by Adele Whitby
Early in the morning, as the sun was beginning to rise, I sat up in bed and wrapped my arms around my knees. I wish I could’ve known her, I thought, feeling especially sad that Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine had died before I was born. There was so much I wanted to ask her; so much I longed to say about her sacrifices and her bravery—but she was gone forever.
Or was she?
Mom always said that she felt close to Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine in her rooms in Vandermeer Manor; that was why Mom had never dismantled them. Maybe I could visit Katherine’s rooms right now—this very night!
Without making a sound, I climbed out of bed and took my flashlight out of my bedside table. Then I pulled on my bathrobe and slippers before I tiptoed out of the room. I didn’t want to wake anyone so early, especially after the night we had had. Mom kept a spare set of keys to Vandermeer Manor in the drawer of the telephone stand; they winked at me as they reflected the sunrise spilling through the windows.
I opened the door and stepped out into the cool, clear morning. I could hear the lonely echo of waves crashing on the shore. I started running through the dewy grass toward Vandermeer Manor, my heart thundering in my chest. I’ll just go for a few minutes, I told myself. No one will even know that I left.
Instead of entering through the grand front doors, I hurried to the back of the house, where there was an old wooden door hidden by a curtain of ivy. Almost nobody knew about this little-used entrance to the East Wing, but it was the fastest way to get to Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine’s rooms. The skeleton key fit perfectly in the tarnished lock; a half turn and the door swung open. It was that easy to get inside.
The flashlight’s beam was dim and wobbly, but it was enough to guide my steps. I moved quickly through Essie Bridges’s old rooms, pausing just once at the bookcase where I’d discovered the valuable Charles Dickens books. A smile crept across my face. Thank you, Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine, I thought.
Inside Katherine’s room, I turned on the tiny light on her desk. There was something sacred about this place, where all of Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine’s possessions lay exactly as they had when she was alive. I breathed in deeply. Was that her gardenia-scented perfume I could smell, still hanging in the air?
I ran my finger along the polished edge of the mahogany writing desk, imagining all the letters Katherine had written to Elizabeth there. Then I peeked inside one of the drawers and found a leather-bound agenda with 1917 stamped on the cover in gold ink. Her last datebook, I realized, remembering that she had died in January 1918. I turned each page slowly as I marveled at the details of Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine’s days, written in her own hand.
February 1917: BBS meeting. Kathy most effective as chairwoman. A pleasant afternoon.
April 6, 1917: Painted in the garden. Essie’s young friend visited. Brought her much joy!
June 30, 1917: Kate chaired another meeting of Bridgeport’s Red Cross chapter. The girls rolled enough bandages to outfit a hospital! So proud of my great-granddaughter.
Sometime in August, the daily entries became weekly; and then there was nothing written for two months. She was slowing down, I realized sadly.
November 29, 1917: Thankful that Alfie is too young to fight in this dreadful war.
After I read the last entry, I wandered over to a narrow bookcase. It was crowded with dozens of books, including several slim volumes in worn leather covers. They had to be very old. As You Like It . . . The Tempest . . . A Midsummer Night’s Dream . . .
William Shakespeare’s plays, I thought, smiling to myself as I pulled All’s Well That Ends Well off the shelf. It looks like a complete set. If only they’d been initialed by the author, too!
I’m not sure what made me check inside the front cover. I didn’t really expect to find W.S. scrawled there by a quill pen.
I definitely didn’t expect to find the same C.D. that was written in the Charles Dickens books, though.
A frown crossed my face. That’s strange, I thought. Why would Dickens have initialed these books? That doesn’t make any sense.
Unless . . . he hadn’t initialed the other books, either.
Unless . . . we’d made a terrible mistake.
I brought several books over to the desk so that I could examine them in better light. In each one, I found the same initials, no matter who the author was. With every book I opened, my doubt grew.
Slowly, as if in a dream, I reached for Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine’s agenda. I scanned the pages quickly, checking each entry for capital letters. The C, I had to admit, was a definite match for my great-great-grandmother’s handwriting. But her D’s didn’t match at all.
