As Charley had expected, a small glass door on the right led to a long, narrow sunporch. The remaining front part of the house was comprised of a living area with large windows that provided a panoramic view of the river. In the style of many of the grand old houses of the last century, the entire east wall of the room was a series of sliding wooden panels that opened up into a dining area. This allowed the two rooms to be combined for large gatherings or closed for more intimate settings. The center of the dining room was occupied by a large, round, oak dining table illuminated by an ornate cut glass lamp hanging from above.
Mrs. Nelson offered Charley a chair on one side of the living room. She then took one herself opposite him, separating them by about fifteen feet. Not exactly an invitation for an intimate conversation, Charley thought as they sat down.
“May I get you something?” Mrs. Nelson asked. “Perhaps,” she paused and seemed to study him for just an extra second as though considering her next words, “a cup of coffee or tea?”
Charley smiled shyly, trying not to offend. “No, thank you.”
“A cold beer perhaps?”
Charley thought it odd to offer a complete stranger a cold beer. Rather than dwell on that, he decided to plunge ahead. “No, thank you, I don’t drink. I don’t want to take up too much of your time, but I must ask, how did you know my dad?”
“I met him only once,” Mrs. Nelson replied. “A nice man, I suppose, although a little strange.”
“Strange?”
“We met in an oddly similar situation as this. I remember he came seeking the same information, and he declined my offer of refreshments in much the same manner you did.”
“You offered him a beer?” Charley asked in surprise, trying to imagine his father actually declining such an offer.
Mrs. Nelson smiled. “He sat right where you are and answered in almost exactly the same way. He hesitated for a moment then said, ‘Thank you.’” She lowered her voice and tucked her chin to imitate his father, “‘But I don’t drink coffee or alcohol anymore.’” There was a twinkle in her eye as she said, “You must be a Mormon, just like him.”
Charley remembered growing up and being offended when someone would tell him that he was just like his dad. But how was he supposed to answer this woman after a statement like that? “Uh, yes, I suppose so,” he managed to stammer then quickly changed the subject. “You say he came seeking the same information as I am?”
“You want to know about Robert Haversham and his time as the assistant lighthouse keeper at Heceta Head Lighthouse, and you were hoping Hanna Adamo could help you, and you’re disappointed to find out that Nana Hanna has been dead for over thirty years. Am I right?”
Charley bit at his lip and nodded. “That pretty much sums it up.”
Mrs. Nelson cocked her head and gave Charley what he read as a pitying smile. “Hanna Adamo was my grandmother. She lived in this house before I did. Robert Haversham was my great-grandfather. Unfortunately, we don’t have much information about him, but I suppose I can show you the same stuff I showed your father. I doubt it will help you any more than it seemed to help him, but perhaps you can help me get back a few items I loaned to your father.” She stood and indicated that Charley should follow her.
He was mystified what items she might be talking about, yet he held his peace and followed her in silence. He could hear the girls still playing their jump rope game on the front walk.
“In the caves beneath the foam,” they chanted in rhythm with the steady slap of the rope on the cement. “One and two and three, four, five.”
Ornate wooden stairs led up through the center of the house, switching back once before finally reaching the second floor. Charley could see doors on his right, straight ahead, and to his left. The door to the bedroom directly ahead was open, and light streamed through windows set above a bookcase. Mrs. Nelson led him into the small south-facing bedroom.
The slant of the roof caused the far side of the ceiling to angle down to the middle of the wall. There was a small closet on the right, but Mrs. Nelson turned to her left and made her way between two twin beds to the far end of the room, where she bent and released the catch on a low door in the wall. The door obviously led to a storage space beneath the rafters. She knelt down, seemed to rearrange a few things, then tugged a box out. Standing, she lifted the box and placed it on one of the beds.
“This is all we have of Robert Haversham,” she declared as she lifted the lid. She reached in and emptied the box, placing each item separately on the bed. The box contained a wool jacket from some sort of uniform, a brass compass, a pocket watch, and an old photo of a man wearing the jacket and standing solemnly with a woman dressed in a long dress and an old-fashioned overcoat. In the background, a two-masted schooner lay canted on its side on the beach. The photo had been encased in plastic to preserve it. Charley reached out and turned the photograph over. On the back was written Nettie Sundberg. He turned the photo back so it lay on the bed faceup.
