“Colton?”
“Let’s not loiter on the porch,” the older woman cut in. “Come into the house, Miranda, and be introduced in a proper fashion.”
She ushered Randy into a large foyer, then through the double doors on the right, which led to an immense living room. A large painting above the fireplace snared her attention, first thing. It depicted a family of seven: a handsome man with a short beard and mustache, a beautiful black-haired woman, and five children. Randy wondered if the baby on the woman’s lap was her mother. She would ask later—when she got up enough courage.
Her eyes swept over the large room. Thick velvet curtains hung on both sides of the large, high windows. The furniture was dark, massive, and oppressive. Knickknacks cluttered the various tables. Randy felt very small standing in this big room, like she’d shrunk in an Alice-in-Wonderland sort of way. It was downright claustrophobic.
“Sit down, Miranda, so we can get acquainted,” the older woman ordered.
Randy settled in the nearest straight-backed chair and folded her hands in her lap. She felt like someone about to be accused of a great crime.
“We are so happy to finally meet you, Miranda Lynn,” the older woman said with a twitch of her grim lips that imitated a smile. “I am your Aunt Amanda...your mother’s eldest sister.”
Aunt Amanda carried herself ramrod straight—reminding Randy of a nineteenth century queen. Except for an unconscious twisting of the gold pendant hanging around her slender neck, she was the synthesis of fine breeding. When she spoke, it was as though each syllable was an entity all its own. She sat down in a chair adorned with doilies and looked at her niece with hawk-like, cobalt blue eyes.
“You’re my mother’s sister?” Randy blurted out and then winced. She hadn’t meant to sound so shocked. Her aunt, however, ignored her blooper.
“Yes, my dear. I was fifteen when Emily was born...quite like a second mother to her, in fact. Your Uncle Arthur, is the eldest, then my sister and me, followed by Colton, and finally Emily...your mother...the baby of our family.” She turned to the blond woman.
“This is your Aunt Carolina, your Uncle Colton’s wife. Beside her is their daughter, Willadee, your first cousin.”
Willadee, who’d been mute the whole time, said, “How d’you do, Miranda.”
“Randy,” Randy corrected.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Randy...not Miranda. I go by Randy.”
“You were christened Miranda, after our sister. Therefore, we shall address you as Miranda and not that boyish nickname,” Aunt Amanda said, daring anyone to contradict. She clapped her hands once as though putting a period to the conversation. “We will talk at length later. Now I think Miranda should go to her room and freshen up before dinner. Please wear a dress, my dear, as we always dress for dinner.”
Aunt Amanda picked up a small bell and rang it twice. Immediately, a dark-skinned woman in a calf-length black dress with a white apron tied around her waist appeared in the doorway. “Evangeline, please show Miss Miranda up to her room. I have given her Emily’s old room.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the elderly woman’s gray head bobbed once. She motioned for Randy to follow her up the winding staircase to the second floor.
THREE
At the top of the stairs, the hallway branched into two. Evangeline led Randy to the right and down to the third door on the left. Opening the heavy wooden door, she ushered Randy into a large bedroom done in pinks and greens and shades of purple. The high, double bed had a white spread covered in pink and purple flowers. Matching curtains lined the windows. A tall bookcase stood against one wall, filled with books and knickknacks. A smaller bookcase held a collection of china dolls. The subtle scent of lilacs teased the senses.
A shiver ran down Randy’s back. This was her mother’s bedroom. These were her mother’s things. The lump in her throat swelled and her nose began to prickle. The maid noticed and rushed over to her.
“Oh, honey, I know you feelin’ lonesome right now. You miss yo’ daddy?”
Randy rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh, I guess just a little. Silly, huh?”
Evangeline shook her curly head. “No, ’tisn’t. I know you miss yo’ home, honey. And you not knowin’ these people make it a whole lot worse. But this here be your mama’s own room. I remember your mama well. She were the sweetest thing alive. She love this ol’ bag o’ bones, too. Always was polite and considerate of me and mine.”
“You knew my mother? Really?”
“Oh, yes, indeedy, I did.”
“Will you tell me about her? I...I don’t remember her all that well.”
“Honey, I will talk ’til my teeth falls out. I can remember plenty. Some stuff I wish I could forget, but there’s no undoin’ what’s done.”
