Chapter 2 Tay

CHAPTER 2

TAY

Tay had her fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Wrexham, to thank for setting into motion the events that had allowed her to discover her Dove family talent.

One bright spring day, Mrs. Wrexham had requested that every student bring a photo of one of their ancestors and share that person's life with the class during show-and-tell. Naturally, Momma had suggested that Tay talk about Sarafina Dove.

Tay had been excited to learn she was related to a famous reporter. When show-and-tell day came, Momma had helped Tay write a few salient facts on a piece of notebook paper and had put it in an old manila envelope together with the one and only photograph they had of Sarafina. With the envelope tucked safely in her backpack, Tay had headed for school.

When it was finally her turn to stand up and talk about Sarafina's colorful life as a journalist in the Victorian era, Tay had dutifully read what she and Momma had written on the notebook paper, and then reached into the envelope for the photograph.

As Tay pulled it out, her fingers brushed the blotted name written across the back. For the first time in her life, her Dove ability kicked in. For a startlingly clear and crazy second, she was there in 1897 as Sarafina Dove sat at an elaborate desk, her fountain pen in hand. Beside her, a fire crackled in a heavy iron grate while, outside, a restless wind rattled against the windows. As Tay watched, the pen flew across the back of the very photograph she now held, spelling out Sarafina's name. As hard as it was to understand, Tay realized that she wasn't just a faded presence in Sarafina's world. For that long second, Tay was really there and knew exactly what Sarafina felt, saw, heard, and thought.

Tay knew the clock on the mantel in the room was ticking so loudly that it was annoying Sarafina. Tay also knew Sarafina was hungry because, instead of using her half-hour break to eat her lunch, she'd instead stopped by the newspaper office to pick up the photograph she held. The room smelled of woodsmoke and iron-scented ink, and Sarafina was upset her aunts had insisted she spend her evening writing a letter to her father, which she knew would be a waste of time since he rarely wrote back.

The second Sarafina's pen lifted from the back of the photograph, Tay was instantly back at school, standing in front of the class, blankly staring into space.

"Taylor?" Mrs. Wrexham's voice had broken into the moment.

Tay, disoriented and still trying to process what she'd just experienced, could only blink. She was so pale and trembly that her teacher had halted show-and-tell and escorted her to the school nurse, who'd taken one look at her and then promptly called Momma. Fortunately for Tay, her mother had realized what had happened, that Tay's special Dove gift had finally arrived.

The gift was part of the reason she'd gone into academia. Now, as a thirty-seven-year-old professor, she was on her way to becoming one of the country's foremost historical researchers. She specifically focused on important figures known to be ardent letter writers, which meant they'd left behind large troves of resources she could access. Using her gift on their letters and written works helped her gain additional, and sometimes novel, insights that often directed her research into fresh and exciting paths.

The book she'd just finished writing with Richard was about Mary, Queen of Scots, and the notorious Casket Letters that had led to her beheading. It was a popular topic, and the book was set to be published next spring by a large university press. Tay was happy she had that going for her. The book would be popular with academics and would be a huge asset on her résumé. Before she'd left England, she'd emailed the final chapter to Richard and had gotten a chilly, impersonal response, which had hurt even though it was what she'd expected. She wished he'd been at least a little emotionally torn over their breakup. But no. Other than being upset she'd been the one to break up with him, he'd discarded her as easily as if she'd been a used paper cup. Meanwhile, here she was, unable to stop thinking, wondering, and asking herself useless what-ifs.

"Stupid man," she muttered under her breath as she removed her two crazy-heavy suitcases and her backpack from the trunk of her rental car.

She didn't love easily, and never had. Before Richard… well, there hadn't been anyone before Richard. She'd been told by both her sisters and various friends over the years that no one—absolutely no one —friend-zoned men as quickly as she did. Because she'd been so busy teaching classes and doing research, she'd had neither the time nor the inclination to commit to a relationship.

Somehow, Richard had been different. She hadn't friend-zoned him. Instead, she'd foolishly allowed herself to be swept away. And now, here she was, heartbroken and alone and stuck in the past. "I should have friend-zoned that jerk the first time I met him," she told herself as she headed for the porch with her luggage.

As if to mock her words, her larger suitcase slipped off the walk and one wheel sank into the damp grass, jerking her to a halt and causing her backpack to fall off her shoulder and bang into her knee.

She grimaced and then dropped her backpack to the walkway, released the handle of the other suitcase, and grabbed the stuck one with both hands. It took all her efforts to wrangle it back onto the walkway. "Stupid suitcase and stupid men," she said through gritted teeth. "I hate them both!"

