The Open Door

Chapter One

         Aunt Guinevere Grace Mason’s three-story house is situated at the end of Brook Lane. It’s a cheerful white dwelling with pale rose trimming. There are trellises all around the house with climbing roses and morning glories and a grape vine. It’s set far away from the street with a circular driveway. On either side of the house are two cypress trees, one on either side. Behind the house are several gardens and a pond. In one corner is the herb garden, in another is the rose garden, in the third is the wildflower garden, and in the last are the perennials surrounding the pond. In the center is a fountain with two angels pouring out water surrounded by marigolds and Shasta daisies and Calla lilies.
         Inside is just as cheery as the outside. The first floor rooms are cluttered with Victorian furniture and antiques from around the world. Aunt Guinevere’s deceased husband used to travel a lot and always brought something back for his wife. In the south wing is a long corridor with eight doors, three on one side and five on the other. The door at the end leads outside directly into the wildflowers. The door on the right of the backdoor has always been kept locked and Aunt Guinevere keeps the key on a rose colored strip of ribbon around her neck. The second floor has only bedrooms and one or two storage rooms. The third floor is the attic and is full of trunks with Aunt Guinevere and Uncle Geoffrey’s things from early in their marriage.
         My mother, Alice Porter Grace, my brother Jules, and I have lived there with Aunt Guinevere since my father and Uncle Geoffrey died in a plane crash on their way home from Russia, when I was ten. Uncle Geoffrey was bringing back a Russian doll for Aunt Guinevere.
         
         Aunt Guinevere died last week at St. Peter’s Hospital. She had only been a year from seventy.
         Jules called me just hours before she died. I was at my own house. I had been living there for three years now.
         I had been at home, getting my dinner together, when the phone rang.
         “Miriam!” Jules cried out in panic.
         “What’s wrong?”
         “It’s Aunt Guinevere.”
         I froze. “What about her, Jules?” I asked tensely.
         “She-she’s in the hospital. Dr. Ryan isn’t sure if she’ll live.”
         “Which hospital, Jules?”
         “St. Peter’s.”
         “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
         I hung up and realized my hands were shaking. But I didn’t worry about them. I grabbed my car keys and practically ran out of the house to my car. I was at the hospital twenty minutes later. Jules and Mother were waiting for me.
         Mother’s brown eyes were red and her blond hair was a mess (I look like a mirror image as her). I knew how she felt. Aunt Guinevere had been her favorite relative and Dad’s only sister.
         “Mom?” I whispered as I hugged her.
         “I’m scared, Miriam.”
         “I know, Mom. I am, too.”
         Aunt Guinevere died at twelve past nine. The three of us went to Aunt Guinevere’s house, where Mother was still living.

         Today is Saturday. Aunt Guinevere’s funeral is at eleven, in two hours.
         Mother and Jules were sitting in the breakfast nook the last I saw. I was walking along the corridor in the south wing. I wore the black dress I had worn for Grandmother’s funeral two years ago and the strand of pearls Aunt Guinevere had given me for my twenty-first birthday six years ago.
         That’s when I saw it.
         The door on the right of the back door was ajar. I knew because I saw a faint shaft of light around the edge of the slightly opened door.
         I cautiously walked towards it and rested my hand on the doorknob. Then I jerked my hand back and stepped away. I sank down onto a chair with deep rose cushions embroidered with pale pink roses across from the door.
         I stared at the door. When had it been opened? Not anytime recently, I was sure. I had spent most of the week before Aunt Guinevere’s death with her and Mother and sometimes Jules.

