CHAPTER NINE
Elara
Everything was where I left it when I got back to my aunt’s house. There had been no hired maid or butler to put away my things. I locked the door and slid to the floor, hugging my knees.
I twisted the textured silver ring on my middle finger. It was a bad twitch I’d developed in the last few months. The ring had belonged to my last boyfriend. I’d given it to him for his birthday.
I couldn’t fight it anymore. I let my past wash over me, the sea of tears coming with it. I should have known better than to run from my life. Sometimes, parents didn’t know best. My father had been trying to help me when he encouraged me to go up there. But that flannelled man kissing me and calling me Red had hit too close to home.
Garrett Baron had been the last one to call me Red. It was still too painful to hear from someone else.
My relationship with Garrett hadn't started out as anything serious. It had been little more than a casual friend with benefits arrangement at the beginning. It hadn’t taken us long to move past that. He wanted to move to Alaska when I’d told him my aunt had left me the house. His plan had been to move off the grid and hunt his own food; move away from the craziness of humanity.
But I’d lost him three months ago.
My police officer boyfriend went to work and never came home.
I couldn't justify keeping the house in Alaska when it made me think of everything I'd missed out on. His death only proved that every moment was precious and I needed to make the most out of it.
My sweater had seen better days as I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and glanced around. I felt tiny and insignificant here. Dwelling on missing my dead lover was not going to help me. From the little bit I could see of the living room and kitchen in the dying light, the place was well loved. Nearly every bit of wall space had been covered with photos, and the back of the two couches were covered with handmade blankets and quilts.
I wasn't accustomed to lived-in and rustic. My apartment was slick and modern with industrial lighting. If the plane hadn't been a shock to my system, sitting on the floor staring at wooden walls and yellowing photos certainly was. I was immediately homesick and regretting my choice to come.
I reached for my purse, rummaging for a letter from my aunt. She’d sent it a year ago. She had known the end was near, but asked me to not tell anyone. In it, she’d given me a list of things to take from the house and deliver to a particular family. I’d called her and told her I couldn’t promise, but I’d do my best. Most of the items were locked away in a safe in the attic according to her letter. She’d even given me the combination in the letter for fear that someone else would find it if she left it in the house.
My suitcase clunked up the stairs one at a time, echoing off the wooden walls. My eyes drifted over the photos one by one as I passed them. I touched every frame one on my way up to the second floor. I wanted to commit those faces to memory. I hoped someone had written the names on the back of the photos. I wanted to be part of their history.
I should have visited to Alaska sooner. I should have listened to Garrett. We would have been here, and I wouldn’t have lost him while he was at work.
What was I doing by selling the place before I even knew it? Could I back out of the sale to keep the place in the family?
I glanced back down to the living room from the landing. I saw children running around, toys scattered across the floor, a tree for Christmas in the corner, brightly decorated with hand blown glittering ornaments. Was I imagining things? Or was I actually seeing the past? I heard the happy chatter of conversations, and I had to shake my head. I was the only one here.
I heaved a huge sigh and opened the door to the left of the landing. If I remembered correctly, that was Minnie’s room. The door swung open, and I saw the big four poster bed made from old yellowed pine. It was rustic and whimsical and everything I imagined my aunt to be. The dressers matched. I traced the carvings that ran along the drawer. Each had a different Alaskan scene. I smiled at the little seal statuette that sat on the dresser. It protected a small bowl that contained her rings. Aunt Minnie had told me numerous times the rings would be mine if she had to come back from the grave and deliver them herself. I slipped on the band that had a set garnet on my middle finger in front of Garrett’s ring and smiled.
Aunt Minnie had told me several times the story of how that particular ring had come to be. She’d gone and mined for gold with a beau when she was in her twenties as a date. He’d come up empty handed, but she’d gotten lucky and found enough nuggets to melt down and make a band along with the garnets that she’d had cut and fitted. It was all Alaskan, just like her. It brought tears to my eyes.
She’d kept the place up for nearly three decades by herself, and I wasn’t sure how. My cousin Brian’s father had drown before I was born. Brian refused to talk about it; claimed he didn’t remember most of the time. He would have been five. I wasn’t sure he remembered.
I took a seat in the floor of the closet, feeling for the little secret door that Aunt Minnie had given me instructions on how to open. I found the panel and shimmied it out. The old fashioned safe that I stared at was probably the very same safe that Grant Hayes brought with him from Georgia over a century ago.
I managed to put in the combination for the safe and open the heavy door. I’d expected Minnie to stash more precious things, but all that was there were a few journals and photos. But was anything really more precious when someone passed? The blue journal was the one she’d been concerned about me returning. The rest belonged to my own ancestors.
The well-worn leather was cool to the touch; smudges from the owner’s hands marred the covers. I drew a deep breath and pondered sneaking a peek at the words. Was it an invasion of privacy if the person had been dead nearly as long a I’d been alive? That was a sobering thought. The woman who’d written the words had been gone from the world nearly as long as I’d been alive. It was easier to fathom Poe or Hemmingway being gone, than the owner of the journal. I was supposed to return it to the family, how would they react to a stranger returning part of their history?
I turned the journal over in my hands before I slowly undid the knot in the leather cording. How long had it been since the pages had been read? I tried to start at the beginning, but was pulled to the end of her story.
September 26 - There is so much to do the next few days that I’m glad I only have Bear to worry about. For six, she sure is interested in the Ravenwhite’s son. I’m not ready for my daughter to be interested in boys. Shakespeare went with Rhys and Elizabeth for the week. Rhys has some wild notion to have the children building bows and learning how to fletch according to an article one of his peers wrote. I have no doubt his daughter will put the boys to shame at the task. Michael wasn't happy with me for letting his fishing buddy go. And I still worry after my oldest. I don't like that girl of his. My dear heart is too good for her. She's up to something. I know it.
The next entry was in a different scrawled handwriting. It wasn’t Minnie’s.
September 28 - You’re gone, and so is my heart. You’ll be with me forever. -MS
Aunt Minnie hadn’t told me how she’d passed, but it was heartbreaking to think of those she’d left behind. I flipped through the pages and found a yellowing photo of a seated woman. She had long hair and heavily freckled cheeks. She was holding a baby in her arms. Her smile stretched from ear to ear. On her lap was a toddler, his head leaning on her chest in a partial hug. And behind her stood a young man, perhaps ten or eleven, with close cropped hair and an already stern demeanor. But you could see in his eyes that he’d do anything for those people. I flipped the photo over, hoping someone had labeled the photo, but the only name was Sky. It was the name of the woman who the journal had belonged to.
I flipped a few more pages and found another photo. It was the same woman, but younger. And she was laughing with a man about her own age. He was wiping snow out of his eyes, and she was clapping her hands together in laughter. There was no way to tell how old the photos were. I hoped whoever I was supposed to give the journal to didn’t mind me stealing a few moments with their loved ones. I read a few more entries, and the waterworks started again while thinking about the young family she’d left behind. How had they grown up? Who were they now? Were they even still in Cordova?
Swapping clothes from Minnie’s stash, I found something warmer yet comfortable and headed back to Broken Tusk Inn. I had an entire week in Alaska. No sense in overwhelming myself so much on my first night.