by Amy Cross
"Explain all of this, Bill," Paula says, fixing me with a determined stare. "It wasn't me, and you insist it wasn't you. So who was it?"
Chapter Seven
1925.
As is tradition, I have Catherine's body laid out in a coffin in our home. It's not that I want her here, or that I feel any need to 'make peace' with her before she's buried tomorrow; it's merely that the people of Devil's Briar expect me to act properly, and I would prefer not to draw attention to my actions at this time. After all, it's currently believed by the general population that Catherine died after slipping out of the house in order to go and meet Thomas Parkinson, whose vociferous denials are falling on deaf ears. No-one has yet mentioned the cuts on her back and face, probably because the locals would prefer not to raise the specter of another scandal in the town. With Lawrence Evans so recently dead, there seems to be a general desire to have peace return to our community.
"I will not apologize," I mutter, standing alone in the kitchen and staring at the coffin. If anyone is to judge my actions, it will be God, and I am quite certain that he will not only understand what I did, but will quietly applaud my choices. Catherine has no-one to blame for her death but herself. If she had not dallied with Thomas Parkinson, none of this would have happened.
"Won't you at least look at me?" Catherine says, her voice coming from deep inside the sealed coffin.
I take a deep breath. Having suspected that her spirit would reach out to me, I have prepared for this moment and I am ready. There is nothing she can say that will burden my soul.
"Your hands made me," she continues. "Would a painter finish his masterpiece and then not dare to look upon the canvas? Why won't you marvel at what you have created? A frozen, broken girl".
I refuse to answer. Whatever she has to say, it is irrelevant to me. I know my own mind, and I know that I have no cause to be ashamed or rueful.
"It's okay," she says. "Would you like to know a secret? I wasn't your true daughter. Not by blood. Mother fucked Michael Emerson, the printer, many years ago. Did you really think your seed could produce a child? You're a barren old man, and you're nobody's father".
"Don't talk about your mother in such a way," I reply. "She was a good woman, and you must not -"
"It's true," she says, interrupting me. "You know it, in your heart. She fucked Emerson many times, and on one of those occasions a child was created. Perhaps if Emerson hadn't left town, mother would have left you and been happy with him. Unfortunately, I had to be raised by you, Dr. Collings; a man who believed himself to be my father, but who could no more raise a happy child than he could train a pig to fly".
"I will not listen to this," I say firmly, turning to walk away.
"Do you hear my bones cracking?" she asks, and I hear the sound of splintering ice. "It's so hard to move. Won't you help me out of the coffin? Won't you at least open the lid, so that I can see your face one final time?"
"I will not," I reply. "You're nothing but a fancy of my mind. The real Catherine is dead, and her soul has gone to Hell for all the sins she committed while she was alive. I only wish I had beaten you more often, but I made the mistake of showing you a little pity. I am a firm man, a strong man, with a heart of iron. I am not the kind of man who changes course easily. I am not a cloth man, who changes direction depending upon which way the wind blows".
"Of course not, Father," she says. "You don't mind if I still call you Father, do you? Even though you're not really my father".
"I pray that what you say is true," I tell her. "I should hate to think that I could have sired such a dreadful little slut. I can only imagine what you got up to with Thomas Parkinson -"
"Oh, wouldn't you like to know!" she says, laughing. "Do you want to know if he took my virginity? Do you want to know if he stuck his -"
At that moment, there's a knock at the door and I hurry over, pulling it open to find Mr. Thomas Paternoster and his niece Victoria standing outside, knee-deep in snow. In my haste to greet my visitors and to hopefully silence Catherine's voice, I had little time to prepare for the arrival of these two fine people; I find, now, that I'm quite at a loss as to what I should do.
"Good evening, Dr. Collings," Mr. Paternoster says. "I hope this isn't a bad time. Victoria and I merely wanted to come and pay our respects to your daughter".
"Of course," I reply, stepping aside so that they can enter. "I very much appreciate your visit".
"Such a tragedy," Mr. Paternoster says as he enters the kitchen and walks toward the coffin. His niece hangs back a little; it's good to see a girl who knows her place. "I heard that she was out courting a young gentleman when it happened," Mr. Paternoster continues. "Is that right?"
"Regrettably, it is," I reply, pushing the door shut. "I had expressly banned her from going to see Thomas Parkinson, but she set out in the dead of night for some secret rendezvous and unfortunately she was overcome by the cold weather".
"I see," Mr. Paternoster says, turning to me. "But what about the cuts on her back? What about the injury on her face. I hope you don't find me impertinent, Dr. Collings, but I would venture to say that the marks look almost like the poor girl was struck with some kind of strap. Perhaps a whip?"
