Memory House: Memory House Collection (Memory House Series Book 1)

by Bette Lee Crosby

  Annie gives a solemn nod. “I’m sure.”

  “Is it possible you fell and hit your back?”

  “No,” Annie answers. “Something hit me, and whatever it was came from a memory in the locket. I’m almost certain of it.”

  As she listens to the story Ophelia’s face is a mask of worry, and her eyes darken to the color of cinder. “I want you to give the locket back to me,” she says. Her words are pointed and purposeful.

  “That’s not a good idea,” Annie answers. Although she acknowledges the locket belongs to Ophelia, she is fearful of the evil inside of it. “What if this happens again?”

  Annie leaves the remainder of her thought unsaid, but she is thinking Ophelia’s frail bones could not withstand the force of such a blow.

  “Nothing will happen,” Ophelia replies. “I’ve had the locket for a long time and not once have I had a problem. There’s no reason why now…” She turns it off as if it is not a matter of concern, but the truth is she fears Annie has somehow unleashed a Pandora’s box of memories.

  It is the first time they argue about anything, but in the end Annie takes the locket from its hiding place and hands it back.

  Treating it with casual irreverence, Ophelia drops it into her pocket and moves on to talking about her need for a new apple corer.

  They sit together for another half hour; then Ophelia says she is tired and ready for bed. It is not yet ten o’clock when she leaves Annie at the table and goes to the loft.

  Once upstairs, she sits in the small chair and listens for Annie’s movements as an owl listens for a mouse to rustle through the leaves. It is almost an hour before she hears the girl go to her room and yet another hour before she hears the soft breaths of sleep. She waits a while longer to be certain, then starts down the stairs.

  With her hand tightly gripping the banister Ophelia inches her way down with uncertain steps. There is only the light of the moon, so she moves slowly. After each step she stretches her toe down and finds the next tread before she continues. At the bottom of the staircase there is a light switch, but she passes it by and feels her way toward the front door.

  Halfway across the room she bumps into the sofa and stops. She has taken a wrong turn. Hand over hand she moves along the back of the sofa until she comes to an open space that she knows is directly in front of the center hall. Careful not to topple the three-legged table she moves along the wall and feels for the doorframe, then turns the lock, twists the doorknob and steps outside.

  Once she is outside the moonlight is brighter. She can see the flagstones of the walkway that leads to the pond. Keeping to the path she has trod for all these years, she circles the house and finds the grassy area beside the pond. Here she moves more slowly. At night the pond seems black, and the definition between water and land is blurred. Ophelia wishes she had brought a cane to steady her step and feel for what is ahead, but she hasn’t and now it’s too late.

  When she nears the pond she can smell the water and hear the movement of fish. Still she moves forward. Only after she can feel the cold water swishing around her ankles does she take the two small objects in her hand and heave them into the center of the pond. There is a small splash and then another. After that there is nothing.

  “That’s it,” she murmurs and steps from the water back onto the grass.

  The moon is high in the sky and half the night is gone when Ophelia climbs into her bed. Her body is weary, but her heart is at rest.

  Ophelia

  Perhaps I’m wrong; perhaps these trinkets I’ve accumulated over the years have nothing to do with Annie’s future. The voice in my dream didn’t say a blessed word about this stuff. It only said her destiny was in my hands.

  I should’ve left it at that instead of taking it on myself to decide she needed to know everything about the treasures. Finding happy memories is all well and good, but once you start poking around in another person’s life and opening up secrets they might want to keep hidden you’re staring trouble in the eye.

  First it was the watch. When she told me about how she’d seen and felt the fire, I thought maybe she’d just had a bad dream. I’ve had plenty of those. Why, there have been times I’d wake up with my heart pounding like a kettledrum because I was so scared.

  This thing with the locket is different. She wasn’t asleep when it happened. She felt the blow and knew where it came from. Annie didn’t say how scared she was, but I could see it in her face. When I was sitting there listening to that story I was just as scared as she was, but I’m older and I’ve learned to keep a straight face instead of letting folks see what’s picking at my insides.

  After hanging on to that watch and the locket for all these years, you might think I’d be sad to see them go but I’m not. Not one iota. I say good riddance to both of them. Nothing in this world is as precious as that girl, and I’m not willing to take chances with her life.

  Starting tomorrow I’m going to stop this nonsense about hunting down memories. I’m gonna tell her it’s time to go out into the world and get a job. She needs to meet people her own age and have fun. Once that happens, if she’s got leftover time to spend with me I’ll thank the good Lord and be happy about it.

  Soon enough I’ll be dancing all over heaven with my Edward, and it’ll be as sweet as it always was.

  See, that’s what I want for Annie. A man who’ll love her the way Edward loved me. She’s got a good heart and deserves to find some happiness for herself, not spend her days caring for an old lady.

  The Time Has Come

  Weary from her late-night excursion, Ophelia does not open her eyes until after nine the next morning. Still groggy, she is slow in dressing but before she starts down the stairs she knows exactly what she will do.

