Letters in the Ashes

I never thought anything would bring me back to Dover again. It had been sixteen years since I had left my hometown, would be seventeen in December. I hadn’t visited since then, not even once.

But here now, sitting in the passenger seat of a beat up blue Ford Explorer, I continued down the highway to the small, secluded town. The road had seen better days, but again so had I, seeing my reflection on the dusty rearview mirror. Somehow my face was no longer familiar to me. My skin had lost the glow it had in my youth, though I still viewed myself as young. But it’s hard to deny the reality of time when it is staring you in the eyes.

I glanced over to the driver’s seat, where Theo, my husband, was focused on the road, one arm draped over the steering wheel and the other propped up by his elbow against the door, his hand holding on to his chin as if he were studying something. I couldn’t help but smile, I still get butterflies whenever I am around him, even after we’d been married for all these years.

Theo was the type of guy that most girls would swoon over. His face was handsome, his figures sharp and strong, softened slightly but the stubble that ran along his jaw. He had dirty blonde hair that ran in waves across his head, with the occasional wave falling down across his forehead when he would move his head. His eyes were a peculiar grey color that made him seem somewhat mysterious, but still felt warm when they would peer down into mine atop his six foot three frame.

Theo must have felt my eyes watching him, because he glanced over at me and gave a gentle, consoling smile.

“Are you sure you are going to be, okay?” he said.

“I will be fine,” I replied, gazing out the window at the splashes of red, orange and yellow trees passed by in a blur. In all reality, I did not think I would be okay, but I didn’t dare tell that to Theo. I wanted so badly to confide in him, to tell him all the things that still plagued my mind to this day, but there were things that I was not ready to talk about. Things I was not ready to dredge up and face myself.

After reassuring Theo that I was okay, I turned back to face him, giving him a guarded smile that was meant to convince him that everything was truly fine, but like always, he saw right through my façade. He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak, he slammed his brakes, bringing the car to a screeching stop.

Coming into view around the bend of the highway was a blocked off portion of the highway, cones and police tape taking up the majority of the two opposing lanes and leaving only a small section by which to pass through, directed by a bored looking sheriff’s deputy.

“Well, I suppose this is it,” Theo said sullenly as he pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road to park. I opened my door and stepped down to the crunch of gravel beneath my feet.

As we approached the small conference, I recognized one of the men as Sheriff Tom Cavanaugh. He was facing towards us and was the first of the men to notice, giving a welcoming nod.

His face had aged considerably in the years since I had seen him last. Deep creases lined his forehead all the way down to his nose where the large frames of his glasses sat. His grey hair had thinned, and he now wore it in a messy combover. Even the uniform he wore betrayed his age, appearing saggy as the muscles of his shoulders had faded, being replaced by a slightly rounded stomach. Still, he retained his kind demeanor and was a welcome presence in the current situation.

“Anna,” he greeted me, tipping his cap.

“Mr. Cavanaugh,”

I began to do a brief assessment of the situation. Bright yellow police tape, matching the tone of the foliage, was stretched out between tall, skinny traffic cones that extended into the road blocking off a portion of the road about fifteen feet in length. The rest of the tape ran up to the tree line where it had been wrapped around a small grove of birch trees in which a group of investigators wearing light nylon jackets and plastic gloves crouched around what appeared to be a shallow depression in the ground. Cavanaugh caught me studying the scene, moving beside me and placing his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry Anna,” he whispered, almost awkwardly as if he was not sure he should be saying anything.

“Are you sure its them?”

“Yes, were sure. We found your mother’s bracelet on her wrist.”

There was no doubt then, my mother had never gone anywhere without the thin golden bracelet that my father had given her, passed down through his family for generations. It was inseparable from her as my father was. And so, after all these years, they had finally found them. Now, I just felt empty.

“So, what happens now?” I said, breaking the silence.

“We are going to have to send the body down to the county coroner’s office in Harrisburg, that could take a couple of days, a week even maybe. That will give us a positive ID and some more information to go on. There isn’t much left to go on, most of what’s there is…burnt.”

I looked away at this, hoping I would be spared any further depictions. I was perfectly fine not having that image floating around in my head. Cavanaugh, sensing my discomfort, switched his tone from the professional authoritative tone required by his position, to one that was softer and gentler.

“I suggest you go get some rest now Anna. Ms. Morris made up a room for you at the inn for you and Theo when she heard the news. She insists you take her offer, free of charge of course.”

