“Or maybe…friends?” Emmy persisted. “Anyone who knew him well?”
“Why are you asking all these questions about your father?”
Emmy looked at her hands. She didn’t want her mom to get suspicious. “I was only curious.”
Her mom sighed. “As far as I know, he never had contact with anyone from England after we moved here. I think it’s best not to focus on him. It’s just you and me now, and that’s not so bad, right?”
Emmy looked out the window. “Right.” She wasn’t sure if she meant it or not, but it seemed like the best way to end the conversation. She needed time to think. And plan.
• • •
It wasn’t hard to convince her mom she needed to go to bed as soon as they got home. The hard part was making sure that her mom didn’t figure out she wasn’t planning on sleeping. Emmy quietly pulled her nightstand drawer open and moved all the knickknacks aside. Way at the back, exactly where she’d left it, was the letter. She’d looked at it so many times in the last three days she had it memorized, but she took it out and reread it:
Dear Emmeline,
Changes are coming. There’s more to your father than you realize. If you’ve found any of his relics, keep them safe.
Sincerely,
A friend
Emmy didn’t know what to make of it. Changes are coming. Could this person have known Emmy’s mom was sending her to England? How could that be possible when Emmy hadn’t even known herself? She looked at the letter again. Her father. His relics. But she didn’t have anything that belonged to her father. Her mother had gotten rid of everything he owned when he disappeared. Yet this “friend” seemed to think Emmy might have some kind of relics that belonged to him.
She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. This house had been in her mom’s family for generations. She’d never sell it. If her dad wanted to hide something valuable, it would be the perfect place.
Emmy crept to her door and eased it open. The light in her mom’s bedroom was out. She tiptoed up the little staircase that wound its way around the chimney and unlatched the narrow door that led to the attic. She shuddered in the cold and flicked on the light. There was stuff everywhere: a spinning wheel that must have belonged to a long-lost ancestor, a telephone with a long curly cord that plugged into the wall, even an old desktop computer her mom must have forgotten to get rid of. Any of it could be considered a relic. So, which one belonged to her dad?
She opened the nearest box. It was just old cables. The next three boxes she looked in had receipts and documents that looked like they were for her mom’s taxes. The fifth box was filled with more documents, and Emmy was about to close it when a page at the bottom caught her eye. Did that say “marriage”? She pulled the paper out; at the top in huge letters it read, “Marriage Certificate.” Emmy swallowed hard and read the names.
Pamela Willick. Thomas Allyn.
Emmy frowned. That couldn’t be right. Wasn’t her dad’s name Willick? The certificate made it look like her dad had taken her mom’s last name. She shrugged. He must have been really progressive.
Emmy looked around the room. There had to be more things about her dad up here, things her mom hadn’t gotten rid of. She searched every box, but nothing else had her dad’s name. A glimmer of daylight started shining through the tiny attic window. Her mom would be waking up any minute. She was running out of time.
She rubbed the goose bumps on her arms and tried to remember what the letter had said. If you’ve found any of his relics, keep them safe. Relics. Documents weren’t really relics, and if they were sitting out in the open, that wouldn’t be very safe. Maybe there was a hiding spot. She stepped around the ice-cold chimney and rubbed her hands along the walls. Nothing seemed like the latch to a hidden door. She could tap on the floorboards to see if one might be loose, but that would probably wake up her mom. Besides, it was a two-hundred-year-old farmhouse. All the floorboards were loose.
Emmy sighed. It’d be nearly impossible to search for a hiding spot without making a big racket. She put her hand on the great stone chimney and reached for the door, then stopped. Why wasn’t this part of the chimney as cold as the rest of it? The texture felt different too, like all the grit had been rubbed off the stone. Emmy looked closer. It had some kind of coating on it, like hard plastic that was made to look like a rock. She reached her fingers around it. There was a groove, one that her fingers fit inside. She yanked and the fake stone flew into her hands, revealing a giant hole behind it. There was a metal box inside.
Emmy’s heart started beating harder. This was definitely a relic. She pulled out the box and felt a jolt in her stomach. It was beautiful. There were carvings all around the outside: roses and thorns and intricate crosses. Slowly and carefully, she opened the lid. There was a letter inside:
My dear Pamela, I know you must be upset with me, but if you find these, please don’t get rid of them. They’re very important.
My dearest Emmeline, if you find these, keep them safe. And I wouldn’t tell your mother if I were you.
Love, Tom/Dad
The letter started shaking in Emmy’s hand. My dearest Emmeline. Love Dad. Her father had written this letter, and he’d written it to her.
She put the letter aside and gasped. Twelve medallions were fitted into slots, and each one was a different shape. Some were round, some were teardrops, and each of them were intricately carved masterpieces. Every groove, every curve, every edge looked like it was exactly where it was meant to be, creating a set where no two medallions were alike. She picked one up and pressed it into the palm of her hand. Were these really her father’s? She had never owned anything that belonged to her dad. She had never even seen anything that belonged to him.
She sat on the frigid wood floor and put the box on her lap. What should she do with it? The letter had said she should keep her dad’s relics safe. Did that mean she should hide them in her room? Or should she take them with her to England? She didn’t even know if she wanted to go to England at all. She leaned her head against the wall and sighed. She could refuse to go. She could march down to breakfast and tell her mom she wasn’t going anywhere and that was that. But there was this part of her, this tiny voice, that said, Why not? What would she be leaving behind? Heating up frozen lasagna while she waited for her mom to get home? Watching reruns alone on a Saturday night?
England. Her Dad’s home. Could she find a home there too?
Emmy tapped her fingers on the box. Whoever sent her that letter must have known she was supposed to go to England, and that these medallions were hidden in this house. They must have known about her dad. And if going to England meant the chance to learn more about her father, she was going to take it.
She bit her lip. Now she just had to figure out how to keep her mom from finding out about the letter and medallions before she got on the plane.