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Monday, December 30th
Charlotte woke to gentle snoring, which she recognized as Shamus’ purring when he was in an ecstatic zone. It was daylight, which meant it wasn’t particularly early. She was nude under the duvet. Then she smiled and turned the other way.
Shamus was lying on top of Donovan’s chest with his front paws tucked in. Donovan was rubbing him under the chin, which explained the loud purrs.
“This is a great cat,” he said. He turned to look at her, then leaned over to kiss her softly, forcing Shamus to situate himself elsewhere. “Good morning. I can hardly believe I’m here.”
Charlotte lay back as he moved on top of her for a fuller embrace. “I can hardly believe it, either.”
He sat up and drew the duvet down to look at her. She felt no self-consciousness at this, and looked at him herself.
“So beautiful,” he murmured. Then, playfully, “So responsive.”
The sunlight grew stronger and did its magic in the apartment, an effect that wasn’t lost on him when they finally rose to retrieve their clothes from the stairs and get dressed.
“Your painting. I’m glad to finally see it. Aunt Helene told me she wanted to get it back for you, and I can see why you hated to give it up.” He looked over the notebooks on the big table, the sofa, the kilim rug, the view from the windows. “I love this place. I can breathe here.”
Charlotte smiled and handed him a cup of coffee. She was about to tell him to feel free to be there as much as he wanted, when both their phones rang at almost the same time, sending them to look around for them and answer.
Ellis called to say she and Jack wanted to stop by and pick up Charlotte to go to Helene’s in half an hour.
She covered the microphone and looked at Donovan, and he covered his and looked at her.
“It’s Helene,” he said. “Went to look for me at the house, and, surprise, no answer. She’s having brunch in half an hour.”
Charlotte gestured to show a similar situation on her call. “Ellis and Jack will be there too.”
“How do you want to do this?” he asked.
She knew he didn’t mean just breakfast at Helene’s.
“My daughter is a big girl, now. So I’m fine with everyone knowing we’re in this kind of a relationship, if you are.”
Donovan’s smile was wicked. “So I can tell Aunt Helene that you’re my woman now?”
“If I can tell Ellis you’re my hunka burnin’ love.”
Donovan grimaced. “Ugh!” Then he spoke into the phone. “Aunt Helene, I’m at Charlotte’s. We’ll be there in a bit.” He paused, listening.
Charlotte resumed her own call. “Ellis, I’m still having my first coffee with Donovan, so we’ll meet you and your dad at Helene’s, okay?”
“No, I stayed overnight,” said Donovan to Helene. Then he looked up at Charlotte as he said, “Life couldn’t be better.” He listened some more. “That’s right. See you later.”
“She was great. She said she had a feeling something was going on, and hopes that we are happy.”
The newness of their relationship begged for more time together. “I wish we could hide here for the next twenty-four hours, but—.”
“But real life carries on. C’m’ere.” Donovan drew her into his arms again. “It hasn’t been a bad start, though, has it?” He nuzzled her neck.
“Not bad at all. But if you keep that up we won’t get there until tonight.”
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THEY GOT THERE MERELY forty minutes later instead of thirty, since Donovan wanted to make sure the Jeep’s brake lines were intact before they drove to Helene’s. Ellis and Jack were already situated in the sitting room with helpings from the buffet in the kitchen. Ellis seemed preoccupied—listening and smiling in the right places, but texting frequently on her phone.
Helene said that the lawyers wanted Donovan and herself to come in a little later on to finalize the estate settlement. Donovan said that Jimmy was going to Chicago to pick up things for his party, and had offered to drive him there in the afternoon to meet with the agents handling the rare book auction; they would stay overnight in the city, as Donovan’s appointment with his specialist was very early the next morning.
“This is a crazy lot of stuff going on,” he said to Charlotte, “but it’s good to get things rolling. After today, I’ll have a checking account with actual money in it, and the freedom to do whatever I want with the house and the contents. And then, with luck, maybe after tomorrow I’ll be cleared to drive again.” He and Charlotte were in the kitchen, getting second helpings. “I hardly needed the cane last night.”
She smiled at the memory. “Believe me, I noticed.”
Helene came in and smiled at them both in a knowing way, but refrained from saying anything. She presented Charlotte with Paul Dalmier’s drawings and specs for the Garibaldi lab. “They’re yours to keep. I hope they help, Charlotte.”
“Thanks, Helene, I appreciate it.”
Jack was curious about the blueprints, and Charlotte explained about her search for the tunnel connecting the Garibaldi property with Bishop Hall. To her surprise, he knew exactly what she was talking about.
“There is a partial tunnel running off the basement level. A bunch of us went in one time to check it out, but it’s completely blocked not too far down, like it was caved in.”
“What side of the building was it on?” asked Charlotte. She moved down the sofa to make room for Donovan.
Jack thought for a moment. “Back. Back of the building.”
That was it—Eddie Corton’s tunnel to the farm. “Do you still happen to have your Bishop Hall key?”
Jack grinned at her. “Oh, yeah. I’m still on the Corton faculty, you know. The Sorbonne is a sabbatical.”
Donovan nudged her elbow with his. “You’ll be careful not to get into a vulnerable situation, and let Barnes know?”