Realizing I was in fact tired from the travel, I decided to take Cavanaugh’s advice and seek some retreat. The sun, after all, was falling lower against the backdrop of clear sky, turning it from a light, fresh blue to a gradient of amber and crimson. Not to mention, Theo was already over by the car, attempting to hide his yawn but failing miserably. He had drove the majority of the twelve hour trip and was assuredly exhausted as well.

We drove in silence the rest of the way into town. There was no need for words, the feeling of Theo’s fingers interlaced with mine was enough to know he was there.

Dover had changed in the years since I had left, but not in the ways I had expected. On the surface, everything looked the same – old brick laden storefronts lining cracked asphalt streets with thick oak trees that towered above the sidewalk with their leaves falling gently to the ground in a swaying motion that mimicked a cradle rocking back and forth – but now, the once friendly town seemed eerily quiet as if it was deserted.

As Theo pulled into the back lot of Dover Inn, I noticed the porch light turn on. Ms. Morris must have been waiting for us in the front room.

Stepping out of the car, I took in the damp smell of pine against the dry autumn air and mingling in with the earthy smell of the tall switchgrass growing in along the tree line. The inn was exactly how I had remembered it – an old Victorian style home with no shortage of large picture windows, each adorned with whitewashed shutters that stood out against the green siding. Black shingles covered the sharply peeked roof broken up by the Victorian style spire that rose up from the front room.

After crossing the neatly trimmed lawn, we climbed the wide porch steps to the sound of the wood boards creaking beneath our shoes. Reaching the front door, I rapped my knuckles against it, ignoring the decorative brass knocker that was fastened just below the curtained window. The door opened almost immediately, confirming my suspicion that Ms. Morris had been up waiting for our arrival.

“Oh Anna, it is so lovely to see you!” she said, spreading her short arms out and pulling me into a warm hug.

“You too Ms. Morris. This is my husband Theo, you remember him, don’t you?”

“I can’t say I do dear,” Ms. Morris said with a quizzical crease of her eyebrows, as she seemed to rack her brain for a recollection of Theo. She pondered for a moment before resigning to her failing memory. It may have been true however, that Ms. Morris had never become familiar with Theo in the first place. My parents had not been too fond of making public display that their daughter had been involved with a boy such as Theo who had bounced from foster home to foster home as a child.

“Come in, come in,” Ms. Morris said, gesturing with a frail hand, “It is much too cold to be standing out there.”

Theo and I stepped across the entryway threshold and into the warm air of the old house. The damp smell of the old home mixed with the fragrances of moth balls and pungent perfume were strong and my face twinged slightly at the onslaught. Ms. Morris had already begun to gingerly climb the staircase, propping herself against the railing as she took each step slowly.

We followed behind and were shown our room, which contained a double bed that had been dressed in a light blue quilt and lace lined throw pillows. The only illumination in the room were two dim bedside lamps.

Ms. Morris, signaling that she was retiring for the night, left us. As she closed the door behind her, I collapsed onto the bed fully dressed. Theo sat down beside me, though in a much gentler fashion.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m fine, just exhausted. Today has dug up too many memories – bad memories.”

At this Theo did not speak, but instead pulled me into a soft hug, my head sagging against his strong chest. We sat there in silence for a while, and I felt calmed by the healthy thuds of his heartbeat. Then he spoke.

“How come you never thought I did it, even when everyone else thought I did it?”

The question took me slightly by surprise. In all our years together, we had rarely spoken about the scrutiny that Theo had undergone following the murder of my parents. It was a small town and word got around about the strained relationship between Theo and my parents. It had only been after it had been confirmed he was working the night shift at a diner the next town over that his name had been cleared. Formally at least. I always sensed that Cavanaugh had still suspected his involvement.

“Because I knew that wasn’t who you were,” I said, burying my head deeper into the soft collar of his crewneck. “My parents could never see that, and neither could Cavanaugh after they died, but I never cared. I knew.”

Theo seemed somewhat contented by my response, though by the distant look in his eyes it seemed he still harbored a great deal of somberness, the same sadness of a little orphan boy who spent much of his childhood alone, staying only so long as he was wanted. It hurt me to see him like this, it always had.

