by Libby Howard
Both she and Henry darted off to the kitchen and I turned from the broken drawer, trying hard not to cry.
“Is it bad, Kay?” Judge Beck grimaced. “I can look up a professional cabinet maker and pay to have it repaired.”
“I’ll look at it later.” I forced a smile. “Right now, let’s just enjoy Madison’s cake.”
And enjoy it we did, each of us having a huge slice and practically licking our plates clean. Madison was glowing from our praise, and I was pretty sure that Daisy and I were going to be having cake for our post-yoga breakfast tomorrow because it was really that good. When we were done, Madison and Henry went into the kitchen to do the dishes while Judge Beck and I surveyed the broken drawer.
I picked up the two sides while Judge Beck picked up the silverware from the floor. It looked like they could be glued back together, but there were some broken parts.
“Let me find a cabinet maker,” he insisted. “It’s a beautiful piece of furniture, and I want to make sure it’s repaired with quality workmanship. Just put the pieces in a box, and I’ll take it to someone tomorrow.”
He was right. It really should be repaired by someone who would do a better job than me with some wood glue and rubber bands. I thanked him and gathered up the pieces while he took the silverware into the kitchen to wash. And that was when I saw it. Taped to the bottom of the broken drawer was an envelope.
A chill ran across my shoulders. I glanced up to see the shadowy spirit off to my side, what looked like an indistinct hand on the top of the sideboard. An envelope. The envelope. It was yellow and brittle. Across the front in a thin swirling hand, it said “Open only upon my death—Mabel Stevens”.
She must have retrieved it from Evie upon her husband’s—or Evie’s—death and hidden it in the sideboard. I was such an idiot. Mabel hadn’t been haunting the sideboard because it was a family heirloom, she’d been trying to tell us to look inside. Or yank one of the drawers out and look underneath it. My fingers itched to open it, but I wanted to read this in private. And I wanted to share it with Judge Beck.
I walked into the kitchen with the envelope in my hands and showed it to the judge.
“Is that….? Where did you find it?”
“Taped to the bottom of that broken drawer from the sideboard,” I told him. He tried to snatch it from my hands and I shoved it behind my back. “Uh-uh. Wait until the kids are in bed, then we’ll read it together.”
His eyes danced with excitement. “Time to go to bed, kids.”
They both shrieked in dismay. It took three more rounds of Old Maid and some hot cocoa before Madison and Henry finally headed up. While the judge was upstairs with the kids, I yanked a bottle of champagne out of the fridge and popped the cork, bringing it, two glasses, and the envelope into the parlor. Plopping down on the sofa, I poured the bubbly. I was pretty sure the contents of this letter were going to be heartbreaking, but it wasn’t the sad story I was celebrating, it was that we were finally going to find out what had happened. We’d finally discover the secret Mabel had kept for all these years. And hopefully, now that her letter had been found, Mabel would be able to find peace and forgiveness in eternal rest.
Chapter 21
I heard Judge Beck’s footsteps on the stairs and handed him a glass of champagne as he sat on the sofa beside me.
“Happy birthday.” I raised my glass in a toast.
He returned the gesture. “Yes, yes. Now hurry up and read the letter. I’m dying to know the truth about what happened with Mabel and Lucille.”
I took a sip and sat the glass down, sliding my finger under the flap of the envelope and easing out the thin sheets of paper.
March 10, 1926
Dearest Evie,
I know you think me a pure and beautiful person, but I fear that is not the truth. There are things I have kept from you because your love and friendship is something I could not bear to lose. If you are reading this, then it is because I am dead, and I must risk losing your respect to bring the truth to light.
Last year, I met a man and fell in love. I tried to forget him. I tried to stay away because he is married and to be the cause of a man’s breaking his marriage vows would be a terrible sin. I tried, but the flesh is weak, and I gave in to sin. It was me, not my sister who was caught in the arms of Silas Albright that night. I immediately returned home and confided in Lucille, who knew that she would be blamed instead of me. I was ready to confess all to Father and bear the brunt of his anger and punishment, but Lucille volunteered to do so in my stead. She has always been the stronger, the more independent twin, and she had plans to run away from home anyway. She had friends who would help her, and a beau that she intended to marry as well as an offer of employment—none of which Father would have ever allowed, as these friends and this beau, were all what he would consider low-class individuals. Because she intended to leave, and knew her actions would lead to being disowned, she offered to take the blame for being seen with Silas.
The incident made me vow never to see Silas again. I am not strong and independent like Lucille, and I do not have a way to support myself or friends who would take me in if it had been brought to light that I had been having an affair with a married man. I know you are thinking that you would have helped me, but you have family of your own to think of, and I would never have jeopardized your future with Howard by putting you in a position where you needed to choose between your spotless reputation and helping a friend.
I broke off all contact with Silas and became engaged to Harlen Hansen. He has been my most devoted and attentive suitor this year, and I felt that with him I could have a satisfying future. Within a month of our engagement, I discovered that there is a side to Harlen that disturbs me. He is jealous and possessive. He can be unkind and vengeful. As I confided in you, I broke off our engagement, but he would not accept that and neither would Father. Both were convinced that I was merely suffering from nervous anticipation, and they proceeded with plans for our wedding in spite of my protests.
