by Jenny Hale
By the time Leah had checked all the drawers, the nightstands, and under the bed, she was losing hope. Nan, who always wrote notes and letters, who wrote her will by hand—had nothing to say to her granddaughter from this room. Maybe she’d have been okay with Leah selling her half. Without Nan here to guide her, she had to go with her head and trust herself. But she was going to check every nook and cranny to be sure there wasn’t something that would lead her in a different direction. Leah went to the closet and opened the door: clothes hanging in neat rows above shoes in their shelves. The pain in her ankle was so great that she had to sit down. Nothing. No clues anywhere.
* * *
Leah managed to avoid David the rest of the evening yesterday. She hobbled downstairs quietly, late at night, and got herself something to eat, then took it back to her room, locking the door. She didn’t want to see him. She really just wanted to go home, but his offer to have one final family Christmas was what was keeping her here.
This morning, she’d managed to get to the kitchen and back before he was up. She sat on the bed with a bowl of cereal, her swollen ankle propped on two bed pillows, and her phone in her hand. She felt like she couldn’t move from that room. She was paralyzed by the situation. After a taking a bite of her cereal, she set the bowl beside her and texted Roz.
He’s a selfish bastard, Roz replied, after Leah had told her the deed was done.
While Roz always erred on the harsher side of things, Leah, too, was disconcerted by it all. She texted back: He has lived without this house for thirty-odd years. Why does he think his connection is stronger than mine?
Roz’s response floated onto her screen: He doesn’t deserve it, Leah.
After she’d finished her conversation with Roz, she lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, her mind completely blank. She let the familiar scent of the bedspread and pillows comfort her. She noticed the large, ornamental crown molding at the ceiling. It had been painted over many times, the white paint settling in the nooks and crannies of the design, but the original hand carving of it was still visible. She thought about the time it must have taken to carve all that wood, and the precision needed to make the pattern uniform along the whole thing. Usually there was a beam of light from the window that shone along one of the corners, illuminating the joint where the two pieces came together. It was hidden somewhat in the gray winter morning light. She’d wanted to put caulk up there but just never mentioned it.
There was a quiet knock on the door, and she sat up. She wasn’t ready to see David yet. She had nothing to say. But then, a small envelope shot under the door and came to rest on the hardwoods next to the area rug. When she could hear the footsteps moving away, Leah gingerly pulled her bad leg across the bed to the edge and stood up. She limped over and picked up the envelope, recognizing Nan’s handwriting immediately as she read David’s name on the outside. It was the same lacy stationery that Nan had used to write Leah’s letter. She took it over to the chair in the corner of the room and sat down.
Her hands were shaking as she pulled the paper from the envelope and unfolded it. Dear David she read. You will not understand this now, and I’m sure it will be a complete shock to you since we’ve never discussed it, but I feel it in my heart—I’m giving you half of Evergreen Hill. You will share it with my granddaughter, whom I’m sure you remember, Leah. She went on to read a similar statement about regrets, her heart in her throat.
There had been no confusion in Nan’s mind when she’d rewritten the will. It was clear now. David hadn’t had a part in it in any way. David’s stories about growing up at Evergreen Hill and his mother’s sadness about losing it must have affected Nan the way they had Leah. Nan must’ve thought Leah had enough income to make the joint ownership work—after all, Leah had never mentioned her money worries to Nan.
With no reason to be set against him, Nan saw just what Leah had that first night: David was kind, funny, and thoughtful. Nan, always seeing the bright side of everything, probably figured they’d work something out.
In the end, it was nobody’s fault but her own that she had hidden her financial problems. David was a good guy. He deserved something nice for his mother, and his connection to the house was undeniable. Leah sighed. She knew her anger with him was rooted in things not working out the way she’d planned, rather than based on the facts of the situation. Nan had wanted them both to have Evergreen Hill but their visions for its future meant joint ownership just wasn’t an option. David was giving her a huge amount of money. He was being generous.
Chapter 9
“Did you keep in touch with her?” she asked David once she finally felt like she could talk, the reality setting in. She needed answers about Nan. She wanted to understand Nan’s side of things. She looked down at the coffee she’d made, waiting for his answer, her leg propped up on the kitchen chair beside her to keep the swelling in her ankle at bay.
“I hadn’t seen Nina since I was young. I was only reunited with her about six months before she died.” He stirred his mug of coffee and brought it over to the table, sitting down across from her.
“Six months?”
“Yes.” He took a sip of his coffee, the silence settling in the air between them. The kitchen was particularly cold this morning, but it seemed to be the right spot to talk. She didn’t feel very emotionally comfortable at the moment either. She traced her finger along a grain in the table—David’s table.
“That seems so brief to have inherited half the plantation,” she said, more thinking aloud than to him. Worried her mug might make a ring, she set it on the placemat like Nan had always done.
