Back to Part One.

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Part Two

“I got the drawer open,” she told her father shortly after she arrived in the kitchen for breakfast the next morning. “There’s something in it that Aunt Alicia needs to see right away.”

“I haven’t seen her, yet,” he answered.

Seeing the apprehension on his face, she added, “It’s an envelope for her, from Uncle Mart. I’m kind of hoping it will give us some more information about what he wrote in the will, but maybe it’s just things he thought she needed to know.”

“Good morning, everyone,” Alicia greeted, as she entered the room.

Trixie resisted the urge to launch into her news and instead returned the greeting. It wasn’t until the four of them sat down to their meal together that she had the chance to share what she had found.

“I’ll look at it right away,” her aunt promised. “How like Uncle Mart to put something important in a place I mightn’t find for months!”

“It probably seemed like a good place at the time,” Helen pointed out. “He couldn’t know that the drawer was going to stick.”

Alicia shook her head. “It’s been stuck for years, and even before it stopped opening altogether it used to stick regularly, which he knew full well.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe I should go and get it now. If it’s what I suspect it to be, it might affect our plans for today.”

“I’ll go,” Trixie offered.

She got up before anyone objected, returning a short time later with the envelope. Alicia slit it open and pulled out a sheaf of thin, blue-lined note paper. She sighed as she spread it out next to her plate, so that she could continue to eat as she read.

“It’s his explanation of the memorial,” she noted. “He gives some instructions on how to open the door – which we don’t need, of course – and then he tells how the whole thing came about. It seems it began in our grandmother’s time and Uncle Mart took it up when she passed.” She made an outraged noise. “And it also appears that it was originally in the poky little end room upstairs, but that he thought it would be more convenient to have it in the pantry, which he describes as ‘otherwise useless.’ Do you know, Helen, when I first moved in here, he kept the cups and plates he was using on the counter, because the place they used to be kept was filled with food?”

“I do remember you telling me that,” Helen answered diplomatically. “But what does he say about the memorial?”

Alicia glanced at her niece. “You were right about the order of the pictures. He’s very particular about them staying in that order and the items staying with the pictures. And he gives some instructions on what to do if they ever have to be moved from their current position – for which I am very pleased, because that does give me some hope that I won’t have to live here forever with no pantry and a room full of morbid thoughts.”

“What about your Uncle Walt?” Trixie asked. “Does he say anything about why his picture isn’t included?”

Alicia shook her head. “Not so far. He just says, ‘I haven’t included my brother Walt, of course, and would prefer if you didn’t add him.’ Then he goes on to tell me what items he’d like put next to his own picture, which I am apparently supposed to add to the end of the line.”

“So, it’s absolutely clear now that the memorial to the dead is the things in that room?” Peter asked, after they had given her time to read all the way to the end. “We can remove any of the other items that we see fit?”

“Yes.” Alicia slid the papers back into the envelope. “It’s perfectly clear, now. I suggest that we continue with the plan that we made for today. I would like the outside of the house put right as soon as it possibly can be.”

“If you and I clean up here, maybe Peter and Trixie can go outside and decide where to start,” Helen suggested to her sister.

Alicia drained her coffee cup. “Good. Let’s get started.”

By lunchtime, they had removed two gargoyles and a quantity of other, smaller monstrosities. Helen chose to go inside early to make them all some lunch. Peter, Alicia and Trixie joined her, all of them feeling a little weary.

“I think, perhaps, we’ll work in the house for the afternoon,” Alicia suggested, as they sat down together. “As much as I’d like to rid the place of those dreadful things, I don’t know that I have the energy.”

“It’s harder work than I anticipated,” Peter agreed. “But we’ll get there. Have you considered getting the place painted?”

Alicia nodded. “Yes, I’ve got money put aside for that. It was due this year anyway. In a way, it’s a blessing that Uncle Mart went now and not after it was done. I don’t think I’d find it easy to justify to myself the expense of painting again, just to get rid of that dreadful taupe. I’d been trying to convince him to lighten it up a little, but he wouldn’t budge.”

“Tomorrow morning, before the day heats up, I might do some gardening,” Helen suggested. “If we trim back some of the shrubs, I think it will brighten the place up.”

