Secrets of the Past: Pauline Gray Mysteries, #3

Acknowledgements:

It is difficult to believe we are at the end of the Pauline Gray stories—at least for now. It has been a privilege and a delight to write these stories in an attempt to capture some of the warmth and community of my hometown. I am as always thankful for A.M. Offenwanger’s expert eye when it comes to editing and proofreading. Any errors that remain are my own, not hers! Thanks are also due to Kevin Bates, who has generously shared his knowledge of St. Lawrence County as well as his own memories and stories from his family. No real person has made it into this book, but those stories were invaluable in painting a picture of life back then. Thank you to my husband Carl, who not only supports me and keeps me supplied with tea while I write, but who also drove me down many back roads as I tried to find the perfect setting for Miss Lewis’s house on one of my research trips to the area. Thank you to all my readers for encouraging me throughout this journey, and for enjoying reading Pauline’s adventures as much as I have enjoyed writing them.

CHAPTER ONE

Old Memories and New Friendships

Pauline Gray gathered together the untidy stack of papers on the kitchen table and smiled at the white-haired woman sitting across from her.

I think we've done a good bit of work today, Miss Lewis.

Anita Lewis's wrinkled cheeks were flushed a pale pink, as they usually were when she and Pauline finished a writing session. Remembering her past brought back a piece of her youth to the elderly woman. Indeed yes, Miss Gray. I'm ever so grateful to you for taking the time to come help me. It's been such a pleasure talking to you.

The pleasure has been mine, Pauline told her sincerely.

When Miss Lewis, a former teacher for both grammar and high school, had asked Pauline to help her write the story of her life, Pauline had agreed from practical purposes more than anything else. Miss Lewis was willing to pay, and Pauline couldn't turn down the chance to fill out her slim purse. In the year 1934, few people could.

As the days and weeks passed, the twice-a-week sessions of Miss Lewis reminiscing and Pauline taking notes shorthand to be typed into a coherent narrative later had become more than a job. Pauline grew deeply interested in the tale of this woman's life, from her idyllic childhood on the family's dairy farm, to a difficult girlhood trying to raise her younger siblings after her mother passed away when she was fifteen, to the winning of her independence with a scholarship to Elmira College, to the romance cut short when her fiancé died in a tragic accident on his family's farm.

It was an ordinary enough tale, nothing glamorous or particularly exciting, but Miss Lewis had a way of making the past come to life with her words, and Pauline emerged from each session with the feeling she had stepped back in time and herself lived through the occurrences related by the elderly woman.

Today Miss Lewis had reminisced about the difficult years after her fiancé's death, how she struggled to find meaning and purpose to her life, how her father wanted her to return home, but she wanted something more. She had left it there, and Pauline was breathless with anticipation to discover what she did next.

I think you do it on purpose, she said.

Do what? Miss Lewis asked.

Break off at an exciting part each time. You do it ensure I'll keep coming back, so I can hear the next installment. You don't have to worry, you know. By now wild horses couldn't drag me away.

Miss Lewis laughed in a pleased fashion. You flatter me, my dear! I can't imagine anything exciting in my life. I still feel it's somewhat presumptuous on my part to even want my story written down, but somehow, I can't bear the thought of no one remembering anything about Mother, or Tom, after I'm gone. My brothers and sisters never had a clear memory of our mother, you know, and Tom was an only child. If I had had children to pass my stories down to, maybe I wouldn't mind so much, but as it is, I take some comfort in knowing their memories will carry on even after I'm gone.

Pauline swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. She had never been interested in marrying, but the older woman's words did convey a sense of the loneliness of a lifetime lived on one's own.

Enough of this, Miss Lewis said briskly. How about a cup of tea before you go, dear?

She said this every time, and every time, Pauline smiled and accepted. She didn't care very much for tea, but she had said yes the first time out of politeness, and now it had become something of a ritual.

She enjoyed watching Miss Lewis prepare the brew. First she brought the kettle to a boil while she washed out the flowered china teapot. Then she poured the boiling water into the pot to warm it while setting out the two delicate teacups and adding a cookie from her always-filled tin to each saucer.

