Breaking Ground (24 page)

“You'd be surprised how valuable these things can be to researchers. We'd be really happy to have whatever you'd like to donate.”

“Well, I was wondering if it would make sense for you to look through the boxes first, get an idea of what I have, and then you could pick what you want. Would that be an imposition?”

“Not at all. I'd love to. Anytime you like.”

“I'm going to be gone for a month. We have a camp down at the coast, and I'm going to spend some time there with some old college friends, and then Frank is coming down for vacation with the kids. I know it's pushy of me, but now that I've started this I'd like to finish. Do you think you could come out in the next few days and take a look?”

Julie didn't want to appear too eager, but the Oakes papers fascinated her, and she didn't want to wait till Patty Nilsson returned. “Would this afternoon be convenient?”

“Perfect. Why don't you come around two? You could look through them and we could have tea.”

Julie agreed, and Patty provided directions. Although Julie had lived in a rented condo at the ski area for a year, the Nilssons house was in another part of the development, one of a dozen or so very substantial private residences discreetly tucked in the woods across the road from the main ski lodge. Julie had walked through the area, admiring the houses, so when Patty gave her directions she had no trouble taking them in.

She arrived exactly at two, parked in the driveway, and looked up to see Patty opening the door to greet her. From their first meeting, Frank Nilsson's wife struck Julie as an odd fit with the trim, handsome man. Patty was short and chubby, not quite fat but definitely a contrast with her husband. While she seemed older than him, Julie remembered they had met when they were college students, so she assumed that the apparent age difference wasn't real but the effect of Frank Nilsson's obvious commitment to keeping himself looking fit and boyish. Julie found herself liking Patty Nilsson's easy acceptance of who she was and how she looked as a nice counter to her husband's obvious concern for appearances.

Patty led Julie to a large basement room paneled in pine. Below grade, the room had small windows that let in enough light for Julie to see the bar at one end next to a pool table and some overstuffed chairs and a sofa at the other. Family room in a ski house, Julie told herself as she took it in.

“It's so dark down here,” Patty Nilsson said. “Let me get some lights.”

Fluorescent recessed lights bathed the room with an unnatural quality. “Here they are,” she added as she pointed to five cardboard boxes on the floor in front of the sofa. “I'm sure it's mostly junk, but if there's anything worthwhile you're welcome to it. I can just leave you with them, or I can stay here while you look. Whatever you like.”

Julie suggested she could take a look on her own first if the other woman had things to do. “I do have some packing to get
ready for the camp, so why don't you go ahead. Just call up if you have any questions. Can I get you some lemonade or iced tea or something?”

Julie declined the offer, and after Patty retreated up the steps set about examining the contents of the boxes. Nothing surprised her. It was the sort of stuff you always got when people brought in boxes of “family papers.” There were letters, which qualified, and photos, which Julie always lingered over, trying to imagine why they had been taken. But most of the contents were the typical leavings: old clippings from Portland and Boston newspapers, programs from musical events, receipts, instructions that had accompanied apple corers and washing machines. The boxes were more or less chronological, one containing materials from the late nineteenth century, another with letters and clippings from the period between the two wars, and the last three of more-recent vintage. These contained items like the programs from Patty's high school and college commencements and clippings about her wedding. Someday historians might value them, but Julie wondered if Patty really intended to give them up now or if she had simply gotten tired of examining the boxes' contents and decided to hand over the decision to Julie.

“Dear, you must be tired of sorting through those old things!” Patty said as she stepped into the room carrying a tray. “And bored, too, I'm sure.”

“Not at all. There are some very, very useful items here the historical society would be delighted to have.”

“And plenty to start a fire with.”

“Oh, I didn't mean that. I just meant that some of the more-recent items are probably of personal interest to you now—things you'd like to keep for your own family.”

“Actually, I didn't get into the last couple of boxes, I have to confess. Are there recent things?”

“Clippings about your wedding, your commencement program, things like that.”

