Spring House

by Taylor, Mary Ellen

  Her curiosity was too great not to see what he might have found, so Megan had left the sleeping baby in Natasha’s care, and she and Lucy met him at Spring House.

  They found Mr. Tucker on the front porch directing two men carrying Sheetrock up to the second floor. He greeted them both and informed them the electrician and plumber were almost halfway finished. The place was shaping up nicely.

  “That’s terrific,” Megan said, mentally calculating how much both tradesmen were charging. “What about the flooring?”

  “Arrived yesterday, and it’s in the front parlor. It’ll have to sit for several days while it acclimates to the temperature and humidity.”

  “Perfect. And the cabinets?” Megan asked.

  “They’ve been ordered and will be here in two weeks. That’ll give us time to finish the Sheetrock and the flooring.”

  “Perfect.” Megan stepped into the house, now open and flooded with light. “Hard to believe it’s the same house.”

  Mr. Tucker shook his head. “Left on its own for another few years, I don’t believe the house would have made it.”

  “I appreciate the update,” Lucy said. “But I’d like to see what’s in the basement. Been thinking about this all night.”

  Tucker motioned them toward the kitchen and then toward a set of stairs that led to the basement. “Watch your head. We haven’t dug out the basement floor yet, so the ceiling is still low.”

  “What are the chances that you won’t just hit water when you start digging?”

  “I’ve taken several soil samples. We should be good to go down the extra two feet. Doesn’t seem like a lot, but if you do that, then you’ve suddenly got one thousand extra square feet of very usable space.”

  “No telling what you’ll end up using the house for,” Megan said.

  “I only twitched a little when I saw the estimate, but the way I figure it, Claire wanted all this saved properly, and saving doesn’t come cheap.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Megan said.

  The three descended the wooden staircase to the dirt floor. Mr. Tucker had strung a series of utility lights that illuminated the center section of the basement but left the corners dark and ominous. He reached for a set of bolt cutters leaning against the wall.

  “I don’t do spiders or rats,” Lucy said.

  “What about snakes?” Mr. Tucker asked.

  Lucy stopped midstride. “Seriously?”

  “Just kidding,” he said, grinning.

  “Jokes are permissible on the first floor and outside. Not in dark basements,” Lucy said.

  As they bantered back and forth, Megan's attention shifted to the door Mr. Tucker had mentioned.

  Mr. Tucker snapped the lock with one snip and handed it to Lucy. “I’ll admit I’m a bit curious myself.”

  “Any idea what it could be?” Lucy asked. “Perhaps a dead body or two?”

  Megan shook her head. “All bets are off with this property. But I’m hoping no dead body.”

  Lucy laughed as she passed the lock to Megan. “I have to admit, life has been mighty interesting since my arrival in Cape Hudson.”

  Megan held the cool metal in her hands, turning it over slowly as she searched for any markings that might tell her more about it. It was old, likely dating back seventy-plus years, and it was very possible it even predated Samuel’s arrival in the house.

  Megan tightened her fingers around it, but no real impression came to her. “Please open the door.”

  He tugged on the door, and the stiff and rusted hinges squeaked and groaned in protest. He reached for one of the lights hanging on the ceiling above and shone it into the room.

  From floor to ceiling, racks were filled with hundreds of dusty bottles. Taking the light from Mr. Tucker, Megan stepped into the room. The light swept over toward the tall shelves filled with dark-green bottles that all lay on their sides. She removed one bottle and wiped off the dust from the label. It read CHTEAU BERNARD, the name of the orchard where Diane had landed after she had vanished from Le Havre.

  “What are all these doing here?” Lucy said.

  “Diane said Claire bought these from the orchard as early as 1910 and well through the early 1930s until the end of prohibition.”

  “This is where Claire kept her bootleg stash,” Lucy said with appreciation.

  Megan moved to other bottles. “Claire inherited Winter Cottage but no money from the Buchanan estate. All the monies went into a trust for her son, so this would have been an effective way for her to make cash. It also would have helped her sister earn income during a time when the French economy was depressed.”