Before Randy could say another word, Willadee appeared at the door. “Excuse me, Miranda, but Aunt Amanda would like to speak to Evangeline. I am to help you unpack.”
Evangeline muttered something and rushed from the room. Randy longed to call her back. The maid was comforting, whereas her relatives were anything but. She looked at her cousin and forced a smile. “Hi.”
Willadee didn’t return the smile, only went over to a tall cabinet and opened it. “This is your wardrobe.”
“My what?”
“Your wardrobe...your closet. Hang your things in here. There is plenty of room in the chiffonier, too.”
“The chif... okay, whatever. I’m used to real closets,” Randy said with a slight shrug.
“This is a real closet...just a bit old-fashioned. The whole house is old...really old. Built before the War Between the States, it is a magnificent reminder of a forgotten era.” Willadee sounded like a tour guide.
Biting her tongue, Randy said, “Yeah, Dad told me. It’s spooky here, isn’t it?”
Her cousin stared at her for a moment then lowered her eyes. “Yes, it is. We have our share of ghosts here. Don’t go wandering about alone.”
“Say that again? Ghosts? You believe in ghosts?”
“Of course I do. After a few nights here, you will, too.”
“You’re kidding, right? You really expect me to believe in ghosts just because it’s a creepy old house? Want to give me an example?”
Willadee looked over her shoulder as if she feared being overheard. “No. Forget it. Forget I said anything. It’s an old house, that’s all.”
“Well, you brought it up. I just want to know why it’s so gloomy here. Why don’t they cut down some of those old trees and let the sunshine in? Sunlight would do wonders for this moldy old place.”
Again Willadee glanced over her shoulder. Randy sighed, marched over to the bedroom door and slammed it. Her cousin flinched.
“Why are you so nervous? Is Aunt Amanda that cranky? Or are you afraid of your mother? I know. You’re worried that a ghost might hear you. Right?”
“Oh no, that is ridiculous. I said to forget I mentioned anything about ghosts,” Willadee retorted then hastened to say, “And as far as my mama is concerned, she is a lamb. Aunt Amanda is…well, she is rather strict, but that’s because…because of her great loss.”
“Her great loss?”
“Don’t you know the story of Aunt Miranda?”
“Nope. As a matter of fact, I don’t know anything about this family. My mom died when I was real little, and my dad didn’t talk about you guys very much. Aunt Amanda said Arthur was the oldest, then her and her sister, then Colton...”
“That’s my father,” Willadee cut in.
“Yeah, and then my mother, Emily. She did say I was named after Miranda Somebody. Is that the sister? Amanda and Miranda...were they twins?”
“Yes. Aunt Amanda worshipped her twin sister, Miranda. They did everything together. Dressed alike, wore their hair alike...everything. When Miranda ran away, it absolutely crushed poor Aunt Amanda. My mama told me all about it, although we don’t speak of it in front of Auntie, of course.”
“Of course,” Randy mimicked. “So, why�
�d she run away? Miranda, I mean.”
“Well...I suppose I can tell you since you’re family and all... It happened over forty years ago when they were still in their teens. Miranda had borrowed Amanda’s new sweater and spilled ink or something on it. The two rarely fought, but I guess this was one of those times when they really went at it. Aunt Amanda said some terrible things to Miranda...in front of company too...and Miranda ran off crying her eyes out. Everybody thought she would get it out of her system and be back by dinner time, but she never returned. To this day, they don’t know where she went or if she is still alive. Mama says it’s haunted Aunt Amanda ever since.”
“Jeez. That’s awful. I never heard that story. Is that why Uncle Arthur acts like an extra for a Boris Karloff movie?”
Willadee lifted her chin and her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, but there’s nothing wrong with Uncle Arthur. He’s a dear and we love him very much. He lost his wife twenty-one years ago, and it was a great shock for him. Mama says he’s been a little withdrawn and shy ever since.” She crossed her arms and glared at Randy. “I suppose you think we all are a little weird, don’t you? Well, we’re not.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. Uncle Arthur’s nice...just a little different, that’s all.”
“Well, don’t you let Aunt Amanda hear you say that. And you haven’t met my daddy yet. He’s quite handsome, and he and mama are very happy.”
