Knowing how much Ivy’s friendship must have meant to him, just as it had to her aunt, Zoey included the photo on the memory board she created in Ivy’s honor for the funeral. The display also consisted of photos of Ivy as a young girl, posing with her brothers and parents. Ivy with her high-school friends. Ivy on her first day of college. Several pictured her with her sister-in-law, and several more with her extended family, including Zoey, Mark, Jessica, Gabi and their parents.
But Zoey’s favorite was the black and white photo of her aunt breaking a bottle of champagne over the bow of the Boston Ivy, with Dennis eyeing her. “Oh, what a smile he had,” she had once said and in this photo, Zoey could tell it was Ivy who’d put the radiant grin on his face.
At the funeral, Gabi played Mozart’s “Lacrimosa” on her flute and there wasn’t a dry eye in the church. Not Zoey’s or Nick’s. Nor Scott’s or Kathleen’s. Not Aidan’s or Lauren’s or Carla’s nor any of the other funeral attendees’ eyes, including Mark’s.
Later that afternoon, when almost everyone had departed from the reception, Zoey was shuttling the platters of leftover food from the dining room into the kitchen when Gabi asked if she wanted to go for a swim.
Zoey wiped her brow. “Not yet, honey. I’ve got to take care of this, first.”
“No, you don’t,” Kathleen insisted. “We’re here to help. You’re sweating. Go take a minute for yourself.”
Lauren, Scott and Nick echoed her sentiment, so Zoey put on her swimsuit and as they walked to Rose Beach, Gabi linked arms with her. Her niece didn’t say anything but when Zoey glanced over, she noticed a tear on her cheek. She needed a few quiet moments away, too, she realized.
They continued in silence, dropping their T-shirts and towels in the sand when they got to the beach. The tide was in, so they didn’t have far to wade before the nippy water was up to their waists. They stood together in shared, wordless sorrow, gazing toward the horizon for a long while. Zoey was just about to ask her niece if she’d changed her mind about taking her first swim of the season, when Gabi sucked in a deep breath of air and plunged into the water.
A few seconds later she burst up through the surface about twenty feet away. “That felt awesome!” she squealed, so reminiscent of her mother that Zoey wanted to laugh and she wanted to cry. But instead of doing either, she dived forward, too.
“Mark really expects you to leave by the end of July?” Nick asked. It was two weeks after the funeral and since he noticed a very faint stain on the wall in the best room, he had stopped by to open it up and check for water damage, which turned out to be negligible. They were chatting in the driveway, since Zoey had just returned from the grocery store and Nick was on his way to another client’s house. “That doesn’t give you much time.”
“For him, I consider it generous,” Zoey said with a chuckle.
“Couldn’t you stay here and manage the leasing process?”
Zoey wondered if this was Nick’s way of telling her he didn’t want her to leave yet. He’d been incredibly thoughtful, helpful and sympathetic in the days and weeks following Ivy’s death. But their conversations hadn’t reached the depth of intimacy they’d shared the night Zoey tried to dig up the rose shrubs. She had thought he’d make a move or say something to confirm he felt the same way about her that she felt about him. It was understandable if he didn’t want to ask her out or express his feelings for her when she was grieving. But she hoped that wasn’t the only deterrent because a part of her would always grieve her aunt, just as part of her would always draw strength and joy from her memories. And since one of those memories included Ivy’s admonition to live her life fully, Zoey decided if Nick didn’t make his feelings clearly known by the end of the week, she’d bring up the subject herself.
“As mellow as Mark has been lately, I can’t imagine him letting me continue to occupy a room here during prime summer vacation time.” Nor could she imagine herself wanting to occupy a room at her aunt’s home once it was filled with strangers. In a strange way, now that Mark’s plan to lease it out had become a reality, Zoey felt as if she’d lost another family member; the house. Her chest felt tight as she said, “Besides, I’ve got to get used to city living again before my library position starts at the end of August.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’ll need time to transition.” Nick shifted his toolbox to his other hand. “By the way, I found a book in the wall. I left it on the end table in the best room.”
