Thirty-eight
June 27, 1958
Dear Emmy,
I am sitting here with a glass of sherry watching the rain sputter against the living room window. It’s late and I should be in bed, but I know that if I crawled under the covers, I would not be able to sleep. I have too much on my mind.
I told Dr. Diamant today that I had written everything I could think of to tell you and that I’m no closer to being able to say yes to a happy life than I was before I started.
She asked what I thought was holding me back. I told her I had not been able to fix anything. Writing to you hasn’t mended anything. I wanted to repair what I broke.
If I could fix it, what I would I do? she asked.
You mean aside from going back in time?
Yes.
Well, if I knew where Aunt Charlotte’s house was, maybe I would rap on the door and ask if could have a peek in the crawl space of the bedroom to the right of the stairs.
I said it kind of snippy. Like I wasn’t serious.
And if you knew where Aunt Charlotte’s house was, would you do that?
A prickling sensation traveled up my spine as the hazy image I have of Aunt Charlotte materialized in my mind. Her gray braid, her smile with the little gold tooth at the back, and her blue car. She had chickens. She let me play with her dolls. Two of them. And a tea set. Beyond those images was nothing but fog.
But I don’t remember where that house is, I said. Only that it’s in Gloucestershire.
Thea told Granny that Aunt Charlotte’s house was in Gloucestershire, Emmy. Mum had told her that much.
But then the prickling intensified. I suddenly remembered something else, something that had been hidden in mist for nearly twenty years.
Charlotte had a sister named Rose, I said.
Dr. Diamant seemed cautiously surprised that I remembered this. She furrowed her brow. I could tell she was ruminating on something, wondering if what she was about to suggest was a good idea or not.
Have you ever considered looking for the house where you hid your sister’s sketches? she asked.
I shook my head. I hadn’t believed it was possible to find Aunt Charlotte’s house.
Then Dr. Diamant said that maybe if I retrieved the brides box—if I unhid it—I would put to right a physical wrong. I could fix, to some extent, what I had broken. And if I could do that, then maybe I would find enough peace to believe that I do deserve to be happy.
She told me to go home and think about what it might mean to me to have the brides box again. Was the thought of finding it comforting to me? Or frightening? Was I okay with the notion that I could very well find the house but the box wouldn’t be there? Could I handle earnestly looking for the house and not finding it?
She told me not to rush to a decision either way. There was no wrong answer, she said. Just an A choice and B choice. Like two doors painted the same color.
What do you think I should do? I asked her.
She thought for a moment. Then she said that I had written to you that more than anything I wanted to undo what I did with the brides box. Retrieving it wouldn’t bring you back, but symbolically I will have righted a wrong.
A righted wrong only matters if you can unhurt the person you hurt, I told her.
Yes, but what about your hurt, Julia? she said. This thing you did hurt you, too. You believe you are undeserving of happiness because you robbed Emmy of hers.
What I am supposed to do if I find it? I asked. I can’t give the brides box back to Emmy.
She answered with this: What would you like to do with it?
This is what is keeping me up tonight, Emmy.
What would I do with your sketches if I could have them again?
Simon told me at dinner tonight that he will help me if I decide to go looking for Aunt Charlotte’s house. He has a car. We can use our Saturdays to drive out to Gloucestershire and poke about, which is surely the least effective way to look for it. But the evacuation records from my school were all lost to a demonic V-1. Simon said if I want to do this, we could get a map of Gloucestershire from work and circle all the smaller cities that have train stations. We could check with the local officials of those towns to see if anyone knows of two sisters named Charlotte and Rose who took in evacuees from London at the start of the war.
Simon asked me if I would know the house if I saw it.
I told him I wasn’t sure.
Then he asked me if I truly wanted to try to find it. Because you don’t have to do this, you know, he said.
I could not answer him.
And now as I sit here trying hard not to count raindrops on the window, I am not sure if I want to try.
I think I’m sure that I want to find the brides box.
I’m just not sure that I want to try.
It’s the trying that scares me. I’m afraid this quest will be like the search to find the flat and the bridal shop.
And you.
I failed in all of those.
But this I do know, Emmy. If I could find the brides box, I would do for you what you wanted all along.
If I can find your sketches, I will make the dream you had come true.
Julia