Letters in the Attic

by DeAnna Julie Dodson

  Alice shook her head. “Waste of a trip, if you ask me.”

  Annie knocked again, and the sound seemed loud inside the apparently empty house. “You stay here in case she comes to the door. I’m going to look around a little bit.” She went down the steps and made her way around to the side of the house, answering Alice’s protests with just a smile and a little wave.

  Someone here certainly loved the garden. Even though it was all falling asleep in preparation for winter, it was obvious that the grounds were carefully tended. Here in the back, the daylilies, phlox, lupines, bleeding hearts, and all the others must make a perfect riot of glorious color come springtime.

  Annie wandered down the flagstone path, admiring the well-maintained trees and shrubs, and the picturesque layout of the garden. It hadn’t been this way when she was here with Susan. At least she didn’t remember it this way. Susan had had a little patch of flowers that she enjoyed looking after. In fact, she had been quite particular about keeping it just so, but her parents had been too busy to do much more than keep their yard presentable. Susan would have liked it the way it was now.

  The yard was very large, stretching back to the woods and the creek that lay beyond. Annie drifted toward the farthest part of it, toward the little plot that was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. She remembered that fence, black and rusted in places, each picket with a spike finial on the end of it, discouraging climbing. It wasn’t a high fence, but it was enough. She and Susan hadn’t been brave enough to explore the little family cemetery back when they were girls.

  Annie unlatched the gate and opened it, smiling at the protesting shriek it made. There was no doubt that, thirty years ago, the sound would have been enough to send her and Susan both scurrying back to the house with shrieks that were only half in fun.

  She scanned the markers, picking out dates, calculating the ages of those who had died. Eli Morris, 1811. That was the oldest one she saw. There wasn’t another date to tell her when this Eli Morris had been born, so she didn’t know if he had died old or young, but there were others in both categories among the dozen or so graves. Most of them had been Morrises, but she also saw headstones marked Stanley and Childress and Marquette. It wasn’t a large plot, just enough to be shaded by a pair of large maple trees, but there was something stately and serene about it.

  Most of the burials seemed to have been in the nineteenth century or very early in the twentieth, but there was one from 1955, obviously the widow of a man who had passed away in 1908, and who had finally been laid to rest at his side. At the farthest corner of the enclosure, Annie noticed one large stone that was newer than the rest. It was dated 1989.

  Ellen Patricia and Jack Lawson Morris.

  Susan’s parents were buried here. Too bad there wasn’t a marker for Susan herself. Annie decided that, if she ever called him again, she’d ask Archer Prescott if there was a memorial for Susan somewhere. Maybe he had arranged something. Someone should have.

  With a sigh, she went back to the iron gate. Alice would have search parties out looking for her if she didn’t get back to business pretty soon. Just as she lifted the latch, she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone was over in the trees between her and the house. She could see a hint of pink and yellow behind the greens and browns.

  “Hello?”

  There was no reply, and Annie took a few quick steps forward.

  “Hello? Mrs. Maxwell?”

  For another moment, there was only silent stillness; then a woman stepped out of the trees and onto the flagstone path. Her dark hair was gathered into a short little ponytail, and she wore a gardening smock covered with roses, bright pink and yellow.

  “Did you want something?”

  She put up her hand, shading her eyes from the sun, not moving any closer.

  Annie came up to her. “You are Sandy Maxwell, aren’t you?”

  She seemed to be about Annie’s age, but she was taller and slimmer. With the sun the way it was, Annie couldn’t really tell what color her eyes were, but there was a certain undeniable anxiousness in them.

  “Did you want something?” she asked again. “Tom’s not here right now, but if you need some handyman work done, I can give him the message.”

  Annie smiled. “Actually, I came to see you. I was by here the other day and spoke to your husband.”

  “Was that you? Yes, he mentioned it to me. I hope he wasn’t too gruff with you. He doesn’t mean to be. We really don’t get into town much, though. I’m sure he told you.”

  “He did, but I still thought I’d come out and meet you. I haven’t been in Stony Point long, and I thought I’d just get to know everybody.”

