Page 30 of Cordelia Manor
Evan sat in it and smiled. “I remember one of the few houses we lived in had a similar rocker. I spent hours in that old chair reading or watching TV. Yeah, this is perfect. Maybe I can use that old trunk too, for a footrest.”
“Sure,” I said and looked at the trunk. I hadn’t done anything with this room. As I’d said before, it wasn’t a priority, so I hadn’t looked through the trunk. When I opened it, I immediately knew I’d stumbled onto something important.
Evan came over, peered into the chest, and gasped when he saw the name written on a piece of paper on top of the belongings inside.Inez Garland.
“No, Cary, is it possible? Do you think these are Inez’s things?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know what to think. I’d seen enough unexplainable coincidences to know things tended to happen for a reason when we needed them to. I stepped back and let him rummage through the trunk. I lifted the old rocking chair up and took it to his room, giving him space.
When I came back, Evan was kneeling by the trunk, crying. He looked up at me as I approached and handed me an old black-and-white photograph. He pointed at the bottom of the old cardboard frame the photo was mounted in, and it read:Inez and daughter Lydia Garland.
It had to have been taken shortly after Lydia was born, but you could clearly see the baby’s and her mother’s features. I looked down at Evan and knew they were definitely related. “You look like her,” I said, kneeling beside him, and he nodded.
“I’ve got her eyes and nose. So did my grandmother and dad. I’d never seen a picture of Grandma this young,” he said, pointing at the baby in the photo. “I-I can’t believe we stumbled onto this.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “I can. It was meant for you to find, especially now. Come on, I’ll help you take it upstairs.”
Evan nodded, and after wiping his eyes, we hauled the trunk up to his newly painted space.
“Evan, I know the bathroom up here works, but it’s still a mess. Feel free to use the one on the second floor. I’ve painted it and replaced the old toilet, so I know it’s decent.”
He nodded, but I could tell he wanted to spend more time with the contents of the trunk, so I made my excuses and headed out to do chores on the estate I’d neglected the past few days. There really wasn’t that much work for me to do this time of year, though. The grass hadn’t started growing again, so I didn’t have to mow. There were no customers or guests to mess things up or leave trash lying around, but there were always things requiring maintenance in a house of this age.
I didn’t do extensive repairs, but I’d been hired not just to keep the spirits at bay, but also to manage the small things.
So, while giving Evan space, I took the golf cart up to the manor and chipped away at the never-ending list of to-dos that never seemed to get any shorter.
27
Evan
Icouldn’t seem tostop crying over the contents of the trunk. There was a little white dress in pristine condition, wrapped in tissue paper, that was clearly the one my grandmother had been dressed in when the picture was taken. The wordsBaptism dresswere written on the tissue paper, most likely in my great-grandmother’s handwriting.
There were pictures of Inez, with whom I assumed must’ve been her parents and siblings. There was no writing on those, so I wasn’t certain. I didn’t even know she’d had siblings.
There were also pictures of the boy I’d seen in my vision.Little Andre, one had written on the back. Inez had been in that picture as well.
There were old books that’d clearly been read repeatedly—Mark Twain’sAdventures of Huckleberry Finn, two books by Jane Austen, and Beatrix Potter’sThe Tale of Peter Rabbit. I assumed she’d read those to little Andre, unless he’d been too old when she’d become his nanny.
No, I remembered the first dream, he was only five or six years old then. So, he would’ve been the perfect age for the books. Maybe she’d read them to my grandma too.
There were other things in the trunk, little mementos for which I’d likely never know their true significance. A very worn cameo brooch, a monogrammed handkerchief. Why hadn’t my grandmother taken them when she’d left? I had so many questions. Questions with no one left to answer them, no one alive at least.
I put everything back in the trunk just as I’d found it and closed the lid. I’d have to figure out how best to preserve everything. Not counting the estate, which I didn’t, the little trunk of keepsakes represented all I had left of my family.
I’d already moved in with Andy when my grandmother passed away only months after Dad had died so unexpectedly. By the time I got to their rented trailer house, the owner had already moved all their stuff out and either taken or tossed it, even though I hadn’t ended their lease yet. I literally had nothing of theirs, other than the old Cavs ball cap Dad had given me. It remained my most cherished possession.
Only now, I had more things to cherish. These precious things from so long ago. It felt like I’d struck the gold that’d made this area famous once upon a time.
As I sat on the reassembled bed, I looked around and was amazed at what a little paint and elbow grease could do. The renovated suite on the third floor of the manor was nice, but it didn’t compare to my new space in the cottage. This room felt like home—a place where I could be myself. The bed was old but sturdy. Luckily, the mattress was newer. I’d have freaked out sleeping on an ancient one. I’d seen too many YouTube videos of bedbugs to be okay with that.
When the paint dried, I’d push the bed up against the window and add those sheers I’d talked to Cary about. The room wouldbe sparse until I had time to decorate, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be beautiful… it would be.
My family had taught me how to do that on a tiny budget. You didn’t need much money to make things feel like home. With my shabby dresser and creaky rocking chair that might have once belonged to Inez or Andre–my family–I already felt comfortable and cozy in my third-floor sanctuary.
28
Cary