We had gone to bed shortly after our conversation, and soon I woke to the shrill sound of my phone ringing, vibrating the top of the nightstand beside me. Rolling over to reach for it, my eyes squinted as they struggled to adjust to the early morning light that was already breaking through the veiled windows. After feeling around the table for a moment, my hand found the rectangular outline of my phone and I hit the receive button to answer the call.

“Hello?” I asked, my groggy voice still soft and shaky.

“Anna, is that you? I need you to meet me down at the grave site right away. I found something and I think you’re going to want to see it.”

The voice belonged to Cavanaugh and though his voice was calm and collected as always, I could tell that there was a sense of mild urgency.

“Okay, I will head down there in a second, I just need a second to get dressed,” I said before hanging up the phone and rolling out from beneath the warm cover of the quilt. As I slipped on my jeans from the previous night, Theo began to stir before lifting his head to see me getting dressed.

“Where are you going?” he said, clearly confused at why I had risen so early.

“I told Caroline I would go get coffee with her before she went to work,” I replied, invoking the name of my old high school friend whom I had not seen since I left Dover. He rolled over, returning to sleep and I left the inn shortly after.

When I arrived, Cavanaugh, standing next to his cruiser, looked up after hearing the door shut behind me as I got out of the car and walked over to where he had parked. He gestured for me to follow him, and we walked through the brush into the woods.

“I was trying to sleep last night but something wasn’t sitting right with me,” he said through heavy, labored breaths as he used his arm to move aside branches as he continued to the grave site. “The graves appeared to be burned after the bodies were buried, but the bodies didn’t seem to be damaged significantly. I don’t think the bodies were the target.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I found what they were trying to burn.”

As Cavanaugh said this we broke through the brush and into a clearing, an old iron quarry that had been abandoned years ago. The grave site sat directly next to the near edge of the pit, where discarded stones from the quarry to cover the impression of the shallow grave.

As we approached the hole, the contents came into view. The charred contents within confirmed Cavanaugh’s analysis that the bodies had not been the target of the burn, but had only been charred by the flames of the fire’s primary target – a bundle of letters.

Though nearly destroyed, a few of the letter were still partially intact and I noticed that a few of the sentences were still legible. The scattered sentences that remained on the singed pages were enough for me to know who had written them. My face darkened at the realization.

“Nobody knows about the letters yet,” Cavanaugh continued, “I wanted to call you out here right away because I am afraid you are in danger Anna. From what I can make out of the letters, it’s clear that Theo was addressing them to you. There aren’t many details, but it’s clear he was determined to make sure your parents could no longer keep you apart.”

I stared distantly, somewhat shell shocked at what Cavanaugh was saying. I knew it wasn’t true. Theo did not kill my parents, that I was certain. I felt a rush of calm fall over me.

“I was hoping I would find the murder weapon amongst the burned contents, but I wasn’t able to find anything,” Cavanaugh noted, now standing by the edge of the quarry peering down into the water that had filled the bottom of the great abyss, “My best guess is that he threw it down into the quarry to discard it.”

The sun was beginning to break over the trees now, casting fire across the everything. Inside I began to burn as well.

Slowly, I stepped closer to Cavanaugh, who was still studying the bottom of the pit, though he had now knelt down on one knee, resting his elbow on his thigh and using his hand to hold his chin as if he was posing for some ancient Greek sculptor. It was only fitting that like the sightless stone figure he resembled, he never saw me before I sent him falling nearly ten stories onto the rocks below.

I felt nothing, knew nothing, was nothing. I just stared absently at the contorted figure far beneath me. Then, I simply walked away.

Before long, they would find him at the bottom of the pit, but they would find no trace of foul play. Instead, they would see the broken rock face above where he lay, portraying an unfortunate scene in which the ground beneath Cavanaugh had given out, sending him to his untimely death. They would never know of how I had used a shovel left by the police to break apart the stoney ground as a gilded muse of which they would never uncover.

I would return to town, where I would meet my old friend Caroline for coffee. I had not lied to Theo when I had told him that this morning. Any doubts that ever arose to where I had been on this morning could be accounted for. Theo would say I had been in bed all night and Caroline would recollect of our friendly reunion.

My guilt would forever exist only in my mind for myself and myself only to reconcile. But I would carry on, suppressing the memories just as I was doing now and always had done. Because deep down, I knew I did it for Theo – for the man I love.

This was not the first time I had done something I was not proud of to protect Theo. And if need be, it would not be the last.