Shadow of a Life (24 page)

I’d just started digging into another
box of kitchen items when Camille let out a blood-curdling
scream.

“
What’s wrong? Did you find
something?” Peter and I were by her side in a split
second.

“
Look.” She pointed to the
box she’d been rummaging through.

“
I don’t see anything,”
Peter said.

“
Look closer . . . at the
bottom.” She shivered as if something had just crawled up her spine
and hopped from one foot to the other.

He peered over the box and
shined his flashlight at the contents. At the bottom of the box was
a little clump of fur amongst a pile of chewed up paper and black
droppings. From the look of it, the mouse had been dead for
a
very
long
time.

“
Why did I have to be the
one to open
that
box?” Camille moaned.

“
There’s probably more where
that came from. Jamie and I will most likely find our fair share,”
Peter said.

I kicked him in the shin. “Way to make
her feel better, Mr. Ashby.”

“
Oops.”

“
I’m sure there aren’t mice
everywhere, Cam. Do you want me to get you some gloves?” I
offered.

“
Yes, please.”

“
Okay, I’ll be back.” I
walked back down the attic staircase and then down the main stairs
into the kitchen. I had just pulled some rubber gloves out from
under the sink when my phone beeped. It was Sophia.

“
Still here. We’re fine.
Can’t talk now.”
It was a short message,
but exactly what I needed to hear to know that the project going on
above me wasn’t in vain.

I took the stairs two at a time on my
way back to the attic to tell Peter and Camille the news. They
seemed to have a renewed purpose as they continued digging through
the endless stack of boxes. At one point, Peter uncovered a box
full of clothes that looked like they were from the first decade of
the twentieth century. He and Camille put on a fashion show and
tried on the moth-eaten clothing. Some of it was pretty cool—I just
wished it had been preserved better. Peter looked pretty good in
the long-tailed suit coat and top hat he picked. Camille twirled
around in a long blue dress that was close to the right size. The
dress was trimmed in age-yellowed lace around the sleeves and
neckline and she complained that it was horribly itchy. I laughed
at their antics, but didn’t want to stop searching long enough to
try anything on myself.

We continued like that for almost two
hours. Eventually we uncovered a few papers containing Goodwin
names and set them aside for closer inspection later. We were just
talking about taking a lunch break when Camille let out another one
of her famous screams.

“
That’s it! I’m done. I’m
not staying up her another second.”

“
Now what happened?” I asked
with less concern than the first time.

She pointed to the top of the box she
was about to open and stepped back. That time it was the shriveled
up body of a dead spider. I’ll admit it looked as if it had been
large when it was alive, but that was obviously a long time ago.
Peter came over and flicked the spider off the box which made
Camille scream for a third time.

“
I can’t believe I’m wearing
flip-flops up here. I’m sorry, Jamie, but I don’t really want to do
this anymore. Can you just call me if you find something
important?” Camille asked.

“
Yeah. That’s fine. I
understand.”

The work would be slower with only two
of us, but it might be better than listening to Camille scream and
complain every few minutes. Peter and I waved as Camille pedaled
off on the bike she’d left at my house the night before.

“
Want some lunch?” I
asked.

“
Sure. What’re we
having?”

“
I don’t know. We can raid
my kitchen and see what sounds good.”

After searching the fridge, freezer,
and cupboards we opted for a myriad of foods not limited to
leftover pizza from the night before, orange juice, chicken
nuggets, and Oreos. I figured I could eat healthy again when Dad
got home. When we’d completely consumed all the junk we set before
ourselves, we wound our way back up to the attic. I felt much more
comfortable being alone with Peter. Conversation came naturally and
there weren’t any awkward moments, which is what I feared
most.

“
So . . . how often do you
get to see your mom?” he asked when we were once again surrounded
by cardboard and dust.

“
Depends. Some years I might
see her every month and other years I might only see her once or
twice.”

“
That sucks. How long had it
been this time?”

“
Hmm . . . she came over and
brought a Christmas gift in December so I guess it’s been five or
six months.”

“
Wow. That’s a long time.
I’m sorry.”

I looked up quickly. “Don’t feel sorry
for me. I’m used to it. Besides, my parents don’t get along very
well so it’s best if she stays away. They do okay if she only comes
around once in a great while.”

“
I still feel sorry for you.
I know your dad works a lot and you probably get
lonely.”

I shrugged.

“
Does your dad ever date? Do
you think he’d ever consider getting remarried?”

I laughed. “My parents are still
married and Dad is very proper. Dating would require him to be
officially divorced and I don’t know that he would ever do that.
I’m sure he still loves my mom. Deep down I think she must still
love him, too, because she’s never asked for a divorce. Why are we
only talking about me, though? I’m not the only one who’s
constantly being abandoned.”

“
What’re you
saying?”

“
I’m saying that your
parents ditch you all the time, too.”

“
Maybe so, but my parent’s
problem is that they’re still madly, deeply in love. Sometimes I
think they’d rather be alone
all
the time without having me around.”

“
Well aren’t we just a sorry
lot of orphans,” I joked.

“
I guess we’ll just have to
stick with each other then.”

“
I’m okay with
that.”

He smiled at me over the big box he
was tearing into. “Oh, wow, Jamie, look at this.”

I stood up and had to pause for a
minute to steady myself. I shook my legs one at a time, trying to
wake them up from the sleep I’d put them in by kneeling for so
long. He scooted the box closer to me and I folded back the
flaps.