“Vulnerable situation?” said Jack, one eyebrow raised. “You give me too much credit.”
Donovan turned to Charlotte with an unspoken look: Is this guy for real? She barely suppressed a snicker.
“I wasn’t talking about you. You’re not a problem,” Donovan said, as if dismissing something trivial. “This is in connection to Alonzo Garibaldi’s murder.” He went on to quietly explain Charlotte’s involvement, and the cause of Gani’s accident.
Jack sobered up, finally realizing this was serious business. “Oh, right. I understand now. I won’t leave her alone down there, don’t worry.”
Helene was talking about music with Ellis.
“Marketing is critical, you’re right,” she said, and walking over to a tall bookcase that held a considerable collection of LP albums. “I’ve got a hilarious cover here, somewhere,” she said, running the tip of her finger over the albums, then selecting one, which she handed to Ellis who then shared it with the others. “How’s that for marketing, way back when?”
Entitled “An Intimate Evening,” the cover featured Helene in her prime, blond hair in an updo, eye makeup the epitome of early 1960’s smoky look, heavy on the eyeliner and long lashes, and a slinky black evening gown, complete with substantial décolletage. She was posed slightly leaning against a black grand piano, on top of which were candles, two wine glasses, and a single red rose. The whole effect was cheesy romantic, save for the hint of amusement in her eyes.
“Oh my,” muttered Charlotte. “Times have changed a bit.” The song selection was a mix of Chopin, Mendelssohn, Debussy, and Ravel.
Helene smiled and shrugged. “When my agent told me about this project, I thought he was joking. But the label wanted a way to market classical music to a wider audience, make it less eggheaded.” She returned the album to the shelf. “It sold more than any other album I did, too, excepting the Carnegie Romantic Piano Festival,” referring to a live-recording 70’s album of performances by a who’s who of concert pianists, including Horowitz, Kempff, Rubenstein, and Cliburn. Helene and Alicia de Larrocha were the only two women performers. “At the time, I worried that it would cause me to be taken less seriously, but that didn’t happen, and of course aging made sure it wouldn’t!”
Donovan’s smile was wicked. “So, Aunt Helene, just who were you looking at when that photo was taken?”
Helene actually blushed, something that Charlotte had never seen her do before. “I don’t recall.”
Helene changed the subject back to Ellis. “So. I understand they have you studying middle period Beethoven? Anything in particular?”
Ellis nodded. “The Waldstein Sonata.”
“Oh goodness,” Helene murmured. “Talk about trial by fire. How is it going?”
Ellis pointed to the piano. “I can show you, but I need the music in front of me.”
Helene found her copy of the Complete Sonatas. Ellis started out with energy; Charlotte, Donovan, and Jack turned in their chairs to listen to the Allegro con brio, while Helene stood nearby to turn the pages for Ellis. Only a few missed notes marred the first movement; Charlotte could see why her daughter’s hands and arms had become so developed and sinewy.
Donovan took her hand. “She is amazing. She’s just a kid.”
“I just hope they aren’t pushing her too hard.”
The second movement, the Introducione: Adagio molto, went without a hitch, and Charlotte had goosebumps during the end of it, as it anticipated the third movement, the Rondo: allegretto moderato-prestissimo, which was, she knew, technically brutal.
It went well, if a bit more focused on speed than song, and then Ellis stopped about halfway, claiming fatigue. No surprise.
Everyone clapped, but Helene got down to business, one hand on Ellis’ shoulder, the other holding a pen and pointing out things in the score.
Jack leaned over to speak quietly. “I think it was punishment from the teacher who assigned her that piece. Shelley is friends with one of the faculty there who told her that this teacher is obsessed with Jean-Luc and sets up the competition for failure, so they are either humiliated or drop out. Can you believe that?”
Then they heard the movement begin again, and this time it was sublime. Helene had taken the other piano, and was playing the Rondo from memory, ever so slightly slower than Ellis’ attempt, but with exceeding fluidity and an almost heartbreaking clarity to the sweet melodic line.
Yet as much of a gift as it was to hear the elderly Helene play one of the most beautiful pieces of piano music ever written, the greatest gift for Charlotte was seeing Donovan’s face as he listened, looking as if he was transported back to another time.
Charlotte pulled the Jeep into the parking space behind Jack’s rental car. He had just arrived himself and held open the door to Bishop Hall for her, giving her a flashback to the days when their relationship was still good. The last time they had to be in the same place at the same time, for a meeting with Ellis’ high school guidance counselor, he let the door slam in her face.
“So what’s changed? You’re being nice to me,” she said, going past him.
He shrugged. “Like you said at the restaurant, don’t have a dog in the fight anymore. Doing what’s best for Ellis, because she’s better than either one of us. Shelley slapping sense into me about my mother. Getting older, but getting okay with it. And you seem different. The new guy is good for you. I don’t feel so inspired to piss you off.”
She laughed. “That seems honest enough. I can live with it. And I’m actually looking forward to seeing Shelley and thanking her for talking to Ellis, giving her a way to understand the dynamics involved with your mother.”