Chapter Two
Sunday morning

         Mother and Jules were in the dining room with Aunt Guinevere, cleaning candlesticks for some reason I couldn’t quite fathom since they were all pristine. I was standing in the room next to the room that’s always locked.
         The room was a square with pale yellow walls, white curtains with pale rose-colored daisies embroidered on them, and a pale rose carpet. Cardboard boxes lined the left side in two rows. They were full of Aunt Guinevere’s books from when she was a teenager. The four bookshelves had been taken down the day before by Jules.
         I quietly left the room and went to the locked door. I placed a hand on the doorknob and turned it. It was still locked. I glanced down the hallway and heard Mother, Jules, and Aunt Guinevere walking up the stairs. Jules was complaining about the two bookshelves Aunt Guinevere had asked him to take down and put back up in her bedroom.
         I moved to the back door, unlocked it, and went outside. I walked through the wildflower garden to the fountain and looked to the locked room’s window. It’s covered by lavender curtains with large, yellow daisies on them. And I can’t get over there to pry open the window, although it’s probably locked, because the wildflowers separates me from the window.
         “Miriam?” Aunt Guinevere’s voice called.
         I quickly turned and hurried back to the corridor. Aunt Guinevere was standing at the entrance to the corridor when I entered from the back door. Aunt Guinevere really doesn’t look her age. She looked about fifty when she was really almost seventy. Her brown hair was streaked with gray and her dark eyes were large and luminous.
         “Yes, Aunt Guinevere?”
         “Are the books all packed up?”
         “Yes. I just went outside for some air.”
         Aunt Guinevere nodded sympathetically. She fingered the key on the rose colored ribbon around her neck as she spoke. “Those books are really dusty, I know.”          
         “They are old,” I said.
         Aunt Guinevere smiled. “Jules is complaining about the bookcases.”
         “Well, he’s already taken down, what, six or seven?”
         “He just took down the ninth.”
         “It would help if you wouldn’t move them all over the house.”
         I walked towards her and took her slender hands in my own. She looked at me curiously.
         “Is something wrong, Miriam?” she asked.
         I smiled and shook my head. “Why do you keep the last door on the right locked?”
         Aunt Guinevere looked stunned. I had never asked the question before even though it had weighed heavily on my mind ever since Mother, Jules, and I had moved in after Dad and Uncle Geoffrey died.
         “Why do you ask?” Aunt Guinevere asked, her tone dismissive.
         “Just wondering, Auntie. You know I love mysteries,” I said with a soft laugh.
         “Yes, I do know, Miriam,” Aunt Guinevere said quietly.
         “How long has the door been locked?”
         Aunt Guinevere smiled. “Since the year before you were born, Miriam,” she said softly.
         “Is it a special room?”
         “Indeed it is. Not even Geoffrey went into it after…” she trailed off and looked away.
         “After what?” I prompted gently.
         Aunt Guinevere turned her head back to me and smiled again. “After it was locked.”
         “Why?”
         “It would be best if you don’t ask any more questions, Miriam.”
         “I’m sorry, Aunt Guinevere,” I said, releasing her hands.
         Aunt Guinevere wrapped her fingers around the old fashioned key and stared off into space for a moment.
         “Do you still miss Uncle Geoffrey?”
         “Every day, Miriam, every day,” Aunt Guinevere whispered.
         Then she turned and headed into the den, where Mother was cleaning the surface of Uncle Geoffrey’s old secretary. Jules was walking down the stairs. He turned to me and grinned. My younger brother looked like a dusty mess. His dark blond hair was disheveled, but his blue eyes, so much like Dad’s, sparkled.
         “What happened to you?” I called to him.
         “Aunt Guinevere,” he grumbled, his grin fading.
         Jules and I love Guinevere as much as we love Mother. But neither of us can ignore Aunt Guinevere’s strange doings. She enjoyed moving her furniture around and her gardens were her pride and joy. She treated them as though they were her children. Aunt Guinevere and Uncle Geoffrey had always wanted children, but couldn’t have any and both refused to adopt a child.
         “What now?” I asked warily.
         “More bookcases,” he said grimly, pausing on the next to last step. He leaned against the banister. “And she has many more left.”
         “Those are in the library. I doubt she’ll have you take those down, too.”
         Jules shrugged. “You never know with Aunt Guinevere.”
         I nodded. “True. You know, I think Aunt Guinevere gets pretty lonely after we leave. I know she still has Mom here and they get along great, but she always has a far away look in her eyes.”
         “I know. Do you have any idea what’s behind that locked door?”
         Jules shook his head and stepped down. I still had to look up. He was half a foot taller. “Aunt Guinevere won’t talk about it.”
         “She seems really sad about it.”
         “Yeah. But it’s her business, Miriam.”
         “I know.”
         “Well, I’ve got to go help take down those giant paintings in the den. Aunt Guinevere just decided she wants them in the library.”
         “I’ll go with you.”
         When Jules and I reached the den, Aunt Guinevere had a task for me. She wanted me to take the pictures from the corridor and hang them in the den.
         So, I headed back to the corridor and took down a picture of sunflowers in a wreath of morning glories in a pale rose frame.
         I glanced over at the locked door. I just had to find out what was behind that door!