“
Yes. This is what I’ve been
hoping for.”

The entire box was full of letters.
Most of them were in coarse envelopes and were brittle with age. I
could see right away that they were addressed to various
Goodwins.

“
I bet we’ll learn
so
much from
these.”

I glanced at the remaining boxes and
wondered if we should finish going through them or start reading
the letters. There were only five or six boxes left and I decided
we should just get all the work done in the attic at once, but I
was anxious to get to the box of letters.

It was in the final box that
I found it. I pulled out a book with old black and white photos and
newspaper clippings pasted inside. The pages were full and the book
could barely stay shut. There had to be generations of photographs
and memorabilia inside. I stood to show Peter and one of the photos
slipped out of the book, falling to the attic floor. I bent to pick
it up and gasped as I saw the picture. My hands were shaking when I
finally dared touch it. The black and white photograph was small,
maybe two inches by three inches and curved slightly around the
edges. Looking back at me from the paper were the serious faces of
a man, a woman, and a girl of about thirteen or fourteen years. The
girl was a younger version of the one I knew, but there was no
doubt in my mind that I was looking at Sophia. I turned the picture
over and in a flowing script was written
Jeremiah, Elsa, and Sophia Goodwin— December
1883
.

“
Peter.” My voice caught in
my throat as I squeaked the one word I could actually get out. He
looked up from the box he was closing and saw me standing above him
holding out a picture. He looked at my face, noted the concern, and
took the picture from my trembling hands. He flipped on his
flashlight and trained the bright beam at the old print, staring at
it for what felt like an eternity.

“
This is it, Jamie. This is
our connection.”

I nodded.

“
Now I guess we just need to
figure out what to do with this knowledge.”

I nodded again.

“
You don’t look like you’re
very happy with this information. I thought you’d be excited that
we had a lead.”

I sat down on the nearest
box. “I would be excited, but Peter, this find means that it
was
my
family
and
my
ancestors
that did this unspeakable thing to Sophia.” My voice shook a little
as I said her name.

Peter stood in a flash and
stepped over to where I sat on one of the dusty boxes. He took both
of my hands in his and crouched down in front of me. “Jamie,
do
not
do this to
yourself. You had nothing to do with what happened to Sophia. Of
everyone she’s ever known, you are the one who is helping her the
most. Don’t blame yourself for something that was done ages ago.
Besides, you don’t even know yet how closely Jeremiah and Elsa are
related to you. For all you know they could be twelfth cousins or
something. I’m sure if we all dug around, we would find that we all
have ghosts in our family tree—I mean—well, you know what I mean.”
He squeezed my hands for emphasis.

“
I know what you’re saying
is true, but I still feel bad. Now more than ever I want to help
Sophia.”

“
Good. Let’s carry all the
letters and papers downstairs and we can go through it down there.
Okay?”

“
Yeah. Sounds good.” I stood
and reached for one of the boxes we’d set aside, but Peter reached
out and gently laid his hand on my shoulder before I could pick it
up.

“
Actually, can I ask for one
thing first?”

“
Hmm . . . depends on what
it is.”

“
I’ve been dying to go out
on the widow’s walk. Can we go out there for just a
minute?”

I laughed. “Sure. Just don’t fall off
or my dad will kill me.”

We unlatched the tall window and
stepped out onto the small balcony.

“
I bet I can see my house
from here.”

We both looked in the direction of
Peter’s street and sure enough, we could just make out the roof of
his home a few blocks away. It was a beautiful June afternoon and
the sun shone brightly on everything below us. Trees and yards were
fully green after their winter’s nap and the world was alive with
color. We could hear children laughing somewhere below and I
remembered spending summers—when Dad was home—on my swing set in
the backyard. Camille had a trampoline and we would spend hours and
hours jumping on it, seeing who could bounce the highest. I always
won and Camille was always upset. Peter leaned over the small
railing and looked away from me.

“
How come we haven’t hung
out with each other much in the past?”

“
I don’t know. I guess we
just never took the time.”

He turned back toward me and slowly
slid his arms around my waist. I looked at him with surprise as my
heart thumped in my chest. He pulled me closer to him until our
faces were just inches apart. I didn’t know what to do with my
hands so I rested them on his chest.

I knew what was going to happen and my
whole body felt as if it would melt at any second. Finally, when I
thought I might die of anticipation, Peter leaned forward and
kissed me. It was a small, gentle kiss. There was nothing demanding
about it and it only lasted for a second. We smiled at each other,
laughed a little, and then holding my hand, he helped me step back
into the attic through the window. There were no words
exchanged—there didn’t need to be.

We carried all the stuff we’d kept out
for further inspection down to the dining room table. It took us
two trips. We thought it would be best to start with the letters
since they’d probably contain the most information. We laid them
out in order of the dates they were written as best we could. I
grabbed a notebook and pen so that we could jot down anything that
seemed important or interesting. Peter started reading the letters
with the latest dates first since they were most likely to be from
people closely related to me. I took notes.

The first letters were written to my
grandmother. It must have been before she’d married my grandfather
because they were still addressed to Betsy Goodwin rather than her
married name of Betsy Calder. Most of them were from childhood
friends, and didn’t contain anything important. A few were from
cousins who lived in various states across the eastern seaboard.
Betsy Goodwin’s family lived near Boston at the time most of the
first letters were written.