She could hear her mother saying, keep moving - do something, even if it’s wrong. There was plenty to do. For starters, she could look at the house through new eyes. She wanted to know about her father, but she also wanted to know about her grandparents and the family she’d never known. She wanted to learn the truth if such an elusive thing could be found among the spider webs and trash in Delaney House.
Oct 19, 1952
Dear Mother,
I hope this finds you and Papa well and Nanny, too, God bless her. Please share this with her. I need advice and help in the worst way, but please keep this between you and Nanny. Papa will hit the roof and I can't take any more lectures. You and Papa were right and I was wrong. I shouldn’t have married Ford in such a rush and run so far away from home. There! Said and done. Now you have to help me.
I know you said I shouldn’t dwell on it, but I can’t shake the disappointment I feel with Ford and this museum he calls our house. It isn’t any more mine than the jewelry he drapes around my neck. Last night we went to a retirement party for a local judge and Ford ‘gave’ me his mother’s large ruby pendant to wear. ‘How wonderful!’ I hear you say. Not at all.
He gave it to me right before we left for the dinner. No words of love from my husband, only a lecture to be careful with the heirloom and to be sure and remind him to put it back in the safe when I was finished using it. Using it! I am not a partner in our marriage or even the mistress of this household. I am an ornament to be dressed, presented and then stored away until I am needed again. Ford owns me. Or so he thinks.
His temper is awful. You know I can hold my own in an argument - I do hope you aren’t heaving one of those huge sighs! This is serious, Mother! Remember that hateful Grant Sommers who pitched such a fit at the Fourth of July picnic a few years ago? His poor wife standing there all dog-faced and embarrassed while he ranted at her for putting onion in the potato salad? That’s Ford. Can you believe it? But I have seen this side of him several times and have no expectation of improvement on his part.
In your last letter, you said I needed to be a patient and good wife. You said I should make friends who could help me adjust. I fear you don’t understand the gravity of my situation. It’s more than Ford’s bad temper.
Now, please take this seriously! I know it sounds childish, but imagine living with it every day - the women in our circle are mean because Ford was THE catch in this little place and I am a nobody in their eyes. Most of them never heard of Asheville, or say so anyway, to be hurtful. There are any number of girls who’d gladly take Ford on the rebound and many a day I’d like to let them have him.
There are parts of my life I love. And I do make the best of things and look for the fun where I can - like with Sidney and those ridiculous photographs. But everything is tinged with fear - yes, real fear, Mother - of what Ford will do if I push him too far.
I may use the wedding money you gave me to come home for a while; I miss you all so much. Please call soon. Ford gets the bills, so I can’t make long-distance calls while he’s out without a good explanation. Remember - call mid-morning during the workweek. Any other time Ford or the housekeepers will be here and I won’t be able to talk. Tell Nanny I love her. Tell Papa I miss him. Yes, I do! I am so miserable I miss Papa’s nattering at me about everything. At least he paid attention to me and he loves me. I miss you all terribly.
Emma
Nov 1, 1952
Dearest Nanny,
I am wondering if Mother is keeping my letters from you. I have been pouring my heart out for some time now, thinking she was sharing my worries with you, but your letters don’t respond to my problems. I hope she has at least given you an idea of what my life is like here in Maryland.
It’s beautiful here. As beautiful as our mountains, only so different. The Eastern Shore is cut off from the rest of the state by the Chesapeake Bay. It takes forever to get here by ferry and even though there’s a brand new bridge from Annapolis, I think this place will always feel like a foreign country to me.
This place is too far from the mountains and you. I want to come home. There, I hope I haven’t upset you too much. I was a silly girl to let Ford sweep me off my feet. I was so haughty and sharp with Mother when I was leaving; I know it must be hard for her to forgive me. But honestly, she ignores everything I tell her and just keeps saying I have to work harder at being a good wife and helpmeet. I suspect she has bragged so much about the Delaneys and this huge mansion, she can’t think how she will explain a divorced daughter landing back in her house.
