“Thank you,” she said, sitting down and hanging her black-and-white polka-dot Kate Spade backpack on the back of her chair. “I’ll just stay a minute.”
I took a sip of my cappuccino, and was careful to wipe off any foam from my mouth. “Thanks for your help in packing up our valuables. We really appreciate it. I’m glad to see you today, because there was something I needed to ask you and I didn’t get the opportunity the other day with everyone being so busy.”
She smiled patiently as she flicked her phone to silent mode and placed it facedown on the table—something I greatly appreciated.
“It’s about a Frozen Charlotte doll inside a little coffin we found in Nola’s bedroom. We weren’t sure how it ended up there, so we were thinking you might have left it or at least know how it got there.”
“A Frozen Charlotte and coffin?” Her eyebrows formed a V over her nose. “In Nola’s room?”
I nodded. “She found it on her nightstand and has no idea how it got there.”
“No idea?” Meghan stared at me with round, questioning eyes.
“No idea,” I repeated. “We were thinking you might have found it in the cistern and then brought it inside to show us.”
She slowly shook her head. “I know what a Frozen Charlotte is, but I haven’t found one in your cistern. And if I had, I would have given it to Dr. Wallen-Arasi first. Except . . .” She stopped, her large brown eyes settling on me for a moment before she quickly looked away.
“Except?”
She pointed at my crepe. “Is that a Nutella crepe? They’re so good here, aren’t they?”
“Except?” I repeated, not wanting to get sidetracked.
Meghan laced her fingers together and rested them on top of the table. “I don’t think it came from your cistern.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “The last section that we were working on before we had to stop was turning up lots of artifacts from a time period that was much later than the Revolutionary period, where everything else seemed to date from.”
“But that doesn’t make sense, does it? The more recent stuff should be on top, right?”
“Right. Which is why we had to go back and do some research on the property abutting the rear of yours.” She smiled sheepishly. “Dr. Wallen-Arasi didn’t want to mention any of this to you yet because of everything else going on in your house right now. She said it would be better to tell you when she had some answers.”
“She did, did she?” I sat back casually in my chair. “But I’m here now, and you’ve got me interested. So what did you find?”
Meghan looked at me skeptically. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Very.”
She looked relieved and not just a little excited to be sharing her discovery with anyone interested in hearing it. “Well, it looks like another structure existed behind your house next to the cistern. We went back to the original plots and saw what looks to be a kitchen house. Apparently, it was burned to the ground during the great fire of 1861 and a lot of debris from the house either fell or was put into the cistern.”
I took a bite of my crepe and had to pause for a moment while I forced myself to swallow, the food suddenly tasting like ash. “The great fire of 1861? It sounds vaguely familiar.” That was a lie, but I didn’t want to admit that I’d read romance novels during most of my history classes at the various Army base schools wherever my father and I had lived.
“Yes. A lot of people attribute the damage visible in post–Civil War photos to the Union Army’s bombardment, but that didn’t start until 1863. The great fire was in December of 1861—the origins of it are unclear. What we do know is that fourteen houses on Queen Street were blown up to create a fire block.”
Meghan shuddered, as if the destruction of historic properties was a fate she couldn’t even imagine. “That one action did save a couple of hospitals, the medical college, and the Roman Catholic orphan house, but still.” She shuddered again. “By noon the next day the fire had cleared the peninsula and was starting to peter out. The city market and most of Meeting, the north side of Queen, most of Broad, and this side of Tradd Street were devastated. It’s really a miracle your house didn’t burn down, too.” She looked at me with excitement. “I can show you pictures.”
I feigned enthusiasm. “Maybe later.” The phantom smell of burning wood drifted past me, reminding me of the scent that had wafted up when I’d opened the Frozen Charlotte’s tiny coffin. I sipped my coffee, trying to erase the sooty taste in the back of my throat. Recalling the small footprints in the snow, I asked nervously, “When you say ‘debris,’ do you mean things like bricks?”
She nodded, but her eyes had shifted to my plate. “Um, sure. We definitely found bricks.”
“And . . . ?” I held my breath.
She fidgeted in her chair, which wasn’t at all like the Meghan Black I knew. “Well, yes, and bits of china and old chicken bones and trash like in the rest of the cistern. But we’re also finding more . . . personal things.”
“?‘Personal things,’?” I repeated. “Like what?”
She glanced up at the sky as if reading a list, counting off things on her pink-tipped fingers. “Like an old doll with a porcelain head. A silver vanity set and a pair of nearly new boots made for a young girl. Also a training corset meant to be worn by an adolescent girl.” She frowned, her gaze meeting mine again.