Shade and Shadow

by Theresa Jenner Garrido

  “Slow down. I can’t write that fast.”

  “Sorry. Okay...number four: my first night here, I heard someone crying in the middle of the night. Num…”

  “Crying? Then I’m not imagining things.”

  “You’ve heard it, too?”

  “Y-yes...at least, for the past month or so, not before. I didn’t tell anyone for fear it would sound like...like I was…”

  “Going crazy,” Randy finished for her. When her cousin dropped her head and blushed, Randy went on. “Don’t feel embarrassed, Will. I wasn’t going to tell anybody, either. I thought I was imagining things...what with seeing hooded figures all over the place and shadows coming out your wazoo.”

  “Who do you think is doing it? Crying, I mean? Elizabeth’s ghost?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not you and it can’t be your mom...could it be Aunt Amanda?”

  “Aunt Amanda? Crying? I can’t even imagine her losing control like that. Can you? She’s so stiff and-and…”

  “Formidable. Nope, I can’t imagine her crying in the night either, but I don’t really know her that well, do I? I wonder if we could ask Esther...or Evangeline…”

  Willadee only shook her head and hugged herself like she was chilled. “Oh...I hate all this. I hate it. I wish we were home in Charleston. I could show you the Market. We could go to half a dozen shops that are totally divine; eat at Sticky Fingers or…” she clamped her lips shut and shrugged.

  “See what I mean? Everybody is so sad and down-in-the-dumps around here, and it’s such a beautiful place, really. Or, at least, it could be...close to the beach and everything. We’ve got to solve the mystery of the missing girl. And find out who’s playing ghost and trying to freak us out.” She glanced at her cousin’s list. “Okay. Number five will be the robed figure I saw out in the yard that night. Six will be my dream of seeing Elizabeth sinking in the marsh.”

  “How about my dream of being Elizabeth sinking in the marsh?”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot. Okay, that will be number six. Then make my dream number seven. Then, there’s my seeing that ghostly figure in my room and smelling the roses. Do you have anything more to add?”

  “I don’t think so,” Willadee shook her head. “So now what do we do?”

  “Hmmm, I’ve been thinking. Do you happen to know what’s upstairs on the third floor?”

  “I don’t understand your question.”

  “A while back, I went upstairs looking for Evangeline and bumped into Uncle Arthur coming out of one of the rooms up there. He looked startled...of course, he always looks worried or fretful about something. He told me a bunch of malarkey about it being Evangeline’s space, and how we had to respect that, but I think there’s something else up there. Do you know what’s in the other rooms?”

  “No, I haven’t any idea. I never go up to the third floor...never wanted to.”

  “Well, then...make way for Nancy Drew. I’m going up there to see for myself.”

  Willadee looked horrified at the prospect but got up to follow her cousin anyway. At the foot of the third floor staircase, they stopped to listen. All silent. No voices or movement anywhere. On tiptoe, they ascended to the third floor. At the top of the stairs they again paused to listen.

  “This is the door he came out of,” Randy whispered as she touched the doorknob. Giving it a slow twist, she pushed it open. A slight creaking in the hinges made both girls jump a foot. Willadee clutched the back of Randy’s shirt.

  “Oh, Randy...should we be doing this?” she whimpered.

  The room was smaller than the bedrooms below and dark, due to the heavy curtains at the one window. Randy looked around for a light switch but couldn’t see one. Then she picked out the small, old-fashioned lamp sitting on a table in the far corner beside an over-stuffed chair. Scolding herself for not bringing a flashlight, she stumbled over to the lamp and turned it on. Its bulb was so dim that it hardly made a difference.

  The girls scanned the cluttered room. It was a teenage girl’s dream-come-true—at least, a teenage girl living half a century ago. The walls were covered with pictures torn from magazines featuring glamorous people—movie stars, most likely. Most, Randy had never heard of. She read the names, scrawled with a bold hand on several of the pictures: Doris Day, Audrey Hepburn, Elvis Presley, Rock Hudson, and Pat Boone. The only person she recognized was Elvis Presley, whose brooding expression and gyrating hips graced several pictures grouped together on one wall.