Despite my sharp words, you know it will break my heart to disappoint her, but I am living a lie here with Ford. I can’t give him what he needs - I don’t even know what that is. We aren’t a good match and I don’t know how to fix us without losing myself.
I am coming home. I’ll have to drive in order to bring Clancy. Ford hates him - why didn't I see that back in Asheville? I’ll spare Mother from the shame as long as possible by living with you, if you’ll have us. Clancy will be so happy to run free on the mountain again.
After saying all this, you’ll think me odd, but I can’t leave until after Christmas. Ford has planned several social events here at the house and I am determined not to hurt him any more than I have to. He doesn’t know how I feel, of course. Talking to him about my unhappiness is as useless as talking to Mother. Neither one of them listens.
Don’t write me back. Ford reads my mail before he gives it to me. It’s a constant fight about that, but so far, I’m not winning.
I’m coming home, Nanny. I’ll work hard to be a useful and productive person. No more silliness, I promise.
I’m coming home.
Emma
Chapter Eleven
The desk clerk at the Egret Hotel was happy to give her a walking map of the area, but after a quick look, Grace stuck it in her tote. Mallard Bay was so small; it would be hard to get lost.
She wanted to get a feel for the village where her mother had grown up. For an hour she wandered and window-shopped along wide, tree-shaded streets, enjoying the crispness of the morning air and the beauty of the old buildings and waterfront. Canadian geese flew overhead in varying ‘V’ formations, loudly proclaiming the advent of fall. Grace found herself wondering what daily life would be like if she stayed on in the renovated mansion.
She turned off the main street and walked deeper into a neighborhood of large older homes. Queen Anne, Italianate, Gothic and Shingle Style houses were interspersed with twentieth-century Craftsman. Grace indulged her passion for architecture as she walked in the warm sunshine. She’d just passed a Greek Revival suitable for a plantation when she came to a triple-wide, wooded lot that looked as if it hadn’t been touched since the area had seen its first inhabitants. From the sidewalk, she peered through stunted mulberry trees and taller pin oaks and saw there was a fence or wall of some kind twenty yards or so back in the woods. Covered in ivy and vines, it formed a long wave of green and rust rising from the ground to block the view of the remainder of the property.
“Awful, isn’t it?”
A woman working in an adjacent yard dropped her rake and hurried toward Grace with a purposeful stride, clearly intent on a conversation. “Don’t suppose you’d like to buy it and clean it up? I hear you can get it for a good price.” Long wisps of gray hair escaped from under a wide-brimmed straw hat, giving the woman a witchy appearance at odds with her practical rubber gardening shoes and mud-stained jeans. She walked bent slightly at the waist, the only sign of infirmity Grace could see, but the wrinkles in her thin face put her well north of retirement age.
The woman pulled off her gardening gloves and extended her hand. “Avril Oxley,” she said. “Some of my neighbors like having this wooded area. Think it gives the block a less urban feel. I say they should go live on a farm if they want to be one with nature.”
“Yes, well, I can see your point,” Grace said. “Nice meeting you, but…”
“They might not care about the animals who’v
e taken up residence and the kids hanging out in there smoking God-knows-what all, but I do. The owner's passed on, and now that the property’s in the hands of an attorney, I am sure it can be had for a good price. You can’t see it from here, of course, but the house is huge.”
Grace wondered how many neglected properties there were in the historic district. Maybe the area’s property values weren’t what she'd thought. "Well, your yard is certainly lovely,” she said, as she started moving. “I have to run; I have a lot to do.”
Avril Oxley followed along at Grace’s side. She said, “Thank you. I certainly try; we all do here. I chair the Friends of History Foundation. It takes a lot of time, but I feel it’s my civic duty. I hope you’ll walk around the block and look at the house. I have the attorney's name if you’re interested in buying. He’s a personal friend and I can assure you he’ll give you a fair price. He needs to unload it to settle the estate.”
