“Okay, you got me.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
It was true that Ashland’s family home, Seven Sisters, had been extremely haunted. That house had a long and twisted history. What would we find at Marietta? Secret rooms and hidden staircases? Although I had a map of the interior of the home, I was eager to check the place out in person. Maybe take some readings and some measurements. Historic homes as old as Marietta often had hidden rooms. And underground rooms. Despite Ashland’s reticence to believe there could be an underground room, I wasn’t ruling the possibility out yet.
A woman waved at us from the porch, that must be Heather. As soon as we parked the car lightning popped over us. “Geez Louise! Where did that come from?” Carrie Jo exclaimed as she waved back at Heather.
Ashland parked the car. “I guess we better run for it. I see storm clouds rolling in off the ocean. Looks like it might settle in for a while. You guys go ahead, I’ll grab the luggage.”
“Thanks, Ashland,” I grabbed my backpack and hurried out of the car. A blanket of humid, clammy air met me. Yeah, the air was shifting. Storm fronts were colliding, and not just meteorologically. I sensed the spiritual world swelling up around us. I smelled the electricity in the air. That was kind of my secret power.
I could smell blood long after it had been spilled. I could smell spirits. I know, that’s weird but it was true. Good ones, bad ones. Indifferent ones.
Yep, I could smell danger and I smelled it here at Marietta despite Heather’s smiling face and the beautiful surroundings. Oh yeah. I could smell death and a strangeness that I couldn’t identify.
And it was coming for us.
Chapter Three--Mary
My baby cried for me. A pitiful sound, one that spoke to the depths of my heart. I slipped in and out of consciousness during the birth. Each time I woke the pain was more intense. The agony of childbirth overwhelmed me. Where was John Lamar? The baby was supposed to bring us together. Yes, even now, as I hung between life and death, I knew that if John Lamar wanted another child, I would not refuse him. Despite his recent chilliness toward me.
Where was my husband? He’d been gone for far too long. Didn’t he realize that our baby was coming? Where could he be?
I needed to see my child, see the baby’s face but there was no one in the room. My heart sunk and I couldn’t help but think the worst. The worst possible scenarios played out in my mind. My abdomen swollen, my thighs bloody, I struggled to sit up.
“Mrs. Lancaster…the baby. Where’s my baby?” My eyes fluttered as my eyes tried to focus. My bedroom was dank and dark, it smelled like sweat and blood. The rocking chair was turned upside down, the dresser turned at a weird angle. The door wide open,
I shouted again, “Please, Mrs. Lancaster!”
Somewhere in the house I could hear my baby crying. It had to be my baby. I could hear Mrs. Lancaster singing, I knew her voice. She often hummed and sang as she sewed her embroidery pieces or when we strolled in the garden. Yes, I knew her voice. The sounds of the baby and Mrs. Lancaster began to fade, as if they were leaving the house.
Leaving Marietta! My own sweet child! What was she going to do to him? Give him to the fomoire?
Yes, it had to be a boy, my baby boy! I’d dreamed about him long before he arrived. The crying grew more faint, as if he were going further away. Mrs. Lancaster was taking him away from the house, away from me. What could she be doing?
Oh God! No!
My damp nightgown clung to me, but I was determined to see. From my window I would be able to see the boneyard, to see the horrible place I’d worked so hard to avoid these past many months. The evil spirit was out there, and it waited for me, for my son. It had claimed Portia, and her baby. It had claimed many others, I knew this, but it wasn’t going to claim my son!
“No! Marietta! He’s your grandson! You cannot do it!” I shouted towards the open window; the curtains hung torn and twisted. What had happened in here? I couldn’t understand any of this. The baby continued to cry. I slid out of my bed and landed on the floor with a thump, the sheets twisted around my legs. A bloody mess, my legs shook from the blood loss, but I had to gain my strength. No way could I make it down the stairs, but I could crawl to the window. I could certainly do that for my son.
“Marietta! No! Please don’t! Mrs. Lancaster!” I begged as I sobbed. My sweet child didn’t deserve to be born into such an evil family, I long planned to leave this place. John Lamar would understand. He wanted to leave too. I knew it in my heart!
My tears fell and my heart broke in my chest. All the struggle, all the prayers. Had it all been for naught? I’d done everything she wanted, everything Marietta instructed. I loved John Lamar with all my heart. I loved him with all my body but in the end, he had let me down and our child too.
I smelled rain in the air, the floor under the window was wet. Had it rained? I couldn’t remember. My pale hands slapped the wet floor as I pulled myself to the wall. My legs were not cooperating and with every move I felt another surge of warm blood. Despite my fear, a strange strength rose within me.
I must see. I must see for myself where she was going.
“Marietta! Don’t take my baby to him! He is innocent!”
I heard the door swing open. “Mary! What are you doing on the floor?” Marietta’s voice came from behind me. I twisted around, my back against the wall, the window above me. This didn’t make sense. I heard the baby crying outside, with Marietta crooning over him. But that wasn’t right because Marietta was standing over me now.
