Page 35 of Until the End (The Lost Letters #3)

Ginny

“ H uh.” I squint down at the page in front of me. Am I going crazy? Why would these two seemingly different letters from different people have the same phrases within them?

“What’s wrong?” Carson’s question pulls me from my focus.

“Nothing, I’m just looking over those old letters Lottie found, and I think there’s a pattern.”

“A pattern?”

“Yeah, look.” I hold out the pages to show him. Lottie scanned and emailed them to me several months ago, but I never got around to actually reading them. Now that the album’s finished and the execs are putting together a marketing plan, I’ve had plenty of downtime to fill.

Being home this past week has solidified exactly what I want my future to look like.

Carson’s been helping with the final touches of Teddy’s house while I’ve been hanging out with Lottie and Gia.

I’m making up for lost time with my girls, and it’s been more healing than I ever imagined it could be .

Carson and I were watching a movie in my theatre this afternoon when I got the harebrained idea to research the lost letters again.

Several years ago, Carson’s brother, Noah, found them hidden underneath the floorboards of his house while they were renovating it.

Lottie stumbled across them back in the spring and thought it would be fun to investigate where they came from.

When we started diving into their history, we realized there was a much bigger story behind them.

Noah’s house belonged to Theodore Ashcroft, one of the founders of Sonoma.

We’re pretty sure the letters were sent to one of his two daughters, but without names, we weren’t able to figure out which one.

Carson dug through some old microfiche newspapers and found out that one of Theodore’s daughters was kidnapped when she was twenty and believed to be dead.

We weren’t able to do any more digging because the historical society was having renovations done, so we’ve been sitting on the letters for a while. We still don’t know much about who the letters were to or from, so I’m hoping I can find something identifying within the letters themselves.

I thought they were beautiful, especially during a time when I hadn’t felt loved by anyone in a very long time. The way the writers obviously cared for the recipient made me long for a similar kind of love.

“These are two different people writing to the same woman. I’m pretty positive they’re both men, given their handwriting and the words they use. You’d think their letters would hold different content, but there are several key phrases in both of their letters that shouldn’t match.”

“‘The golden shores are calling to me?’ What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. But they’ve both used ‘golden shores’ in their letters. They’ve also referred to a peony in bloom.”

Carson shrugs. “I don’t know, Goose. Those letters have some strange phrases in them that barely make sense. Maybe we were wrong about it being from two different people?”

“No, the handwriting is way too different for it to be the same person.”

“Let me see the two you’re comparing.”

I hand them over, and Carson carefully reads them again. “You know, the date on these would put the timeframe outside of when a peony would likely bloom. Can you google to see if that phrase meant anything different back then?”

“Oh, good thinking.” I grab my phone from my pocket to search.

I’m oddly pleased that he didn’t just brush me off or tell me to ask Lottie instead of him.

He’s listening and taking an active interest in what I’m doing.

It makes me want to jump him. “I can’t find any mention or reference to that phrase meaning anything more than what it says. ”

“And both of these letters are dated around the same time.”

“True. I also thought it was weird that they never used any names in their letters. Like they don’t reference the woman they’re writing to except at the beginning, and even those are nicknames for her.”

“The plot thickens,” Carson says in a silly voice, making me giggle.

“What are the chances the historical society has finished their renovations?”

“No idea. We could find out, though.” A few minutes later, Carson gives the affirmative that they’re open again.

“Shall I round up the Gang?”

“What are we looking for again?” Gia asks as she bends over a glass display case.

There are old coins laid out on a navy velvet stand next to a letter from a ship captain to Theodore Ashcroft.

If I weren’t so singularly minded, I’d love to spend more time reading everything about the history of our town.

We came here on a field trip once with our school, but I can’t say I was all that interested in history as a ten-year-old.

The old building was the home of another one of Sonoma’s founders, Reginald Ramsbury. The recent renovations spiffed up the entire house to highlight its Victorian-era heritage. Some of the rooms are even decorated with furniture that was originally owned by the Ramsburys.

“Anything connected to the Ashcrofts. It would be great if it was owned by the daughters, Victoria or Elizabeth,” I answer Gia’s question.

“Are you hoping to compare notes or something?” Lottie asks as she wanders.

Ryan and Michael are standing on the other side of the room, looking at a different display case.

The whole gang showed up to help me search.

Lottie was especially excited when I called.

She loves any type of mystery, and she’s insanely good at finding threads that don’t seem to connect at first until you dive in deeper.

