Charlock's Secret

by Leah Moyes

  I placed the bookmark into the spine and bit my lip. Perhaps I had not given Trenton the benefit of the doubt. So far, all of our arguments stemmed from money. Maybe beyond that, there was a sensitive side hidden somewhere under his stiff charade. He did leave me alone all week. He sent Gretchen up daily to see if I needed anything. And not only brought me food, the night of his dinner party, but he also invited me to it. Well, sort of, I interpreted the invitation as more of an “I feel sorry for you” offer, but he still didn’t have to. As I recognized these small gestures of kindness, it made me almost regret the way I spoke to him earlier . . . almost.

  Trenton moved to leave.

  “Do you have a favorite author?” The words came out before I realized it. What am I doing?

  He stopped short before he reached the door. “Unfortunately,” he answered tentatively when he turned around. “I’ve never been able to narrow it to one.” His smile only lifted on the right side. It was an uncommon look for him. I smiled back, then closed my lips tightly together. Do not let this charming cover beguile you! I reprimanded my mind. He has had years of training in alleged cordiality.

  “But,” He continued, “I have a strong possibility.”

  Between the time I’d been in this home in both the current time and in the past, I grew addicted to this room, the library, and its contents. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. Trenton suddenly lost his desire to “retire” and in the dim light, he pointed to a far corner.

  I recognized it as the place where he kept his favorite books, the locked case I tried to peer through once before. He produced a key from underneath the Shakespeare bust and picked up one of the many candles nearby. Lately, I preferred a flame over the strain of modern-day illumination. When he returned, he clutched what appeared to be an ordinary, undecorated book and eagerly sat down.

  Instantly he stood back up as if he’d committed some great sin. “Forgive me, may I sit?” He asked.

  I nodded, still surprised we’d conversed this far without hurling offenses.

  In the last week, the hesitance in his demeanor threw me off. This was a side I would’ve never guessed he had bottled up in those expensive suits of his.

  He shortened the distance between us to show me the delicate detail of the engravings found on the leather-bound cover. The powerful scent of his aftershave distracted me.

  The way he handled the book was like a child anticipating a great treasure. He noted the frail condition of this antiquated text with unusual energy. Seeing the scratchy cursive inside, reminded me of the night I wrote the letters with quill and ink. This had to be the result of a similar tool. As Trenton turned each page, faded dates stuck out more than others. This book is a handwritten journal. My eyes widened to the possibility.

  Without thinking, I placed my hand over Trenton's to force him to pause. Though something stirred from the touch, it paled in comparison to the words that suddenly jumped off the page.

  25 November 1878

  My first day in London, having received word from father to join him without delay. Mother no longer left her bed in the infirmary. A harrowing affliction surged through every fiber of her being and she could barely acknowledge my presence. Doctor Duncan expressed himself in true form only to myself and father. He insisted we not share these concerns with Elizabeth and Abagale yet, but recovery seemed all but possible. The infection has overtaken her.

  I could hardly believe what I was reading.

  27 November 1878

  The girls arrived today. It has been heart wrenching. Mother is no longer conscious, and they wept unceasingly. We should have requested them earlier, but father insisted against it, I believed differently. They should have been allowed to see her and express any sentiments they desired. She went still at 738pm. I will no longer be able to smell the sweet scent of jasmine or hear her angelic voice sing “The Siller Crown” or “Sweet is the Budding Spring of Love”

  My heart remains crippled. Charlock will never be the same without her.

  Shoulder to shoulder now, I took the book and cradled it in both hands. When I gently moved back to the inside cover, my breath held tight. The name Merritt Charles Gilford appeared.

  “Everything all right?” Trenton asked. He seemed taken aback by my sudden attentiveness.

  “I—I, uh,” confounded, I stuttered.