“Your great-grandfather?”
“Yes, and the woman is my great-grandmother, Velma Haversham. The boat in the background was the Nettie Sundberg.”
Charley wasn’t sure if he was excited or disappointed. The connection between Haversham and the Nettie Sundberg was confirmed, but he still didn’t know anything more than he had before. “So is this all you have from your great-grandfather? No journals or anything?” he asked hopefully.
“That’s the same thing your father asked, and the answer is still no. We did, however, have a couple of other things.” She gave him an odd look as she said it, as though she were waiting for him to tell her what they were.
“Where are they?”
She frowned. “You father asked to borrow them.” She paused again as though expecting Charley to say something, but when it became obvious he didn’t know how to reply, she continued, “He never brought them back like he promised. Do you know what became of them?”
Charley shrugged. “I didn’t even know he had been here. I have no idea what they would be.”
“Two coins.” She seemed to be studying him intently. “One was a worthless coin with the name of some arcane organization inscribed on it. The other one was—”
“A 1901 Double Eagle twenty-dollar gold piece,” Charley finished the sentence for her.
Her eyebrows rose in—what? Surprise, or confirmation of her suspicions? Charley couldn’t tell but wanted to allay any guilt that might possibly be associated with either him or his father. “I found them just the other day in a safety deposit box. I hadn’t even known my dad had it—the box, that is. I suspect he died before he could return the coins to you, and I had no idea where they had come from until just now. I’ll be sure they’re returned to you.”
She tilted her head and smiled, not yet completely trusting but somewhat appeased. “Thank you, Charley. I would appreciate that.”
“Do you know why my dad was so interested in those coins?”
Mrs. Nelson shook her head. “He didn’t say, although he did seem to take an intense interest when I told him that, at least according to my grandmother, Great-grandpa Haversham had found them on the wreck of the Nettie Sundberg.”
They discussed the various items for a few minutes, but Charley could glean nothing else. Finally, it became evident that their conversation was at an end. Charley thanked her and then retreated down the stairs, she following as though she were ushering him out of her house.
They paused at the front door, and he thanked her again, once again reassuring her he would be returning the two coins to her soon. As he turned to descend the steps, the chant of the girls grabbed his attention.
“Treasure ships of Hey-they-ta, One and two and three, four, five. Secret caves of Kay You Cla, One and two and three, four, five.”
There was something about the rhyme that caught his attention, but he couldn’t quite place it. He turned back to Mrs. Nelson. “That’s a curious rhyme those girls are chanting. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”
Mrs. Nelsen smiled, looking past him at the girls.
“How many bears were said to die? One and two and three, four, five.”
“I’m really not sure where it came from. My mother taught it to me. Nana Hanna taught it to her. I suppose it’s been in the family for several generations, just a little nonsense rhyme to jump rope to.”
“Jumping through the needle’s eye, One and two and three, four, five.”
Suddenly it dawned on him. Quickly he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the paper on which he had copied the two coins at the bank. There, under the words Nettie Sundberg, were the numbers he had previously assumed were simply nonsensical. One and two and three, four, five. He looked up at Mrs. Nelson.
“Would you mind if I had the girls teach it to me?” Charley asked. “I’d like to write it down.”
Mrs. Nelson chuckled. It came out as sort of a snort, but Charley found it endearing. “Now you like nonsense rhymes? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt anything.” She looked past Charley at the girls. “Girls, this gentleman would like to learn your rope-skipping chant. Do you think you can teach him?”
For the next several minutes, Charley sat on the second step, writing down the words of the rhyme as the girls repeated them to him, sometimes arguing over the exact pronunciation of some of the more nonsensical terms. When he thought he was finished, he placed the paper and pencil back in his pocket, thanked them for their time, and stood to leave. Before he could, however, he was informed by the girls that he was not allowed to leave until he had demonstrated his skill by chanting the new lyrics as he jumped rope. To their delight, he proved that his skill at jumping rope almost, but not quite, matched their own.