Jan 3, 1955
Dear Mother,
I am so sorry I had to cut the call short last night. The important thing was to let you and Papa know we had gotten home safely. I could tell you didn’t really want to talk and with Ford rushing me to get off the line, it did seem best to hang up, but I felt the lost connection to you and home like a wound.
You are handling everything so well. I don’t want to be a burden, but I am so grief-stricken I can hardly move. I’ll get better, but I know we have lost the best of us with Nanny's passing and I just can’t accept that she’s gone. I’m so glad we got a nice long visit in last summer and of course, last Christmas on the mountain was wonderful, even though the trip was short. Who would have guessed I’d spend two Christmases in a row in North Carolina? Or that this year’s trip would be so sad.
You are her daughter and no doubt think I am a thoughtless and selfish child to write to you this way about my loss, when yours is even greater, I know. But I want you to know how much I admire you. I don’t believe I have ever told you that. You have borne so many sad times, my little brothers - two sweet children gone too soon. And whom did you have to raise? A headstrong hellion who caused you no end of problems. I know Papa isn’t always an easy man - for heaven’s sake, don't let him read this! But you have handled him with grace and care, and you have made him happy. And I think you have been happy, too? I hope so, although, Mother, dear, it is hard for me to tell. You are always in motion and always busy. Now that it’s too late for me to contribute to it, I pray you are also happy. At least a bit, from time to time. I have come to realize we shouldn’t ask for more if we are to avoid perpetual disappointment.
And there I go, veering off to the gloomy side again, which is not what I want to do. This letter is meant to tell you I love you, I admire you, and I will do my best to make you proud.
Emma
Chapter Nineteen
A shiny black van was parked in the driveway of Delaney House when Grace arrived a little after eight the next morning. THE VERMINATOR- No Job Too Big, No Critter Too Small was painted in large yellow script across the side panels. An army of bees, ants, snakes, and rats swarmed, slithered and crawled their way around and through the words, leaving no doubt which critters the company could handle. Grace studied the van from her car and thought about going for more coffee. In Washington.
“Hey! You gonna sit there all day?”
She hadn’t seen Bryce approach and yelped in surprise when he opened her door and offered his hand. His smile - and those dimples - wiped away her alarm. Feeling silly, she let him pull her along like a reluctant child to meet The Verminator.
A tall, gangly young man jumped out of the van, greeted Bryce and introduced himself to Grace as Benny Pannel. Over the next hour, they walked the house and grounds, Bryce pointing out areas of concern and Benny taking copious notes with an eagerness that made Grace nervous. She trailed along after them until they headed to the basement. She felt itchy after hearing Benny talk about the creatures that could be inhabiting Delaney House.
After checking on the crews who were painting the newly repaired front parlor, she ran out of excuses to avoid the chore she’d planned for the day. The original second-floor bathroom, with its crooked second doorway off the main staircase, awaited a clean out and scrub down.
Like other areas of the bedroom wing, the once-elegant bath was stacked wall to wall with items Emma Delaney had considered worth saving. Books lined all the walls and filled the tub. Old toys, appliances and small odds and ends covered the rest of the room. Grace started work near the hall doorway. Her plan was to have ‘save’, ‘donate’ and ‘trash’ piles, but only one heap grew as she worked. The contents of the Victorian-era bathroom were going straight to the dump.
She’d cleared the area around the sink and toilet when she heard Bryce call her from the main hall. She joined them, her heart sinking at the sight of his grim face.
Benny Pannel, on the other hand, was elated. He happily reported there were bats in the attic and signs squirrels shared the space with them. Termites were eating the service porch. Mice ran rampant throughout the house and were nesting in areas on every floor. A roach infestation, camel crickets and three dead birds rounded out his initial assessment.
“I’ll probably find more as I get into it,” Benny informed her cheerfully. “At least the woods’ve been cleared some, what with the police working back there and all. You won’t be popular with the neighbors for a while. Critters gotta go somewhere.”