She squatted down beside me, an expression of concern on her face. What was happening? Had I passed into a world of insanity? Could childbirth drive a woman crazy? I was so weak and Marietta so strong she easily lifted me from the floor and placed me back in my bed. She wadded up the bloody sheets and threw them in the corner of the room as she called for someone to fetch them. Marietta reached for a freshly folded blanket which she must've brought in with her. It smelled clean and fresh like sunshine and green grass.
"Where's the baby? Listen! I can hear my baby crying now. Can't you hear the baby crying? Don’t keep him from me!" Even as I begged, the crying did indeed get louder. Horrible pitiful weeping. The poor child needed his mother. He needed me! "Please, Marietta! Have mercy. Bring me my child. Don't let it get him!"
Marietta kept her face a mask, an unmoving and unemotional mask. “What are you talking about? Your baby is asleep, Mary. I will bring him to you after we clean you up. You are a mess. What were you thinking crawling across the floor?”
Despite her peaceful words I continued to hear a baby crying pitifully. How could she say she did not hear the terrible crying? Marietta Lancaster’s calm expression did not bring me peace. It was a skill she had, one that I admired at times. One never knew what her thoughts were when she took on this look. Her emotionless blank expression.
As Mary Fairbanks, the real Mary Fairbanks once said the same about me. “You don’t fool me, Vienna. I see the deep waters in you. Those eyes betray you.” No doubt she was far more intelligent than I would ever be. In an unpleasant way. I too committed crimes, things I would forever regret but I never trucked with evil. Not like Marietta Lancaster. Not in such a direct way and what was hidden here at Marietta was pure evil. I still did not understand it.
“Bring me my son! I have to see him!”
“There, there, Mary. What are you squalling about? Sally will bring the baby to you in just a moment. She's cleaning him up, we must protect him, you know. I prepared oils for him. For his skin, to keep away any evil. You would do you well to tend to your own self. Look at you, you are a mess, daughter in law. The doctor will be here soon. I suppose the unpredictable weather has kept him away. If you don't stay in bed, this bleeding will not stop. Women do bleed to death, Mary. Then who will take care of the baby? It’s easy enough to find a wet nurse but a child needs his mother. Stay abed and let us care for you.”
I did not have the heart or the energy to fight with her, but the tea
rs flowed easily down my cheeks. All I could think about was my baby, Jason. My brothers were far away and my dear mother dead all these years. But the brother I loved most, Jason he would be honored by this gesture, if he knew. I would never find my way home again, never see Ireland but at least in this, I would feel comfort. Jason would be my family, not these strangers. Not these strange Lancasters. If my husband refused to leave, I would do it myself, for Jason’s sake and for mine.
In the distance, I heard a baby shrieking; an inconsolable, pleading for his mother. It had to be my child. Was there another infant here at Marietta? As I clenched my fists and prepared to fight with my mother-in-law, Sally appeared with a carefully wrapped bundle in her arms. Could it be true? Was this my child safe and sound?
“Jason?”
“Ah, what a good name. It sounds strong, Mary. I like it.” Marietta sat on the side of the bed as I tucked back the blankets to view my son’s face. He was perfect with soft blonde hair, like a baby duck. I kissed his head and couldn’t fight back the tears. Only these were tears of joy.
Outside my window, toward that horrible place where it waited, the thing that had molested me all those months ago, the cries echoed. An infant’s cry was unlike any other. Not a child, not an adult and certainly no animal.
This was a baby in distress. If not mine, then whose?
Don't let this be a trick. Don't let this be anything but my child.
Sally left us alone after packing towels between my legs. Settling against the pillow, I looked down at my sleeping son and breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, he was ours. He was so like his father. Slightly upturned nose, the noble bridge between his eyebrows, tufts of white, blonde hair. He was like a luminous angel, a cherub delivered sent from on high.
Yet the cries of the other infant outside stirred my soul. I couldn’t bring myself to ask Marietta the truth. Did I want to know?
Holding my sleeping child, I could do nothing but stare down at his perfect pink lips, examine every inch of his lovely face. Despite my joy, the yells of the infant continued. My mother-in-law offered no explanation and continued to wear her blank expression which revealed nothing. Whatever was happening outside I would never know. Did I want to?
“Marietta…” I whispered the beginning of my question, but the screams suddenly stopped. Whatever happened, whatever had occurred, it was over.
Whatever evil had happened, whatever exchange had been made it was done. Marietta walked soberly to the window and closed it and the curtains. She carefully corrected the chair and shoved the dresser back against the wall. It was all over now.
All of it.
I could not cry. I could not feel anything. Without a word, Marietta left the room and closed the door behind her.
It was then that I decided, come what may, we would certainly leave this horrible place. With or without John, we would flee Marietta, both the house and the woman, and her wretched curse.
I whispered this promise to my sleeping child as I held him. Such a peaceful moment, such a wonderful time, to finally be a mother. Except this bloody stain. To think my son would be the cause of such an evil act. This child was all I ever wanted. No home, no matter how fine was worth all this. Now because of my child I had to make tough decisions. The evil here would not be stopped—it would not relent. But I would not allow it to take my child. Not my own little Jason.
