Jean sighed, shaking her head. “I’m afraid you’ve been watching too many movies, my dear. This city is starting to rub off on you.”
“I need better light.” Sara carried the box indoors, and the others followed. She set it on the dining room table, where the light from the chandelier bounced off its polished, shiny surface. The curved lid was beautifully inlaid with pale satinwood, with ornate flowers around the edges. In the center, it was adorned with two prancing horses facing each other. The wood of the box was pristine, except from the bottom to midway up, where it had ugly stains.
“Is this from the water damage?” she asked.
Jean nodded.
On the lower right side of the box was a large gap where the wood had cracked, extending to the base like a scar, where it traveled on for another four inches.
“May I open it?”
“Of course.”
There was no lock. Sara carefully opened the box. It was empty. The wood on the inside was smooth, except for the ugly gap in the side and bottom. Her attention was drawn to the lid. The curved lid was closed off, with different sections of wood. In the middle was another horse. It was beautiful craftsmanship. “So pretty…” She was mesmerized.
“It is.” Jean stroked the wood lovingly. “It’s antique—walnut—from the 1850s. In its original state, it must have been absolutely exquisite. In your dream, it seems to belong to Alice. I’m not sure how it ended up in my mother’s basement. It should’ve ended up in yours.” She looked at Phoebe.
Phoebe shrugged. “Maybe Theresa inherited it.”
“I guess.”
Sara closed the box again. “It’s beautiful, but I still don’t understand why I keep seeing Eleonore breaking the box.”
Phoebe placed an arm around her. “Maybe it’s not about the box. In any case, you can find out tonight. Please do, because this is trying my patience. It’s getting late. You ladies want to call it a night?”
They cleaned up the dirty dishes and Estelle trotted off with Jean, disappearing into her room. Sara remembered the slobbery wakeup call the last time she was here and wondered how Jean would take to that in the morning. She cast a final glance at the box on the table. “Maybe it’s not about the box...” Hovering her hand over it, she could almost hear it hum. “I think not. I think it is all about the box. If only I could figure out why…”
She turned off the light, leaving the chest behind in the darkness.
Chapter 25
The little girl is bouncing down the stairs, singing. Her red curls bob up and down. Her arms are full of stuff—a doll and a box of some sort—it looks like a miniature treasure chest made out of shiny wood. When she is almost at the bottom of the steps she trips, barely keeping her balance, and the box flies out of her hands. It lands with a crash on the floor. The lid opens, but the box appears to be empty.
“Oh no!” the girl cries.
She hurries to the box. “Oh no, it’s cracked,” she says, examining the outside of the box. “How will I tell Mother?” The girl pouts her lips and frowns. “Eleonore,” she says in her whining Alice-voice, “you are too wild. Look what you did! I told you not to play with my belongings!”
Sara focuses on getting closer. Something is resisting, holding her back. Something cold. Pushing hard, she manages to take a few steps in the direction of Eleonore.
The girl sighs and looks at her doll. “I guess I’m in for another scolding, Violet.”
Eleonore’s small hands are touching the lid. The box must have been more damaged than she thought, because there appears to be something loose. Something is sticking out—a piece of paper, perhaps? The girl tucks it in again. Her hands are quick, and Sara can’t quite figure out what she is doing. Eleonore closes the box and picks it up.
“Eleonore? What was that noise?” Julia appears in a doorway down the hall.
“Nothing, Aunt Julia. I just dropped something,” the girl says. Softly she whispers to her doll, “Let’s talk to Aunt Julia, Violet. Maybe she can help us deal with Mother.” Then she sets off again, skipping down the hall toward Julia, and disappears through the doorway.
Chapter 26
It took a while for Sara to remember where she was. The ceiling was not familiar, and in the distance, she heard a dog yapping.
The dream! She leapt out of bed and hurried downstairs. The smell of coffee was drifting out of the kitchen, and she could hear the other two women’s voices—and Estelle’s nails clicking on the hardwood floor. Ignoring their greetings, she paced to the table where the box was sitting, pointing to it.
