Chapter 6 - The Letters Hidden in the SatinGeraldine Price refused to discuss the trust over the telephone.
She insisted on meeting in person.
Before the meeting, however, Adrian returned to Hawthorne House with a question that no attorney could answer.
Why had Sophia kept so many things hidden from him?
He found her sitting beside her bed, looking through a picture book of historic American houses.
Evelyn was beside her.
When Adrian entered, Sophia looked up and stiffened.
He sat on the rug, leaving enough space that she would not feel trapped.
"Soph, I remember that night."
Her fingers stopped moving.
"I remember signing the form. I remember Mark being there. And I remember you trying to get my attention."
Sophia looked away.
"I didn't understand."
Her mouth tightened.
"I should have."
He waited.
She turned another page of the book.
It showed an old Victorian house with a broad wooden staircase.
Adrian remembered taking her to see that house when she was a teenager. She had talked for an hour about how the original design had been altered over generations.
"Do you remember what Mom used to say about old houses?" he asked.
Sophia looked at him.
"She said the walls always tell on the people who live behind them."
For one brief moment, Sophia smiled.
Then Adrian lowered his voice.
"I need you to tell me whether you trust me."
Evelyn handed Sophia two cards.
YES.
NO.
Sophia stared at them.
Adrian watched as she picked up YES.
His chest loosened.
But then she placed the card face down.
And picked up NO.
He felt the answer more sharply than any accusation.
"You don't know."
She nodded.
"That's fair."
He swallowed.
"I signed something I didn't read. And I left you here with people I thought were helping you. You have every reason to be angry."
Sophia's eyes filled with tears.
He resisted the urge to reach for her.
"I can't undo that. But I can stop pretending it doesn't matter."
She looked at the cards again.
Then pushed both away.
Evelyn gently offered her the pencil.
Sophia wrote slowly.
SHOW ME.
Adrian read the words.
"Show you what?"
She underlined them.
He understood.
Not promises.
Evidence.
"All right," he whispered. "I'll show you."
That evening, Evelyn helped Sophia examine the hems of her satin bedding.
The idea came from a gesture Sophia had repeated during their communication exercises.
She kept running her fingers along the stitching of the bedspread.
At first Evelyn thought it soothed her.
Then Sophia carefully turned back one corner.
There was a small opening in the seam.
Inside lay a narrow strip of paper, folded into a rectangle.
Evelyn's pulse quickened.
She unfolded it.
A series of dates, initials, and numbers covered both sides.
Some entries were legible.
5/11 — M.D. — 240,000
5/16 — C.V. — RIVER
5/19 — 11:17
6/02 — 38%
At the bottom was a name.
GERALDINE.
Evelyn looked up.
"Sophia, did you write this?"
Sophia nodded.
"When?"
She pointed to the month of May on a calendar.
"Last year?"
Another nod.
Evelyn examined the paper.
Sophia had written it during the days immediately before and after her breakdown, probably hiding it after returning from the hospital.
The handwriting changed halfway through.
Earlier entries were neat.
Later ones were shaky.
But they were recognizably hers.
"How many more are there?"
Sophia held up four fingers.
Evelyn stared.
"Four?"
Sophia shook her head, then spread all five fingers.
"Five?"
She nodded.
"Five pieces?"
Another nod.
Evelyn felt both excitement and dread.
Sophia had kept a record.
Not a perfectly organized financial ledger.
Not an explanation that would immediately convict anyone.
But something contemporaneous.
Something that existed before anyone had a reason to believe she could communicate.
"Where are the others?"
Sophia pointed toward the wardrobe.
Evelyn followed her gaze.
Inside hung a row of soft, expensive clothes.
Pink dresses.
Cream sweaters.
Silk blouses.
Garments Celeste's personal shopper selected every season.
Evelyn began examining the seams.
Then she stopped.
A housemaid could search a wardrobe unnoticed.
But if anyone discovered missing stitches, suspicion would fall directly on her.
She turned back.
"Sophia, can we wait until Adrian returns?"
Sophia shook her head urgently.
Then pointed at the bedroom door.
A moment later, footsteps approached.
Evelyn slid the paper into her apron.
The door opened.
Celeste entered carrying a silver tray.
"Good evening, darling."
Sophia went still.
Celeste placed the tray on the bedside table.
A glass of water.
A small dish of fruit.
And a paper cup containing two tablets.
"I spoke with Dr. Halden," Celeste said sweetly. "He wants you to have these before bed."
Evelyn stood.
"May I ask what they are?"
Celeste looked at her.
"You may ask the nurse tomorrow."
"Sophia seems anxious about taking them."
"She is frequently anxious."
Celeste took the cup and held it toward Sophia.
"Come now, sweetheart."
Sophia pulled her hands into her lap.
Celeste sighed.
"Don't make this difficult."
Evelyn glanced at the medication log on the bedside cabinet.
One medicine was listed for occasional anxiety, to be administered only when clinically indicated under the physician's current order.
It was not scheduled every evening.
"Mrs. Vale," Evelyn said politely, "perhaps we should confirm the order first."
Celeste's expression hardened.
"Do you question every instruction you're given?"
"Only when I'm responsible for someone's safety."
For several seconds, neither woman moved.
Then Celeste placed the tablets back on the tray.
"How conscientious."
She turned toward the door.
"Evelyn, come downstairs when you're finished. I need to speak with you."
After Celeste left, Sophia began breathing more quickly.
Evelyn knelt beside her.
"You're safe right now."
Sophia caught her hand.
Using her finger, she traced a letter.
Then another.
Evelyn repeated them aloud.
"B."
Sophia nodded.
"L."
Another nod.
"U."
"E."
Evelyn understood the word.
"Blue?"
Sophia pointed toward the wardrobe.
Evelyn opened it.
Behind the rows of clothes hung one old blue sweater.
The same sweater Sophia had been wearing on the night she stopped speaking.
Its right sleeve was turned inside out.
Evelyn carefully felt the lining.
Something small and rigid was sewn beneath the cuff.
She opened the loose stitching.
A brass key fell into her palm.
Attached to it was a tiny paper tag.
May you like
On the tag, written in Sophia's handwriting, were three words.
DAD'S THIRD DRAWER.
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