Page 29 of In the Pursuit of Haven
“We set sail tomorrow. Haven, I miss you so much! When I get back I’m going to take you in my arms and kiss you in front of everyone. Do you hear me? Everyone will know! I’m tired of pretending that you’re nothing to me. And you know what I’ll be doing next? I’m shouting out to anyone who will listen to me that you’re my wife. Promise me! Promise me that after I make something of myself that everyone can know about us then.
“I love you so much!
“Your husband, your Matthew”
And that was it! I let out a breath, wanting to cry again. How could Haven not take this hard? It sounded like Matthew thought that she was ashamed of him until he proved himself to her, but that wasn’t the case at all. She’d only been worried about hurting her aunt.
Did Haven ever have a chance to tell him that she loved him despite all the obstacles standing between them?
My thoughts went back to that obstinate husband of mine sleeping on the couch downstairs.
I wasn’t sure what he was planning, but I definitely wasn’t about to let one more thing stand between us. I had to know the rest of this story. I owed it to Haven, to Matthew, even to myself.
Haven’s ancient computer was set up in the corner of her room. I already knew from my teenage years that she only had dial-up internet over here. I settled into the worn swivel chair, crossing my fingers that her passwords were the same.
URneverLOStJC
Unbelievably, that got me in.And I’d never understood what that password meant before.
“Does JC stand for Matthew Crabb, Haven?” I whispered. As if in answer, the screen opened up to a virtually clean desktop. One folder was dedicated to bills; another had pictures of my mother and me. That was all Haven cared about in her organized life… and perhaps there was someone else in there too.
I opened up a browser, listening to the dial-up connect with loud blings. I didn’t have much to go on, except the Corwin family.
I typed in their name and, of course, got pages and pages of articles on the dreadful things that the Corwins had done in Salem. I typed in their name and then “silver-handle walking cane,” and when that search failed, moved to the local library page, and from there, got an inventory of Jonathan Corwin’s earthly possessions when he died.
Bingo. Death inventories were kind of a thing back then. There were benefits to being a historian. According to this, hedidown it at one time. I was closer, but I had to do better.
When had Matthew died? And had Robert and Leon died in that ship too?
Hoping I wouldn’t be up all night, I took another go at it—all those hairstyles looked pretty ’70s to me. I put “Corwin,” “silver-handle cane,” and “1972” into the search engine.
Scrolling past the first two suggestions, I found what I was looking for—a donation was made in 1973 from the Corwin family to the Witch House Museum. One silver-handle cane.
I had to peel my jaw off the floor. After three google searches,three, I’d found what the Crabbs had hoped to find for centuries—another clue that would take me to the treasure.
Could the cane possibly still be at the museum?
Opening the official page, a fresh wave of sadness hit me as the significance of the donation dawned on me. Robert must’ve gone down with that ship too. His family had given away the cane, perhaps in an attempt to get rid of anything that reminded them of that loss.
Poor Felicity! She’d been engaged to him. At least the two cousins had each other in their grief, before Felicity had split town to… wherever she’d gone.
I groaned. “Haven, you really should’ve told mesomething.” Maybe she’d always planned on it, but how could she have known she’d die so suddenly?
Dial-up took forever to get that webpage open, but the wait was worth it. Right there on the first page was the list of the museum’s exhibits. A beautiful silver-handle cane was featured front and center. Intricate designs were carved into the metal, and I could see flowing cursive written across the top of it.
And it was all blurred! I couldn’t make out anything it said. But still, the cane was there at the museum. I was positive that whatever was written there would be the clue I needed that would put me on the same page as Matthew, Robert, and Leon before they’d left on their doomed mission.
I’d go to the museum first thing tomorrow. Well… actually—scanning through their hours of operation, I realized the Witch House only opened from noon until 4:00 p.m. during its January season.
Tourists were a little scarce right now.
It was for the best. My eyes veered to the clock and I groaned. 3:30 in the morning. Really? I was almost out of my mind with exhaustion.
I should use the extra hours to sleep in. There was no way I was turning into another blabbering, hysterical crybaby again! I had a mystery to solve.
Chapter Eight
Imight’ve slept in a lot. I hadn’t been able to do that since I’d left our apartment on our anniversary, and I hated to think that it had anything to do with Jessie sleeping downstairs.