Once she had her luggage back under control, she paused to rub her sore knee and looked up at the familiar two-story, nine-bedroom, Queen Anne–style house that rose before her. Dove House was her childhood home, and she knew and loved every creaky inch of it.

Her favorite spot was the primary bedroom, which her sister Ava now occupied. It was a huge room with a fireplace and a circular sitting area formed by the upper floor of the fairy-tale-like turret that sat to the right of the porch. She loved that turret. When she was a child, she and her sisters used to tie together bedsheets and play Rapunzel out that very window. At one point, Alex—the biggest tomboy among them—had even tried to climb down their bedsheet rope, but Momma had caught them in the act and had declared her bedroom off-limits after that.

Tay adjusted her backpack so that it was more firmly on her shoulder and then, taking a big breath, lugged her suitcases the rest of the way down the walkway, up the wide wooden porch steps, and to the front door. She stopped there, pausing to catch her breath. Inside, she could hear her sisters laughing and talking, obviously excited about her return home.

A pang of guilt hit her. She loved her sisters. She really did. It was just that, right now, all three of Tay's younger sisters had turned into wildly interfering matchmakers.

She mentally steeled herself and reached for the brass doorknob. Just as her fingers closed over it, one of her suitcases suddenly rolled across the uneven porch floor and fell, slamming into her knee. She toppled forward and, propelled by the weight of her backpack, hit the door with her shoulder. " Ow! "

Inside the house, the excited talking ceased and a second later, the door flew open.

Sarah rushed outside. Tay just got a glimpse of her sister's librarian-style T-shirt, which read BOOKS DO IT FOR ME, before she was enveloped in a huge hug.

"Tay!" Ava appeared in the doorway behind Sarah, wearing her usual bright-colored coveralls and grinning from ear to ear, her long blond hair hanging in a braid over one shoulder. "We've been waiting forever!"

"Where have you been?" Sarah demanded as she released Tay and stepped back. "Your plane landed hours ago."

"I stopped by Rose's. I haven't been sleeping well, so I needed something to read."

Ava nodded, as if she'd already figured out where Tay had gone. "Jet lag can really mess up a sleep schedule."

"Let's get your luggage inside." Sarah took the largest of Tay's suitcases and began hauling it over the threshold.

Ava grabbed Tay's other suitcase and followed Sarah. "Ella's finishing up the dishes. Are there more suitcases?"

"No, this is it." Tay rubbed her sore shoulder and followed them into the foyer, the door closing behind her. "I mailed everything else."

"Your boxes came last week." Ava rolled the suitcase to the bottom of the stairs where Sarah had placed the larger one. "You must be exhausted."

"Tay!" Ella appeared, an apron tied around her plump waist. She gave Tay a quick hug that smelled of cinnamon and cake. "It's so nice to have you back home!"

"It's overdue," Tay admitted.

"And then some. Are you hungry? Or thirsty? We have tea or—"

"No, no. I'm fine."

Ella looked her up and down. "Right. I'll fix a pot of decaf. You look like you could use something warm to drink." With that pronouncement, she disappeared back into the kitchen.

Tay watched her go. Their aunt Jo, who knew their family better than anyone else, had said on more than one occasion that she could tell a member of the Dove family with one glance. As she liked to point out, they were all short and blond and had startling gray-green eyes. But they had their differences, too. Ella was plumper and curvier than her other sisters. Ava's hair was a shade darker, while Sarah's smile was bigger than anyone else's. Madison and Alex were the tallest, compared to the rest of them.

Tay supposed the main difference between herself and her sisters was that she was a smidge shorter and kept her hair at shoulder length so it wouldn't swing forward into her face when she was bent over a computer.

"Sheesh." Sarah rubbed her lower back and then nudged the largest suitcase with her foot. "What's in this thing? Bricks?"

Tay raised her eyebrows.

Sarah sighed. "I don't know why I asked. Why do you travel with your own reference library? I could get you any book you want."

"Tay doesn't like to borrow books. She likes to own them." Ava held out her hand for Tay's coat. After getting it, she hung it on the coatrack. "Still, I bet there's not a single fiction book in this entire suitcase."

Tay grinned. "Care to make a little wager on that?" After leaving Rose's, she'd slipped the new book into the outer pocket of her suitcase. "We can bet cash. Or dishwashing duties. Name your poison."

Sarah leaned close to Ava. "I wouldn't bet if I were you. She was just at Rose's."

Ava cut Sarah a hard look. "I'm not stupid." She turned back to Tay. "What delectable delight did Rose recommend?"

Tay pulled out the book and handed it to Ava. "Where did you all put my boxes?"

Sarah inclined her head toward the sitting room. "Beside Momma's desk. We thought you'd like to work from there."