I stare at him for a moment. "What do you mean?" I ask, desperately trying to work out what to say. As far as I know, Mr. Paternoster has been nowhere near Catherine's body, but perhaps word is spreading through the town. Perhaps I was a fool to think people wouldn't spread rumors. "Have you seen my daughter's body?"
"In a way," he says. "I just hope her death was quick and painless, although I somehow doubt that was the case. I'm sure freezing to death is a rather drawn-out process, and it's certainly one that I never want to experience myself".
"Amen," I say. "The Lord God chose to punish my daughter for her transgressions, and in so doing he took her up into his fold and he -"
"Yes," Mr. Paternoster says, "I've heard such sentiments before. They rarely ring true, but I suspect that in this case you are a true man of God and your daughter was simply ungovernable. You must not blame yourself for her mistakes. I'm quite sure that you did your best. Unfortunately, it's sometimes the case that young girls can be quite headstrong, and it's beyond our means to rein them in". He turns to his niece. "I'm very lucky, Dr. Collings, that my own dear Victoria has such a strong soul. I remind myself every day that I am truly blessed in this regard".
I turn to the young lady, and she curtsies immediately. Mr. Paternoster is correct: his niece is a most pleasing specimen of womanhood, and any man would be pleased to have her in his household. I can't help but wonder whether her pleasant disposition is caused by nature, or nurture, or a little of both.
"There is something I wish to discuss with you, Dr. Collings," Mr. Paternoster says. "Shall we go through to your office?"
"Of course," I reply.
"Victoria, wait here," Mr. Paternoster tells his niece as I lead him to the study, closing the door behind us.
"She is a most delightful girl," I say again. "I must say, I'm a little surprised that she is not married".
"There will be time for that in the future," he replies, sitting on the small sofa over by the window. "I'm keen to ensure that I find the right man for her. As you can imagine, there have been plenty of rogues who have come sniffing around at the hem of her skirt".
"Quite," I say, sitting in my armchair. "I'm afraid that until recently we had our own rogue in Devil's Briar. Lawrence Evans. You might have heard tales of his atrocities".
"Not in any detail," Mr. Paternoster says. "Perhaps you can fill me in, some other time". He pauses for a moment, as if he has a matter of great delicacy to discuss with me. "I wish to talk to you about Mayor Caster," he says finally. "I don't wish to be presumptuous, but since I arrived in Devil's Briar I have observed one or two peculiar things about the way the town is run. In particular, I'm starting to wonder whether Mr. Caster is able to fulfill his duties".
I nod, relieved that finally someone has raised the matter
. There has been much gossip about Mayor Caster in recent days, but precious little by way of calls to action. "The man seems to be suffering from some kind of disorder," I say. "I had hoped he might recover, but it's looking more and more likely that the downward spiral is permanent".
"Do you know what has caused his withdrawal from public life?" Mr. Paternoster asks. "When I first met him, he seemed to be a rather jolly fellow".
"Ever since the incident with Lawrence Evans," I reply, "Mr. Caster has seemed troubled and distracted. I'm sure it's traumatic to shoot a man in cold blood, but he surely must recognize that the incident has made him a hero around here. Lawrence Evans was no good, and his death was a blessing. Everyone sees that, except Caster himself".
Mr. Paternoster smiles weakly. "Regardless of the reason for the latest developments," he says, "I fear something must be done in order to ensure continuity in the town. If Mr. Caster, for whatever cause, cannot continue as Mayor of Devil's Briar, someone must take his place. In normal circumstances, I would of course hasten to find a man of local repute to take on the role, but I have observed that all the eligible candidates in town are already far too busy in important positions. A man such as yourself, for example, cannot very well abandon his patients in order to take on the role of Mayor".
"I have never given the idea a moment's thought," I say, rather pleased that Mr. Paternoster has recognized my suitability for the position.
"Besides," he continues, "there's the matter of your dear, departed daughter Catherine". He smiles, fixing me with a dark stare that causes me a little discomfort. "I'm not sure people would accept you as Mayor," he continues, "if they knew what really happened to Catherine last night".
I take a deep breath. "And what is that?" I ask.
"You whipped her half to death," he says, "and then you chained her to the cross and, in a drunken stupor, left her outside until she froze and died".
"How dare you!" I say, standing up. There's a sickening, knotted feeling in my belly as I realize that somehow this damnable man must have observed my actions last night. Still, no-one would believe him.
"It's the truth," he replies, remaining seated. "Three lashes on her back, then another across her face. And when you came home after tying her to the cross, you drank the rest of your last bottle of whiskey. This morning, you woke up and realized with horror what you had done, but by the time you got to the town square it was too late to do anything. The poor girl is dead and blue in her coffin, slowly thawing out as she awaits her funeral".
"That's not true," I splutter.