  “Makes sense,” Lucy said. “Whatever small allowance George Buchanan was giving her stopped after he and his wife died in a car accident in 1920.”

  “We know she had extensive connections in the merchant marines who traveled regularly between Europe and America,” Megan said.

  Mr. Tucker scratched his head. “From the Eastern Shore, it would have been easy to ship cases of liquor into Norfolk or as far north as Baltimore.”

  Megan nodded. “There was no arrest record for Claire, so if she was selling booze, she never got caught.”

  “She was a smart woman,” Lucy said.

  “When her son inherited the company in 1938, Claire gained a great deal of say in the company’s management,” Megan said. “And from what my father said, she was a very good businesswoman. However, when her son, Robert Jr., took full control, he was not as successful a manager.”

  Lucy moved along the rows of bottles, spot-checking the dates. “All the pictures I’ve seen of Claire are of a very proper woman who always dressed her best. I’m still trying to reconcile her as a bootlegger. That woman never ceases to amaze me.”

  Megan pressed her hand against the label of a bottle, hoping for some kind of impression of Diane, but there was none. “We still don’t know what happened to Diane.”

  “We might not ever know,” Lucy said.

  Megan carefully replaced the bottle. She just could not accept the fact that someone did not know what had happened to Diane.

  When Megan returned to Winter Cottage, she discovered Helen’s car parked out front. A surge of annoyance shot through her, and she pictured Helen barreling past Natasha straight toward Diane.

  Fury growing, Megan walked up the front stairs, through the front door, and followed the sound of Helen’s voice to the parlor.

  Helen met her in the hallway, cutting off her advance, holding up her hands in surrender. “You can be as mad as you want at me, but I brought Grandmother Jessup with me today. There’s not going to be many more days when she can make a trip like this. Please talk to Grandmother Jessup. She has no part in what’s between us.”

  “Where is Diane?”

  “She’s in the parlor. Natasha is standing guard over the baby. She’s quite protective.”

  Megan rolled her head from side to side and drew back her shoulders. “This doesn’t mean that you and I are square.”

  “I know that.”

  “Okay.” She walked into the parlor and found Grandmother Jessup sitting in her wheelchair by the tall bank of windows, the azure sky and Chesapeake Bay at her back. The woman’s pale-white hair almost glowed in the sunlight, and though her face was deeply wrinkled and her shoulders stooped, she smiled as she looked at Diane in the cradle.

  Natasha rose from her chair by the cradle and quickly crossed to Megan. “They just got here. I didn’t let them hold the baby.”

  “You did a good job. Thank you so much,” Megan said.

  Natasha grinned. “I’m pretty good at babysitting.”

  “Yes, you are. Would you mind stepping out while I visit?”

  “Sure. But call if you need me.”

  “I will.” She patted the girl on the shoulder.

  “Grandmother Jessup,” Megan said, “this is a lovely surprise.”

  “I hope we aren’t intruding,” she said with surprisingly clarity. “But I wanted to see my great-great-gran
ddaughter.”

  Megan reached into the cradle, lifted out the baby, and laid her in the woman’s arms. The baby cooed and yawned.

  “It’s been so long since I held my own child in my arms,” Grandmother Jessup said. “But a mother never forgets this feeling.”

  “I hope I never forget.”

  “Can you sit beside me awhile?” Grandmother Jessup asked.

  “Of course.”

  The older woman whispered, “Helen has always meant well. Though she can be a bit bossy, she’s always been singularly devoted to her husband and son. I respect that.”

  The blunt assessment sapped some of Megan’s anger. As annoyed as she was with Helen, the old woman before her spoke truth.

  Grandmother Jessup smoothed her hand over the tufts of dark hair on Diane’s head. “Helen told me about the letters, Samuel’s journal, and the box with the planchette.”

  “What do you know about them?” Megan asked.

