My Brother's Crown (5 page)

The larger reunion wouldn't begin until Friday morning and would run until Sunday afternoon, with events, meals, and activities scheduled throughout. No ordinary family gathering, this annual reunion was open to Talbot descendants at large and often brought in more than two hundred participants. Most of them stayed under a group rate at a hotel in town, with each day's events taking place either here at the estate or in a ballroom at the hotel.

Such a massive undertaking was no small feat, but thanks to a top-notch reunion committee, eager volunteers with years of practice, and a set of finely honed procedures, things usually went off without a hitch. The fact that Nana employed a veritable army of hired help to augment efforts behind the scenes didn't hurt either. By the time things kicked off Friday morning, her back lawn would have been transformed into a wonderland of white canopy tents, four separate buffet service lines, and enough activity stations to entertain participants of every age.

It looked as if Nana was going to be tied up for a while, so I just gave her a quick wave to let her know I'd made it and then returned to the entrance hall, which was wide and majestic and ran the entire depth of
the house. Because the back wall was lined with windows and French doors looking out on the pool and grounds, the overall effect when coming in through the front door was striking and made the house feel even bigger than it already was.

Looking along the left side of the entrance hall and moving clockwise, first came the door to my grandfather's study, then the main staircase, the doorway that led to the dining room, and a half bath. Continuing on the right wall was the door to the laundry room and a mudroom beyond, and then finally, to my immediate right, was the large and sumptuous living room.

I loved the whole house, but for the next few days, my mind would be on the laundry room and mudroom. That's because we were going to turn them into a sort of mini museum, offering the first and final private viewing by the Talbot descendants of the Persecution Pamphlet before it would be given over to the Smithsonian. Connected by a swinging door, each room had its own entrance and exit, which made them the perfect choice for funneling through tons of people in an orderly fashion.

Knowing they would lose the use of these machines for a few days, the cleaning staff had tried to wash ahead of time everything that might be needed for the reunion. And though it wouldn't be as convenient, at least there was a small, stacking washer-and-dryer unit out in the guesthouse should any emergencies crop up in the meantime.

Going into the main laundry room now, I found a worker up on a ladder mounting a projector to the ceiling and a man I recognized as Dr. Harold Underwood standing below giving directions. An academic and scholar, he specialized in historical documents and had been one of the members of the authentication team four years ago. He was short and stout with tufts of gray hair on a round, balding head. He'd been a valuable part of the team back then, and I was pleased to see him now.

He greeted me warmly with a double handshake and a smile. “Dr. Talbot, so nice to see you again. Very nice.”

He dove right into an explanation of what he'd managed to accomplish thus far, and as he talked it was easy to hear the enthusiasm in his
voice. I'd hired him to help transform these two ordinary rooms into a temporary viewing space where the pamphlet could be put on display without endangering it in any way. Happy to help, he'd been the one to design the layout and bring in the necessary equipment for maintaining appropriate conditions of temperature, humidity, lighting, and more that the pamphlet required. He was also working with Blake to keep the priceless document secure, starting with a locked and alarmed preservation-quality viewing cabinet. From the looks of things, Dr. Underwood and his helpers had already made a lot of progress.

As for Blake, he seemed to be in absentia at the moment.

The older man showed me the sketches he'd done of the basic layout, starting with black fabric panels that were now being hung around the perimeter of both rooms. Covering every inch of space except the doorways, the panels even hung in front of the washer and dryer, completely obscuring the fact that this was a laundry room. Next door, an extra wall of panels had been erected across the center of the mudroom, creating a buffer around the display area to protect it from exposure to any light that might come in when the exterior door was opened.

Entering in groups of about ten to twelve, guests would start in the first room, which would be set up as a viewing area, with a projector, screen, and two rows of folding chairs. There they would watch an eight-minute video Danielle had created for the occasion, one that explained the history of the pamphlet. After that, they would file through the swinging door into the mudroom, where they would weave around the protective black fabric panels to stand in front of the case and get a look at the document itself. Posters propped on easels would line the walls, providing further information that folks could view as they waited their turn. I felt our plan was doable, thanks in large part to the fact that these rooms were a bit more spacious than the average laundry and mudrooms.

Danielle had designed the posters using facts and photos I'd sent her, then she'd emailed the files to the local Talbot branch, where they'd been printed and delivered here. I hadn't seen them in person yet, so once Dr. Underwood finished his recap, he went back to what he was
doing and I set about unpacking the posters so I could get a good look at them myself.

Of course, they were all great. Danielle was incredibly gifted, and it showed in everything she did. The facts-only information I had sent her had been pulled into bulleted lists and call outs with colorful arrows and lines and shapes that led the eye from one important point to the next. Most Talbots knew of the pamphlet's existence and some of the basic story behind it, but I doubted many of them had heard the whole tale, and almost none had ever seen the real thing in person.

I was arranging the posters on easels when Nana popped in, a small piece of paper in her hand.

“This is for you, dear. Blake's phone number. He asked that you contact him whenever the pamphlet is going to be out of the safe so he can be present.”

“Even at the house? Is that really necessary?”

“His primary task is to keep that pamphlet secure until it's given to the Smithsonian on Saturday. We can't blame him for being diligent.”

“Fine,” I groaned, typing his number into my phone's contacts. “I guess it won't be too inconvenient.”

“Oh, and one other thing.” She gestured for me to follow her into the hall where we could speak privately. Once there, she said in a soft voice, “Will you be able to remember the combination to the safe if I tell it to you? I'd rather you not write it down.”

“No need unless it's been changed.”

