Chapter 18
Words accumulate indoors, trapped by walls and ceilings.
—Diane Setterfield
The dollhouse library was an exact replica of the library in Wynter House, only the miniature version of the old mansion was much better preserved.
Nora couldn’t take her eyes off the little library. She stared at the desk under the window, the standing globe, and the upholstered chairs and settee. Turning to Beck, she pointed at one of the bookcases. “May I?”
“Go ahead.”
Nora removed her dirty gloves and pulled a random book from the shelf. The diminutive volume wasn’t much bigger than a penny. Beck kept his flashlight trained on her hands while she squinted at the gilt letters on the cobalt-blue cloth cover.
“ ‘Bijou Illustrations of the Holy Land, ’ ” she read the title aloud.
Beck eyed the book hungrily. “Is it valuable?”
Opening the book, Nora showed him the engravings of various holy sites. “I don’t know, but it’s in great condition.”
“Can you look it up while I see if there’s anything else hidden in this space?”
Reluctantly Nora shelved the tiny book and picked up her phone. To her surprise, she found a similar copy of the miniature book right away.
“Beck. A similar copy sold two years ago for five hundred dollars. Since yours is in better condition, you’d probably get closer to six hundred.”
Having found nothing else of interest in the small space behind the dollhouse, Beck returned to Nora’s side.
“I thought we’d find the money here, but maybe Harper was right. There is no money. Maybe my grandpa spent it. Or Mom. Clem never found it, and he had years to look.” Beck hung his head. “We’re going to end up with nothing.”
“That’s not true,” Nora gently argued. “If every book in this little library is worth five hundred dollars, then you’re looking at quite a windfall.”
Behind them, in the real library, Rambo began to bark.
“A car just pulled in,” Hollowell announced. “I’m going to see who it is.”
It’s McCabe was Nora’s panicked thought. But when she glanced at her watch, she saw that it wasn’t even nine. McCabe should still be dozing in his recliner, and Nora was too fixated on the dollhouse library to care who else might be visiting at such a late hour.
“Is this where all the money went?” Beck glared at the dollhouse.
He obviously didn’t view it in the same light as Nora. To her, the dollhouse was a marvel of artistry and engineering. It was so much more than a model house. It was a time capsule and a repository of secrets. It was a museum-caliber work of art. From the stained-glass window next to the front door, to the carved porch railing, to the hundreds of roof shingles, the miniature Wynter House was unlike any dollhouse Nora had ever seen. The handmade furniture, paintings, textiles, and decorative accessories were remarkably detailed.
What a labor of love this is.
She peered into the other rooms, taking in the furniture, rugs, wallpaper, and tiny objects. For the first time, she saw the Wynter House Lucille had known. The house of her childhood—the house where she lived with her parents and her sister—was a place of elegance and beauty.
Then Lucille’s parents died, and she married Frederick. After that, everything changed.
As Nora stared at the dollhouse bathtub, she knew that the body destroyed by lye must be Frederick’s. Those bones were the reason Lucille never left Wynter House. This secret kept her prisoner. Guilt and fear were her jailers.
Beck picked up the miniature printing press from the dollhouse basement and cranked the handle. When the rollers turned, Nora pictured fresh ink making tiny words on a tiny piece of paper.
Hugo Wynter had loved paper. He’d loved the combination of paper and words. He and his wife had made books together, and together they’d written and illustrated a book for their daughters. Nora had no idea if Hugo had embezzled money from the paper mill or not. She could only judge him by what Lucille had told her and by the objects he’d left behind, and based on this evidence, he seemed like a man who cherished his family and did everything he could to build a comfortable life for them.
Studying Beck’s glum expression, she said, “I know this isn’t what you were looking for, but this dollhouse is a prize. I wish I had time to examine every book in this little library so I could show you what a find this is. Beck, there are tons of miniature book collectors out there. You might be able to sell this entire collection at auction without breaking it up.”
Hope rekindled in Beck’s eyes. “I’ve spent my whole life just scraping by. I’m fifty-six, and I haven’t done anything or gone anywhere. I have a job and an apartment, but no life. No romance. No excitement. Nothing. I can’t go back to that existence. I just can’t.”
Nora put a hand on his arm. “Things will get better. You’ve been through so much in the past few days. After the house cleanup is done and your mom’s things are sold, you can have a fresh start. Same goes for Harper.”
“Oh, God! I have to call Harper.” Beck reached out and clutched Nora’s hand. “I want to give my sister some good news, so could you stay a little longer? Please? Maybe you could take the books into the kitchen? See what they’re worth?”
