Journey Of The Heart. Elissa Ambrose

this house.”

      “Spooky,” Cassie said. “Where are the boxes now?”

      “Forget the broom, and come with me.”

      Cassie raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and followed Laura through the archway. “I’d forgotten how dismal this place was,” she said with a shudder. “You should probably renovate before putting it on the market. You could make a tidy profit. What about adding a breakfast nook at the back of the kitchen? And a skylight would do wonders.”

      “I don’t want to spend the time, not to mention money I don’t have. Edward keeps asking when I’m coming home.” She pulled open the door to the pantry off the kitchen. “Voilà!” she sang out.

      The pantry had been intended as a maid’s room when the house was built in the early 1900s. Layers of wallpaper and different markings on the walls indicated that at one time the room might have been used as a den, a guest room or even a sewing room. As a child, Laura would sneak in there to daydream, and in her fantasies, her mother would be sewing something special—a Halloween costume, a new party dress, Laura’s wedding gown….

      Piled up in the middle of the room were dozens of boxes. “You should have seen what I threw out,” Laura said. “There were hundreds of rusty tins on the shelves, and over there—” she pointed to the far wall “—barrels of flour had turned black. I had to disinfect before moving in the boxes. These boxes, by the way, are my next project. I can’t just throw them away without first checking what’s inside.”

      “You sure have your work cut out for you,” Cassie said. “I’ll be glad to help—but not tonight. This puppy is off to bed, and I suggest you do the same. It’s been a long day.”

      Laura turned to her friend and hugged her. “Thanks so much for being here for me, Cass. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

      “You always say that, but the truth is, you’re the strong one here. You’re the fighter, the survivor.” Laura opened her mouth to protest, but Cassie cut her off with a quick peck on the cheek. “You don’t have to walk me to the door. I’ll let myself out. If I know you as well as I think I do, you won’t call it a night until you’ve gone through every box with a magnifying glass.”

      Sometimes it seemed as if Cassie knew Laura better than Laura knew herself. But on one particular point, Cassie was wrong. Laura was not strong. There were times when she felt she couldn’t go on, times when she didn’t want to go on. Whenever she thought about going through life without having children…

      She waited for the click of the front door before reaching for one of the smaller boxes in the middle of the room. Wrapped in silver cellophane, it was tied with a faded crimson bow. It was one of her own old memory boxes, she realized, one of the many she had not taken with her after she had married Jake and moved into his house. I wanted us to have a fresh start, she thought as she removed the bow.

      She tore away the wrapping and hesitated. Weren’t some memories better left buried? As if taunting her to take that scary trip down memory lane, the box lay there, unadorned on the pantry floor. She took a deep breath and lifted the lid.

      The first thing she pulled out was a snapshot of her and Cassie proudly dressed in full Girl Scout garb, marching down Saw Mill Road in the Veterans’ Day Parade. She smiled. Going down memory lane wasn’t so bad, after all. Next, she picked up a picture of Jake in his gold-tasseled uniform, playing the trumpet. That is, trying to play the trumpet. His cheeks were puffed out, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

      Then she picked up a photo of Cynthia.

      Cynthia was wearing a white satin gown she had designed and made herself. With its deep décolleté, and a side slit that ended at the hip, it was so risqué that Cynthia’s mother had forbidden her to wear it. But Cynthia had been determined, and what Cyn wanted, Cyn got. The night of the Sweetheart Dance, she told her mother that Jake would be picking her up at Laura’s house. She put on a plain, high-neck dress, then drove over to Laura’s, where the girls spent hours on their makeup and fixing their hair. Laura had always felt awkward next to her chic, lithe friend, but she had to admit, by the time Cynthia had finished working on her, she looked good. In fact, for the first time in her life, Laura felt beautiful. She slipped into her gown, a fairylike creation of dawn-tinted crepe, and twirled around and around, feeling wonderful and weightless.

      Cynthia then wriggled her body into her sleek, tight dress. She was not only sensuous, she was majestic, and wore her confidence like a crown. Laura looked at her with awe. “After you, Your Royal Highness,” she said, curtsying.

      “You’re the one who looks like a princess,” Cynthia said, then added jokingly, “I’ll be watching you tonight, so don’t get any notions about my prince!”

      Laura studied the photo, trying to recall the name of the boy who had taken her to the dance. That night, all she had thought about was that he wasn’t Jake. David? Donald? I guess some things aren’t worth remembering, she thought now with a twinge of regret.

      But there were some things a person couldn’t forget.

      An old pain came hurtling back. Cynthia had told her mother that she’d be spending the night at Laura’s.

      Laura pulled out more snapshots. Here was Cyn waving goodbye after spring break. Laura remembered how she, Ellen, Cassie and Cynthia had huddled together at the station, as though New York was a thousand miles away. And here was Cyn walking down the aisle, wearing a stunning gown of silk and lace, which she had designed and sewn herself. And here was Cyn, hair and blouse drenched, holding her pink, naked one-year-old son after giving him a bath.

      She fingered the photograph of Cynthia with Cory. It might have been the last one ever taken of her once-best friend.

      She thought back to that final day, that final hour, that final moment in the hospital when Cynthia had opened her eyes for the last time.

      “Take care of my men,” she’d said.

      And Laura had. Eight months later she and Jake were married.

      What was it Rhett Butler had said to Scarlett? It must be convenient having the first wife’s permission.

      Oh, Cyn, I certainly made a mess of things, didn’t I?

      Maybe resurrecting old memories wasn’t such a good idea. With each recollection came a fresh wave of pain.

      Laura’s thoughts strayed back to her childhood. Aunt Tess had been a cold and stern caretaker. Yet in spite of the resentment Laura felt, she was filled with pity. Poor Aunt Tess. The woman had never known the meaning of happiness.

      Before Laura could stop herself, she started to cry. Not the low, broken whimpering that, as a child, she used to smother by burying her head under her pillow, but deep, loud, heart-wrenching sobs that threatened to tear her body into pieces. Whether it was because of her reminiscing or because she was exhausted made no difference; her anguish was an acute physical pain that wouldn’t ease. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, rocking herself to and fro as if her spirit were the mother, her body the child. Through a small window in the kitchen, the late night’s moon cast its rays over the boxes. Outside, the wind had picked up, and she could hear the insistent tinkling of the chimes hanging from the eaves. She sat there for what seemed like hours, weeping for all the losses she and those she had known had endured, until finally her sobs dwindled into whimpers, and exhausted, she lay down and fell asleep.

      Chapter Two

      Morning was bright and crisp. Last night’s lusty wind had waned to a breeze, its cool breath lingering in the air. In the margins of the roads, sunlight streamed through the trees, exposing hints of autumn’s palette dappling the leaves. Summer was coming to an end.

      Jake stood under the overhang outside the front door, pressing the bell. When no one answered, he tried the large brass knocker. He knew she was home. A Ford Taurus was parked in the driveway leading to the garage behind the house. On the rear bumper, a sticker indicated that it was a rental. “What normal person in New York City owns