Boxed In(21)
“Are you wondering what ‘we’ves gots in our pocketses?” Ian’s voice morphed into a high-pitched, nasally rendition of one of Tolkien’s fantasy creatures from The Lord of the Rings movies.
“Not exactly, Mr. Gollum. But I do appreciate your efforts very much. I wanted to make sure I thanked you. And the other officials, of course.”
Before Ian could respond, Lisa, the swing-shift waitress, hurried over to take Annie’s order. “Hi, Annie, You’re really late today. What can I get for you?”
“I’m late and starving! And I’m also craving a Cobb salad with a cup of tea.”
“Coming right up.” Lisa handed the order over to the cook and began refilling the condiments at each table in preparation for the dinner crowd.
Ian leaned forward. All signs of Gollum were erased, leaving just a curious man. “Now, please tell me what you’ve found!”
“What? Haven’t you been given a detailed description already?” Annie couldn’t imagine the Hook and Needle Club members being able to keep the information to themselves after the trip.
“Not much,” Ian insisted. “And I’m sure it was painful for Peggy and Mary Beth too. With the end of the tourist season and the transition to autumn come lots of meetings. Which is why I was almost as late to lunch as you were. Peggy was already gone.”
Annie nodded. “She’s probably working a split shift today.”
“Mary Beth charged out of the store when she saw me coming for lunch. She gasped out that she’d given Kate some time off to take Vanessa shopping for school clothes, so she couldn’t properly get me up to speed on the new mystery. Instead she left me with the command to ‘look at Annie’s photos!’ Then she threw up her hands and darted back into the shop. She must have gotten a phone call or something.”
“That does sound painful for Mary Beth.” Annie smiled at the thought as Lisa brought her tea with a wedge of lemon and a honey bear. She pulled the photos from her tote bag and placed them before Ian. As her friend examined the photos as carefully as he did the town budget, Annie squeezed the lemon into her tea and followed it with a quick squeeze of honey. After a refreshing sip she continued.
“The birch-bark box was tucked away on the top shelf of a baker’s rack. The beadwork and the torn notepaper were inside it. I don’t remember ever seeing them during my summers with Gram. Do they look familiar to you at all?”
Ian slowly shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the photos. “No, I’m sorry to say they don’t. I have seen birch-bark boxes and baskets in various places around Maine, but the designs were different. This one looks quite old.”
“Kezi Vance, the curator of collections at Abbe Museum thinks all the items are dated at least from the turn of the twentieth century, and quite possibly earlier.”
“What exactly is this?” Ian lightly tapped the edge of the photo showing the beadwork.
“Kezi was very confident that it’s an American Indian regalia collar for a woman. She thinks it was most likely made by a Passamaquoddy woman.”
“It’s beautiful. The craftswoman would have been worthy of the Hook and Needle Club.” Ian paused. “I know you’ve found some pretty amazing things in the attic, but I’m having a hard time accepting that Betsy would keep something like this hidden.”
“You’re not the only one, Ian. Not even Stella has seen the box or collar before. Gram and Grandpa told me story after story about our family’s heritage without any mention of American Indian tribes. It just wouldn’t be like them, if these are family heirlooms.”
“What if Betsy discovered it late, not long before she died?”
“Then I think she would have shared it with someone—Alice or Mary Beth or even Kate. And I think especially she would have shared it, somehow, with me.” Annie took a deep breath, wondering if the guilt she felt was earned. “I couldn’t visit as often as I wanted in those last years, with running the dealership with Wayne and all, but I was always close with Gram.” Annie stopped when her voice caught and lowered her head.
Ian reached his hand across the table and gently placed it under Annie’s chin. “Hey,” he said softly, lifting her chin to look her in the eyes. “You’re right, Annie. Betsy would have shared it with you, no matter what or when.”
“You’re just saying that so this overly emotional woman will get a grip,” Annie turned her head away from Ian’s cupped fingers to dig into her tote for a tissue. She dabbed at her eyes.
“No, I’m saying it because your point makes complete sense. Besides, I have much more interesting techniques for overly emotional people of both genders, developed from years of on-the-job-training.”