Ava glanced up from where she'd been reading the back book cover. "You got some mail, too. It's there on the table behind you."

"I asked the university to forward my mail here until I notify them otherwise."

"So they're not expecting you back right away!" Sarah clasped her hands together and gave a happy hop, as if her biggest wish had just come true.

Tay shrugged. "I wanted to see what's up with that tin box you found in the fireplace surround. The timing was perfect, as I need a new project, and I'm on a break." She picked up her mail, which consisted of some official-looking manila envelopes and one small flat-rate package. She absently patted her pocket. Where are my glasses?

Sarah pointed to Tay's head.

Of course that was where they were. That was where they always were, and yet she still "lost" them at least twice a day. "Thanks," she muttered, sliding her sneaky glasses back to her nose. I hate that I can remember things I don't need to, like the assumed date of Shakespeare's death and how Richard's eyes were such a beautiful brown, but I can't find my glasses when I need them.

Her expression must have showed her frustration because Ava cut her a sympathetic look. "You're exhausted. That was a long flight followed by a long drive."

"The drive wasn't bad, but the flight? Ten hours from London to Atlanta. And no one hates flying more than me." Tay hated planes. For that matter, she wasn't overly fond of cars either, having managed to do without one by living first in New York, then Boston, and then—for the past six months—Oxford. Oh, Oxford. How I loved your library. The Bodleian was a magical place, and it gave me shivers every time I stepped inside.

She missed it, which wasn't surprising. Like bookstores, every library had its own personality and flavor, and she loved them all. She'd have to be careful not to admit that to her sister Sarah, though. Sarah ran the Dove Pond Library better than anyone else could, but it didn't hold the sort of research materials Tay typically required for her work.

Ava patted the book Tay had just bought. "I like the looks of this. May I read it when you're done?"

"Sure. You can have it tomorrow."

Sarah eyed Tay with approval. "You don't read. You devour."

"If it's a good book, how can I help it?" Tay flipped through the small stack of mail. Most of it was the usual English department nonsense, but then she saw her name scribbled across the small package in an all-too-familiar scrawl.

Time screeched to a halt.

She curled her fingers into her palms as she stared at Richard's name, which was stamped in the upper corner, her heart thudding sickly. She simultaneously didn't want to open the package and yet was burning with curiosity to do so. This was how it always went. Whenever something had to do with Richard, even something as ridiculous as this little package, her heart ached as if she'd broken up with him only minutes ago, and not months. It was stupid and she knew it, and yet she had no control. I should be furious with him. Why am I so… frozen?

It didn't make sense. She had more pride than that. Didn't she?

With fingers that trembled, she ripped the package open. Inside was her apartment key and a note with one sentence dashed across it. Thought you might need this. Hope you're well.

That was it. Nothing more. She turned a little so her sisters couldn't see her face and rested her fingertips on the handwriting. Her ears rang, and for one brief second she slipped into Richard's mind as he wrote. She could hear the click of his dog's toenails across a wooden floor somewhere behind her, could feel the ribbed pen in his hand, could smell and taste the lingering flavor of the nearby cup of coffee that sat at his elbow.

But more than that, she could feel Richard's every emotion as his pen flew over the paper. There was mild irritation at having to take the time to mail her back her spare key, a hint of urgency to get it done quickly because he was late for a meeting, and—threaded through it all—a strong flash of self-satisfaction and pity.

Pity? Her throat tightened painfully, and Tay yanked her hand off the note. Careful not to touch the handwriting again, she crumpled it up and dropped it into the trash can beside the table.

Slightly sick to her stomach, Tay slid the key into her pocket, opened one of the manila envelopes, and—to give herself time to recuperate—pretended to be interested in some sort of worthless interdepartmental memo about leave time.

"Anything important?" Ava asked.

"No." Tay forced a smile before she turned back around. "Just junk mail. That's all." To her relief, her voice sounded normal. But then, she was getting a lot of practice at that.

"I just heard the coffeepot beep," Sarah said. "Let's go to the dining room. We have a nice fire going there."

Ava put her arm around Tay's shoulders and directed her toward the dining room, Sarah following. "We want to hear what's happening in your life. Surely there's a man somewhere who is going to miss—"

"Tell me about this tin you guys found," Tay interrupted. "Ella sent me a picture, but it was hard to tell how big it was."

Ava guided Tay into the dining room. "Dylan was looking at a loose tile at Christmas, and it just fell into his hands."

"And there was the vault," Sarah added.