Nora couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do. “Sure.”
“Thank you. I didn’t expect to come back to this town and make a friend, but I have.”
For a moment, Nora thought he might try to kiss her, so she gave his hand a brief squeeze and stepped away. “I’ll get a clean pair of gloves and look for a box to hold these bookshelves.”
Slipping out through the narrow opening into the library, she felt a strange mixture of satisfaction and grief.
On one hand, she’d completed the scavenger hunt. Even though she didn’t find the clue behind the bathroom mirror, or the clue hidden in the garden, she’d found the little lost library, and it was just as magical as she’d dreamed it would be.
And yet her discovery also spelled its doom. The little library would be removed from the dollhouse, dismantled, and sold, book by precious book, to collectors all over the world.
“Someone will cherish these books the way they were meant to be cherished,” she murmured resolutely to herself. “No book should sit on a shelf in the dark. Those words will finally see the light of day. It’s a good thing.”
Is this why Lucille had given The Little Lost Library to her? Because she wanted Nora to find a home for her books? The ones her parents had collected, along with the miniature books in her dollhouse? If so, why send her on a wild-goose chase? Why not just tell her where they were and be done with it?
In the kitchen, she lined an empty rubber bin with paper towels. Then she stepped out to the boot room to get a new pair of gloves.
For a moment, she saw Lucille in her chair, holding a Lorna Doone in one hand and a porcelain teacup in the other. The image was so vivid that Nora’s heart knotted with grief.
Of course, you’re still here. You’re still tied to this house and to its secrets.
From somewhere in the yard, Rambo let out a single bark. Nora turned toward the sound, and when she looked back to where Lucille’s chair had once been, nothing was there.
She returned to the library to find Beck taking photos of the dollhouse. The bright flash of his camera repeatedly illuminated the darkness behind the bookcase.
“I have a bin,” Nora called.
Beck pushed his way through the opening and held out his phone. “I thought I should make a photographic inventory before you leave with the books. I trust you completely, but it just seemed like the smart thing to do.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Is Harper here?”
“She hadn’t come inside yet.”
Beck rolled his eyes. “I’m dying to show this to her, and she’s probably out in the driveway, fawning over Rambo. She has two German shepherds back in Dallas. She keeps calling the kennel to see how they’re doing.”
Tucking the box under her arm, Nora said, “Should I wait until she sees the dollhouse before moving any of the books?”
“You know how she feels about books. I’m sure she’d rather see the house without them.” He waved at the little library. “I’ll find out what’s keeping her.”
Nora squeezed behind the bookcase, the rubber bin trailing after her. Balancing the bin on the edge of the table holding the dollhouse, she took a long moment to drink in the details of each room again. Then she snapped a few images with her phone and sent them to McCabe, along with the text Guess what? We found the library! All is well. Be home by ten.
She hoped he wouldn’t hear the incoming text alert chime. She hoped he’d go right on sleeping until she tiptoed into the house and covered him with a blanket. She hoped he wouldn’t wake up while she stayed up well past midnight, researching a priceless collection of miniature books.
Pocketing her phone, she took hold of the first set of bookcases and gave them a hesitant pull. Though she was eager to examine the books, she wasn’t willing to damage the dollhouse or its furniture.
When the bookcases didn’t yield, Nora assumed they’d either been nailed or glued to the wall.
“What now?” she mumbled.
She already knew the answer. She had to wait for Beck and Harper. They had to decide if they wanted her to remove the books, one by one, or remove the bookcases by force.
In the meantime, she took more photographs of the dollhouse. She shot a short video as well, knowing her friends would want to see every detail.
As she zoomed the camera in to capture the Delft tiles surrounding the fireplace in the front parlor, she couldn’t help but wonder if Hugo had created secret nooks in this version of Wynter House too. However, when she wiggled the tile with the ship, it didn’t budge. The trunk in the attic was empty, the clock in the office didn’t have a pearl button, and the newel post of the stairs was solid. She didn’t bother trying to twist the frame around the stained-glass window, as she didn’t want to damage the delicate glass.
She was about to pull out another book, just to read the title, when she was struck by a thought. She gripped the edges of the bookcase that was the tiny twin of the bookcase directly behind her and pulled. It separated from the wall with ease.
Nora glanced from the piece of furniture cradled in her hand to the shallow nook carved into the interior wall. An envelope no bigger than a domino tile filled the space.
The ghost tingle in Nora’s pinkie started up again, but nothing could stop her from reaching for that envelope.
