World of Curiosities

CHAPTER 13

“So,” said Clara, turning to Myrna. “I have to ask. What’s with the brick?”

“Yes,” said Ruth. “Exactly. I was going to ask but thought it might be rude.”

They stared at her.

“Don’t you mean not rude enough?” asked Gabri.

He’d brought over another pitcher of iced tea and what looked like a scotch for Ruth but was actually also tea and had pulled up a chair to join them.

“I think the brick was a kindness,” said Ruth.

Now their eyes widened. Shocked she even knew the word, never mind claimed to recognize an act of kindness.

“Harriet must know you’re one brick short of a—”

“There it is,” said Clara.

“Either that, or that you’re as thick as a—”

“So,” Clara asked Myrna. “What’s the story?”

“Starving student?” said Gabri. “Couldn’t afford anything, so she gave you—”

“A brick?” said Clara.

“Armand once gave Reine-Marie’s mother a toilet plunger as a gift,” said Gabri.

“But that makes sense,” said Ruth.

No one followed up.

“People give strange presents,” said Gabri. “I once gave Olivier a—”

“Not the doorknob story again, I’m begging you,” said Myrna. “Actually, Harriet collects bricks.”

This did not advance the conversation. In fact, she’d finally, after years in Three Pines, managed to silence them. And then reduce them to monosyllables.

What? Why? How?

It was possible she’d broken them.

“But why that particular brick?” asked Billy, who was not so easily broken. “She seemed to think you’d recognize it.”

“I don’t know. I was going to ask her last night, but she got in after we’d gone to bed and was still asleep on the sofa bed in the living room when we got up.”

“We can ask now,” said Ruth, turning in her seat and shouting, “Hey, you. Jackie O. What’s with the brick?”

Harriet turned to look at Ruth, guessing that was directed at her, though the reference to someone named Jackie O was lost on her.

She pushed the oversized sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and tried to rise.

“It’s okay,” said Auntie Myrna, in a more soothing voice. “You can explain later.”

But Harriet was already on her feet, lurching unsteadily from chair back to chair back, to get herself across the terrasse. Billy rose to give her his seat, but she waved him down.

She recognized the courtesy, but did not want to encourage the view that women were the weaker sex and needed to be protected and coddled. By men.

Though as she swayed slightly, fighting the hangover that was eating her will to live, she wished she’d accepted the offer. If ever there was a time for situational ethics, this was it.

“I collect bricks,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

“Right,” said Gabri, as though everyone collected bricks. “But why that one?”

“It’s special.”

“Ahh,” said Ruth. “Her lucky brick. Seems she takes after her aunt in the load department.”

Rosa nodded, as ducks often did.

“No,” Harriet began, then, waving Billy to his feet with a weak smile, she all but collapsed into his chair. It was a lifeboat situation. “Though I was lucky to find it. Took me months.”

“I’m bored,” said Ruth. “If there’s a point, please get there.”

“It’s from the same factory that made these buildings.” Harriet waved at the shops behind her. “If you look on it, there’s the factory’s name and a date stamp. Those are the best. The most collectible. They don’t identify factories and dates anymore.”

“You collect bricks?” said Clara.

“We’ve moved past that, keep up,” said Ruth, then turned back to Harriet. “Still bored.”

“You’ve talked about how much this place, these people, mean to you,” Harriet said to her aunt. “How you found not just home here, but belonging. I wanted to give you a piece of it, to always remind you.”

Myrna leaned over and hugged her niece, gripping her tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For knowing. It’s a perfect gift.”

“And it’s even more important now,” said Harriet, when released. “Since you’re leaving.”

“What?” said Clara. “What?”

“You’re leaving?” said Gabri. “What?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” said Rosa.

“I heard you and Billy talking this morning,” said Harriet. “I’m sorry. I thought the others knew.”

“We haven’t decided yet,” said Myrna, looking at Clara’s stricken face.

Clara just stared, unable to form words. Ruth was so shocked she’d dropped the bored act along with the invisibility cloak that hid her true feelings.

It was up to Gabri to ask why.

“I love the loft, but with the two of us pretty much living together, it’s just too small. And then, if we ever want people, want Harriet, to stay, they have to sleep in the living room.”

