Sarah's Legacy (8 page)

When a few minutes had passed and he hadn't done anything disgusting, I let my attention drift back to the movie. At one really funny part David nudged my arm and nearly sent my popcorn flying. I lunged forward to save it, spilling some on a man in front of me. He turned and gave me a long, nasty look before swinging back around.

“Sorry,” David whispered. Then he laughed even harder, which made me laugh too and drew yet another glare from the stranger. It seemed that he was about to say something, but Stan leaned forward.

“It was just an accident,” Stan said. His tone was mild but also firm in a way that said very clearly there wasn't going to be any trouble.

When the man had once again turned back to the movie David stuck his face right next to mine, mimicking the cross scowl I'd just been given. We sank down in our seats, trying without much success to control our laughter.

I decided right then and there that we would get to be really good friends. And later on, maybe after I'd had my birthday in August and was thirteen, which is
much
older than twelve in lots of ways, we might get to be more than just friends. I still didn't know how old he
was and made a mental note to ask him sometime soon, very casually of course. Then I got to wondering if he already had a girlfriend.

Another huge burst of laughter told me that I'd been daydreaming and had missed even more of the show. I munched more popcorn and made myself concentrate.

Stan offered to take us for a snack after the show and I was glad no one wanted anything. The thought of the hope chest had returned and I was anxious to get home and see what was in the neatly wrapped bundles.

We dropped David off at his house first and then pulled into our driveway. Mom asked Stan if he'd like to come in for coffee, and naturally he was only too happy to say yes. I had every intention of sitting with them, just to make sure he didn't get all mushy, but Mom gave me one of those looks that meant I was to get lost.

I started upstairs to my room but a sudden yelp made me stop and run back down to the kitchen. When I got there I found Mom doubled over laughing and Stan all red-faced. Instead of his usual nodding, he was shaking his head sideways.

“Well, now, how was I to know you had a
skunk
for a
pet
?” he said. I burst out laughing too, realizing Rosie must have wandered into the room and shocked him into letting out that funny-sounding yelp.

“Sorry,” Mom kept gasping, but then she'd laugh some more. It took a few minutes for her to get herself
under control and Stan's face just kept getting redder and redder.

I enjoyed the sight for a couple of minutes until Mom raised an eyebrow that made me think I'd seen all I was likely to. I went to my room then but kept the door open so I could listen. I figured as long as I could hear Mom and Stan talking, there couldn't be any smooching going on. Not that the way he'd just embarrassed himself was likely to lead to a romantic moment of any kind.

After the first disappointment over the stuff in the bottom of the chest, I was trying not to get too excited at the discovery of additional things. Still, my fingers trembled as I untied the ribbons that held together the cloth coverings of each item.

The very first package held a book. I could see right off, though, that it wasn't an ordinary book. It was bound in leather but there was no title and the pages seemed unusually thick. I opened it and read the inside flap: “Sarah Wentworth — Book One.”

I flipped to the next page and quickly saw that it was a diary. I was about to toss it aside to open the rest of the things, but the first word caught my attention. I read:

January First, 1922

Tedious! A poor word to begin this journal and yet I can think of no better way to describe life here in Brockville. I am weary of days filled with nothing but those things that are designed to prepare a young woman for married life.

Evenings, I sit quietly in the parlour, embroidering cushions and listening to young men talk of their future hopes and dreams.

They are blended and become one face, these suitors. Their pronouncements of their plans are echoes of each other, recitations of the same idea. “I shall build a fine house, I shall have many acres of land, I shall provide well for my family.”

I could scream. They talk endlessly of their future estates. Has not one of them a mind capable of stretching past land holdings and cattle?

Mother never fails to point out the virtues of Mr. Colby: How grand shall be his home, how lucky his bride. I know she means for me to marry him, but I cannot. He appeals no more to me than any of the other colourless men who would entice me with their dull thoughts. I dare not tell her that he has twice made me an offer of marriage. The lectures I would face if she knew I have refused him!

And the conceit of the man. He assures me most patiently that he shall not give up, that he shall win my heart. As though a woman's heart were a prize to be captured in a sporting event!

When I attempt to talk of important matters with Mr. Colby or the others, it is clear that they believe a woman's thoughts should be
centred on home and family. Even with the gains women have made, receiving the right to vote and stand for public office, we are not encouraged to speak on these things. Oh, no.

I am continually exposed to the attitude that such things are not entirely suitable for the delicate sex. Their general opinion seems to be that our capabilities do not stretch beyond needlepoint.

Can they not see that the world is changing? Why, just last year Agnes McPhail
*
proved it to be so when she became the first woman elected to Federal Parliament! How I wish I could meet her and tell her what an inspiration her achievement has been to me.

But then she would be forced to wonder what she has inspired me to do! My life appears identical to that of other young women hereabouts. And yet, I know I am meant for something more. I feel it!

I yearn for a life that is different than what my situation seems to dictate. Why must the only fate deemed suitable for a young woman be that of binding herself to a man and home and children?

I long for adventure but escape from this tedium seems impossible.

It was only my burning curiosity over the other packages that made me force myself to set the diary aside after I'd finished reading the first entry.

Two of the other things wrapped in velvet were the same size and shape as the diary and I opened them next. Just as I suspected, they also contained Aunt Sarah's personal journals — books two and three. I sat them, along with the first, on my night table.

Now there were five other packages left. As I untied the ribbons I noticed that I wasn't as eager to find valuables as I had been before. The idea of reading about Sarah's life had captured my interest.

Three of the remaining items were boxes holding pieces of jewellery. There was a silver broach with a purple stone in it, a string of pearls, and a necklace with a creamy pink and white oval pendant that had a woman's face on it. They were pretty but I doubted that they were worth the fortune I'd dreamed about.