It wasn’t sealed, so she eased the letter from the envelope, unfolded it, and tried to read the cursive writing. But in the dim light, the minuscule words looked like ants marching across the page.
Luckily, her phone camera was able to focus on the tiny words. Nora took photos of both front and back before reading the letter’s contents:
My name is Lynette Shirley Wynter. I leave this letter in the care of my sister, Lucille, to give to my son, John Steinbeck, when the time is right.
John, my darling boy, I loved you from the moment I knew of your existence. At the time of your conception, I was an unmarried schoolteacher. I could not claim you as my own. But you were my whole world.
Your father is Frederick Vandercamp. I am your mother. One night, when my sister was in the first stage of pregnancy and suffering terribly from morning sickness, Frederick got very drunk and took me by force.
When I, too, became pregnant, I hid it for as long as possible—for how could I explain my circumstance? One night, in the middle of a January blizzard, Lucille went into labor. As the roads were impassable, Frederick and I had to deliver her child. He was born with the cord wrapped around his neck, blue and lifeless. My sister was inconsolable with grief. Frederick buried his son in the garden, under the statue of the angel, and threatened to kill my sister and me, should we ever speak of what happened. Even then, he meant to replace the child he’d lost with the one I was carrying. This is exactly what he did.
You were also born at Wynter House, sweet John. Frederick hired a doctor who knew nothing of our family and told him that I was his wife. After your birth, Frederick hired a wet nurse to take care of you and refused to let me near. I tried everything I could to get close to you until Frederick grew tired of me and locked me in my room.
Lucille couldn’t help me. The loss of her son had broken her spirit. When the wet nurse brought meals to my room, she told me how Lucille wouldn’t leave her bed. She wasn’t speaking and was barely eating.
One day, Frederick decided my presence was inhibiting my sister’s recovery. He told me to leave and never return, saying he’d kill me if I did. He gave me money from a large sum of cash hidden in my father’s old desk. Here was the money stolen from the mill! The thief was not my father, but Frederick!
I agreed to leave, but I’d never abandon you, John. I stayed away for one night and have now snuck back into the house. I write this letter from my hiding place in the dollhouse cupboard. Frederick is in the parlor, drinking himself into a stupor. As soon as he blacks out, I will make sure he never wakes again.
Though I fear for my life, I must rescue you and my sister. As long as we three are together, there is hope. If I fail, know that I am—
Always,
Your Loving Mother
Nora had no idea how long she stood next to the dollhouse, staring at the letter. Her chest swelled with emotion until there was no room for air in her lungs. The small space seemed to be closing in on her, and she reached out to touch the wall as if she could push it back. The cool stone felt good against her clammy skin.
Leaning against the wall, she took a breath.
The revelations in the letter were a tangle in her brain, but after a few moments of concentrating only on inhaling and exhaling, thoughts began to separate.
Beck’s mother was Lynette Wynter. Lynette was raped by her sister’s husband. Lucille’s baby was stillborn. Frederick Vandercamp was a monster. Hugo Wynter never stole money from the mill. Lynette tried to save her sister and her son from Frederick and had clearly failed. What price had she paid?
Nora lowered her head and let out a sob. At last, the source of Lucille’s trauma was evident to her.
Frederick Vandercamp.
Nora had no doubt that he’d killed Lynette. And afterward? Had he threatened to do the same to Lucille if she didn’t fall in line?
No wonder she cut off contact with the outside world. She had three children to protect. “Oh, Lucille. I am so sorry.”
Even after disposing of Frederick, Lucille couldn’t leave Wynter House. Crippled by trauma, she’d buried herself in books. She’d built walls of boxes and bags, avoiding human interactions unless strictly necessary. It was understandable why she’d legally changed her children’s surnames, wanting to scrub the Vandercamp name from her memory.
“So much pain,” Nora whispered.
Wynter House had witnessed so many deaths. Lucille and her baby. Lynette. Clem. And the man in the bathtub, a monster called Frederick Vandercamp.
Nora slowly refolded the note, slid it back into the envelope, and tucked it back inside the wall of the dollhouse library.
Then she called McCabe.
He answered on the third ring. “Are you on your way home?”
Home.
Home was a place of safety. It was a place to dream. A place to make memories. A place where one could build a life. It was the place where people dared to be themselves. Where they gave love and were loved in return.
“Grant. I need you.” Nora knew she sounded bereft, but didn’t care. “I need you to come here.”
McCabe was already moving. “Are you in danger?”
“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just . . . I found what Lucille wanted me to find, and it’s . . . too much. Can you just come?”
“I’m on my way.”