Once the pot was warmed, Miss Lewis emptied it, added the fragrant black leaves, filled it once again with boiling water, turned her three-minute hourglass over, set the fine wire mesh tea strainer over the first teacup, and at last, when the three minutes were up, poured the tea.

It was an elaborate process, and it put Pauline in mind of stories she had heard of the Old World, and the ritual that afternoon tea had been in Victorian England. She appreciated this touch of European elegance in her life, and in truth, the flavor of the tea wasn't so bad once one got over wishing it was coffee.

This cookie was molasses, much to Pauline's relief. Some days it was a peanut butter cookie, which took all her grace to eat without grimacing. Those were the days she had to hurry home and eat an apple or drink a glass of milk, anything to rid herself of that cloying taste and feel in her mouth.

Today she was happy to linger over the tea, looking out the kitchen window at Miss Lewis's garden. Mostly vegetables, there were occasional bursts of color and bloom from various types of old-fashioned flowers: sweet peas, peonies, delphiniums, sweet-smelling lavender, and of course roses.

It is so peaceful here, Pauline said, a trace of wistfulness in her voice.

Miss Lewis smiled gently as she followed Pauline's gaze. Yes, it is a pleasant home. Small, of course, but I don't need it any larger for myself. I always knew I wanted my home to feel like a haven. I'm glad to hear you feel I've succeeded.

Pauline's thoughts flew to the small apartment she shared with her friend Sarah in town. They had no complaints of it, save for the tiring trek up the outside staircase to get to it on days they were weary, but neither did Pauline think it could be described as a haven. Perhaps there was more to the art of homemaking than she had always thought.

Tell me, did you buy this house or build it? she asked, more to make conversation than out of genuine curiosity.

Miss Lewis sat up straighter. Oh, I'm so glad you asked! I had it built to my exact specifications, oh, fifteen years ago. Until then I'd always lived in other people's houses, and I wanted something that no one else had ever lived in, that was for me and me alone. My brother told me I was a fool to choose a piece of land so close to the County Home, but lands’ sake, it’s not those folks’ fault they ended up in the poorhouse! And I must say I’ve never had a lick of trouble from any of them, just the occasional escaped chicken that tries to get into my garden.

Pauline laughed along with her hostess, but experienced a twinge of shame. Miss Lewis’s house was separated from the County Home, known more colloquially as the poorhouse, by a large field and a row of trees, but even so, Pauline would have thought twice before building so close to society’s outcasts. She thought of herself as a thoroughly modern, broad-minded woman, but this elderly retired schoolteacher had far more grace and compassion than she did.

Yes, Miss Lewis said, still gazing unseeingly out the window. I’ve been very happy here, and I’m thankful for it. Would you care for a tour, Miss Gray?

Pauline set her teacup down carefully on its saucer. That is most kind, thank you.

Again, she acted out of politeness, to please Miss Lewis, and again she reaped an unexpected reward. Up until this point Pauline had never seen more than the back porch and the kitchen. She had lived long enough in this rural area to know better than to enter by way of the front door! Miss Lewis had offered to conduct the interviews more formally, in the living room, but Pauline had fallen in love with this small, apple-green kitchen dominated by the gleaming, highly polished woodstove, and had firmly stated that she much preferred to sit at the table.

Now she saw how much she had missed in the rest of the house. The kitchen opened into the tiny dining room, which was papered in a soft marbled gold. The air was filled with a sweet scent of the pink roses in an old knobby jug sitting on a lace table runner on the table in the center of the room. The four chairs surrounding it had carved tops and moss green upholstered seats to match the drapes that frame the lace-curtained at the windows. In one corner of the room was a whatnot, its triangular shelves filled with curious objects. Pauline’s attention was particularly drawn to the pair of Delftware candlesticks on the top shelf, as well as the green glass perfume bottle overlaid with silver filigree on the next shelf down. The detail of the filigree was exquisite.

Mementos from my grandfather, Miss Lewis said. "He captained a merchant ship that went up and down the St. Lawrence. He always brought back something special for his children—my mother and her brother. After Mother's death my father wanted to destroy them—grief takes some people that way, you know. They can't bear to have anything left to remind them of their