Tay went directly to the huge fireplace that dominated one end of the room. It was original to the house and had a heavy oak mantel, peacock blue and green tiles decorating the ornate surround. On one side, a missing tile revealed a small iron door. Oh wow. Tay slipped a finger through the small iron ring and opened the door, wincing as it creaked loudly. She peered inside and saw where the bricks had been chipped away to make room for the cubbyhole.

Ava now stood beside her. "That's where we found the old tin box."

Tay turned to her. "Where is it?"

Sarah had already opened the elaborate corner cupboard that held what Momma used to call their "fancy ware" and pulled out a rusted tin box.

Yes! Tay eagerly held out her hands.

Sarah tucked the box behind her. "Not so fast. You can't have this until you promise to eat dinner with us at least five times a week."

Sheesh! "Five? I can't promise that."

"Then you can't have it." Sarah backed away.

Ava sat in a chair at the long dining room table. "Sorry, but once you start a project, you disappear. If we don't make you promise to spend some time with us now, all we'll see of you is the top of your head while you're staring at some dusty papers or typing on your laptop."

Tay scowled at her sisters. "I came all the way from Oxford to see what's in that box. You know how important it could be. If there's something I can use to define Sarafina's life here in Dove Pond while she was growing up, I might be able to finally write her biography."

Ava sniffed. "We know you've been collecting reference materials on her for years now. We figured that was what was in all of those boxes you sent."

"Then let me see that tin!"

"Not until you promise to spend some time with us."

Tay had to fight the urge to say something sharp. Of all the subjects she'd researched, few had proven as elusive as the childhood details of her own famous ancestor. Everyone knew about Sarafina's life after she turned nineteen and left their small town for the bright lights of New York City. There was more than enough primary source information to write a credible biography from that point on, beginning with her first legitimate writing job at the New York World newspaper. According to the story, Sarafina had gotten that job after pestering a burned-out editor so much that he finally caved and gave her a supposedly impossible assignment: to report on the conditions of the female garment workers who, as a whole, refused to speak to the press under threat of retaliation.

Sarafina had taken that impossible assignment, had infiltrated a garment plant as a worker, and—after weeks of backbreaking work—had written about it with sympathy and grace. The series of articles she'd produced had garnered a lot of notice, and it was claimed that she was following in the footsteps of her contemporary, the intrepid female reporter Nellie Bly.

Sarafina's clear and crisp writing style, aided by her willingness to go undercover even in dangerous situations, quickly made her one of the most popular reporters of the day, and a celebrity of her age. The society papers and personal journals of the time also chronicled her personal life, especially her brilliant marriage to the wealthy businessman who'd purchased the New York World . According to eyewitness accounts, David Tau had met Sarafina in the newsroom and had fallen in love with her on the spot. No one was surprised when the two married a scant six months later. They were inseparable until their deaths.

It would be an amazing biography filled with real-life adventure and romance, but Tay had already gone through most of the Dove Pond town records and had found precious little about Sarafina's early life. There was little more than a birth certificate, a few mentions of the family in the local newspaper, and a small bit of information about the two spinster aunts who'd raised her. Which was why this box was so important. It just might hold the key to explaining the how and why of Sarafina Dove.

Tay eyed the box now, where Sarah held it just out of reach. "I need to see what's in there. Ava said there are photos and even letters."

"Oh, there's more than that in this old cigar box." Sarah held up the box and gently shook it, causing an intriguing rattle. "There are keepsakes and Valentine's cards, and—oh, all sorts of things. All you have to do is promise you'll eat with us often." When Tay just glared at her, Sarah sighed. "Okay, okay. Three times a week, then."

Ava added, "We don't want you to be a hermit."

This was so irritating. Still, Tay supposed her sisters had a point. She did tend to become a hermit when deep in her research. She sighed and impatiently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Fine, fine. I'll eat with you all… once a week. How's that?"

Sarah raised her eyebrows while Ava sent her an annoyed frown.

"Two days, then," Tay offered. "Now can I please see the box?"

"I suppose that'll have to do," Ava said grudgingly.

Grinning, Sarah placed the box on the table and pushed it in Tay's direction before turning to Ava. "I'll go help Ella. Be right back."

Tay didn't wait for the door to close before she sank into a chair across from Ava and pulled the box close. "Finally."

Ava rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward, watching.

Tay ran her fingers over the old tin, the surface rough and yet cool to the touch. The faded mustard-and-red print on the lid featured a man in a yellow slicker fishing in a stream, his line taut as if he was just about to reel in his catch. Just up the stream from him was a large tree, a little girl in a red dress hiding behind it as she watched him fish.

Whatever the box once held, it was now a treasure chest. Tay ran her hands over it and whispered softly, "Oh, Sarafina, who were you?"

Ava rubbed her arms. "That gave me the shivers."

