“Things were never the same between Linus and me after that,” Agnes went on. “I took up for Birdie, of course—she and I were friends even before she married into the family. There were times I wished I’d never introduced her to my controlling brother. I often visited her when he was away. I watched her affection for Danielle grow over the years, and I understood it. Danielle has never been the typical child. She had her own gifts and challenges, and still does. I think that made Birdie love her even more. Oh my, but she was so fiercely protective of her. I think she devoted herself to the girl in ways she wished she could have done for Sarah. She fought for the dignity of people who are different. Those two were so good for each other. Tatiana is the best mother the girl could have, and Birdie filled a grandmother’s role.”
Sniffing, Elsa cleaned her glasses. “She would be horrified if she knew her passing caused the Petrovics to be turned out with nothing. It isn’t what she wanted.”
“Birdie so rarely got what she wanted.” Agnes’s voice quavered. A breeze moved the black ostrich feathers sprouting from her hat band.
“Did she say anything else about the aviary after that?” Elsa asked.
“Oh yes, she had more to say.” She handed Elsa another letter.
Agnes, I found it. Linus thinks I don’t know about his secret room off the library, but of course I do. I’ve spent years more time in this house than he has. Yesterday I went inside his little den and found a package wrapped up in muslin and waxed paper, nested inside a box that hadn’t been sealed up yet. I could tell by the weight of it this was the aviary. I unwrapped it—Iwas right. From the way it had been wrapped, I figured he was about to hide it somewhere else.
Elsa looked up. “Where would he hide such an old book without it deteriorating?”
“I doubt the condition of the manuscript was Linus’s chief concern,” Agnes said. “Even when we were children, he would rather risk destroying a coveted object than allow someone else to have it. I could tell you stories.”
Elsa took her word for it and turned back to Birdie’s letter.
I was so lucky to find it when I did. I found another book with similar dimensions and weight and swapped it for the aviary. I wrapped it up just as it had been. Now it’s my turn to hide the aviary from him. I know what to do. Even if he discovers the switch, he’ll never find it now. I must keep the aviary safe and close by. It won’t be easy to show Danielle anymore, but it will be worth it. She’ll have them soon enough, and forever.
This was amazing. Elsa withdrew the small notebook and pencil she had in her skirt pocket and took notes, paraphrasing most of the letter, but capturing word for word the last four sentences. Then she looked up at Agnes. “‘Close by.’ So it must be on the property somewhere.” She glanced at the remaining letters Agnes held. “Did she ever tell you where?”
“The poor dear. Her memory was slipping even before Linus died, but after his death, her decline was much more rapid. See here.” She withdrew another letter and pointed to one paragraph in particular.
I can’t remember where I hid the aviary. I’m sure I’ll find it. But at present, the location eludes me. My genius is a mystery even unto myself.
“That was around the time she gave her canary to Tatiana, too. She wrote about that in this same letter. Now look at this, from a few months later.” Agnes presented another letter and tapped the page.
I haven’t seen the aviary lately. Linus must have hidden it somewhere. I’ll ask him about it when he returns, so long as his mood isn’t foul.
Elsa looked at the date, confirming this had been written after Linus had died. “Oh no,” she murmured. “Poor Birdie. Did she have to learn her husband had died, over and over again?”
Agnes gathered the letters and tucked them back into their envelopes before returning them to her pocket. “I was with her a couple of times when she remembered he’d died. She went through a painful mixture of emotions every time. Shock, embarrassment that she’d forgotten, grief over a lost life, relief that he’d never again control her, and an overriding dread about living the rest of her life alone. If it weren’t for the Petrovics, she would have been lonely, indeed. I visited her whenever I could, but it got to the point where she would forget I’d been there before the sun set the same day.”
The loneliness must have been haunting. Returning her notebook and pencil to her pocket, Elsa cast her gaze over the water to the blue-green hills on the other side. The land was beautiful here, but without a companion, she imagined the wind and storms could make this place feel desolate. Shuddering, she rubbed her arms. She couldn’t imagine living in that mansion alone.
“And then,” Agnes continued, “time seemed to loop back on itself for Birdie. During several of my visits, she would tell me she’d just had the nicest time with Danielle. ‘We’ve been going through the aviary,’ she said. When I asked where it was, Birdiebecame confused and upset, so I learned not to ask anymore. To let her be, let her dwell in the pleasant corners of her mind. I certainly didn’t care about that illuminated manuscript for my own sake.”
“But Birdie did. She cared a great deal.”
“And she cared that it went to Danielle.” Agnes’s brows knitted together. “She didn’t drive, so it must be on the property. The house has been searched. Do you suppose she hid it in an outbuilding?”
Elsa considered this. In addition to the pool building and gardener’s cottage, there was the bowling alley, greenhouse, and laundry house. “Not if she was still lucid when she hid it. Those buildings are not friendly to centuries-old books. The temperatures are too extreme, the humidity volatile. If Birdie hid it as close as she says, I don’t understand how we’ve missed it.”
Agnes shook her head, then gripped her cane and stood. “I don’t either. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s high time I paid a visit to Tatiana and Danielle myself. I need to thank them for all they did for my brother’s wife and tell them what we know about the book that rightfully belongs to them.”
———
With admiration, Elsa watched Agnes head for the Petrovics’ cottage, her black silk hem trailing the ground. She used her walking stick for support, and her pace was leisurely, but she held her head high and moved with purpose and grace.
Elsa could only hope to do the same despite her limp. With a final glance at the Hudson, she took the stairs out of the sunken garden and steered back toward the mansion. She hadn’t planned to take such a long break from her work, but she’d make up for it. She would.
As soon as the house was in view, she also spied Luke striding toward her in that easy gait he had. Wind pushed his brownhair off his brow, revealing the one scar he daily attempted to hide. When he reached her, the wind shifted, and his hair fell back into place.
Before she could think to stop herself, she reached up and combed his hair back again with her fingers. “A haircut would look good on you. The more I can see of you, the better.” She dropped her hand, wondering if she’d said too much. But she meant it, in more than one way.
Luke’s presence strengthened and calmed her. Her experience with men was quite limited, given her boarding school years and then four years at the all-girls Vassar College. But being with Luke felt natural. She had not expected to find such a steadfast friend, but that was what he’d become.
Their time together would end, though, as soon as they finished their work at Elmhurst. He might have a few weeks left, but she had merely days. Surely he’d thought of this, too.
