by Jill Winters
For another, that Abel Kelling's “grotesque” behavior was likely the result of bitterness. According to Gwen, Abel had proposed to Aunt Nina several times over the years, but for some reason, she had never said yes. (“Too busy saying no,” Anthony had offered as a quip that died instantly on the vine.) As for Cedric, Gwen remarked that he looked different—to which Alyssa replied, “He's a bald, paunchy lawyer—where's the change?"
Linda was unusually quiet throughout the meal, as if something were bothering her. Nicole assumed it was just the overall sadness of the day that had colored her older sister's mood.
The only thing their mom had been ambivalent about was what Nicole should do about Aunt Nina's house. It wasn't like Gwen not to have an iron-strong opinion on a subject, especially one as personal as this.
At twenty-seven, with barely five thousand dollars in the bank and no job at present, the notion of owning a house seemed ludicrously premature to Nicole. It made more sense to sell it, especially as her life was in Boston, not in Chatham, Massachusetts.
Now, after a two-hour-plus drive in her sister’s car, she had arrived.
Finally—as the wheels crunched over a blanket of leaves, and slowly rolled to stop—it sank in. With a hard swallow, Nicole hopped out of the passenger seat and onto the curb. For a long moment, she looked at the house before her. One where she had spent a few summers as a little girl. How could it be? This wide, two-story house with the gray shingles and pink shutters, the one with the slate sidewalk and bright green shrubbery—Number 18, Orchard Street—was hers.
Once inside, she dropped her duffel bag on the floor of the foyer, as the sunlit glow of Nina's house absorbed her. The familiar feel of the place instantly pulled on her senses, bringing with it the ambiance that was uniquely its own. It was poignant but comforting how the feeling of a place lived on.
Since Nicole planned to stay a couple of weeks, she'd packed just enough to get her by—computer, clothes, novels and DVDs. She had also brought some office supplies to help her stay organized when she inventoried the house.
“Thanks again, you guys,” she said to her sisters, as she dropped her coat down at her feet.
Alyssa said, “If you thank us one more time we're leaving.”
“No, please!” Nicole said with a laugh. “I have a sickness. You know how some people are over-thinkers? I'm an over-thanker.”
Narrowing her gaze, Alyssa assessed her. “Actually you're both.”
“Where do you want this?” Linda asked, rolling Nicole’s small, wheeled file cabinet into the foyer. Linda also had a duffel bag slung on one of her shoulders, which appeared to be pulling at her long, blackish hair. She sounded irritable as she added, “This weighs a ton,” and then hefted it hard onto the floor.
“Nic, how long do you think you will stay?” Alyssa asked.
“Three weeks at the most. I need to go through the bulk of Nina's things—furniture, books, dishes, artwork, all that—and catalog it for tax purposes—”
“ 'For tax purposes,' ” her younger sister repeated, as if the expression tickled her.
“Then I'll see what mom wants to keep. And then I'll have an estate sale, I guess. Dad said he'd help me with that.”
“What about us?” Linda said. “Do we get to pick, too? Or do we just get to be customers at the estate sale?” Her fake-kidding tone of voice failed to be convincing.
Nicole wasn't sure why Linda was annoyed. It wasn't particularly like her to be petty or materialistic. Yet, she had been kind of aloof ever since the reading of the will. Was there something specific that she had wanted that she didn’t get? Nicole couldn’t imagine what it would be. Her older sister had always been mercurial. But this seemed different. On most of the drive down today she had been almost sullen.
“Sure, of course,” Nicole responded now. “Just tell me if there's something you want...” She felt awkward, because the words made her sound as if she had some kind of authority over her sisters, and that just seemed wrong. “You seem mad,” she added.
“I'm not mad,” Linda protested. Clearly defensive, she said, “Why would I be mad? You've always been Aunt Nina's favorite. I have no problem with that.”
“No I haven't...”
“Sure you have. Remember that emerald pendant she got you for college graduation? She didn't give Alyssa or me an emerald.”
“You guys got nice necklaces—”
“Nicole, it's fine, you're making a thing of it,” Linda said, turning it all around on her. “I'm just saying—you really didn't spend much time with Nina toward the end.” Affected by the words, Nicole swallowed a hard lump. “I mean, we didn't either. You know, we saw her a few times—just like you did. Yet, she leaves you practically everything.”
Alyssa broke in, “Linda, come on, Nina was always generous with us. But someone had to get the house.”
“Let's drop it,” Linda said.
With silent agreement, Nicole turned and ventured deeper into the house.
She quickly became distracted by her surroundings. The living room, in its yellow-glazed walls, held a vibrancy of color that usually existed only in memory. The sofa was bright and cheerful with tiny flowers in the pattern. The chairs were fat and indigo with mismatched throw pillows. The fireplace was a sheltering mosaic of chunky stone. Across the room, on a weathered sideboard was a pitcher filled with orange roses.
That gave Nicole pause. She walked closer and saw that the rose petals were silk. Odd—Nina had always loved fresh flowers from her garden.
Pursing her lips, Nicole paused and wondered if the garden was in disrepair and for how long. At the thought, a familiar weight settled on her chest. Resignation slacked her features. Pulling on her was that inescapable sense that time was streaming past her.