She talked on, but Grace was looking at the street signs on the corner. They were approaching the intersection of Jefferson and Carroll. She tried to orient herself without pulling out the map. If she turned to the left up ahead and again at the next corner, she would be on…
“Who owns the property?” Grace asked, stopping short.
“Well, the attorney...”
“I mean whose estate is it?” Grace tried not to shout. After all, she knew what she was going to hear. She hadn’t only bought a crumbling house, she’d also gotten a vermin infested forest with pot smoking teenagers in residence.
“Emma Delaney,” her new friend answered. “Did you know her?”
Despite the light breeze stirring the fall air, Grace felt overheated as she sat on the back steps of the house and studied the tangle of trees and vegetation covering the rear half of her property. It had taken some time to rid herself of Avril once the woman learned Grace’s identity.
She gathered her hair and flapped it like a fan to generate a breeze on her neck. She would have never guessed how large the property was by the view from the house. No doubt there would be more surprises as the project went along, but this one was a doozy. Clearing out the woods and restoring it to a natural area suitable to an urban neighborhood was out of the question. She’d clean it up, of course, but brush clearing and landscaping would have to wait for the next owner. Her most immediate need was to finalize the renovation plan for the house and get it in motion.
Still, the woods intrigued her. The cleaners working in the house didn’t need her and for the moment, she had nothing to do but make a decision she didn’t want to face. She decided to walk the perimeter of the woods and get a better look at the overgrown property.
Twenty feet or so past the tree line which marked the edge of the patchy lawn, sunlight was filtered down to cool greenness by a heavy leaf canopy. While it was beautiful, the low light disguised the fact that the ground was a living snare. As she tramped deeper into the gloom, vines and raised roots caught her feet and scraggly bushes with thorn-covered branches grabbed her clothes, making progress slow and occasionally painful.
The wall she’d seen from Jefferson Street turned out to be an odd arrangement of a vine-covered fence running parallel to and about four feet in front of a brick wall. The bits of fencing which were visible appeared to be barbed wire, and Grace decided against a closer inspection. Whatever the original purpose had been could remain a mystery - the mosquitoes were beginning to feast on her unprotected skin. Turning to retrace her steps, she caught her right arm on a needle-covered branch and yelped as a long, deep scratch welled up and blood trickled down her arm.
She might have made it to the lawn without further injury if she hadn’t stepped wide to the right to avoid a massive spider web she didn’t see until she was nearly in it. She jumped and felt her ankle roll on impact. The green world of Emma Delaney’s woods turned sideways as Grace pitched over, face first, through the web and flat out into a patch of bright scarlet plants.
The ground gave way as she fell through into darkness.
“A sinkhole?”
“Yes, a sinkhole,” Henry repeated, not for the first time. “We really need to get you to the hospital.”
“I wasn’t out for long and everything works. I’m not going anywhere but to the hotel to clean up.” Grace flexed her arms and legs and tried not to think about her embarrassing and painful rescue from the woods. “If you’ll hand me my purse, I have some hand wipes.”
Henry jumped to do as she asked and grunted as he lifted the tote. “What the devil is in here?”
“Everything,” Grace said. She tried not to moan or to snatch the tote from Henry’s hand. “I don't understand how a sinkhole can simply open up.” She scrabbled through the bag, sure she had antiseptic wipes and a tube of cortisone cream.
Henry sat down beside her. “Grace, you’re repeating yourself. Listen to me; you can deal with it all later. You blacked out, so you probably hit your head. Your arm is cut up and the wounds were dragged through poison sumac, so you are going to be in a bad way soon if you don’t get medication. Are you sure the spider didn’t bite you? When was the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
Stepping between his agitated cousin and Grace, Bryce Cutter took her uninjured arm and helped her up from the back porch step where they’d carefully placed her a few minutes earlier. “Henry's right, you know. You’re awfully lucky. If you hadn’t been able to crawl out the hole and yell, the guys in the house wouldn’t have found you. Who knows how long you would have been out there?”