Chapter Three
Monday evening

         We had dinner with Aunt Guinevere. Mother was absent because she had acquired a virus during the night and Aunt Guinevere was forcing her to stay in her room. Jules was there with his neighbor/girlfriend (he won’t tell me which) Sylvia Ryan, the youngest child of Dr. Ryan.
         The dining room was of medium size with a wood floor. There was a door leading to the kitchen that was always kept closed and double doors leading to the front hall. Along one side was a rectangle table with a vase of flowers from her rose garden (pale rose). The round table in the center was made from cherry wood. Uncle Geoffrey had made it for Aunt Guinevere for their first anniversary. The eight chairs of the same wood were made the year after. Aunt Guinevere had spread a white, lace tablecloth over the table. The table was set with white plates with a design of lilies of pale rose. White cloth napkins lay beside each plate with a fork, knife, and spoon on it.
         Dinner was very simple with roasted chicken seasoned with fresh herbs from Aunt Guinevere’s herb garden, fresh greens from the market, and baked potatoes topped with butter. Aunt Guinevere had baked a cherry pie for dessert.
         It was after dessert when we were sitting in the study when Sylvia asked where the bathroom was.
         Aunt Guinevere paused before answering. “There’s one in the south wing,” she said slowly. “The one upstairs isn’t working. Miriam, would you take her?”
         I knew why she had paused. The bathroom was in the south wing and the study was in the north wing.
         “Of course, Auntie,” I said.
         Sylvia, a redhead with gray-blue eyes, and I stood. I lead her from the room, by the staircase, through the living room, and finally into the hallway. The bathroom was the middle door of the five on the left side. While Sylvia was in the bathroom, I sank into the chair across from the locked door, the chair with the deep rose cushions with pale pink roses. I stared at the door pensively and wondered what was behind it again.
         This was unusual for me. I had long ago accepted I would never find out what was behind that door, but for some reason I felt a pull to the door.
         “Miriam?” a voice said.
         My head jerked up. Sylvia was standing in front of me with a puzzled expression.
         “Miriam, are you all right?” she asked, concerned.
         “Uh, yes, of course. Why?”
         “I’ve been calling your name over and over, but you didn’t answer.”
         “I’m sorry, Sylvia,” I said with a sigh as I stood. “Come on. We really should get back. Otherwise Jules will be coming after us.”
         “I did come after you,” a voice said.
         We turned and saw Jules standing a few feet away.
         “Aunt Guinevere was becoming concerned of your fate and asked me to come by and see what was going on.”
         “Sorry, Jules,” I said. “I was just staring at the door.”
         “Miriam, that door has been locked for a long time and will continue to be locked. Why are you suddenly so interested?”
         I shook my head. “I don’t know, Jules. Come on. Let’s go.”
         
         When we got back to the study, Aunt Guinevere asked what had taken so long. She had refilled our cups with warm coffee or tea, depending on which we had been drinking. Sylvia and I had been gone for about a half hour before Jules had been sent.
         “I’m sorry, Auntie,” I said. “I just sort of zoned out for a while.”
         “For half an hour?”
         “I really am sorry,” I insisted.
         “It’s that door, isn’t it, Miriam?” Aunt Guinevere asked sternly, peering at me over the rims of her glasses.
         I was startled. “How did you know?”
         Aunt Guinevere sighed. “You always had a fascination about it, Miriam. Ever since you and your family moved in. You never asked or said anything about it, but I knew it weighed heavily on your mind. I could tell because your would get a far away look in your eyes whenever you passed that door.”
         “I didn’t know you noticed.”
         Aunt Guinevere only smiled and fingered her pale rose shawl. “You were always like a daughter to me, Miriam,” she said softly.
         I leaned forward across the coffee table and gently lay a hand on hers with a smile. “I’m glad, Auntie. You were always a second mother.”
         Then I leaned back and Aunt Guinevere turned to ask Jules a question and my mind returned to the locked door.
         “Miriam?” a voice said after what seemed to be hours upon hours.
         I turned my head. Sylvia had spoken and it had only been a minute.
         “Yes?”
         Sylvia moved closer to me on the sofa and spoke softly to me.
         “Would you happen to know if Jules thinks of me a lot?” she whispered nervously.
         Ah, so Sylvia did like my brother.
         I smiled at her. “Actually, I wouldn’t know. But, by the way he’s watching us right now, I would say he’s thinking of you right this second.”
         Sylvia glanced over at him. Jules was indeed watching us. She gave him a bright smile and Aunt Guinevere turned to look at me. She smiled and winked. She, too, knew what was going on.
         Then I stood and announced I had to go.
         “Oh, not yet, Miriam,” Sylvia said pleadingly.
         “I have to. I need to be at the office early tomorrow. Would it be all right if I come back tomorrow evening, Auntie?”
         “Of course, Miriam. Now go say good night to your mother and be on your way,” Aunt Guinevere said as she adjusted her glasses.
         “Yes, Auntie.”
         I went over to her side and leaned down to kiss her cheek. Then I left the study and hurried upstairs to say good night to my mother.

