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“Oh, good.” Zeb sighed, shifting his arm uncomfortably while he and Jolene settled into the comfy purple chairs with their assignments. “Homework.”
* * *
It was a relief to have something to do, something we could all focus on for the week before the deadline. Although I found nothing to do with Mr. Wainwright’s trip to Ireland, the journals were pleasant and interesting reading. I did learn that I should consider the possibility that every animal I saw was actually a middle-aged man named Wally. Nana had told me that Mr. Wainwright was looking for were-deer, but it was still a bit shocking to find out that there were people out there who turned into skunks and weasels. Think of the dry-cleaning involved.
Using the journal dates, we constructed a timeline of where he had traveled when. To give our eyes a rest from Mr. Wainwright’s small script, we took turns contacting his favorite buyers, asking about bells, just in case. We visited every pawn shop in the surrounding two counties, but bells didn’t seem to be frequently pawned items. I continued working at the clinic, but each afternoon, I left earlier than my previously established routine, something that Dr. Hackett frowned on. He knew, though, that I’d be leaving soon and he would have to adjust to running the clinic without me.
I sent scans of the Gaelic portions to Penny, a swipe to my pride, considering how often she’d told me to study the language more faithfully, as I would need it someday. Her translations were interesting but ultimately unhelpful. Eventually, we were able to determine which journals were the volumes written just before and about two years after the Ireland trip, but we couldn’t seem to find the Ireland volume. The only bright spot, Gabriel observed, was that Mr. Wainwright never referred to selling or giving away the Elements in subsequent journals. We were sitting around the shop again, going over the journals, when Dick suddenly dropped to his knees in front of the trunk and knocked on the interior of the lid. Jane watched him warily, but as he tested the lid, she seemed to pick up on his line of thinking.
She laughed. “Mr. Wainwright, you crazy, adorable old bastard.”
Andrea raised an eyebrow. “And the award for abrupt and inappropriate statements goes to . . .”
Grinning at me, Dick peeled away the fabric inside the lid. A sort of shell popped out of the lid, and two books fell out into his hands.
“A false top?” I laughed as he handed me the two journals. “I haven’t heard that one before.”
“Clearly, you’ve never met my cousin Junie.” Jane snorted.
“Gilbert was a good boy, but he wasn’t stupid,” Dick said proudly.
The first thing I saw when I opened one volume was a sketch of each of the Elements. The writing surrounding the sketches was a mix of Gaelic and Old English. I could pick up words my family used regularly: “magic,” “fire,” “tradition,” and “mother.” But everything else was nonsense. “I’ll send this to Penny, too, which means I will have to put up with more of her ‘I told you sos.’ Fortunately, we won’t be on video chat, so I’ll miss out on the accompanying dance.”
Tucked inside the journal, I found pictures of Nana and Mr. Wainwright. It was nice to see them from his perspective. In his pictures, he was smiling down at Nana, pulling her close to his side. She was grinning widely at him, a look of complete adoration on her face.
Andrea picked up one of the pictures. “Hey, the inscription on this one is in English!”
I plucked it from her hands and read aloud. “ ‘Fiona is a beautiful, intelligent woman who shares my open view of the world. I could easily see myself spending every day happily with her. But I don’t think she will ever be ready to leave Kilcairy. And I would never be ready to stay. She is needed here, and I would not make her choose between myself and the people she cares for. But I cherish our time together and hope that our paths may cross again.’ ”
“I thought that would make you feel better,” Jane said. “But you look like you’re ready to burst into tears.”
“It’s sad,” I said. “Nana loved him. And if he’d asked, she might have followed him home to America. My mother would have grown up with a father. She would have had an entirely different life. It sounds like they were held back by bad communication skills and fear. Mostly fear.”
Jane ran her hand over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nola.”
Gabriel carefully thumbed through the other journal. He grinned broadly at me. “I don’t think you’ll need to contact Penny. This is the last journal, Mr. Wainwright’s daily journal from seven years ago, which he tucked into the lid along with the Ireland volume ‘to protect Fiona.’ ” This section is in Latin, which I speak just as well as Dick, thank you very much. And he says he entrusted the bell to a friend. He says he couldn’t bear looking at the bell because it reminded him too much of what he left behind.”
“Aw, that’s sweet,” I said.
Gabriel grimaced. “He apparently meant someone named Bridget, whose father was a silversmith.”
“That’s less sweet,” I grumbled.
“Your grandfather was a bit of a man-whore,” Andrea informed me.
“Yes, thank you, I blame genetics,” I said, eyeing Dick.
“Those are your genes, too,” Dick reminded me sternly.
Gabriel cleared his throat. “Would you two like to know who he gave the bell to, or will this uncomfortable family moment continue for the rest of us to enjoy?”
* * *
My palms were sweating as Jed and I waited outside the outdated offices of James H. Mayhew, Esquire. It was late in the afternoon. The reception area had certainly seen better days, with its worn leather chairs and battered tile floors. The secretary’s desk had long been abandoned, so we were left to wait while Mr. Mayhew finished up a phone call. Jed was amusing himself by sorting through six-year-old copies of Ladies’ Home Journal and Newsweek.
This was what a last resort felt like. I had no idea what our next move would be if this didn’t pan out. And the depressing thing was, I was sure it wouldn’t. Jed tried keeping a more optimistic perspective . . . until I threatened to smack him with a rolled-up magazine.
Jimmy Mayhew was exactly what I expected in a small-town lawyer. Elderly, with a full shock of pure white hair and out-of-control matching eyebrows. His suit was a dapper if unfashionable blue silk, with a tie that set off his clear cornflower-blue eyes.
