Elsa cut a glance to Ivy before saying, “I don’t want to jinx anything, but our luck may have turned.” Oh, how she hoped it had.
CHAPTER
21
“Are you ready to open it?” Luke wiped his hands on his pants, then swiped a handkerchief over his brow. He had replaced the box with fresh wooden supports he’d made from materials he had in the truck. The fact that Tom had been willing to assist him while Ivy held up the light touched Elsa deeply, and she told him so.
“Ready.” Elsa had thoroughly washed her hands while the others were in the tunnel. She nodded to her roommate, and Ivy removed the sheet of India rubber that had been wrapped around the box.
Beneath the rubber was a metal box sealed around the edges.
“Pitch and turpentine,” Luke said. Using a blade, he cut through the seals and opened the box.
Nesting inside was another, this one made of teakwood and nailed shut, with more of the same sealant at the edges.
Again, Luke assisted, cutting through the seal and using a crowbar to open the lid.
“Whatever’s inside, someone went to great pains to try to keep it safe.” Elsa’s heart beat harder. A metal box protected the package from insects. The wood box protected it from the rust and corrosion that may come from the metal.
“Your turn.” Luke stepped back.
Elsa pulled on the cotton gloves she used for handling specimens and removed a package tightly wrapped in muslin, another barrier intended to combat moisture. It was the shape and weight of a large hardcover book, about nine inches wide and twelve inches long.
With care, she unwrapped the muslin and found a layer of waxed paper folded around the book.
Even Barney seemed to hold his breath.
Nerves tingling to her fingertips, she swept away the paper.
Her heart sank. The embossed cover readField Ornithology: Manual of Instruction and a Checklist of the Birds of North America.
Deflating, Elsa held it up, turning it so the others could see.
Tom scratched his head. “That doesn’t look medieval to me.”
“No, it definitely isn’t,” Elsa confirmed. She set it back down and opened the front cover. This volume was published in 1874 by Elliott Coues. It was a rare find and would be valuable to book collectors and ornithologists, but it wasn’t what they’d all been looking for.
“I don’t understand,” Ivy said.
Elsa tried to explain. “Linus took the aviary away from Birdie to prevent her from sharing it with Danielle. One day when he was out, Birdie entered his den and found a book wrapped in waxed paper and muslin. It was nestled in the box but not nailed shut yet. She rightly guessed it was the aviary and that he was preparing it for a hiding place.”
“Wait a minute, how do you know all this?” Tom asked.
“Birdie wrote about it in a letter to Agnes soon after it happened,” Elsa told him. “She confided in Agnes that she switched out the aviary, replacing it with a book of similar size and weight in the hopes that he would box it up and hide it before he realized what she’d done.” She held up the field guide again. “Obviously her plan worked. Linus never had a clue what he so carefully preserved.”
Ivy shook her head. “Clever girl. So we’re no closer to finding the aviary than we ever were.”
The small flame bobbed and leaned inside the kerosene lamp, casting light and shadow over four glum faces and one dog, who was now stretched out and snoring on the floor. There was nothing more to do here.
“Thanks, everyone, for your help unearthing this.” Elsa cradled the book in one arm, ready to pack it with the rest of her things. Mr. Chapman, at least, would want to see it. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m exhausted and ready to retire for the night.”
The weight of disappointment was tempered only by the knowledge that Birdie had succeeded in fooling Linus until his dying day.
If only Birdie hadn’t fooled herself so thoroughly, too.
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1926
Elsa shouldn’t have expected she would sleep well in Birdie’s bedroom. While Ivy’s soft, regular breathing continued uninterrupted, Elsa’s rest came only in snatches. The house creaked, and the wind moaned. Moonlight streamed through lace curtains, casting needlepoint patterns on the wall.