Grace groaned and said, “Let’s focus on the house. How long will it take you to clear it?”
“I can lay traps for the squirrels in the attic and basement today. I’d wait until the basement is cleared to do any kind of treatments. Start with an empty shell, you get the best results on a job like this. Now, I’ll have to get permission for the bats. They’re protected, you know. The gov’ment loves a brown nose bat, good for the environment. They eat -”
“I don’t care what they eat!” Grace was horrified. "I want them gone!”
Benny looked at her quizzically. “The bats won’t hurt you. I mean, there’s always a possibility of rabies, but the same’s true of any mammal. And these bats eat insects. Neat, really. And the government protects them.”
“Of course they do,” Grace said.
“But we’re lucky. This is the best time of year to exclude them from a building. That’s the official term, ‘exclude’. They don’t want you to get any ideas about hurtin’ the little guys. I’ve got pamphlets I can give you.”
“No, not necessary,” Grace said as she tried to remember the symptoms of rabies.
Bryce put an arm around her shoulders, gave her a hug and said, “Benny here will fix us up. Don’t worry.” Before Grace could react, he’d released her, stepped back and was saying, “So you and Henry’s crew will be done by today, right?”
Grace thought about the state of the bathroom. “Tomorrow, maybe.”
Bryce checked his beeping phone. “Busy morning. I’ve gotta go. Benny’s people can start setting traps everywhere but the bat locations on the third floor. My interior construction crew can start on the attic once Benny makes sure it’s safe to proceed with the bat removal. Excuse me, exclusion. Given what we saw upstairs, that’s our first order of business. We’ll replace everything rotted up there, which includes sections of the fascia under the eaves. We’ll seal the bat entrances and then we'll repair the points of entry around the chimneys and screen them. That’ll stop the birds and squirrels, too. We’ll patch the sub-roof to keep it all secure and dry until you decide what to do with the repairs to the slate roofing. And we’ll need to strip out the insulation. What there is of it, is soaked with bat urine and guano.” He paused for Grace’s groans and Benny’s laugh. “When we’ve secured the place against the larger pests, Benny can set up a maintenance plan to get rid of the roaches and mice. We’ll rip out the areas with termite damage, Benny’ll treat it and we’ll rebuild the service porch floor. Sorry, Grace. I hate to tell you, but I think that will be the minimum you’ll need to do.”
Grace’s heart dropped. ‘Basic reno’ had expanded to a complicated operation and wouldn’t touch the living area.
“Sounds good,” Benny said. “And just so you know, there are live bats in your attic right now, so don’t be startled if you see them flying around in the early evening.”
“Outside, you mean?”
“Well, sure. But remember, you got ‘em inside, too. I’ll trap the ones that can’t or won’t leave, and I’ll remove them from the house. No poison, no dead bodies, no mess.”
“Except the urine and guano,” Grace said.
Benny, who apparently didn’t do sarcasm, nodded happily as if she’d finally gotten his sales pitch.
“Where do you take them?”
“Well, outside of course…”
“And far, far away?”
“If you want, sure. But you need those bats, and I can bring you some bat houses. They’
re like bird hou….”
“Far, far away, Benny. The bats, the mice, anything that isn’t human goes far away from this house and from me, got it?”
The estimate Benny gave her explained his irritatingly good mood. As she watched the Verminator van pull away from the house, she wondered if a buyer could be talked into co-existing with government-approved bats. The idea of bats in flight over her head made her shiver and then jump when Bryce patted her arm.
“Whoa, now,” he said. “It's not so bad. Happens around here all the time. Some of the best houses have bats. Most people don’t even realize they have them nesting in their attics.”
She tried to smile. If she had to have bats, at least she had Bryce to handle the problem.
“It will all work out, Grace,” he said softly. “You’ll see. We’ll be done here before you know it. I’m going to give you a beautiful, critter-free house.”