  “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” Trenton pointed to the years the journal covered. 1875-1880. “Only in his twenties, his challenges transpired in print.” I remained speechless, though I was sure he could hear my rapid heartbeat. “This is the journal of my third great-grandfather, Kat.” Trenton said this as if I didn’t know who Merritt Gilford was. Even as his curator, I not only knew the name, I knew much, much more. Trenton added in a reverent whisper. “He is one of my favorite authors of all time.”

  I wanted to grab his shoulders and tell him that Merritt embodied more than that. I wanted him to know that this great ancestor exceeded all he believed—that he was not only strong, honorable, and good—he was real. My skin became the only thing that kept my spirit from shouting my eyewitness revelations and consequentially facing inexplicable humiliation. I cannot share what happened . . . I could barely comprehend it myself.

  “In these pages—” Trenton’s eyes lit up with unexpected intensity, and I found myself drawn to every word that came out of his mouth. “—he was young, so full of heart and conviction. He faced some of the most critical decisions of his life in these few short years.” Trenton stood up and walked over to the picture of Merritt's mother set above the fireplace. He looked up at her and spoke with obvious admiration. “He writes of how the influence of family, even friends, molded his character.” Trenton turned to me. Paralyzed in the place where he left me, I couldn’t even form words.

  “You accused me of disregarding my legacy,” He said. I blinked uncomfortably. “but, honestly, I could never do that. This,” he held up the book, “this is my navigator.”

  “Then why sell?” I countered softly, treading precariously close to opening Pandora’s Box again, but his intensity warranted an answer.

  “My family isn’t in a structure made of concrete, they live in here.” He pointed to his heart, “and here.” Again, he referred to the journal. “I have read it a couple of dozen times, and yet, additional things jump out at me every time. It’s a legacy I can only hope to parallel.”

  My eyes fluttered in disbelief until I shook my head with clarity. “I still don’t understand why you have to sell, Trenton.”

  “Should it really matter where I live as long as I take all that they stand for with me?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “If we believe that a building holds more value than a belief, then what happens to us if the building crumbles or is destroyed?”

  I was grateful for the shadows, afraid Trenton could see my building emotion. Only, when I attempted to brush at a stray tear, he stopped short.

  “I’m sorry, Kat, I can sometimes be a bit overwhelming. Did I upset you?”

  My thoughts blurred together. Merritt’s journal . . . Trenton’s . . . I’m not even sure what to call this. “No.” Was all I could muster, and even then, it slipped out barely audible.

  “You asked a simple query, and I solicited an oratory.” Trenton laughed at himself.

  Still stunned silent, I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt.

  “Did I frighten you?” Trenton searched my face.

  “No. I don't mind at all,” I whispered truthfully. “I just haven’t seen this side of you before . . . actually there's only one side of you I’m familiar with.”

  “The business side,” he answered quickly. I nodded as he continued, “not a particularly pleasant side, I confess.” I nodded again, then quickly stopped. I’m sitting here telling my boss he’s kind of an arse and we aren’t fighting about it—a very strange night.

  “But if this is how you really feel, why didn’t you tell me the first time I asked?”

  “I didn’t know you,” he justified. “
I realize I still don’t, but now I know you care about my family as much as I do, and that deserves the truth.”

  Another tear discharged slowly.

  The calm was cut by an announcement outside. The bride and groom were called for their first dance as husband and wife. This, being the first wedding in what I thought was over six months, I wondered if the temptation of my old habit still drew me towards the window.

  My eyes shifted between Trenton and the glass, though his eyes never left me. I fidgeted anxiously with my skirt, then smoothed my business jacket repeatedly. Trenton placed the journal on top of the mantle and held out his hand. “Would you do me the honor, Kat?”

  Petrified, I gasped. I gave him the wrong impression. My anxiousness was not about whether I wanted to dance, it was about whether I could keep myself from going to the window and starting up that sadistic routine, again.

  No matter how good he looked or smelled or laughed, no matter if he said all the right things tonight, I suddenly felt winded. How could he take this moment away from me? I wanted to be angry at the happy couple; I wanted to be envious and bitter, but somehow, he’d made me forget about the wedding and now wanted me to engage in it.

