by Betty Bolte
“This old house will make a much nicer memorial garden,” she said to the empty parlor.
Immediately she noticed a change in the atmosphere, a subtle shift in the temperature as the air chilled. Something altered, though she could not put her pinky on it. Meredith stilled, searching the shadowy room for differences. What was that? She slowly spun in place, a complete circle, as she scouted out the sound’s source. Nothing. She shook her head, her ponytail whipping her shoulders. Just her imagination after all of Max’s harangue about her responsibilities and family heritage.
She flipped on the light switch. Four frosted globes in the center of the ceiling fan cast their combined glow over the furnishings. An old-fashioned wood loom hunkered in one corner, empty but for a few spindles of wool adding burgundy and steel color to the ambience. A freestanding embroidery hoop stood within reach of an overstuffed chair, a modern white light arched above the afghan cloth hanging from the frame, a half-finished cross-stitched cardinal ensnared by the round wooden hoop. Her grandmother’s rocking chair sat beneath the light, which emphasized the worn arms of the flower-patterned upholstery. Threadbare patches where elbows had rested bespoke of the amount of time her grandmother occupied the seat. Beside the chair, a rack overflowed with stitchery magazines.
Grandma’s now empty chair sat in the middle of an empty room filled with her most treasured memories. This room had served as the focal point of her grandmother’s sewing, where Meredith could almost hear her voice, smell her perfume, and feel her presence. Traces of her loving grandmother woven into the very fabric of the old house.
A house she’d already decided must come down. Whether by machine or flame, her inner peace and future centered on one fact. A fact to focus upon rather than the many memories swirling around her.
With a sob born of the grief and pain she carried inside, she turned off the light and made her way back through the lit hallway to the kitchen. Nobody understood what the indiscriminate shooter had taken from her. Not only her husband, but also their unborn child. They’d longed for several years to express their love for one another through the creation of a baby. They’d been trying with no success, which made their lovemaking feel a touch desperate at times. Then one day she felt different, found herself crying over a peanut butter commercial, and decided to purchase a pregnancy test. The very night she planned to reveal to her husband that the pregnancy test turned up positive, she lost everything. Including her harmony, her sense of hope, and her future dreams. Everything shattered in the blink of an eye. The only thing left from her previous life was Grizabella.
The prospects and expectations this rambling plantation home exemplified stabbed her emotions with each step on its aged floorboards. She once longed to have the family this home deserved, but the doctors told her the damage she suffered prevented her from having children. She could always adopt, they’d said. Many orphans needed loving homes. She’d shrugged off the suggestion. Without Willy, she had no desire to build a future family. Without Willy, she coiled into herself, latching onto the wonderful memories of their life together and hating the robber that caused such inner despair.
Max had tried to convey why the plantation house deserved to remain standing. Yet, once she’d dismantled it, once she’d filled in the stone foundation, once she’d restored the site to a park, then she would finally have peace. A rebirth from the death of the house. She’d bury the pain consuming her by finally putting to rest the dreams she and Willy had shared.
After checking the lock on the back door, she rinsed her wineglass and turned out the light. Tonight she’d try to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow she’d begin the sorting process in earnest.
* * * *
The electronic beat of music reverberated across the bedroom while Meredith stripped out of her clothes. Griz waited on the bed, a miniature multicolored sphinx. Meredith preferred instrumentals to lyrics so she didn’t need to decipher the meaning of the song. To not listen to the voices. But the classical music Max insisted on playing grated on her last nerve because Willy had also enjoyed the sound of stringed instruments. She needed something more alive. More like the driving pulse and eclectic rhythm she now danced to that worked their magic on her frayed nerves, much like a deep-tissue massage for the soul. Reluctantly, she turned off the music, silence surrounding her.
She fluffed her pillows and slipped between crisp sheets. Meg’s efforts had transformed the dusty room into a gleaming sanctuary. The lamplight pooled on the oak nightstand, reminding her of the honey on toast her mother made for her when she’d suffered with a sore throat. The matching triple dresser with its large mirror reflected the bed she and Griz occupied. Several needlework samplers and pictures decorated the walls, works by Grandma, no doubt.