Again, her sister nodded. “That sounds good. I’ve also remembered that I have some curtains put away somewhere which might fit the dining room windows. They’ll probably need to be washed, but we can redecorate in there so that we can eat there instead of in the kitchen.”

“So, you’re going to stay here?” Trixie asked.

Alicia hesitated for a long moment, looking away. “Yes. Yes, I am. I didn’t want to, when I first saw the Will, but the idea has grown on me. On the condition, that is, that the house is redecorated to my taste.”

“Well, the dining room is a good place to start,” Trixie decided. “How about if I give it a good clean out this afternoon?”

“And I’ll search for those curtains,” Alicia added. “Peter, you can go back to the paperwork, I think. And Helen–”

“I’m throwing out all those old preserves and cans of food,” she interrupted. “Uncle Mart may have felt sentimental about them, but I certainly don’t!”

Alicia nodded approval. “Very good.”

Later, Trixie went to the dining room and began unloading the sideboard. By the time her aunt joined her, loaded down with armloads of curtains, she had covered the table with the various things she found there.

“Oh! I’d forgotten some of these things were here,” Alicia commented, dumping the curtains on a chair and running a finger down a delicate, pink vase. “That will look lovely on the sideboard, instead of those horrible candles.”

“Or you could put pink candles in the candlesticks,” Trixie suggested. “There’s a whole box of different candles down the end.”

Alicia smiled. “I think I’ll have a lovely time choosing new things to decorate this room. But first, help me see if these curtains will do.”

Trixie fetched a stepladder and they soon chose some curtains.

“They don’t look too tired and old,” Alicia decided. “They’ll do until I can get something exactly right – which won’t be until after I’ve had this room repainted. I’ll go and wash them right now, and we can hang them in the morning.”

“Sounds good,” Trixie answered, then returned to her previous task.

She pulled out the last few items and stored them safely on the table, then inched the sideboard away from the wall. As she suspected, no one appeared to have cleaned behind it for decades. A number of small objects had become trapped back there. Once she had walked the heavy piece far enough to give herself space, she began retrieving them.

A few minutes later, once her hands were full of odds and ends, she decided to find a small container of some sort to hold them all. She returned a short time later with a little cardboard box, having dumped her collection into it. Most of the things were unimportant – a pencil, some coins, a button, a faded receipt, a box of matches and several burnt ones, several paper-clips. A couple of them drew a moment’s interest – a sparkly hair-clip, a paper-knife shaped like a sword. She picked up the pencil and poked at the dust. There was something else underneath, but she did not want to dig through the dust with her fingers.

“Ugh! That’s disgusting!” Aunt Alicia commented, coming up on her suddenly. “I’ll fetch the vacuum cleaner.”

“It’s probably better if I find everything back here first,” Trixie countered. “Most of it’s junk, but that hair-clip looks pretty good.”

Her aunt stooped and picked out the item in question. “It’s a tie-pin, not a hair-clip. And yes, you’re right; it’s valuable. We’d been wondering where it had gone.”

Trixie’s work with the pencil yielded results at that moment and she made a sound of approval. Reaching in behind the sideboard, she pulled out a photograph which had been lying face down. She gently dusted it off with her fingers, noticing as she did so that someone had written a name on the back: Rachel.

She flipped it over and saw a young couple, seated close together and smiling at the camera. At first glance, Trixie did not know the man. The woman resembled the unknown woman from the memorial. The matching name only confirmed the inference.

“It’s Uncle Mart when he was young,” Alicia exclaimed. “But who is the young woman with him? And how did it get down there?”

Trixie shook her head, not wanting to voice either of her suspicions: that of the identity of the woman, or that the photo might have been deliberately dropped behind the sideboard to hide it.

“Well, well,” her aunt continued. “This might explain a thing or two.”

She carried it away with her. Trixie scrambled to her feet and followed her aunt to the old pantry. Alicia held up the photograph next to the unknown woman.

“What do you think?” she asked. “Is it the same person?”

Trixie nodded. “I think it might be. And if she died…”

A sad smile crossed her aunt’s face. “Perhaps that’s why he never married. He did have a romantic streak, I know. But I had never picked him for the kind to pursue a life-long devotion to a dead love. I think I might have misjudged him.”

