Walnut Grove House

by Alexie Aaron

  Cid’s ears turned red. “I didn’t bring a lead box with me,” Cid said through his teeth. Mia had raided his lead box collection several times in the past year alone.

  “I saw a cast-iron Dutch oven in the kitchen,” Jesse said. “Will it do until you have that Ethan kid transport one of your lead boxes down?”

  “What do you think, Orion?”

  “Seal it with wax, then duct tape. It should hold it. Now the trick is getting the thing into the first container.”

  “It’s quiet right now,” Cid observed. “I’ll scoop it up with the old cast-iron coal shovel.”

  “Do this within the ring of salt,” Orion cautioned. “Call me when you’re finished. I’ll have my finger on the feather 911 button until then.”

  Jesse went in search of the things they needed while Cid stayed and watched. Faye moved between veils making sure no ghost was sneaking up on them.

  Jesse walked in with Sally. Both of them were carrying an armload of supplies.

  Sally stared at the thing on the floor and frowned. “Evil looking Play-Doh, Cid.”

  “It’s the MA-17 version,” Cid said. “What do you all have there? I thought we had a case of salt here?”

  “No. Cupboards were bare. We’ll investigate this later,” Jesse said.

  Faye manifested right in front of Cid. “Safe!”

  Cid reared back, and Sally moved to stand between Cid and Faye.

  Jesse was very interested where this was going. “Faye, what’s going on?”

  “Sorry! Sometimes I have a problem with spaces whilst moving in and out of the veils. I found a large safe. It’s got to be made of iron or lead because I can’t move through it.”

  “Is it open?” Sally asked, stepping to the side.

  “No, but big ears could crack it,” Faye said.

  “I could try. Jesse, google safecracking. But…”

  “You’re thinking, are we committing a crime?” Jesse said.

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll take a video during the operation. Take an inventory of the safe and another after we remove the negative elemental,” Jesse said. “What moron would leave the family jewels in an old safe in the… Where is the safe?”

  “The library,” Faye said. “Behind the Robert Henri portrait of August Atwater.”

  “I’ve seen the portrait. How did you know it was a Henri?” Cid asked amazed.

  “I may not know who I am, but I know American realism when I see it,” Faye said.

  “Wow,” Sally said. “She told you.”

  Cid chuckled. “She sure did. Okay, let’s get this thing in the first two nests, call Orion back, and then I’ll see if I can crack the safe. I’m hoping Google will help.”

  Cid expanded the salt ring before they began. Jesse held the jelly jar while Cid scooped the solidified mass up with an iron dustpan. He angled it downward, and the irritated elemental oozed quickly off the iron into the glass jar, almost filling it. Cid sealed the lid and set the pint into a half-gallon glass Mason jar that Jesse had already lined the bottom with salt. Jesse filled it to the brim with the rest of the salt and secured the wide lid.

  “Now for the safe,” Cid said.

  The trio walked into the library to find Faye, dressed as a moll, pointing to the portrait of August Atwater.

  Cid slid his hands around the frame and noted the hinges and on the other side discovered two lock/catches and flipped them up. The framed portrait soundlessly swung out from the wall. There was a hinged panel in the opening, and Cid could see two more panels to either side of the safe, one at the top and one at the bottom. He surmised there must be a lead plate also behind the safe. “These are lead.” He opened the panel to expose the safe.

  “Wow,” Jesse said.

  The Lafayette, Indiana company displayed its name without shame across the front of the black safe in capital letters: SCHWAB SAFE CO., LAFAYETT, IND..

  “Now to find a video on how to open it.”

  “On it,” Sally said, walking out of the room.

  Faye followed her without being asked.

  “While the girls are away…” Jesse said. “Why are we even bothering? Let’s seal this monster in an iron casket and lower it into the lake.”

  “We can’t. Kiki is depending upon us to follow the contract.”

  “But we are messing with the ghosts.”

  “Technically, it’s an elemental,” Cid said, putting his hand through his hair. The top lock fell in front of his forehead.

