Autumn Lady

by AnneMarie Dapp

  “Oh, I see… I guess that’s why his hands were taped when I met him. He mentioned sparring…I had no idea what he was talking about.”

  Mara was not sure what to make of this. It was a lot to take in.

  “Mara, would you like to see the rest of the store?”

  “I’d love to!”

  Betty escorted her down the rows of bookshelves. There were a few tables and chairs against the walls. Small lamps rested on top of the tables. Each shelf contained various subjects—history, political science, arts, and philosophy. There were also several aisles with fictional novels organized alphabetically.

  “You might like to take a look in this section.” She led her down toward a shelf near the front desk. “I have a collection of art books. You know, there are some really interesting new artists in France right now. One of my customers brought back a photograph from Paris. It’s an image of his friend’s painting. Hold on a minute.” She went to her desk, sorting through a pile of paperwork.

  “Oh, here it is. Now, of course it’s black and white, but you can still see it’s quite beautiful, so light and airy. I believe his name is Monet…Claude Monet. I can’t imagine you’ve heard of him. He isn’t famous or anything, but I think his painting is quite unique. Of course, I’m no expert. What do you think?”

  Mara examined the photograph. It was a simple scene—a countryside, a few bales of hay and the setting sun, but the brushstrokes were unlike anything she had seen before. They were delicate, seeming to move along the canvas. The scene was almost electric. The entire composition was divided by dabs of paint. A moment had been captured, a moment in time.

  “Wow. I’ve never seen anything like it! I’d be happy to display his painting in my gallery, if he ever makes his way to The States. His work is exceptional!”

  The jingle of the bell made the women jump. Joshua Cohen hurried into the room.

  “Ladies, what a pleasure! I was hoping to borrow a little coffee for my thermos.” Betty smiled shyly, avoiding eye contact.

  “It looks like I came at the perfect time, Miss McClain. My client, Mr. Williams, is at the bank doing his weekly deposit. He’s the one I mentioned last night, the gentleman with the property for lease. If you’d like, I can take you over in my carriage. The bank’s just down the street a few blocks. You two could discuss business.”

  “Oh, I’d like that very much. Thank you.”

  Betty quietly interrupted, “Mr. Cohen, I can fill your thermos with some fresh coffee.”

  “Marvelous. I’m desperate. Looks like it’s going to be a busy day.” She took his empty thermos, without looking up, and returned a few moments later with fresh coffee and a book under her arm.

  “Mara, this is the novel I was telling you about last night, Tolstoy’s War and Peace. We’ll call it your welcome gift to San Francisco.”

  “Thank you so much! You’re so thoughtful. I can’t wait to read it.”

  They said their goodbyes and headed for the door. Mr. Cohen escorted Mara over to his modest buggy. A tall, chestnut mare stood waiting. Joshua helped her inside the carriage and they made their way down Market Street. She breathed a sigh of relief. It appeared everything was going to work out just fine.

  Chapter 7

  Mr. Cohen and Mara talked about leasing properties as they rode along. Everything seemed straightforward. After a few blocks, the carriage pulled up to Wells Fargo Bank. The building was a large brick construction. A teenage boy met them outside and attended to the carriage. The banker offered Mara his arm and escorted her to the door. He led her to a desk where a gentleman was busy chatting with one of the employees.

  “Mr. Williams, I’d like you to meet San Francisco’s newest entrepreneur, Miss Mara McClain.”

  The gentleman appeared somber as he was introduced. The businessman was on the shorter side, with pasty skin, and dirty blond hair. He looked to be in his early thirties, though a streak of white ran from his right temple to the back of his head. It was startling and Mara wondered if he had experienced some sort of shock.

  She forced a smile on her face and reached out her hand. He took it firmly, lifting it to his lips. His gaze traveled over her face, and then to her body…carefully observing.

  “What a pleasure to meet such a lovely young lady, and with such an Irish name.” He spoke in a British dialect, pronouncing each word carefully.

  “Thank you, Mr. Williams. My grandparents were from Galway.”