Again, Trixie nodded. “It’s a sad story, if it’s true.” She shrugged. “We don’t know that he remained devoted to her. He might just have preferred to be single. Some people do.”

“As I well know,” Alicia answered, rather dryly.

“But it also explains why we didn’t know who she was, and why she’s got the biggest memorial,” Trixie mused, leaving alone the topic of Alicia’s single state. “She wasn’t part of the family; she was just important to him, personally.”

Alicia nodded and changed the subject. “I’ll go and get that vacuum cleaner.”

Trixie let her go and returned to her task. Only a couple more items emerged from the dust, none exciting any interest.

Once the dining room was as clean as they could make it, Trixie set about moving the memorial into the room upstairs, where it had apparently originated. She read through her great uncle’s instructions, supplied to her for the purpose by Aunt Alicia, then followed them, after a fashion. She had no intention of pausing for an entire minute and thinking about each individual person before moving their items. In most cases, they were strangers to her, in spite of being relations.

She had entertained a faint hope of more discoveries during the process, but found herself disappointed in that manner. No more clues turned up, but she did spend the time contemplating these people and their secrets.

Last of all, she carried up her Great-uncle Walt’s photograph, placing it face down and away from the others, as instructed, and also the envelope from the top shelf. She still did not understand its significance, but removing it left the way clear for the pantry to be cleaned, redecorated and reinstated.

“This will be much better,” her mother commented, entering the room. “Alicia needn’t come in here at all, if she doesn’t want to, and she won’t need to even remember that it’s here.”

“That kind of defeats the purpose,” Trixie pointed out.

Her mother nodded. “Yes, but it isn’t our way of remembering. And we don’t remember some of these people, who died long before we were born.”

Trixie nodded, and gazed at the photograph of the unknown woman. “I wonder if there’s anyone anywhere who remembers her. I don’t know how I’ll find out, since I only have her first name.”

Helen cast her a sharp look. “Your father didn’t mention that part.”

For a moment, Trixie frowned. “I can’t remember whether I actually told him. She was called Rachel. I found her name when I was looking at the photos.”

“Rachel,” her mother repeated, with an odd note in her voice. “There was something, but I can’t quite remember.” She shook her head. “Maybe it will come back to me later.”

After a pause, Trixie asked, “Moms, who was your Uncle Walt’s heir?”

Before Helen had a chance to answer, her sister entered the room, commenting, “Oh, yes, this is much more suitable. I’ll go out tomorrow and get a photo of Uncle Mart printed and framed. And you’ve found the items he wanted placed here already; that makes it easy. Thank you, Trixie.”

She smiled in acknowledgement. “Have you chosen a photo?”

Alicia nodded. “I’ll use the same one we had for his order of service. He looks happy in it, unlike most other ones I found.” She sighed. “There just aren’t that many photos of him to choose from; he tended to shy away from being photographed.”

“At least we have that one,” Helen reassured her. “And it will be fine for in here.”

Her sister nodded. “And once I close the door on it, this room will be practically perfect.”

After breakfast the next morning, they set about taking down the rest of the monstrosities from the outside of the house. As Trixie climbed down the ladder on the very last trip, she paused, thinking.

“Does this house have an attic?” she asked, once she had reached the ground.

Her mother shook her head. “Not as far as I know.”

“I’ve never seen or heard of one,” Aunt Alicia added. “Not that I’ve searched for one either. It never crossed my mind.”

Trixie looked back up at the façade and roof-line, trying to picture the inside of the house and how it matched up. “There must be a space, at least. I wonder if it has anything in it.”

“Let’s all go and have a glass of water,” her father suggested. “Once we’ve cooled off a little, we can go and take a look. If there is a proper attic, there must be a way to access it.”

They suited actions to words. For ten minutes after they went upstairs, the four of them searched high and low for any clue to the existence of an attic. Peter found something first, in the back of a closet.

“I think this might be it,” he called.

Trixie came running, while Helen and Alicia approached at a more sedate pace.

“What is it?” she asked. “Something nailed up?”

Her father patted one of the shelves. “I can’t be sure, but I think this is a free-standing shelf unit that has been pushed into the doorway. That board there at the top has been nailed in to cover the gap and there are a few odd nails at the sides, too.”

“Aunt Alicia? Can we try to take it out, please?”

