Ivy of Our Hearts

Twenty-eight

As time went, Manderley brought me more gifts. Sometimes she'd leave them at the foot of my bed. Other times she'd bring them to me, dropping them at my feet as she flew by. I'd never wanted a pet, but Manderley's kindness made me grow fond of her. It made me happy that she'd come to like me because Phillip loved her. His love for her made the gifts she brought me special, even if they weren't ordinary gifts.

On the morning of October 4th, I woke up to find a beetle an inch from my nose. After a mild panic attack, and a slight shove of it with my finger, relief coursed through me. It was dead. It had been dead a while. Manderley had brought it in for me. I picked up the beetle before Margaret saw it. I couldn't keep it in my pillowcase, like the rest of the things Manderley had brought me, feathers and colored string and small rusted tin boxes which held nothing inside.

I grabbed my pillow, which bulged due to the items I'd stuffed in it, got out of bed, and knelt in front of the nightstand. The beetle and my pillow lay beside me. The nightstand had two drawers. Margaret and I hadn't been through either yet. Glancing at her to make sure she hadn't woken I pulled the first drawer open. Unlike the wardrobe had, it slid open after one tug. In the first drawer, Nora had kept yarn and knitting needles. I picked up the single bundle of yarn, now faded and worn from age. My mind flashed to the sweaters Margaret and I had worn, and the bit of detail along the sleeve on my hunter green sweater. Nora had been talented at more than painting.

I put the yarn back and closed the top drawer. The second one slid open as easily. There I found the missing piece to Nora's puzzle, along with an empty bottle of White Gardenia. There were letters. A dozen of them at least, tied with a bit of yarn. They were all in Nora's handwriting. I sat back on my legs, gripping the letters as if expecting someone to storm in and tear them from my hands. I had no reason to fear this, or to fear that by reading the letters I'd be overstepping my boundaries. Nora wasn't here to see me, but Phillip might not want me to.

I untied the string anyway, which took some effort. I turned over the first letter. On the front had been written, "To my beloved." There was no address or name, as if Nora hadn't meant to send any of them at all. I glanced once more at Margaret who hadn't woken. I'd heard Phillip go to the bathroom earlier, but no noise came from the front room now. I got up, still clutching the letters, and closed the bedroom door.

Lucky for me, none of the letters had been sealed. I sat in front of the nightstand with the bundle on my lap. I would show Phillip the letters soon enough, but I needed to know for myself. Who had been Nora's beloved? Why had she painted those pictures? The letters had been written on thick, yellowed paper. Nora's handwriting smudged in a few places, making it harder to read. I read the first letter under my breath.

To my beloved,

It has been a week since we've last seen each other. There's been no word from you, and I wonder if you think of me as much as I think of you. Forget what our parents say, let's run away my love. We may be young still, but together we'll grow old. I'll be happy to have you near at last. Yesterday, I got word from the school, but I told my parents I'm not leaving without you. We can leave as soon as Friday to New York or someplace else, wherever you choose. It doesn't matter to me if it's far from here. Frederick, you've been the first boy I've ever loved. It's silly that they'd try to keep us a part. What do they know? They don't know anything of the love we share for each other. Things are better now; soon we'll be able to be married regardless of what anyone thinks. Nothing will divide us my love. Please say yes.

Love,

Nora

I read the letter twice before I put it aside to read the rest. Most of the letters were the same. Nora wrote to Frederick begging him to run away with her, but since she'd never sent them, they were no letters from him.

"What are you doing?" Margaret lifted her head.

I'd been so engrossed in the letters I hadn't heard her wake up.

"I found these letters in the drawer. They're by Nora," I said, holding up one for her to see.

She crawled to my side of the bed and held out her hand for it. I gave it to her. Together, we read, passing the letters between us, mentioning here and there what Nora had said in her letter.

"Has Phillip read these?" Margaret asked.

"I don't think so," I said. I didn't see how they'd help him either way. Nora had been young in all these letters. None of them mentioned Phillip. When I investigated the drawer again, I saw that there was slip of paper tucked away to the back; much like Nora's photo had been hidden. I picked it up. This letter wasn't like the others. It felt recent, like Nora had penned it moments before Margaret and I had arrived. I read it and passed it to Margaret. We were both silent. A tear fell from Margaret's eyes.

The letter was again written to Frederick but years after the others. In the letter Nora had written about finding a baby boy in the woods. She told Frederick she would love it if they could meet. She'd written about Phillip's true mother. She'd described her as a tall, beautiful woman. The most beautiful woman she'd ever seen.

You should have seen her Frederick, Nora had written. If you'd seen her, I think you would have fallen in love right away. I'd have been jealous of course.

She told Frederick that the woman appeared human from a distance, although as she got closer, she changed into something else, something birdlike. Her appearance would flick back and forth between the two, her human features and birdlike features, like a hologram. The baby in her arms appeared as tiny as a baby bird, his dark hair like raven's feathers, his eyes as blue as ink from a pen. He'd wailed when his mother had left him. Nora said she tried to turn away, but she couldn't. She described holding him in her arms, the way he'd curled into her breasts, almost as if he'd been meant for her.

I've named him Phillip after my grandfather, Nora said. Phillip Thomas Callaway.