Tay ignored her sister and opened the box. Inside sat a packet of letters tied with faded, frayed blue ribbons, two old Valentine's Day cards, and several old tintype photos. Beneath the photos, she caught a glimmer of something and pulled out a long silver chain that held a small key.

Tay held the brass key up to the light, admiring the engraved scrolling. "It's so fancy," she murmured. "I wonder what this goes to?" Enamored with the possibilities, she carefully replaced the key in the box and then pulled out the photos.

Ella came out of the kitchen carrying a tray, Sarah following. "It's a great find, isn't it?" Ella set the tray on the table and put a mug of decaf coffee and a small plate near Tay's elbow.

The rich smell of hot coffee, toasted walnut, and cinnamon rose up to meet Tay.

"It's Ella's cinnamon bread," Sarah announced as she positioned a pitcher of cream and a sugar bowl in the center of the table before sitting. "Try it."

Tay placed the photos on the table in front of her and pulled her plate closer. She was dying to look at the letters, but it would be better if she took her time. Besides, she was starting to feel the effects of missing her dinner. "I've been dreaming of your baking."

"As you should." Ella sat beside Ava and leaned forward so she could see the photos. "That's Sarafina, isn't it?"

The picture showed Sarafina as a young woman. She was wearing a big apron over her long dress, her hair loosely pinned atop her head. She stood outside beside a large pot that hung over a fire and was stirring the contents with a huge wooden paddle, grinning at the camera.

Ella picked up the photograph. "I love that hairstyle."

Tay liked it, too. "She was a Gibson girl before Gibson girls had a name."

"Gibson girl?"

"An advertising model that came about in the 1890s. They were the It girls of their era."

"It girls today are all makeup and Photoshop, which isn't near as fun." Ella handed the photo to Tay. "How old is Sarafina here? There are no dates on any of these photographs."

"At least sixteen, as her hair is up. That was the mark of a girl entering womanhood." Tay examined Sarafina's expression, remembering how she'd looked the first time Tay had seen her during show-and-tell so long ago. "You can't tell from these black-and-white photos, but she has the Dove gray-green eye color like we do, although her hair was dark."

Ella sent Tay a curious look. "You've seen her before? Through your gift?"

"A few times, but not many." Tay placed the photo back on the table and broke a corner off her cinnamon bread. "There's not much of her handwriting to be found, which is a pity. She never kept a diary, and although she wrote plenty of letters, she typed almost all of them."

"That's too bad."

"Tell me about it." Tay started to pop the bite of bread into her mouth, but her gaze was caught by the photograph once more. "Judging by the sheets hanging over the clotheslines in the background, it appears that it's laundry day. That must be what's in that big iron pot."

"She had to do laundry like that? I thought our family was wealthy back then."

"Her father was wealthy, but not her aunts. He was the only son, so he inherited a large sum of money and this house from his parents. He could have done anything he wanted with the place—live in it, rent it out, or even sell it—but instead he let his sisters live there and raise his daughter after his wife died when Sarafina was born."

"If he inherited the house, what did his sisters get?"

"A hundred dollars each. That was it."

Ella looked horrified. "That doesn't seem right."

"I expect her aunts felt the same way. According to the traditions of that era, their parents probably just expected their brother to take care of them—which he did, in his way."

"By making them raise his daughter?"

"From what Sarafina wrote, her aunts loved her as if she was their own, which was good because once her father handed her over to them, he moved away and established a new life in Charlotte. He remarried when Sarafina was just two years old."

"Did he visit her often?"

"Very little is known about her early life, so I can't answer that question." Tay suspected the answer was no. Sarafina's determination to become someone important had to have stemmed from something, and a neglectful parent would have been just the spark to light that flame. Which is the type of confirmed information I need for a book.

Ella sniffed, obviously outraged. "I, for one, am glad I didn't live during that time."

"It must have been challenging." Tay ate some of the cinnamon bread, the rich flavor raising a sharp, vivid memory she'd been trying to forget. Two months after her big breakup with Richard, she'd stopped by the café near her assigned apartment after a long day researching in the stacks. She'd gotten a coffee and a walnut rugelach and had sat down with her laptop, trying to focus on her latest finds about the Casket Letters. Her and Richard's theory was that the letters were fake, fabricated by Lord Walsingham to implicate Mary, Queen of Scots, in an act of treason.

Of course, by then Tay knew he had fabricated the letters because she'd touched the handwriting and had seen the author—Walsingham himself. But as with all the glimpses she discovered with her Dove family gift, she then had to prove those events actually happened using existing primary source evidence available in dusty libraries and document collections. More importantly, she had to do it thoroughly enough to meet the critical eye cast by her academic peers.