She continued exploring the house, passing through the nook Nina used to call her “coffee corner.” Like an elbow, it connected the living room and the kitchen. It was a small space lined with red brick; a tall hutch stood along the wall. To the right was an open archway to the kitchen.
Nicole approached the French door beside the kitchen table. As she reached for the handle, she noticed a white box set beside the door frame. It was identical to the one that secured the front entrance. Cedric Davy had given Nicole the 10-digit code for the alarm when he went over the details of her inheritance. Using a mnemonic device, she pretty much had it down. 4 seasons – 7 sins – 3 wishes – 2 cities...
Finally she heard a soft click and the door's hinges crooned as they were set into motion.
The back porch blazed with light. Effortlessly, the sun ducked beneath the overhang and billowed out, spreading over the wood like a pale sheet of fine thread. She realized at once something obvious: it was not just the house she'd been given. It was the stretch of grass behind the house that eventually sloped into sand. And the two big oak trees that still stood. Idly, she remembered that one of those oak trees had held a tree house; Aunt Nina had had it built for Nicole and her sisters when they were kids. Nina used to call the girls her “princesses,” and at their request, she had painted the interior of the tree house powdered-blue and pink. Looking at the trees now, Nicole couldn't tell which tree it was or if the tree house was even still there. The oaks had filled out so thickly over the years that their hefty branches seemed lost in each other, twisted and pressed by their own weight, braiding downward in reams of color.
“Hey.”
She turned and saw Alyssa descending the porch steps. “So one thing I will say, this place seems safer than your apartment.”
“Seems,” Nicole echoed. “The security code was a paragraph.”
“Just make sure you actually use it. I'm serious. Don't be all trusting and gullible, okay?”
“I'm not! Why do you guys always think that?”
“Um, can anyone say ‘Roger’?”
“Don't start with Roger. That could have happened to anyone. He had a drug problem,” Nicole said, referring to the break-in to her apartment two months ago. Roger,
her troubled neighbor, had been the agreed-upon culprit. “Anyway, there are dead bolts on the front and back doors, in addition to the alarm. I'll be fine.”
The truth was, she was touched by how protective Alyssa was of her, especially after the robbery. But she was really paranoid if he thought she was in danger here. There was something reassuring about this place. It was so peaceful, like stepping into a postcard or a painting. It would almost be impossible to envision any danger, to suspect that trouble could be lurking beneath the sheer blue sky—or amid the turquoise ocean.
When she and Alyssa went back inside, they seemed to be alone. “Where's Linda?” Nicole asked, walking from room to room.
“I don't know, she was in the living room when I left...” Alyssa began. “Linda?” she called out when she got to foyer. “Linda?” Nicole trailed behind her, then put her hand on the banister, poised to go upstairs.
Abruptly Linda appeared at the top of the stairs. “What's up?” she said casually.
“Nothing...we just didn't know where you went,” Nicole said.
Linda shrugged. Her tone was vague. “Nowhere, really. Just exploring.”
Chapter Three
That night Nicole lay awake listening to wind tousle the trees and rattle the glass door that led to the balcony.
In the dark, she could almost make out the frilly comforts of the room. The floral duvet, the lace-trimmed pillows, the oak blanket chest at the end of the bed. She had picked this guest room because it reminded her of Aunt Nina. It was cozy and feminine, and brought back that intrinsically safe feeling she'd had as a child. Her sisters were in guest rooms down the hall.
Now Nicole peeled back the covers and sat up in bed. She let her legs dangle off the edge for a few meaningful moments before she hopped onto the floor.
She had not been inside the library yet. As a child, Nicole had often played in her aunt’s library, pretending to be a tour guide at a “book museum.” She supposed she had avoided the room because a part of her was afraid of what she might find. Like the silk flowers, Nicole dreaded finding some change, something different—another one of time's little betrayals.
Quietly, she crept down the stairs, feeling the stillness of the house.
When she reached the doors, she pushed them open and flipped the switch. The bronze sconces on the walls lit up, setting a cavernous glow on the room. Emotion flooded her chest.
The library still held its coppery spell. The bookshelves that lined the entire left-hand wall shone like lacquered caramel. In the center of the room stood an elegant sofa and two silk-covered chairs. Along the right-hand wall, a brick fireplace with a heavy mirror above the mantle.
Quite naturally, she walked closer to the bookshelves. Nicole had always felt akin to books, feeling that her life was similarly contained, in the way a spine bound a book. Her eyes scanned the rows, one by one, when she suddenly noticed a book that looked out of place. She stepped closer and realized what was off. It was facing the wrong way; the pages were facing out.
At first she ignored it and continued browsing the shelves. But she found that her eyes kept wandering back to that one book, high up on the second shelf.
Now it was nagging at her. Apparently she was a hopeless librarian. Being 5’2,” she could not reach the book on her own, so she stepped gingerly upon the rolling ladder and pushed off with one foot.
