There was no way anyone would be able to sleep up there with that reeking stench! She opened the back door and the dog scurried into the house. A ridge of raised hair darkened the center of its back and its tail curled down between its legs. Across the yard her granddaughter’s gaze met her own. What had the child done to the poor dog? Her lips were tight when she closed the door.
A throbbing ache began behind her eyes. She stopped in the kitchen and took a couple aspirin with a glass of water. Maybe the stink wasn’t as bad in the living room. She picked up her laptop and settled on the sofa. She smiled and reached down to pet Pearl.
Today she had decided, one way or another she was going to find out the history of this house. Considering she’d never done genealogy before, perhaps a more useful tack would be going to sites specializing in that. After she typed ‘researching my family tree’ there were a number of sites offering help.
The next few hours flew by like they were minutes. When Gillian appeared in the living room later, Maureen was startled.
Her daughter smiled and flopped onto the chair across from her. “I thought you were going to take a nap.” There was a smudge of pink paint on her jaw and the cuticles of her fingers were stained as well.
Maureen swung her feet off the sofa and sat up straight. She’d learned so much from her research! “I think I’ve found out, who built this house. If the records in my family Bible are correct, and I’m pretty sure they are, then it was a great-uncle, Kevin Crawley.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This.” Maureen got the family Bible off the shelf and opened it to the back of the book. There, in swirly handwriting were the names of the parents and brothers and sisters of both Sean Crawley and his wife, Eileen. Sean had just one brother, and Eileen had come from a family of eight children.
“Look!” Maureen pointed to Sean’s side of the family. “His brother was Kevin. Kevin Crawley!” She took a deep breath and went on in a rush. “Crawley was my great-grandfather. I came across an online entry which mentioned a Kevin Crawley living in Kingston. I have to go to the newspaper and check their archives to find out more, but I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
“So?”
“That’s right around when my great-grandfather settled in Lanark. I think they may have come over from Ireland together, and settled down at around the same time in different regions.”
“That’s a real stretch, Mom. What you’re saying is that there are two guys named Crawley who lived in Ontario at around the same time, and were some relatives of ours?”
“Yes!” Maureen’s head nodded in excitement.
Gillian’s eyebrows drew together and she leaned forward in the chair. “You’re really interested in this family stuff, aren’t you?”
“Well yes! It makes buying this house all the more meaningful, don’t you think? It’s history, right here at my fingertips.” The clock in the dining room chimed five times and Maureen’s eyes flew open wide. “Oh my! I’ve spent the whole afternoon doing this?”
Gillian nodded and rose to her feet. “Pretty much. It’s time to start dinner.” She headed out of the room. “Waste of time, if you ask me,” she said in a low voice.
“Gillian McDougall! How dare you!”
Gillian stopped and turned around facing her mother. “Excuse me?” She put her hands on her hips.
“How dare you be so flippant about this!”
“You’re saying I’m flippant,” she gave a small snort. “I think you’re becoming obsessed, to tell you the truth.”
“What!”
Gillian folded her arms over her chest. “What’s the big deal? So what if this house was built by some great-uncle, Whozis?”
Maureen’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe this! I gave up my family home in Lanark to move here. I sunk my life’s savings into this place! Now to find out there could be a family connection? You don’t think that’s fantastic?” She shook her head. “What’s the matter with you?”
“What’s the matter with me?” Gillian’s eyes flashed wide.
“Yes! You don’t think it’s great that this could be our new family home?”
“Ohhh! I get it! Our family home!” Gillian’s eyes narrowed. “Just like the old farmstead back in Lanark, huh?”
“Yes!”
“The old farmstead back in Lanark I had to leave when I got pregnant? That old family home?”
Maureen waved a hand at Gillian. “Nobody asked you to leave! That was your decision!”
“Oh yeah! It sure was! The silent treatment was deafening! Dad didn’t say two lousy words to me for four months! And you could barely look at me either!”
“It wasn’t like that!”
“It certainly was!” Gillian stepped up to her mother, jabbing a finger at her. “Sure! I was eighteen years old, six months pregnant and on welfare in a one-bedroom apartment in town! That was sooo much easier that living in my childhood home! You and Dad were ashamed of me and forced me out!”
“We did not! We loved you, Gillian!”
Gillian sighed and rested a hip on one of the arms of a nearby chair. “Not enough to ask me to come home, Mom. Not enough for Dad to ever come around.” Her chin quivered. “Look—if this ‘family connection’ is important to you, fine. I got better things to do with my time.” She stood up. “Like start supper.” She stalked out of the room.