“A book in the wall? How did it get in the wall?”
“My guess is it fell into the open wall cavity from the attic, some time before the house was insulated in the eighties. It would have dropped all the way to the basement because the walls were hollow, but it got stuck on the window header.”
“What kind of book is it?”
“A journal or a ledger, maybe. I didn’t read it. Anyway, I’ve got a busy day tomorrow but I can come back and patch the wall some time after five.”
Seizing the opportunity, Zoey invited him to come for supper the next evening and he accepted with a smile. After going inside and putting the groceries away, she retrieved the book from where Nick had left it and perched on the settee in the best room. The small, brown, leather-covered volume was encircled three times and tied with yellowed twine. As Zoey picked at the knot, the old string came apart in her hands. She opened the book and read the inscription:
For Sylvia on her 20th Birthday—Love, Mother.
Sylvia’s journal? As excited as she was by the discovery, Zoey had a small compunction about reading her shy aunt’s private musings. But when she leafed through the first few pages, she saw the short entries read more like a list of daily activities than a diary of confidential reflections. Her aunt had begun the journal by recording details such as:
I cleaned the Baldwins’ home today and finished by 6:30.
And:
For supper I made creamed tuna on toast for us girls. I gave Father the ham steak Mrs. Lawrence sent home with me—he said it was too dry without glaze.
Scanning the entries, Zoey danced her feet against the floor when she read:
I’ve saved enough money from gardening on the weekends to buy a ferry ticket to Dune Island. I leave May 10th. I’ll help prepare summer homes for their owners’ arrivals and then hopefully one of the families will hire me as their full-time maid for the summer season.
The subsequent pages captured Sylvia’s early days of living in a boarding house. It also chronicled her foray into socializing with other young women and men—something she hadn’t been permitted to do at home because she was expected to be at her father’s beck and call whenever she wasn’t working. Sylvia’s delight, as well as her innocence, was evident when she wrote about her first dating experiences. Zoey found it sweet that her aunt was so bashful about discussing the opposite sex—even in her diary—that she only referred to the young men by their first initials.
At the bonfire, my roommate Betty met a guy named R. He had a friend named D., who asked Betty if her pretty friend has a boyfriend. He meant me—imagine that?!
D. asked me out. We went to a pizza parlor and then strolled along the Boardwalk, holding hands.
D. took me to Captain Clark’s restaurant. After our date he walked me to the door and kissed me goodnight. My first kiss—it was nice.
At the drive-in, D. asked me to go steady. I said yes and then he wanted to neck. I told him I’d like to watch the movie first but he looked so disappointed that I changed my mind. When I told Betty, she said going steady is one step away from getting married!
Sylvia’s account of her budding romance was interrupted by the news she’d begun working as a full-time maid for the Winslow family. She elaborated:
Mr. Winslow is very ill. In addition to cleaning, I help his daughter, Ivy, prepare meals but she’s so sweet to me it doesn’t seem like work. Sometimes I help care for her brother, M., and he’s very pleasant, too.
Zoey smiled at Sylvia’s obvious affection for her great-aunt and great-unc
le. There was a lapse in-between dates before she indicated Thomas Winslow had died and she’d been asked to move into the Winslow residence. Ivy and Marcus quickly became the subjects of her scribblings:
I’m concerned about Ivy. She hardly eats, she’s very pale and I hear her weeping at night. M. doesn’t seem as sad as he did right after Mr. Winslow died. His body may be weak but his character is strong.
M. told me, “As pretty as you are, you’re more than just a pretty face.” He wants to teach me to play chess.
M. is the gentlest, kindest, smartest man I’ve ever met and he listens to all my silly ideas. Some wealthy girl will be very lucky to have him for a husband one day.