Jason Owen Lancaster.
That would be his true name, but when we flee, I would have to think of another. We would have to hide our identities for Marietta Lancaster would not easily let us go. Even though it could mean the death for her own grandson. Hadn’t Portia’s baby also been her grandson? She couldn’t or wouldn’t protect him.
I knew the truth of it. I knew that my husband and Portia had been lovers, continued to be lovers until her disappearance. Until her murder. No, Marietta would not easily let me go but John Lamar must be made to understand. I would tell him everything and we would see that we needed to go. We must leave to protect the baby. Our future was not here.
Sometime in the night, before the moon was full, I heard the loud wailing again. Not a child this time but a woman. I couldn’t make out much more. Yes, it was an argument between a man and a woman. Yes, I heard a man’s voice! As she wept for all her worth—it had to be Marietta--a man’s footsteps came up the steps.
Sturdy and steady, he walked up all thirteen steps and then came to the door of my room where he paused.
Clutching the baby, perhaps a little too tightly, Jason began to fuss. My room had no light, not a lamp, not a hint of moonlight. Nothing but blackness. As the door creaked open, I discerned a figure, a man’s shape. He was holding a lamp and carrying a bag.
“John Lamar?”
He hesitated as I stared at the black silhouette. Who was this? Could this be the fomoire taking on a human shape? He stepped into the room and I got a better look at him. This was no Celtic demon, no being from the Underworld. Dr. Morris! He visited me a few times during my pregnancy. Marietta continued to cry downstairs; I could hear Sally crying too. Something was terribly wrong, terribly amiss.
“I have bad news, Mrs. Lancaster. Very bad news, ma’am. It is the reason why I could not be present for the birth of your son. I am happy that you are safely delivered.” He put the lamp on the table by the door but did not come closer. He cleared his throat as he clutched his bag.
“What is it, doctor?” I licked my dry lips. I was powerfully thirsty suddenly. Extremely thirsty. My mouth felt full of sand, my tongue thick. “May I have some water?” He obliged me by pouring a glass of water from the pitcher. I sipped the water but couldn’t avoid looking at his sad, defeated face.
“Your husband has died, Mrs. Lancaster. I found him dead on the road just a few hours ago. I am sorry, ma’am. I tried to revive him, but he was dead. I am sorry to report this sad news on what should be a joyous occasion.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “I don’t believe you. My husband is a healthy man. I would know if he were sick. I would know that. He is not dead, doctor. I think you are mistaken.”
He patted my hand kindly as he sat on the bed next to me. “I am not mistaken, ma’am. I have known John Lamar all his life. I helped deliver him, you see. Unfortunately, death is not predictable. A man can be perfectly healthy then be struck down with no warning. My condolences to you, Mrs. Lancaster. At least you have your son. Perhaps that will bring you comfort.”
At least I have my son.
Those words caught in my mind, in my throat. My mind collapsed in on me. How to process this? Can I believe this as accurate? No. It’s not true. I whispered it again and again but my mother in law’s weeping testified to the horrible truth. The nursemaid came to feed Jason, the doctor left me alone after prescribing a tonic to soothe my grief.
At least I have my son. My poor son. He would never know his father. He would never see him or be held by him. At least I have my son…
Suddenly a strange fury I hadn’t expected rose within me. Yes, I had my son, and I would keep him alive and safe no matter what I had to do. The sorrow of losing John Lamar was real, visceral but my maternal instincts overrode my grief. If I didn’t leave here Jason would die too. Marietta may well be willing to sacrifice her children to the fomoire, but I was not. Not mine or anyone else’s.
I had not made any deals with the devil. I would not lose a single child to appease the thing that lived in the boneyard.
Never.
At least I have my son.
Eventually, I fell asleep. When I woke from time to time, I heard Marietta crying. At least she had remorse for John Lamar’s death. I couldn’t help but believe that this was entirely her fault. She, the woman who trucked with devils, who offered up innocent sacrifices to the evil one. Her machinations led me here, led me to love and lose John Lamar. Led me and my son into danger of a sort I could not yet fully perceive.
I was determined to get stronger. Day by day. I would be strong and smart for Jason.
We would le
ave this evil place behind quickly. Perhaps we would go back to Ireland after all. These past months, I managed to squirrel away a small sum of money. Enough to take us far away and live without worry for at least a year. Maybe not Ireland. Maybe somewhere else here in America. I had enough to take us far, far away.
I woke in the late morning, my heart breaking again as I recalled the loss of my husband. He had never genuinely loved me, not like I hoped and desired but I had loved him with all my being. With all my soul. Despite this sad truth I could not bring myself to cry for him. As I struggled to cope with the horrible reality, I caught sight of a strange silvery shimmer in the corner of the room. The outline of a man, or possibly a woman. Only an outline though.
Footsteps of Angels (Marietta Book 2) Page 3
