Island Snow and Mystery
“It’s a good thing we got in when we did!” Shaking snow off their jackets, Dez and Em stamped snow from their feet and brushed snow from their jackets laughing like school girls.
~~~~~
They had been out for their walk. Looking up at the gathering grey clouds, they hurried their pace. “I’ll get that one box I left by the door. I hope Samuel hasn’t locked it up.” Em zipped up her jacket, turning her collar up against a sudden wind. “Looks like the weather reports are right. It’s actually snowing, Dez!” The weather had been rainy, then sunny and now it had turned cold and with little warning began snowing. It only started with a few flakes. “Hurry Dez, I’m freezing.” Her sister had disappeared into the old garage, now free of any mice after a visit from Mr. Johnson of Pest Control. She reappeared carrying a rather small, tattered and stained cardboard box. “Do you know what’s in it, Dez? Is it heavy?” Dez was puffing and a bit out of breath. “Not really, I’m still not as fit as I want to be. Haven’t been lifting much of anything. Here, you take it and we’ll start back to the house. I’m pretty excited about what we might find.” She handed the box to her sister. “You’re right, it’s not really all that heavy. Maybe there’s nothing but moldy old paper in it. Cook won’t like us bringing it into her kitchen.” The snow was falling more heavily covering them by the time they reached the back door. “You girls leave that snow outside! Or clean up after yourselves.” Cook had seen them hurrying through the uncommon snow storm. “And what’s in that dirty old box. You’re not bringing it into my kitchen.” Dez and Em looked at each other in amusement. “Didn’t I tell you Cook wouldn’t like that old box in her kitchen?….We’ll unpack it in here and put the box in the garbage. Can we use one of the grocery boxes you have here in the mudroom?” Cook had returned to ‘her’ kitchen and was setting out supper. “Go ahead, but make sure you clean up before you come in here to eat.”
Coats hung up, hair freed from hats, the two women began to carefully examine the contents of the box. “See. I knew it. Just some moldy old paper. …..but it is interesting - old newspaper. I can’t really make out the date though.” Em held it under the light. “It’s not bright enough in here. I’ll spread this page out and leave it on the cupboard. Have you found anything?…..Dez?” Dez had set the box down on the floor, more crumpled paper beside it. “I need to clean this, Em. I can’t really tell what it is except that it seems very fragile. How it survived out in that old building, I’ll never know. Are there any brushes……..I know, I’ll use some of my paint brushes to begin to clean it. I don’t even want to get it wet til I know what it’s made of. ….. No, don’t throw that box out just yet. It may have some kind of clues about what it is, some piece of paper that can tell us how old it is.” Dez had almost forgotten her sister was there. She was so involved in her little mystery, the odd something that had been missing since her accident. A purpose, even one so small and insignificant as the one she held in her hand. “Dez. Cook wants us to eat supper.” Seeing her sister’s concentration, Em spoke softly. Finding a clean, small box she held it out to her sister. “Put it in there, we’ll put it in your room until you can get to it.” Dez followed her sister’s directions, handling her find very gently.
~~~~~
Dez was quiet throughout the meal. “Mmmm….. this chicken stew is delicious, Cook. And the dumplings so soft and wonderful. Like little pillows.” Cook had joined them for supper, preferring to eat with them rather than another supper alone in her home. She could have taken a good helping of supper home with her, but didn’t relish a walk through the dark and snowy night. She had called Samuel to see her home. He’d already had his supper so would come up later. “She’s awfully quiet, Miss Em. Is she all right?” Cook nodded in Dez’s direction. “Oh, yes. I think she’s just found something she’s interested in after all these weeks just recuperating.” Dez shook herself awake. “Are you two talking about me? I’m never quiet, I was just thinking.”
“And just what were you thinking about, Miss Dez? You’ve let your food get cold! Here let me get you a fresh new plate.” Cook pushed back from the table, stood and took Dez’s plate from her. “Well, I was thinking that I need a clean place to work and clean up the things we find out there. We could clean that old garage forever and it still wouldn’t be any good for really doing any recovery work. There’s no water out there ~ yet, and the lighting is minimal at best. I did hear from Brigitte about when she’s moving out of Martha’s house. She wants to be out before the New Year.” Cook set her fresh hot food in front of her. She began eating as though she hadn’t eaten for a month. “So, you want to do the ‘recovery work’ as you call it, there? But how are you going to move in so quickly?!” Emelina sat up straight when she realized what Dez had been lost in thought about, worried that her sister was getting a bit carried away. “It’s okay, Em. I’m not going to get all crazy about this. That little bit that we found just really got me thinking. It may turn out to be absolutely nothing, but if it is……..or even if we find other things out there, I need a place to work. I can bring whatever I find home and work on it in the evenings.”
~~~~~
The conversation turned to the weather, their delicious supper, and even the little resident ghost Sarah! “She might be able to help us with some of it.” They were interrupted by a brisk knock on the back door and a “You ready, Elizabeth, the weather’s not getting any better!” Cook stood quickly and began clearing the table. “Leave it Cook, Dez and I will take care of the dishes. We both learned how to work your dishwasher. You get home and I’ll see you in the morning.”
The snow fell gently throughout the night, making a mystery of the Estate.
“Nothing whets the intelligence more than
a passionate suspicion, nothing develops all
the faculties of an immature mind more than
a trail running away into the dark.”
~ Stefan Zweig, The Burning Secret and other stories