  “Would you get a look at this. It’s like a super-cool hideaway for teenagers. Do you think it was Miranda and Amanda’s?” Randy asked in awe.

  “I suppose it could’ve been. I never knew this room was up here. If I had, I would’ve come up here often, just to get away.”

  Randy and Willadee walked about the dim room, admiring the crazy pillows, the old-fashioned record player and the stack of small records with only one song on each side. They leafed through old movie magazines that were piled on the bottom shelf of a low bookshelf and inspected the boxed board games and jigsaw puzzles. Part of one wall displayed mementos collected on family trips. Giant Japanese fans hung beside pennants depicting various states. Dance programs and old snapshots of boys and girls in their teens covered the other half. Randy and Willadee giggled at the hairstyles and clothes. It was an amazing room—one any girl would love.

  “Why was Uncle Arthur in this room? There’s nothing here but feminine junk. Certainly nothing that should appeal to him,” Randy mused as she walked toward the window. Flinging back the heavy curtain, she peered out. The view was great. One could see a lot of the property from up here. For the first time, Randy noticed a small house, separated from the big house by a thick growth of palmetto and myrtle.

  “Hey, Willadee. What’s that house over there? Anybody live there? It looks pretty run-down.”

  Willadee peeked over her cousin’s shoulder. “Where? Oh, that. That’s where the kitchen used to be in the old days.”

  “The kitchen? Separated from the house like that?”

  “Oh, yes. They were afraid of fire in those days, so if the kitchen caught on fire, they could at least save the big house. We don’t use it, of course, since our kitchen was added some time ago. My parents were talking about fixing the place up as a cottage to either live in or rent, but nothing’s come of it yet.”

  “Let’s go over there tomorrow and explore,” Randy suggested, letting the curtain fall back in place. “Maybe we can find some answers there.”

  “Well...all right, but, most likely all you’ll find are spiders and mice and snakes. I’m not sure I want to go inside.”

  “Oh, c’mon. I know we’ll find something. That’s top on my list for tomorrow.”

  FIFTEEN

  The following morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Willadee again trailed after her more adventurous cousin. Randy was relieved that no one paid any attention or asked what they were doing. It was beyond tiresome, having to make up explanations all the time. With a surge of anticipation, she led the way across the yard and through the thick foliage, being very careful of where she stepped. This business of having to look out for poisonous snakes gave her the creeps. In Seattle one didn’t care a fig about snakes. Or alligators, for that matter.

  Once they made it through the almost-impenetrable vegetation, they stopped to size-up the decrepit building. The bleached wood and empty windows—like sightless eyes—made the structure appear skull-like. Willadee shivered and Randy chuckled. “Resembles a rotting jack-o-lantern, doesn’t it.”

  “I...I don’t think I’ll go in,” Willadee murmured.

  Randy turned around to say something flippant, when a high, piercing wail filled the small clearing. The hideous cry of utter anguish sent icy fingers down Randy’s spine, and Willadee had her in such a death-grip that she couldn’t run if she’d wanted to.

  “What...was...th-that?” Willadee gasped.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a bird or something. I’m still going in and look around,” Randy repl
ied in a shaky voice.

  “No. You can’t go in there.”

  “Of course I can. It’s not what you think. That scream was probably an owl or something. I swear it wasn’t a ghost. I mean, it’s in the middle of the day, for crying out loud. C’mon.”

  Randy sprinted over to the door of the cottage and tried the knob. Locked.

  She proceeded to check every window and finally found an unlocked window in the back. It was difficult, but she managed to open it wide enough to fit through. She called over her shoulder, “C’mon, Will. I got a window open, but I need your help,” and waited impatiently for her cousin to get her act together.

  Willadee rounded the corner, scanning the ground apprehensively. Randy rolled her eyes. “Come on, Will. I’ve already checked. No snakes. Okay?”

  Willadee made a face. “Okay. I’m coming.”

  She made a comical leap and landed next to Randy. Then, with only a glance her cousin’s way, she formed a stirrup with her cupped hands. Randy got a foothold and scrambled through the open window, scraping her knees in the process. She almost lost her balance landing on the other side, caught herself in time, stood up, and dusted her hands on her shorts.