Griz stood, stretched, and resettled beside her. Where Willy should be. The other half of the bed, empty except for the eight-pound cat. Meredith ran a hand over the cool sheet, imagining her husband lying beside her, his weight along with his desire for her pulling her closer. The pressure of his lips on hers. His hands moving over her most sensitive areas. Her name when he came.
Stop. Crossing her arms, she focused on breathing, seeing the furniture, the pictures, the cat. Anything but the images in her mind. She couldn’t let herself relive his presence. The pain left from his death seared through her.
With a flick of her wrist, she turned the light switch off and cast the room into darkness. She snuggled into her pillow, tucking the sheet under her arms. A half-moon floated among the pinpoints of stars outside the window, lending a touch of luminescence to the atmosphere. Perfect sleeping weather.
If her eyes would close. She stared at the ceiling. Knotholes dotted the narrow slats. One, two, three… Knotholes instead of sheep? Why not? Since sleep evaded her, she had to do something to while away the night. Counting knotholes had helped when she was a child as well. Apparently sleeping through the night wasn’t high on her list of priorities. Even when tired. Like tonight. She sighed and started over. If she counted long enough, surely she’d drift off. One, two, three, four…
The memory of a childhood dream floated into her mind. The Lady in Blue. Inspired by the belles in that old movie, Gone with the Wind, most likely. But the dream had replayed for her frequently as a child. It always started with a beautiful young woman dressed in a royal-blue hoop skirt, dotted with sequins twinkling with every step. Her blonde hair was pulled up with sausage curls dangling about her petite face. Funny how she could never espy the lady’s eyes, though.
An icy breeze blew through the half-open window, fluttering the lacy sheers. Meredith opened her eyes at the first blast. Griz lifted her head from where she’d laid it on her paws, staring at the window. Meredith stroked the cat, but the feline leaped up, the hair along the ridge of her backbone slowly rising.
“What’s the matter, girl?” Meredith looked at the cat, then the window. She pushed back the sheet and went to the window to close it. The sheers settled into place. “There’s nothing there. It was just the wind.”
Griz growled low in her throat, staring at the window.
Meredith slipped into bed, pulling up both the sheet and the lightweight coverlet. All was quiet except for the slowly fading complaints of her cat. “It’s okay, Griz. Now where was I?”
One, two, three…
Another icy breeze chilled her despite the covers draped across her body. The window remained tightly closed. Her brow tensed into a frown as she sat up and scanned the room. A flash of light drew her attention to the mirror on the triple dresser set against the far wall. She gasped as Griz jumped from the bed and raced from the room. The Lady in Blue appeared in the mirror, standing between the window and where Meredith sat on the bed, the lady’s hands reaching toward her. The lady’s silk skirt rustled when she stepped closer to the bed, sequins glinting.
Fear, sharp and intense, shot through Meredith. She spun around to confront the woman, only to discover she sat alone among her tangled bedclothes, sleep a distant thought
.
Chapter 4
Thunder jarred Meredith awake, fear shooting into her soul at the terrifying sound. She jerked upright, shoving the covers to one side. Lightning flashed, bringing the room into focus in the early dawn light. Glancing at her digital watch, she groaned aloud. Not even the damn roosters would be crowing before five in the morning. Rain laced with hail beat against the panes in its own rhythm. At least the weather radio hadn’t sent out an alarm, so it was simply a thunderstorm. Nothing to fear. Her brain clicked on, automatically running through the list she’d scrawled in the little notebook downstairs. But she’d added things to her mental list in the meantime. Sleep didn’t factor into her plans during such a ferocious storm, so she may as well accomplish something.
Unplugging her laptop to guard against ground strikes by the frequent lightning, she lifted it off the rolltop desk. She looked at her options, having to choose between sitting on the straight-backed chair by the desk or the cushioned window seat. The storm raged outside the glass pane, but she walked toward it, defying her own fears. She perched on the window seat, the flash of lightning at her back, and settled the computer on her legs. Focusing on creating an actual list of people to contact in addition to the handwritten list of chores to do would help free her mind to think and provide a distraction.