“My kids would think those are medieval! I guess I should go through those boxes again. Now here I am with this pitcher of iced tea and I haven't offered you any.” She pointed to the tray with the pitcher and glasses and a plate of cookies.

“Do you have time to join me?”

“Absolutely! If I'm not in your way.”

As they were sipping iced tea and nibbling cookies, Julie suggested she could take the three boxes of historical materials and leave the ones with more-recent materials for Patty to review later. She agreed.

“You didn't happen to come across a diary in those, did you?” Patty asked. “A little brown book, maybe four inches by eight inches?” Julie said she hadn't. “That's too bad. I know it was there because my mother pointed it out a couple of times. In fact, when I was in high school I had to do a project on my family, and Mother suggested I use her grandfather's diary. I read it, but it was so boring—dates and facts and names.”

“What period would that be?”

“Well, Thaddeus Oakes was my great-grandfather. I think it was probably the 1870s and 1880s.”

“I didn't see anything like that. Maybe it got into the boxes of more-recent things. I went through those pretty quickly, but I think I would have spotted something like a diary, especially an old one. That would be of real interest to the historical society.”

“I suppose so. Thaddeus was a surveyor—the only one in Ryland in his day, my mother said. He kept records on all the work he did in that diary, which means practically every piece of land in Ryland is mentioned in there.”

Julie nearly lost her grip on her glass of iced tea and had to use her left hand to steady it and lower it to the table. Thaddeus Oakes's diary might contain information about the Birch Brook property. Henry had mentioned that the dispute between the Swansons and the Dyers over the property had been settled by a survey. And it was sometime in the 1880s!

“I should be letting you get back to your packing,” she said to Patty. “About that diary—maybe we should take a quick look together and see if it's here somewhere. I'll just go through these things in the three boxes and that way you can also see what materials I'm taking.”

Patty agreed, and they spent another half-hour examining the contents of the three boxes Julie planned to accept on behalf of the Ryland Historical Society. Thaddeus Oakes's diary was not in them. Patty suggested they take a quick look at the other boxes to be sure, and again watched as Julie thumbed through the items.

“I guess I shouldn't be surprised my mother kept all these things,” Patty commented. “Lord knows I've kept enough memorabilia from when my own kids were young, and it probably will all end up in the recycling one day, just like these boxes should.”

“Of course if you should find the diary—t” Julie said. But before she could finish the sentence a man's voice interrupted: “What diary?”

“Oh, Frank, I didn't hear you,” Patty said. “Julie and I were just going through these boxes. How was Boothbay?”

Frank Nilsson, wearing a crisp cotton shirt and creased slacks, walked into the room from the steps and extended his hand to shake Julie's. “Everything's fine in Boothbay,” he said. “Went down to the coast yesterday to check on a project I have going
there,” he added in Julie's direction. “Stayed over at our camp. I finished a little earlier than I expected,” he said, this time in the direction of his wife. “So what are you two up to here?”

“I told you I was going to call Julie about the papers,” Patty said. “She was so great to come right out, and she's been through the boxes and is going to take three of them for the society.”

“Glad to hear it,” Frank said. “I hope I get some credit for this,” he added to Julie. “After I stopped by your place, I went to see Tabby Preston in the archives, just to be sure Patty's family papers would be safe, I encouraged my wife to get a move on with it.”

“I appreciate it.” Try as she did, Julie couldn't read the look on Frank's face. He paused, looking directly into Julie's eyes. Then he abruptly turned to his wife: “But what diary were you talking about?”

“Thaddeus Oakes's—my great-grandfather. Remember? I think I mentioned that to you when I started to look through these. I figured it was one thing of real value since it's so old, but I couldn't find it. And Julie can't either.”

“Oh, right. Well, that's a shame. I remember you said it was, what, a hundred years old or so?”

“More than that. He died early in the twentieth century. I don't know how long he was keeping the diary, but at least twenty years or so.”

Julie stood silently as husband and wife talked. Was Frank's interest in the diary a husbandly bit of pleasantry? Or was it more? Julie just couldn't tell.