Her aunt eyed the shelves, the board and the badly-applied nails. “Certainly. It’s always been a most inconvenient closet. I don’t think anything you could do would make it worse.”

Trixie grinned. “I’ll go get some tools.”

She returned a few minutes later and began pulling nails. Once all of the protruding ones had been dealt with, she tried to lever out the board. One end of it came away quite easily, allowing her to wrench the whole thing free.

“I can see some stairs,” Peter noted, peering into the gap.

“Let me clear this out,” Alicia asked.

She and her sister quickly emptied the shelves. Trixie found another nail to pull, then they tried to wriggle the shelves out. With a grating sound, they moved a short distance, then stopped.

“It’s quite a tight fit,” Peter pointed out. “Let’s both pull together, slow and steady, and we’ll see if we can do it together.”

It took the best part of ten minutes, but a quarter-inch at a time they got it out.

“Ugh! More dust,” Alicia complained. “I’ll fetch the vacuum cleaner.”

Trixie nodded absently and started up the stairs.

“Do you need a flashlight?” her mother suggested.

Trixie shook her head. “I’ll just take a quick look, first. It’s got some windows, so it’s not totally dark.”

She ran lightly the rest of the way up the stairs and emerged into a low, dusty room. The two small windows, which she had noticed from the outside, allowed just enough light to see by. Trixie didn’t know exactly what she had expected to find, but it differed from what she saw. The nearest area had been filled with stacked boxes. After brushing it off with her hand, she could make out writing on the top one: Rachel.

Trixie ventured a little deeper into the room, as she heard the vacuum cleaner start up down below. Past the pile of boxes, she discovered an old-fashioned wooden trunk. Someone had secured it with a padlock and the key was nowhere in sight.

Beyond the trunk stood a shape shrouded in a sheet. Trixie lifted it to reveal an elegant dressing table, made of solid wood in a simple, understated style. To her mystification, instead of a bare surface, she saw embroidered doilies, a crystal dressing table set, silver-backed hairbrush and comb and a number of other items.

Turning, she looked back at the stairs. Obviously, this item of furniture had not been carried up here with all of these things on it. Equally obviously, it had not been used in this place. So why was it like this?

She peered around. The rest of the room was fairly empty. A few odds and ends had been pushed back against the walls, but there was no other furniture. The other things looked older and more decrepit.

As she returned to the stairs, Trixie noticed a shape on top of a different box which turned out to be a large, yellow envelope. Written on the front was the word IMPORTANT. Trixie picked it up and carried it downstairs.

Emerging into the hallway, she found her aunt busily engaged in vacuuming. Leaving her to it, she took the envelope downstairs and sat down with it at her great-uncle’s desk. Her own parents seemed to have disappeared somewhere, but she did not particularly notice, so intent was she on her task. She lifted the flap of the envelope, which was unsealed, and slid out its contents.

Trixie flicked through the pages revealed. A marriage certificate, a wedding photograph, a birth certificate, a death certificate. Nothing else. A quick look at the names on the documents told a good deal of the story. Walter Johnson had married Rachel Sneddon. Six months later, on Aunt Alicia’s birthday, a baby girl had been born to the couple and on the same day Rachel had died.

She pushed the pages back into the envelope. The vacuum cleaner was still running upstairs, so her aunt was safely occupied for the moment. But what to do about these documents? She didn’t want her aunt to meet with a shock. This information needed careful handling, that was clear, but Trixie did not know what would be best. Should she hide them for now, and examine them more carefully later? There might be all sorts of clues in them, if only she had the time and space to think.

As casually as she knew how, Trixie walked up the stairs once more and passed along the corridor to her room. She crossed behind her aunt, hoping not to be noticed, and gently shifting the envelope as she went. The ploy, practised often on her children, worked. She reached her room and stashed the envelope in the outer pocket of her suitcase, which lay in the bottom of the wardrobe.

Task completed, she returned downstairs and began to look around for either her parents or something to do to keep her occupied. All the while, thoughts swam in her head. A love triangle. A lost baby, and a baby who lost her mother. Two long-ago tragedies, linked together and the details now lost in the past. But the question remained: should she tell? And if so, who should she tell?

She shook her head and headed for the kitchen to see about some lunch. There she found her mother already at work.

