“It’s a disgrace, I know,” Cal said. “One of the reasons I’ve never taken you down here. Someone was tasked with straightening this room out in the seventies, so they brought in all these horrible filing cabinets. But if you thought their notion of filing meant anything more than shoving papers into drawers to keep them out of sight, you’d be mistaken. I’ve been trying to discern some logic from the organization, but it has thus far eluded me.”
“I had no idea you had to ford through all this,” Ben said. He pulled open a filing-cabinet drawer. It was wedged so tightly with reams of yellowed paper that he could barely close it.
“I knew what I was getting myself into when I offered to investigate down here for you.”
“It’s a shame. There must be some interesting things in here.”
“Interesting for some, but not for most. More than two centuries of accounting notations and meeting minutes. No wonder no one else seems to care about the place. All the records we keep these days are digital. But, if nothing else, there’s a principle at stake. Monasteries a thousand years older than this one manage to have a well-organized vault of records.” Cal picked a manila folder off the floor. “Of course, when a seeker is forced to deal with chaos like this, it’s that much more rewarding when he’s able to turn something up.” He handed Ben the folder. “There’s probably little here that you’re not aware of, but it was satisfying to find it all in one source.”
Ben opened the folder to find a tree of names that began with Aldrich Swann and his wife, Sarah, at the top.
“A partial New World lineage of the family Swann,” Cal told Ben. “You’ll see that Mark and Liam Swann, the ones who died in the fire, aren’t noted here, so this must have been written before their birth. Carlisle Swann was the boys’ father, who passed away some time before they did.”
Ben had already put together a short family tree that covered the first four generations of the Swanns, but it was good to have a more complete record. At the bottom, Ben recognized the old sisters, Eleanor and Miranda, alongside Carlisle, his wife, and some half-siblings, Emily and Washington. Above them were Dorothy, Tucker, Huntley, some of their spouses, and dozens of other Swanns.
Whoever had compiled the document had included many of the years of birth and death; Ben had been missing a lot of this information. “This is fantastic. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.” Muted church bells sounded from the world above. “Final bell,” Cal said. He flicked off the lights and held the door open for Ben.
“By way of insufficient thanks, Caroline’s having a dinner party next Friday. We’d love for you to come.”
“How wonderful. I’m so looking forward to seeing what you’ve done with the place.” Though Ben had told him about the renovations they’d undertaken, Cal hadn’t been to the Crofts since the summer.
“It’s coming together, slowly,” Ben said. “Caroline thought it’d be a good time to show some people what we’ve done. A very select group, of course.” He smiled.
“I’m so flattered to be included,” Cal said. They reached the ground floor and began walking to the door where Ben had entered the building. A towheaded student walked by them, wobbling under the strain of a large book bag. The young boy smiled at them as Cal greeted him by name. It was a sweet smile, but Ben’s spirits deflated when he saw it.
“Caroline and I also discussed Charlie’s drawing,” Ben said. “We agree that he should talk to someone about it. She’s on board for one session, but I don’t know if I can talk her into more without a really good reason.”
“I already checked with the counselor’s office, and she’s able to talk with Charlie, also next Friday. I’ll call to confirm and explain Caroline’s concerns.”
“Thanks. Actually, if you could send me the counselor’s number, I’d like to fill her in on the family history before she meets with him.” Ben knew that children could be strange. He knew that they had phases and idiosyncrasies that they would grow out of. But if there really was something wrong with Charlie, Ben wanted the counselor to have all the relevant information.
Through the door’s pane of glass, Ben saw cliques of boys jostle one another, laughing as they ran along the pathways to the buses.
Then he saw Charlie and his tousled black hair, walking slowly and alone, staring at his feet.
31
The fabric store in Gracefield carried many patterns but nothing Caroline liked.
The headache that had sat behind her eyes surged under the fluorescent lights. Bub was wrapped around her left leg, his feet on top of her own, his face buried in her pant leg, making kissing sounds into the crook of her knee. She waved off help from a salesperson for the third time and began to have difficulty discerning white from ivory. She felt too warm, and the harsh light seemed to accrue a physical weight.
Caroline slung Bub over her shoulder and returned to her car. She sat in the driver’s seat, out of breath. It struck her as wet outside, though it had not rained. She listened to the sound of traffic in front and the toddler talk behind. She’d been feeling steadily worse since the ladies had left. She paced her breathing, trying to slow her heart rate.
Ben was the problem. The idea of him talking behind her back had made her sick. She’d also slept fitfully after last night’s activities, and it had caught up to her. She could still summon the sound of Ben shouting at Charlie as it rang through the windows and pulled her from sleep. He almost never yelled, but he was wound tighter than she’d ever seen him. Tears swelled her eyes when she thought of what a stranger he’d become.
Stop, she commanded herself. Pull yourself together. The websites she’d read advised to break a task down into manageable parts if she began to feel overwhelmed. She stuck her key in the car’s ignition and turned it.