Brenna woke with a feeling of contentment and a warm muzzle against the side of her head. She lay for a moment trying to remember why she felt peaceful; she could certainly remember the distress from the code last night. Slowly the dream returned to her and she was surprised she had dreamed of Helena rather than medical stress after the evening they had had. She smiled, remembering the love between Martin and Helena. Just as she had experienced Helena’s pain at the loss of her daughter, she now felt the full measure of devotion in the Montgomerys’ marriage. The feeling faded the more she awakened, but she continued to be at peace.
Mother's Day. It was Mother's Day today. She had ordered her mother's favorite flowers, violets, to be delivered to the cemetery in Michigan where her parents were buried. After so many years, the sting wasn't as sharp, but the magnitude of loss hadn't left her. She sighed and wondered if anyone had ever thought of Helena on Mother's Day.
Zoe raised her head as Brenna swung her legs over the side of the bed. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. The earrings were still here. That’s ridiculous! she thought. Helena would definitely have taken a treasure like that with her. Still, Brenna was ready to hit the attic again. They had another trunk to go through.
Brenna and Molly took turns fiddling with the stiff lock on the second trunk until it finally snapped open under Brenna’s fingers. They raised the heavy lid to see a tray in which lay a large photograph album, some loose photos and letters, and a black lacquer jewelry box.
“Yes!” Brenna carefully lifted the jewelry box from the trunk while Molly removed the photo album and opened the cover.
Brenna unclasped the lid of the box and gasped. Each little compartment was filled with earrings, bracelets or necklaces. Most were costume jewelry, obviously well made, while some appeared to be made of precious metal and gemstones. Martin apparently was fond of giving Helena jewelry. It was hard to imagine Helena wearing these things frequently...on the other hand, maybe Martin felt better giving her gifts when they had no children to spend money on. Brenna had a feeling that was probably the case.
Molly interrupted her reverie. “Bren, look at these.” She held up the photo album to show a black and white 8x10 wedding picture of Martin and Helena next to some smaller photos, each mounted with black paper corners. Helena looked radiant in her gleaming satin wedding gown, a cascading bouquet in her right hand and her left hand on Martin’s arm. Martin grinned at the camera, looking quite dapper himself in a black tuxedo. Brenna suddenly realized she recognized Martin quite well even though she'd only seen him in her dreams. Her heart raced as she registered this information and looked over the other photos. “Oh, look, Molly; the hat and gloves. She wore them with her going-away outfit.” Brenna pointed to a small photo of the couple heading for a car in afternoon sunlight, attempting to protect their heads from a rain of wedding rice. Helena wore a pastel suit, her little feathered hat on her head, while Martin hurried behind her, still in his tux.
Between the next pages, covered with what appeared to be pictures of their train ride to Seacliff and their new home, lay a white envelope. Brenna picked it up and pulled out a small photo, only to gasp and drop it as if she’d been burned.
“What is it?” Molly asked her in alarm. Brenna was not able to reply as tears rolled down her cheeks. Molly picked up the picture and held it to the light. “Oh, Bren, I’m sorry. This must be a shock with everything that’s been going on.” It was a photo of a small white coffin holding a tiny baby in a pastel dress, loosely wrapped in a blanket. A fuzzy white lamb lay beside her.
Brenna stood, the jewelry box sliding noisely and unheeded to the floor, and headed for the stairs, sobbing now. Molly dropped the pictures and hurried after her.
“Honey, I’m sorry.” Molly put her arms around Brenna as she stood in the hall and cried until she almost didn’t know why anymore; whether it was for herself, her parents, Helena, Victoria, or all her babies through the years at the hospital. Maybe it was all of the above. They stood there for a long time until her tears dried and trailed off into a few hiccups, causing them to inexplicably laugh. “Oh, Molls...thanks, I feel better.”
“That must have been Victoria, huh?”
“Yes. I can’t believe she took a picture of her, I thought people were more in denial back then. Although, she did bury her here when people thought she was nuts.” Brenna wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “I have a feeling Helena’s always done pretty much what she pleased and the world be damned. This was probably the one thing in life she couldn’t conquer.”