  Annie sits at the table with a large mug of tea and a notepad where she is scribbling her thoughts. After weeks of working with Ophelia in the apothecary, she has gleaned a thin layer of knowledge about the herbs and mixes so today she has added a scoop of coriander to the tea.

  When she mentions this a puzzled look settles on Ophelia’s face and she asks, “Whatever for?”

  “Protection,” Annie answers. “I think maybe one bad thing happened to Delia, but behind it there might be a lot of other good things, things tied to my destiny. I’d like to start wearing the locket again and see—”

  “No,” Ophelia answers emphatically. “That’s definitely not the case.” Before Annie can jump in with a differing opinion, Ophelia continues. “I had another dream last night, and this one was a lot clearer than the first.”

  Annie gives an eager smile, pushes the notepad aside and listens.

  “I saw that same bright sun,” Ophelia says, “and heard the same voice.” She leans in and looks straight into Annie’s eyes with no indication of a lie. “It told me that my treasures have nothing to do with your future; it said what you need to do is go into Langley, get a job and meet young people your own age.”

  A look of disappointment tugs at Annie’s face. “That’s it?”

  Ophelia nods. With a look as innocent as that of a newborn babe, she adds, “The voice was explicit this time. It said there’s no future in those things, only bits and pieces of meaningless old memories.”

  “I don’t get it,” Annie says. “If those things aren’t tied to my future, then why am I seeing and feeling these things?”

  This question Ophelia is not prepared for. She shrugs and gives the only answer that comes to mind. “It must be this house. It was here at the house that I started finding memories, so I can only guess the same thing is happening to you.”

  Annie has no answer. For several minutes she sits there thinking, then says, “That can’t be it. The thing with the locket didn’t happen here, it happened when I was back in Philadelphia.”

  “Maybe so,” Ophelia argues, “but you brought the locket from the house.”

  Such a thought saddens Annie. Sifting through the things in search of a memory is like a treasure hunt; each new find bri
ngs a thrill and a burst of excitement. Now, because of a single dream, Ophelia is suggesting she give it up. Although she found it easy enough to believe in a dream that promised her destiny was to be found through one of the treasures, she now finds it hard to believe in this one. It is reminiscent of the horoscopes she used to read in the Philadelphia Inquirer. She chose to believe the ones that predicted a good day for romance or a day when she would find new friends, prosperity or good luck, but when it warned of trouble she laughed at the silliness of such an idea.

  Finding a job now seems so ordinary, and Annie cannot stand the thought of again crunching numbers to measure how long a person will live. With sadness making her eyes appear more grey than violet, she looks at Ophelia and says, “Couldn’t I just work in the apothecary? Or maybe plant a bigger garden and sell the produce?”

  Although the sorrow in Annie’s words weighs heavily on her heart, Ophelia forces a carefree chuckle. “This isn’t Langley. The dream said you have to go into Langley and find a job.”

  “But that’s a forty-minute drive from here. What if you need something—”

  “Need something?” Ophelia cuts in. “Why, I’ve gotten along all these years with doing for myself. I imagine I can get along during the day when you’re off at work.”

  Annie smiles. “So I just have to work in Langley and can still live here?”

  “Of course,” Ophelia replies. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  She then tells Annie that Theodore McLeary, manager of the Langley Savings and Loan, is an old and trusted friend and might be willing to help Annie find work.

  “I’ll call him today,” she says.

  Theodore McLeary owes Ophelia a favor—a big favor. Were it not for Ophelia, Maryellen would have died years earlier. That winter half the people in Langley came down with the flu. Nine people died, and Winston Barnes, the town’s only doctor, was laid up with a sky-high fever. Once that happened, there was no one to take his place.

  Theodore was on the verge of desperation when he called and asked if Ophelia had a remedy. That same afternoon she drove over, and for three straight days she spent every minute watching over Maryellen. On the morning of the fourth day the fever finally broke. It was then that Theodore said if Ophelia ever needed anything—anything at all—he’d be there for her.

  Now she is ready to collect on that promise.

  While Annie cleans up in the apothecary, Ophelia makes the call.

  “The girl needs a job,” she says. She does not tell Theodore anything of what has transpired, only that Annie is as dear to her as Maryellen is to him. She also doesn’t mention the promise he made all those years ago.

  She doesn’t have to; he remembers.

  “I’ve got a spot in the bookkeeping department,” he suggests, “and it’s good as hers.”

  The next morning when Annie leaves the house she is wearing a navy blue suit and high heels. As she pulls out of the driveway, Ophelia stands at the window watching. A tear hovers on the rim of her left eye as she prays that she has done the right thing.

  Meeting Mister McLeary

  Annie is outside the Langley Savings and Loan at 9:35. She allowed more than twice the time necessary for the drive and has arrived almost an hour before her scheduled appointment.

  She walks to the corner, looks into the window of a bakery, then turns and walks back again. Arriving too early makes her seem desperate, she reasons, so again she walks to the corner and back. This time she does not stop at the bakery. She checks her watch. Only five minutes have passed.

  Crossing the street Annie walks in the other direction. The Langley Public Library is two blocks down, and before she realizes it she is standing inside.