“Well, I shouldn't be keeping you,” she said. “I'll be very happy to take these three boxes, and of course I'll send you a receipt for tax purposes.”

“I can carry those up for you, Julie,” Frank said. “That must be your car in the driveway? You sure you can fit all these in? I could bring them to town if you'd like.”

Julie assured him her Volkswagen Jetta was up to the challenge. She picked up a box, and he took another. “Just leave that one, honey,” Frank said quickly to Patty. “I'll come back for it.”

“Sorry I wasn't here earlier—didn't realize you were coming out,” he said as he placed the box in her trunk next to the one Julie had carried. “I'll just go get the other one.”

When he returned with it, Julie said she had been happy to have the chance to talk to Patty. “We should have had you out for dinner already,” Frank said. “Patty's leaving Saturday for the camp, and I'm going down later. We won't be back in Ryland full-time till the end of the summer. Let's not wait,” he added. “Any chance you could come for dinner tomorrow?”

“Friday?” Julie said, startled by the invitation.

“I know it's last-minute, but if it works for you we'd be very pleased to have you come out.” Julie explained that Rich was coming and reminded Frank they had met at Birch Brook. “Nice young man,” Nilsson said.

Much as she hated to give up their private time the first night Rich would be there, the prospect of having his help in assessing the Nilssons appealed to her. To the extent that being around Frank frightened her—and she wasn't sure to what extent it did—Rich's presence was an added bonus. So she accepted. “Unless Patty has something else planned,” she added. “If you want to check and let me know, just call me at the office.”

“It'll be fine with Patty,” Frank said in a tone that seemed to Julie to command rather than explore his wife's willingness to have dinner guests. “It's supposed to cool down again tonight. If we have that weather we had over the Fourth,” he continued, “we could even have a sauna before dinner. Got a great one here. Ever done it?”

“Taken a sauna? No.”

“Wonderful Scandinavian tradition. 'Course you can tell by my name I'm not prejudiced! Why don't you come about six and
we can take a family sauna and then settle in for dinner?” Julie explained that Rich was driving from Orono and that she had a trustee meeting, but that they could try to get to the Nilssons' by six-thirty.

“Then it's a date. Of course you know the custom,” he added. Julie said she didn't. “Part of the tradition—no clothes in the sauna,” he said with a laugh. And then: “Just kidding, Julie. That
is
the custom, but bring a bathing suit. See you then.”

Frank's look when he mentioned the custom of nudity in the sauna didn't bother Julie at that moment, but as she drove back to Ryland she decided that it should have bothered her more. It was consistent with what she had seen about the man's character over the last week, and reinforced her sense that she didn't like him or feel comfortable around him. She was glad dinner on Friday would include Rich, and of course Patty, whom she was growing fond of because she seemed so much nicer than her husband.

Thinking further of Frank as she drove, Julie wondered if Mike had talked with him. She thought of calling Mike to find out, but she reconsidered when she thought it through. Despite the good relationship she had developed with the policeman during the past year, she didn't want to push it, because she knew he was trying to maintain the line between them on this case.

Mrs. Detweiller was leaving as Julie returned to her office. She had time before leaving for dinner at the Black Crow Inn to do some work at her desk, and there was plenty of it: bills to be checked and approved for payment, requests for tours, articles for the society's newsletter to be edited. They were the core of her job, the nitty-gritty that she usually found satisfying to deal with as a way of marking progress. But today her heart wasn't in it. She listlessly glanced at one of the tour requests and was about to check the time against the master calendar when she spotted the green folder that Tabby had given her last week. More Tabor papers, she thought—just what I need! She opened the folder and leafed
through several items on the top: two prescriptions, some notes from a town committee on which Dr. Tabor had sat, and then two letters. She loved reading the copies of his letters. He kept carbon copies of all his correspondence, she had discovered. The practice of inserting a sheet of carbon between two pages in the typewriter was quaint, but she was grateful that Dr. Tabor had taken the time to do so. Both letters were to the doctor's brother in Connecticut, one of his regular correspondents. She read the first: