At first, I was planning to write a post about Ursula’s beginnings, as the album holds several pictures of her as an adorable baby. But something happened tonight apropros to Halloween, so I decided to write this instead:
While paging through the album again, I discover a small, cream-colored envelope trimmed with a thick black border, postmarked 1890 from Ypsilanti, Michigan and accented with a red 2-cent stamp. Addressed in fountain-pen ink to Mr. A.D. Cheshire in San Francisco, it contains a small, thick card, also bordered in black. I know Mr. A.D. Cheshire is Ursula’s father because several pages earlier is a 1913 newspaper clipping that mentions him, his wife and “little daughter, Ursula.”
I reach into the envelope and slowly slip the card out. “In Loving Memory,” it says on the cover. I open it carefully, wondering why it is so thick. My stomach jumps slightly and I gasp. I feel as if the card were a jack-in-the-box and a surprise has burst out. There in center of the card are three thick locks of hair—brunette, blond and gray-brown—each tied with thin string and wrapped loosely in tissue paper.
Wow! This hair grew on the head of someone—perhaps Ursula herself—who is long gone. Maybe it is all Ursula’s hair, cut from her head at different stages of her life and slipped into the card for safekeeping years after it was sent to Mr. Cheshire. If this is true, I actually have part of Ursula with me. I feel a tug, as if there is a long, long string attached to the hazy, black and white Ursula of the past and extending into the Technicolor present, attached to me, who is unearthing and telling her story. It’s eerie.
But do you know what’s eerier? Just last night, my husband and I finished the first season of a dark, Canadian crime series called “Durham County.” In it, the serial killer cuts locks of hair off his victims’ heads—a blonde and brunette—and keeps them as macabre souvenirs. And, get this, the quote on the card, which is a remembrance of Mr. Cheshire’s mother (who “fell asleep in Jesus” the previous month) is a perfect script for a serial killer to leave behind at the crime scene:
“Safe, safe upon the ever-shining shore,
Sin, pain, and death, and sorrow, all are o’er,
Happy now and evermore.
‘Washed in the blood of the Lamb.’”
Ooh, creeeeeppy! (Do you think I watch too many crime dramas?)