Page 60 of Until the End

Being home this past week has solidified exactly what I want my future to look like. Carson’s been helping with the final touches of Teddy’s house while I’ve been hanging out with Lottie and Gia. I’m making up for lost time with my girls, and it’s been more healing than I ever imagined it could be.

Carson and I were watching a movie in my theatre this afternoon when I got the harebrained idea to research the lost letters again. Several years ago, Carson’s brother, Noah, found them hidden underneath the floorboards of his house while they were renovating it. Lottie stumbled across them back in the spring and thought it would be fun to investigate where they came from. When we started diving into their history, we realized there was a much bigger story behind them.

Noah’s house belonged to Theodore Ashcroft, one of the founders of Sonoma. We’re pretty sure the letters were sent to one of his two daughters, but without names, we weren’t able to figure out which one. Carson dug through some old microfiche newspapers and found out that one of Theodore’s daughters was kidnapped when she was twenty and believed to be dead.

We weren’t able to do any more digging because the historical society was having renovations done, so we’ve been sitting on the letters for a while. We still don’t know much about who the letters were to or from, so I’m hoping I can find something identifying within the letters themselves.

I thought they were beautiful, especially during a time when I hadn’t felt loved by anyone in a very long time. The way the writers obviously cared for the recipient made me long for a similar kind of love.

“These are two different people writing to the same woman. I’m pretty positive they’re both men, given their handwriting and the words they use. You’d think their letters would hold different content, but there are several key phrases in both of their letters that shouldn’t match.”

“‘The golden shores are calling to me?’ What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But they’ve both used ‘golden shores’ in their letters. They’ve also referred to a peony in bloom.”

Carson shrugs. “I don’t know, Goose. Those letters havesome strange phrases in them that barely make sense. Maybe we were wrong about it being from two different people?”

“No, the handwriting is way too different for it to be the same person.”

“Let me see the two you’re comparing.”

I hand them over, and Carson carefully reads them again. “You know, the date on these would put the timeframe outside of when a peony would likely bloom. Can you google to see if that phrase meant anything different back then?”

“Oh, good thinking.” I grab my phone from my pocket to search. I’m oddly pleased that he didn’t just brush me off or tell me to ask Lottie instead of him. He’s listening and taking an active interest in what I’m doing. It makes me want to jump him. “I can’t find any mention or reference to that phrase meaning anything more than what it says.”

“And both of these letters are dated around the same time.”

“True. I also thought it was weird that they never used any names in their letters. Like they don’t reference the woman they’re writing to except at the beginning, and even those are nicknames for her.”

“The plot thickens,” Carson says in a silly voice, making me giggle.

“What are the chances the historical society has finished their renovations?”

“No idea. We could find out, though.” A few minutes later, Carson gives the affirmative that they’re open again.

“Shall I round up the Gang?”

“What are we looking for again?”Gia asks as she bends over a glass display case. There are old coins laid out on a navy velvet stand next to a letter from a ship captain toTheodore Ashcroft. If I weren’t so singularly minded, I’d love to spend more time reading everything about the history of our town.

We came here on a field trip once with our school, but I can’t say I was all that interested in history as a ten-year-old.

The old building was the home of another one of Sonoma’s founders, Reginald Ramsbury. The recent renovations spiffed up the entire house to highlight its Victorian-era heritage. Some of the rooms are even decorated with furniture that was originally owned by the Ramsburys.

“Anything connected to the Ashcrofts. It would be great if it was owned by the daughters, Victoria or Elizabeth,” I answer Gia’s question.

“Are you hoping to compare notes or something?” Lottie asks as she wanders. Ryan and Michael are standing on the other side of the room, looking at a different display case. The whole gang showed up to help me search. Lottie was especially excited when I called. She loves any type of mystery, and she’s insanely good at finding threads that don’t seem to connect at first until you dive in deeper.

“I’m hoping they might have something personal that could give me a clue about who the girls were. I want to know which one of them was the recipient of the letters. I need to learn more about them before I can make a guess.”

Disappointment starts to get the best of me after an hour of searching. None of us has found anything belonging to either daughter. Most of what they have displayed is town-related. It’s interesting but not what I’m looking for today.

Carson comes up behind me while I stare at a faded newspaper clipping. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. A kiss to the back of my head has me melting into him. He always knows when I need his support—sometimes even before I do.

“Are you enjoying the museum?” Alice asks, her smiledeepening the wrinkles on her round face. She’s run the historical society for longer than any of us has been alive. I’m pretty sure she was here when our parents were kids, too, although that would make her ancient, and she doesn’t look any older than eighty.

“It’s wonderful. The renovations are gorgeous.” I smile at her.

“Thank you. It’s been a joy to see my family’s home restored to its former glory.”

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