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IDA WAS STILL rummaging through hatboxes. “What about this one?” She took off her other hat and tried on a faded and extremely limp yellow straw hat that definitely had seen better days.
“I like the other one better,” Rebecca Jo said. “I almost hate to admit it, but that white feather hat seems to suit you. This thing, though?” She shuddered.
Ida switched back the hats and consigned the horrible yellow one to the pile of rejects near one of the dressers. I didn’t even consider asking her to put it into the recycle pile.
“About that kith and kind letter,” Carol said. “Can you read it to us?”
“Sure.” I picked up the letter. “Mountain House,” I read. “Fourteen February 1802. It’s addressed to Rosilla Garner Millicent, Millicent House. Oh my gosh!”
What is wrong?
“What?” Amanda said, and was echoed by Carol.
“Millicent House. That must be the library.”
I like the library. That is where I found Widelap.
Carol still looked confused, so I explained. “The Martinsville town library is housed in a big old mansion that was deeded to the town by a Miss Millicent, specifying that it was to be used as a library.”
"Is that where you met Marmalade?"
I puffed out my cheeks. "As a matter of fact, yes. How did you know?"
She pointed. "She told me she found you there."
I laughed. "I suppose she did."
Of course I did.
“We always called it the Millicent Mansion,” Sadie said.
It was a Mouse House because of all those intruders.
“We still do,” Glaze said, smiling at Marmalade’s antics.
“So how did the letter end up here?” Pat shook her head and pointed to our trunk. “I mean there.”
I spread my hands, causing the letter to flutter. “Who knows?” I checked the salutation and the signature. "It’s from Rosilla’s sister, Almira." I looked a question at Sadie.
"Never heard of her."
My dearest sister,
Greetings. I pray that my letter finds you in good health—and that it finds you long before you are become an aged crone. I have little faith that it will find you at all, trusting as I am doing in the good offices of a traveling tinker who swears he will find the gap into your river valley before the ending of the year. He did not specify just which year he meant, though, but as he plans to leave Mountain House at dawn tomorrow, I find I must write with haste. Or perhaps without too much haste. He and my husband have imbibed a great deal of liquour this evening, so much so that I will be surprised if dawn comes and finds either of them ambulatory. At least the tinker assures me he intends to head south whenever he leaves here, so the chances of his finding you are increased by a marginal amount.
I have had six long years now to regret that I did not listen to you when you begged me not to marry Prattrick,
I stopped reading. “Prattrick? With two r’s and two t’s. What kind of name is that?”
“Maybe she’s not a very good speller,” Amanda suggested. "She obviously means Patrick."
I read back through the first paragraph. “Anybody with enough education to spell ambulatory and marginal wouldn’t misspell her husband’s name.”
“Believe it,” Carol said. “I’ve seen that name, spelled that way, in old census records.”
I went back to reading, backing up to re-read the beginning of that last sad sentence.
I have had six long years now to regret that I did not listen to you when you begged me not to marry Prattrick, and five long years to regret that I ignored your entreaties when you pleaded with me not to go with him and his family when they left the valley. That they should have been so at odds with all the Martins and Russells—and even the easy-going, well-liked Hastings family!—ever since the founding of our town is beyond my ken. That I should have listened to Prattrick’s promises of a better life here in the mountains north of the Martin’s valley is now anathema to me, but I was borne along by my belief that a wife should follow her husband in all things.
"Makes you appreciate divorce," Dee muttered.
The only joy ever to be found here comes on the few winter evenings when old Mister Alan Fountain brings out his fiddle. He has become so infirm of late—he is after all, eighty years of age—that his hands are too gnarled to coax any but the simplest tunes from his instrument. No-one in the family seems to want to learn from him, so once his music is silenced, there will be little reason for joy in this household.
That’s awful," Sadie said. "I can’t imagine a life without music in it."
"Alan Fountain," Glaze said. "Mary Frances mentioned him in her diary, didn’t she? Him and his fiddling."
"You’re right," Dee said. "He was the one whose fiddle string broke and he managed to replace it in some town they went through."
"And he fiddled at the weddings," Glaze said, blushing.
We all just laughed at her.
You were so very right, my sister. The Fountains are a stubborn lot, and even my own dear children, young though they still are, look fit to grow into the most stubborn of the clan. Every house on every ridge in this area is filled to the brim with unyielding folk, none of whom respond to the many kindnesses I have tried to show them over the past years.
I grow weary of all these, my kith and kind. Do you remember the tales our grandmother used to tell us of the horrible Endicotts and the countless fights they provoked along the seemingly endless trail? Double that, and you will have a fair indication of what the Fountain brood has become. But then, you already saw it before I married, which was why you tried so hard to prevent my rash actions. Regret is a useless companion, but it seems to be the only companion I have these days.
I paused for a moment and then repeated that last sentence. "How sad. I sure hope the next letter we find is a happier one."
