“Look, Elizabeth,” she said. “I know you thought I said a horrible thing when I made that crack. But you have to understand some things about me. I know what happened out in the woods, and I know it was a horrible thing that Dad did to me. But it’s over. I mean, it’s really over. I’ve been through it all—the pain, the anger, the resentment, everything. And yes, I joke about it now. For a long time that incident with Father was the end of my life. But it isn’t any more. It’s over with, and in the past It’s like it happened to someone else, and if I joke about it I guess it’s just one of the tools I use to deal with it. My kidding about it can’t hurt Dad; he’s dead. And there isn’t any reason that it should hurt you, either.”
“It just seems so—so—” Elizabeth groped for the right word, and couldn’t find it.
“Macabre?” Sarah suggested. “I suppose it is, but believe me, it’s better for me to joke about it than sit in silence and brood on it So let me be myself, all right?” She smiled, and Elizabeth returned the smile uncertainly.
Elizabeth and Sarah returned to the little study after dinner, where they sat sipping brandy and enjoying the fire.
“Do I really look like Mother?” Sarah asked suddenly. Mrs. Goodrich had insisted on calling Sarah “Miz Rose” even after Elizabeth had explained that it was not Rose but Sarah, home for a visit Mrs. Goodrich had remained unconvinced.
“Quite a bit, really,” Elizabeth said. Then an idea occurred to her. “You know, all of Mom and Dad’s old photo albums are up in the attic. Why don’t we go up there and find some pictures of Mother when she was your age? Maybe the resemblance is greater than I can see. And we can dig out all the toys we had when we were kids.”
“I detect the fine hand of Larry Felding at work,” Sarah chuckled. “But I’ll give you credit You did that very well. And I suppose I can’t put it off forever. Let’s go up. Maybe something will jog my memory.”
The two women went up to the door that blocked the stairs to the attic and found it locked.
“I hope we don’t have to break it down,” Elizabeth said. “I haven’t been up here in years, and I don’t have any idea where the key is.”
Sarah suddenly reached up and ran her fingers along the ledge above the door. A moment later she had put the key in the lock and the door was open.
“How did you know about that?” Elizabeth said curiously. “I certainly didn’t know there was a key up there.”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said with a shrug. “I suppose I must have seen someone put it up there years ago, or something. Who cares? Let’s see what’s up there.” She reached for the light switch and started up the stairs.
“Well, for heaven’s sake,” she said when they were in the attic. “Will you look at that.”
“At what?” Elizabeth said. It just looked like an attic to her, and she didn’t see anything odd about it.
“That corner,” Sarah said, pointing. “It’s so clean. Attics are supposed to be dusty.”
It was true. In one corner, where an old picture was propped facing the wall, there was no dust anywhere, not even on the floor.
“That is odd, isn’t it?” Elizabeth said. “I can’t imagine this old place is so tight There must not be any vents in that spot.”
“You don’t suppose Mrs. Goodrich comes up here to clean, do you?” Sarah said.
Elizabeth shook her head. “She hasn’t been upstairs in years. Anyway, why would she clean just one corner? Well,” she went on, shrugging the mystery away, “Let’s get to it, shall we?”
They started going through the attic, and found a box marked “Sarah.”
“Here it is,” Elizabeth said triumphantly. “Prepare to face your past.” Sarah touched the box reluctantly, as if it might be hot. Then she seemed to get a grip on herself.
“No time like the present,” she muttered, and opened the box. Inside was a jumble of clothing, children’s books, and toys. She lifted each item out, and they all seemed familiar to her. She recognized some of the clothes as having been favorites, and held others up in disgust.
“Ugh,” she said. “Remember this?” It was a brown scarf, and Sarah was holding it by two fingers. “I used to hate wearing this, it was so itchy.