  He narrowed his eyes and tightened his jaw. “Oh, yes, I’m familiar with Galway. My family and I managed tenant farms in a place called Kinvara. I’m afraid things became…well…rather messy during The Famine,” he said. “Yes, quite messy indeed,” he added with a far off look. “It’s the reason that I came over to The States. I thought it might be a nice change of scenery.”

  There was something in his eyes that she didn’t like. When he smiled, they were empty and cold. They reminded her of the assailant in the alley.

  Mr. Williams seemed to recover himself and began asking questions.

  “So, my dear, is there a Mr. McClain that I should speak to concerning your interest in leasing my property?”

  “No, there isn’t. I plan to lease the property on my own.”

  A tight smile moved over his face.

  “Very well then. Why don’t you have a seat and we can get down to business. Mr. Cohen pulled up a leather chair and joined them at the table.

  “I assume that you’ve heard that properties are quite expensive in the city, young lady?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I have.”

  “Well, we may be able to work something out,” he said vaguely.

  Mara wasn’t sure what this meant. An uneasy feeling washed over her.

  “I don’t quite…follow?”

  Mr. Cohen looked uncomfortable as he listened in on their conversation.

  “Well, this property, The Powell Street Property, needs a bit of work. It has some ceiling leaks, needs a little maintenance on the floors. A few other things…small things. If you were able to manage to hire someone to fix these problems…let’s just say that I might be willing to reduce the rent.”

  Mr. Cohen spoke up, “Miss McClain, I have an idea. Patrick Deane is a carpenter by trade.”

  “Yes, Miss Lowe mentioned that earlier.”

  “I imagine Patrick could do the repairs, and I’m sure he’d give you a reasonable price for his labor.”

  Mara worked this over in her mind. Yes, it could possibly work, but was she really comfortable with having this strange man as her landlord? It could present problems down the road.

  Mr. Williams studied her face, seeming to sense her hesitation. “Well, dear, you’ll need to decide today. I’m afraid there’s already been quite a bit of interest in the property.” He smiled shrewdly. “I could drive us over and you can take a look yourself.”

  She looked up anxiously at Mr. Cohen. “Would you be interested in looking at the property as well?”

  He smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid I have a one o’clock appointment, Miss McClain, but I’d be happy to assist you with the paperwork afterwards.”

  Mara’s mind was racing. Every instinct told her to walk away, but in the end, she ignored her feelings.

  “Yes, Mr. Williams, I’d like to see your property.”

  He escorted her outside to the back of the building. A large carriage with two black horses waited. The animals wore heavy blinders, their heads held up tightly. The tails were docked sharply. A fly landed on the horse closest to her. A rippling tremor moved over his flank. A second fly joined it. The animal stomped anxiously at the ground. Many considered docking an elegant tradition, but how was a horse supposed to flick away flies with their stubby tails? It was quite absurd.

  Mr. Williams gave his driver their destination and turned his attention back to Mara.

  “After you, my dear.” He opened the buggy door, placing his hand firmly under her elbow, guiding her towards the seat. Once inside, she felt uncomfortable by h
is attentiveness.

  He watched her until she turned away, looking at the street.

  “Do you enjoy living in San Francisco?” she asked, hoping to re-direct his attention.

  “Call me James, please,” he answered. He stared at Mara without blinking. “And yes, I find this town…quite interesting.” He spoke as if his mind were elsewhere.

  “Ah, here we are.” The carriage pulled up alongside an empty building, old newspapers covered a large front window.

  They climbed out of the passenger seats. Mara was relieved to have her personal space again, but the moment was cut short as he took her arm in his, “Well young lady, let’s take a look, shall we?”

  Mara forced a smile, and yet she was becoming increasingly uneasy by Mr. Williams’ forwardness.

  He took a key out from his vest pocket and they made their way inside. The air inside was stuffy, a lingering aroma of mold and dust.

  “Well, as I’ve said, it needs some work.”

