“Her marriage as well, it seems,” Max added.
“But why?” Clara handed another armful of books to Max. “What happened in England that caused her to keep her marriage private? Did Oliver’s mom say something? Do something?”
“Perhaps the other items Maggie has will shine light on the answer.”
“So the second level of the bookshop was also a boardinghouse. The ladies lived here?” Robbie glanced around the upstairs again before continuing with the screws. “Like with rows of beds or something?”
“I don’t know, but it sounds like it.” Clara shrugged. “It seems to have been a transition place while Granny Sadie and her sister worked to find more permanent spots for these women, whether helping them become independent or get married. They’d keep them here until they were healed and healthy enough to leave.”
“Okay, this one’s done,” Robbie announced. He handed the screwdriver to Clara. Without a word, Max moved to the opposite side of the shelf and, with a few slides back and forth, they succeeded in wiggling the shelf far enough away that the light slipped through, revealing an uneven, scarred-looking wall.
Clara peeked behind, her phone’s flashlight shining a pale glow into the shadows. “Oh my goodness, they’re still here, I think.”
The two men framed her in on either side, peering into the shadows where faded markings covered the wall. “There are a whole lot more than a dozen, Clara.”
“And the markings appear to disappear behind the next shelf as well.”
Clara looked from Robbie to Max, and they immediately began taking books off the next three shelves, unscrewing them, and moving them with added speed, until all four shelves were emptied and pulled back to unveil the entire wall.
Name after name carved into the wall.
“Oh my…” Clara reached behind her to grip one of the reading benches in the center of the room, slowly lowering herself to sit.
“There have to be at least a hundred names,” Robbie added, wiping his brow.
“If not more.” Max joined Clara on the bench. “It’s remarkable.”
“She touched all those lives.” Clara blinked against the tears. Is this how God turned Granny’s heartbreak into something beautiful? Out of her pain she gave to others? Healed by healing? Received by giving?
She pushed up from the bench and walked forward, a name in the center drawing her attention. In crude, jagged slices, the name Sadie Blackwell marked an unassuming spot among the others. Lark Wolfe nearby.
Clara rubbed her fingers over Sadie’s name, her vision blurring at the touch. How many people, like Sadie, lived a life that reverberated through many others and yet remained unknown and unnamed? How many of these women had felt unseen, discarded? Sadie’s choice to have them carve their names into this wall must have given them a sense of permanence, of identity. Clara closed her eyes, a warm tear slipping down her cheek.
This was Sadie’s legacy…and Clara’s heritage. It shone as a reminder that being seen mattered—names mattered.
The verse from Sadie’s Bible rushed into Clara’s mind.
“I have redeemed you…I have called you by name. You are Mine.”
Even if these carvings had been hidden behind bookshelves decades, Sadie wouldn’t let them be forgotten, even a hundred years later. Names like Eloise, Sarah, Ruby, Fannie, Clarrisa, some carved with a careful hand and others jaunty or almost illegible, but there.
But there.
Even if Sadie couldn’t use her married name, Sadie still knew she was loved—knew who and whose she was. And that made all the difference in how she lived beyond the grief of losing the man she loved.
After they configured a new way to sort the shelves so that some of the wall remained visible, and Robbie went home by way of the hospital, Clara and Max sat on the couch in the apartment, eating some of Mom’s leftover coffee cake and drinking hot tea. Cuddling up beside him, after Mom’s hospitalization and discovering another of Sadie’s secrets, felt like the perfect ending of a day filled with the gamut of emotions.
“I waited until we were alone to show you this.” Max withdrew an envelope encased in plastic from his bag. “It seemed something that needed privacy to uncover.”
She studied his face as he placed the envelope in her hand, then examined the paper. A simple envelope with the name Sadie Blackwell Camden was written across the front. The edges were creased and stained with…dirt? Sweat? Her breath stalled. Blood?
“Maggie said that it was the letter found on Oliver’s body.”
Air pushed from her lungs in a gust and she raised her gaze to Max. “His last letter.”
Max nodded, his smile a gentle nudge of encouragement.
Clara turned it over, the seal apparently unbroken. “It’s never been opened?”
“Maggie said her mother never opened it, but she wasn’t certain about Mrs. Camden. It appears to have been delivered to Camden House instead of to Sadie, or that’s what Maggie was told by her mother, Oliver’s sister.”
“So Sadie never saw this.”
Max shook his head. “From what I understand, Oliver’s mother intercepted this letter too, and never gave it to Sadie. Victoria found it years later.”
“Should we even open it, then? It’s not meant for us.”
“Sadie will get no use from it, Clara.” He slipped a hand over strand of her hair as he seemed inclined to do in their private moments. “But perhaps you will. Another part of her story.”
Clara slid her fingers over the envelope, hesitant to break the seal and yet, a need gnawed through her. What had been her greatgrandfather’s last words to his bride? With a steadying breath, she peeled back the seal, which came apart in ragged pieces, except on the stained parts. The paper inside had not been protected from the stains or the years. Faded, patched with the brownish hue of blood, the black ink stood untouched in some parts and faded to invisible in others.
Oliver’s handwriting.
Clara cleared her throat and tilted the letter so that Max could see.
“‘My darling Sadie…’” Her voice wobbled and then gained