  “What do you see in there?”

  Randy took a mental inventory, which included stacks of boxes, broken pieces of furniture, an old motorcycle—make unknown—and two ladies bicycles—tires not only flat but disintegrating—leaning against one wall. “Wow. There are two bikes in here. I would love to ride a bike along these back roads. Whose are they?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest.” Willadee yelled back. “Come out, Randy. I want to leave. D’you see anything that could’ve made that horrible noise?”

  “Nah. I told you, it was probably just a bird. Give me another sec, will you? I want to look around. I’ll be out in a jiffy.”

  Randy’s eyes swept over the dark walls and the junk that littered the wooden floor. She hadn’t moved much beyond where she’d landed. Now, as her eyes grew accustomed to the semi-darkness, she noticed the marks in the dust on the floor in front of her.

  On closer examination, she could tell what had made them: shoes. Someone had been walking in this old building recently, and, by the size and shape of the footprints, it hadn’t been a grown man.

  And then Randy smelled it; a subtle, lingering scent of roses—as if someone wearing perfume had just walked past. She was certain that Henry didn’t wear rose perfume, and just as certain that neither Esther nor Evangeline, nor the rest of the women in her family would ever come into this dirty, cobweb-infested place. Then it hit her. Her midnight visitor had left a lingering scent, too. Roses. And then another, more numbing thought struck her. Sister Luke had also worn the same delicate scent.

  This was too uncanny. When it occurred to her that someone could be watching her that very minute, Randy yelled to her cousin, “Will, I’m coming out. Through the door.” She ran to the single door at the opposite side of the building and tugged at its handle.

  After one frantic moment of fumbling with the lock, Randy opened the door and shot through like a bullet. Slamming the door behind her, she skidded to a stop and grinned sheepishly at her cousin. “What did I tell you? Piece of cake.”

  Willadee cocked her head to one side and frowned. “Then why do you look like you’ve seen a dozen ghosts? You’re positively green. What did you see in there? I know you saw something.”

  “Well...I did see something kind of weird. There were footprints all over the floor.”

  “That’s not so weird. They’re probably Henry’s.”

  “No, I don’t think so. These were small and narrow. I think they belonged to a woman.”

  “A woman. You mean the ghost?”

  “Ghosts don’t leave footprints, Will. And, there was a faint but most definite scent of roses in the air. You see? This just proves my point. Someone is trespassing on the property. Someone up to no good or why tiptoe around?” Randy grinned. “And do you remember where you last smelled rose perfume? Hmm?” Willadee shook her head. Randy smirked. “At Sister Luke’s, my dear, dear, lame-brained cousin. When Sister Luke first entered the room there was a delicate cloud of roses wafting after her. Now I’m not so scared. Now I’m ready to lay a trap for our ghostly intruder. It has to be the phony-baloney witch doctor. We’ll catch her in the act. Don’t know why she’s doing it, but we’ll catch her at it. This is awesome. I can’t wait. Let’s go ask about those bikes, okay?”

  The two girls hurried back to the house and were just climbing the steps to the front porch when Aunt Amanda came out. Her sharp eyes focused on Randy’s disheveled appearance. “Miranda. What have you been doing? You are filthy.”

  “Aunt Amanda, we found two bikes in the old cottage...I mean kitchen...and we were wondering if we could get new tires, and use the bikes to ride the back roads. We could…”

  “Miranda, slow down. Two bicycles, you say? In the old kitchen?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They’re in great shape, except for the tires. Can we?”

  “May we…”

  “May we?”

  Aunt Amanda closed her eyes and appeared to be weighing the pros and cons. After a full minute, she let out a sigh and nodded. “Yes, you girls may use the bicycles. I’ll ask Henry to take them into town for new tires. We will have to lay some ground rules, but I am certain we can come up with something to which you are both agreeable. Go upstairs and wash, Miranda. You are a disgrace. I do not know why you insist on going into places where you are not supposed to be. That building is no place for young ladies. Go now. Your grandmother is asking to see you. Hurry. She is waiting.”