Ivy has been walking to the harbor every afternoon and it seems to be helping her mood. While she’s gone, M. and I visit in the living room. He’s supposed to be teaching me to play chess, but we talk so much he forgets.
Recognizing that Sylvia and Marcus’s love story was unfolding before her eyes, Zoey turned the page in anticipation of learning how she’d ended her relationship with her “steady” in order to date Marcus.
Instead, Sylvia had scrawled:
D. and I met at our usual place but then he took me to a deserted cottage near Rose Beach. He carried me over the threshold because he said that’s what he’d do if we were married. I’m so ashamed to admit I gave in to his charms.
Here the ink was splotched, perhaps with teardrops.
I won’t ever do that again until after I’m his wife. Once we’re married, Father can’t make me return home in the fall. I just hope D. will still let me work as a maid here so I can see M. and Ivy every day.
“Oh, Aunt Sylvia,” Zoey whispered, wincing empathetically at her aunt’s naivete and regret, as well as her fear of her father. The diary continued, documenting an increasingly upsetting sequence of events, some that Zoey remembered from Ivy’s stories, and others she’d never known. She quickly read through those excerpts, eager to reach the joyful sections about Sylvia’s relationship with Marcus again.
The lighthouse keeper, P., left a note here for me. He must have seen D. and me together because he wrote that I should stop dating him. Why would he suggest such a thing? Doesn’t he think I’m good enough?
P. left another note. It really hurts my feelings.
D. asked me to go to the cottage to talk. I thought it was just an excuse for you-know-what but when we got there he said he was breaking up with me. I begged him to tell me what I did wrong so I could change it. When he wouldn’t, I cried so hard I was shaking. He put his arm around me and then we kissed. One thing led to another and even though I swore to myself I wouldn’t give in to temptation, I did… Afterward, he seemed more withdrawn than before but at least we’re still going steady.
P. came to the house to speak with me but I was upset so Ivy made him leave.
D broke up with me for good. He said he was sorry but he’s ‘real gone’ for someone else. That must have been what P. was trying to warn me about. I should have known—my sisters always said no one would ever want to marry me.
When M. caught me crying, he said whoever made me weep like that didn’t deserve me. I’m not as sad about D. breaking up with me as I am about leaving Dune Island after Labor Day.
Ivy brought D. home for supper!!! I’m not surprised he’d choose her instead of me and I’m glad she’s so much happier now. I pretended not to know him and he did the same. But I wish I hadn’t ever gone to the cottage with him. I’ll die of shame if he tells Ivy about him and me—or if Marcus finds out!
“No way,” Zoey uttered, aghast to discover that D. stood for Dennis. Ivy’s Dennis. Captain Denny.
She studied the preceding passages, hoping she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Then she perused them a third time. But there was no denying it: Sylvia had been going steady with Dennis. She had slept with Dennis. And although Zoey already knew what the consequence of that had been, she needed to read about it with her own eyes. Her hands trembled so much she nearly tore the page when she flipped it over. She smoothed it flat and didn’t stop reading until she’d reached the last entry in the diary.
M. used all his strength to climb to the widow’s walk to watch the sunset with me. While we were up there, he told me he loved me!!! I asked him if he really meant it. He said he never meant anything more and he’d prove it by marrying me right away, if I agreed. (I did, of course—I love, love, love him!) When we kissed, I felt like I was dancing in the stars.
D. and Ivy are engaged, too! He must not have told her about us. It’s better this way.
I’m late.
I never dreamed I’d get to have a baby of my own, but I’m sick about the trouble I’m in. If I break up with M., he’ll be devastated, whether or not I tell him the reason. Where would I go anyway? I can’t return home—I’m terrified of how my father will react. If I tell D., he might marry me but Ivy will be crushed… and I would be, too. I know it’s selfish of me, but I don’t want to lose M. or end my friendship with Ivy. What am I going to do?
The rest of the diary was blank and Zoey assumed that must have been because Sylvia had dropped it down the wall or it had slid from its hiding place. But she didn’t need the journal to know that Sylvia had decided to marry Marcus and keep her son’s paternity a secret.