  There was something wistful in Mrs. Maxwell’s eyes, but she shook her head. “Tom and I really don’t—”

  “Hey, there! Did you forget about me?” Alice hurried up to them. “You must be Mrs. Maxwell.”

  Annie took her arm, drawing her closer. “This is Alice McFarlane. I’m sorry, but I never did introduce myself. I’m Annie Dawson.”

  “Oh, um, yes. I’m sure that’s the name Tom mentioned to me. I’m sorry he wasn’t very welcoming that day, but we don’t get a lot of visitors, and he’d been napping.” Mrs. Maxwell smiled uncertainly. “He’s a good man. Really.”

  “Wally says he does a good job.”

  “Wally?”

  “Wally Carson,” Annie said. “He does most of the odd jobs around Stony Point, but he said if he was busy that we couldn’t go wrong with Tom Maxwell.”

  Mrs. Maxwell ducked her head, but there was a pleased expression on her face. “That’s nice of him. I think Tom’s mentioned him, too, come to think of it.”

  “You must be quite a gardener.” Annie glanced around the yard again, imagining what it would be like in the spring. “I bet it’s really pretty come April or May. It’s certainly different than it was when I used to come here.”

  Again Mrs. Maxwell looked shyly pleased.

  “I’ve made a lot of changes since we moved in. The people who lived here before Tom and me didn’t do anything much at all with the yard.”

  “It’s nice. And I’ve always liked the house. I love how solid it is, as if it’s been here forever and always will be.”

  Mrs. Maxwell smiled a little, and Annie could see now that her eyes were dark blue.

  “I’ve always liked it too. I mean, ever since we’ve been here. It’s a real home, not just a place to live.”

  “That’s what my friend used to say about it,” Annie said. “I always loved visiting.”

  Mrs. Maxwell’s smile faded, and again she shaded her eyes with one hand. “Tom said you knew someone who used to live here.”

  “Susan Morris. Her parents are buried over in your cemetery.”

  “Yes.”

  “You must take care of their graves, of all the graves, for them to look so neat.”

  Mrs. Maxwell turned toward the little fenced-in area. “It just seemed right, you know. I guess most of those people lived in the house at one time or other. Someone should look after them.”

  “And the house, too, right?”

  “The house too.”

  “I wonder how much it’s changed since Susan lived here. She always loved the place.”

  Annie waited, but Mrs. Maxwell made no reply. She didn’t even turn to face them again.

  “I guess gardening takes up a lot of your time,” Alice ventured. “Annie and I both do a lot of crafts, crochet and cross-stitch, and that kind of thing. Do you have any hobbies?”

  Mrs. Maxwell finally turned around, but she kept her eyes on the dormant grass at her feet.

  “No, I really don’t do any of that. By the time I’ve done the gardening and the housework, I really don’t—”

  “Sandy?”

  Mrs. Maxwell’s head jerked up, and her eyes got big. “I—I really have to go now.”

  “Sandy?” Tom Maxwell came around the side of the house, his large work boots eating up the ground between them in
short order. He glanced at Annie and Alice, and then at his wife. “I didn’t know you had company, honey.”

  She shrugged a little, and her lips trembled into an uncertain smile. “I was working in the garden, and they just dropped by.”

  “We thought we’d take just a minute to introduce ourselves. I know I came at a bad time the other day, but Alice and I—” Annie pulled Alice a little closer to her. “This is Alice McFarlane. She lives next door to me over on Ocean Drive. Anyway, we were just saying that—”

  “Look, Mrs. Dawson. That is your name, right?”

  Annie nodded.

  “Mrs. Dawson, I told you before, my wife and I don’t do much socializing. I’m sure you and your friend mean well, but we like our privacy.” Tom Maxwell fixed his dark eyes on them. “You can understand that, can’t you?”

  Annie bit her lip and nodded.

  He put his arm around his wife’s slender shoulders. “We like our privacy, don’t we, honey?”

  Mrs. Maxwell glanced at Annie and then looked away. “I don’t do any of that needlework stuff you were talking about, Mrs. Dawson. My garden keeps me pretty busy anyway. But thanks for stopping by.”

  Her husband squeezed her closer to him. “Is there anything else we can do for you ladies?”

  Annie shook her head. “We just wanted to introduce ourselves.”

  “Let us know if you decide you want company.” Alice handed Mrs. Maxwell the bag of cookies. “Annie thought you might like a homemade treat.”

  Mr. Maxwell took the bag from his wife, his expression more wary than appreciative.

  “We’re fine on our own.”

  11

  It wasn’t until Annie had backed her car down the long driveway and turned into the street that she or Alice said anything.

  “That was weird.” Alice’s eyes widened. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t go by yourself?”

  Annie grinned. “And you didn’t even see the graveyard.”

  “I can’t imagine living by a graveyard.”

  “It’s only a little one.”

  “Stop it.” Alice pulled her jacket a little more snugly around herself. “Besides, it wasn’t that kind of weird. Still, I don’t know about him. She seemed kind of jumpy when he showed up.”

  “Yeah, obviously. He about scared the life out of me, that’s for sure. I thought Mary Beth would keep him busy with her cabinets at least for the whole day.”

  “She did say that was scheduled for today, didn’t she?”

  “Definitely.” Annie took a deep calming breath. “OK. No big deal. He didn’t chase us off with a shotgun or anything.”

  “At least I gave her my business card. As my friend Rachel from Brooklyn says, ‘so it shouldn’t be a total loss.’ ”

  “You did?”

  Alice grinned. “In the bag of cookies.”

  “You just had to get in some kind of sales pitch, didn’t you?”

  “Seriously, I just wanted her to have some way to get in touch with us if she decides she wants to. I see what you mean about things being strange with her and her husband.”

  “I did expect him to be busy all day.” Annie frowned. “At least Mary Beth could have warned us or something.” She tossed her purse to Alice. “Where is my phone? I’m surprised she didn’t call me. She has my cell number.”

  “I don’t see it here.” Alice then dug through her own bag and pulled out her phone. “She might have called my phone. Uh-oh, it wasn’t on. Sorry.” She punched a few buttons and then held it to her ear. From her side of the car, Annie could hear the tinny message it played. “Alice, this is Mary Beth. I tried to reach Annie at her house, but didn’t get an answer. I hope you two haven’t gone yet. Tom Maxwell left the shop. He might be on his way home. Call me.”

  “Great.” Annie sighed. “So much for the cunning plan. What did I do with my phone? I’m sure I put it in my bag.”

  At the next red light, she started rummaging around under the car seat. Finally she came up with three quarters, a note reminding her to buy sunscreen, and her cell phone.

  “A lot of good you did me today,” she muttered before returning it to her purse.

  “At least we got to talk to Mrs. Maxwell,” Alice said, “so that much was a success. And even if things did feel sort of tense out there, she looked all right. She seemed healthy and everything.”

  “She seemed scared. I hope she didn’t get into trouble for talking to us.”

  “If she needed help, she would have said something before he got there.” Alice’s forehead wrinkled. “Wouldn’t she?”

  “I hope she would.”

  When they got back to Main Street, Annie pulled up in front of A Stitch in Time. When she and Alice came inside, Mary Beth hurried from behind the counter.

  “I’m glad you’re here. I tried to call you both. Didn’t you get my message?”

  Alice shrugged one shoulder. “I’m afraid I forgot to turn my phone on, and Annie’s fell out of her purse in the car. What happened, anyway? I thought it would take him a while to put those cabinets together and then install them. He’s not done already, is he?”

  Mary Beth pressed her lips together, and her eyes narrowed. “He hadn’t been working down there very long before he came up to tell me that all the screws are missing from the boxes. He can’t really get started on anything until the replacements get here.”

  “Can’t you just get some more from the hardware store?”

  “Evidently they’re a special kind made just for this company.” Mary Beth took a deep breath and then smiled. “It would be funny if it weren’t so irritating. I don’t know how one outfit could manage to do something wrong every single time I talk to them.”

  Annie patted her arm. “I’m sorry, Mary Beth.”

  “Oh well. There can only be so many things that can get messed up, right? It has to all work out eventually. Good thing you two came here before you did anything else. I was afraid you would be out at the Maxwells, and Tom would find you there.”

  Annie grinned ruefully. “That’s exactly what did happen.”

  “Uh-oh. Is everything OK out there?”

  “I’m not sure. His wife didn’t come to the door, and when I went around to the backyard, she was standing in the trees where I couldn’t see her.”

  “That’s strange. She’s not, um … different, is she?” Mary Beth asked. “I mean, poor thing, maybe she just has issues.”

  Annie shook her head. “No, she seemed perfectly rational to me. But she was nervous about something. Didn’t you think so, Alice?”

  “Yeah. Mostly about her husband showing up.”

  “That did seem to make things worse.” Annie considered for a minute. “I wonder if anybody in town is actually friends with him. Maybe I should talk to Wally, since they’ve worked together and everything.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Mary Beth said. “Though you know how men are. They can be friends for years and not know a thing about each other.”

  Alice made a face. “And good luck getting one of them to talk.”

  Annie laughed. “Now, now, you both know that’s not fair. My Wayne wasn’t that way at all. And every time I’ve been around Ian, he’s been very nice to talk to.”

  Alice and Mary Beth exchanged knowing glances, and Annie rolled her eyes.

  “Cut it out, you two. You know Ian and I are just friends.”

  Alice chuckled. “That’s not his fault.”

  “Just stop.” Annie turned to Mary Beth. “So when are the new screws for your cabinets supposed to get here?”

  Mary Beth sighed. “They don’t know. Evidently there’s a problem with them at the factory, and they have to be redesigned or something.”

  “But then you’ll have Tom come back, right?”

  Alice’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “You’re not going back out there!”

  “I didn’t get a chance to talk to Sandy. Not really.”

  “Annie …”

  “You saw her. Something is worrying h
er.”

  “Maybe that something is just none of our business. Did you ever think of that? Maybe her mother is sick, or she had an argument with her sister or something. Maybe her flower beds have grub worms, or her toilet’s stopped up.”

  “Her husband would fix that.” Annie grinned. “When he had time.”

  “Look, he made it very clear that they don’t like visitors. Maybe we should just respect that.”

  Annie put her hands up in surrender. “OK. OK.”

  For now.

  ****

  “Mom, please be careful.”

  Over the telephone, Annie could hear the concern in LeeAnn’s voice and could easily picture it on her face.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me, honey. Just because Mr. Maxwell likes his privacy, that doesn’t mean he’s dangerous. It’s been three days since I went out there, and I’m still in one piece.”

  “I don’t think I like you up there snooping around by yourself.”

  “You just don’t like me up here at all.” Annie bit her tongue and managed a more playful tone. “The boogeyman isn’t going to get me, you know.”

  “Mom.”

  It was LeeAnn’s “now that Dad’s gone, you need somebody to take care of you” voice. Annie appreciated the love behind it, even if it was sometimes confining.

  “Honey, I’m a big girl now. I can look after myself.”

  “I know, but there are some weird people out there. You should know that better than anybody.”

  “And I have a lot of good friends up here too. We all take care of each other and help when we need to. It’s only right that I try to help Mrs. Maxwell if I can.”

  “If she’s in trouble, maybe you should tell the police.”

  “But I don’t know that, honey. And getting somebody’s husband in trouble with the law isn’t usually the best way to make friends.”

  “Mom, if they don’t want you to come around there, and you don’t think she’s actually in trouble, maybe you should just leave them alone, huh?”

  Maybe LeeAnn was right, but she hadn’t seen Sandy Maxwell’s face. Behind the uneasiness, the woman had seemed hungry for a little companionship. If she and her husband had lived out there for almost a decade, keeping to themselves all that time, she must be dying to talk to someone, woman to woman, at least once in a while.