For a moment Maureen sat there in a daze. That had been harsh. Her daughter had snuffed out any excitement she’d felt a few minutes before. She snapped the laptop shut and set it on the coffee table. Gillian’s and Sarah’s voices drifted in from the kitchen, too far away to hear what they were talking about.
She got up and marched out of the room to join them. Sarah was sitting on the floor, tossing a rubber ball across the room that the dog raced to capture. Gillian was peeling potatoes at the counter.
For a moment it was like she was an outsider, intruding on their time and space. It didn’t help when Sarah looked up and stayed silent—no joy in her eyes seeing her nana. Even the dog was too engrossed with the ball to even notice that she’d entered the room. Well, like it or not she lived there too and it was time they showed a little gratitude.
Her back straightened and she strode over to the fridge and opened it. “I thought we’d have chicken. I defrosted some earlier today.” She pulled the package of chicken breasts from the shelf and set it in the sink.
“That’s fine. What about vegetables? Want me to make a salad?” Gillian’s voice was cold and she didn’t look up from her hands gripping the potato.
“No. We should use up the broccoli before it goes bad.” She peeled the wrapping from the package and ran cool water to rinse the pieces of meat. “I’m going to call a contractor tomorrow to start work here. I want to open up that stairway so we can use the attic room.”
Sarah scrambled to her feet. “Can I have that room for my bedroom?” She took a step closer and tugged at Maureen’s shirt.
Maureen’s eyes were narrow when she stared down at Sarah. She counted silently to ten before she spoke. “No!” Sarah’s face recoiled as if she had been struck. She took her hand away from Maureen’s shirt.
Gillian wiped her hands and turned to her daughter. “Honey, I’ve just finished painting your room. You said you liked it. You picked out the color and you even picked that bedroom. If you’re thinking of a bigger space, then when Nana moves upstairs, maybe we’ll make her old room a playroom.”
Maureen’s heart had quickened and her mouth became dry at Gillian’s words. “No! Stay out of that room!”
Sarah’s face twisted in defiance. “I wouldn’t step foot in that room! I hate that room, Nana!”
“Hey, hey… what’s up with you two?” Gillian asked softly. Their heads pivoted to her, showing fire in their eyes. Gillian held her hands up. “Hey… we’re all on edge today, aren’t we? Let’s all just take a breath, okay?”
Supper that night was eaten in total silence.
Chapter 38
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Sarah’s eyelids were heavy when Gillian rose from the bed. Before turning off the light, she once again looked at Sarah’s drawing. It had been filled in with even more detail. She shook her head and turned the light off. There was just enough light in the room from the night-light to see Sarah tucking the bunny close and Pearl the Pug on the bottom of the bed. As she started to shut the door, Pearl raised her head. Goodnight pooch.
Her footsteps were soft on the stairs when she walked down to join Maureen. When she went into the kitchen, there was no sign of her and the bottle of red wine on the counter was only half full. She put her fingers to her mouth staring at it. Her mother had drank that much? Since supper? In all the time growing up, she’d only ever seen her mother drink at special occasions. Now she was making up for lost time.
She left the room and wandered down the hall to join Maureen in the living room. Once more, the laptop was open on her mother’s lap and a glass of wine in her hand, as her eyes focused on the screen.
“Hey Mom.” Gillian flopped down into the chair across from her mother.
Maureen glanced over at her. “Is Sarah settled for the night?” Her voice was a monotone.
Gillian ignored the slight slur in her mother’s voice. “Yeah, I thought of letting her sleep with me but the paint fumes have pretty well faded.” Gillian watched her mother empty the glass of wine and set it on the coffee table. It was probably too soon to have that conversation with her. She’d had a rough night, so see how it went when things settled into a routine.
She asked her mother, “Have you noticed Sarah’s drawing?”
Maureen’s eyebrows drew together and she glanced over at Gillian. “What about it? You used to like drawing at her age. You gave it up when you discovered boys.”
“Really? I can’t remember.” She tucked her legs under her butt and leaned against the arm of the chair. “It’s pretty good—Sarah’s drawing. There’s three little girls, one of which I’m sure is a self-portrait with the braids and shorts. The other two girls are in dresses, old-fashioned dresses. But it’s the depth and realism in their faces that’s kind of amazing--I mean that a five-year-old drew it.”
“Your drawings were pretty good. At least your dad and I thought so.” Maureen lifted the glass and held it out in front of Gillian. “Would you mind getting me another glass?”
Gillian sighed. “Are you sure you want another glass? You’ve had a few already.”
