When Mr. Dawes awoke in the morning the umbrella was gone. He felt strangely bereft. Perhaps he should have tried talking to it after all. Upon finishing his breakfast Mr. Dawes went into the library and began reading the second book. This volume was better than the first, the adventures more exciting and the children more mature. Had his children really been so bright and lively, or was this just an example of Lavinia's story telling ability?
Mr. Dawes didn't know much about being a child or children in general. His parents had treated him like a small adult and he had brought his children up the same way. As a proper Victorian father he had provided a home and discipline. Julia, his late wife, had taken care of the daily matters relating to the children when they were small. After her death the housekeeper and the nannies did what was needed.
Jane and Michael Banks were the first children Mr Dawes had ever observed closely, and he found them quite fascinating albeit a little horrifying. They had, after all, created a riot in the bank and forced it to close its doors for the first time in 150 years. Given George Banks good fortune in being hired back to Fidelity Fiduciary one would have thought he would have kept his children as far away as possible. That had not been the case. Banks kept photographs of his family in his office and Mrs. Banks accompanied by Jane and Michael visited frequently. Against all odds Mr. Dawes became quite fond of them. He even had a candy jar put on his secretary's desk when he discovered that Jane was fond of toffees. Mr. Dawes had always assumed that George Banks' children were exceptional but maybe they were more typical than he realized.
Mr. Dawes wondered if there were any clues about his own children left in the house. Toys, books and clothes were long gone, but he remembered that some of their possessions had been packed away in a couple trunks upstairs in the attic. Later that night after everyone had gone to bed, Mr. Dawes got up and put on his robe and slippers . He headed towards the attic stairs determined to look through the trunks.
The attic wasn't wired for electricity, but just inside the door was a shelf holding two oil lamps and a box of matches. Mr. Dawes lit one and made his way across the room where three trunks were lined against the wall. He put the lamp on a small pie crust table and pulled up a chair so he could sit down as he looked through the contents.
The first trunk belonged to his wife and bore her initials JAD for Julia Anne Dawes. When he lifted the lid the faint scent of lavender and cedar rose gently into the air. On the top Mr. Dawes could see the folded lace of her wedding veil and the christening gown worn by all three of the children when they were baptized. He wondered what other treasures she had tucked away inside, but tonight was not the time to look. Lavinia and her daughter were coming to visit in June. He would find someone to move the trunk downstairs and Lavinia and Julie could sort through it then.
The second trunk had no initials. When he opened the lid he came face to face with Lavinia's doll. She had several dolls but this one was her favorite. Mr. Dawes Sr. had sent her back to the nursery one evening when she brought it down to supper because toys had no business in the dining room. In a rare display of temper Julia had accompanied Lavinia upstairs saying that she preferred the nursery to the company at the table. The air between his father and wife had remained icy for weeks afterward.
Several small boxes containing Lavinia's better pieces of jewelry were in the tray next to the doll. They really needed to be in the safe, thought Mr. Dawes. Here was the pearl necklace he had given her on her 16th birthday, a brooch that had belonged to Julia and a pair of earrings from her grandmother. The final box held her engagement ring. Why was that still here he wondered. It should have gone back to William. Then he remembered that the ring was a Dawes family heirloom and had once belonged to his mother. Mr. Dawes Sr. had given it to William to present to Lavinia when their engagement was announced. It was one of the benefits of cousins marrying that all the jewelry stayed in the family.
All the money would have stayed too. Mr. Dawes remembered his father's cold fury when it was discovered that Lavinia had left without a word to anyone on the day of her wedding, jilting her cousin at the alter and upending the marriage that would have kept the family fortune intact. His own anger had burned white hot. It had taken all their influence and even more of their money to keep the scandal secret and the newspapers quiet while they searched for her.
Almost a year later detectives found her in New York. She was writing for a newspaper, doing investigative reporting she said like Nellie Bly. And she was married—to the young Irishman she had met on the boat crossing the Atlantic. It was too much for Mr. Dawes Sr. who declared her dead to the family. From that day on her name was never mentioned in his presence. A year later she wrote to Mr. Dawes Jr to let him know he was a grandfather and that his grandson's name was Christopher. Furious, he had written back that she had disgraced the family and he never wanted to hear from her again. Lavinia had taken him at his word. It would be almost ten years before any more letters passed between them and he would have to write first.
