Boxed In(59)
At that moment, Annie and Alice both knew their friend would weather her emotional storm. Annie nodded agreement. “That explains John’s visit earlier. He thought I had hurt you, and the thought that I might have hurt you horrified me.”
“What I don’t understand,” said Alice “is why the box, collar, and poem ended up in Betsy’s attic. If your grandmother and mother didn’t want you to know about that part of your heritage, why not sell or throw away the things?” She stirred the remaining cocoa in her mug before draining it.
“That’s just one of the many questions I’ve been asking myself,” said Gwen. “I don’t know if Mother even knew. She just kept telling me to ‘marry well’ and ‘do unto others.’ Maybe Grandma kept the information from her too.”
“It seems to me that whoever left the things at Grey Gables didn’t want to permanently close the door to that heritage,” said Annie. “Since the door has been opened, Gwen, would you like to take your heirlooms home? The zippered tote I had kept them in is waterproofed so they should be safe from the rain.”
“I would appreciate seeing them again,” Gwen answered. “But would you mind keeping them here for a while? At least until things have calmed down some at home, and I’ve begun to figure out who I am.”
Annie stood. “I’d be happy to keep them for you. I’ll be right back.” She walked down the hall to the living room, where the zippered bag sat next to her crochet bag. Boots had reclaimed the couch now that the house was quiet again. Back in the kitchen Annie placed the bag on the empty chair on the other side of Gwen.
Gwen popped the last bite of scone into her mouth. “Annie, you must have used Betsy’s jelly recipe. Every bite reminds me of her.”
Annie smiled. “Yes, I did. Since this first batch appears to be a success, I’ll be making more. Now we just have to convince Alice to keep the scones coming.”
“I seem to remember the jelly being very tasty on toast too,” replied Alice, laughing. “But I don’t have any plans to stop baking any time soon.”
Gwen went to the sink to rinse the crumbs from her hands and thoroughly dry them. She unzipped the tote and took out the box. She held it in her hands for a moment. “So light,” she marveled, “yet it holds the voice of a family line I never knew existed.”
Annie remembered her emotions when she had thought the items might have had their origins in her own family and the sense of betrayal with which she had wrestled.
Gwen took off the lid and drew out the regalia collar, staring at it as though memorizing the exact position of each tiny bead. Just as Annie had done the day she had found it in the attic, she held it around her neck.
“It’s beautiful with your coloring,” Alice said.
“To think this touched my great-grandmothers neck, and maybe Grandmother’s too.” Gwen’s voice trailed off, and she sat silently looking at the only heirlooms she had of her family from Sipayik.
“Gwen, I have a printout of the Mitchell family line, Clara’s family,” said Annie. “It goes back to the American Revolution and indicates one of your family members was a captain. It might have fallen to the bottom of the tote.”
Gwen reached into the tote and pulled out the pages. Her eyes bright, she murmured, “Oh, Annie. This is overwhelming, but thank you!” She looked up to include Alice. “Thank you both for coming to find me on a night like tonight.”
“And don’t forget, we made you cocoa.” Alice smiled.
“What more can a woman ask of her friends?” said Gwen. She glanced at the clock on the stove. “I should be getting back to Wedgewood. I can’t imagine what John is thinking by now.”
Alice stood. “Your carriage awaits, m’lady.” She went to the mudroom to retrieve their coats. “They’re a little less soaking wet.”
Gwen went to Annie. Hugging her, she whispered. “You are a Holden, through and through. Don’t let anyone tell you that’s anything less than incredible.” She shrugged her coat over her shoulders and buttoned it high.
Annie escorted her two friends to the door and watched as they dashed to the Mustang. She whispered softly, “Lord, you knew what you were doing!”
20
Morning found the rain gone, a blanket of fog in its place. Annie stood at her bedroom window, peering out to determine its thickness. Boots was stretched out on the bed, as if still recuperating from the previous evening’s excitement.
“Definitely not the pea-soup variety of fog,” Annie informed the cat. “I can still see some of the roses a little down the hill. Todd would probably call it light fog.” She wanted to visit Cecil but decided to wait until afternoon, keeping an eye on the fog. There was more work to be done in the library and more crochet than she could shake a hook at. There was plenty to fill the morning. After spending so many hours in the car the day before, Annie looked forward to doing something more active, so when she had finished breakfast she headed for the library.