“That must seem… I don’t know how that seems, but I didn’t have a hand in this. My inheritance was entirely Nina’s idea. It was as much of a surprise to me as, I’m sure, it was to you.”
“And how is it that you’re staying here?” she asked.
“I’d stopped by to see this place when I was looking for somewhere to live in town. I’d found a house, but it wasn’t going to be ready for six months. I mentioned it to Nina, just in conversation, and to my surprise, she suggested I live here and rent a room until the house was ready.”
Things were starting to come together in Leah’s mind now.
“She was planning to introduce me to everyone at your family Christmas.”
“Oh,” she said, wondering what that day would’ve been like if Nan was still here. “Were you at the funeral?”
“No. I was in Chicago on business,” he said, his expression downcast. “I was training someone to take my place when I left my job. By the time I got back I had to be filled in by the neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins. I was floored.” He looked down at his hands.
Muriel Jenkins had spoken to Leah at the funeral. They were good friends, and Nan often had her over for lunch. It was Muriel’s turn to host, but Nan hadn’t shown up, so she went over to Evergreen Hill to check on her. The door was unlocked, and she let herself in. That was when she’d found her in her chair. Just like she was sleeping.
Leah nodded, and they both sat for a moment in this new reality. Nan had surprised her a lot in the last few weeks.
“What do you think Nan meant about regrets? She said it to both of us, but to me she was always such a positive, forward-looking person.”
David nodded. “Do you know anyone named Samuel Patterson?” he asked.
Leah shook her head.
“She didn’t mention him ever?”
“No. Why?”
“Nina got me to send a letter to him for her.”
“She did?” she asked. “What kind of letter?”
He set his mug of coffee down. “When I got back from Chicago, I found two letters in my room: one was the letter I slipped under the door. The other was addressed to Samuel Patterson. It was just a thin envelope like mine, already sealed and stamped with a note asking me to please mail it for her.”
“Do you know what it said?”
He shook his head. “Like I said, it was sealed—not th
at I’d have looked.”
“Do you remember the address on the envelope she left you to send?”
“I’m sorry. I was really upset that I’d missed her funeral, and the house was so empty without Nina, I didn’t pay attention to those kinds of details. I was sort of on autopilot, still in shock.”
“I totally understand. Did she ask you to mail any other letters?”
“No. Just that one.”
She looked around the room, not really processing her view, but thinking. At the funeral, Muriel had mentioned how sudden and unexpected Nan’s death had been. She hadn’t mentioned any sort of note or letter, and given how close she was with the family, and how much she usually shared with them, she probably would’ve said something. Even Leah’s mother and uncle hadn’t received any kind of letter—her mom had told her so in an attempt to help relieve her grief when she’d called her on the way to Evergreen Hill. She’d said, “You know your nan thought the world of you if she took the time to include her own words with your inheritance. She loved you so much.”
So as far as Leah knew, Nan had written three letters, and one of those was to this mystery person.
“I’m so curious about what was in that letter. She wrote everything down. She must have an address book somewhere. Where was she writing it, do you know?”
“I wasn’t here. Maybe at the writing desk in the parlor? I saw her writing things there sometimes.”
“You’re right.” She got up, careful not to tweak her ankle as she walked gingerly toward the hallway, David right alongside her. They entered the grand parlor, which had been used by Mr. Truman, the original owner, for weddings and family gatherings. Nan had used it as an indoor space for corporate meetings as well as weddings if the weather didn’t permit the use of the grounds. At one end, she had a rosewood piano, a book of music still propped up from the last time she’d had someone play. Nan always kept books of period music, and when there were events, she’d hire someone to play in the background.
Along the far wall, sitting on an oriental rug, was a complementary upholstered rosewood sofa with matching chairs flanking the space. At the other end was Nan’s writing desk along with an enormous glass-doored bookcase.
Leah pulled the handle of the narrow drawer on the writing desk and peered inside. She thumbed through the vintage magazines that were there.
“Any luck?” David asked, leaning over her shoulder.
“No,” she said shaking her head.
“How about that bookcase? Would it be in there?”
Leah opened the door, its hinges groaning with their age. The glass was original, with imperfections giving it a wavy look like the kitchen window. She took a peek at the spines of the books that were there. “These are all period books,” she said. “Nan would scour second-hand bookshops and antique stores to find just the right ones—I remember. She hasn’t put anything in here that’s younger than nineteen hundred.” She turned around. “Where would she have put an address book?”
Again, Nan wasn’t giving away her secrets.
* * *
When David had gone upstairs to finish a little work, Leah decided to call her mom. “Have you ever heard of Samuel Patterson?” she asked after a quick hello.
“Wow. I haven’t heard that name in a long time. He was a friend of your nan’s when we were little.”
“A friend,” she clarified. It was a statement more than a question because she thought Nan would’ve mentioned a friend who was important enough to receive a letter like that. “How long did Nan know him?”