A few weeks after I’d broken my engagement, I came upon Silas while out shopping. We spoke, and he confessed that he still loved me as much as I loved him. He told me that he had filed for divorce from his wife, and that he had secret hopes that I would elope with him once the divorce was final. Oh Evie, I am a weak woman. I fell into his arms, and we resumed intimate relations once more. Last night I very firmly repeated to Harlen that our engagement was indeed off, and that I would not marry him in June, or any other time.
He knew there was another man, and he told me that he had known it was me with Silas Albright that night and not my sister Lucille. He said he had overlooked it as a youthful indiscretion. He painted a bleak tale of what my life would be like with Silas, of how my father would disown me, how everyone in the town would shun me. He said that Silas would most likely lose his job, and that we would need to move elsewhere. The stain of his divorce and infidelity, of the part I’d played in it, would follow us everywhere. We would live our lives on the edge of poverty, in filth and squalor.
I listened, and I heard the truth in his words. I am not strong like Lucille. It would be difficult to live such a life, and the judgment and scorn of others would cut me deeply. Harlen promised me that he would marry me anyway, that he would forgive me what I’d done in the past with Silas as long as I broke off for good with him. He promised me a life of ease and luxury, a life where no one would look at me in scorn. He said he did not need my love to be happy, only my hand in marriage and my vow to be true to him.
I wavered in my resolve, and asked him to wait for my decision. Today, I have read in the papers that Silas is dead, beaten and robbed in the very park where we shared our love for each other. I might be a foolish young woman, but I cannot help but wonder if Harlen had a part in this.
I hope I am wrong.
Yours truly, Mabel
“There’s more,” I told Judge Beck, turning to the next sheet of paper.
May 19, 1926
Dearest Ev
ie,
I had been uncertain whether to give you the previous letter or not, as in the harsh light of day, my fanciful accusations of Harlen seemed farfetched. But as our wedding date draws nearer, I wonder once more if he orchestrated the murder of my Silas. My friend, I hate to burden you with this. It brings me great joy to see you and Howard together, to witness your love for each other. I am thrilled that you are expecting a child. Once again, I must remind you that I am not the pure woman you would think me to be as I too am expecting a child of my own.
I was uncertain for a while because monthly events for me are not always predictable and I am often overdue. A few weeks ago, I became convinced of my condition and spoke with Lucille. We meet often, in secret as both Father and Harlen would not approve. She urged me to not go through with the wedding, to come to her and that she would help me.
Evie, I am so weak. I am afraid I could not live as Lucille so happily does. I am afraid that as an unwed mother, I will need to spend my life living on the charity of others, in squalor and poverty. It isn’t just me that I fear for, but this child I carry. How could I subject a baby to that sort of life? But the alternative is to marry Harlen and deceive him that this child I carry is his. I have been a sinful woman, but that is a sin I cannot commit. Tonight, I plan to tell Harlen that I carry Silas’s child, and that I will not marry him. I know he will worry, for I think he truly loves me, and I know he will be angry, but I will leave him and go to Lucille and pray that God takes pity on an innocent baby born of sin and gives me the means to keep this child healthy and safe.
If I never see you again, I wish you, Howard, and your child the best. You are my dearest, most loved friend, and I cherish the times we have shared. If I die, whether by natural means or otherwise, please look to Harlen, for as much as he says he loves me, I worry that if he cannot have me, he will orchestrate events so that no one else in this world can, either.
Yours truly, Mabel
I took a big drink of my champagne, holding out the glass for Judge Beck to refill. “There’s a third letter,” I told him. “And I think this one is going to be the hardest to read of them all.”
He topped off his own glass. “I feel so bad for this woman, but at the same time, I’m relieved she isn’t the horrible person I’d feared. Her sister had volunteered to take the blame for getting caught with Silas. She’d broken off her engagement with Harlen before she’d taken back up with her lover. And it seems she’d told him about the baby and given him the option of ending their engagement.”
It was still tragic that Mabel was pregnant, her lover dead, forced to choose between marriage to a man she didn’t love and who she suspected had killed the father of her child, and excruciating poverty. Taking a deep breath, I sat down my glass, and began to read the final letter.
June 20, 1946
Dearest Eleonore, beloved child of mine and Silas’s heart,
I retrieved these letters after Evie’s death and nearly burned them, but I felt there were things you should know.
So many years have passed, and I still feel the weight of guilt. If only I had been stronger. If only I had trusted my intuition more. Two days before our wedding, I told Harlen about you and about my plan to leave and live with Lucille.
The next day Lucille was found dead in the Hostenfelder pond by their little boy. They claim it was a suicide, but I know better. I had just spoken with Lucille and she was as happy and sassy as always. She was murdered, and I am to blame.
I had planned to leave Harlen for Silas, and Silas was murdered. I had planned to leave Harlen and stay with Lucille, and now my sister has been murdered. It became clear to me on that day that Harlen would kill anyone who gave me an avenue to escape him. It also became clear to me that if I continued to refuse to marry him, he would most likely kill me as well.