Chapter Four
Tuesday afternoon

         I arrived at Aunt Guinevere’s house at around four in the afternoon. Aunt Guinevere wasn’t at home. Mom, who was feeling much better and was making a pie when I arrived, said she had gone to visit the doctor again.
         I frowned. “But she was just there last week.”
         Mom sighed. “I know. But you know your aunt. If she even sneezes she just has to go see Dr. Ryan.”
         “How many times did she sneeze this time?”
         “Actually, she didn’t. I did, once. But I wasn’t around her when I did. I think she went to talk to him about Jules and Sylvia. Guinevere came up to my room after they had left to tell me all about it. She said you’re fascinated with the door again, Miriam.”
         I sighed. “Why is everyone so stern about it? I just want to know what’s behind that door.”
         Mom smiled gently and shook her head. “It’s not for you to know, Miriam. If Guinevere wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”
         I was surprised. “Then you know what it’s all about?”
         “Yes,” she said softly. “That door was locked three months before you were born, Miriam. Don’t ask any more questions.”
         Aunt Guinevere came in just then and Mom left to check on her pie.
         “Auntie?” I asked.
         She turned to me and smiled. “Yes, Miriam? I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
         “I know. But Matt decided to close the office early today. His partner’s sick and they’re working together on this case. Anyways, would you tell me what’s behind that door?”
         “Miriam…” she said with a sigh.
         “Would you if you want me to know?”
         “Yes, Miriam. When I think I’m strong enough to tell you, I will. My broken heart is in that room, dear. I’ll let you know what’s behind that door when I can actually speak of it.”
         Then Aunt Guinevere left to find Mom and I headed for the south wing. I pressed my hand to the wood door, staring at the pale rose walls and wondering idly why Aunt Guinevere had such a love for the color. Most of her clothes were pale rose as were most of her flowers.
         I shook my head and drew away from the door. I had no right to question my aunt.

         Jules arrived before dinner with Sylvia and a date for me. His name’s Jack Fielding and he’s a year older than me. He works with Sylvia’s father. The four of us were going to a seaside restaurant (Aunt Guinevere’s house is near the Atlantic Ocean).
         Before we left, I saw Aunt Guinevere wink at Mom and had a feeling she thought Jules and Sylvia were more than friends, because of her talk with Dr. Ryan.
         That evening was fun, but the restaurant walls were painted pale rose, hence the name The Pale Rose of the Ocean. And it reminded me of Aunt Guinevere’s locked door. I’m afraid I wasn’t much fun and that was probably why they agreed to drop me off at home before they headed to the summer fair. I just couldn’t get that door out of my head.
         I don’t remember ever dwelling on the door as much as I did the week before Aunt Guinevere died. (I’m not even sure why I’m in the hall today as it is).
         All my life, even before we moved in with Auntie, that door had always been locked and the curtains drawn. But lately, I began to realize the lavender curtains with the large, yellow daisies never seemed faded. Did Auntie wander in there with new curtains every so often? Did she spend her lonely evenings at that ancient sewing machine, making those curtains? Did she go into that room in the dead of night to replace them?
         I shook my head fiercely. I had no right to wonder about Auntie’s personal life. It wasn’t any of my business, after all. It was a secret known only to Auntie and Mom.
         I glanced at my clock, a beautiful clock Uncle Geoffrey brought back for me when he went to Austria when I was seven.
         It wasn’t quite nine and I knew Mom and Aunt Guinevere would still be up, probably drinking tea because they hate coffee and talking about the past as though it was only yesterday.
         I used to sit in the shadows in the hall near the kitchen to listen to the past, to hear the stories they passed to each other, not long after Uncle Geoffrey and Dad died. I would sit there and cry whenever one of them was mentioned. But they never talked about the door. It was like an agreement not to talk about it was between them. They never spoke a single word about it. Never. And that night I wanted to be included in one of those conversations, like I had been every so often when I still lived with them.
         The clock struck nine and I picked up the phone. They always welcomed me at nine. Before nine, it was always a private session and I always let them have that time to themselves.
         I knew Aunt Guinevere’s number by heart and someone was answering within the minute.
         “Hi, Aunt Guinevere,” I said brightly, so happy to hear her soft, lilting voice.
         She never brought up the door, and neither did I.