Then I spotted one of her L’s.
It was identical. Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine’s L’s were so loopy that one could be mistaken for a D.
C.L., I thought numbly. Chatswood . . . Chatswood . . .
Chatswood library.
I groaned. It all made sense now, in the worst way. Before leaving Chatswood Manor, Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine had taken some of her favorite books from the library and packed them among her things. What better reminder of home, I thought, than a favorite book you’ve read again and again? Perhaps she’d meant to send them back. Or perhaps she’d simply wanted to always remember where they came from. Either way, there was no doubt in my mind that she’d written the initials C.L. in each book that she’d brought with her from the Chatswood library.
Which meant that the Dickens books we’d sold to the man at POB Enterprises were certainly not worth a fraction of what the buyer had paid for them. The money that Mom and Dad had used to pay off the debt was based on a lie.
It had never been our intention to swindle him.
But that was exactly what we’d done.
If I tell, I thought anxiously, if I tell . . .
The investor might want his money back.
Mom and Dad might default on the debt.
And I might have to part with the Katherine necklace to make it right—this time for good.
The terrible secret lay heavily on my heart as I closed up Vandermeer Manor and walked through the morning mist with Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine’s datebook and one of the Shakespeare plays tucked under my arm. Back in my room, I crawled into bed, tucking the datebook and the play beneath my pillow for safekeeping. Then I cupped the Katherine necklace in my hands. Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine, I wondered, what would you do?
But I already knew the answer to that, didn’t I?
At some point I must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, bright, midmorning sunlight was streaming in the window, though Betsy, for once, was still sleeping. I blinked my eyes a few times. Had last night—had my entire birthday—been a dream? It was hard to believe everything that had happened was real.
But there was the Katherine necklace hanging around my neck, sparkling in the sun.
And—I reached under my pillow—there were the books I’d taken from Great-Great-Grandmother Katherine’s room.
A deep sense of acceptance—of peace—settled over me as I held the datebook to my chest. I knew what I had to do.
“Good morning, Kay,” Betsy said in a sleepy voice. “What’s that?”
“Good morning,” I replied, only a little surprised by how calm my voice sounded. “It’s, well—I’ll tell you in a minute. Hurry up and get dressed. I’ve got to talk to Mom . . . and you and Aunt Beth should be there, too.”
Betsy’s eyes opened wide. “Now you’ve got my attention,” she said as she threw back her blankets.
A few minutes later, we found Mom and Aunt Beth sitting in the kitchen, enjoying their morning tea.
“Good morning, girls. You two are up early,” Mom remarked.
“I have something to show you,” I said.
I put the datebook and the play on the table. And I told her everything. No one spoke as first Mom, then Aunt Beth, and finally Betsy compared the initials in the play to the writing in the
datebook.
“Yes,” Mom finally said. “I’m inclined to agree with you, Kay. I do think this is Great-Grandmother Katherine’s handwriting. Your theory about the initials standing for Chatswood library is as likely as anything else I can think of.”
“What are you going to do?” Aunt Beth asked bluntly.
Mom put her hands in the air, palms up. “What can I do?” she asked. “What choice do I have? I’ll call Vivian and tell her that we made a mistake.”
“The buyer didn’t care if the initials were verified, though,” Aunt Beth pointed out. “Surely he knew he was taking a risk by insisting on such a fast sale.”
“That’s true,” Mom replied. “But if he really didn’t care, he won’t ask for his money back. Disclosing this information is the right thing to do.”
“It’s so disappointing,” Betsy said in a quiet voice. “I really thought that everything was going to work out so well.”
Mom smiled wistfully at her. “So did I,” she said. “But this is just another bump in the road. Say, that gives me an idea. Why don’t I ask Vivian to set up a meeting with POB Enterprises in New York? Then we can explain the situation to him face-to-face. If he does want his money back, we’ll have to move faster than we expected, since Dad already paid off the debt in full. We’ll . . . I don’t know, accelerate the sale of the town house or—or—”
“Let’s cross that bridge if we come to it,” Aunt Beth said, placing her hand over Mom’s. “Go ahead and call Vivian, and we’ll start getting ready for our trip.”
I followed Mom into the entryway. Before she picked up the phone, I touched her arm. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said.
“For what, sweetheart?” she asked. “You did absolutely the right thing. Alfie’s shady dealings and dishonest practices led to the trouble we’re in now with Vandermeer Steel. Your father and I are determined that its recovery will not chart the same course.”
“If I’d kept it a secret—”
“No,” Mom interrupted me, shaking her head. “I’m proud of you. And I know that Great-Grandmother Katherine would’ve been, too. Now, run along and find Shannon, and ask her to come see me at once.”
“Yes, Mom,” I replied. Then I hurried off to Hank and Shannon’s cottage. I had to knock three times before Shannon came to the door, disheveled and flustered, with Clara behind her.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Am I interrupting?”
Clara opened her mouth to answer, but Shannon spoke instead. “Not at all, Miss Kay. What can we do for you?”
“Mom would like to see you right away,” I said, still looking at Clara, who wouldn’t meet my eye.
“Of course,” Shannon said as she stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind her. By the time we got home, Mom was just hanging up the phone.
“Kay, Shannon, excellent,” Mom said, beckoning us into the living room. “We’ve got a lot to do and very little time. Shannon, we’ll be traveling to New York tomorrow on the first train.”
Shannon began scribbling furiously in her little notebook.
“I expect we’ll be there for two or three days—maybe four,” Mom continued. “We’ll stay with Kathy and Katie at the townhouse, of course. So a traveling suit, three day dresses, and perhaps one evening dress for each of us ought to suffice. If you and Nellie could help us pack today and, of course, accompany us—”
“Mrs. Kate, I apologize for interrupting,” Shannon finally said. “It would be my pleasure to help you and Miss Kay get ready for your trip. But if it’s all the same to you, might Nellie attend you in my place?”
Mom raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Of course, Shannon. Is everything all right? You always enjoy a trip to New York City.”
Shannon nodded, smiling. Were those tears shining in her eyes? “Forgive me, Mrs. Kate. I’m a bit sentimental this morning. You see, my Clara has decided to take a position as lady’s maid to Mrs. Morgan in Boston!”
No! I thought in dismay.
“Oh, Shannon!” Mom exclaimed. “Was this expected? I always thought that Clara wanted employment at Vandermeer Steel.”
“The offer came a few days ago,” Shannon explained. “I didn’t mention it because Clara was so dead set against it. But last night, she changed her mind.”
Shannon paused to look at Betsy and me. “I think it was what you did to bring the Katherine necklace home, Lady Betsy,” she said. “Last night, Clara said—she said, ‘Mum, I’m ready to do my part.’ And I tell you, Mrs. Kate, it was like she’d finished her growing up right before my very eyes.”
“You must be so proud of her,” Mom said. “As we all are! Yes, Shannon, of course you must stay to help Clara get ready for her big move. When does her new position start?”
“Sooner than I’d like,” Shannon admitted. “Mrs. Morgan wants her to begin in less than a week! It will be a mad flurry to get everything ready in time, but I think we’re up for the challenge.”
“Of course you are,” Mom said firmly. “Now, I want you to draw up a list of anything that Clara needs before she moves to Boston. We won’t be able to give her the send-off she deserves, but Joe and I want to do something special for her before she goes.”
“And so do I,” I said, speaking for the first time since I’d heard the news. I smiled as broadly as I could, but a deep sadness was settling inside my heart. Clara would be gone in less than a week, and Betsy a few weeks after that.
Life would be very lonely without the two of them.
We left before dawn the next day, crowded into the back of the car with our trunks while Dad drove us to Providence to catch the earliest train to New York City. Dad gave me an extra-big hug before we boarded the train. If he was worried about the outcome of our meeting with the buyer for POB Enterprises, he didn’t show it.