She wanted to believe him. He was standing close enough for her to smell the clean scent of new wood and licorice from the box of candy he had in the pocket of his flannel shirt.
“Did you take in the early matinee?”
“What?”
“You usually see Good and Plenty in the candy counter at the movies.”
“Oh, these. Want some? Good for what ails you.” He tapped a small pile of the tiny pink and white candies into the palm of his hand and waved them under her nose.
“Too early in the day for me,” Grace smiled. “But you go right ahead.”
Bryce popped the handful into his mouth and grinned. “I buy them in bulk. Love the stuff.” He looked like a little boy, happy with a mouthful of sugar.
She said, “I’m not a licorice fan, but I’ve always loved the way it smells.”
Bryce’s expression went from playful to interested.
Grace gave him a wide smile. “Well, back to work for both of us.”
She was halfway to the second floor when he called after her, “Not fair to take advantage of a guy when his mouth’s full of candy.” But he stayed where he was in the hall, and she kept climbing the stairs.
Chapter Twenty
Grace traded her sneakers for a pair of white rubber boots she’d found under Emma's bed. After carefully inspecting and wiping them off, she stuffed her feet into them, tucking her jeans down inside. The knee-high boots were clunky and a size too small, but looked as if they would withstand attack from anything short of an alligator. She added heavy rubber gloves to round out her safety gear and went back to the second-floor bathroom.
Once she got into a rhythm, she picked up speed, while still looking for anything that might have been her mother’s. Nothing struck a chord. Soon all that was left was a chest-high, triple-row of old magazines and books stacked along the back wall of the bathroom. She heard skittering noises and prayed the sounds were coming from inside the walls. She told herself mice couldn’t get through her rubber boots and gloves and pushed on.
Emma Delaney had an eclectic taste in reading materials. Issues of Popular Mechanics from the 70s and 80s were stacked on top of Regency romances and outdated library reference volumes covering astronomy and theology. Stained and worn cookbooks were interspersed with children’s books. A copy of ‘The Diary of Anne Frank’ was bracketed by ‘The Home Taxidermist’ and Carl Sagan’s ‘Cosmos’. All were lumpy from water damage. Grace didn’t want to know what kind of water or how they’d gotten wet. With a sigh, she began to fill one trash bag after another, dragging them to the hall when they became too heavy to lift.
She was on the last row when the wall moved.
Later, she had no memory of leaping across the bathroom and slamming the door behind her, but when she opened her eyes, she was in the hall, amazed that her pants were still dry. The pier mirror hanging on the wall in front of her showed a tall, wild-haired woman with a face whiter than the rubber boots on her feet.
Deep breaths. Get a grip. Think of something else.
“Thanks, Ma. That worked when I was six,” she muttered. She told herself her rapid heartbeat was only shock and her pounding head was due to allergies. She wasn’t having a heart attack and, although she’d just carried on a two-minute rant aimed at her mother, she wasn’t crazy. “The wall did not move,” she said out loud.
She considered calling the workmen from the front parlor. But this was her house. Her problem. And she really wanted to see what was in the bathroom for herself.
No rodents or reptiles met her as she eased the bathroom door open. What she’d first thought was a large crack in the plaster was really a crude doorway. She’d been so worried about mice and spiders, she hadn’t noticed the back wall was made of drywall, but now it was plain to see. No attempt had been made to match the room’s crown moldings. There were gaps where the cheap materials met the original plaster. A print of the Eiffel Tower taped to the wall hid the upper door hinge, and the last stack of books she’d moved had been acting as a doorstop. In the darkness beyond the opening, the skittering noises were louder.
After another long moment of hesitation, she said, "Oh, for God’s sake” and yanked the makeshift door wide open. When nothing rushed her, she leaned cautiously into what she was already thinking of as the secret room.