“Yeah, sure. I’m sorry I said anything.”
“When you meet Grandmarm, you better hold your tongue, too.”
“Gosh, I’d forgotten that my grandmother lives here. Why haven’t I met her? Where is she?”
“She’s in her room. She doesn’t leave her bed very often. She’s quite old...just turned ninety-three.”
“Okay.”
“Yes...and...and she’s rather foggy.”
“Foggy?”
“Yes. You know, absent-minded. Her mind wanders somewhat. She sees people who aren’t there...that sort of thing.” Willadee saw Randy’s expression and pursed her lips. “It is normal for old people to suffer dementia, you know.”
Randy flinched. “Yeah, I know. I wasn’t going to say anything. Chill.”
“Well, just remember that you are one of us. If we’re crazy then you are, too.” And with that, her cousin flounced out of the room.
FOUR
Randy put her clothes away in the wardrobe and the chiffonier—each drawer containing a lilac-scented sachet—then changed into a cotton sundress with a pattern of seashells on it. She found the bathroom across the hall and was relieved to find it quite modern. She’d half expected to be using an outhouse or a chamber pot like she’d read in historical novels.
Evangeline returned to tell her that dinner would be served at eight but to be present in the front room at seven-thirty, and that Aunt Amanda had suggested she get some rest before coming down. To Randy that meant she was not wanted downstairs before then. Was this the way it was going to be for the whole month? Was she going to be made to stay in her room until meals were served? She wondered what Willadee was doing and whether she, too, was in her room ‘resting’.
Time to call M.C. She fished through her purse for her cell phone. Randy punched in the number on her speed dial list and waited for her friend to pick up. All she got was Mary Catherine’s voice mail. Probably forgot to take it with her. She was forever leaving it behind. Darn. There was nothing to do but wait until dinner. Wasn’t that just peachy keen.
At seven-twenty-nine, Randy made her way downstairs. She heard voices coming from the spacious living room and, hesitating for only a heartbeat, walked through the open double doors. Five people sat around the room, sipping cold drinks. Five pairs of eyes latched onto her. Nobody said a word for an eon, then Aunt Amanda spoke.
“Miranda, you are prompt, I see. Very good. Displays your excellent breeding. Come here and meet your Uncle Colton, my dear.”
A man who resembled a much younger Uncle Arthur stood up and extended a hand. “Hello, Miranda, so nice to finally meet you.” He bowed.
Randy shook his hand and mouthed a hello. Colton’s wife, Aunt Carolina, leaned forward, smiling warmly. “My dear, you look adorable in that dress. So cool and carefree.”
“Thank you, Aunt Carolina. I like it.” Jeez, that sounded rude.
“Sit down, Miranda, and Evangeline will bring you a cold drink. Would you like a ginger ale?” Aunt Amanda asked.
“Uh, sure, yeah...yes...thanks,” Randy’s smile wobbled. She looked at each of their faces as they, in turn, studied her. Uncle Arthur sat in an overstuffed chair with a tumbler in one hand, his limp handkerchief in the other. Aunt Amanda sat in a straight-backed chair, her knees together and her legs crossed at the ankles. She, too, held a glass from which she took an occasional dainty sip. Her left hand was at her throat, the thumb absent-mindedly stroking the gold necklace. Uncle Colton sat next to Aunt Carolina on the couch and their daughter, Willadee, sat in a chair beside them. Randy felt like a monkey in a cage.
Amanda rang her little bell and Evangeline bustled in carrying a tray bearing a single glass of amber liquid. She offered it to Randy, and Randy wondered what would’ve happened if she’d asked for a Coke instead. Maybe ginger ale was all they had. She really didn’t like ginger ale, but wasn’t about to say anything. A month without an icy cold Coca-Cola or a Dr. Pepper would be unbearable, however. She wondered whether they’d let her borrow a car and go to the store and buy her own.
“Tell us about yourself, Miranda,” Aunt Amanda said. “We’ve received scanty information over the past ten years. The letters your father deigned to send were all too brief and far too few.”
Randy squirmed and set her glass down on the small table beside her. “Uh…” she cleared her throat, “I’m sixteen years old and, uh, will be a junior this fall…”
“My dear, do not make that unladylike sound again. ‘Uh’ is a grunt, not a word, and should not be inserted as an interjection into your speech. Please speak correctly and succinctly,” her aunt admonished.
