I picked it up, but had to take it to the window to get a better look because it was so faded. It had always been on the table, but I had never looked at it closely.
A very young Olivia sat in a wicker chair in the garden, with her husband, Michael Searle Bliss, who looked even younger, standing beside her. His slender hand rested tentatively on her shoulder. He seemed uncomfortable, perhaps too hot in his stiff collar and three-piece suit. His cheeks wore a residue of pink that was visible even in the faded colors of the photograph. (That it was in color was a kind of miracle in itself. It must have cost a small fortune to have it done.) Olivia’s simple ankle-length dress of yellow, flower-patterned silk, was fresh and contemporary for its time, though the large black bow at the waist gave it a playful look that wouldn’t at all have suited the conservative, sophisticated woman I’d known. But it worked for the girl with the attentive eyes and plain features in the photo. The camera’s distance made her scar seem insignificant.
They were an interesting couple. It was difficult to imagine Olivia being so young, and even stranger to know that her husband would be dead before they were married a year. He didn’t look old enough to be married at all, and his mild features—high cheekbones, sloping shoulders, and slight limbs—had little in common with my husband’s. Their coloring was the same, and the thickness of the eyebrows was something like Press’s, but the resemblance ended there. The family resemblance was slightly stronger when I compared Press to his father’s portrait hanging in the library.
I replaced the photograph between the jewelry boxes, which were full to overflowing. Many of her more extravagant pieces were horn or antique platinum or yellow gold. Intricate Art Nouveau pins and necklaces with flower and scroll motifs. Fanciful enamel and jeweled birds, insects, and animals that had a whimsy about them that seemed unlike Olivia.
As I suspected, there were several peacock-themed pieces, including an enameled white jeweled peacock with a clasp that, when opened, released a small and very sharp gold blade. It surprised me, but I wasn’t hurt, and I made a mental note to put it up somewhere that Michael couldn’t reach it. The largest piece was a vibrant blue male peacock with a citrine crown, his tail tapered, not fanned. His head was in profile so that only one gold-rimmed eye was visible, and that was a single dark emerald that had the winking clarity of a diamond. The brooch was both ugly and curiously attractive at the same time. Thinking it might be a conversation piece that would look good on my fall coat, I slipped it into my pocket, feeling a bit like a thief.
Looking at the jewelry, I realized I had no idea what to do with it all. I had both my mother’s and my own simple jewelry, which, along with Olivia’s, would have eventually gone to Eva. Press had a cousin who lived in the area; yet, although he was a Bliss, he and Press weren’t close. But the cousin did have a young daughter, Jane, who should probably receive some of Olivia’s things. I closed the caskets. Where once I had marveled at their contents, now those contents weighed on me as though they were a part of some dragon’s cursed hoard. I would deal with them later.
Perhaps it was my own laziness or the fact that I was already overwhelmed, but I decided to tell Marlene that she could have whatever clothes of Olivia’s she wanted, and that she should pack the rest and have Terrance take them to the thrift store. I wondered who I would later see in Olivia’s clothes. I did set aside Olivia’s many lovely hand-tatted lace and fine linen handkerchiefs. She had collected them since she was a girl, and she was especially proud of them. They had been among the first things she’d taken time to show me after I moved into the house, and she had insisted that I borrow one of the oldest and most fragile to carry on my wedding day.
Press might have thought differently, but as far as I was concerned, everything else in the room could stay exactly as it was for all time. But I decided that the door should remain open. I didn’t want to be afraid of it anymore.
Thus emboldened, I went through the narrow door connecting the bedroom to Olivia’s morning room.