“Do you want me to get the album and jewelry box so you can have them down here?”
“Would you please? And turn off the light while you’re up there? I probably won’t go up there again until you come back next time.”
“Will do.” Molly trotted up the steps and down again, and Brenna raised the stairs behind her.
That evening, Brenna sat in bed with her quilts pulled close around her, Zoe’s head on her legs, and the photo album in her lap. She sipped some hot tea, taking care not to drip on the album. Molly had left that evening and Brenna felt miserably alone, even though she had made plans to drive to the city on Thursday to visit her.
She turned the pages slowly, taking in aspects of Helena’s life she had not yet seen. There were pictures of her and Margaret gardening, having parties and swinging on a porch. Martin was shown washing the car, painting the house, getting off the train from business trips. There were pictures of them at the ocean, with and without family and friends, their hair blowing in the wind and smiles on their faces. One series showed them on packhorses in the mountains; in one of the shots, Helena was rubbing her rear with a chagrined expression after dismounting her horse. As the decades passed, their hair grew whiter and their posture changed slightly. Occasionally, Martin would be shown standing proudly beside a shiny new car, the models changing with the times. The pictures that touched Brenna’s heart the most were the ones of Helena with Margaret’s children, especially the one with the first new baby. Helena sat in a rocker in what must have been Margaret’s living room, beaming, holding a chubby little baby wrapped in a quilt; its fingers twined in her curls.
Finally, with a yawn, Brenna rubbed her eyes and laid the album on her nightstand. “Goodnight, Zoe, sleep tight.” She reached over and turned off the lamp as Zoe scooted up closer to her face and soon they were fast asleep.
She awoke gradually to an odd smell and a flickering light dancing off her ivory walls. In confusion, she reached her hand out toward Martin’s side of the bed only to find it cold and empty. That’s right, he was in Eugene tonight. She got out of bed, the hardwood floors cold under her bare feet, and hurried to the window. Looking around, her first thought was that nothing was amiss in her yard. Then she came fully awake as she realized the flickering light was coming from the south, from Margaret’s property. Opening her window, she stuck her head out to see the top floor of Margaret’s house blazing with fire.
“Oh God, oh God!” She grabbed her robe as she hurried past the door and down the stairs. Dialing Margaret’s number on the telephone, she held the receiver between her ear and shoulder as she thrust her arms into her sleeves. No answer. She quickly called 911.
“Yes, ma’am, we’ve received word of the fire. The trucks are on their way.” She could hear the wailing sirens even as the dispatcher spoke. Hanging up, she pulled on her sneakers and flew down the driveway as fast as her sixty year old legs would allow. As she neared Margaret’s house, she could see her and her husband in the glare of the oncoming fire trucks and her heart nearly failed her with relief.
“Margaret, I was afraid you were still in there!” She threw her arms around her best friend’s neck and Margaret, who until that point had been in shock, burst into tears. Her husband, George, put his arms around both of them as the firemen hurried to lay out their hoses. Very quickly, there were huge arcs of water streaming toward the house, in the hope of at least saving the downstairs. It soon became apparent though that would not be possib
le and the goal then became preventing the spread of the fire to the garage and to Helena’s house. Fortunately, that part of the operation was a success, but the collective feeling was still one of grief as everyone on the scene, from bystanders to firemen, knew George and Margaret well.
After about an hour, Helena and George convinced Margaret to return to Helena’s house with her. It was cold and there was nothing she could do. They made tea and sat in the dining room, watching the scene over the rhodies and talking about what had happened. Margaret’s cocker spaniel, Dody, had awakened them with sharp whining and barking; so unlike her usual temperament they knew something was wrong even as they were waking. Fortunately, their bedroom was on the ground floor so they had time to escape along with Dody and their cat before they could be overcome by smoke. George had grabbed his cell phone and called 911 from the yard. He had wanted to start fighting the fire with his garden hose, but Margaret had screamed at him and pulled on his arm until he gave up and went to wait with her on the gravel road, watching their home and history burn.
Chapter 32