“Uh...sorry...I...I live in Seattle, as you already know, and Dad and I like to hike in the Cascades and the Olympic Mountains...and snowshoe in winter and, uh...sorry...I like to sail, ride my bike, go salmon fishing. I collect frogs...you know, ceramic and stuffed and…” Dumb. “…And I plan to major in Education in college, and…”
“I see. Then you enjoy reading, Miranda.”
“Pardon me? Oh, yeah...yes...I love to read. I love mysteries and biographies and...and…”
“Do you play a musical instrument?”
“Uh, no...I started taking piano lessons when I was seven but...uh...stopped because I wasn’t practicing.” Well, that cinched it.
“I see. Can you sew? Or do you prefer knitting and crocheting?”
Randy swallowed, trying in vain to moisten her dry mouth. “No...I don’t sew...or knit…”
“What do you remember of your mother, dear?” Aunt Carolina said.
Randy smiled at her in relief mixed with trepidation. “Well...nothing, if you want the truth. Except her lilac perfume and rocking me in a big, wooden chair. That’s about it.”
“Your father didn’t tell you anything about her? Anything about us? Nothing about your mother’s family?” Aunt Amanda’s quiet tone screamed disapproval.
Randy’s eyes dropped to her feet. “Uh...no, not much.” Summoning some courage, she looked up and met her older aunt’s piercing gaze. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but Dad’s a very busy attorney, you know, and on his off days we’d be in the mountains or on the lake, and, well, the subject just never came up.”
“We will have to remedy that, won’t we?” Aunt Amanda said through thinned lips. She rose from her chair and started for the door. “Shall we go in to dinner?”
Dinner was a stilted affair. They sat in the formal dining room with Amanda at the foot and Arthur at the head of the long table. Colton and Carolina sat on one side, and she and Willadee sat on the other. Talk was polite bu
t sporadic. Evangeline carried dishes in and carried them out without saying a word. Randy pushed the food around on her plate and made valiant attempts to swallow the ever-growing lump in her throat. She wasn’t hungry, and the smell of the lamb chop in front of her made her queasy.
After dessert was served—a pear-half filled with cream cheese—Randy was excused and told to retire. Tomorrow she’d have the day to ‘wander about the grounds and see some of the house’. Fine. She thought. If that’s the way you want it. Randy wiped her mouth with her napkin, made her excuse, and prepared to leave the room. Aunt Amanda stopped her with a raised hand.
“One more thing, Miranda. Tomorrow you will meet your grandmother. She declined to see you today, as she was feeling ill. She would, however, like to meet with you tomorrow at eleven o’clock in the morning. Please be ready then. And dressed appropriately. Good night, Miranda. Sleep well. If you need anything, please call Evangeline. She has a room on the third floor.”
“Yes, Aunt Amanda. Thank you. G’night.”
The others murmured their good-nights as Randy left the dining room and headed upstairs at a fast trot. As soon as she closed the door, the strength flowed from her legs and she slipped down to sit on the floor. This place was worse than she’d imagined. There was no TV, no computer to log onto the Internet and read her e-mail. The people were weird, the house, gloomy, and the grounds—nothing but freakin’ shadows.
Then she remembered the sign she’d seen at the gate: The Shadows. She snorted. They liked the dreariness so much that they’d named the place something creepy. The Shadows—what a name. Why not something like Mossy Oaks or Marshbanks—something cheerful or imaginative? But, no, it was called The Shadows. Right out of Edgar Allan Poe.
Randy got ready for bed without much enthusiasm. So much for her first evening at The Shadows—emphasis on the caps. She hadn’t been expecting Tara, but did it have to be as depressing as this? She pulled back the lavender sheets, but before hopping into the monstrosity of a bed, decided to take a peek outside. Ambling over to the window, she sat down on the cunning little built-in seat and gazed out onto the grounds. After a moment, she wrestled with the heavy latch and opened the window, hoping to coax any passing breeze into the too-warm room. The house had no air conditioning, just a large fan attached to the center of the ceiling. With every rotation, it squeaked and complained, and did nothing to the warm air but move it around a little.
Shade and Shadow Page 2