Isolated as we are in these steep mountains—I was greatly surprised when the tinker attempted and succeeded in surmounting the washed-out trail to our cabin—I have no one to turn to, no succor for the daily struggle just to wrest a few small crops from my pathetic kitchen garden. How I miss the bountiful Garner garden of my youth! How I miss the happy conversations you and I had through the almost eighteen years we shared. How I long for a letter from you—but I know in my heart there will never be another tinker—or anyone else—coming this way from Martinsville.
Pray for me.
Although far from you in distance, I remain always, your most loving and most regretful sister,
Almira Garner Fountain
(Mrs Prattrick L. Fountain)
I set down the letter. “Sadie, do you know what’s in the library attic?”
My litter box.
For some reason, Carol laughed, and I wondered why before I thought to add, “Other than Marmalade’s litter box, that is.”
There used to be a large number of intruders there, but I took care of all of them.
Although I regularly scooped the litter box at the head of the old library staircase that led up from the office on the top floor, I’d never explored the dark interior of the rest of the space. All I knew was it seemed to stretch on forever. And Marmalade had certainly harvested a lot of mice from that dark, forbidding space. I think Sadie was the one who placed her litter box up there, several weeks before I was hired to be the librarian. It used to be on one of the landings, but we’d been afraid of tripping over it.
“You’ve gotta be kidding.” Charlie’s complaint surprised all of us since she’d been so quiet for such a long time. “You want one more boring old attic to go through?”
“Don’t worry, Charlie,” Sadie said in a soothing tone. “We won’t invite you if you’d rather not be in on the fun.”
I couldn’t have said it any more clearly.
“I imagine there’s quite a bit up there,” Rebecca Jo said, completely bypassing Charlie’s bellyaching.
“Why would you think that?” Easton sounded curious rather than truculent—a vast improvement over the past few days as far as I was concerned. I still wasn’t quite ready to believe her change of heart.
“The Millicents were great hoarders," Rebecca Jo said, "and I daresay the hoarding gene went through the entire family all the way back. Look at the sheer volume of books they saved.”
“Keeping books is not hoarding,” I said. “It’s common sense.”
“Spoken like a true librarian.” Ida didn’t even sound sarcastic.
“Those Millicents.” Rebecca Jo’s voice held an undercurrent of laughter. “It’s not likely that books were the only things they saved.”
“We could ask some of the other Millicents in town,” Carol began, but stopped when a number of us shook our heads.
“The Miss Millicent who willed the mansion to the town was the last in that line,” Sadie said. I thought she sounded sad, probably because, after having lost her son Sammy, the Masters line was another one that was effectively ended.
I refolded the letter from Mountain House and handed it to Maddy. “Museum drawer, definitely.”
“I wonder if that mountain settlement survived,” Amanda said, “or if the entire Fountain family died out, just like the Millicents.”
Maddy unfolded the letter and perused it. “Other than Mountain House and washed-out trail, there aren’t any clues as to where it could be. All we know is that the place was outside this valley and north of Russell’s Gap.”
“Research,” Carol said. “The same way I found out about the families here in Keagan County.”
“Census records, you mean? Tax records? Parish rolls?” Pat sounded excited.
“I wonder if census takers can even make it into those areas,” Rebecca Jo said. “Some of those mountain valleys are too steep for goats.”
Goats? Goats are good at climbing!
“Nothing is too steep for a goat,” I said, thinking of Maggie Pontiac’s Moonbeam, who had ended up in the hayloft above their small barn once. Even I would think twice about tackling those steep hay-scented stairs.
I can climb them.
“Climb what?” Carol asked, but she wasn’t looking at me. For some reason, she was looking at Marmalade. Oh, of course, Marmalade was saying something to her. I felt a twinge—more than a twinge—of jealousy.
The steep stairs in the barn.
Before I could ask Carol what she and Marmalade were talking about, Rebecca Jo went on with her thought. “I kind of doubt the government census takers find every single out-of-the-way household, especially in such an unfriendly area as that.”
“Makes you wonder who else they might have missed,” Melissa said.
"I bet they miss a lot of people," Charlie said.
She sounded rather satisfied, and I realized I knew nothing of her political leanings, but the last thing I wanted to do was bring politics into the attic.
~ ~ ~
SATURDAY, JUNE 7, 1997
TRICIA MOODY PULLED into Charlie’s driveway some time after sunset. Before she could remove anything from the back seat or the trunk, Mrs. Palmer from next door scooted over. "Charlie called me and told me you’d be coming for a visit. You’re renting a room here for a few months?"
"Just until I can find a job."
Mrs. Palmer looked around. "Where is Charlie anyway? She said you were going to follow her here."
"She had some car trouble about halfway here."
"And you left her?" The furrow between Mrs. Palmer’s brows deepened.
"No." Tricia opened the door behind the driver’s seat and leaned in to get one of the suitcases. "She bought a used car and decided to check out the town where she was born."
"Oh. I guess that explains why you’re so late. When will she be back?"
"She told me if she doesn’t come back in two or three days, it means she’s found a job there."
"A job?"
"Yeah. She said she might like to live there."
"Why would she want to do that?"
"I dunno."
Mrs. Palmer cocked her head to one side. "Did she ever tell you about her home town?"
"Why?"
"I don’t know. It’s just that she and her mom never talked about it, so I can’t imagine why she’d want to go there. Is it far from here?"
