Obviously glad to have something physical to do, Andrew worked the latches free, then stood back. "Hannah, if you want to do this alone—"
"Alone?" She stared at him, mystified. "No, I don't want to do this alone. I was alone that night, when the Fryes broke the news of my parents' death, when I saw the man I was later to marry out here, only to forget for eighty years." She shook her head. "Caleb and Phoebe Macintosh were your great-grandparents. They'd want you here, and so do I. Now, lift the lid, will you?"
He complied, and Hannah's expression immediately changed. Her eyes widened, and she gave a small gasp of delight. "Oh, look!"
Clate couldn't see inside the small chest. Hannah reached in, as excited as a seven-year-old, and withdrew something wrapped in oilcloth, presumably to protect it at sea. Two tiny, booted feet poked out the bottom. Hannah unwrapped it, and for a moment, she was the little girl she was meant to have been eighty years ago, welcoming her parents home.
A porcelain doll smiled up at her. It was a princess, decked out in Czarist Russian garb.
"She comes with her own little Faberge egg," Hannah said, rushing her words, ignoring the faded, tattered condition of the doll, "and, oh, look, a little velvet bag of gems. Oh, this is wonderful. Wonderful!"
Benjamin Macintosh took a breath and held it, tears not far off. Andrew paced, unable to watch. Their father cried openly, as did Liddy.
Piper sat on the arm of her aunt's chair and pointed out the doll's authentic buttons, how the porcelain had survived eighty years of being buried, and the clothes, although rotted, could have been in so much worse condition, but not to worry, they could stitch up some new ones.
She touched Hannah's shoulder. "Look, Hannah. There's more."
Her old aunt reached into the chest again, producing a small, waterproof pouch. "You open it, Piper. My hands are shaking."
"Mine are dirty."
"Phooey. Open it."
Taking the pouch on her lap, Piper reached carefully inside. "There's a note."
"I don't have my reading glasses," Hannah said. "Read it."
"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to intrude."
Clate smiled. Of course she did. He could see that same knowledge in every pair of eyes on the terrace. At eighty-seven, Piper Macintosh would probably be every bit as nosy and meddlesome as her great-aunt.
"Oh, read it, for heaven's sake."
Obviously excited, Piper opened up the yellowed envelope and withdrew a folded sheet of notepaper. "Some of the lettering's faded." She caught her breath. "It's from your father. 'Dearest Hannah, I hope you enjoy Anna, the Russian princess I rescued while I was in Europe. You're a darling daughter. Thank you for waiting so long for me. Love, Father.'"
The terrace fell silent. Even Clate, who until a short time ago had never known any of these people, felt the tenderness and loneliness of a father and daughter stretch across the decades.
Hannah sat quietly, not bothering to blink back the tears.
"There's more," Piper said quietly. She dipped into the pouch and produced a small box, with a tiny card on top. "It says, 'My sweet Hannah, I love you, Mama.' You want to open it, Hannah?"
She shook her head. "You."
Piper complied, and inside the box were four tiny glass vials. "Lavender water, rose water, glycerin, and witch hazel. Oh, Hannah! Your mother knew you were a witch even at seven!"
* * *
Chapter 18
Three days after Cape Cod's most celebrated mystery was solved and Hannah Macintosh Frye was reunited with her parents' treasure, Clate headed south.
Piper understood. His refuge on Cape Cod had become a frenzy of activity. Reporters, friends, family, police, the curious. Everyone in Frye's Cove now knew about his relationship with Piper Macintosh and naturally made it their business.
"No wonder it took a spell to get a man up here for you," he'd said, part in exasperation, part in amusement, finally appreciating the complexities of her romantic life.
The national media had a field day with Hannah Frye and her nineteenth-century dresses and spells and potions and memory of a crime that had occurred eighty years ago. She was in her element. The reporters stayed longer than was necessary because it was Cape Cod and the weather was beautiful, and because they—this Piper could not figure out—liked the tea Hannah served them.