  Jesse wanted to tease Cid about the Superman lock but realized that Clark, aka Superman, was just about to crack a lead-lined safe.

  Sally walked quickly in. “I found three videos. One has a Yale lock in it like this one,” she said proudly.

  Jesse watched as the woman looked at Cid. Did she see the resemblance too? To Jesse, Cid was the archetypal Superman, dark handsome looks, broad shoulders, fit muscular body, but more importantly, there was an honor that Cid couldn’t help wearing. It fit him like a cape surrounding his insecurities and protecting his ideals.

  Cid nodded and handed the tablet back to Sally. “Here goes nothing. I’m going to ask both of you to stand further away. I have to concentrate, and I can hear you breathing.”

  Sally and Jesse moved back. Faye stayed put.

  Cid turned his head and began to clear the lock before seeking out the sound of tumblers falling into place. It took him four tries, but he smiled when he was able to turn the lever. He waved the others over.

  Cid pulled the safe door open, and aside from a few ledger books and what looked like an odd set of iron keys, the safe was empty. Cid took everything out and managed to fit the jar inside. He took pictures of each key as Jesse and Sally flipped through the thin volumes.

  “I think we should take these with us,” Jesse said.

  “We can’t,” Cid said.

  “Okay, then we’re copying each page,” he said and took the book to the desk and, with Sally’s help, worked on scanning it into his phone.

  Cid didn’t move from the wall. He didn’t want any more but a hand’s reach to come between him and the open safe. “It’s lead-lined, Faye.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “I’m thinking those keys may open the boxes in the corners of the attic.”

  “I was thinking along the same line,” she said.

  “We know that they are here. I think I can carve a copy of them using the photos. I can make a start and fine-tune the keys here when no one is about. If I had a 3D printer, we would have better copies.”

  “What if the owner takes the keys away and hides them elsewhere before you can make viable copies?”

  “We could have one of your friends watch the library if Bridgeton returns. Just in case he opens the safe. I have a feeling the man doesn’t know it’s even here. The congressman knows, but not the heir.”

  Jesse finished and Sally brought the two books back. She tapped a book and explained, “I scanned the contents of the old ledger. Originally, I was curious about the contents of this house, and then I found a listing of craftsmen. It has the workmen’s names in it. Jon O’Connor is one of them.”

  “And my friend Blue Daniel?” Jon asked, manifesting near Sally.

  “If he’s Daniel Sullivan, who’s a wood carver, then he’s in this book.”

  “That’s my talent and my curse,” Blue Daniel said appearing.

  Sally admitted later she was seconds from losing the contents of her stomach. His face was a crude illumination of the worst death one could have, suffocation. “She remembered asking, “What happened to you, sir?”

  “Jon, she called me sir. The girl’s not right in the head.”

  “Military,” Sally stammered. “I was a soldier.”

  “Ah, this country must be in trouble if they have to put comely women behind the lines.”

  Sally blushed.

  Cid slid the books in and closed the door. He replaced the lead plate and
then covered it with the portrait. He turned around, looked at Jon and Daniel, and promised, “I will set you free. Be patient. We have to be crafty. Any information you can give us personally, or through Faye, would be appreciated. If I do this wrong…”

  “You don’t have to explain, sir,” Jon said. “I’ve watched and taken my measure of you.”

  Cid reached out his hand. “I know you can’t connect but…”

  Jon did so, and Cid felt the wooden grip he was used to with Murphy.

  “Never underestimate we Orish,” Jon said and disappeared.

  Blue Daniel moved forward and held out his hand. Cid shook it. “You will find a lot of information written between the lines of The Invisible Man. I found if I could conserve some energy, I could turn the pages. The title struck me. Years later, I learned, if I wanted it enough, I could put pen to paper, but I needed to be careful. No one reads that book if they can see the film. I decided to record our plight as I remembered it.”

  Cid moved to the bookshelf and scanned it. He found the H. G. Wells The Invisible Man tucked with other red cloth-covered books of note. Cid really hated when decorators lined up books according to the color of their spine, but he would push down the rant that wanted to escape his lips in order to get back to business. He turned around, and Blue Daniel had gone.