Chapter Five
Thursday morning

         I had wanted to see Aunt Guinevere and Mom on Wednesday, but I had to work most of the day and was absolutely exhausted when I got home from the office. Being a paralegal isn’t easy, especially when the lawyers you work for are the only ones in town. At least I get to see the library a lot. I have my Aunt Guinevere’s love for books and Mom’s love for research and the virtue known as patience.
         When I arrived at Aunt Guinevere’s house, she and Mom were having breakfast on the spacious porch.
         The porch is wonderful at all times of the year. It seems to be set into the house because the dining room looks out over the porch on the left and the parlor on the right. Both have curtains of pale rose lace with a rosebud design. Three steps lead up to the porch. It is enclosed with a white rail with slender, twisted poles that are painted a pale, pale rose. There’s a little, round wicker table to the right of the door, at the parlor window, with four wicker chairs around it. All of them are painted pale rose. In each corner is a potted miniature rose plant, all of them producing pale rose blooms with faint streaks of white and an ivory center. The pots are a deep forest green and a matching watering can sits next to the pot near the door. In the center of the table is a tall, slender vase made of crystal with a rose design. Aunt Guinevere had put in two long-stemmed roses, both pale rose, with the stems carefully entwined. With them was a spray of baby’s breath on either side and a wild rose the color of the pink in the sky at sunset carefully inserted between the entwined roses. A gardening magazine lay open in front of Aunt Guinevere, but she wasn’t reading it.
         Mom was sitting next to her. They each had tea in a pair of white cups rimmed in ivory on pale rose saucers. On an ivory dish with a pale rose flower painted in the center was a small stack of toast. They each had a smaller matching plate with scrambled eggs and sausage.
         “Hello, Miriam,” Aunt Guinevere called out to me as I walked up the walkway.
         I waved in return with a cheerful smile. When I reached them, I kissed both on the cheek and then sat next to Mom.
         “Sorry I didn’t come by yesterday. I had a lot of work at the office.”
         Aunt Guinevere patted my hand. “That’s all right, Miriam. Are you working today?”
         “This afternoon. Shelly, Matt’s wife, asked him to stay home during the morning because an uncle of hers is coming by and she wants Matt to be there to welcome him, too. Andy, Matt’s partner, has the flu, so he won’t be in. It’ll just be Matt, the secretary Donna, and I. I probably won’t see you again until tomorrow.”
         “Of course, Miriam,” Mom said with a smile.
         “Is Jules coming by?” I asked.
         “Yes. He should be here soon,” Aunt Guinevere said, gazing past me to the driveway. “But, knowing him, he overslept and should be here in an hour or two.”
         Mom took a sip of her tea. “He has the worst sense of time. Just like his father.”
         I put my hand over Mom’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. Aunt Guinevere smiled sadly.
         “Is something wrong, Auntie?”
         She looked startled. “Oh, no, dear. Nothing’s wrong. I just miss your father and Geoff. It’s been years since that fateful flight, but it doesn’t seem that long ago.”
         “Of course not,” Mom said with a sigh. Then she looked out to the street. “Here comes Jules.”
         Ten minutes later, my brother joined us with a bright smile, until Aunt Guinevere told him she wanted a few bookcases moved into the parlor.
         “More bookcases?” he asked faintly, following our aunt into the house.
         Mom smiled and she and I gathered the dishes and took them into the house.
         “I’ll take care of the dishes, Mom,” I said, turning her from the sink. “You go help Aunt Guinevere.”
         Once she was gone, I turned to the dishes, my thoughts firmly back on the locked door. Why on Earth is that door bothering me?
         When I finished the dishes, I went to the south hallway and exited the house. I stared out over the wildflowers to the lavender curtains with those large, yellow daisies. I frowned, remembering my curtains had been made of the exact same kind. Did I have some sort of connection with the room? I certainly hoped not. It made Aunt Guinevere so sad.
         “Miriam? Where are you? Miriam?” Aunt Guinevere called from one of the second story windows.
         I tilted my head up and shaded by eyes from the morning sun. “Down here, Aunt Guinevere,” I called up to her.
         The pale rose curtains in the window directly above the window with the lavender curtains, Aunt Guinevere’s room. Auntie opened the window and stuck her head out.
         “What are you doing out there?”
         “Doing? Oh, I’m just looking at your flowers, Auntie,” I lied.
         Aunt Guinevere cocked her head and shrugged. “You look at them an awful lot.”
         “I like flowers, Auntie. Do you need me?”
         “Yes. Come on up here, dear. You can help your mother dust the guest room.”
         “The guest room? Why do you need to clean that room, Aunt Guinevere? Is someone coming?”
         “Oh, no, dear. I’m just going to turn that room into your mother’s new room. We talked about it all last night. Your mother and father stayed in that room before you were born whenever they came by. That was before they moved here permanently. Your mother just wants to feel closer to Arthur.”
         Arthur was my father’s name. My grandparents had always liked the Arthurian legends. Their youngest child is Lancelot, Lance for short. He lives in Washington and we hardly ever see him. We saw him six years ago when he was on his way to Mexico. His job keeps him busy and he doesn’t even have time for a family. He’s the only one who never married. But he’s happy.
         When I reached the guest room, I saw Mom and Aunt Guinevere making up the bed with white sheets. Two bookcases stood on either side with a desk and nightstand. The floor was a dark wood and a round rug with a pale rose lily sat next to the bed.
         “Alice, are you sure you just want the white?” Aunt Guinevere was asking.
         “Yes, Guinevere. You can take all the pale rose sheets you want. After all, it was—”
         Mom stopped speaking because she had just spotted me in the doorway. Aunt Guinevere looked up and blinked.
         “What do you need me to do?” I asked.
         Mom stooped down and came up with a damp cloth. She threw it at me and said, “You can dust the bookcases. Then I have all my books packed up in my old room. Get Jules to help you with them.”
         “Yes, Mother.”
         By the time Mom’s books were in her bookcases, it was time for me to go.
         “Aunt Guinevere, would you mind if I clip a few of your flowers?” I asked. She, Mom, Jules, and I were finishing up in Mom’s new room. “I promised Andy I would drop by before I went to the office and I want to take some flowers to him.”
         “Yes, of course, Miriam. I know how lonely he must be, with his wife dead and all.”
         I smiled. Aunt Guinevere always knew those things. She was a kind-hearted woman who always thought of others. “Thanks, Aunt Guinevere. I’ll get them myself, then I’ll leave. See you tomorrow.”
         I kissed her cheek and then Mom’s before I left. I had really just wanted another chance to look at the window with those lavender curtains. I grabbed the kitchen shears and headed out the door in the south hallway, pausing for a moment outside of the locked room. Then I went outside and clipped a few vivid wildflowers, all the while staring at the window.
         I don’t know how, but I felt I would soon learn the secret of that room, but Aunt Guinevere wouldn’t be the one explaining to me. Someone from the past would be.
         The feeling passed almost instantly and I shivered. Who could that someone from the past be?
         I suddenly felt even more compelled to find out the former inhabitant of that room.
         Maybe Andy will know, I mused. Andy’s the senior partner and closing in on his fifties.

