Page 97 of The Missing Pages
“I’m sorry,” Pete said. “I’m sure once the investigation is complete, you’ll be back. It’s just a huge mess at the moment.”
“Yeah,” Violet nodded. “It really stinks.” She gave him a look of disappointment. “The thing is, Pete, when I go back home to Philly over break, I wanted to see if I could take that other key to Lynnewood Hall to check whether it belonged to a room or something else there. But now there’s no way I can ask Madeline.”
“I doubt she would have given it to you even if you were still working at Widener. It’s part of the collection. It can’t be taken off the premises.”
“That’s true,” Violet demurred, with a look of disappointment. “But I had an idea. What if someone else made a copy of the key…”
Pete’s eyebrows rose. “Why do I get the feeling you’re asking me to do it?”
“Well, you’re the go-to person for Madeline for winding the clock, so I don’t think she’d be upset if you took the keys to be copied. In case anything ever happened to the original, you’d still be able to wind it with the spare you had the foresight to have made.”
“I don’t think she’d be too happy about it.”
“But you said it yourself, you’ve always wondered what it was for.”
“I was curious, Violet. But not enough to risk getting into a lot of trouble for removing something from the Memorial Room without going through the proper channels first.”
“What if I told you I thought it was connected to Harry’s untold love story?”
He laughed. “You’re certainly pulling out all the stops now. You think you’ve discovered that Harry Elkins Widener might have had a secret love? And the key will help you find something at Lynnewood that will prove it?” He chuckled again. “Well, maybe I could approach Madeline and tell her I think we need to make copies of both keys. I could always say it seems like a good idea to make spares, just in case the originals ever broke given how old they are now.” He paused for a moment. “Or as a precaution, in case the book slasher somehow got into Harry’s desk and took them.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
ADA THREW HERSELF INTO HER WORK.SOMETIMES, AFTERRosenbach had left for the evening, she would slip into his office and read a letter that had arrived earlier that day for him from Eleanor Widener.
She knew it wasn’t meant for her eyes, but as she pulled the paper from the already opened envelope, Ada would search Eleanor’s words for any crumb of new information about the developments regarding Harry’s library at Harvard. It helped alleviate her isolation as she read about the evolving design details.
These letters drew her into a world from which she felt painfully excluded. A place where, had things been different, she could have expressed her grief outwardly. A place where her loss could have been channeled to something public and respected. She worried that such a thing would never be possible for her or for the child that grew inside her.
Ada’s eyes focused on every line.
Dear Dr. Rosenbach,
This library project has given me a reason to wake each morning. As I described in our earlier meeting, at first I imagined creating a small memorial library comprised solely of Harry’s collection.
But recently, Harvard’s President Lowell has illuminated the college’s overall need for a more expansive library. While I initially thought such an undertaking might prove too overwhelming for me, I now find myself rather exhilarated by the prospect. We have discussed having a special room as part of a much larger space in which to house Harry’s collection of rare books. This idea now lifts my spirits immensely, for I imagine it being the heart of the building.…
In another letter, she wrote how upset she was with the press.
Dear Dr. Rosenbach,
Of course, you can understand how distressing it is for me to see these reports in the paper that wrongly state that it’s my father-in-law who’s underwriting the cost of the new library. While Harry’s grandfather shares my grief, the press should acknowledge that this library will be my gift to my son, financed wholly and irrefutably by me.…
Ada put both letters back in their envelopes and closed the door to Rosenbach’s office. In the soft hazy light of the summer evening, the rooms at Walnut Street were a haven for her. Back in her boarding house, there was hardly any light. The narrow staircase of the tenement building led to her small cramped room that had a lone window, which looked out to an air shaft.
She shared a bathroom with three other women. Two of them worked as laundresses, whom Ada hardly saw because they got up far earlier than she did and came home to go to sleep when it was still daylight. But Fanny, an Irish immigrant whoworked in one of the garment factories, was always friendly and kind to her.
“I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to,” she said to Ada one night in the hallway. Their rooms were adjacent to each other.
Fanny’s eyes fell to Ada’s midline. A sympathetic look washed over her. “Know that you’re not alone. I’ve been where you are now, too.”
Since her arrival in America, Ada had struggled to get used to the directness in which people there spoke to each other.
At first Ada chose to pretend she hadn’t heard what Fanny said. But one night, after getting home from Rosenbach’s, Ada closed the door of her room and sobbed into her pillow. She was midway through her fourth month and, despite having already let out the waistbands of her skirts, she could barely squeeze herself into them anymore. She knew that soon she would no longer be able to conceal her pregnancy.
A light rapping sounded on her door.
“Ada, are you all right?” It was Fanny’s voice. “Please. Let me in.”