“There’s something with this box. I’m sure of it.”
Phoebe and Jean came up to her.
Jean shook her head. “Not sure what that would be. The box is empty.”
“Here, have some coffee.” Phoebe handed her a cup. “Helps me think.”
Still glaring at the box, Sara took a gulp of hot coffee.
“You know, I don’t think you can stare the secret out of the box,” Phoebe said with a serious expression. “Besides, what makes you think there’s something we’re missing?”
“I had another dream last night.” Sara picked the box up from the table and sat down on the sofa. Estelle gave a yelp, flew off the sofa, and ran out of the room.
Phoebe slowly put her coffee cup down on the table. “Now that was strange, bordering on creepy.”
“I told you—there’s something with this box.” Sara opened the lid again and looked at it more closely. What had Eleonore done with it? The inside of the lid was closed off by a flat surface comprising several small panels of polished wood, divided by thin and shallow decorative slits. In the middle was a framed rectangle of different colored wood. The frame was sticking out, as if it were fastened on the panels of wood, highlighting the image within—a horse rearing on its hind legs. Sara stroked the horse delicately with her finger. Examining the frame, she softly jiggled one of the sides. It was solid. She moved on to the next. To her surprise, it ever so slightly gave way. She gently asserted some more pressure on the piece, afraid she might break it. But it moved outward, gliding perfectly over the slit between two panels.
“Oh no—what are you doing?” Phoebe had watched Sara move the piece. “Is it broken?” Everyone at the table was now at full attention.
“No,” Sara said thoughtfully, “I don’t think it’s broken.” She pushed the next part of the frame. It gave way and smoothly slid outward, just like the first. She went around, pushing each side outward. Then she pulled the lid itself into an almost closed position, with one hand inside the chest, and caught the rectangular piece as it fell out. When she opened the chest again, there, on her right hand, rested a little wooden box. The room was dead silent as everybody stared at it.
Sara looked at Jean. “A secret compartment.”
“My goodness…!” Jean said, sinking down on the sofa. “I had no idea!”
“Is there anything in it?” Phoebe was rocking on her seat, sitting on her hands, as if to prevent herself from lunging forward to look for herself.
“Let’s find out.” Sara flipped the box over. The inlaid horse piece was at the bottom. The box had a curved lid, made to fit perfectly inside the lid of the bigger chest. “Here goes nothing…” She slowly opened the box, revealing a red velvet lining—and a picture. She took it out. It was an old black-and-white picture of three girls, shoulders touching, neatly dressed and smiling at the camera. She immediately recognized two of them, both younger than when she had seen them. On the left was Julia, the youngest, still a girl—a teenager, perhaps—with ribbons in her hair. In the middle was Alice—a different Alice—a beautiful, healthy-looking Alice, who would have drawn all the attention in the room just by simply being there. Her smile was radiant, coy, and confident. Her eyes expressed just a hint of suggestion—and of promise. A girl who had reached the cusp of womanhood. Sara could understand why William had fallen for her. Then there was Theresa; at least, she assumed it was Theresa. Already a young woman, looking rathe
r plain next to the brilliance of her younger sister, giving the camera a shy smile.
Sara placed the picture on the table and pointed the women out to Phoebe and Jean. Her finger lingered on Alice. “This girl… what happened to her? This is not the Alice I saw—merely a shadow of the girl you see here.”
Jean pulled the photograph toward her. “Illness can do that to you.” She touched the picture. “They look so young.”
Phoebe pointed back to the little box. “There was something underneath that picture.”
They all looked down at what appeared to be a folded envelope.
Jean gasped. “A letter! And very well preserved, from the look of it.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Phoebe was ready to snatch the envelope out of the box but changed her mind at the last moment. “You do it,” she said to Sara.
Sara reached to take the envelope out, but when she touched it, she pulled back. “Ouch!”
