She slumps beside me. “So either it’s real or someone from the same time forged his signature?”
“It’s real as in it’s old, but as to whether or not Harrington wrote it...”
I turn the other plastic pages and see a few other old letters. It will take time to transcribe them, but from what I can make out of the names, they’re all to Kezia from friends and family, includingone from her famous cousin, Benjamin Franklin, about sending her a pair of snuffers and some candlesticks.
“I can’t believe Mr. Mayhew just had these in a photo album,” I say, showing Lili. “Anything of note in any of the other letters?”
“Not that I saw, but they are all addressed to Kezia. Well except for an older copy of the Ewer map in the back,” Lili says. “I guess maybe he just stuck that in there?”
The final “page” shows what does at first look like the famous Ewer map of Nantucket from 1869, which is universally considered one of the most detailed and significant maps of the island from the era. Unlike earlier efforts, which often provided only rough outlines of Nantucket, Reverend Ferdinand Ewer captured the island with remarkable precision, including its harbors, inlets, and settlements. McCleave’s even has a copy hanging in the gift shop, albeit with several additions indicating where our various exhibits were “found.” I’m about to turn back to the Harrington letter when other details—unfamiliar details—start jumping out at me.
“I don’t think this is the Ewer map.”
“What? Yes, it is. Look at the—” But she cuts herself off when I carefully slide it out and unfold it.
“Ewer based his map on Henry Walling’s trigonometrical survey of the state, but added details that made his map invaluable not only to navigators and merchants but also to military planners and smugglers.”
Lili stares at the map, seeing but not understanding. “Okay, and don’t take this the wrong way, but so? Both of those maps were created years after Kezia died.”
I shift the map closer to her. “Theywere.This?This looks a lot closer to the map J. Hector St. John de Crèvecoeur publishedin 1782, but with far more detail.” There were subtle differences though, like a decorative coastal hachure border around the coastline and a rope-twist pattern at the map’s edges.
“I don’t know that one.”
“Whatever it is, if Mayhew had it in here with all these other letters to Kezia, then it’s possible, even probable, that she had it too.” Maybe it means something, maybe it doesn’t, but the letter from Edmund Harrington dated the same day as the Prohibitory Act is potentially bad enough for her dad’s theory.
“Wren.” Her voice softens. “It’s okay. Whatever it ends up meaning.”
She says that, but I can tell she’s far from okay. She’s got more than Kezia’s reputation hanging in the balance here, and that reminder instantly sobers me.
“There’s more. Boxes of who knows what. Goldie made it sound like you could fill a museum with the things Mr. Mayhew collected.”
My heart, which has been racing since I opened the album, pounds from more than just that possibility. Even in the middle of all this new evidence about Kezia—and likely not good evidence from Lili’s point of view—she’s thinking about what this all might mean for me.
I’ve got to get out of this truck and quick, because if I stay pressed up against her any longer while she’s looking at me like I’m the only person on the planet who she wants beside her for this, I’m going to end up hating myself for what I do.
I slide fully back to my side of the truck and shift into drive, heading up the road to Mrs. Mayhew’s house.
I rock the truck a little harder than necessary when I hit thebrakes, but Lili doesn’t complain. She’s excited too, even if it’s tinged with uncertainty, and is out of the truck in a moment, ready to dash up those three simple steps and the many more inside without a second thought.
I don’t get out of my truck.
Lili makes it halfway across the yard before coming to a halt and slowly turning back to me. We make eye contact through the windshield, and then she’s letting her eyes close for a moment or two before walking back toward me and resting her hands on my open window frame.
“Where did you say these boxes are?” I ask, going for cool and collected instead of raw and frustrated as I stare up at the two-story house that I’ve been in only a few times—through a back door similar to the one at Lili’s house—and whose first floor I’ve never seen beyond. It didn’t occur to me that I’d need access to more than that.
“The attic, or I guess it’s more of a crawl space.” Lili looks directly at me. “I’m sorry. I saw the letters and I didn’t stop to think about anything else when I called you.”
It’s not her job to have to worry about stuff like that. I still remember a time when I didn’t have to think about it constantly. I’m usually very careful about the places I go. I know where I fit and where I don’t, so it’s not often that I’m confronted with places that aren’t designed for people like me.
“What if Goldie and I helped rock your chair back and up the first set of stairs? I think we could—”
“No, you couldn’t.” My voice is hard. “You and your kid sister aren’t gonna lift me and my wheelchair up anything.”
“We could try,” she says, sounding both apologetic and defensive.
I almost laugh at her. “And then what? Hey, maybe you could carry my feet and she could grab my hands and you guys could just drag me up one step at a time? Yeah, that’s a great idea. And then, after that, it’ll be super easy to get into the attic. Do you wanna run inside real quick and find out if it’s up more steps or one of those fun, pulldown-ladder types? Because if it’s a ladder, maybe you could just tie a rope around me and then you guys could hoist me up. That could work if you get the old lady to pull too.” I start to push my door open then as though I’m getting ready to get out, but Lili straightens and locks her arms to keep it from opening more than a few inches.
“I said I was sorry; you don’t have to make fun of me for trying to figure out a way to fix this.”
