Crawford stood back against the wall, looking between Jane and Elsa. She didn’t blame him for doing only what he’d surely been ordered to do.
“You did seem to be rather occupied with non-work-related tasks.” Wesley raised an eyebrow. “For once my sister and I agreed on something. You need a hand.”
“If you are sincere, then I appreciate the sentiment. But these aren’t ready to pack away yet. I need to write labels and tie them to each specimen before wrapping them in paper cones. And we don’t dump them in boxes, even then.” She pointed tothe shallow trays she’d brought from the museum that stacked without touching the single layers of birds inside.
Wesley clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “My, my. You’re further behind than we thought.”
“I love having you here, Elsa,” Jane added, “but truly, if you don’t have time to chat with me, I don’t see why you take breaks with those immigrants. Unless you’re wheedling out of them the location of a certain valuable book? Great-Aunt Birdie wasn’t in her right mind when she willed the aviary to that girl. Any judge will side with us on that.”
Elsa gripped the back of a chair. “Why don’t I get back to work?”
“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” Wesley winked, but his charm had worn off.
The faint smell of cigarette smoke lingered even after Crawford and the siblings left. She could at least be glad they hadn’t smoked in here, spreading the odor to the birds, and possibly, heaven forbid, stray ashes.
Before Elsa had even pulled on her cotton gloves, a light tapping turned her head toward the door.
There stood Agnes Spalding, her hands folded atop her walking stick. “I apologize on behalf of my grandchildren.”
Elsa glanced to the window and saw Mr. Spalding’s Cadillac. She hadn’t even heard him pull into the drive. “How much did you overhear?”
“Enough to know they suspect you may know where the aviary is, and that they resent your kindness to Tatiana and Danielle.”
“I have no idea what happened to the aviary.”
“I do.”
Elsa blinked. “You do?”
Agnes looked over her shoulder, toward a crescendo of male voices. Mr. Spalding and Wesley were sparring again, and nowa third voice joined in, which Elsa didn’t recognize. “Let’s get out of here,” Agnes said. “I was hoping I’d find you here today to discuss it, but they don’t deserve to hear this.”
Boxes of birds needed to be unpacked, reordered, tagged, and wrapped. Elsa would stay late if she had to, as late as it took. Luke had already told her he’d stay busy until she was ready to leave. The birds could wait a little longer. Agnes’s secrets may not.
Outside, Agnes set the pace and chose their path. They strolled to the Italianate garden built into the bluff by the river and sat together on a bench.
With a great sigh, she looked out over the river. “Linus took the aviary away from Birdie and hid it himself.” She shook her head, as though ashamed of the confession.
Elsa’s heart sank. “Why?”
Agnes leaned her walking stick against the bench and reached into a pocket in her skirt, withdrawing several letters. The return address on each envelope proved they were from Birdie. “He caught her showing the book to Danielle in the house. This was after the tea party incident. He’d already told Birdie he didn’t want the gardener or her daughter in the mansion, but Birdie ignored him. He came home from a trip earlier than expected one day and saw them looking at the pages, turning them even. Linus blew up again, insisting Danielle would ruin the priceless treasure. It’s all in that first letter you hold.”
Elsa took the page from the envelope and scanned it. The story was exactly as Agnes had relayed.
He said he doesn’t trust me with it anymore, and so he took it away to keep where I’ll never find it. He said it was the only way he could be sure it would stay safe. I’ll find it, though, if it’s the last thing I do. And when I die, that book will belong to Danielle forever. She’s special to me in a way he will neverunderstand. He refuses to understand. But you know, don’t you, dear Agnes?
“Birdie loved Danielle so much,” Elsa murmured. “She had a mother’s heart.”
Agnes’s thin eyebrows arched. “That she did.”
Elsa swallowed. “I know about Sarah.” She explained how she learned of the baby’s birth and aftermath from Birdie’s diary and from the Personal Analysis Card she’d found in Linus’s secret office.
Agnes glowered at the mention of the card. “I’m not proud of my brother. But it didn’t surprise me that after he retired from exploring and collecting, he took a summer course from the ERO so he could be a field agent, collecting personal and family histories. It was my son who inspired him to do it, though he didn’t need much prompting. He’d always been interested in pedigrees. We called it genealogy decades ago, but his study took a more sinister bent. He was convinced that Sarah’s cleft lip and palate were the result of some defect from Birdie’s side of the family. His attitude when the baby died still makes my toes curl in fury.”
Elsa’s conversation with Wesley about his father’s view of the Incubator Babies came back to her. “Let me guess. Did he think it was ‘for the best’ that she died?”
The older woman’s lips pursed tight as a button. “He did. And Birdie grieved alone, though I did my level best to comfort her. But her grief doubled because he made sure that she would never bear another child. So she mourned the baby she had and lost, and she mourned babies she could never hope to meet. Now, whether that aim was accomplished through some kind of operation, or he just neglected her for the rest of their marriage, I don’t know. But he told her it was their duty to society to never produce another child again. Linus had the nursery wallsrepainted and made it his bedroom while Birdie remained in the room across the hall, alone.”
Elsa shook her head, unable to find words for what she felt.