Shannon had packed some blueberry muffins for us to eat on the train, but I was so sleepy that I kept yawning between bites. I’m not sure who fell asleep first, but Betsy and I didn’t wake up until we arrived at Pennsylvania Station, right in the heart of New York City. After we got off the train, Aunt Beth stood very close to us, with her hands on our shoulders, while Nellie saw about our luggage and Mom found us a taxicab. I was glad that Aunt Beth was there. Even though I’d been to New York City before, the frenzied bustle of the big city always took me by surprise.
Mom appeared then, adjusting her hat as Nellie and a porter wheeled our trunks behind her. “I think I’ve gotten everything settled,” she said. “There’s a taxi waiting for us at the curb. Hurry! I don’t want him to find another fare before we get there!”
Luckily, the taxi was still waiting right where she’d left it, and the courteous driver maneuvered through the crowded streets to bring us to the Vandermeer brownstone on Park Avenue.
“Here we are, ladies,” the driver announced. “May I carry your trunks inside for you?”
“Yes, please, that would be greatly appreciated,” Aunt Beth replied as she fumbled in her change purse for the fare. Suddenly, the door beside me opened with a whoosh.
It was Aunt Katie and Great-Aunt Kathy! They were really my great-aunt and great-great-aunt, but they insisted I call them by the same names as Mom did. I grinned when I saw them there—Great-Aunt Kathy looking as dignified as ever with her ivory-tipped cane and ostrich-plume hat, and Aunt Katie wearing a dove-gray dress the exact color of her hair. They’d been in New York for three weeks already, and I’d missed them every day.
“Oh my dears, my dears!” Great-Aunt Kathy cried as we climbed out of the taxi. “You’ve arrived!”
“We’re ever so glad to see you!” Aunt Katie exclaimed as she kissed my cheeks. “Happy belated birthday, Kay!” Then she turned to Betsy and held out her arms for a hug. “And what a pleasure to meet you, Betsy. Kate told us all that you and your mother did to recover the Katherine necklace. We’ll forever be in your debt.”
Betsy ducked her head shyly. “It was the least we could do,” she replied.
Aunt Beth stepped forward. “I’m so glad to see you bo
th again,” she said as she kissed my aunts.
While Aunt Katie showed the driver where to leave the trunks, the rest of us sat in the parlor, which had been stripped of nearly all its furnishings. Only a few chairs and a lamp remained.
“You have been busy!” Mom remarked as she glanced around the bare room.
“We were grieved to miss your birthday, Kay,” Great-Aunt Kathy told me. “It was very considerate of you to bring the celebration to us instead.”
“We’ve ordered a cake from François,” Aunt Katie said excitedly. “Now, Kate, you mustn’t scold us. We had a bit of money and we thought, what better use than to make a little party?”
“I wouldn’t scold you,” Mom said with a gentle smile.
“There is so much to celebrate,” Great-Aunt Kathy said. “And, of course, we hope to be home in time for the grand birthday ball in a few weeks.”
Celebrate? I thought. What on earth does she mean? We were on the verge of losing every cent we’d earned from selling the books—and perhaps the Katherine necklace, too. Celebrating was the last thing we should do.
My confusion must’ve been obvious, because Great-Aunt Kathy reached for my hand. “I can see you disagree, little Kay,” she said. “But you’ve got to look at the situation from a different angle. A new perspective is as easy to try on as a new hat, you know. Tell her what we have to celebrate, Katie. Go on.”
“Well, Kay’s twelfth birthday, of course,” Aunt Katie began, ticking each reason off on her fingers. “Seeing dear Beth and meeting the lovely Betsy. The chance to bid our New York home a fond farewell. And, of course, the return of the Katherine necklace, when we thought we’d never see it again.”
“Come here, child,” Great-Aunt Kathy said, holding a wrinkled hand out to me. “Let me take a closer look.”
I obediently crossed the room and stood before her. She nodded approvingly, a wistful smile on her face.