"A few hours." Tricia massaged her scalp gently. "That’s all she said."
"Lordy! It could be anywhere, but if she doesn’t come back soon for a visit, I’ll be upset with her. I know she’ll have to move away from home sometime, but I swear to golly, I’ll miss her when she’s gone. I’ve known that child—that young woman now, I guess—since she was just a little tyke." Mrs. Palmer hesitated a moment. "Would you like to come over for some supper? You must be hungry after that long drive."
"I’d rather get unpacked and get in bed early. It’s been a long day. Anyway, I had a big lunch."
"I can send Mr. Palmer over to help you unload."
"That’s okay. I can manage."
Mrs. Palmer eyed the piled-up back seat, but didn’t argue about it. "I left milk in the fridge, and some homemade bread on the counter. And there’s fruit and cereal. Help yourself."
Tricia nodded. "I will."
~ ~ ~
"IT MAKES ME WONDER about all the things that didn’t get put up here in the first place,” Ida said. “Think of the countless stories we’re missing.”
“And a lot of what we’re doing,” I said, “is just guesswork. What we really need to find is some more diaries, like the wonderful ones you gave to the library.” I nodded at Ida, and she acknowledged the compliment with a broad smile.
“Who knows?” Melissa said. “Maybe there’ll be some in the next trunk.”
Sadie pointed toward a stack of baskets off in one corner. "Isn’t it awful the way people tend to collect baskets and then never use them?" She wandered that direction. "We might as well put these right into the donation pile. Unless somebody up here wants them?"
"Not me," I said, and heard pretty much the same thing from everybody else.
Except for Carol. "At least look at them individually, just in case."
"In case of what?" Pat was sounding more and more scornful the longer the ice storm lasted.
"You never can tell," Carol said. "There might be something stuffed inside one of them."
The top basket held a wooden cup. We all agreed it must have been hand-carved. The intriguing part of it, though, was a whimsical knitted scarf carved around the bottom edge. You could see and feel the ribbing. The detail was phenomenal.
"That’s a knit three purl two pattern," Melissa said.
"How on earth can you tell that?"
"You’re not a knitter," I reminded Ida. "Melissa’s right. The raised ribs are just a bit wider than the in-between strips. That’s where the purl stitches are."
Ida shrugged. "If you say so."
"Can you imagine the work that went into this?" I turned the cup around and around. "Looks like a lot of love, too. Do you suppose it was for a wife? A daughter?" I flipped it upside down, but there weren’t any sort of markings.
"It was for Miss Anna," Maddy said. "Remember, Biscuit? You read about it in Hubbard’s journal. When he was talking about the step stool he made so Miss Anna could climb into bed?"
"You’re right! I knew this rang a bell." I donned the gloves and looked back through Hubbard’s diary until I found the place. "October 11, 1742," I read.
The chores I am happy to do, but such small gifts as this stool or the wooden cups I carved and decorated for them bring me a welcome sense of satisfaction. Miss Anna’s cup has a whimsical knitted scarf carved as if it winds around the bottom, while for Miss Julia I carved a leafy vine. She asked if I might carve two more cups, for Caroline and Lucy Edgerton, and I was happy to do so.
"And Miss Julia lodged with the Hastings family. That’s how it ended up here in the attic."
"What do you suppose happened to Miss Julia’s cup?" asked Carol, but of course there was no answer.
All the rest of the baskets were empty, but one of them had a name, Clarissa, inked on the bottom. It was barely legible after what must have been a lot of years.
"This basket is so small." Maddy’s voice had that I’m-trying-to-think-of-something tone. "Wasn’t there something Mary Frances said about that first harvest where they put the little kids to weeding the barley field?"
"You’re right," Ida said. "She said each child has his or her own basket."
"And Constance wrote their names on the bottoms."
"So, who’s Clarissa?" I asked. "I sort of feel like we’ve read that name somewhere, maybe in one of the diaries?"
Nobody could remember her, whoever she was. Poor anonymous Clarissa.
"Here’s another name," Sadie said as she studied the bottom of a wide shallow basket. "Well, not a name, just initials—JEBH."
"Well, hallelujah," Ida said. "That’s Jane Elizabeth Benton Hastings. Remember? Mary Frances said Jane Elizabeth didn’t like to knit but she loved making baskets? I’ll bet this is one of hers."
Carol opened her mouth as if to qualify that bold statement, but Pat cut her off. "Come on, Carol. How many other JEBH’s are you gonna find in this town?"
"I think I’d like to go back and re-read those library diaries from Faith and Charity," Ida said. "I don’t think I paid much attention to the history in them when I read through them the first time."
"You’re right," Glaze said. "So would I. That way we could integrate those stories with what we’re learning here."
"Do you want to read them together?"
"Sure. Great idea."
"Count me in, too," Pat said. "I’d like to hear them."
"You’re getting way ahead of yourself," Maddy said. "We need to finish these diaries first."
"You’re right," Dee said, "and I’m ready to get back to them. That is, if Ida and Biscuit are okay with reading some more." She looked a question at each of us.