With the rain and thunder providing antagonistic background music, she quickly typed a new combined list of tasks, including conducting a complete tour of the premises. She worried about only one room in the entire house. She longed to but also dreaded going into the attic. To finally discover what currently hunkered in the shadows of the large space. Fifteen minutes later she reread her list, satisfied she had a good handle on the necessities of the effort. In order to meet her work commitment back home in Maryland, she’d have to press.
Closing the lid, she put the device on the rolltop and strode into the bathroom to take a shower. Lightning flashed, followed quickly by a boom so loud she jumped, both hands flying to her throat. Better delay the shower with the storm so close. Once dressed, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and then padded down to the kitchen. Grizabella appeared from a side hallway, her whiskers trailing a cobweb remnant.
“Looks like Meg has more work to do around here.” Meredith swiped the offending gossamer string from the quivering whiskers and then scritched the cat’s back before sliding a hand from the base of her tail to its tip. Griz circled and rubbed against Meredith’s legs, her tail curling around one of Meredith’s calves. “No time like the present to begin, eh, Griz?”
After starting a pot of coffee to brew, she ate a cup of yogurt. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she found her earbuds in her purse and plugged them in. She turned on her personal mix of underground electronica and R&B so she wasn’t surrounded by silence or, worse, the memory of childhood laughter. The tunes made her feel alive and young, and best of all didn’t sound anything like the music she and Willy had enjoyed together. James Curd’s “Open Up Your Mind” had her bobbing her head in time with the beat and her hands shaking invisible maracas for a moment. Then, while the pot gurgled and coughed, she grabbed a notebook and pen and pushed through the hallway door, walking in time with the music.
She’d avoided venturing into the attic the day Meg first showed up at her door. But the day arrived nonetheless. Delaying only created larger mental obstacles to accomplishing the necessary tasks. Surmounting the ever-growing hurdles must begin with the first step, literally. Resting her hand on the newel post, she gazed up the flight of stairs, took a breath and let it out slowly, and then started to climb. Griz sashayed into the hall and sat at the bottom of the flight, gazing after her with curious eyes. Meredith turned at the first landing and began climbing the second flight to the attic door hiding in the dimly lit stairwell. She made a mental note to add a light up there, perhaps a battery-powered stick-on kind.
One step at a time she neared the closed door, her imagination spinning yarns as to what lay behind the barrier. As a child they had looked forward to the infrequent times they could play in the attic, considering it a place of mystery and adventure. Of ghosts and spirits of times past. Now she needed to keep a firm grip on her sensibilities and see whatever was in there through adult eyes. That meant no mysteries, no adventures, and of course no spirits or ghosts.
Now why did she think of ghosts just as she gathered her nerve to venture into the attic? Would she see the lady inside among the shadows and webs? Uncertainty fluttered in her chest, causing her to hesitate. Ever since she’d returned to Twin Oaks, she’d been besieged with self-doubt, a feeling she’d banished upon graduating from university with highest honors. Enough.
Gripping the doorknob, she turned it and pushed the door open before she had time to dwell on her thoughts. Nonetheless her throat tightened in anticipation. With her right hand, she searched for the light switch inside the doorjamb. Before she found it, a blur of fur raced past her, skidding to a halt in the near darkness. Reflexively she jumped and then felt foolish when she realized it was only her cat. After locating the switch, she flipped it, and light bathed the room. Griz peered up at her with wide, mirrored eyes.
“Silly kitten, you startled me.” Meredith propped the door open with the fabric-covered brick that had served as a doorstop as far back as she could remember. “Now let’s see what we have.”