         Andrew Paulson, Andy for short, is a tall, dignified man with solemn blue eyes and jet black hair streaked with white. His manner is quiet, but he’s someone you never want to see in a courtroom. He can tear apart the opposition in a matter of minutes while remaining calm and dignified. Andy’s really a very sweet man and cares deeply for people.
         “Miriam, I’m glad you remembered to drop by,” he said with a smile.
         “I would never forget, Andy,” I said cheerfully and handed him the flowers. “They’re from Aunt Guinevere’s garden. I thought they would help cheer you up.”
         “Thank you, Miriam. That was truly thoughtful of you. Please come in. I know you can’t stay long.”
         Andy took me into his study. One side is completely taken up by a large, oaken desk with a stiff wooden chair. Bookcases filled with law books dating back to when he was in law school lined the walls. The floor was a dark wood and a large rug sat in the center of the room. I was startled to see it was pale rose with an ivory rose in the center.
         “Excuse me for asking, Andy, but where did you get that rug. It looks like it came from Aunt Guinevere.”
         “It did. She gave it to me a year before you were born. She and I know each other rather well, Miriam. I’m her lawyer and was her husband’s, too, before he died.” Andy sat behind his desk
         “Do you know what lies behind the locked door in the south hallway?”
         He looked startled and I knew I had finally caught the man by surprise.
         “Yes, I do know what is in that room,” he said carefully, studying me as though I was a witness on the witness stand.
         “Would you tell me?”
         Andy shook his head. “It’s not my place to tell you, Miriam. Guinevere will tell you in her own time.”
         I was disappointed. It seemed everyone except Jules and I knew what was behind the door.

