charcoal gray color. “A three-piece men’s suit. Posh, from the looks of it.”
Julia reached over him to unzip the bag the rest of the way. “Why would she have a man’s suit in her wardrobe?”
“And only one.”
Julia’s posture straightened. “Wait. I’ve seen this one before.” She rushed to the desk and picked up a framed photo, then returned. “Yes. It looks the same.”
She turned so he could see the photo of a handsome man, probably in his late twenties or early thirties at the time, with a beautiful woman at his side. Henry had seen the woman’s face in other photos they’d packed. Julia’s Aunt Millie.
“Doesn’t that suit look the same?”
Henry examined the suit in the photo then looked back at the one in his hands. “It does, though with the age of the photos it’s difficult to be sure.” He slid a hand over the lapel. “In the photo, that was your aunt’s lover? Lucas Randolph?”
“That’s my guess.”
The cloth beneath Henry’s fingers hardened, and he pushed back the jacket. “I think there’s something in the pocket here.” Careful to cause the least movement to the antique suit, Henry reached into the pocket and brought out a strange blue booklet similar in appearance to a passport.
Julia peered over his arm, her shoulder brushing his in a snug, cozy sort of way.
Cozy worked for him.
“What is it?”
In answer, he draped the suit over his arm and opened the booklet. A photo of Lucas Randolph lay pasted on the first page with the name Jack Milton printed beneath it
“I wonder why he had a different name on this paper.”
“I don’t know…” Henry flipped the booklet over, but the back revealed no answers. “Do you suppose he went by another name? Or the man in the photos was someone else?”
“No, it has to be Lucas from the way she talked about him and his love for her. Why would she have a different man’s photo on her desk? But…but do you think this”—she gestured toward the book— “was an alias or something. Maybe a joke?”
“You think he may have had a false identity?”
“Maybe… But why would he need one? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Curiouser and curiouser. He tapped the booklet. “Unless he was a spy.”
Their gazes locked, and he could see Julia’s mind working through his suggestion with a subtle following nod. “That would make sense, wouldn’t it? World War Two.”
“Your aunt’s seclusion.”
Julia gasped. “Do you think she was in danger and hid here?” Her brow crinkled. “But the danger couldn’t have come from Lucas. She spoke so fondly of him. I’m certain they were on good terms.”
“Is there any documentation that would show us more information about the two of them from this time period? In her desk, perhaps?”
“I haven’t finished going through it yet.” She peered into the wardrobe. “But there’s one more box in the wardrobe. Maybe it’ll provide some more clues?”
“Of course.” Henry handed Julia the paper and garment bag, then reached for the box. Just as he pulled the container into the light of the room, a small, furry creature skittered out of the box and over his fingers.
“Ahh!” He stumbled backward and tossed the box into the air, the contents and papers, shredded and whole, flying in all directions while his furry assailant disappeared from the scene of the crime.
An ottoman behind him tripped his stumbling feet, and he landed on his backside, the remaining papers and paraphernalia raining down on him and the surrounding floor. The entire scene, complete with a soundtrack from Tom and Jerry, played behind his eyes as he imagined it from Julia’s perspective. Oh yes, he was most certainly the dashing hero she’d longed for her entire life.
“Henry.” Julia was at his side, her hands on his arms. “Are you all right?”
Heat bathed his face, and he refused to look at her as he pushed himself to a sitting position, dusting off his shirt as he righted. “I’m fine.”
“What on earth happened?”
His gaze lifted to hers with the hesitancy of a primary school student playing alone their first solo on stage. He ground out the insidious words. “A mouse.”
Playing brave music was much easier than living brave.
∞ ∞ ∞
Julia stared at him and replayed his words as flashbacks of Henry stepping back, screaming out, tripping over the ottoman, and being doused in papers flashed through her mind. And all because of a mouse?
She bit her teeth together to hold in the tickle. He was fine. Well, bits of shredded paper decorated his hair and shirt, but otherwise he looked as handsome as he had before the mouse attack.
A snort of laughter shot out between her closed lips.
He turned a very deliberate gaze on her, tilting his head and examining her through narrowed eyes. Oh, he knew it was funny.
She covered her mouth just as another burst rushed out.
His lips twitched and she lost all control. Her laugh shook her with such force she had to sit down, right there on the floor beside him, and pray her bladder held.
“Ah, you laugh. And here I thought your compassion was boundless.”
His reaction encouraged another bout of wild giggles. Oh, how long had it been since she laughed this hard? Even the baby didn’t know what to do with her response. He kicked away, probably wondering what on earth had gotten into his mother. She rubbed at her stomach, then bit her lip to quell the chuckles. “My granny says you can tell a lot about a man when he’s scared or embarrassed…a lot about his character.”
He tilted his head, still examining her, and tossed an arm over his knee, the glint in his eyes highlighting more humor than his grimace declared. “What did you learn? That I’m cowardly? Or that I have the scream pitch of an adolescent girl?”
“No.” Her laugh flung loose again, and she swiped at her eyes. “Fear and embarrassment are two ways to bring out a person’s unchecked emotions, especially if they’re trying to hide anger or pride.” She reached over and dusted loose strips of paper from his shoulder. “I think you passed the test.”
He chuckled and stood, then offered his hands to help her off of the floor. “Well, it’s nice to know that some good can come out of my terror.”
“And don’t worry. I’m a country girl. I can protect you from mice.”
He shot her a mock glare, but the playful twinkle in his eyes shifted a shaft of warmth through her heart—a gleam of something sweet she’d thought her past had distorted, but here it was, real and authentic.
He still held her hands with a gentle touch…and she still let him. Tingles spread from their entwined fingers, through her palms, and into
her forearms before shocking her heart with reality. What are you doing, Julia? With the sudden awareness of his warm fingers around hers, the little voice in her head screamed halt. She didn’t catch her nervous chuckle in time and slid her hands from his, pushing back a stray hair from her face as she scanned the papers on the floor.
He followed her lead without a word, examining the paper explosion on the floor.
“They’re…what? Playbills?” Henry knelt to the floor and gathered some of the papers. “No, wait. They’re pamphlets of your aunt’s performances. Look!”
He raised a few to Julia. Vintage flyers, some featuring pictures of Aunt Millie in various elegant gowns by the piano, and others with Aunt Millie and Lucas poised by a piano, lay in his hands, waiting for her perusal. The oldest, from 1940, told of Aunt Millie’s first acclaimed concert when she’d been only eighteen. New York, Chicago, London, Paris, Venice… Later performances from when she’d stayed in England, most likely due to the strains of war, finished the pile.
“Here’s a concert she performed for the troops.” Henry offered another flyer featuring an almost cartoon-style Millie in a less elaborate gown, surrounded by applauding troops.
“I never realized how extensively she’d traveled.”
“It’s rather remarkable and…intriguing.”
Julia brought one of the flyers closer to examine Lucas’s face. Who had he been? Why had he left her to raise a baby on her own? Had he died? “And this proves that the false identity does belong to Lucas, because his name is all over these pamphlets with his photo, even if he looks a little different in the passport.”
“Julia, you must see this.” Henry stood, a tattered envelope in his hands, his gaze finding hers. “Quite the name for a child.”
She took the paper from him and drew three items from the envelope. The first piece was a birth certificate for Rosalyn Brigitta Rippey Sweitzer.
“Sweitzer?” She looked over at Henry, who’d resumed picking up the scattered papers. “But Lucas’s last name was Randolph.”
He gestured toward the envelope in her hands. “Keep looking.”
When You Look at Me (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 2) Page 12