That was where her real skills came in. No one was better than she at delving into the dusty and musty contents of various libraries, archival collections, and personal records. There, she worked tirelessly to find the sort of refined source material that would prove what her brief peeks into history had already showed her.

And so there she'd been, trying to lose herself while editing a chapter, when her phone rang. The second she saw the number, her heart had leapt and she'd instantly been swamped with the hope that—contrary to all evidence otherwise—he'd finally regretted his choices. So hopeful a fool was she that she'd eagerly reached for the phone. But instead of saying he missed her, he'd said—

" No. " Tay dropped the final bite of the cinnamon bread back onto the plate as if it had burned her. Darn Ella and her memory-inducing desserts. That is the problem with having a sister whose baking skills are not only excellent but have the tendency to pull memories—even ones I don't want—out of the hidden corners of my mind .

Ella's eyebrows rose. "Are you okay?" Her gaze moved to the abandoned bite of cinnamon bread and then back to Tay. "What did you remember?"

Tay shook her head. "It doesn't matter. We were talking about Sarafina, not me."

Ava's gaze narrowed on her. "You are rarely upset, but right now you look as if—"

"It's nothing. I just—I made a mistake, that's all. One I won't repeat again." Ever.

Ava leaned back in her chair, her gaze dark with concern while Sarah and Ella exchanged worried glances.

Before they could say anything, Tay said, "Look, I'm just jet-lagged to the max and—" She realized from her sisters' expressions that they didn't believe a word she said. "Fine. Something happened. But I'm not ready to talk about it yet. Do you mind?"

Ella's frown let Tay know she did mind.

"Tay—" Sarah started.

"Hey!" Ava interrupted. "Let's give her some space. She just got here."

Tay sent Ava a grateful glance. Ava flashed a quick smile and then asked Ella if she'd finished up the video she'd been working on. It was an obvious ploy to direct attention away from Tay, and she couldn't help but be thankful.

She listened as Ella answered, even sharing some of the social media events her team was planning for her channels. Everyone in the family thought Ella had the easiest job in the world. She was a chef without the responsibilities of a kitchen, and an online influencer with a production company–level group of assistants who kept her life well sponsored and well funded.

While they talked, Tay picked up the closest photograph where Sarafina was sitting on a bicycle. She was dressed in a long skirt and ruffled shirtwaist as she shyly looked at the camera, her hair pinned on her head. Standing behind her, almost in the background, was a thin young man with limp blond hair wearing a pair of threadbare pants and dirty boots, his shirt too large for his thin frame. He had a narrow face and a weak chin and looked far from happy. "I wonder who this man might be. He looks older than Sarafina."

Ella leaned over to see. "He seems sort of sullen, doesn't he? There's nothing written on the backs of these photos, so I guess there's no real way to find out."

"It would be difficult to figure out with just this one photograph, but not impossible."

"If you're wondering what he looked like grown-up, he's in this other photograph, too." Sarah placed a new picture in front of Tay.

The thin young man was older now, although he was still reed thin and seemed even paler. He wore a rather threadbare suit as he sat on a bench, a hat loosely held between his hands, a thin chain draped from his right watch pocket to a button on his vest. Sarafina stood nearby, holding a fishing rod. She looked older and wore a ruffled dress with a wide band at the waist, her long dark hair piled on top of her head, a pert straw hat pinned on top. This time, she smiled directly at the camera, her eyes bright, as if she'd been caught mid-laugh.

Ava pushed her coffee cup to one side and leaned across the table to get a better look at the picture. "She looks happy, but he's obviously miserable."

"Opposites." Ella finished her bread and then nodded toward the Valentine's Day cards that sat in front of Tay. "These were a bit of a disappointment, to be honest. There's not much written on them, but they're all signed ‘W.' That's it. Just ‘W.'?"

"The letters are much more romantic," Sarah said. "Haunting, even. And they're all signed with that same ‘W.'?"

"They're beautifully written." Ava added some cream to her coffee. "We've been trying to figure out who Sarafina's beau might be, but we've had no luck, so we decided to wait until you got here."

Tay untied the ribbon on the packet of letters, removed the top one, and spread it open, careful not to touch the writing so she could approach this first read as objectively as possible. She took her time as she read. Sentence after sentence floated before her. I'm without you, and it's as if my soul has lost its way…. I think of you and all the darkness disappears, because you are my brightness, my light…. She sighed. "Wow."

Sarah clasped her hands together. "I know, right? So romantic, but sad, too. Whoever wrote these was obviously deeply in love with Sarafina, but their circumstances were dire."

It was too early to get excited, but Tay couldn't keep a wave of hope at bay. She'd always wondered if Sarafina had left anyone behind when she'd gone to New York, and here sat the answer. "How many letters are here?"