Under the tray there were a number of notebooks and journals all filled with Lavinia's childish hand writing. Just paging through them Mr. Dawes could see her potential as a story teller. Several were illustrated with pictures and Mr. Dawes was startled to realize that Albert had done the drawings. In the stack he found a handmade book done by both of them and dedicated to Jack. It looked like a present made for his birthday. Mr. Dawes set it aside to take downstairs.
Very little in the trunk belonged to Albert. A small rucksack contained some art supplies and a sketchbook. Mr. Dawes paged through the sketchbook amazed at the beauty of the drawings. He had never seen them. He had no idea that Bertie could even draw. The sketchbook was a nature journal of sorts. Next to the drawings of plants and animals Albert had made notes identifying the species and when he had observed them. At least that's what it looked like. Mr. Dawes looked at the illegible hand writing and the misspelled words and felt his old sense of frustration and anger with his younger son.
Sheer laziness and willful stubbornness, that's all it could be. How else could one explain why such a bright boy did so poorly in school. He had joked and clowned his way through his first year, behavior that was not tolerated at home. Eventually it had caught up to him his second year when he began to fail his classes. After that there was seldom a day when he wasn't in trouble for a missed assignment or a failed test. Mr. Dawes had given the school permission to use whatever means necessary to get him to work harder, but nothing they tried did any good. Eventually Bertie had been removed from school and sent home because he was so far behind.
Since caning and other forms of corporal punishment had failed, Mr. Dawes decided to try a bit of humiliation. He had Bertie moved from the room he shared with Jack and back into the nursery with Lavinia until his school work improved. This had upset Jack more than Bertie. Jack spent hours during his holidays working with his brother trying to get him caught up. Unfortunately, Albert had not returned the favor. His work was as dismal as ever. He had returned to school but was barely scraping by when the tragedy had struck.
"A blister on his heel," thought Mr. Dawes. "How could such a small thing be so disastrous?" The blister had become infected and turned septic. Jack had died within days taking all the hopes of the family with him. Mr. Dawes turned to the third trunk which bore Jack's initials. On the top was his beloved camera. A box of negatives and two photo albums were next to it. Mr. Dawes put the albums with the handmade book to take downstairs. Beneath them were Jack's school books and a box neatly packed with the contents of his desk. Whoever packed it (probably Norris) had even saved his letters. Mr. Dawes sorted through the small stack, remembering the names of Jack's friends and smiling when he saw one from a young lady. But what was this? One of the letters was postmarked Germany.
Mr. Dawes German was rusty but he was able to make out the contents of the letter after some concentration. It was from a professor in Bonn.
Dear Mr. Dawes,
I have carefully read your letter describing your brother's case and reviewed the samples of his writing you provided. I believe that there is strong evidence to support a diagnosis of wortblindheit.
"Wordblindheit," thought Mr. Dawes. "What was that?" It translated literally into English as word blindness. He continued reading.
Wortblindheit, or dyslexia as some are beginning to call it, is a congenital malady occurring in children of normal intelligence characterized by difficulty learning to read. Though there appears to be no damage to their brain or eyesight their visual memory for words and letters is impaired. The misspellings and letter transcriptions in your brother's handwriting are common symptoms, as is his struggle to read and comprehend what is printed on the page. I can only commend you both for working so hard to overcome his disorder.
I sympathize with your brother's plight. School is very difficult for persons with this condition. It may help if someone could read the assignment out loud to him and if he could take his tests verbally. This would be much more indicative of his grasp of the subject since he would not have to deal with the barriers set up by his condition.
I would be most happy to write to your parents and the authorities at your school to share my knowledge and experience working with such children. But I must caution you that there are still many people who do not believe this condition is real. You and your brother will be facing an uphill battle.
I have included a bibliography of works that you may wish to consult. I wish you and your brother all the best.
Sincerely,
Mr. Dawes folded the letter carefully and placed it in one of the photo albums. What did it mean? He had never heard of such a thing. After some more thought, Mr. Dawes took Bertie's sketchbook from the other trunk and placed it with the books to take downstairs. Somehow he was not surprised when he looked up to see the parrot headed umbrella leaning against his wife's trunk.
"Did you know anything about this?" he asked. But the umbrella remained silent.