“What is it?” the two other women asked in unison.
How to explain it? She knew the sensation—like blistering cold. There was no question as to whom this letter was from. And he did not want her to read it. “I think this letter is from William. Maybe someone else can read it?” It was more of a plea than a question.
“I’ll do it. He was my great-great-grandfather after all.” Phoebe took the letter without any sign of discomfort. The envelope had been neatly opened at the top. Phoebe carefully pulled out one sheet of paper, slightly yellowed with age, but not too brittle. She examined the writing. “This was written by someone else. I don’t recognize the handwriting.” She scanned to the bottom and then looked at Sara with wide eyes. “You’re right, it is from William! It’s so creepy how you did that. How did you know?”
Sara’s hand still felt like an icicle. “He feels cold,” she whispered. “Very cold. It’s more than that, though. I know he’s dead, but he also feels dead—like his heart died. I can’t really put it into words.”
“Devoid of love?” Jean suggested.
“Yes. Exactly. There’s no warmth—only the negative emotions are left. But mostly emptiness.”
Phoebe held the letter between her fingers as if it were something her kids had thrown up on. “I hope it’s not contagious,” she mumbled. “Definitely less excited now.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, get on with it.” Jean held out her hand. “If you won’t, I will.”
“All right, all right.” Phoebe started reading.
San Francisco
April 1906
Dear John and Theresa,
You must have heard about the horrifying earthquake and fires that raged afterward, laying waste to our beautiful San Francisco. Our house is gone. The fires have consumed it. The destruction is unimaginable. I cannot begin to tell you how utterly horrible these past few days have been. So much death and suffering…
We were able to get out safely. At least, most of us were. I do not know how to tell you this. Brace yourselves.
Our dearest Julia is no longer with us. There, I said it. My mind is still in complete turmoil. I do not know exactly what occurred. We were evacuating—she lingered in the house to get a few last items. I waited for her, but since time was of the essence, I soon went inside to retrieve her. That’s when I found her, collapsed on the floor, unresponsive, not breathing. Whether it was fear or hysteria that caused her heart to cease beating, or some underlying physical illness, we shall never know. Being alone, I could not carry her with me. I had to leave her behind—God help me. There is nothing left to find but ashes. We are devastated. Not to mention the two dear boys. They are orphans now.
We have been able to find refuge with friends in Oakland. We are well, but Alice is in shock and not making much sense. I know Julia had communicated to you before about Alice’s health. It seems to have taken a turn for the worse. She is often talking to herself these days and seems to be hearing and seeing things that are not there. The other morning, we found her wandering the yard without proper clothing. She needs better care than I can give her here.
All the events have taken a toll on the children as well. I must therefore request whether it might be possible to have Alice and the children stay with you for a while, at least until I can make better living arrangements. Please let me know if you give your approval, and I will take care of the transportation as soon as possible.
Yours truly,
William
There was a short silence.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but that was rather anticlimactic.” Jean sniffed indignantly. “I mean, she died, while a fire was raging toward her… of hysteria? What the heck? Seriously?” She met the gaze of the others. “Am I the only one who thinks this is total BS?”
“I didn’t know you could cuss,” Phoebe said, blinking a few times.
“Now you know,” Jean grumbled, her cheeks splotchy from anger. “Who believes that nonsense? She just keeled over, and I had to leave her, so she burned. Sorry…”
“I agree, it’s a little too convenient. I don’t buy it either.” Phoebe put the letter back in the envelope. “I wonder why it was in here.” She pointed to the box. “The secret compartment, I mean. And not with the other letters.”
“Good question,” Jean said. “I assume Theresa put it there. She may have wanted to keep this letter safe but out of sight. Maybe because it details Julia’s death—as well as Alice’s deteriorating symptoms. Although Eleonore knew about the compartment, so I’m not sure who she’d be keeping it safe from. Servants, perhaps? Or maybe she doubted William’s story?”
