The Echo of Old Books(61)

“She led by example,” Ashlyn said when she finished reading. “What a wonderful and selfless thing to do.”

“It was, though I’m guessing it was the last straw for Martin. He couldn’t have been happy about getting blindsided this way. Which I’m beginning to suspect delighted Marian no end. I’m also guessing it’s why she ended up being cut out of the will and forbidden to set foot in the house, though she had to know she was burning her bridges.”

“That makes it even more amazing. She defied him, knowing what the repercussions would be. She was brave.”

“I think that’s why she and my father hit it off. They were the only ones to ever buck the system.” Ethan took the scrapbook back then, flipping to the first page. “Let’s see what else might be in here.”

There were several photos lying loose between the pages, the tape that once held them in place no longer viable. Ethan studied them one at a time, turning each photo facedown when he finished with it. “I don’t know any of these people,” he said finally. “Aunts and uncles, I suppose, and cousins. My father was one of four.”

“Are any of his siblings still alive?”

Ethan shrugged. “Maybe. I know Robert was killed in Vietnam, shot down during the Tet Offensive. One of his sisters died a few years ago. He got a letter from an old college friend, saying he’d seen an announcement in the paper. And that’s all I know. They were never part of our lives.”

He tucked the photos back between the pages and moved on, skipping past photos and newspaper clippings that held no meaning for him. Suddenly he stopped and pointed to a photo of an unsmiling woman with a fringe of heavy bangs. Beside her stood a tall man with an angular face and small, dark eyes. He, too, was unsmiling.

“I think that’s Corinne and her husband. I don’t know his name either. He died when my dad was a boy. A lung thing, I think.”

“George,” Ashlyn supplied. “His name was George.”

Ethan cocked an eye at her. “It’s weird that you know that and I don’t.”

“His name is all I know. He isn’t mentioned much in either book. What about Martin? When did he die?”

“Not too long after I was born. I don’t know how. I just know he died and Corinne ascended the throne.”

Ashlyn looked at the photo of Corinne—Cee-Cee, as she’d come to know her. She wasn’t the beauty her sister was. In fact, there was little resemblance. But it would have been inaccurate to call her unattractive. Her face was square with wide-set eyes and a mouth that was full but ungenerous somehow. A face shaped by unhappiness.

“She doesn’t look much like Marian,” Ashlyn said.

“She looks exactly the way I imagined she’d look,” Ethan said, scowling as he turned to the final page. “Hey. These are the kids. Marian’s kids. I had no idea my parents had this. She must have sent it.” He ran a thumb beneath the edges of the photo, carefully lifting it from the page, then flipped it over. “Zachary and Ilese on the beach. July 11, 1952.”

“That’s really them?”

“It is. They’re younger here than when I met them, but it’s definitely them. I remember him being a kind of prankster. Always giggling. Never sat still. She was the exact opposite. Always had her nose in a book. She barely said a word the entire weekend.”

Ashlyn felt a sudden wave of empathy for the girl in the photo. She understood the need to retreat behind a book, to create a physical barrier between you and the world. She’d been doing it for years, seeking refuge in other people’s stories.

She studied the children more closely. The girl—Ilese—was pale and small-boned and looked to be eight or nine. Zachary was clearly older, tall and toothy, already hinting at the heartbreaker he would almost certainly become.

“They’re very different, aren’t they? She’s so pale, almost frail-looking. But the boy’s a real charmer. It’s a shame you lost touch with them.”

“I’m not sure you could say we were ever in touch. They were both older than me. I barely remember them.”

“Do you know where Marian settled when she came back to the States? Did she go back to New York?”

“I have no idea. I doubt it, though. I don’t see her wanting to be anywhere near Martin.”

“You didn’t hear from her when your father passed away?”

“No. For all I know, she’s dead too. And if she isn’t, there’s a good chance she doesn’t know he died.” He paused, closing the scrapbook and setting it aside. “Why?”

“I was just curious.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You want to try to find her, don’t you?”

Ashlyn didn’t bother to hide her excitement. “Do you think it’s possible?”

Ethan looked at her, clearly uneasy. “That isn’t really the question, is it? The real question is, Would she want to be found? A couple of strangers showing up out of the blue, hoping to root through her past? Would you?”

“You’re not a stranger. You’re her nephew.”

“I’m actually her nephew’s son, and I’ve never laid eyes on the woman. That makes me a stranger.”

“All right, maybe you are a stranger. But if she’s alive, she hasn’t forgotten Hemi. She’d want the books back.”