Eyeballing Grandpa’s journals, she estimated she would need to buy six more storage boxes from Malone’s. A thick book stuck out at an awkward angle from the shelf above the journals. Annie reached out to realign it. Another cookbook. The title on the spine read Bountiful Harvest Cookbook. “Hey, this might have the perfect recipes for Thanksgiving,” Annie murmured. She pulled the book from the shelf to move it to the baker’s rack in the kitchen where the other cookbooks were stored. Flipping through the book, she checked out some of the recipes. The book flopped open at one point, where a small envelope was wedged between two pages. Thinking it was another fan letter for Gram, Annie withdrew the note from the envelope and read:
December 10, 1941
Dear Betsy,
Please keep these safe. Wedding soon and Grandfather kicked out of House.
E.S.
“E.S.!” Annie gasped. “Could it be?” She put the book on the baker’s rack shelf with the other cookbooks and read the short note again.
“1941. That’s before Gram had even met Grandpa. Gram was only … nineteen.” She remembered Alice calling Gram “a safe place.” Evidently, she had been one from her youth. Annie put the note in a pocket of her jeans and hoped she could find a way to get it to Gwen without John knowing. He needed some time to decompress after his visit.
Annie made herself return to the library. What she really wanted to do was to take every book from every shelf, shake them, and read every single thing that fluttered to the floor.
“Stay focused!” she chided herself. “You’re supposed to be preparing for LeeAnn’s visit, not investigating.” At the end of two hours Annie looked at the results of her efforts, pleased. She hardly recognized the room compared to the state it had been in when she had first returned to Stony Point. The wood floor was lovely, now that she could see more of it.
After all the bending and reaching, Annie was ready to sit for a while. Retreating to the living room, Annie picked up the crochet she had dropped the night before when John had banged on the door. She worked to the sound of moisture dripping from the porch rails, a gentler sound than the night’s torrents. When she finished the second piece of the pillow, she carried both rounds to the kitchen to soak them in cool water. After shaping them, Annie left the pieces to dry on the counter.
On her way out of the kitchen, Annie took a jar of jelly from the shelf for Cecil. Over the course of the morning, the fog had lightened a little, and Annie was comfortable driving in it for the short ride down Grand Avenue. After she entered Ocean View Assisted Living through the main entrance, she hung her coat by the entry and headed first for the large common room. If Cecil couldn’t be out near the water, she thought he might be in the room with the giant window overlooking it. Annie paused at the edge of the room to scan the area for her friend.
Make it two friends. A grin broke out on her face as she heard Gwen’s voice call out, “Annie! Over here!” Cecil and Gwen sat together in one of the conversation nooks in front of the window. She hurried over, dropping into the cozy chair next to Cecil. Annie was happy to see that the hurt and confusion had left Gwen’s eyes.
“Have I missed all the fun?” she asked.
Cecil looked tired to her, but he smiled and said, “There’s plenty of time for more.”
“Cecil has been telling me some of the history of the Passamaquoddy people,” said Gwen. “He was just going to tell me some of the creation stories and Glooskap when I saw you.”
“Oh, good. I got here at the right time, then.” Annie leaned forward, propping her chin in her hand. “Which one first?”
“In honor of the birch-bark box that we now know belongs to Gwen, I thought I’d start with Glooskap and the Birch Tree.” Cecil looked at the two women who nodded their heads like children being asked if they’d like some ice cream.
“When Glooskap was naming the birch tree, it is said that he asked it to take care of our people. But one time he found a straight birch tree and wanted to make it into a canoe. When Glooskap cut the tree down, it almost killed him. The narrow escape angered him. He also had a very difficult time freeing himself from its branches, angering him even more. Enraged, Glooskap grabbed a stick and beat the birch as hard as he could from the tip to the roots. He ordered the gashes he had made to stay forever as eyes so that never again would anyone be killed—or almost killed by—a birch.”
“They do look like slitty eyes!” Annie laughed.
“Would that the eyes on my birch-bark box could tell me everything they have seen,” said Gwen. “I still know nothing about how it ended up at Grey Gables.”