“She worked for him at a college when we were young. I was in elementary school. By the time I was around eleven, we’d moved to Evergreen Hill, and she’d left the job. Why?”
She told her mother what David had said and was surprised to hear that her mother knew nothing else at all. After she’d gotten off the phone with her, Leah called her uncle, but he had a similar story to her mother’s—someone she’d worked for. He did remember instances where they’d gone to dinner or stayed out together, but he’d always figured it was something to do with work.
She decided to check the boxes that she’d once seen in the attic, to see if she could find any more clues. She’d always wondered what was in them. Perhaps, if this Samuel hadn’t been in Nan’s life for a while, she’d have moved things up there. But when she opened them, Leah found only old hats and handbags, a couple of boxes of vintage magazines—she thumbed through them—and another box full of old film reels. She took them out, one by one, and read the descriptions, but none of them seemed to be something that might have this friend in them—old weddings Nan had thrown on the property, a tour of the servants’ quarters, and the construction as they banked off the property from the James River.
Leah went to bed that night still wondering about Samuel. If she’d been able to see Nan at the end, would Nan have told her anything about him?
Chapter 10
When Leah awakened the next morning, it was as if her brain had been on pause. She sat up quickly in bed, realizing she hadn’t checked the closet in Nan’s room to see if there was any sign of her connection to Samuel Patterson. Leah hobbled down the hall and went straight in before she’d done anything else.
She opened the closet again and rifled through the clothes. She got on her knees, careful of her ankle, and inspected the shoes in their racks, and when she did, she noticed a small trunk at the very back. Curious, she leaned in and scooted it forward until she could open the lid.
Inside, she found all sorts of things—books, picture frames with photos of various family members, scrapbooks from when Leah’s mother and uncle were young, some baby items. But what caught her eye was an enormous stack of letters, tied together with a blue satin ribbon. She reached into the trunk and pulled them out, setting them in her lap, holding her breath.
She flipped through the envelopes—they were all addressed to Nina Evans and their return addresses were all the same name: Samuel Patterson. Leah clapped a hand over her mouth, her heart pounding. She shut the lid of the trunk and slid it back into place. Then she closed the closet door and tucked the letters under her arm. She might have never heard that name before, but Nan must have wanted to keep the memories since the letters were in there. She couldn’t wait to see what they said.
She took them back to her room and sat down on the bed, untying the ribbon that held them together. Nan had put them in date order by their postmark, she’d noticed. She opened the first letter and read:
Dear Nina,
I wish I knew if you were all right. It keeps me up at night. I miss you terribly. Things aren’t as hard as you think they are. I can make them easier. Why did you leave me without a word? It has broken my heart…
She looked up, her mind racing. Who was this person? She continued to read the letters, but the more she read, the less she understood what was going on. This Samuel Patterson had clearly had romantic moments with Nan. In one, he’d even said he loved her. Yet she’d never mentioned him.
As quickly as she could, pushing herself through the throbbing in her ankle, too excited to worry about the pain, she hurried out into the hallway, noticing the door to the sewing room, where David worked, was shut. She limped down to it as fast as possible, the letters bundled under her arm, and knocked quietly on the door.
“Come in,” he said.
She pushed the door open. David was sitting at Nan’s sewing table, beneath her bulletin board full of unusual fabric squares, their ragged edges waiting to be stitched together. He was wearing glasses—she’d never seen him wear them—and facing his laptop. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your work, but, when you get a chance to take a break, I found out who Samuel Patterson is.” She waved the letters in the air.
David stood up immediately and walked toward her. Then he stopped and really looked at her, the corner of his mouth going up in amusement. It was only then that she realized she was in her red Christmas tree flannel pajamas, and she hadn’t looked in the mirror since she’d
gotten up.
“Should we read them over breakfast?” he asked.
He was dressed, showered, shaved. She wanted to run her hands through her hair, rub her face, straighten her pajamas, but she didn’t want to be obvious. From the flush she felt across her neck she was pretty sure David already knew what she was thinking.
“That would be nice,” she said. “I’ll just… freshen up.”
“I got some muffins at the market when I was out last. We can have those. Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, please.”
Leah raced to get ready, just dying to read more of the letters and find out about this man whom Nan had kept a secret all these years. She tugged on her curls, pulling them back into a loose ponytail, and then washed her face and added some powder and lip gloss. When she’d changed and was generally presentable, she grabbed the letters and headed downstairs.
This time, she was surprised to find that David had set out the plate of muffins on the coffee table in the sitting room by the fire, and he’d already made her coffee the way she liked it. Holding the letters, and feeling like Nan had given the two of them a little nudge, she sat down, feeling quite a bit more relaxed.
He sat down beside her and handed her the mug. “Thank you,” she said with a smile. Then, over coffee, she filled him in on the letters she’d read. She set the rest of the envelopes between them.