The search

Past

It’s the 1800’s . A woman who was once married to a very rich man is now a widow. When her husband dies, she inherits his wealth, something that angers his relatives. For the rest of her life, she fights against his greedy family and before she dies, she hides all the money. She never marries again, fearing suitors are only interested in acquiring her fortune.

Emily Peterkain. That’s the name of the widow. We were studying her autobiography in our English class. Critics of her book said that it was a work of fiction. They believe that she spent all of the money, and then became a recluse because of threats from her in-laws. The fact that she, a woman in the 1800’s also published a book, added to their theory that she was probably insane. Critics believe that the “money” she referred to in her book was just the original manuscripts of her autobiography, seeing as they were never found. My English teacher, who is somewhat of a conspiracy theorist, encouraged us to do our own research on the topic. With English being my favourite subject, I may have gotten slightly carried away. It started off with innocent google searches and ancestry sites, and concluded with me planning my journey to her holiday home.

Present

Finally. Morning had arrived. Last night, I uncovered the last piece of my puzzle. The location. I packed my duffel bag with my purse, my phone and my little black notebook. Before I closed the door of my house, I futilely shouted bye, already knowing I would receive no response. After all, it was 8 in the morning, and my four siblings and mum are offline until at least ten o’clock.

Three buses, a train and a thirty minute walk later, I reached my destination. I took out my notebook to confirm what I was already certain of. This was the house. It looked old and derelict, clearly missing the care it deserved. It was in a secluded place, and my exhaustive search through library records was the only reason I had found it. I carefully walked up the stairs, aware of their fragile state and looked through the dusty window, even though I knew there would be no-one inside.

As I walked through the house, I had only one thought on my mind: locate the safe. I went on a detailed tour of the home. It was a small place considering the Peterkains’ wealth , but being a quiet couple, a modest holiday home would prevent most unwanted attention . I walked up the stairs and was immediately drawn to one room. All the doors were closed and appeared to be dark, except for this one, which had sunlight coming out from the bottom of the gap above the floor.

I opened the door and realised this was the master bedroom. I scanned it quickly. The bed was still made and the furniture was in pristine condition. It was clear that the Peterkain’s rarely came here, so its existence would have been known to very few people, possibly only the previous owner and the couple. In her book, Emily had mentioned her distaste for art. She explained that spending a large amount of money for a still piece was ridiculous, and that she much preferred literature, where each idea was explained thoroughly, rather than being left up to personal interpretation like a lot of pieces are. Knowing this, I was confused as to why there was a large abstract painting on the wall beside the bed. Surely this would have been a nuisance to Emily, with abstract art having the most obscure meaning of all other forms. I walked up to the painting and stared at it. I could see where her disdain came from. I had no idea what the artist was trying to convey through this painting. I quickly got bored of staring at the splodges of paint in a frame and suddenly had an idea. Perhaps this painting was a distraction. Surely a safe hidden behind a painting was too cliche. I turned around and looked out the window. The curtains were drawn and tied . I remembered how this was the only room where light was let in. I walked over to the curtains and untied one of them. A plain white wall was revealed. I walked over to the other curtain and untied it, and in front of me was another white wall. A white wall with a small wooden compartment. The compartment only had a small latch on it, seeing as the hiding place was enough security . I undid the latch and opened the small door. I froze. The word shocked doesn't even begin to describe what I felt in that moment. I stared ahead. My once clear and attentive mind was now chaotic, full of thoughts and confusion. I expected to find the original manuscripts. Her autobiography was labelled fiction and we were to believe whatever the researchers concluded. But they were wrong. So very, very wrong. Because my eyes were not settled on the manuscripts. No. They were looking at a pile of cash. Correction. Piles of cash. Several piles of cash. I couldn’t believe it, but after what seemed like an eternity, my meticulous state of mind had been restored. I unzipped my bag and started filling it with my newfound treasure. The supply seemed endless and I couldn't help but think of what I could do with it. I closed the wooden compartment. And left the house. My journey back home seemed to pass much faster than the previous.

I opened the door, and wasn’t even acknowledged by the triplets running up the stairs. My brother came out from the living room screaming at them to stop. He turned to look at me, and without so much as a greeting, he asked me what was in the bag. I immediately replied that it was none of his business. That was my first mistake. We walked up to me and put his hand in the bag. I tried to pull it away, but I was powerless against his 6 foot frame. He snatched the bag and opened it. My heart was pacing, but I kept telling myself that it wasn’t over yet. He looked at me, then back at the bag. Over and over again.

“Where did you get this from?” he asked.

I couldn’t think of a response. How ironic. I was always the one with the witty replies, and now, when I so desperately needed an answer, I couldn’t come up with anything.

“Oh, so you can’t speak anymore? Fine, let’s see what mum has to say about this.” he said with a smirk.

Before I could even open my mouth, he ran off to my mum. I chased him through the house, my heart slowly sinking as I thought about how she would react, I found them in the kitchen and my mum had a bewildered expression on her face.

“I found it!” I blurted out. “ All the research I’ve been doing was for this. Well not the money, I didn’t know the money would be there, but I found it anyways so I took it. If you don’t believe me, look in the bottom of the bag and flip through the black notebook. All my research is there.”

Neither of them moved. They just continued to stare at me.

“ Okay, if neither of you are going to say or do anything, I’ll just take my money and go”. I said cautiously.

Maybe I missed the joke, but both my mum and my brother erupted in laughter.

“Your money? I always knew you were the funny one,” replied my mum, “this can change our lives forever. No way is your selfishness going to prevent that. This is ours now. Correction, mine”. She said, still laughing.

My heart was no longer sinking, it was beneath the floor. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This money was my way out . My way out of this crazy house full of crazy and self-centered people who couldn’t care less about me. I couldn’t let them win, but then again, I couldn’t exactly get a lawyer could I. So was that the end? Months and months of research culminating in my mum claiming all the money and buying herself a top of the range tanning bed. I guess it was.