“They can stay at the B&B,” said Gabri. “For free. You can’t leave Three Pines.”

“Thank you, mon ami, but we’d still need more room,” said Myrna. “I’ve thought about this a lot, but only mentioned it to Billy this morning. I’ll keep the bookshop, of course.”

“What bookshop?” asked Ruth. “It’s a library. Says it right on the sign.”

“Oh, you old hag,” said Gabri. “Give it up. You know perfectly well ‘librairie’ is French for bookshop.”

“Come on now. That’s just ridiculous,” said the poet. “Why call a bookstore a library?”

“There must be a place in the village you could move to,” said Clara. She could feel panic welling up. “Or we could switch. You can live at my place and I can take over the loft. An artist. A loft. It’s perfect.”

Myrna looked at her best friend, at the desperation in her face and the potato chips in her hair. And wondered how she would ever leave.

Harriet was right. This was not just bricks and mortar. This was her beating heart. It was the first time in fifty years Myrna felt like she really belonged. As though Three Pines had set a place at the table and had been waiting for her.

And now she was considering leaving.

“You love your house—” Myrna began before Clara interrupted.

“I love you more.”

“There’s no rush,” said Billy, placing his large, worn hands on Myrna’s shoulders.

“Why don’t you break into the attic space?” asked Fiona, who’d gone over to join them.

“The loft is the attic,” said Gabri.

“Yes, but there’s more. You can see by the roofline. I’m not an engineer for nothing. If you look over the roof at the back of the bookshop, toward the river, there’s a whole other space. Not huge, but maybe big enough to convert into another bedroom or study.”

“That’s not right,” said Gabri. “If there was more space up there to rent, Olivier would know.”

Olivier owned the row of shops, and rented space out.

“Believe me,” said Fiona. “There’s a room up there. You should check it out.”

“What’s to lose?” said Clara, her face filled with glee.

“Before you get out your sledgehammer,” said Myrna, “let’s talk to Olivier. He must have plans of the buildings.”

A quizzical look passed between Billy and Ruth. He leaned down and whispered, “Can I come by your place later?”

“Yes. You have the key.”

The key was a bottle of scotch.

That afternoon Myrna, Clara, Harriet, and Fiona joined Olivier in the back room of the bistro. Where Harriet was a civil engineer, Fiona was mechanical. Between them, they figured they should be able to work it out.

“Found these when we bought the place years ago,” Olivier said as he unrolled a yellowed and damp-stained scroll. “They’re the original plans. As you can see, there’s no hidden room up there. Besides, who’d want to build a room, then hide it?”

Harriet and Fiona were leaning over the old drawings.

“I’m sure it’s there,” said Fiona, shaking her head in puzzlement.

“We need to get onto the roof,” said Harriet. “Then I could see for sure.”

“Not now we’re not,” said Olivier. “It’s getting late and we’re almost at the dinner service. Tomorrow, if the weather holds.”

“Before we climb all over the roof,” said Fiona, “why don’t we go up to the church.”

“To pray?” asked Clara. “Who’s the patron saint of wasting time?”

“No,” said Fiona. “Haven’t you ever noticed that from St. Thomas’s you can see the roofline of the shops?”

“You can?” said Olivier. Sometimes it took a relative stranger to see things others missed.

“I wouldn’t have, but the caretaker pointed it out. Said the roofs would need replacing soon and if they expected him to do it, they could go fuck themselves. When I looked, I saw another room, right here.” She placed her finger on the plans, which showed just air. “At least, I think it’s there, though I agree, why would anyone hide a room?”

They decided to meet back at the bistro the next morning and head up to the church.

Word spread quickly, if not accurately, through the village.

Myrna Landers was leaving. Myrna Landers had left.

The library was being turned into a bookstore. That was from Ruth, who wanted them all to sign a petition against it.

“So,” said Reine-Marie later that day as they sat in Clara’s back garden enjoying a predinner drink. “I hear you’re pregnant.”

“Twins,” said Myrna, with a laugh. “Actually, I started that rumor myself, to show how ridiculous the other ones are.”