Jack unlocked the double doors to what was once a large meeting room. He explained that it had served many purposes, such as a cafeteria, a meeting room for rallies, school dances, immunization drives, and temporary shelter during emergencies. But all that was long ago, for it now only contained stacks of old tables, chairs, student desks, blackboards, bookcases, and the like.
He led the way to the back of the room, where there was a solid metal door painted the same pale green as the concrete block walls. The same key fit in the deadbolt, too. Charlotte pulled back a few chairs, since the door opened inward, and Jack cautiously opened it.
There wasn’t another room on the other side, but a partial extension of the concrete block wall—and then wooden planks and timbers, and a lot of dirt. And darkness.
Jack grabbed a broom that was propped just outside the door, then turned on the flashlight in his smart phone and led the way; the tunnel went downward at an angle halfway between a standard flight of stairs and flat ground. For some reason Charlotte had envisioned it as low and narrow, but neither of them had to stoop, and it was easily six or seven feet wide. It smelled earthy and damp, and here and there the ground was slippery. It wasn’t as cold as she expected. Occasionally Jack used the broom to clear a cobweb, but there weren’t very many. The slope eased into level ground, where it was considerably more damp, and about fifty feet or so after that they came to the end: a pile of dirt and timber, an area where the tunnel simply seemed to have imploded on itself.
“That’s it, then,” said Jack.
“I wonder how far away we are from Bishop Hall? And how deep this blockage is. Do you think there’s more tunnel on the other side of it?”
Jack handed her the broom and fumbled with his smart phone. “I’m seeing if the GPS can pick up our location—got it!” He showed it to her. “I’ll send it to you in an email. I thought you had a smart phone?”
“I did,” she sighed. “Couldn’t afford the service anymore, and with not needing to be on call for Ellis, or needing to keep track of her, it didn’t have the same priority.”
“Well, if you keep involving yourself in this sort of thing, you might want to revisit that priority. Let’s head back while I still have battery life.”
“Or somebody locks us in. This is place gives me the creeps.”
“My understanding is this tunnel was used in the Underground Railroad, or at least part of it. Connected to a house that was here before Bishop Hall was built, and went down to that farm, where the runaway slaves would hide in wagons that took them farther north.”
They exited the tunnel and locked everything back up.
“I want to check my office, make sure things are still intact,” he said, and Charlotte followed him up to the second floor.
She felt odd as she entered his office. On one hand, there were so many memories—of helping him move from a third floor instructor’s office to a full-fledged associate professor’s office, complete with wall-to-wall bookcases and a large window with a great view of the oldest part of campus and the park-like green with dozens of ancient oak trees. She recalled the days they’d have lunch together at his desk, the days she’d come by between classes and appointments with baby Ellis.
Most of his books were still there, and he began to rummage in the old file cabinets. “Just need to find something I want to scan.” He nodded to the books and files. “Everything has changed so much since I started teaching, the computers, the Internet. It’s been challenging to keep up; some of the older faculty have never made the adjustment.”
“Why did it all go wrong?” Charlotte surprised herself by asking the elephant in the room question.
His back was to her and she saw him stop searching for his file for a moment, then resuming.
“Ellis, of course.” He turned to face her, and bumped the drawer with his back to close it.
“I don’t understand.”
“Before you got pregnant, you were so much fun—you were game for just about everything. Remember?”
Charlotte felt her cheeks warm from the long-suppressed memories, but she nodded.
“I wasn’t ready to be the husband of a mother. I still identified with college life more than married life or fatherhood. You were so into it, though, took to motherhood like a duck to water. Ellis was the center of your existence. And I’m sure the more I didn’t share that, the more she became almost the whole reason for your existence. While I didn’t hate you or her, far from it, I just didn’t get what I needed from it. Pretty infantile of me, actually, but there it is.”
He leaned against the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. “After a couple of years without us being us, I found other ways to have fun on this particular campus. Dropping E at parties, crazy stuff, students and faculty both. Interesting times, things you didn’t want to be part of.”
He was right about that—a pregnant or nursing mother didn’t want to take drugs, and if you didn’t take the drugs, it was hard to get into the party. It wouldn’t have been her scene, anyway—and she suspected that even if Ellis hadn’t been a factor, she and Jack would eventually have had trouble when his evolving concept of fun clashed with hers. But it gave her an idea.
“Was Alonzo Garibaldi at those parties?”
Jack snorted a laugh. “Was he? Hell, he hosted some of them!”
“And Janice?”
“She was around a couple different times, yeah.”
He didn’t elaborate, but made a move to leave the office, and she followed him out and down the stairs to their cars. She didn’t need to ask more, because she knew that look, that tone of voice, and what it meant.
As soon as Charlotte entered her foyer, she had a vivid recollection of the night before. She nearly floated the rest of the way upstairs, where the bed, in full view and delightfully mussed up, further reinforced the new reality, that she had someone in her life.
Their relationship happened quickly on one hand, but not so much when considered over the course of the past three months. There were real advantages to having been such good friends first, building mutual trust and respect before letting loose the—
Here she had to take a deep breath, and felt a pang that almost made her cry.
Donovan had brought a sea change to her whole being.
She was very deeply in love.