  “I wonder…” he said, scanning the shelves.

  “Can I help you search for something?” Sally asked.

  “When Daniel first said The Invisible Man, I wasn’t thinking of H. G. Wells. I was thinking of Ralph Ellison. I thought, if Congressman Atwater has this book in his library, he wouldn’t be the complete villain I assumed him to be. Just a complex man who made a deal with a demon.”

  Jesse decided he’d leave the two alone. He waved Faye to follow him into the hall. “There is no place more romantic for the likes of them than one surrounded by books.”

  “Here it is,” Sally said, holding up the charcoal and gray hardcover. “I think it confused the person who was shelving by hue. It was hidden with the other mixed-color books.”

  Cid watched her face as she realized what she had innocently said.

  “I know what you meant,” Cid said, drawing her into his arms. He pushed the tumble of curls away from her face and studied her blue eyes closely. “I wonder how much of the sky was robbed when you were conceived. Or the land when your parents pooled their love together. The ice of Norway and the heat of the southern states. So much beauty contained in one body.”

  Sally melted. She waited for him to kiss her, and he waited painfully long before his lips touched hers.

  Cid felt the softness of her full lips and tasted the salt from tears that had sprung to her eyes and ran down her face. He reached his hands and gently cupped her head as she kissed him as if she were eating a juicy pear.

  “If we don’t stop, our first time together will be in a haunted house,” Cid said when reason knocked on the door of his overheated body.

  Sally broke away and surrounded the Turkish rug with salt. She closed and locked the door and dropped items of her clothing as she walked over to Cid. “I want you to see me. If I’m beautiful, then I’m a battle-worn beauty. Can you take this broken body to bed with you every night?”

  Cid saw the scars from the wounds that burning explosives caused, which ran down the right side of her torso. He walked over. “Your beauty radiates out from your soul. Your skin tries to contain the force and magnitude of who Sally Wright is but fails. It comes out with every word you say, every act of kindness, and each time your eyes lock with mine.” Cid knelt before her. “May I?”

  Sally trembled but managed, “Please.”

  Cid knelt and kissed, first, her scars and then moved on to the skin which reacted to his warm lips. Sally’s body moved, and tiny hushed sounds escaped her lips. Even in her ecstasy she was sensitive to his super hearing. “May I make love to you?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

  “Please,” she answered in kind.

  Down the hall in the kitchen, Jesse looked at his watch and smiled. “I don’t think Cid and Sally are going to join us anytime soon. Maybe I’ll go over and send the bozos to town for a recon and some grub.”

  “I think that would be a great idea. But first let me show you something.”

  “Why Faye…”

  Faye blushed and hit Jesse on the arm. “Not that! Come down to the basement. Don’t be afraid.”

  “Okay, but if you’re setting me up, I’m going to send the hellhounds - which I will be in charge of picking up their shit for eternity – after you.”

  “You’re such a poet.”

  Jesse turned on the lights and stood dumbstruck at the top of the stairs. On the hard stone floor were a dozen or so salt outlines of men. It looked like a crime scene. “So that’s where the salt went.”

  “Jon and Daniel thought maybe this would slow down the beasts so you and your men could work safer.”

  “And longer. I’m going to go over, make sure the men are fed, and then we are going to work all night if we have to.”

  Faye followed him up the stairs.

  “When the lovers are finished, tell Cid to get his tool belt on. It’s time to work.”

  “I will.”

  Jesse walked out the front door whistling.

  ~

  Sally left two coolers of sandwiches and easily gobbled snacks in the kitchen of Walnut Grove House. The men had rallied and agreed to work through the night, to work while the ghosts were bound below stairs. As long as they felt safe, they ignored the fatigue. Faye acted as Sally’s escort to and from the carriage house. Because of this, Sally decided to make as few trips as possible. She knew that having Faye watching the contractor’s backs tonight was more important than Sally’s need to see Cid.

