Mallory & Rose

Friday morning I woke up to the tearing sound of packing tape being ripped from the roll. Will was finishing up packing the last of the kitchen items we had needed to get through the past couple of days. The sun was piercing through the blinds as I sat up in bed and stretched my back, still sore from carrying so many boxes down the four flights of stairs from our top floor apartment. Swinging my legs out of bed, I walked into our tiny, empty living room. The room actually seemed somewhat spacious now with only Will and a couple boxes on the floor.

“Morning,” I half whispered. My voice wasn’t awake yet.

He looked up from the last box and smiled softly. “How’d you sleep?”

“Alright, I’m ready to get going though. What time do we need to be at the title company again?” I could barely contain my excitement. The market has been crazy this past year, and it was nearly impossible to find a first time home that we could afford, even after saving for years. We went through eight rejected offers, and finally landed this house, just when I thought our real estate agent would quit us. We were looking for a home that needed a significant amount of work, but even with low standards we were beat by investors with cash offers nearly every time. We finally found this home, and the previous owner let it go for under asking price. It was almost as if she wanted us to have the house more than she wanted to make a profit. It’s 114 years old, with original hardwood floors, unpainted woodwork, plaster walls, and a gorgeous stone exterior. My dream home. One that had personality without even trying, but just needed a little help to glow again.

“8:30, we better get going soon.” He replied. I ran to the bathroom to brush my teeth and throw myself together.

Will jingled the keys to the house with a wide grin as we left the title company. The paperwork seemed endless, but Kelly was sincerely kind and helpful through the whole process, which struck me as odd considering how repetitive her job must be. She seemed like one of those rare people that has effortless happiness figured out, and I envied her immediately. Will dangled my key to the house over my head and giggled, as I jumped and grabbed it out of his hand. “Race ya!” I said as I bolted to my car.

I watched his truck with the U-Haul trailer pull into the long gravel drive first, just as I turned onto our new street.

Pulling my SUV in behind him, I threw off my buckle and darted out of the car. We would be unloading the trailer through the back door, but I wanted to enter the house properly for the first time. I headed down the sidewalk and up the wide stairs onto the massive front porch. I opened the door, and stepped into the foyer of my home for the first time as an owner. Gazing around at the empty rooms, I couldn’t help but imagine everything this house could be again. Walking room to room, I took in all the small details I didn’t have time to on the tour.

I reached the bedroom at the end of the hall, and wanted to peek into the closets to see how much space we now had without the previous owners belongings. The upstairs bedrooms were basically large dormers over the first floor, making the closets flanking each side glorified attic space. It definitely gave the rooms an old, cozy feel, and made it difficult to see the back of the closet with so many items crammed into it. I didn’t know much about the previous owner, except that her name is Rosemary Adams and she had lived alone in the house the past 10 years after her late husband’s passing. She had moved to be closer to her family in Iowa.

Still envisioning Rosemary’s life in this home, I turned the aged brass door knob and stepped inside the closet. It was shocking to see how much roomier the closet looked now, but as I glanced to my right, I noticed a dust covered writing desk tucked up against the wall. It had clearly sat in here untouched for years, but even covered in cobwebs and a grimy film I could tell it was a beautiful, custom built desk with hand turned legs. Straddling one end, I placed my hands under the table top and tried to shimmy it out of the closet. It was a lot heavier than it looked, and I was only able to manage moving it a few inches at a time. When it finally cleared the wall by a couple feet, I noticed a small center drawer with a key sticking out of it.

Why would Rosemary want to leave this behind? She had her kids move everything for her, so maybe they just forgot it in the hustle to get a lifetime’s worth of items out of there. I made a mental note to call her daughter, Mary, to see if she wanted to come back for the desk. The key kept catching my attention, as it had a unique floral pattern carved in the end. It was a work of art. To get a closer look, I tried pulling the key out of the lock, but the drawer screeched open with it. It started to fall, scattering it’s contents on the floor, as it dangled from my hand still wrapped around the key. Covering the floor in disarray were several old photographs, and a well worn small black notebook.