“Marcus Jr. was Dennis’s son,” Zoey said aloud in wonderment.
She sat motionless as the pieces of the puzzle about her aunt’s past clicked into place. Zoey was filled with empathy for Sylvia’s plight as a young woman and for how her secret had shaped the rest of her life. She realized that while Sylvia may have considered marrying Dennis, it wasn’t because she loved him; it was so she wouldn’t have to return home to her father. And so she wouldn’t have to leave Marcus, the man she truly loved. The man who truly loved her.
As for Dennis… he’d been a player, that much was clear, but he was also the same young man who had died in his attempt to save Marcus’s life. So Zoey couldn’t guess how he may have reacted if Sylvia had told him she was pregnant with his baby. However, one thing Zoey had no doubt about was that he loved Ivy. It was evident in the stories her aunt had told about him, and it was evident in what Sylvia had written in her journal. Dennis was “real gone” over his best girl, Zoey thought, sniffling a little. And his best girl was Ivy.
And what about her? How might Ivy’s life have been different if she had known Sylvia’s secret? That was another question Zoey had no way of answering for certain. But she suspected if Ivy had found out Sylvia was pregnant with Denny’s child, she might not have ever have married him. Might not have ever experienced a relationship she cherished so much that sixty-some years later, the mere sight of Dennis’s portrait could make her feel as swoony as a schoolgirl.
What if Sylvia had disclosed her secret later in life, as she’d tried to do shortly before she died? Originally, when Zoey suspected Mr. Witherell may have been Marcus Jr.’s father, she assumed Ivy would have been crushed to discover she’d been deceived for all these years. But that was before Zoey read Sylvia’s diary. Before she understood the circumstances and that Sylvia’s intentions were to protect Marcus and Ivy.
In light of that realization, Zoey now firmly believed that if Sylvia had followed through with making her deathbed confession, Ivy may have been hurt at first. But ultimately, she would have been as gracious toward her as she’d been toward everyone else. Maybe even more so, because she’d loved Sylvia like a sister.
Of course, in the end, even though she was clearly anguished by the thought of Mark inheriting the Winslow family home, Sylvia hadn’t shared the truth with Ivy. But Zoey was almost positive her aunt had compromised by leaving her a clue for when the time was right. Almost positive Sylvia had been speaking deliberately, not deliriously when she said. “For now, it’s best to let the past stay buried in the past… beneath the roses.”
Strange, though, that she’d hinted the past was buried beneath the roses, when really it was behind the wall. As she stared at the hole Nick had carved
above the window, Zoey was struck by the hideous pattern on the wallpaper. Those were the roses Sylvia had been talking about! She must have accidentally dropped the diary down the hollow wall from her attic room, and figured out that it had landed behind the wall in the best room. How disconcerting it must have been for her to walk past that rose-patterned paper every day, knowing that evidence of her darkest secret lay behind it…
Zoey was so affected emotionally by what she’d discovered about her family’s history that it took a few minutes for her to fully absorb how Sylvia’s past had changed her own present. “I can’t believe Aunt Ivy’s house belongs to me, after all,” she said aloud to herself. The realization was staggering. She was elated that she’d be able to continue using the residence as it was originally intended—as a home, not a business. Yet Zoey also empathized with Mark, knowing the sobering implications her discovery would have for him.
So when she called him later, she tried to soften the blow by reminding him that he’d still receive his portion of Ivy’s trust fund, since he was named specifically in her will. Then, as tactfully as she could, she disclosed what she’d learned about his father’s paternity. Even though they’d both known for decades that the will was incontrovertible, Zoey half expected Mark to threaten to dispute her claim in court.
He was quiet and then he laughed wryly. “I can see the family resemblance to Dennis, all right. I inherited his good looks.”
Aunt Ivy's Cottage: A totally gripping and emotional page turner Page 27