Letting her gaze pan the room, Meredith saw an assortment that recalled her childhood. Grizabella flicked her tail from side to side and stalked into the depths of the room, weaving past the brown plastic rocking horse with its fading painted-on saddle, the schoolroom-sized blackboard and sticks of colored chalk in the tray, and most amazingly the large dollhouse that looked like a miniature of Twin Oaks. Tears threatened and won, seeping down her cheeks at the sight of her first architectural endeavor. Her father’s patience played in her memory as he taught her about jigsaws and gluing techniques, about angles and perspectives. She missed her father more than she could put into words. She would call him later to invite him and her mother to come see the place one last time before she destroyed it once and for all. Focusing on her mission settled her emotions. She brushed her cheeks dry and continued her exploration.
A mannequin stood to one side, its wire shape allowing indecent peeks through its interior. Meredith grimaced, and then smiled, remembering its purpose. Grandma had used the dummy to make dresses for Meredith and Paulette; ugly and misshapen ones, but made with a depth of love. One of Paulette’s hand-me-downs—a light green nightmare with one sleeve longer than the other, an uneven hem, and neon green frogs boasting bright red eyes—Meredith had flatly refused to wear.
She strode into the room to the marching beat of Crookers’s “Bust ’Em Up” and quickly searched the room for the mysterious locked trunk. Her ownership of the plantation finally gave her the right to look inside. That had been the one restriction for the girls when they played up here. They couldn’t look into or play with the trunks. The other trunks, all unlocked and secretly explored decades earlier, held old books and clothing from long-dead ancestors. The time had arrived to solve the mystery of the locked trunk. Feeling a little like Nancy Drew, she peered into the shadows and finally spotted the dark gray trunk with red leather trim. She grabbed the handles on each end and dragged the heavy box into the light.
Squatting, she fingered the padlock hanging from the latch. Damn. She wanted in. She looked about, finally spying a rusty tool box nearly hidden beneath an old coffee table piled with newspapers and magazines. She hurried to the metal box, pulled it from under the table and quickly lifted its lid. Empty. Double damn. She slammed the lid and strode back to the trunk.
She needed a key, or a crowbar, or a hammer and screwdriver. But she hadn’t brought those kinds of tools with her. Maybe the garage had something she could use. For now, her objective had been defeated by a simple padlock. The scent of fresh coffee teased her nose, creating a longing for the hot liquid. After her short night sleepwise, she needed caffeine to kick-start her day. She darted
a glance around, jotted a quick list of the amount of stuff to be sorted and disposed of, and finally called to the cat. After several summons, Griz emerged with her head covered in dust and cobwebs, but Meredith could swear she wore a Cheshire cat type of grin.
“What have you been into?” Shaking her head, Meredith shooed Griz out the door and turned off the light. “We’ll come back later with the right tools to open that trunk and a broom to sweep off those webs. Right now, I need coffee.”
Griz trotted lightly down the steps ahead of her. Meredith pulled the door closed with a thud. She yanked out the earbuds and hung them around her neck, the quiet sound of the beat of Subb-an’s “Take You Back” playing as though from a distance. The storm outside intensified, the drum of rain on the roof echoing the musical base. Suddenly Griz hissed and growled, arching her back when she stopped on the first landing. The hair on Meredith’s neck rose along with those on Griz’s spine, sending shivers down her arms and back. Involuntarily gripping the handrail like a lifeline, she stopped, fascinated by the cat’s behavior even while afraid the Lady in Blue had returned. Meredith looked in the direction of Grizabella’s wary stare but saw nothing alarming. Griz hissed again, retreating three slow steps backward. Still her hackles remained up and her hiss became a low-throated growl reminiscent of last night’s occurrence.
“What is it, Griz?” Meredith tried to calm her with her voice, but Grizabella paid her no heed. Taking one tread at a time, Meredith eased down the stairs. “There’s nothing there, silly girl. Come on now. I want my coffee.”
The floorboard beneath Meredith’s foot creaked loudly beside the cat. Griz spun and ran into a bedroom, disappearing from view. Meredith called to her but, as she expected, received no response from the frightened cat. But frightened about what? Meredith looked again in the direction the cat had refused to go. She saw only the usual things: floor, walls, ceiling. Nothing scary or even out of the ordinary. Definitely no spectral Civil War belle.