“You still remember it? From four years ago?”

I nodded.

“But you only used it a few times, Renee. I know how smart you are, but still…”

“It's calcium silicate.”

“Excuse me?”

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “That's how I remember it, Nana. Calcium silicate is made up of calcium, silicon, and oxygen. On the periodic table, calcium is twenty, silicon is fourteen, and oxygen is eight. Which is the combination, twenty-fourteen-eight. Calcium silicate. It even sort of rhymes.”

I was proud of the clever memory aid I'd come up with, but Nana just gaped at me for a long moment, baffled and bemused. Then she simply shook her head and started for the stairs.

With a smile I went back to my mini museum and picked up where I'd left off. An hour later we were just finishing up when Dr. Underwood let me know he would be needing the pamphlet soon in order to determine placement and make his final adjustments with the lighting.

“No problem. I'll contact Blake,” I said, and then I shot him a text asking him to come here ASAP if possible.
Butterfly needs to emerge from cocoon
, I added, smiling at my spy-talk and hoping he'd get the joke.

He responded soon after.

Be there in 15. Sustain diapause until my arrival.

I actually laughed out loud, amazed that someone like him would know the term. Diapause was an extended state of rest that organisms, including butterflies, sometimes entered into. By telling me to sustain it, he was saying to leave the pamphlet in the safe for now. Too thrown to come up with a clever reply, I texted him back a simple
Will do. Over and out.

He showed up just as Dr. Underwood was dismissing his workers for the day and I was straightening the chairs in front of the portable movie screen.

“Thanks for waiting,” Blake said as he came into the room. Then, glancing around furtively, he stepped closer and added in a low voice, jaw set and lips barely moving, “Imago may now emerge from chrysalis.”

Again, I couldn't help but laugh. “Very impressive, Keller. Let me guess, you picked up the lingo during a previous assignment, one where you had to guard some rare species at a local butterfly conservatory?”

“Nope.” With a sheepish smile, he gestured to his phone and added, “Once I realized we were playing secret agent, I just googled ‘terms related to butterflies' and found some code words I could use.”

“Clever. Very resourceful.”

He shrugged modestly, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Comes with the territory. Kind of like it says in the Bible, I try to be all things
to all people. You're a scientist. I can do scientist—or at least pretend well enough to hold up my end of the conversation.”

His eyes locked on mine, and I felt an odd shiver. Quoting the Bible? Throwing out scientific terms in an attempt to speak my language? Maybe there was more to this guy than I'd first given him credit for. The thought surprised me, sending heat to my cheeks. Breaking our gaze, I managed to mutter, “Be right back.” Then I turned and headed for the door, my pulse surging as I went.

I tried to talk myself down as I walked across the wide entrance hall toward the study. There was a big difference between googling and knowing. Anybody with a smart phone and half a brain could do what he'd done. Other than being adaptable and accommodating, there was nothing special about Blake Keller, nothing at all.

Except maybe those eyes, which were a deep green flecked with gold. And that hair, thick blondish-brown hair that almost made a person want to run their hands through it, if they went for that sort of thing.

With a groan, I forced myself to put such juvenile musings aside and focus on the task at hand. At the door of my grandfather's study, I paused for a moment then took a deep breath, pushed it open, and went in.

Granddad.

This had been his domain, and it still smelled like him, that familiar mix of teakwood and pipe tobacco and antique paper. The room looked the same as always, the dark leather swivel chair parked behind the massive wooden desk, rows of rare books lining the shelves along the right wall, and a pair of satin-upholstered antique chairs facing the desk.

Taking a deep breath, I padded across the lush beige carpet to the safe, which was located in a supply closet on the far side of the room. As I knelt and began turning the dial—right twenty, left fourteen, right eight—I could almost feel my grandfather's presence. What a fascinating man he had been, so intelligent, so generous, so paternal. He'd had eight grandchildren, but somehow he made each one of us feel especially loved and encouraged by him.

His inviting me in on the authentication process when I was still in grad school had meant so much to me. As a student of colloid and surface chemistry, my goal to work with security printing was about as cutting edge and future focused as one could get. Yet somehow he knew that involving me with this pamphlet from the past would have an influence on that work. The authentication had given me such perspective into the longevity, durability, and stability of not just ink but paper as well. It had been a valuable experience, both personally and professionally, and I would always be grateful for it.

Swinging open the safe's door now, I spotted the pale green case atop a pile of papers and some velvet jewelry boxes. I was just pulling it out when a man spoke.

“Your grandfather sure had varied tastes in reading.”

Startled, I jerked my head around to see Blake standing in front of the bookshelves, perusing the titles of Granddad's collection.

“I like how he organized them, though,” he continued, his eyes slowly scanning up and down. “Looks like he has them grouped by subject, then alphabetized by book title within those groupings.”

“What are you doing in here?” I demanded, feeling utterly intruded upon. What made him think it was okay to waltz into a private office as though he owned the place?

“What do you mean?” he asked, his attention still focused on the shelves. “Of course I'm in here. Like I said before, wherever that pamphlet goes, I go. ”

Pursing my lips, I turned back to the safe and closed and locked the door. Then I looked toward this unwanted protector and just stood there, clutching the case to my chest. How could one person be so appealing on the one hand, yet so obstinate and irritating on the other?

“Oh, wow,” Blake said, oblivious to my thoughts. He was too busy reaching for a book and pulling it out to take a closer look. “
The Little Prince
. I loved this when I was a kid.” He held it gingerly and turned the pages with care. “Such a great story. So many layers, you know?”