  It is like Memory House, magical in its own way. It has none of the noise of a busy office, no hum of conversation floating through the air, no clip clop of high heels trotting along hallways. There is only the soft whisper of words and a librarian who walks with silent steps. The librarian is a young woman with blonde hair and glasses perched halfway down her nose. Pretty. Not at all like Missus Culver, the school librarian Annie remembers.

  Moving to the reading area, Annie lowers herself into a large leather chair. It is the color of luggage and soft as a glove. From here she can see a good part of the room. It is a room where she feels comfortable. She can smell the paper of the books and aging leather of their bindings. She lifts The Richmond Courier from the table and pretends to read.

  A small boy comes to the desk with a single book. The librarian pulls a card from the book, stamps it and then hands it back to the lad. As she does so she says something; he nods and smiles. After him there is an elderly woman with a stack of four, maybe five books. She and the librarian have an intimate conversation; both women laugh, but Annie is too far away to hear why.

  She moves to another chair, one that is at the end of the mahogany bookshelves and a bit closer to the desk. A teenager approaches and appears to ask a question. The librarian points toward the far end of the room and says something, but Annie still cannot hear what is being said. She knows only that the answer generates a smile.

  As she watches people come and go, Annie starts to like the young librarian. She stands, thinking to introduce herself, straightens her skirt and starts toward the desk.

  Only then does she remember to look at her watch. It is 10:28, a scant two minutes before her appointment. Darting out the door Annie breaks into long strides that are only slightly less than a run. When she walks into the bank her cheeks are flushed and her words breathy.

  Theodore McLeary is exactly as Annie expected: gentlemanly, soft-spoken and silver haired. When she is ushered into his office, he stands and comes around to the front of the desk to greet her.

  Once they are settled, she hands him a copy of her resume. It is the same one she used to get the job at Quality Life seven years ago. The last job listed on the resume is a small accounting firm.

  He takes the paper she offers and starts to read it. “Accounting experience,” he says, “that’s good.” When he gets to the end he flips the paper over looking for a continuation. There is none.

  “Your last job was seven years ago?”

  The question is casual, and he acts as though this is nothing unusual.

  “No,” Annie answers. “I didn’t realize I’d be looking for a job so soon and haven’t yet updated my resume.”

  “No problem,” he answers. Leaning back in his chair he says, “Just fill me in on your last job.”

  Annie tells him about Quality Life. “I started as an underwriting assistant, and worked my way up to actuarial.”

  As she continues explaining various details of the job, McLeary gives an occasional nod. The expression on his face says he is pleased with what he is hearing.

  After he has heard all he needs to know, Theodore McLeary offers Annie the job. “You’d be assisting Mister Bainbridge in the bookkeeping department. I think it’s something you’ll enjoy.”

  Although there has not yet been one word of discussion regarding the salary, the disappointment on her face is obvious.

  McLeary sees this and adds, “I wouldn’t expect you to take an assistant’s salary; we’d make it commensurate with your experience.”

  Annie’s expression doesn’t change.

  “You’re not happy with this offer, are you?”

  Annie winces and gives her head a reluctant shake.

  Assuming it is the thought of being demoted to the position of an assistant, McLeary says, “Bainbridge will be retiring in less than a year, and if things work out you’ll head up the department.”

  “It’s not that,” Annie says. “I was just kind of hoping to get a job where I can work with people. Ophelia said—”

  “What kind of a job did you have in mind?”

  Annie shrugs. “I’m not sure. Teller, maybe? Service assistant?”

  “Hmmm.” McLeary tents his hands in front of his face and leans into them. For a moment he is silent, thinking what to do.r />
  “We don’t have any of those openings right now,” he finally says, “and I don’t know how long it will be until we do have something.”

  “I understand,” Annie replies.

  When he asks if she would be willing to take the bookkeeping job until a teller position opens up, Annie says she’d rather not.

  “Think it over,” McLeary offers. “If you change your mind, get back to me.”

  Annie thanks him then leaves the bank. On the way out she is smiling.

  By the time she reaches the sidewalk, Annie knows exactly what she is going to do. She crosses the street and heads back to the library.

  Once inside she does not go directly to the desk; instead she walks through the stacks, touches her fingers to the books, occasionally straightening one or turning it right side up, sniffing the smell of leather bindings and imagining the decades of people who have come and gone through these very same aisles.

  A feeling of familiarity settles over Annie, a feeling much the same as she felt that first night at Memory House. She has had one thought in mind ever since she left the bank, but it is not until her hand lifts a book titled Here is Where I Belong that she knows for certain.

  This is where she belongs.

  ~ ~ ~

  It is late afternoon when Annie arrives back at Memory House. As she passes through the hall she catches the aroma of the library. For the moment the fragrance of ink on paper is her favorite, and the potpourri reminds her of it.

  Ophelia is in the kitchen. Annie comes in and hugs her from behind.

  “I got a job,” Annie says. Her words have the sound of happiness woven through them. “It’s part time, three days a week.”

  Ophelia turns. “Three days a week? Is that all Theodore had to offer?”

  “The job isn’t at the bank, it’s at the library.”