American Heroes Series - 03 - Purgatory (43 page)

Elliot moved in where the man
left off. She was very curious about the dumbwaiter, something that was so old
it wasn’t even made out of wood. It was constructed purely of iron, like some
crazy treasure chest lodged in her wall. Elliot got her hands into the wall and
began to work the sliding door on the dumbwaiter, trying to work it free as she
listened to the contractor on the phone out in the hall. 

As his voice grew more agitated,
her fingers grew stronger, working the sliding door like a stuck bolt.  It
seemed to be jammed so she went into her cabinets and found the spray olive
oil, spraying a small amount on what looked to be the moving parts of the box. 
Setting the can aside, she was able to work the door enough to lift it
half-way.

Elliot didn’t really expect to
find anything inside. Maybe there would be a tray or utensils left behind by a
forgetful servant, something to add to the growing collection for their museum.
Her first look inside showed a black box with black walls, smelling of
something old and timeless. But as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she
realized there was something on the bottom of the box.

Elliot reached in and grasped
what looked like sheets of paper.  She really couldn’t tell.  Very carefully,
she pulled them out of the box and quickly realized that it was a book of some
kind, leather bound. She thought that it might be an old household ledger or
family records. 

Excited, she inspected the
binder, noting the dried out leather cover and hand-stitched binding. She was
sure Dr. Whitney could tell her exactly what it was stitched with.

The contractor was still on the
phone and she waited impatiently for him to get off the phone so she could show
him what had been inside.  Taking the binder over to the kitchen table, she set
it down, pulled up a chair, and carefully opened it.

The pages inside were very old
and very fragile.  She couldn’t tell if it was parchment or actual paper. Being
a writer, she was somewhat familiar with the history of paper and she knew that
milled wood pulp had been used as paper as early as the Middle Ages.

As she inspected the paper, she
glanced up at the careful script written in faded ink at the top of the page.

Le journal de Madame Sophie
MacGregor Aury

A bolt of shock ran through
Elliot as she stared at the title. Although she didn’t really know much French,
the words staring back at her didn’t need any translation. Her heart began to
race, quickly understanding what she was looking at. There could be no doubt.

Shocked, she looked up at the
dumbwaiter, wondering why in the hell the journal had been sealed up inside.
Perhaps by a frightened servant, perhaps by Sophie herself… she simply didn’t
know. Closing the cover of the journal with shaking hands, she collected it
against her chest as she quickly made her way up the back stairs.

The contractor, off his call,
entered just as she disappeared upstairs. He called after her.

“Ms. Aury?” he said. “What do you
want me to do about this? Can I seal it up?”

Elliot paused at the top of the
stairs, journal clasped to her breast. “Uh… no,” she called down to him. “I
want the archaeologists to take a look at it before we do anything. Can you
just leave it until tomorrow?”

“Yes’m,” he said.

Leaving the contractor to finish
up, she quickly made her way to the master bedroom, locating her cell phone on
the nightstand.  Still holding the journal, she called Nash.

He picked up on the third ring.
“Hi, honey,” he said pleasantly. “How’s my beautiful girl?”

“I’m good,” she said, trying not
to sound too anxious. “Are you busy?”

He smiled. “Never too busy to talk
to you, you know that,” he said softly. “How are things at the house? Did the
contractor finish that wall in the kitchen yet?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to
you about,” she lowered her voice, although she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as
if anyone was listening to her. “He was working on the wall between the kitchen
and the ballroom, and he came across an old dumbwaiter sealed up into the
wall.”

In his plush, big new office at
the State Capitol building, Nash leaned back in his leather chair, taking a break
from the paperwork on his desk to talk to his wife. She was never far from his
thoughts and hearing from her, no matter what he was doing, always made his
day. Her latest statement had his interest.

“Really?” he said. “That’s very
cool.  What does it look like?”

“Like an old iron box.”

“Text me a picture of it.”

“Okay,” she said, somewhat
hesitantly. Then the truth started coming out. “Sweetie, there was something in
it. The contractor doesn’t know because I took it out before he could see it.
When are you coming home?”

He shifted in his chair, noticing
one of his aides standing in his office door, politely waiting for his
attention. “Not soon enough,” he muttered. “I’ll try to get home a little
early. Why? What did you find?”

Elliot glanced at the journal she
had laid on the bed beside her. “You’re not going to believe it,” she said. “I
think it’s Sophie MacGregor’s journal.”

That brought Nash to attention.
“Really?” he was startled. “Are you sure?”

Elliot nodded. “It’s all in
French, but I can clearly read her name.  I don’t read French but I know you
do. Can you come home now?”

Nash could see two aides standing
in his doorway now, both waiting politely to speak with him.

“Baby, I’m not sure I can,” he
ran a weary hand over his face. “But I promise I’ll come as soon as I can. I’m
dying to take a look at it.”

“Me, too,” she said. “I’m not
going to show it to anyone until you and I go through it. Given the woman’s
reputation for having killed her kids….”

Nash nodded as she trailed off.
“Say no more,” he said. “I’m with you. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“I’m making a roast chicken for
dinner.”

He grinned. “Now you’re not being
fair. You’re trying to lure me home with food.”

“That, and the fact that Alec
went to stay with Shane for the weekend. We have the house to ourselves.”

He laughed softly. “Okay, you
win,” he folded easily, eyeing the aides. “Give me a half hour and I’ll get out
of here.”

Elliot smiled happily. “Good.
Love you, sweetie.”

“I love you, too. I’ll see you in
a bit.”