"Seven," Ella answered promptly, taking a sip of her coffee. "They're all very sad. He knew her dream was to go to New York City and ‘be someone,' and he tells her to go without him because he won't be able to join her now."

"Now?"

"He doesn't say what's happened that changed things. He must have known she'd understand what he was talking about, because he didn't bother to explain it."

Tay nodded. "That happens often. If both the letter writer and the letter receiver know someone had an accident and are already familiar with the details, then they might never reference or even describe the accident at all, but just say things like, ‘I hope Reggie is feeling better now.' Or ‘I hate what happened to Reggie.' That sort of thing."

"Ugh. That's inconvenient." Ava sent her a curious look. "What do you do when that happens?"

"You would cross-reference all available information from a variety of sources—the more the better. Sometimes it works and you can find out exactly what they're referring to, but sometimes you're just left wondering."

"What an unsatisfactory career you've chosen." Ella slid the letter closer to Tay. "Touch it. We need answers, and we've been waiting for over a month now to see what you can figure out from these."

This was it, then.

Taking a deep breath, Tay placed her hand flat on the closest letter and closed her eyes. Instantly, she was in a dark room, lit only by a dim glow from a tiny window that was so high up she couldn't reach it. She was sitting on a hard, packed-dirt floor and was cold. So cold that her body and hands ached with it. She could tell little about the room other than that it held a narrow cot with one thin blanket on it.

Tay looked down and could dimly see the man's left hand as he wrote. It was a beautiful hand, graceful and long, but dirty, the nails tattered and torn. He held the stub of a pencil that had been rudely sharpened, and he was using a book as a lap desk. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the deep mutter of voices, none of them clear enough for her to make out any words. Once in a while she heard a startled shout followed by a loud clang of metal. A horrible stench lingered in the damp, fetid air.

She could feel what this man felt—fear, deep loneliness, endless pain, and heartbreaking uncertainty. And yet, as he wrote, his emotions calmed. Quieted. Just writing to Sarafina was lifting his spirits.

Tay soaked in the feeling coming from the author as his broken pencil scratched its way across the precious paper. He loves her so much. Every ounce of him yearns for her. Every thought is focused on her. Every hope is for her.

And yet mingled with the love was an unmistakable sense of despair. As Tay watched the pencil move, a single, salty tear fell onto the paper. He's crying. Her heart ached with his, and— A shout echoed in the dark, so close it made the man gasp and drop his pencil.

She blinked. She was back in the dining room, all three of her sisters staring at her.

Ella spoke first. "Are you okay?"

"She's shivering," Ava said. "Would you like more coffee?"

"No, thank you." Tay pushed the letter away, her fingers still icy cold. "Whoever he was, he was in a very dark place." She tucked her hands under her arms, trying to warm them. "It was freezing there. And damp, too."

"A cellar, maybe?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure." She thought about it, trying to separate the many feelings that had slipped through him as he wrote. "He was afraid."

Sarah leaned forward. "Of what?"

Tay hesitated. Finally, she admitted, "I'm not sure. But he hated that place, wherever it was." And who would blame him? It had been deeply uncomfortable there. Why didn't he just leave? Was he trapped there?

"Who was he?" Ella asked. "Could you tell?"

"No." Tay rubbed her hands together, trying to get the blood flowing again. "He wasn't thinking about himself, but about her. He loved her a lot." I wonder what it's like to be loved like that? To be honest, she'd never loved anyone like that, either.

She couldn't help but compare the deep feelings in the anguished writer's letter to the shallow irritation in Richard's note. It was a stark, rather bleak comparison.

Aware of her sisters' gazes on her, she collected herself. "I should check the other letters." She pulled them closer and, bracing herself, touched them one at a time. Every time, she got the exact same feelings of love, desperation, and hopelessness.

But as she touched the last letter, just as the author signed his name, a metal ringing sound jerked his gaze to one side, and she caught sight of an iron-barred door.

The sound of an iron key being thrust into a rusty lock rang loudly in the small room as the door swung open and a raspy, masculine voice uttered a name. The writer replied, "Yes?" and lifted his pencil from the paper.

Just like that, Tay was back in the dining room. Shivering, she looked down and pulled her hand from the letter.

Sarah grasped Tay's arm. "What did you see?"

"He was in jail." Tay carefully rested her fingers on the edge of the letter, away from the writing, and pushed it away. "It was William Day. He wrote these letters."

Ava's eyes widened. "William Day, the train robber?"