  Cid had opened The Invisible Man and had seen the tiny precise printing between the lines and in the margins of the hardcover book. “I’m surprised it’s written with American spellings,” Cid said as he skimmed the book. “I’m not sure I would have been as accommodating, had I been writing my memoir in Ireland.”

  “Maybe Blue Daniel wanted to make sure no one was misled by the differences in words like tyre and tire and colour and color,” Sally suggested.

  “Near the back of the book, there are words used that have come into vogue after the time of his death,” Cid marveled.

  “It shows that, even after death, the writer was trying to educate himself,” Sally said impressed.

  “As Jon is fond of saying, never underestimate the Orish. Instead of spending his time chopping down trees or lamenting about his lot in death, Daniel wrote his story and hid it until the right people came along. Would it be an imposition to ask you to start reading this tonight? I fear that it’s every bit as important as finishing this house, but I can’t concentrate on one knowing the other is abandoned.”

  “It would be a pleasure. I’ll even take notes,” Sally promised.

  Sally decided to hole up in the trailer. She set herself up with pencils, pens, and paper. She plugged in Cid’s tablet and clicked open the dictionary function. Sally pulled on a PEEPs hoodie, abandoned by Cid due to a mustard stain, and took a moment to enjoy the sense of security that came from wearing something of Cid’s.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Daniel Sullivan’s Tale

  I guess you be wanting the facts first off, but this is not a tale of when I was born or from what family I was born into. This is a tale of a house, a horrible house. I, Daniel Sullivan, set down these remembrances so you can decide for yourself whether I deserved my fate or not.

  War was looming in Europe, and I had a choice. I could join my friend Jon O’Connor on a working trip to America or fight for George, a monarch I never saw as my king. We Irish had lived too long under the oppression of the English. This was my opportunity to stay true to my feelings and not endanger my family.

  I thought I’d choose to use my God-given talent as a wood carver to be ab
le to make a living and send my wages so my mam and da could afford to live an easier life. America was, after all, the land of opportunity, but only if you chose the right path. I chose to follow Jon O’Connor to work for high wages along with men from countries I only knew about because of my da’s insistence on me sitting in on advanced tutorials with the parish priests. The lessons were a hardship on the household accounts, but he insisted that they were an investment in my future.

  I wish I could have made him proud and sought out a higher education, but my love was in the wood, as it was my mam’s father and his father before him. I had a talent. A talent which took me to America riding in second class with my friend Jon.

  There was a boon of building fancy houses to show off the wealth of the robber barons and industrialists of America. We were paid a higher wage to sign on with a group of artisans to build a country home for a rich farmer. His name was August Atwater. I suspect Atwater was a made-up name. The land he chose to build on was at the water’s edge. Maybe this was his only way of admitting he wasn’t who he said he was.

  Many people changed their names after the crossing. Many names were changed for them. Jon had to fight to maintain his name. Jon had no haitch in it. “But how can you be a Johnny come lately without an H?” the recorders jeered. But my friend held firm. He was a Jon with no haitch, and that was that.

  We didn’t have to find housing as it was promised to us. What we didn’t know was that we’d be living in the bowels of the building with barely the skeleton of the house to protect us from the elements as we worked. Still, the wage was good, and the food was provided. The foreman frowned when we rowed over to the town to refresh ourselves, but it kept us pretty much docile during the six-and-a-half days we worked.

  Jon and I worked in the building that would eventually house the cars of the family. We worked amongst the sawdust, enjoying the temporary extraction from the odors of the others. Washing wasn’t a priority, and the cellars of Walnut Grove House stank. I blame the quickness of my mam for bringing out the tub when I returned from my boyhood adventures for my aversion to body odor. The other artisans weren’t bothered by odors, just by lack of light. These men needed the unfiltered sun to see the veins in the marble and the lines in the limestone in which they carved beautiful fireplace surrounds. The plasterers needed good weather to dry their walls and fancy cornices. I learned a lot from observing these men, but only when there was a stiff breeze blowing their sour sweat away from my tender nose.