“Never mind. I’ll get it myself.” Maureen set the laptop on the table and rose to her feet. She took a step and stumbled.
“Mom!” Gillian jumped to her feet and grabbed her mother’s arm. “You don’t need any more wine, you’ve had enough.”
Maureen’s arm rose and sloughed Gillian’s hand away. “Don’t tell me what to do! If I want a glass of wine, I’ll have a glass of wine. It’s my life and it’s my house!” Her eyes were narrow slits.
“Fine! Do whatever you want. I’m going to bed.” Gillian stormed by her mother.
“Thanks, but I don’t need your permission!”
Gillian’s feet stomped fast on the stairs. Her mother was being a total jerk—had been all day. She was hung-over all day today, and would be again tomorrow.
Great.
Chapter 39
Maureen’s hand quivered pouring the last of the wine into her glass. She watched as a few drops splashed onto the floor. So what?
She took a gulp, feeling it burn the back of her throat when she swallowed. That bloody Gillian! The nerve of her telling her what she should do! She’d sacrificed so much to be with her daughter, help her out with her kid and this was the thanks she got?
How could Gillian understand what she’d gone through? She was too self-centered! As for Sarah, she was becoming a spoiled brat... and a little liar to boot. Maureen drained the glass of wine, feeling it warm her stomach.
She tossed the glass into the sink and smiled when it shattered. Let the ‘English crumpet’ Gillian, and her precious babeen Sarah clean that up! It was time for bed.
She tottered out of the room and clutched the banister as she walked slowly up the stairs. She’d sleep tonight, by hell! No creaking was going to wake her up, not tonight. Her hand skimmed the wall as she made her way down the hallway and into her room.
The bedside lamp cast a dim light, not daring to penetrate into the corners of the room. Maureen looked around the room, her body weaving, every piece of furniture blurring into duplicates. She flopped down onto the bed and kicked her slippers off. Her back fell onto the soft surface and she closed her eyes, not even bothering to get undressed. Her hand drifted in the air until it bumped on the lamp and she flipped the switch off.
A few hours later, she snorted and her eyes opened. Oh God no. That damned squeaking board. To hell with it. She closed her eyes, hoping to drift back into her dream. It had been nice; Mike was in it and they were driving into town in his truck. He was taking her to church, with Gillian as a child sitting between them.
But it wasn’t a truck. It was a motorcar. And Gillian was wearing her lovely, summer dress with the large bow in her hair. Maureen felt somewhat uncomfortable in the fairing heat, with the layer upon layer of clothing she wore herself. Her chemise and pantaloons, under petticoats, and finally her dress itself. Thank goodness for the breeze in the air! She looked over at her husband, so proud of his new motorcar. She was baffled now. That wasn’t Mike… it was someone else! He turned to look at her and smiled, his teeth white. But his teeth kept growing and growing…!
Her eyes opened, startled awake. She pulled the covers over her head shivering. It was cold, so cold in her bedroom.
That disgusting smell from the other night had returned. She hunched in the bed, breathing shallowly through her mouth. What the hell was wrong with her? The rancid stench took on a deeper layer of putrid. Rotting meat and now death itself flowed through her nostrils and into her brain.
She pulled the comforter from her eyes when she felt the pressure at the foot of her bed. Someone was sitting on her bed!
She blinked through her drunken haze at the shimmering face before her. It was a woman, her eyes piercing out from under a furrowed brow and her lips pulled back showing small white teeth.
“Oh!” Maureen shook her head and clenched her eyes shut. When she risked a peek it was gone. As was the stench in the room.
She jumped out of bed and raced down the hall to the stairs. The door to Sarah’s room was open and the dog gave a soft whine from its place on the bed. Sarah was curled into a ball and sound asleep. Gillian’s bedroom door was shut and no light shone from under it. She looked back at her bedroom, her heart pounding. Since she’d been in the house, she had hardly spent a single peaceful night in that room!
She crept down the stairs to the living room, her knees wobbly. She had never felt such dark and total hatred directed at her before. It was like a wave that crashed over her. She couldn’t remember a single feature of that face… except those teeth!
She turned on one of the lamps in the living room and bundled the afghan around her. If it came again, drunk or no, she’d scream.
She clutched to the thread of that thought. She was drunk, thank God! Oh Lord, if that were to happen to her when she was sober!
Huddling onto the couch, the next thought came to her. Was she that drunk? She had to be. Otherwise she was losing her mind.
The Haunting of Crawley House (The Hauntings Of Kingston Book 1) Page 21