“I’m hoping they might have something personal that could give me a clue about who the girls were. I want to know which one of them was the recipient of the letters. I need to learn more about them before I can make a guess.”

Disappointment starts to get the best of me after an hour of searching. None of us has found anything belonging to either daughter. Most of what they have displayed is town-related. It’s interesting but not what I’m looking for today.

Carson comes up behind me while I stare at a faded newspaper clipping. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. A kiss to the back of my head has me melting into him. He always knows when I need his support—sometimes even before I do.

“Are you enjoying the museum?” Alice asks, her smile deepening the wrinkles on her round face.

She’s run the historical society for longer than any of us has been alive.

I’m pretty sure she was here when our parents were kids, too, although that would make her ancient, and she doesn’t look any older than eighty.

“It’s wonderful. The renovations are gorgeous.” I smile at her.

“Thank you. It’s been a joy to see my family’s home restored to its former glory.”

“Your family?” Lottie asks.

“Yes, I am the great-great-great granddaughter of Reginald Ramsbury.”

“Wow. How did we not know that?” I turn to look at Carson, who just shrugs.

“How much do you know about the Ashcrofts?”

“Quite a bit. One of Reginald’s sons, Charles, married the youngest Ashcroft, Elizabeth.”

“Holy shi–crap.” Gia barely catches herself.

Alice just chuckles. “Come have some tea with me. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Excitement dances down my spine as we follow her into the kitchen at the back of the house. It’s separated from the rest of the building and looks more functional than the public-facing areas. It makes a question pop into my head. “Do you live here?”

Alice directs us to sit at the table while she puts a kettle on the stove. “I do. Those stairs there lead to the second floor, where I live.”

We wait for Alice to finish puttering around the kitchen. She sets little plates, cups, and a platter of cookies on the table.

“This is amazing, Alice. Thank you,” Carson says.

“It’s nothing. I’m thrilled to be hosting some young people for a change. Most of my family has moved on from here. They visit around the holidays, but I don’t get to see them as often as I’d like to.”

My heart cracks. Gazes lock among our group, a silent conversation passing between us to ensure we visit more often.

Alice pours us tea before finally sitting down at the table. “Now, what would you like to know?”

Lottie starts the story, explaining how we found the letters and what we’ve learned so far. “We were hoping to learn more about Virginia and Elizabeth to try to figure out who these letters belonged to.”

“Can I take a look?”

I pass the printed sheets over to Alice. “We have the originals tucked away in a box. We didn’t want to chance damaging them.”

Alice gasps. “Oh, my word. This is Colin Ramsbury’s handwriting.” She holds up a letter with the scriptier type of lettering.

“So were these letters Elizabeth’s, then?” I ask.

“No, I believe they were Virginia’s.” Alice passes the letters back to me.

“The story goes that Virginia was supposed to marry Colin Ramsbury. They were the eldest children of the two most influential families in Sonoma, and while the marriage was arranged, Virginia and Colin became close friends. About a month before they were to be married, Colin was found beaten bloody, and soon after, he and Virginia went missing without a trace. They believed whoever attacked Colin had something to do with their disappearance, but no one could ever figure out what happened.”

“Oh my gosh,” Lottie whispers.

We’re stunned by the story. It’s hard to fathom that the letters we found are connected to such a sordid history. Poor Virginia and Colin.

“Then, who was the second man writing to Virginia?” Gia asks .

Alice shakes her head. “I don’t know. There was never any indication Virginia had another suitor.”

“Maybe that’s who hurt Colin and kidnapped Virginia,” Michael suggests.

Carson shrugs. “It’s the most plausible answer. Two men were writing love letters to the same woman. I can’t imagine they wouldn’t have found out about each other at some point.”

“What if Colin and Virginia ran away after Colin was hurt?” I don’t want to believe they were killed because of jealousy. It hits a little too close to home with my own jealous ex breathing down my neck.

Alice hums. “That was always the theory my family believed. There wasn’t a single sign of an altercation or anything nefarious.

And my great-grandmother told me Elizabeth always thought Virginia stole some of Elizabeth’s clothes to make their escape.

Elizabeth believed it was Virginia’s way of secretly telling her she was alive. ”

Until I find evidence to say otherwise, that’s the story I’m going to believe, as well.

Colin and Virginia deserve their happily ever after.

Maybe one day, we’ll be able to find out what truly happened to them.

For now, I’m just happy to know who these letters belonged to, even if their story wasn’t the happy one I was hoping for.