clothes ugly and outdated, but she’d decided not to shower before work. Her dirty hair was in a ponytail, greasy strands hanging in her makeup-less eyes. She could hear the taunts in school now.
Peter and Ethan walked beside Peg and Izzy toward one end of the warehouse while Harry returned to the other. Thankfully, Peter’s goliath frame was like a barrier between Izzy and Ethan. She could almost pretend Ethan wasn’t there. She used those few moments to take slow, deep breaths, willing her reddening neck and face to return to its normal, welt-free color.
When they reached the first piece of luggage—a deteriorating leather suitcase with a brown handle and metal clasp—Ethan set up a tripod and pulled a handheld light out of a duffel bag. Peg and Izzy stood back while Peter snapped a few pictures. Izzy silently berated herself, unable to keep her eyes from wandering toward Ethan’s muscular frame. He was wearing black dress shoes and tight jeans, his wide biceps stretching the rolled-up sleeves of his white button-up shirt. An image flashed in her mind: his tanned, muscular body, naked and dripping in the boys’ shower room. Why does he have to be here? she thought. And why does he have to be so damn good looking? Then she pictured him holding a ketchup bottle, running away with his girlfriend, like a preschooler caught putting a cat in a toilet. No matter how beautiful he was on the outside, he was ugly on the inside. All the muscles and chiseled chins in the world couldn’t change that.
Finally, Peg went over to the suitcase and read the luggage tag out loud, spelling the first and last name so Izzy could write it down— Madeline Small . Then Peg took a deep breath, pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and, with slow, careful hands, undid the clasp and pulled the suitcase open. Peter moved closer to take pictures before the contents were disturbed, leaving Izzy and Ethan standing side by side. Out of the corner of her eye, Izzy saw Ethan looking at her. She kept her eyes straight ahead.
With careful, reverent fingers, Peg took the dry, fragile contents one by one out of the suitcase while Izzy wrote the items down.
One Bible with three black-and-white photographs tucked inside; one of a young boy in a white shirt and dark pants, written in pencil on back: “Charles—1919,” one of a young girl in a ruffled dress and flowered bonnet, written in pencil on back: “Esther—1921,” one of an older woman standing on a porch in an apron, written in pencil on back: “Mother—Saratoga Cabin 1927.” Four pieces of silver flatware. Two knitted baby caps, one with pink ribbon ties, one with blue ribbon ties. Condition: some yellowing and staining. One pair baby booties with white embroidery. Condition: good.
Izzy waited for Peg to keep going, but there was nothing else inside the suitcase, no clothes or nightgown, no letters or other personal items.
“That’s it,” Peg said, her eyes glistening. She shrugged and looked at Izzy, Peter, and Ethan.
“Why would anyone bring baby clothes to an insane asylum?” Izzy said.
“I don’t know,” Peg said. “Maybe they were her babies’ bonnets and booties. Maybe they were the only things she cared about. But, don’t you see? That’s why we’re doing this! We’re trying to find out more about the people who left these suitcases behind.”
“But how?” Ethan said. “How much can you find out just from looking inside these suitcases?”
“We’re hoping to get access to some of the medical records too,” Peg said. “Right now they’re sealed, but we’re going to pick the most compelling cases and ask the Office of Mental Health for permission to let us find out more.”
“Do you want the items photographed individually or in a group?” Peter asked.
Peg stood with her hands on her hips, thinking. “I guess it’s going to depend on how many things are inside each suitcase. For this one, I think we can shoot them together.”
Ethan pulled
Peter and Ethan walked beside Peg and Izzy toward one end of the warehouse while Harry returned to the other. Thankfully, Peter’s goliath frame was like a barrier between Izzy and Ethan. She could almost pretend Ethan wasn’t there. She used those few moments to take slow, deep breaths, willing her reddening neck and face to return to its normal, welt-free color.
When they reached the first piece of luggage—a deteriorating leather suitcase with a brown handle and metal clasp—Ethan set up a tripod and pulled a handheld light out of a duffel bag. Peg and Izzy stood back while Peter snapped a few pictures. Izzy silently berated herself, unable to keep her eyes from wandering toward Ethan’s muscular frame. He was wearing black dress shoes and tight jeans, his wide biceps stretching the rolled-up sleeves of his white button-up shirt. An image flashed in her mind: his tanned, muscular body, naked and dripping in the boys’ shower room. Why does he have to be here? she thought. And why does he have to be so damn good looking? Then she pictured him holding a ketchup bottle, running away with his girlfriend, like a preschooler caught putting a cat in a toilet. No matter how beautiful he was on the outside, he was ugly on the inside. All the muscles and chiseled chins in the world couldn’t change that.
Finally, Peg went over to the suitcase and read the luggage tag out loud, spelling the first and last name so Izzy could write it down— Madeline Small . Then Peg took a deep breath, pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and, with slow, careful hands, undid the clasp and pulled the suitcase open. Peter moved closer to take pictures before the contents were disturbed, leaving Izzy and Ethan standing side by side. Out of the corner of her eye, Izzy saw Ethan looking at her. She kept her eyes straight ahead.
With careful, reverent fingers, Peg took the dry, fragile contents one by one out of the suitcase while Izzy wrote the items down.
One Bible with three black-and-white photographs tucked inside; one of a young boy in a white shirt and dark pants, written in pencil on back: “Charles—1919,” one of a young girl in a ruffled dress and flowered bonnet, written in pencil on back: “Esther—1921,” one of an older woman standing on a porch in an apron, written in pencil on back: “Mother—Saratoga Cabin 1927.” Four pieces of silver flatware. Two knitted baby caps, one with pink ribbon ties, one with blue ribbon ties. Condition: some yellowing and staining. One pair baby booties with white embroidery. Condition: good.
Izzy waited for Peg to keep going, but there was nothing else inside the suitcase, no clothes or nightgown, no letters or other personal items.
“That’s it,” Peg said, her eyes glistening. She shrugged and looked at Izzy, Peter, and Ethan.
“Why would anyone bring baby clothes to an insane asylum?” Izzy said.
“I don’t know,” Peg said. “Maybe they were her babies’ bonnets and booties. Maybe they were the only things she cared about. But, don’t you see? That’s why we’re doing this! We’re trying to find out more about the people who left these suitcases behind.”
“But how?” Ethan said. “How much can you find out just from looking inside these suitcases?”
“We’re hoping to get access to some of the medical records too,” Peg said. “Right now they’re sealed, but we’re going to pick the most compelling cases and ask the Office of Mental Health for permission to let us find out more.”
“Do you want the items photographed individually or in a group?” Peter asked.
Peg stood with her hands on her hips, thinking. “I guess it’s going to depend on how many things are inside each suitcase. For this one, I think we can shoot them together.”
Ethan pulled
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