“Did you have any success?” Helen asked, as she sliced a tomato.

Trixie nodded. “I think I have the answer to my question about your Uncle Walt. I think Uncle Mart must have been his heir. I found some documents up there that must have come from him.”

Helen set down her knife. “Something is wrong, isn’t it?”

She made a helpless gesture. “I don’t want to upset anyone.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “But I think I’m starting to see exactly what went on and I think it’s probably better left in the past.”

Her mother hesitated for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. “Does it confirm or contradict what we already talked about?” she asked, at last.

“Confirm,” Trixie replied. “But with complications.”

Helen frowned. “Can you really be sure?”

It was Trixie’s turn to hesitate. “I don’t have the whole story, yet. And I’m not sure I’ll ever have the whole story. But it’s looking fairly certain that something happened, that doesn’t entirely match the family story you’ve been told.”

“It would hurt Alicia terribly if she found that we hadn’t been told the truth,” Helen noted, barely above a whisper.

Trixie nodded. “And, in a way, it doesn’t matter in the slightest. Your parents loved you equally, didn’t they? They did everything they could for you?”

With a soft smile, her mother nodded. “They did. And we each made our own choices. I don’t regret mine and I’m fairly sure your aunt doesn’t either.”

“What aren’t I regretting?” Alicia asked, entering the room at that moment.

Helen smiled. “We’re talking about life choices and the way that you and I were raised.”

Her sister nodded. “I always felt supported in my choices. I feel very grateful for our parents.”

“So do I,” Helen answered. “I still miss them very much.”

Alicia patted her arm. “So do I. But I think that the best way to honour their memory is to live a good life. I don’t feel at all inclined towards making shrines to them. And I’m not particularly interested in digging up all of the secrets of the past, either.”

“Would you prefer it if I didn’t research this side of the family?” Trixie asked, with a slight frown.

“Good heavens, child, no!” her aunt declared. “Dig up whatever you like. Just don’t expect me to be delighted when you discover that my great-grandfather worked on a tea clipper, or some such nonsense. And I don’t need to hear about it if you unearth skeletons in the family closet, either. I’m quite content to remember my various relatives as I knew them. I don’t need to know all of the things that they chose to hide from me.”

Trixie grinned. “It’s a deal. So, would it be okay if I borrowed all those old certificates and things?”

“Have them,” her aunt offered. “I don’t need any of them, as far as I know, and I know you’ll keep them safe, should they be needed some time in the future.”

“Thanks,” Trixie replied, with a silent sigh of relief.

After lunch, Alicia went out to do some groceries and Peter returned to the paperwork. As they did the dishes together and gave the kitchen a good clean and tidy, Trixie and her mother had a little chat.

“Aunt Alicia’s guessed something, hasn’t she?” Trixie asked.

Her mother nodded. “I think so. I think this is her way of letting us know that it’s okay not to share the details. And, by giving you the certificates, she won’t discover the secret by accident.”

Trixie thought about this for a moment, as she dried a plate. “Was I indiscreet? Should I have handled things a different way?”

Helen shook her head. “You’ve been very sensitive all along. And I’m quite certain that it wasn’t you who drew her attention. In fact, I think it was me.”

Trixie shook her head. “How does that work?”

Her mother sighed. “I asked her about the name Rachel. I told her that you’d seen it on something and wasn’t there someone with that name?”

“What did she say?”

“She snapped at me. She told me not to go prying into things that don’t concern me.” She swished the water in the sink for a moment, rearranging the bubbles. “She apologised later, but at the time she looked quite angry. It’s not like her at all; she’s so very rarely visibly upset by anything.”

“And you don’t know why?” Trixie asked.

Helen shook her head. “Oh, no. I remembered, eventually.”

“You don’t have to tell me, if it’s better not to,” Trixie put in, at once.

Again, her mother shook her head. “I think you should know. I don’t think families should have terrible secrets, all ready for some malicious person to discover and spring on you. I think it’s far better to face your actions and your past and even your family’s past and move on from there.”

Slowly, Trixie nodded. “Yes, I think I agree. But I don’t keep secrets, so I’m not sure that I really understand people who do.”