You are my life. You are all I have left of Silas, and as I sat in my room the morning of my wedding, I realized that I had nowhere to turn. I could not risk my friend Evie’s life by asking her and her husband to shelter me, and I could not risk that Harlen would kill me, and thus also kill you, if I refused to marry him. For once in my life, I needed to be strong.
So, I went to Harlen and I told him that I would marry him. I told him that I would remain faithful to him and not break our marriage vows until death we parted. My only condition was that he raise you as his own child, that he never voice the accusation that you were not his own. He agreed, arranging for me to leave the state during my pregnancy to hide that you were older than you should have been. He also arranged for the falsified birth certificate.
He murdered your father. He murdered your aunt. But I made sure he never laid a hand on you. I may have been a weak woman, but the moment you were born, I had to become strong for you.
Eleonore, I love you so, and I am happy you have found love in a good man like Maurice and have a brave and kind son. Matthew reminds me of Lucille in so many ways.
May God have mercy upon my soul. I’m to blame for two murders and I will never forgive myself.
I love you with all my heart, Mother.
Tears were blurring the pages as I sat them down on the coffee table.
“Oh, Mabel,” Judge Beck said, his voice husky. “You are not to blame for two murders. Harlen Hansen is to blame, and if this had come before me in my courthouse, I would have sent him to jail. You were honest and truthful to him, and he treated you like you were a possession to own, murdering those who stood in the way of his having you. I’m sorry you spent your life with that man. I’m sorry you lost Silas and Lucille and had to endure being married to a murderer just so your daughter was raised in comfort.”
A chill blasted through the room, and I saw her—the ghost of Mabel Stevens. Her shadowy form came into the parlor, for the first time leaving the sideboard and the dining room. Then right before my eyes, she transformed into that nineteen-year-old beauty in the silk dress with her sleek dark hair and cupid’s-bow mouth.
“Thank you,” she whispered to Judge Beck. Then she smiled and faded away, the chill leaving the room with her smoky outline.
“Did you…did you see that?” I asked the judge, unable to believe that he could possibly have missed the woman who’d stood before him, as clear and as solid as she’d been in real life.
He turned to me with a puzzled frown. “See what?”
Chapter 22
I stood by Lucille’s grave marker and watched as Matt walked through the uneven ground of the cemetery. Mabel’s ghost hadn’t returned. It seemed that having her letters found allowed her to finally rest in peace, but I wouldn’t feel the story had ended on her life until her grandson saw those letters and read them.
“Odd place for a date,” he commented with a smile when he reached me.
“No dates,” I told him, deciding I needed to be totally clear about the nature of our non-relationship. “Friends don’t have dates, we just get together and drink coffee or do yoga, or work on charity fund raisers.”
“And evidently friends hang out in cemeteries,” he teased. “I take it you’ve asked me here to introduce me to my great-aunt Lucille?”
I extended the envelope. “Yes, and to give you this. It was taped to the bottom of a drawer in the sideboard. These were written by your grandmother, Mabel.”
He took them and read the three letters in silence. I knew when he got to the last letter, the one addressed to his mother, because he had to brush a hand across his eyes.
“I wish we had known earlier,” he said, folding the letters and carefully putting them in his pocket. “I wish she had told us while she was still alive, then we could have let her know that there was nothing to forgive. How could she have felt such guilt over this? She wasn’t the one who murdered Silas and Lucille. She’d never deceived Harlen. And she loved my mother—loved her enough to marry a man who was most likely a murderer just to make sure she wasn’t a bastard child starving on the streets. What is there to feel guilty about?”
I’d expressed the same things
to Daisy this morning during our yoga, and my friend had opened my eyes to how young girls often feel when they’re trapped into making the best of many bad decisions, how they often blame themselves and second guess what they did or didn’t do.
“Because she was honest and never deceived Harlen, two people died,” I told Matt. “If she had snuck out in the middle of the night and run away with Silas, the scandal would have hit before Harlen had a chance to do anything, and it’s possible Silas wouldn’t have died. And if she’d just run off with Lucille, been a no-show at her wedding, then her sister wouldn’t have died. Because she told Harlen that she was leaving him, she felt to blame for Silas and Lucille’s deaths.”
Matt nodded. “And even though she did everything in her power to make sure my mother had a wonderful life, I’m sure for an honest person like my grandmother, the deception weighed heavy on her.”
“She had nothing left but your mother,” I told him softly. “She was all that was left of her and Silas’s love. And you read how you reminded her so much of her sister, Lucille.”
Matt walked over, putting his hand on the grave marker beside my own. Poor Lucille. Spirited and brave. Independent and gutsy. She had a job, was happily living with friends, was going to be married, and it all ended in one night. There was so much we’d never know—who Harlen paid to kill her, how the murderer managed to get her to meet him at the Hostenfelder pond. I was a bit surprised that all this hadn’t come to light over the years, that Harlen hadn’t been blackmailed by the man who’d done the deed, because I was sure he hadn’t killed these two people with his own hands.
A man like Harlen Hansen had friends, like a judge and people on the police force. And perhaps he made sure the guy, or guys, he hired to kill Silas and Lucille left town, or died mysteriously themselves.