Deflated, Sara kept quiet. She was disappointed not to find more of a revelation—she had been so certain the box would hold the answer. They really did not know much more than before she had found the compartment. Except that William was lying through his teeth. “Maybe I’ll dream it up in the end,” she said. “Although I don’t want to dream about that horrible man anymore.” With a sigh, she put the photograph back in the box and got up. “I’m going to change into my bathing suit. I’ll see you in a bit.”
After some splashing in the pool, Sara felt better. Not having any real plans, the trio settled for a walk on the beach, a pedicure, going out for lunch, and doing some shopping. Later in the afternoon, they all went back in the pool for a quick swim. Lying on a comfortable lounge chair and sipping a gin and tonic was a pretty good life, Sara reflected. She put a towel over her face to shield it from the sun. The water fountain was trickling and the wind had picked up a little, the rustling of the palm trees an almost musical background. Soon she dozed off.
Slowly, the cart takes off, a small procession joining the last stragglers on the street. Sara hears a sobbing voice come from the cart: “Mother, I want Mother, where is she?” Sara watches the cart grow smaller and the voices drain away. Frederick stops one last time and turns around, his worried face pale and smudged, staring at the house they are leaving behind. One of the girls yells for him to keep moving. He hesitates a few seconds longer before turning around and trotting after the cart.
Sara turns back to the house. She is alone. William has gone inside.
This time, she follows him into the house. Downstairs is empty. She can hear noises coming from upstairs. Screaming. She goes up, hearing William’s voice clearly now.
“Julia! Julia! Wake up!”
She enters Julia’s bedroom, where William is kneeling in front of Julia. Julia is on the floor and appears to be unconscious. William shakes her, yells at her. There is no response.
His eyes fall on the pewter cup next to her body. Hesitantly, he picks it up, staring at it with a dazed look on his face. “What—no—what is this doing here? I gave it to her. You shouldn’t have… No!” He throws the cup against the wall; it bounces off, leaving a dent in the wallpaper. His shoulders sag. He caresses her lips, set in a mask of stillness. A tear rolls down his cheek as the reality sinks in. “I finally muster the courage to do it, and I fail. I saw her finish her drink and offered to bring her a seco
nd one—such a convenient opportunity. I know you would’ve disapproved. I tried hard to be a good husband, you know, but I couldn’t bear it anymore. Nobody would’ve questioned it. Just too much of the good stuff, they’d think. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to be you,” he says softly, his face contorted with pain.
William tries to lift Julia up, almost buckling under her weight. He falls to one knee and puts his forehead against hers. “I can’t bring you—I have to leave you here.” He struggles to lift her up again and lays her on the bed. Giving her a last kiss, he turns around and walks out of the room without looking back, taking the cold with him.
There’s a soft humming in the room, coming from the direction of Julia’s bed. It moves closer, surrounding Sara like a swarm of butterflies. Then it stops, dissipates. The room feels empty now. Not a soul stirring. Only Sara, and it is time to go. Slowly, the room around her fades, until there is nothing left.
Chapter 27
When she opened her eyes, she thought for a moment that it was already dark. But it was only her towel. She took it off her face. Dusk had not yet set in, but the sun was gone, shaded by ugly-looking clouds that had blown in. It looked like it might rain.
Sara sat up. What a strange dream. The moment the thought hit her, she jumped out of her chair and went looking for Phoebe and Jean. They were inside, working on dinner.
“Guys! Guys, I know what happened! To Julia, I mean.” She practically jumped up and down.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Tell us already!” Phoebe pushed her into a chair.
“He did it. William,” Sara said, not without pride.
“We figured that…” Jean said, unimpressed.
“Yes. But it’s not how you think. He tried to kill Alice with a poisoned cocktail. But Alice shared her cup with Julia. When he found Julia, she was unconscious—I think he presumed she was dead, or dying, and so he left her. He was devastated—he wanted Alice gone, so he could be with Julia. It all ended up going the wrong way.”
A Dose of Deadly Intentions Page 14