Oh, to hear her mother’s voice again, to know what she was thinking. She had encouraged Elizabeth to keep a diary, advice that Elizabeth had not followed. Surely if Mother advocated writing, she would have kept one herself. Then where could it be? There wasn’t one in the writing desk. The dressing table drawer contained pins and combs and paste jewelry.
Her gaze landed on the washstand. Though the pitcher and basin waited atop the little table, it also had a drawer, generally used for soap and creams. Elizabeth pulled it open but found only the usual toilette articles. She sank to the floor. No diary. Nothing at all written in her mama’s hand. That seemed odd. For a woman who loved to write, who sent Elizabeth several letters each week, surely there would be something of her writing in the room.
Unless someone had removed it.
Elizabeth’s stomach turned. Who and why? If they hadn’t burned the curtains and bedding, they wouldn’t burn her diary. Then where was it? Had Father found and kept it?
Her head ached and her feet were going numb. She unfolded her legs. Mother and Father did not display emotion in public or before their children. She could not remember Father holding Mother or comforting her beyond handing her a handkerchief and telling her to gather herself. But a calm public face could hide deep passions. Perhaps losing her had hit Father particularly hard. He might need to hold on to Mother’s words.
“Elizabeth!” Aunt Virginia called up the stairs.
Under no circumstances did Elizabeth want her aunt in this room. She rose, but her feet were still tingling. They gave way, and she grabbed at the washstand for support. Her fingers caught the drawer handle just before she landed on her backside. Her momentum pulled the drawer out, spilling its contents.
“What’s going on?” Aunt Virginia called out from much nearer.
“Nothing,” Elizabeth yelled as she stuffed the contents back into the drawer. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
She knew Aunt Virginia wouldn’t settle for that, so she shoved the drawer back into the stand. It wouldn’t close. She tried again, assuming she hadn’t gotten it aligned properly. Still it wouldn’t close. Over and over she tried with the same result. Something was jamming the back of the opening. She pulled out the drawer and verified that the contents were all in place. That being the case, she stuck her hand into the opening and felt around. Her fingers settled on something stuck in the back of the opening. By wiggling and tugging, she was able to remove a small book covered in black leather. A glance at the first page confirmed this belonged to her mother.
The missing diary had been found.
“Where are you?” Aunt Virginia huffed from the hallway, clearly out of breath from climbing the stairs.
Elizabeth slid the drawer back into place and tucked the diary in the pocket of her dressing gown. Whatever Mother had written must wait for now. How the diary had gotten jammed behind the drawer was a mystery, but she was glad she’d found it.
“Elizabeth?” Aunt Virginia sounded perturbed.
After padding across the rug, Elizabeth smoothed the quilt and eyed the adjoining door into Father’s room. He would be gone to work by now. She tiptoed across the room and slipped through the door. In seconds she darted into the hallway behind Aunt Virginia, who was standing in the doorway to Elizabeth’s room.
“You were looking for me?”
Aunt Virginia jumped. “Goodness! You startled me.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?”
Thankfully Aunt Virginia launched into a tirade over Anabelle’s insolence and neglected to ask why Elizabeth had been in her father’s room. Elizabeth tried to listen, but the entire time she longed to read the little diary secreted in her pocket.
Town Marshal Wright ambled up the dock as if he had no purpose in mind, but his path led directly to Rourke. What had happened now?
“Load the rest of the supplies into the boat,” Rourke said to John.
His mate grinned. “Got company, I see.”
Rourke stretched his stiff back. Lowering supplies into the ship’s boat at low tide gave him a backache these days. Yet another sign that he needed to get out of the business.
“Good news, Marshal?” he called out when Wright got within earshot.
The man didn’t reveal his reason for the visit until he stood eye to eye with Rourke. “Marshal Maloney tells me the auction date has been set for the salvage from the Victory.”
“It has?” Rourke wondered why the federal marshal hadn’t informed him directly.
“Seems the plaintiffs removed their objections.” Wright’s dark eyes harbored misgivings. “Mighty peculiar, if you ask me. Once a man goes to the bother of hiring a lawyer, seems he’d want to follow through.”
“It would seem so.”
Wright grunted, clearly not satisfied with the outcome of the case. He glanced over the edge of the wharf at Rourke’s loaded boat. “Looks like you’re planning to head out.”