  “No, I can't—” I scrambled to my feet. An instant barrier formed between us. His face fell, his smile disappeared. I fumbled around for my heels. I had taken them off when the night began. Oh, forget about the stupid shoes. I avoided his face when I grabbed my novel and hustled out of the library. Once through the doors, I rushed to hide in a nearby corner. My attempts to get composed failed, and my cheeks, drenched with tears.

  There was no reason Trenton would come after me. In fact, I hoped he didn’t. By now, he most likely believed the only thing I’m good at here in Charlock is arguing or running away. Glancing at my shaking hands, I realized the fear that consumed me now bore an unfamiliar sting.

  Trenton Gilford sat next to me on the couch, shared his personal thoughts about his family, and he was kind. He no longer reflected the heartless figure I believed him to be. That’s what scared me. Tonight, my perspective had been altered, and what astonished me the most was how Merritt played a minor role in that just like I had for him.

  I wiped the sweat from my forehead. Whatever happened there, I couldn’t let it continue. It wasn’t like Merritt. With Merritt, I believed my flirtations weren’t real, that they were only a game with no repercussion, but here . . . Trenton is real . . . very real.

  Stop it Kat. It was only a dance. He didn’t ask you for marriage. He didn’t even ask you out! I shook at the idea that his simple conversation rocked me. Trenton shared a part of himself tonight that I didn’t even know existed, and I found that side of him suddenly very desirable. The thoughts, the stirrings—something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  From my sheltered view, I followed Trenton's movements through the door. He picked up the journal and tucked it under his arm. When he turned to blow out my candles, the look on his face tore at me. A sadness that reminded me of Merritt. One that appeared the day we’d been confronted by Josiah and informed of his forthcoming responsibility.

  After Trenton left the library, I emerged from the shadows. Meandering the dark hallway towards my bedroom, the events of the night rattled like marbles in my head. Maybe there is more to Trenton than I’ve seen. The fire in his eyes and the passion from his heart surfaced so unbridled when he spoke of Merritt’s legacy. No doubt, he spoke the truth, but to see how it inspired him, and exposed him, left me mystified. Shocked by the possibility that tonight may have been a peek into the real man hidden behind those portfolios, I panicked.

  Regardless of the enlightenment, my innate ability to flee may have ruined any future possibility of testing that theory. I fell to my bed, allowing a limitless number of scenarios to spin in my head.

  Ultimately, I conceded. He is my boss. Here to sell Charlock, and most likely packing as we speak. The last of the paperwork went to a courier this morning. Trenton had no reason to stay. And the most shocking thought of all was that, up until thirty minutes ago, I couldn’t wait for him to leave.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  At breakfast Sunday morning, the table was set for one.

  I cringed at the sight of it. Mostly because I had made such a poor impression this week and wanted a chance to rectify it.

  “Good Morning, Helen.” I stuck my head back through the kitchen door.

  “Mornin’ doll.” She pulled a large slab of meat onto the counter and began chopping it into sections.

  “Helen?” Chop! “Did Mr. Gilford leave,” Chop! “for . . . the day? Or…” Chop!

  She let the butcher knife rest for a bit. “He didn’t say, except he wouldn’t need anything from me.”

  “Oh, okay.” My voice dropped enough for her one eyebrow to raise.

  “Everything peachy, love?”

  I forced a grin. “Peachy.” And closed the door.

  We never scheduled a tour the day after a wedding in case something needed to be repaired or the clean-up took unusually long, so I had a whole day with nothing planned and nobody to do it with. Normally I wouldn’t have cared, but today, it felt strange. I experienced blank days before, even before the paperwork took up all my time, but today the emptiness hung like something felt amiss.

  The rain clouds destroyed any chance to venture to the river, and with no office work to do, I meandered about the house like a lazy cat. I wasn’t a fan of cats really, but they seemed to be content doing absolutely nothing. I wanted to find that kind of peace on a day like today, but even when I passed the library, its usual lure lacked the strength to draw me in. Instead, I opted to explore.