Tay nodded. Everyone in Dove Pond knew the story about how, back in the late 1890s, William Day and two other men had robbed a train carrying an army payroll's worth of gold. Unbeknownst to the three robbers, the train company had been alerted about the possibility of the theft, so they'd hired Pinkerton agents to protect the shipment. A gunfight had ensued, and one of the robbers had been injured. They'd all managed to escape but were quickly arrested, tried, and sentenced to prison for their crimes.

Ella, who'd just reached for her coffee mug, suddenly stopped. "Does this mean Sarafina was in love with a criminal ?"

"Maybe not," Tay said. "We know he loved her; these letters prove that. But who knows if his feelings were reciprocated. Sarafina repeatedly told her daughter and others, too, that she'd only loved one man in her life—David Tau."

Ava frowned. "He was Lucy's father, right?"

"Yes. Sarafina met him in New York City." Tay eyed her empty plate and wondered if she should get another slice of Ella's cinnamon bread. "His marriage to Sarafina was considered scandalous. He took New York society by storm when he arrived as he was fabulously wealthy, handsome, and charming. Meanwhile, she was just a newspaper reporter from an unknown family."

"She must have been an exciting woman," Ella declared. "She had two interesting men crazy for her—a millionaire and a famous train robber. I'm a little jealous."

Tay was, too. "I was hoping there might be a letter from Sarafina in this box. She left so few examples of her handwriting—which, by the way, was atrocious. Even her editor couldn't read it, so she used a typewriter for almost all her correspondence." That was just one of the many things Tay found fascinating about her ancestor. "She had a strong personality but was passionate about only a few things: her family, her work, good whiskey, and secret codes."

Ella blinked. "Secret codes?"

"After her daughter, Lucy, married and moved to France, she and Sarafina wrote often to each other, and their letters were filled with secret codes. Most of them were just little messages like ‘Can't wait to see you!' but they were super creative in how they created those codes. Sarafina used them at work, too. When she went undercover, she sent her reports in code in case someone intercepted them. She disguised them as letters to her aunt."

"Have you seen them?"

"Only two survived. They were on display at the Smithsonian." Tay had spent a long time with the collection and had even gotten permission from the curator to see the items that hadn't been put on display. "Sarafina's editor hated her use of codes. He wrote in a letter to his sister that Sarafina's secret codes drove him crazy. He could never figure them out without help."

Ava raised her hand. "That would be me. I'm stumped by Wordle most days."

"Oh, there's more," Tay said, warming to her subject. "If you think secret codes are exciting, upon Sarafina's death, Lucy was given a poem that, if she followed the clues, would reveal a family secret. Lucy never bothered to do it, though, so it's a mystery to this day. People have tried to figure out the clues in that poem, but no one has succeeded."

Sarah's eyes couldn't get any wider. "Lucy didn't even try?"

Ella frowned. "Maybe the secret wasn't something positive. It's possible Lucy was smart in not chasing it down."

"Maybe," Sarah said, although she didn't look as if she believed it.

Tay smiled. "I have a copy of that poem in one of the boxes I sent here. I'll make copies for you. Who knows? Maybe one of you can figure it out."

"What fun!" Ella rubbed her hands together. "Ava may suck at puzzles and riddles, but I excel at them."

Sarah bounced in her seat. "I love this! A train robber admirer, a millionaire husband, a dashing career, covert codes, and a family secret. Tay, if you don't write this book, someone else will."

Tay couldn't argue with that. "And now I know to research William Day. There was a connection there of some sort."

"Come to the library," Sarah said. "The town archives are still there. You'll need access to the Day family archives, too, which are stored at Rose's Bookstore. The library uses those documents for various exhibits. And, Tay, if you need help, let me know. I might be able to find some time now that the town has given us the funds to hire an assistant librarian."

"I can help, too," Ava offered. "If you need me."

Ella raised her hand. "Me too! I'm going to take lots of pictures. My social media followers will eat this stuff up with a spoon. It's so intriguing!"

Tay knew that her sisters had neither the time nor the necessary mindset to spend hours and hours reading old documents, but she appreciated their enthusiasm. "Thank you," she said with a polite smile. "I'll keep that in mind." She watched as Sarah placed William Day's letters into a neat stack.

She really shouldn't have been surprised that Sarafina and William knew each other. After all, Dove Pond was a small town and had been even smaller back then, but the connection had never dawned on her. I wonder how they first met. I hope I get a few clues to that, at least.

Tomorrow, she'd dive into this new research lead. She leaned back in her chair, suddenly exhausted from her travels. But sitting here with her sisters, the fire crackling nearby, William Day's letters in front of her promising a fresh look into Sarafina Dove's intriguing life, Tay felt, if not happy, at least hopeful.

Thank you, Sarafina. It's a start.