“I’m sure there are a hundred different reasons why people try to keep something quiet.” She looked around and, seeing that all of the washing up had been done, let out the water. “But I don’t think this was ever actually a secret. It’s just from long enough ago that I didn’t remember properly. Alicia, being older than me, might remember a little bit better.”

“What was it?” Trixie prompted.

“There was a man,” her mother explained, “who sometimes visited us. I thought he was incredibly old, but I don’t know how accurate that memory is. He might just have been sick, or it might have been my childish perception of him; I can’t have been more than about five, the last time I saw him. He would come into our house and look intently at Alicia and tell her how much she looked like Rachel. If we asked him who Rachel was, he would look sad and say she died long ago.”

Trixie’s brow creased. “He must have been some relation of hers, I guess. It was kind of your parents to let him visit.”

Her mother nodded. “I suppose so. Especially since, in those days, you were supposed to just forget.”

“But why would bringing that up lead to Aunt Alicia guessing?”

Helen looked around the kitchen for anything else that needed doing before she answered. “I don’t think it was that memory in particular,” she decided, at last. “I think it was the sum total of all the things that have happened in the last few days.”

“In that case, it’s not your fault, either,” Trixie pointed out. She drew a breath. “Okay, then. I’ll take the certificates away and not share anything I find with Aunt Alicia. And, before I leave, I’ll check through those boxes in the attic and make sure there’s no more nasty surprises.”

Her mother nodded. “That would be very helpful, thank you, Trixie. I’ve heard that it’s very traumatic for a person to find out in later life that they were adopted. And since I’m convinced that Alicia has decided not to know, I want to respect that choice.”

Trixie put away the last dish and closed the cupboard door. “I do, too. And as curious as I am about it, I don’t want to hurt anyone.” She hesitated a moment. “Is it okay if I talk about these things with you?”

Helen smiled. “Yes. But thank you for asking.”

Trixie’s expression became rueful. “I should have asked that before I started talking about it. Right at the beginning, when we had that discussion about your brother’s date of birth.”

“You weren’t to know,” her mother assured her. “And the cat was already out of the bag before you said a word. Because as soon as you put baby Dennis’ birth in the same year as Alicia’s, there had to be a secret involved somehow.”

Trixie nodded. “I’ll be more careful from now on.”

The next day, Trixie returned home. She had spent the previous afternoon checking through the attic, but found nothing there that might upset her aunt. It appeared that Uncle Mart had inherited Rachel’s belongings from his brother, but had not wanted to either look at them or dispose of them. She left the attic tidy and newly cleaned, ready to accept any other items that Aunt Alicia wanted to store there. Her parents were going to stay a few days longer to keep helping, but Trixie had commitments at home.

By the time she returned, three months had passed.

“Trixie! It’s good to see you,” Aunt Alicia greeted, as Trixie got out of the car. “Thank you for coming.”

“It’s no problem,” Trixie answered. She glanced up at the house. “It looks so much better with the new paint job.”

Her aunt smiled. “Yes, I like it much better, now. I think I’ll be happy to stay here.”

Instead of the muted greenish-brown which Alicia had dignified with the descriptor ‘taupe’, the house had now been painted in a bright off-white with the barest hint of a pink undertone. Dark blue trim completed the picture. It almost looked like a different house.

They entered, and Trixie saw that the transformation extended to many of the downstairs rooms. Light neutral walls and filmy curtains gave the house a more airy feel. While some of the dark, heavy furniture remained, it seemed less dismal against its new backdrop.

“The kitchen will not be renovated until next year, but everything else is much more to my taste, now.” Alicia reached out and straightened a hand-crocheted doily on a side table. “I very much appreciate the help you gave me when Uncle Mart first passed.”

“It was no trouble,” Trixie answered. “I was glad to help.”

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve asked you back now,” her aunt continued, while leading the way into the kitchen. She paused to ask her visitor if she would like a coffee, then began making it. “I found something that I want to show you. It was in Uncle Mart’s bedroom.”

Trixie’s heart jumped. She had not had time to check there for upsetting items and had left the task to her parents. But her aunt did not seem at all upset.

“That sounds interesting,” she answered, while watching her aunt closely. “Do you mean something that was hidden?”

“After a fashion.”

Alicia said no more, but carried the coffees and a small plate of dainty sandwiches into the living room. The topic apparently shelved, she began a conversation about the garden.

Once their refreshments had been consumed, Alicia invited Trixie upstairs. She followed her aunt with a feeling somewhere between curiosity and dread.

The door to Uncle Mart’s old room stood closed. Alicia paused for a tiny moment before opening it and stepping inside.

“Are you going to leave the room this way?” Trixie asked, as the dread grew.

“Heavens, no!” her aunt exclaimed, her voice tinged with horror. “I have no intention of following Uncle Mart’s example of shrine-building. There are, in fact, two reasons why this room has not yet been finished.” She waved towards the far side of the room. “The first is that I wanted you to see this in situ.”

Trixie’s eyes narrowed as she contemplated the room. It had a masculine feel to it, with its shabby, dated furnishings, mostly in shades of brown. A lot of its smaller contents, she knew, had already been removed. But the bed remained, and a sturdy, old-fashioned wardrobe and matching set of drawers. In one corner, right where her aunt was indicating, stood a bookcase.

“I didn’t know Uncle Mart was much of a reader,” Trixie commented, walking closer.

She frowned as she noticed more details about the books. Some of them were shelved upside-down or sideways and they included an eclectic mix of titles and genres. One shelf had half-a-dozen volumes out of a set of encyclopaedias, non-consecutive letters, out of order: R, A, C, H, E, L.

“In the end, he couldn’t see well enough to read,” her aunt mentioned. “But even before that, no, he didn’t read often. But then, I don’t think that was the purpose he had in mind here.”

“Have you touched them at all?” Trixie asked.

Alicia shook her head. “Uncle Mart always kept a chair in front of them. Then just the other day I carried it back downstairs. The next time I came in here, those encyclopaedias hit me in the eye. I think there’s a message there, but I haven’t deciphered it.”

Trixie nodded, still looking at the books. Then a thought occurred to her and she turned to her aunt. “You said there were two reasons why this room wasn’t done?”

Alicia nodded. “The second reason is because I haven’t decided what to do with this room. I am… contemplating a change, you could say.” A faint hint of pink tinged her cheeks. “I find it quite lonely here, all by myself. I thought, perhaps, a companion of some sort might be beneficial.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Trixie commented.

Again, her aunt nodded. “I’ll leave you to it.”

With a smile, Trixie indicated her agreement, then turned to the books. She scanned along the shelves, looking for patterns.

“I’ll assume that an upside-down book is a space,” she murmured to herself. “But where do I get the letters from? Titles? Authors?”

It turned out to be easier than that. Other than the encyclopaedia volumes, whose large, gold letters were at the bottom, the message could be read by looking at the top letter on the spine. It took her only a minute or two to spot and once she started, she had the whole thing in no time at all.

Further assuming that two upside-down books in a row marked the end of a sentence and disregarding any whose spine was out of sight, her great-uncle’s message read: ‘My darling Rachel. I loved you and lost you. Betrayed by my own flesh and blood. I love you, Rachel. I love you forever.’

With a sigh, Trixie sat on the floor and stared at the books for a long moment. She got out her phone and photographed them, then she scrambled to her feet and went in search of her aunt.

“That was quick,” Alicia commented, when Trixie found her in the living room. She set down her knitting. “I don’t know whether to ask what it says.”

Trixie sat down opposite her. “The bottom line, where the encyclopaedias are, says ‘I love you, Rachel. I love you forever.’ The part before that is about losing her. I think he probably did it after she’d died.”

Alicia nodded and looked down. “I’ve long ago come to the conclusion that Rachel is the woman in the photograph; the one that we didn’t know. There’s an engagement ring in a box behind the photo.”

“Maybe it’s why he never married,” Trixie suggested. “It’s all terribly sad.”

Her aunt looked up and smiled. “Yes, but he had a good life. He told me many times that there are advantages to being single and that I should embrace my single state and make the most of it. He modelled that for me for the rest of his life.”

“I’m glad,” Trixie answered.

Alicia reached over and grasped her niece’s hand. “Thank you, Trixie. Thank you for coming here and figuring it out for me. And thank you for not burdening me with more of the truth than I can take.”

Trixie smiled and squeezed back. “You’re welcome, Aunt Alicia.”

The End