  Randy flew up the stairs, showered and changed in record time. Nine minutes later, hair still damp and hesitating for only a second, she knocked on her grandmother’s door. Evangeline beckoned her in. Wetting her lips and taking a deep breath, Randy opened the door and entered the gloomy chamber-of-horrors. Grandmother, propped up by her half-dozen pillows, glared at her.

  “Well, well, well...so you’ve decided to finally visit the old lady. Too busy, are we, hmmm? Too busy to spend time with a dying woman?”

  “No, Grandma, absolutely not. In fact, I wanted to ask you some questions.”

  “Questions? What kind of questions?”

  “Well...I want to know about the day Miranda disappeared. Will you tell me what you remember?”

  Behind her, Evangeline groaned and muttered, “Lord, Lord,” while her grandmother sat up as though stung by a bee. The old lady scowled at Randy, but tears threatened to escape the black raisin eyes. Randy wasn’t sure whether she’d over-stepped her boundaries. She put a hand on her grandmother’s shoulder and patted it, hesitant to speak further.

  “Miranda...Miranda...she just up and ran away…”

  “I know, Grandma, I know...that’s why I asked. What happened that day? Will you tell me?”

  “Oh, the moon waxes and the moon wanes…”

  “Uh...yes, I guess it does. What happened, Grandma? Where is Miranda? Where do you think she went?”

  Lying back against her pillows, Grandmother Bainbridge pulled out a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her wrinkled little face. Randy watched, praying that she hadn’t upset her grandmother too much.

  “It happened so long ago, so very long ago,” the old woman sighed. “It was a lovely, warm afternoon...a picnic...we were having a picnic...in the garden. The girls were in their rooms dressing for the occasion...we were having the Turners over, and their sons, such nice young men...one joined the Navy, I believe...Eloise died...can’t remember what she died from...her hair was red, a real pretty red, titian, not brassy like some redheads…”

  “Yes, Grandma, that’s nice. You were going to have a picnic and some friends were coming over—the Turner boys. What happened then? When did Miranda run away?”

  “Miranda? My Miranda?”

  “Yes, Grandma, your Miranda. Amanda’s twin sister.”

  “Oh, she was so naughty. She shouldn’t have run away like that
. I scolded Amanda for making a scene in front of company...Miranda was so embarrassed. Amanda should not have twitted her about the sweater...she ran into the house...crying. We didn’t go after her. I know my Miranda...she will cry for a minute, wash her face and come back out...don’t worry Eloise...we shall ignore them. We shall let the girls work it out. Tell your boys to set up the croquet game. Miranda will be down in a minute...Miranda? Miranda, where are you? Answer me this instant. Miranda? Stop this nonsense. We have company. Miranda? Miranda. Miranda. Come here this instant and be civil.”

  Randy was startled at the change in her grandmother’s story. The jump from past to present tense was a bit disturbing. She glanced over her shoulder at Evangeline who sat in her chair, swaying from side to side—eyes as big as golf balls. She didn’t appear to be in any condition to help.

  “Evangeline. Evangeline.” Randy hissed.

  Immediately the older woman stopped swaying and stood up. She went over to the bed to calm her frail mistress, coaxing her to close her eyes and rest, while singing a melodic Gullah song—though strange to Randy’s ears, it was very comforting. Randy watched as her grandmother relaxed, and, confident that Evangeline had everything under control, slipped away.

  Going into the sanctuary of her bedroom, Randy flopped on top of the bed and closed her eyes. Poor Miranda, she thought, and poor Aunt Amanda. Where are you, Miranda? Where did you go? Grandma said you ran inside, crying. Where did you go? If you ran away, how did you get past all of them? Oh. I can’t stand this not knowing. Did Elizabeth know something about your disappearance? If so, what? Why? What? When? Where? Sheesh.

  SIXTEEN

  After lunch, as the family was leaving the table, Randy noticed her aunt fidgeting with the necklace that seemed her only piece of jewelry. Intrigued, she said, “Aunt Amanda, I’ve been meaning to ask you. What does the pendant you’re wearing represent? I can’t tell what the thing is. A medallion of some sort? You’re never without it.”