The area behind the false wall was lined with metal racks and shelving, all packed with clothes bags and hat and shoe boxes. The cedar-scented air felt out of place in Delaney House. She’d found - what? Emma's secret stash of haute couture? With ten rooms on the upper floors to choose from, why had Emma created this hidden closet? Then Grace remembered her mother’s hidey-holes. The need to have a private spot where you could keep treasures safe. In Emma’s case, it looked as if clothes were her main concern.
She replaced a stack of books in front of the drywall door to keep it shut. Emma’s fashion stash could stay where it was for the time being. Grace was suddenly seized with the need to see the whole house. She’d poked around the woods and found a grave, dabbed at cleaning the house and found a secret room. What else was sitting right in front of her? Enough poking and dabbing. She wanted to see the entire property she’d bought from her grandmother.
She wanted to know everything. Besides, she told herself as she stomped down the stairs to the first floor, she’d already handled a dark, hidden room in a bat-infested house. She was ready to take on the basement.
The vine-covered windows let in enough light to allow her to move around old furniture and gardening implements. When the pull-cord for a single overhead light bulb brushed against her face, she shrieked and jumped a foot, but was happy for the additional weak light it spread around the former servant’s quarters.
The room under the kitchen and butler’s pantry in the main house appeared to have served as a large kitchen and gathering area for the household staff. A cast iron stove and a large brick fireplace with hooks for cooking pots shared the space with cast-off furniture and yard equipment. In fact, it appeared every gardener who had ever worked at Delaney House had tossed his tools down the basement steps.
Enough light spilled into the center hall to allow her to find her way toward the front of the house. She didn’t venture into the various rooms that opened off of the hallway but surveyed each one from the doorway. Nothing she saw encouraged further exploration. Gloom, more gloom and junk filled the spaces, which once housed the people who’d kept Delaney House operational. The door at the end of the hall was shut. Before she could lose her nerve, she stepped forward and opened it.
In the gray, filtered light from the street-side windows, she saw neatly stacked boxes lined up beside a long, wooden worktable. Other than two folding chairs, the rest of the room was empty.
“One room,” Grace said as she looked around. “One damned room out of twenty-four is clean and it’s in the basement.”
After her inspection of the basement, she roamed the entire property, making herself examine every area not still cordoned off by the police. Since she didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, it didn’t take long.
In nee
d of a break and lunch, she took a carton of yogurt to the first-floor quarter landing and settled down. The staircase was the only place in Delaney House that wasn’t covered in workers or grime or both. Her vantage point six steps up from the main floor gave her a view of the stained glass windows and raised-panel wainscoting in the front hall. So far, this spot on the stairs was her favorite place because it allowed her to believe she could pull off the renovation. And with her back against the wall, nothing could sneak up on her.
She didn’t want to share her discovery of the secret room until she’d gone through the clothes and personal items Emma Delaney had hidden away. She also didn’t want to rummage through any more dark corners of the dirty house, so she sat on the steps and tried to come up with a plan that was more appealing. She ran out of yogurt with no new ideas, only the need to keep moving.
The room behind the false wall turned out to be a cedar-lined and relatively clutter-free space that smelled lightly of lavender. She remembered Mosley’s comments about Emma being fond of sachets and felt ashamed of her cynicism. A wrought-iron floor lamp spread a warm light that eased her apprehension. Nothing moved and she could only hear the sounds of the workmen on the first floor.
Where to start? Garment bags lined the right-hand side of the room. On the left, shelves of hat and shoe boxes were organized by season and color. A light layer of dust lay over everything, but not as much as she had expected. On a whim, she selected a box labeled ‘Summer Straw 1958’ and found a boater style hat with a yellowed grosgrain ribbon. The Garfinkel’s label looked new, even though she knew the Washington landmark had closed years ago.
Other boxes produced cashmere and silks. Christian Dior, Lagerfeld and Chanel. All carefully wrapped in brittle tissue paper. She replaced everything the way she’d found it. Sealed furrier bags contained a mink jacket and two stoles with matching hats.
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