  Mara looked around the spacious building. It was definitely big enough for a gallery, and the windows would bring in natural light. Though as her eyes wandered, she saw the watermarks on the ceiling, the peeling wallpaper, and cracks in the hardwood floors.

  “Mr. Williams, what was your monthly rate again?”

  “Well, if you agree to take care of the appropriate repairs, twenty five dollars a month should suffice.”

  Mara breathed in deeply. If this were a bargain she surely would have trouble paying more for another property. She exhaled slowly. Feeling somewhat trapped, she answered, “Alright, I’d like to lease your property.”

  He looked at her as a hunter might looks at his prey. “Wise choice, wise choice, indeed.”

  As they rode back to the bank, Mara’s mind raced. A sick feeling washed over her. She became lost in her thoughts. Back in the office, Mr. Cohen prepared the necessary paperwork. When it was finished, he stood up, gathering his gloves and hat, “I’m looking forward to doing business with you, Miss McClain. Rent is due at the first of the month. Penalties are applied to late payments.” A smile flickered, but was gone when he made his way to the door. “Good afternoon.”

  Mara was relieved when he’d left.

  “The bank closes early on Friday. I’m picking up Miss Lowe on the way home. Can I offer you a ride?” Mr. Cohen asked.

  “Oh, thank you very much.”

  On the way home, the group took turns discussing Mara’s new business arrangement. She was quiet during most of the conversation. Betty noticed, and looked over at her with concern. Once they were back at the house, the women made their way to their rooms. At the top of the stairs, Miss Lowe placed her hand on Mara’s shoulder. “Everything all right?” she asked.

  Mara was surprised at her intuition. “I’m fine. It’s probably just a bad case of nerves.”

  “Something’s bothering you.”

  “Well…” she hesitated “It’s Mr. Williams. He gives me a…funny feeling. There’s something about his eyes—they’re very strange. It’s like he’s looking right through me. I’m sure it sounds crazy.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Do you really want to go through with this?”

  “I don’t see any other option. I can barely afford this property. Anything more would wipe out my savings.”

  “I might be able to move some things around in my shop. Perhaps you could sell some paintings in my store?”

  Mara was touched by the offer.

  “That’s kind of you. I’m grateful, but, I need to do this on my own. And I already signed the contract,” she sighed

  “All right, but be careful, please. I don’t like the sound of this man.”

  “I will. I just need to get my business off the ground, and to pay the rent on time. I’ll be fine,” she said trying to sound confident. She smiled at Betty and turned down the hall on her way to her room. With the door closed, she took off her shoes and sat down on the edge of the bed. The entire afternoon seemed like a dream. She tried to tell herself it’d be all right. That it’d all work out. She stretched out on top of the lavender comforter, desperately in need of a nap. When she closed her eyes, she saw Mr. Williams’s strange eyes staring back. They were cold and dark. She turned on her right side, anticipating the peace of an afternoon nap. Sleep came quickly, though the dreams that followed were not so comforting.

  * * * *

  A bride ran through a crimson forest. Auburn curls fell around her face and shoulders. Her bare feet were bloodied and bruised.

  Mara watched in silence. Why was she running? A feeling of doom fell over her and she sensed the young woman’s terror. She shadowed her in the fading light.

  Her heart raced in her chest. The heavy gown snagged the ground with each painful step. The sharp cries of ravens echoed in the distance, their shrill voices lamenting the approaching twilight. Jagged stones protruded along the trail. Her bare feet suffered from the brutal terrain. Rich soil began to take on a sandy texture as she neared the shoreline. Daylight faded and washed shadows over the landscape. If she could only find her way back to the safety of the main road, back to the village of Kinvara. The aroma of the sea was rich and intoxicating. Woodlands quickly gave way to an open shore. Dark waters raged and heaved against the rising tide. Rock cliffs surrounded her on both sides. She had followed the wrong path.