  I stopped first in the classroom. My hand skimmed over the chalkboard. According to Pauline’s records, it had only been replaced twice in all those years. A lengthy piece of white chalk still sat intact in the cubby next to a well-worn eraser. Oh, how I loved those days with Lizzy and Abby as I taught French and geography, math, and science.

  What was the purpose of all that? Did I really make a difference? Unsure if what I learned from the Gilfords was intended for me, or for them, I toyed with the idea that maybe I came back too soon and missed the actual reason for my journey.

  My mind raced. Sitting on the bench next to the window, the deluge outside blurred my sight and hypnotized me. I cracked one side of the pane open and stretched my hand out to catch the large raindrops in my palm. My thoughts unintentionally switched to Trenton.

  Did he leave for good? Will our mechanical Monday morning conversations resume? Will I see him before the house sells and changes ownership? Will I have a chance to prove I’m not the crazy, flighty, angry woman he’s been around?

  Resisting the desire to slip up to the master suite for confirmation of his absence, I moved to the ballroom instead. The room, although spectacular precisely how I remembered it before my fall, carried a loneliness I had not noticed until now. Images from the night of the ball flashed before me. Each turn I made, a unique vision emerged—the dancers, the quartet, the banquet delicacies, Lizzy, and Merritt. At the end of my spin, something caught my eye in the corner. As I moved closer, I recognized the same chaise I spent the night on when Merritt showed me the beauty of a lightning storm. I laid down, scanning the ceiling for the angels. Although time had faded their glory, a wide smile reached my face as my finger followed their route towards heaven again.

  Once unleashed, my recollections whirled wildly. Watching the artist paint the portrait, sending the family off on their picnic, the Truth or Dare game, playing the piano, punching Margaret in the eye—a smile formed quickly from that one—then suddenly a curious inquiry developed.

  I scurried from the ballroom, up the stairs, and to the bedroom, I kept when I functioned as the family governess. This room had never been part of the regular tour, so I had little recollection of it before my fall.

  I flipped on the light. However, the moment I entered; emotion seized me. The bed, wardrobe, and windows flooded my mind with memories. The fir
st time Merritt entered, and how many times Lizzy’s squeal and laughter filled this space. Though I wanted to believe it was the same bed I slept in, it was hardly conceivable 132 years later. But I sat on the edge anyway and brushed my hand across a similar spread.

  Glancing around, tears filled my eyes as I remembered the panic I felt. I was trapped in a time I couldn’t understand or leave. And while I’d spent so much time trying to figure out a way back to the future, I realized, right now, my heart ached to return to 1878.

  I peered at the long mirror in the corner and recalled the time I gazed upon it, preparing for the ball with sweet Abagale nearby holding her doll and the breathtaking gown Lizzy offered. The gown! I pulled the wardrobe doors open. An old dusty smell consumed my senses. Covering my nose with my sleeve, I examined each of the contents that hung on the rack. Over a dozen dated pieces covered in clear plastic. One by one, I pushed them aside. When I came to the end, a thick garment cover remained. Untying it down the front, my eyes teared up at the familiar tint of blue that peeked through. It’s my dress! Over a century old and right before my eyes. I pulled it from the wardrobe and set it on the bed. Removing it from the plastic, my fingers traced every detail. Though the fabric appeared aged, its preservation exceeded my expectations. I cradled it to my nose and inhaled deeply. Though the scent of the ball no longer lingered, the garment felt connected to me. Replacing it in the wardrobe, I opened the drawers and laughed out loud at the contents. They were full of stockings, garters, slips, and corsets. It had become someone else’s stash as well.

  I spent the rest of the day and most of the night on that bed in contemplation. My thoughts continued to bounce between the past I fell in love with, my current confusion and the pending sale of Charlock . . . and somewhere in between, I had to find it in my heart to let it all go.