Nora put her phone in her back pocket, tucked the rubber bin under her arm, and sidestepped back into the library.
She emerged to find Harper standing in the middle of the room. She had a flashlight in one hand and a gun in her other. The gun was aimed directly at Nora’s chest.
“You.” Harper spat the word. “You are always here. Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You pretend to be so sympathetic. So understanding and helpful. But I was right about you all along. You’re nothing but a thief.”
Nora’s eyes went wide with fear. “No! Beck asked me to come. He knows I’m here.”
“I don’t care what Beck asked you to do. He’s so busy playing nice that he doesn’t see what’s right in front of his face.” Harper took a step toward Nora. Anger rippled off her body. Her eyes were cold sparks of hatred. “You have been coming here for years, selling books to a hoarder so you could gain access to this house. You’ve been looking for the money all along, but you lost patience, didn’t you? You killed Mom. You killed her and then made sure your friends got the cleanup job. I know you and Bea go way back. Are you going to split the money two ways? Or is it three ways? Is Cricket in on it, too?”
With every question, Harper’s voice rose, and she jabbed the gun in the air like a boxer throwing punches.
Nora searched for something to say to tamp down Harper’s fury, but terror made her mute. Her eyes followed the black maw at the end of the gun, and all she could think about was the bullet waiting in the chamber. It was such a small thing to have so much power. If Harper applied pressure with a single finger, Nora’s life would be over.
Say something! screamed a voice inside her head. And suddenly the words were there.
“I would never hurt your mom! And I never wanted to steal from her or from you! Beck asked me to help him find the lost library, and we did. The tiny books—they’re worth a lot of money. You can—”
“LIAR!” Harper shrieked.
Beck appeared in the doorway. He stared into the room, his eyes bulging, and it felt like an eternity before he shouted his sister’s name.
“HARPER! What the hell are you doing? Put that damn thing away!”
Harper jerked her head in refusal. “She’s after our money. She—”
“I know why your mother started hoarding!” Nora cut in. “Lynette left a letter in the dollhouse. It was in the wall behind the bookcase.” She shot a desperate glance at Beck. “She wrote it for you.”
Beck crossed the room until he was standing in front of Nora. “I mean it, Harper. Put that damn thing away before you get arrested. Why do you even have a gun?”
“I’m a Texan. We like to defend ourselves and our property.” She lowered the gun to her side, but kept her finger on the trigger. “Too much shit has gone down in this house to walk around unarmed.”
With Beck shielding her, Nora felt a measure of safety. Peering around Beck’s shoulder, she said, “Horrible things have been happening here since before you were born. It’s all in the letter.”
Beck advanced toward Harper. “I want to know what it says, but I can’t get it while you’re on the other side of the bookcase with a loaded gun. Will you please put it away so I can show you what’s behind that wall?”
Harper hesitated a long moment before saying, “Fine, but I’m leaving the safety off. If she tries anything, she’s going down.” Harper slid the gun inside her crossbody bag and glared at Nora. “Go get the letter. I’m not going back there until I know you’re telling the truth.”
Nora returned the glare. “If Hollowell sees you—wait, where is Hollowell?”
“She’s chasing a nonexistent intruder in the cemetery. The cops in this town are absolute morons. How many Wynters have to die before they make an arrest?”
Beck turned to Nora. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. Please get the letter.”
Nora stared at him for a long moment before relenting.
The moment she was out of sight, she sent a text to McCabe. Only when she saw that it had been read did she retrieve Lynette’s letter from the dollhouse.
She returned to the library to find Beck and Harper exactly as she’d left them. Holding the letter out to Beck, she said, “You should read this before you share it with anyone.”
Harper’s hand moved toward her bag. “Listen, you little—”
“Stop!” Beck thundered. “Can you just stop for two minutes?”
Without waiting for Harper’s reply, Beck opened the envelope, unfolded the letter, and began to read. Nora watched the range of emotions flash over his face. By the time he reached the end, his skin was covered in red blotches, and his lips were trembling.
“Beck,” Harper whispered. “What does it say?”
Tears streamed down Beck’s cheeks as he arched his neck and let out a howl of despair. His eyes were wild as he crumpled the letter and threw it to the floor.
In three steps, he moved to his sister’s side and grabbed her by the elbow. “You were right. The letter is a trick.” Pointing at Nora, he croaked, “She murdered our mom. She killed Clem. They’re gone because of her. The money’s gone because of her. Our lives are ruined because of her!”
Whipping the revolver out of her bag, Harper hissed at Nora, “Good thing you like this house so much. Because you’re gonna die here.”