“Because there weren’t any photographs of him in the house. From the time I was aware of my surroundings, there was nothing of his still here. Which is saying something, because the house had been in his family, not hers. There was no clothing, mementos, baby shoes—nothing.” He paused, the air between us waiting. “Not even a wedding ring.”
My pocket seemed to burn, and I lifted my skirt away from my skin, feeling blistered.
Deborah’s excitement over the rediscovery of the shoe boxes made her oblivious to anything else, and she continued her examination of each one, exclaiming her admiration of every chair that reclined, every appliance that plugged into an outlet, every wind chime that sang.
“I really do hope you’ll loan these to the police department, or even the Heritage Society. There is a great deal to be learned here, and that can be done only if they are shared with the public.”
“Of course,” I said. “I really don’t feel as if I have a claim to them, regardless. I’ll leave it up to Gibbes.”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” he said. “Let me think about it and I’ll give you a call next week.”
“Thank you, Gibbes. I know your grandmother would be happy to know her work is still being used and appreciated.”
Sweat trickled down the side of her face, and dark stains appeared beneath her arms. She began walking toward the steps, having apparently seen all she needed to.
“There’s something else I wanted to show you,” I said. “I thought about asking you when we visited your office, but I got sidetracked. I’m not even sure this is related to the shoe boxes, but since it was up here in the attic, I’m assuming it is. Maybe you can tell us a little more.”
Gibbes retrieved the plane from its place in the corner and set it on the table with the sea glass, just as he’d done before. Deborah began to examine it, noting the oval windows and the people inside, the unfurled steel around the hole on the side of the mottled fuselage that seemed pieced together with thick white papier-maché and glass. Deborah put her hand to her heart, and I had the fleeting thought that I was glad we were with a doctor.
“Are you all right, Miss Fuller?” Gibbes placed his hand on her arm.
She nodded. “I’m fine. This is just such a . . . surprise. Did Edith make this?”
“We have no idea,” I said. “Although we assume so, because it’s up here, and from what we know, nobody else was allowed in the attic.”
“Except for Cal.”
We both looked at Gibbes, unsure what, if anything, that meant.
He continued. “There’s also a bag with the pieced-together wings and about forty or so passengers, some still strapped in their seats, each showing various injuries. Some of them with mud and grass stains on them.”
“Do you have any idea what this is?” she asked, her voice distant.
“According to Owen, it’s most likely a passenger plane used in the forties and fifties—maybe a DC-six. But that’s all.”
“That sounds right,” she said out loud, although it seemed she was talking to herself. “There was a plane crash here in Beaufort. It was the summer—1955.”
Gibbes nodded slowly. “That’s what the man at the antique store said—that the bolt Cal and I found in the marsh could have come from a crash that happened in the fifties. It might be the same one.”
“It was horrible.” She took off her glasses and rubbed them with a tissue she pulled from her pocket, as if she needed them to see her memories more clearly. “I was a little girl at the time, so I was protected from hearing about most of it, but I did a lot of eavesdropping on my parents and their friends. There were forty-nine souls on board, I believe. All of them perished.”
She continued to stare at the fuselage, a distant look in her eyes. “It was low tide, so the pluff mud collected a lot of the wreckage.” She swallowed, her hand on her heart. “Our neighbor had a seat with a passenger still strapped inside land in the marsh across the street from his house. The man was dead when they found him, but there were scratch marks in the mud on both sides of the seat, so he must have been alive when he hit the ground. Eight of the victims were never recovered, and two of the bodies went unclaimed and were buried at St. Helena’s.”