  “A great deal.” The old woman shifted as she tried to reach into her pocket.

  Megan took the baby so Grandmother could pull out a small booklet made of brittle paper. On the outside were the words RÉPUBLIQUE FRANÇAISE PASSEPORT.

  Megan placed Diane in her cradle and tucked her blankets around her. She accepted the identification papers and read the name Adele Madeleine Bernard, born 1919 in Normandy, France. “Of course, your accent is French.”

  She nodded. “My parents were Gilbert and Diane Bernard.”

  How many letters had Diane written, gushing about her child she adored so much? “You’re Adele.”

  “I’ve been called Grandmother for so many years. It’s nice to hear my name again.”

  Megan raised her gaze, searching the old woman’s face for any traces of Diane or Claire, and discovered a keenness that Adele’s mother and aunt had shared in the picture taken in Le Havre so long ago. “Claire sent a ship to Le Havre in April 1939. Was that for you?”

  “She had many friends along the Eastern Shore, and she asked Samuel if he would come and fetch me. He, of course, did and brought me back to Cape Hudson.”

  This matched up with her ancestry research. “When I was doing the Jessup family tree, I found your marriage certificate to Aaron Jessup in 1944, but I could never find your birth certificate.”

  “In those days it was not so important to have a birth certificate when one married. Many, especially here on the Eastern Shore, were born at home, and there was no record other than the family Bible.”

  “You speak English very well. Almost with no accent.”

  “My mama taught me to speak English. And we spoke it at home often. She always wanted me to be able to talk to Claire if the time came. And when the time did come, I moved here, never to return home again.” She smoothed manicured fingers over the back of her wrinkled hand. “Helen said you found the planchette.”

  “Yes. It was hidden in Samuel’s desk.”

  “Bring it to me.”

  Megan glanced at the sleeping baby, torn between picking up the baby and possibly waking her or leaving her alone in the room.

  The old woman smiled. “I can watch her for a minute or two.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Megan quickly ran upstairs to her room and retrieved the planchette as well as the dreidels and the identification papers for Elise Mandel. She had so many questions for Adele.

  She rushed back into the parlor to find Diane still sleeping and Adele smiling down at her. Breathless, Megan took the seat beside Adele.

  The old woman took the planchette and smoothed her hand over it, running her index finger along the edge as if she were searching. “When I was six or seven, my mother sent me to fetch a shawl from her trunk, and I found this hidden at the bottom. I was immediately fascinated by it and took it to her to ask its meaning. I’d heard whispers in the village that she was a witch, and I wasn’t sure what to think of this.”

  “Did she mention Madame LeBlanc?”

  “Yes. She told me the entire story of how she and her sisters were farmed out by their father after their mother died. My mother was given to Madame LeBlanc.”

  “Madame LeBlanc was not always good to your mother. Perhaps Claire and your mother didn’t want you to know this.”

  “No, I suppose not.” She traced several of the gems embedded in the top. “To prove to me that the device wasn’t mystical, Mama showed me its secret that she discovered by accident. Would you like to see it?”

  Megan smiled. “Yes, I certainly would.”

  Adele’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she pressed a section of the wood on the top edge. A strip of wood popped free, and the top separated from the bottom. “This is the reason Madame LeBlanc and Mama worried that Pierre would chase after her.”

  Encased in the small velvet-lined interior were diamonds of various shapes and sizes packed in so tightly there was barely any space between them. They sparkled in the light.

  “Madame LeBlanc was a con artist and a thief. Mama realized on that last cruise across the Atlantic the woman had been stealing from all her clients, but she never saw the gems until she found the secret latch.”

  Megan traced her fingertips over the glistening gems. “They must be worth a fortune.”

  “They were worth a fortune in 1903. I can’t imagine what their value is now.”

  “Why didn’t you sell them?” Megan asked.

  Adele shook her head. “My mother suffered for those stones. I wanted nothing to do with them.”

  “What happened to Pierre?” Diane asked.