“Should warn Gabri,” said Clara. “He’s already planning the shower.”

“Then you and Billy aren’t leaving?” There was no hiding the hope in Reine-Marie’s voice.

“Well, not right away. But we are looking for a bigger place, if you hear of one.”

“For the babies,” said Clara, and Armand laughed. Though like everyone else, he found the idea of Myrna leaving Three Pines, even if she kept the bookshop, upsetting.

Robert and Sylvie Mongeau arrived just as they were moving inside. It was getting chilly.

“We only stopped by for a quick drink,” said Sylvie.

She was looking tired as they walked through the kitchen, which smelled of garlic and basil from the linguine primavera. They settled in the living room.

“Is the rumor true?” Robert asked.

“Which one?” Myrna asked.

“That you and Billy are moving to Australia to start a kangaroo rescue,” said Sylvie.

“Because you’re running an illegal bookstore and tattoo parlor out of the back of the library and got caught,” said Robert. “Ruth told us.”

“Well, that is true,” said Myrna, laughing. “But there might be another option besides the kangaroo plan, brilliant as that is. Fiona says there’s an attic room we might be able to break into. That might solve the problem.”

“Fiona says that?” asked Armand. “How would she know?”

“Your caretaker told her,” Myrna said to Robert.

“Claude? But how in the world would he know?” asked the minister.

Myrna explained.

“What does Olivier say?” asked Reine-Marie.

“He knows nothing about it,” said Clara. “We saw the plans of the building, and they don’t show the space, but we’re going up to the church tomorrow to see.”

“Huh,” said Sylvie. “Now why would someone hide a room?”

It seemed the question of the moment.

Billy placed the letter on the preformed plastic table in Ruth’s kitchen and moved his chair a few inches away from Rosa, who was in her bed beside the stove, snoring or snorting.

He tried to remember if ducks got rabies.

Ruth opened the envelope, withdrew the letter, and read it again. He’d brought it to her a few weeks earlier, since Ruth collected stories about the history of Three Pines.

The letter was so vague, she’d shown little interest then. She showed much more now.

“What do you think?” she said, laying her hand on top of it.

“I think he might be talking about the room above the bookstore, the one Fiona said is there.”

“But the room isn’t on Olivier’s plans?” When Billy shook his head, Ruth stared down at the yellowed paper. “I don’t believe it. He doesn’t even say which place in Three Pines he was working on. Could be any of our homes, and with all the renovations in the past hundred years, if it ever did exist, it must’ve been uncovered by now. Besides, why would someone brick up a room?”

“I don’t know, but he obviously didn’t like doing it.” That was an understatement. There was a sense of dread in the letter. It reeked of it. “I knew he was a stonemason, most of my family were back then, but obviously at some point he turned to bricks.”

Better, thought Ruth, than turning to stone. But for once she left something unsaid.

“The letter is dated 1862. That’s more than a hundred and fifty years ago.”

“It’s also the same as the date on the brick Harriet gave Myrna.”

“Come on,” said Sam. “They’ll never know.”

“I’ve heard that before,” said Fiona. “Monsieur Gamache specifically told me you’re not allowed in their house.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. What’s wrong with the guy? What did I ever do to him?”

Fiona had no answer to that.

“Well, fuck him,” said Sam. “Come on. A quick look around.”

She looked at his lopsided grin. The puppy dog eyes. Not for the first time, she wondered how, after all he’d done, she could still love him. But she did.

How she could forgive him. But she had. As he’d forgiven her. At least, she thought so.

He was all the family she had. And while Reine-Marie and Armand had become a sort of family substitute, it wasn’t the same thing. She and Sam were not just connected, they were bound in ways that went beyond blood.

“Look, let’s just get some food and hang out here.” She glanced around the B&B.

He shifted in his seat. “I’m bored.”

Fiona said nothing. She knew what could happen when Sam got bored.

“Look,” he said. “You owe him nothing. He arrested us. We were just kids and he arrested us. He fucked up our lives.”

“We fucked them up. He just found out. And he never arrested you.”

Sam stared at her, that penetrating gaze she knew so well.

He knew what she was really like.

And she knew what he was really like.

“Okay,” she said. “Come on.”