“And we can’t have our newest client die on us,” Henry chimed in. “Bad for business, so come on. We’ll take you to the ER and stay with you.”
Bryce’s solid body felt good as she leaned against him, but the pounding in her head increased with each step they took. She also thought Henry had a point about the tetanus shot. And the spider. And she was allergic to the sumac.
She hated hospitals but ended up spending the rest of the day moving at a glacial pace from the waiting room to an exam room, through x-rays, tests and pokes and finally, to the blessed peace of her hotel room. Bryce was as good as his word. Henry begged off to supervise the crew at Delaney House, but Bryce stayed by her side right up until she reluctantly watched him drive away from the Egret Inn. The combination of shock and painkillers had lowered her inhibitions to the point she wanted to throw herself at the contractor and beg him not to leave her.
She called herself stupid and a lot worse as she limped through the lobby and made her way to her room. Exhaustion finished her off as soon she lay across the clean, white bed where she dreamed the house and the woods and a giant spider were conspiring to kill her.
Chapter Twelve
“You’re kidding,” Grace said and shook her head, wincing at the pain the simple motion caused.
Everything about Chief McNamara said he was serious. His expression, his words, even the way he leaned across to her, elbows on his knees, dipping his head to look her squarely in the eyes. “I was with the State Police for twenty years and I’ve been the Chief of Police in Mallard Bay for the last ten. I know what a grave looks like.”
“It was a sinkhole.”
“The bones you fell on would indicate otherwise.”
“Jesus, Joseph and Sweet Mary,” Grace moaned as she carefully leaned her aching head back against a tapestry-covered wingback chair.
McNamara had managed to commandeer the small library of the Egret Hotel and a coffee tray for two. He poured a cup for Grace as she absorbed the news. The medication the emergency room physician had given her yesterday had worn off, leaving her clear-headed, but shaky. She was trying to avoid taking more of the tempting little pills, at least until after she gave her statement to the Chief. She took her time and sipped the coffee, but it was a poor substitute for narcotics.
McNamara continued in his calm tone. “Before Tuesday, when was the last time you were at the house, Ms. Reagan?”
“I’ve been told I lived there as an infant. I don’t remember, though.”
“How well did you know Emma Delaney?”
“Not at all. I mean, she was my grandmother, but my mother and I had no ties to the family.”
“And why is that?”
McNamara’s voice was deep and gentle. Grace wished she had an answer to please him. “I don’t know,” she said. “Not for sure. It was a given in our home. A fact of life. Not something we dwelled on or even discussed.”
The door to the library opened, letting in a hum of voices from the lobby. It was Friday afternoon and the weekend tourists were checking in. A petite blond woman with a curly updo entered the room, stopped as she caught sight of Grace, then raced over to her.
“Cousin! I’d know you anywhere.”
Grace managed to set her coffee down and stand up before she was engulfed in a hug from the stranger.
“I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you!”
The words were muffled against Grace’s sweater. She tried to wiggle free, but the blond, a bird-like creature, remained glued to her sturdy frame.
“Well, this is a bit awkward, Ms. Reagan,” McNamara said. "I don’t believe you’ve met your cousin, Niki Malvern."
“I’m your mother’s brother's child,” the woman said as she released Grace after giving her shoulders a final squeeze. “My father is Stark Delaney. And, God help me, my brother is Winston. The guy who was napping under the bathtub. Chief Mac knows all of us from way back.”
McNamara said, “I asked Niki to join me here. I need to talk to both of you.”
Niki looked confused. “Why? Winnie’s fine. Or he will be. He keeps getting himself into messes and he always walks away with only a few dings.” She sounded irritated that her brother hadn’t suffered more. “Even though he managed to break a finger when he pulled the tub over and knocked himself out, he broke his middle finger. Can you believe it? He’s walking around with a huge splint that makes him look like he’s constantly shooting a bird. Mom is apoplectic.”
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