  Adele’s triumphant expression darkened into sadness. “Samuel killed him.”

  “What?”

  “I was standing on the deck of the ship watching my parents walk away from me when Pierre arrived on the dock. Pierre had a gun. I saw my father step in front of my mother, and I could hear angry voices, though I couldn’t make out what they said.”

  Megan could feel stress and fear build in her, as it must have in Diane Bernard all those years ago.

  “I turned to Samuel and asked for his help. He moved so quickly I barely saw him duck into the shadows. When he reappeared moments later, he had gotten behind Pierre. The gun was pointed at my parents, and Samuel did not hesitate. He stabbed Pierre in the neck and killed him instantly. He called to another sailor, and the two carried the body on the ship. Later they dumped it at sea.”

  Megan felt a sense of vindication, knowing that Pierre had not escaped justice. “And what of your parents? They escaped Pierre, but I can find no record of them.”

  “I didn’t find out what happened to them until 1943. Samuel sailed often to European ports during the war. He smuggled supplies for the resistance as well as into England. He took terrible risks, but no matter how great the danger, he refused to back down, even after he was badly injured when a U-boat sank his ship in 1942 near the coast of France. He made it to the coast and was saved by resistance fighters. It’s then that he learned what happened to Mama and Papa.” Adele shook her head. Even after seventy-five years, it seemed like it still hurt her to speak the words.

  Megan laid her hand on the older woman’s arm. “I can tell from your mother’s letters to Claire that your parents were deeply in love.”

  “Ah, they were. When I was little, and after they’d sent me to bed, I would hear them laughing. When I peered out my bedroom door, I could see them dancing in the kitchen.” She drew in a breath. “Max was transported to Dachau in late 1940, and after that my mother and father joined the French Resistance. In 1942 they were caught smuggling guns hidden in a cider cask. According to the sources who spoke to Samuel, my parents were shot where they stood.”

  Megan’s throat tightened with unshed tears. “I am so sorry.”

  Tears glistened in her blue eyes. “It was quick. And they were together. I am grateful for that.” She reached for Elise Mandel’s travel papers and opened the booklet to the woman’s picture. “I had forgotten what she looked like.”

  “What happened to her?�
��

  “I have kept so many secrets. For most of my life, they weighed heavily on me, but now telling them won’t hurt anyone, I hope.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Adele

  Tuesday, April 11, 1939

  Le Havre, France

  Midnight

  By the time they were out to sea and the lights from the shore had vanished, Elise was crying in pain as her contractions overtook her small, slender body. The baby boy was also crying, and no matter how much Adele rocked him, nothing would soothe him.

  Her heart beat so fast, she could barely breathe as she tried to figure out what to do with the laboring woman. She had helped her mother several times but never delivered a baby alone. She patted the boy on the back and reached into Elise’s carpetbag until she found the silver dreidel. She shook it in front of the boy until it caught his attention.

  Elise moaned in pain. She had not regained consciousness since they had left Max’s home. Holding the boy, Adele pressed a trembling hand to Elise’s forehead and noted it was hotter than ever. The doctor’s pills were not working.

  There was a knock on the cabin door, and it opened before she could respond. She turned and found Samuel. His clothes were still wet, his thick cable sweater stained with Pierre’s blood. “There is no doctor on the ship,” he said.

  She bounced the baby boy and was grateful when he took the toy and began to chew. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I have spoken to Mrs. Garrison, our only other female passenger,” Samuel said. “She has agreed to help.”

  Mrs. Garrison stepped around Samuel and set down a bowl of hot water and several towels on a small table. She gently touched him on the shoulder. Blonde hair was pulled into a soft bun, and her high cheekbones and vivid blue eyes reminded Adele of the film star Jean Harlow. She wore a plain black dress and had rolled up her sleeves.

  Mrs. Garrison looked at Elise and for a moment appeared to be lost in thought before she cleared her throat and said, “Adele, I am Mrs. Garrison, and together, we will do this.”