The Rivening

'My Brave and Beautiful Constance' & Ida's Secret

'MY BRAVE AND BEAUTIFUL CONSTANCE'

That evening, Grayson called again, pestering Connie about how soon she would finish going through the contents of the boxes from Findley's. His badgering was annoying. But because lately he'd become the conduit for her most lucrative editing contracts, she worked at keeping an accommodating tone.

However, at the point where he implied that she might not pick up on everything that could be of archaeological research relevance, she couldn't suppress her irritation. She might not be a tenured university prof, but all those years of working with Findley, not just transcribing but bringing coherence to his notes, meant she had more than a passing understanding of his work.

Connie stalled telling Grayson about the two notebooks she'd already found. She was pretty sure she'd pass them along. It probably didn't mean anything, but it was odd how Findley had tucked them away with the dresses she and Mother wore on that long ago wedding day.

Findley's studies fascinated her, and he had graciously and enthusiastically fostered her interest. He encouraged her to go on to graduate school, but Connie lacked confidence in her ability to find success as a full-time academic – too competitive. Plus, she didn't want to incur a pile of student loan debt. Though Findley indicated he'd help with tuition, it likely would have meant dealing with his second wife, Eunice, some place along the line, and she wanted to avoid that at all costs. Better to be practical and complete the editing program at the community college.

Connie unearthed the Findley/English dictionary binder from under a stack of books at the bottom of the bookshelf in her office. She took the binder, notebooks, and a pad of paper to the living room. Since she wasn't planning to do a long, detailed, word-by-word transcription, that was all she needed.

She closed the blinds on the darkening sky and turned on all the table and floors lamps, creating a warm glow to the room. She set herself up with a fresh mug of tea and her favourite Haydn string quartets. Now, she was ready to snuggle into the comfy couch and deal with the notebooks.

Connie decided to start with the notebook that fell out of her little girl dress. She hadn't looked inside it yet and assumed that it too would be filled with Findley's crabbed note-taking script.

Wrong.

She gasped. Inside was her mother's familiar half-printing/half-cursive handwriting. And the first words were, 'My brave and beautiful Constance, I love you more than the entire universe...

Those were the words her mother always said tucking her into bed. The entry in the notebook was dated only days before Ida died. Connie put her hands on the written words and stared out into the room. Why had she never seen this before?

After her mother died, Connie gathered every scrap of paper she could find with her mother's handwriting. There wasn't a lot since Ida mostly wrote on a computer, only messages on birthday cards, a few reminder notes, and a letter she wrote Connie in her final weeks. Connie read and held it so often, she finally put it in a plastic sheet holder as it was falling apart. Every year on her mother's birthday and death days, Connie brought out the letter.

But this notebook? Surely Findley must have known about it. It wasn't that it had just gone astray. Someone had deliberately wrapped it up in the Irish linen dress. Her mother had written it to her. Why was it kept from her?

Before reading the words, Connie closed her eyes and let her hands rest on the handwriting, imaging she could feel her mother's presence. After several seconds of slow, deep breaths, she opened her eyes, and began to read:

June 24, 2000. My brave and beautiful Constance, I love you more than the entire universe. I'm trying to imagine you reading this. How old might you be now? Twenty? I've told Findley to wait and give you this when you're older so that you can both understand and forgive me – which I'm desperately hoping - for not telling you the complete truth about your father.