Then she realized she’d stopped moving, too. She was sitting on the damp, cold ground. The only sounds were that of her labored breathing and a trickle of water somewhere.
Elsa had to carry on anyway. But if she could just close her eyes, sit still, and give her lungs a rest, she’d be better off in a moment. Cane still in one hand, she drew up her knees, wrapped her arms around them, and let her head drop forward.
Sweet relief.
The dark was a blanket, so heavy it pressed her down.
She surrendered.
———
With a jolt, Elsa awoke in pitch black, and felt a wet spot on her cheek. She swiped at it, and something licked her hand.
“Barney?” she gasped and threw her arms around his warm, furry body, shaking with the all-over wag of his tail.
The dog whined, nudging his cold nose at her face until she sat up. She had no idea how long she’d been out. Her thoughts felt slow to turn, but she knew she had to go. Using her cane to help her stand, and latching on to Barney’s collar, she continued the slow trek through the miserable tunnel.
Barney tugged her along. His pace was impeccable—not enough to throw her off balance but enough to keep her progress steady. A couple of times, he stopped in front of her, andwith her cane she realized he was blocking her from falling into a washed-out hole that could have twisted her ankle.
At last, they came to a door. A draft streamed around the warped wooden boards that no longer fit snugly in the frame. Elsa felt around for a handle, grasped it, and pulled it open. It hadn’t been latched, so Barney must have pushed through when he’d come to find her, and then it swung back on its hinges. When a whoosh of clean air swept over her, she could have dropped to the ground right there to rest. But Barney pulled her forward and around a bend that ran parallel to the mighty Hudson River.
“Good boy,” she said, kneeling to hug the animal again. “Good Barney, good boy.” She’d prayed for someone to help her, and God had sent her a smelly, filthy, amazing, faithful dog. She had prayed for the locked door to open, but God, and Barney, had led her to a different one instead.
“Did Tom bring you? Did Luke?”
The German shepherd only grinned and panted. Either way, a friend had to be near. If she had the lung power to support it, she’d call out. Instead, she gave Barney a good scratch behind his ears and a pat on his rump. “Go find your master,” she told him. “Get Luke, get Tom.” Surely the dog would find one of them and bring him back to her.
Barney ran off, and Elsa filled her lungs, feeling them loosen and expand.Thank you, God.The breeze off the river ruffled through her hair and chilled the sweat on her skin. She pulled her sweater tight and rubbed her arms.
As her strength began to return, her thoughts raced ahead. Turning, she could see where she was in relation to the mansion. Up on the hill, its turret and fortress-like roofline loomed like the Gothic cathedral that had inspired it. It was a hike, but the slope was gentle, and she still had her cane.
A dim light glowed from the parlor, suggesting that someone was still there with a kerosene lamp or small fire in the hearth,or possibly wax-dripping candles. From here, it looked like the party was over. Finally, she could get inside and see if her hunch about the treasure was right.
———
The poor mansion. When Elsa entered through the door closest to the stair tower, the smells of bathtub gin and cigarette smoke clogged her throat. She held back a cough, careful not to alert whoever was still lounging in the parlor. Part of her wanted to check the library to see if the door to the secret den was still locked. Maybe someone had come for her after all and found her missing.
The larger part of her wasn’t willing to waste another moment or take any more steps than she had to. The odors from the party were so strong all she wanted to do was find the aviary and leave. With her eyes so adjusted to the dark, she took the stairs to the second floor with only starlight to guide her.
Oh, those wretched stairs. Every one of them challenged her limits. Pain pulsed in her skull to the beat of her throbbing heart. Even her arms grew sore as she leaned harder on the railing and the cane, using every muscle she had to push herself to the second floor. She wondered if she’d be able to move tomorrow.
But tomorrow did not concern her. The next few moments held every hope she’d carried since learning Birdie had willed the aviary to Danielle.
Smoke stung her eyes and made them water. Taking care to avoid the floorboards that creaked, Elsa stole into Birdie’s bedchamber and into the adjoining dressing room. She lifted the first painting off the wall and carried it to the desk by the window. A moonbeam fell across the gorgeous painting of a baby sleeping in the crook of her mother’s arms.
This had to be what Birdie meant. These paintings, the pieces of her broken heart that Linus would never pick up.
Her throat tight and itching, Elsa turned the framed painting over, then took a letter opener and loosened the screws holding the frame in place. After wiping her hands the best she could on the inside of her hem, she removed the back panel from the frame. Then a layer of muslin, then a layer of waxed paper.
And there it was. Not just one gilded page from the aviary, but several, with waxed paper between each one.
She had found Birdie’s treasures at last.
Tears rolled down Elsa’s cheeks, and she wiped them away, surely streaking her face with mud. With her fingers dirty and her cotton gloves ruined, she wouldn’t touch the medieval pages. Instead, she layered the muslin and waxed paper again, and resecured the frame. Then she went back into the dressing chamber for more.
There were so many. Eight hung on the walls, and there were more with mattes, but no frames, lying flat in the bottom drawer of a bureau. A quick check of those revealed that they, too, hid precious illuminated pages.
The cigarette smoke crawled into her lungs and triggered a cough she couldn’t hold back. Whoever was still smoking downstairs was sure to have heard her.