***

Nash was home much earlier than
normal.  At seven in the evening, right on the nose, he pulled in front of the
house and parked his new Lexus, courtesy of the State of Louisiana.  It was a
high performance car and he liked it much better than the Crown Victoria he had
been driving. Climbing wearily out of the car, he made his way into the dimly
lit house.

Everything was quiet at this
hour. The contractors had gone home, as had the archaeologists. He headed for
the kitchen, smelling chicken in the air. When he passed through the dining
room and didn’t see his wife in the bright kitchen, he peered into the darkened
ballroom.

“Ellie?” he called.

Wolfgang’s head popped up from
where he had been laying on his favorite chair and the dog bolted in his
direction. He petted the dog, heading to the staircase as the dog trotted
behind him.  Taking the stairs to the second floor, he went to the softly-lit
master bedroom. It was the only room on the second floor that had a light on.
Everything else was dusk and shadow.

Elliot was lying on the bed,
curled up on her side. Nash pulled off his sport coat as he went to the massive
four-poster bed.

“Ellie?” he said softly, watching
her eyes open as he bent down to kiss her. “What’s wrong, honey? Why are you in
bed?”

She looked up at him, miserable.
“I thought I was strong enough to make chicken,” she said. “The smell just
makes me gag. I can’t be downstairs right now.”

He fought off a smile, sitting on
the bed beside her. “I’m sorry, baby,” he stroked her head. “I thought you were
feeling better these days.”

She sighed. “I did, too, but
apparently not,” she said. “Can you go open up all the windows downstairs so
the chicken smell goes out of the house?”

He nodded. “Sure,” he replied,
taking off his tie. “Where’s the chicken?”

“In the oven.”

“Is it done?”

She nodded, closing her eyes
again.  He stroked her blond head, bending down to kiss it. “What can I bring
you?” he asked.

“The usual.”

“Green Jello?”

“Yes,” she said. “But if you’re
going to eat the chicken, do it downstairs. I’ll throw up if you get it
anywhere near me.”

“Do you want the Jello now or
later?”

“Go eat your dinner and I may be
strong enough by then.”

He grinned, kissing her head
again as he tossed the tie aside and went downstairs. He and Wolfgang went to
every window in the house, opening up the great floor to ceiling panels and
letting the soft bayou evening breeze infiltrate the house.

 When they went into the kitchen,
Nash inspected the big hole in the wall and the iron dumbwaiter with the
ancient rope and pulley system.  He ran his hands over it, studying the detail,
truly amazed at the discovery. Purgatory continued to reveal her secrets.

Opening up the oven, he pulled
out the beautifully roasted chicken that had sent his wife running for cover.
There was rice and broccoli on the stove. He sat down to eat at the breakfast
table with Wolfgang sitting expectantly beside him. For every two or three
bites he took, he tossed the dog a scrap or some skin.

“This is really good,” he told
the dog. “Too bad Ellie can’t eat it.”

Wolfgang licked his chops and
waited for the next morsel.  Between Nash and the dog, they finished off the
entire chicken and Nash took the garbage out, including the chicken carcass, so
Elliot couldn’t smell it. He paused as he came back from the dumpster, his gaze
moving out over the moonlit bayou. It was peaceful and beautiful, and he
couldn’t remember ever being so happy in his entire life. Every morning when he
woke up, he thanked God for what he had. He thanked Him every day for Elliot.

When he came back into the house,
he found Elliot standing in the open refrigerator with a can of whipped cream
in her hand.  As he stood there and watched, she sprayed whipped cream into her
mouth directly from the can. After two or three squirts and choking down the
contents, she turned to him and noticed the odd expression on his face. She
licked her lips.

“Why are you looking at me like
that?” she asked.

The truth was that Nash was
trying very hard not to burst into laughter. He fought off the grin that
threatened.

“I’m not looking at you like
anything,” he said innocently.  “So we’re back to Jello and whipped cream
again?”

Her lip stuck out in a pout. “I
can’t help it,” she said miserably. “They’re the only things that don’t make me
gag.”

He went to her as she made
miserable sounds, feigning tears, when the truth was that she really did feel
awful. He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her gently.

“The doctor gave you a diet to
follow,” he suggested carefully. “Maybe you should give it another try?”

She sounded like a petulant
child. “I don’t want to,” she frowned. “I don’t want to eat bananas and rice.
They make me gag.”

“I know, but they’re better for
you than Jello and whipped cream all the time.”

Her frown was deepening. “I
haven’t gained any weight, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s not what I mean and you
know it,” he said, softly but sternly. “You’ve lost eleven pounds in the past
three months and the doctor wants you to gain weight, not lose it. It’s not
good for the baby.”

She started crying, this time for
real.  Nash hugged her tightly, relenting as he reached down into the
refrigerator and pulled forth a cup of green Jello. He put it in her hand and
pulled a spoon from a drawer.

“Come on,” he directed her
towards the stairs. “Let’s go eat your Jello and you can show me the journal
you found.”

She was angry, miserable and
teary. “You have no idea what it’s like to be pregnant,” she told him with a
pouty face. “I feel nauseous all of the time. Even the look of dog kibble makes
me nauseous. If I feel like eating Jello, I’m going to eat it because it’s
better than eating nothing.”

He was patient with her as they
went up the stairs. “I know, baby. I’m not criticizing. I’m just trying to
help.”

“Then don’t tell me to eat
bananas.”

“I won’t anymore, I promise.”

She was already halfway into the
green Jello by the time they entered their bedroom. Nash directed her over to
the bed but she went to her nightstand first, opening the first drawer and
pulling out something that looked like a brown leather album. She extended it
to Nash.