  The icy water rolled toward her as she slowed at the sandy bank. With resignation, she watched the churning waves of Galway Bay. Dunguaire Castle appeared like a phantom beacon through the foggy haze; dim lights glowed in the windows of the grand building. Cold ripples drifted over her battered feet. The water was salty and harsh on her open wounds. Taking a deep breath, embracing the pain, she made the sign of the cross and whispered a silent prayer to Jesus and the Mother Mary. Heavy footsteps made their way toward her. Inhaling the aroma of the overlapping waves calmed her mind. He stood behind her in silence. The young woman held her ground. Rough hands encircled her delicate neck. Her locket ripped from her throat as she was pulled under the frigid water. It floated away on the currents. Her last thoughts were of Daniel.

  Chapter 8

  Mara awoke with a jolt. Her face flushed, heart pounding. She sat up, looking around the room groggily. It was a nightmare, a dream. Darkness had settled into the room with sunset approaching. She climbed out of bed, making her way to the window. She slid open the glass and peeked outside. Crimson streaks stretched out like fingers around a swollen harvest moon. Boys were lighting street lamps below. She’d overslept. She went over to the basin and washed her face in the cool water. Droplets trickled down softly into the porcelain bowl. Autumn light mirrored in the reflective surface. After she’d freshened up, she made her way to the dining room. The aroma of fresh cooking wafted in from the kitchen. This time, she had arrived before everyone was seated. She noticed a fresh white tablecloth covering the oak dining set. Mrs. Levy was busy putting the finishing touches on the evening’s supper.

  “Can I help you with anything, Sarah?”

  “That’s very thoughtful. I could use a hand cutting up the herbs if you don’t mind.”

  She made her way to the counter and began chopping clumps of parsley and basil.

  “We’re having Shabbat dinner tonight. You know what that is? Shabbat?”

  “Why, no.”

  “I make a point of honoring the various customs and traditions of my guests. I offer special holiday meals for Christmas and Easter. And on the Sabbath and Jewish holidays, I prepare my own favorite dishes to celebrate.”

  “That sounds lovely, but I’m afraid I’m not familiar with…Shabbat.”

  “In practicing Judaism, we celebrate the Sabbath, beginning Friday at sundown and ending Saturday evening with the appearance of three stars. We refrain from work, much like Christians on Sundays. This is in honor of the Lord’s creating the heavens and earth in six days, and then resting on the seventh. It’s one of the Ten Commandments—to hold the Sabbath day holy. My family enjoys preparing a special dinner, lighting candles,
reciting prayers on Fridays at sundown. We call this Shabbat.

  “Joshua Cohen will be leading the prayers tonight.” Sarah added smiling. “He’s very familiar with Shabbat dinner, as he and his family happen to be practicing Jews.”

  “Well, I’m very honored to be participating. Thank you.”

  Betty Lowe joined them in the kitchen, and they took turns bringing the dishes to the table. The evening’s guests trickled into the dining room, with the exception of Jane Darby.

  Betty whispered in Mara’s ear, “Miss Darby never attends Shabbat dinner. Says it goes against her Baptist beliefs,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  Mara shook her head, and her dislike for the girl continued to grow.

  Mrs. Levy stood at the head of the table and smiled. She proceeded and lit two candles, and then she covered her eyes with her hands and was quiet for a moment. Gently, she waved her hands over the open flame, directing the light toward her face.

  She prayed. Afterwards, she uncovered her eyes and looked out at her guests.

  Together they answered, “Shabbot Shalom.”

  Betty turned to Mara and explained, “Now, we greet each other and give welcome.”

  Around the table, people shook hands, some embraced. Patrick turned to Mara and raised her hand to his lips. He held her eyes as his mouth gently brushed the back of her skin. A tingling sensation moved over her body. Mara’s heart raced in anticipation. She was vaguely aware that Sarah was speaking.

  “You may all take your seats now,” Mrs. Levy instructed.

  Mr. Cohen made his way to the head of the table. A dark Yamaka rested atop his golden curls. As Mara looked around the table, she noticed the other men wore them as well. His song started out in Hebrew, followed by an English translation. He sang in a deep baritone.