The wheels squeaked as they careened over, and Nicole brought herself up two steps and pulled out the book. The Selected Works of Edgar Allan Poe. When she flipped the book around, a sheet of paper suddenly slipped out of it. A bit startled, she watched it float out of her reach and drift to the floor.
With the book still in hand, Nicole stepped down from the ladder and picked up the loose sheet. Page 93. Printed on it in small type was the poem “Annabel Lee.” She surveyed the words:
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee
She vaguely recalled this one. It was sort of a tragic love story. In it, the narrator speaks of his one love, Annabel Lee, who was taken from him by death. Ironically, he blames the angels in Heaven, accusing them of conspiring against him out of jealousy and spite.
Just then, a harsh clacking sound startled her.
She paused.
Then she heard it again. Clack. A few beats passed—CLACK.
She thought it might be coming from outside. Curiously, she crossed to a narrow window that stretched alongside a chair in the corner of the room.
Through the criss-crossed glass, she saw her own blurred reflection. She cupped her hand over her eyes and pressed up against the window. From here, the ocean was a scatter of glittering jewels. The night wind blew with vigor. Like an army of tiny shadows, dark leaves charged across the air—whisked around, appearing angry and—
A massive black bird sped straight toward her and crashed into the window. Nicole jumped back, startled, and slapped a hand over her galloping heart.
Splayed on the wet glass, it looked almost like a crumpled leather glove. Then, with confusion, she watched the bird peel itself off the glass and move backward.
Her breathing slowed. And her face began to relax as she realized that it wasn’t a bird at all. No, that wouldn’t make sense, she decided. Surely it had been an optical illusion. The leafy end of a tree branch blowing against the glass, she reasoned.
With a sigh, she sank down, curling her body inside the chair. She set the Poe book on her knees, flipped it open and began to read. It wasn't long before she started to feel drowsy. The ocean wind kicked up again and a branch began tapping at the window—a faint, almost rhythmic sound. As her eyes drifted across the page, the lines of the poem swirled in her mind...
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea...
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee...
Intermittently, the branch stopped tapping and seemed to hover, its leaves flitting gently, as if anticipating. On the other side of the glass, someone was waiting.
Chapter Four
On Monday morning, Nicole was sitting on the dining room floor, with her file cabinet wheeled by her side, writing down all the pieces in Aunt Nina's tea set—trying not to miss her sisters who had left the night before—when the doorbell rang.
The sound surprised her, especially as she hadn't left the house all weekend and didn't know anyone in town. Maybe it was the mailman?
When she pulled open the front door, there was no one on the other side of it.
Curiously, she stepped outside. She looked around and paused, confused. She saw no one on or around the property. The street was quiet. Only as she turned to go back inside did Nicole notice the potted plant sitting on the right side of the porch. The pot held three white flowers in bloom and had a bow around its base. Almost tentatively, she approached it.
There didn’t appear to be a card attached to it. Nicole had to assume it was a “welcome to the neighborhood” gift. Or perhaps it was part of a regular delivery service that Nina had participated in prior to her death. That would be likelier, considering how much Nina loved flowers. Besides, weren't “welcome” gifts usually an excuse to meet someone more than anything else? It wouldn’t make sense to ring the bell and then leave.
As she brought the flowers inside, Nicole checked underneath the pot. No note there either. The only tidbit at all was the plastic tag sticking out of the dirt that identified the plant: Hydrangea arborescens.
As she pushed the front door closed, she had to struggle against the force of the wind, suddenly ferocious, pushing back on her, almost as if it were determined to get inside.
***
Several hours later, after the sun had set and the moon had risen, after the rolling files had been abandon
ed for the day, after she had called both her mother and her father, she poured herself a glass of wine. She’d found a bottle of Merlot standing unopened in the mostly bereft walk-in pantry. Possibly it had been a gift, because as Nicole recalled, Aunt Nina drank only white.
Next she dialed her sister, Linda, but got no answer. She was hoping to talk to her and smooth over whatever weirdness had apparently emerged after the reading of the will. She could understand if her older sister felt slighted since Nicole had inherited so much more than anyone else in the family. But there was more going on, she was sure of that. And Nicole wanted to find out what; unfortunately, Alyssa, who was usually a charming buttinski, was clueless on this one.
Obviously it would have to wait. She set her phone down on the counter and went to deactivate the security alarm. Nicole was developing a nightly routine of a short walk down by the water. Now, as she stepped onto the back porch, she savored all the perfect elements of October—the crisp air, the sound of rustling leaves, the faint spicy aroma of wood burning.
Once the grass sloped into soft sand, she slipped off her shoes and continued to the shoreline. Even though the sand was cool, it caressed the bottom of her feet like a fleece blanket.
Just then, a square of light appeared in front of her. Nicole looked up and turned around. The top floor window of the house next door was illuminated. The curtain in the window shifted and Nicole could vaguely make out a silhouette behind it. It appeared to be a woman wringing her hands and pushing them into her hair. She seemed to be pacing, but then the light snapped off. Since she hadn’t met her neighbors yet, she didn’t give the scene much thought.
Once near the water's edge, Nicole sipped her wine and looked out at the row of docked boats in the distance. Suddenly a hand clapped around her neck and yanked her backward.