Chapter Six
Friday evening
         
         We had dinner with Aunt Guinevere again. Jules had brought Sylvia and Jack with him. If I had known it would be our last evening with Aunt Guinevere, I would have requested family only. But I knew Auntie would insist Sylvia and Jack come, too. Especially Sylvia. Dr. Ryan arrived just in time for dessert.
         We sat in the parlor in various places. Dr. Ryan, Aunt Guinevere, and Mom sat near the window facing the porch around the coffee table, each with a cup of tea in hand and a plate of crumbs from Aunt Guinevere’s apple pie sitting on the table. Jules and Sylvia stood near the door next to a fern on a cherry wood table. Both balanced a plate while talking about the fair I had missed. Jack and I sat facing the other window on the opposite side of the room from the other window. Our plates sat on the squat table between us.
         “Is something bothering you, Miriam?” Jack asked after a long period of silence.
         I shrugged. “Not much. Why?”
         “Lately you’ve been very quiet.”
         Jack and I dated a lot the summer before and occasionally after, but nothing really serious came out of it.
         “Don’t worry about me, Jack,” I said quietly.
         Jack took my hand. Honestly, I’ve never met a man quite like him. He has warm, dark eyes that clearly show he cares and dark hair that never seems to receive a trim. He’s tall and can make anyone feel protected, but never threatened. Everyone at the hospital loves him, especially the children. He’s such a loving man that I keep thinking he should find someone else. But he’s determined to stay by my side.
         I looked up at him and smiled. “It’s really nothing, Jack.”
         He smiled in return and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Is it that door again? You told me about it last year.”
         “You guessed it,” I said with a sigh. “I just can’t figure out this obsession I have with it. It’s driving me crazy.”
         “It’ll pass, Miriam. I’m sure it will.”
         Just then, Jules and Sylvia joined us.
         “Miriam, could I talk to you for a minute?” Jules asked.
         I left Jack with Sylvia and followed my brother out into the hallway.
         “Is something wrong?” I asked immediately, sensing his uneasiness.
         “It’s Aunt Guinevere,” he said quietly. “I’m worried about her, Miriam. I’m afraid something’s going to happen to her and she’ll be gone. It’s a terrible feeling I have and I can’t shake it.” He lowered his voice after glancing into the room to make sure Aunt Guinevere was still deep in conversation with the doctor and Mom and Jack and Sylvia weren’t trying to eavesdrop. “I’m afraid she’s going to die, Miriam, and I’m really scared.”
         I took his hands and gripped them tightly. “I’ve had the same feeling, too, Jules. I’m scared, too.”
         “What should we do?”
         “There’s nothing that can be done, Jules. We can’t do anything. I just have this feeling that we should let all this run its course. In the end, we’ll get our answers.”
         “Like the one about that locked door?” he asked with a wry smile.
         I scowled at him. “I know you want to know about it as much as I do,” I whispered fiercely.
         He sighed and nodded. “I can’t deny it’s been heavy on my mind for a while.”
         “There’s nothing we can do, Jules. But I wish there was. I really do.”
         We went back into the room and resumed our places. Jules and Sylvia returned to their corner and I took up my seat again. I glanced back at Aunt Guinevere and saw her fiddling with the key on the pale rose ribbon around her neck. She was making slight twisting motions with it, as though she was opening a locked door. Jack watched her with me. Then we turned to each other simultaneously.
         “Does she do that often?” Jack whispered to me.
         I shook my head. “I’ve never seen her do that before.”
         We turned back and saw Mom glancing nervously at the slightly twisting key. I think she knew something was going to happen, something no one wanted to think about it. And it was going to happen soon. If only I had known she was going to die the next night, I would have dropped by before then…