One package had a collection of strange things in it. There was a ring that was made out of hair, a strip of leather about two inches wide and four inches long, a scrap of silky cloth, and a paper that was rolled into a small tube and tied with string. I removed the string and carefully spread out the paper, which was stiff and crinkled. It seemed to be some kind of old ticket, though it was so faded and smudged I couldn't quite read it.

The last parcel was a wooden box containing a matching hairbrush, comb, and oval mirror with a handle. The set was beautiful, white with gold edging and tiny yellow roses painted on it, but there was a crack in the mirror.

I looked everything over for a few moments, then wrapped most of it up again and put it back into the hope chest lid. The one thing I kept out was the first diary. It would be interesting to read about Sarah's life, especially since she would have been only five or six years older than I was now when she'd started the first book.

Then, before I could even open it back up, I remembered that Stan and Mom were alone downstairs. I went over to my doorway and listened hard, but I couldn't hear any voices.

Maybe he's already gone, I thought. That's probably it. A few steps to my window on the driveway side of the house proved me wrong, though. His car was still parked there.

I paced for a few moments, pausing now and then to listen at the doorway. Nothing but silence! Images that I didn't really want to deal with kept popping into my head.

I suddenly decided I was thirsty, or hungry, or both. Any excuse to go back downstairs to see what was going on. As much as I didn't want to see any disgusting old kissing, imagining it was worse.

I tiptoed down the stairs and around the corner into the hallway leading to the kitchen. One side of the table was in clear view by then, but there was no one at it. That meant they must both be at the other side! Of course, there was only one reason for them to be sitting that close to each other. Yuck. My stomach flip-flopped nervously as I neared the room, but when I got there, I saw that it was empty.

That was when I heard their voices, trailing through the back kitchen from the servants' quarters.

“Great possibilities, all right,” Stan was saying. “I can't give you a firm price right now, but I think it's safe to say you can get most of what you want done for less than three thousand dollars.”

“Including new windows?” Mom asked. She sounded surprised.

“I have just what you need in my storage building.” I could picture Stan's head bobbing as he spoke. “Lady out in Point Sapin just had them taken out. Wanted
something fancier even though the windows she already had were like new. There are two large bay windows that will be perfect on the side, and six others, all a good size. You can decide how many you want and where they should go.”

“But I can't take them for nothing,” Mom protested.

“Well, I got 'em for nothin', so I'm not about to charge anyone for them. The only cost will be the labour.”

“It sounds wonderful.” Mom's voice was wistful. “I wish you could get started right away but it's going to take me ages to clear everything out of here.”

“Well now, I'm free most evenings, Maggie. I'd be proud to come by and give you a hand with it.”

The way Stan's voice sounded when he said my mom's name made me realize just how much he liked her. It was the same tone my friend Tania, in Ontario, used when she was talking about Kalan Porter. She's totally gone on him. Tania just constantly raves and raves about how much she loves Kalan, which seems kind of weird to me. After all, she's never even met him. How can you claim to love someone you don't even know?

Anyway, the way Stan said
Maggie
was a lot like that. He wasn't gushing and giggling like Tania does about Kalan, but he sure had that worshipful sound in his voice. It kind of creeped me out.

I was standing there thinking about this when the sound of footsteps told me they were coming back into
the kitchen. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, I hurried to the sink and turned on the water. When they came into the room I tried to look as innocent as I could.

“I was thirsty,” I blurted before either of them had a chance to say anything, “so I was just getting a drink.”

Stan smiled and nodded approvingly. “Water's the best thing there is for thirst,” he said, “and it's awfully good for you too. Why, I drink about ten glasses a day myself.”

“Is that right?” I tried to look as if that was the most fascinating thing I'd ever heard.

“Oh, sure. Keeps the salt flushed out of your system and helps you sweat when you're doing anything strenuous, so your pores stay nice and clear. Good for the complexion, too, though with your skin type you shouldn't have too much trouble.”

He started to say something else, but Mom broke in. She told me that we were going to have to work really hard to get the servants' quarters cleaned out and that Stan was going to do the renovations to get it ready for her to start up a business. Mom isn't usually rude like that, interrupting someone who's talking. I could see that she was really excited.

“I haven't decided for sure what kind of business I'm going to open,” she continued breathlessly, “but I have a few ideas. I'll make up my mind while we're getting things done. I found out there's no problem with zoning.”

I promised to help as much as I could. Then I was about to go back upstairs, but Stan asked me what my hurry was.

“I was thinking we might all have a game of crazy eights,” he said, nodding away.

So, to my surprise, I was included in the rest of the evening after all. We played two games of cards (which Mom won) and then ordered a pizza. After we'd eaten, Stan said he'd better be leaving. Mom and I thanked him for everything.

“My pleasure. Why, I haven't had such a nice evening since…” He hesitated, like he was deciding whether or not he should continue. Then he just said, “Well, for a long time.”

I wondered why he hadn't finished what he'd been about to say.

Once Stan had gone and I'd said good night to Mom, I hurried to my room, eager to read more of Aunt Sarah's diary. I'd barely opened it when there was a scratching at my door.

“Go away,” I said crossly. Somehow I knew it was Arthur the Fifth, though with so many animals in the house you might think that was just a lucky guess. He scratched more and mewed so pitifully that I relented and opened the door.

Arthur was there all right, but he wasn't alone. Plunk, the small dog that David had told me was part poodle and part terrier, sat beside him, his little pink tongue hanging out and his eyes as hopeful as anything I've ever seen. His whole body kind of quivered and his tail swept the floor behind him vigorously.