The first photo I picked up was a black and white image of 3 young women standing with their arms wrapped around each other. They were all done up in their dresses, sun hats and lipstick that looked red even through the black and white lens. It was clear they were all related somehow, carrying the same striking features and wide smile. Sisters, I would bet. Rosemary must be one of the women, since she saved the photo, and the date read July, 1951. The women looked to be in their early twenties in the photo, which seemed about right based on the age I currently estimated her to be.

The other photos were very similar to the first, but there were more recent ones in color containing what I assumed to be her children and grandchildren. I hesitated to look inside the notebook, as it felt like trespassing, but I couldn’t help the urge to know more about her after seeing her in her youth. The book was thicker than it should be, as the pages were well worn and had that yellowed, puffy appearance. The pages were also stuffed with various bookmarks, newspaper clippings, and dried flora.

As I read through the first few pages, it became clear that the book was used as Rosemary’s journal, but she seemed to skip around to only the major life events. The first page detailed her first date with a boy named Jeremy, then continued through to her wedding to Sam, her first job, the births of her children, their first days of school, and so on. She kept the engagement announcement from the newspaper tucked in with her wedding entry, and a pressing of her wedding bouquet. All the pages were similar, containing the elegant scroll of her handwriting detailing the happiest moments of her life, packed with mementos to remember them by. I thumbed through the rest of the pages, planning to return to them after unpacking.

As I caught the last page, I felt a thicker, folded piece of paper between the page and the leather cover. I spread out the page on the desk to see a family tree, written in Rosemary’s hand with little notes about each person. Sure enough, she had two sisters named Celia and Elizabeth. The tree started at the top with their parents, and stemmed down to all Rosemary’s grandchildren, and grand nieces and nephews. I skimmed over their names, then stopped dead in my tracks when I noticed she had a granddaughter named Mallory Grace. It wasn’t the most common name, and her granddaughter and I shared it. My heart stopped when I read the note under my name. “Born to my daughter Chloe in 1993, raised by Annie & Christopher Young.”

I broke out into a cold sweat as I read my parents names in that note. But I’m not adopted! This has to be the biggest coincidence. Even as I tried to convince myself of that, I knew that note was about me. My parents didn’t just happen to have the same names, I didn’t just happen to buy this house, and I didn’t just happen to have the same name as her granddaughter, I had to be her granddaughter. Deep down I knew this was the truth, even as I wrestled with the fact that my parents may have lied to me all this time.

If this were all true, I was Chloe’s only child, and there was no record of my biological father on the family tree. Grabbing the notebook, I turned back one page from where I found the tree, and found one last journal entry from Rosemary, along with a check made out to me for $20,000. At the top of the page, today’s date was listed at the top right. The entry followed a different format than all the previous ones, as it was addressed to me.

“My Dear Mallory,

I hesitated to write to you, as I always felt this news should come from your wonderful parents, Annie & Chris. They have always gone above and beyond to provide for you, and give you the happiest life possible, the life my Chloe could not give to you. As I’m sure you have guessed by now, my daughter Chloe is your biological mother. She was my sweet, carefree, fun-loving daughter, who wanted a family and a child more than anything else in the world. When she found out she was pregnant with you, it was the happiest day of her life. Even though she wasn’t in a serious relationship at the time, she was dedicated to you from the moment she knew you were coming. 8 months into her pregnancy, Chloe had a major seizure while having brunch at my house for Mother’s Day. The EMT’s were able to get her to the hospital in time for her to have an emergency C-section, and you were born that day as the most beautiful, healthy baby. Chloe unfortunately never fully recovered from the seizure and the following procedure, and passed away three days later. Your parent’s showed up that day to take you home, and thought it would be best to protect you from this until you were old enough. As much as I have always respected their decision, my life is nearly over, and I need to know that I did everything I could to look after you, which I know is what Chloe would have wanted. You are a married woman now, and I am so happy for you to start this new chapter of your life in our family home. Your mother and I saved some money to help you if you ever need it, and it is time for me to pass it on to you. If you ever want to find me, I will be at 807 Aspen St in Burlington. If not, I understand your decision. Just know that I have followed your life as much as I could over the years, and I am so proud of you, and your mother would have been too. I love you more than strawberries.

Grandma Rose”

I dropped the book and called for Will, as I thought about what this meant for my life moving forward.