Chapter Seven
Saturday, Aunt Guinevere’s funeral

         I just sat there for a little longer before pulling myself up. I stepped to the door and put my hand on the knob. Then I stopped, suddenly wondering if I really wanted to know. My hand dropped back to my side.
         All week I had wanted to know. Now the chance was here, but I wasn’t taking it. Why? Aunt Guinevere said I would know when she was ready to let me know. Well, she’s dead now and the door is open. Does that mean she’s ready for me to know?
         How did the door open? Did Aunt Guinevere open it before she died? Or did she instruct Mom to open it before she died?
         Either way, I felt sure Aunt Guinevere was ready to let me know.
         My hand rose and clasped the doorknob again. I gently pushed the door open and looked around, stunned. I entered the room.
         It was a little girl’s room. A white, four post bed with pale pink sheets and quilt complete with several pillows of various shades of pink was under the window with the lavender curtains. A pale rose dresser with pale rose lace on top sat next to the bed at the head. A hairbrush and several hair clips lay on top. The mirror was clean and I could see myself clearly reflected. An oak desk with a neat pile of children’s books sat in the corner with a Windsor chair, which was draped with a shawl of pale rose. The closet was next to the desk and was open on one side. I could see several stuffed animals on the top two shelves and holiday dresses hung underneath with several pairs of party shoes in two neat rows on the wood floor. Two small bookcases sat against the remaining wall space. They were filled with books of all kinds. On top sat dolls from Russia, India, and China; a cuckoo clock from Germany; a miniature Eiffel Tower from France; and an open photo album with pictures from all across Europe and Africa. The floor was oak and a rug in the shape of a rose, the color of pale rose, lay in the center of the room. On the rug was a small table topped with a porcelain tea set with a rose design in sky blue, lavender, and pale rose. Two more Windsor chairs sat opposite each other, one was filled with a large, fuzzy, light brown bear with a Christmas bow tied around its neck. The walls were pale rose and framed photos from South America, Mexico, Australia, and the U.S. hung around the room in a straight ring.
         I stepped further into the room and slowly turned in a circle, drinking everything in. It was a beautiful room and I wondered to whom it had belonged to.
         Then I saw a leather bound book lying on the bed. I walked over to the bed and sat down. I picked up the book and found a pale rose ribbon between two pages towards the back of the book.
         I opened it to where it was marked. In Aunt Guinevere’s elegant script was written:

April 27
My Darling,
         Today’s your eighth birthday. You would have looked so beautiful in your new dress. All your friends from school were coming to celebrate your birth, instead they came for your funeral. It’s been over a week since you died, but your father and I still can’t believe you’re really gone. You were so young and so vibrant, it’s unfair that you should be taken from us. Aunt Alice and Uncle Arthur decided to name their coming daughter Miriam, after you, dear. That’s right! Aunt Alice is going to have a little girl. She would have been your cousin and you two would play in our gardens in the summer and watch the snow and play games in the winter. I’m so sorry, my love. I can’t go on like this. This is the last entry, in which I saw goodbye at last. So, farewell, my dearest.
                                                           Lovingly,
                                                                     Mom

         I gently closed the book and stood with it clasped in my hands. I just had to ask Mom who the little girl had been.
         I found Mom and Jules in the kitchen. They were sitting at the cherry wood table across from each other. Mom had a full cup of tea between her hands and Jules held a half-full cup of coffee. They said nothing.
         “Mom?” I asked.
         She looked up at me, startled. Then she gestured for me to sit next to her. I did so and slid the book to her. She gasped and jumped in her seat. Her cup tipped over and the tea spilled out. Jules jumped up and grabbed a towel to wipe it up. Mom only stared down at the book before her.
         “Who was she?” I asked gently.
         “This is the diary your aunt kept for her daughter,” Mom whispered. “Ashley Miriam. Ashley Miriam Rose Mason. She was the pride and joy of Guinevere and Geoffrey.  Ashley was such a beautiful and sweet child, so full of life and delighted at everything. Her favorite color was pale rose. She died a few weeks before her eighth birthday. She was hit by a drunk driver and your aunt and uncle were devastated. She died a week before you were born, Miriam, and your father and I decided to name you after her. You’re so much like her. You reminded Guinevere so much of her little girl that she loved you as her own. After Ashley died, Guinevere and Geoffrey locked her room, the room that was locked until today. Only Guinevere entered, but only to keep it clean. She went in once a week at night. Miriam, I’m sure Guinevere would have wanted you to have the diary.”
         “Are you sure?” I asked, reaching over to take the book.
         “Yes. Guinevere handed me the key the night she died. I was the last to see her and she pressed the key into my hand. She told me to unlock the door, but not to enter. She said there was something for you. She told me to open the door the morning of her funeral. She was ready to let you know because she would be with her husband and daughter by then. I’m sure she meant the diary, Miriam. It’s yours.”
         I clasped the book tightly in my hands and whispered, “Thank you, Aunt Guinevere.”