"It's absolutely true," he says calmly. "You know it, and I know it. Fortunately, there is no need for it to become common knowledge around the town. I hear that young Thomas Parkinson is being widely blamed for encouraging Catherine to sneak out of your house in the dead of night. I rather fancy that the whole experience will strengthen young Mr. Parkinson's character and ensure that he grows up to be a very decent member of our society". He pauses for a moment. "Then there's the matter of your late wife, Dr. Collings. How did she die, again?"
I take a deep breath. "She required an emergency operation," I say, trying to stay calm. "Unfortunately, she developed an infection and died".
He smiles. "Given the state of your operating theater, that's hardly surprising. But do the good people of Devil's Briar know the truth? Do they know how you cut her open and then left her to bleed to death? Do they know how you sat and watched as she begged you for help? Or do they merely know the version you spread, in which you valiantly tried to save her life?"
I close my eyes. This man seems to know everything, although I have no idea how he has come by his information. After all, there was no-one else in the room with my wife and I while the operation was taking place, and I'm quite certain that nobody could have seen what happened last night when I was punishing Catherine.
"It's okay," Mr. Paternoster continues. "I understand. Your wife had been cavorting with Lawrence Evans. She was threatening to embarrass you. As for your daughter... Well, I suppose we're living in an age when a man has every right to consider himself the master of his home. While I don't agree with your actions, I'm not here to judge you. I merely think that these factors rule you out of running for Mayor. We can agree on that, surely?"
Opening my eyes, I stare at this infernal man. "Quite," I say eventually. "And who -"
"I suppose I shall have to step forward myself," he says suddenly. "I do not seek power or glory, Dr. Collings, but I believe I would be an adequate choice to take the position if Mayor Caster is unable to perform his duties. I trust I would have your public support, were I to undertake such an endeavor".
"Of course," I say, realizing that I have been somewhat backed into a corner.
"And Mr. Caster will need to be medically examined and declared unfit to continue in his current role," Mr. Paternoster continues. "Since Devil's Briar seems to lack a psychiatrist, that job will fall to you. I trust there will be no problems in ascertaining your opinion?"
"The man has lost his mind," I say. "That, at least, is quite clear to everyone".
"Excellent," Mr. Paternoster says, getting to his feet. "I shall detain you no longer on this difficult day, Dr. Collings. You must be experiencing the most intense grief over the death of your daughter, even though you seem to be holding yourself together remarkably well". He smiles. "That's what I like to see. A strong man who can put on a good face for the public, even when he is hurting inside".
"I pride myself on my strength," I say, determined to salvage some dignity in this unsettling conversation. "I am not a man who changes course easily. Once I have made a decision, I stick to it. I am not some kind of cloth man, who blows easily in the breeze".
"Good," he replies. "I hope I can rely upon your support over the next few weeks, and I hope equally that I will be able to repay that support in any way you see fit once I am in office".
I pause for a moment, realizing that perhaps I can gain something of value from this arrangement after all. "There is the small matter of my household," I say. "My wife and daughter are both dead, and I need a good woman to run my house. She must be able to cook and clean, and she must be reliable and of a pleasant disposition. Given the circumstances, she must also be open to the possibility of eventually becoming my wife".
"Say no more," Mr. Paternoster says, heading to the door. "My dear Victoria would be honored to look after your household, and I have certainly been on the lookout for an opportunity to find her a husband. Perhaps this situation will work out very well for all of us".
"Perhaps so," I say. "Let me show you out".
When we emerge from the study and head through to the kitchen, I am surprised to find that Victoria is leaning over Catherine's closed coffin, and seems to be whispering something to the wood. As soon as she hears us approach, Victoria looks up and smiles, and the whispering stops. Still, it is rather disconcerting to find the young lady apparently engaged in an animated conversation with my dead daughter, and for a moment I wonder whether Victoria Paternoster is a good choice for my new housekeeper and potential future wife. Once I am reminded of her beauty, though, all my doubts dissipate. I look forward to getting my hands on the young lady's naked body and siring some new children.
"Good day to you," Mr. Paternoster says, leading the still-smiling Victoria to the door. "My niece will be along tomorrow morning to begin her duties with you".
"I very much look forward to it," Victoria says politely.
"Good day," I say. Once they have left, I turn to Catherine's coffin. Where I should feel grief, I feel only excitement at the thought of gaining a new and very beautiful young wife. Catherine was a poor daughter in every respect, and she caused me nothing but trouble. I look forward to welcoming Victoria Paternoster into my home, taking her into my bed, and making her a part of my life in every conceivable way.
Chapter Eight
Today.
"You can't do it, can you?" Paula says as we stand in the little bedroom where we've b
een sleeping for the past few nights. "You can't admit that you're wrong. You can't admit that maybe there's something going on here that doesn't fit with your beliefs".
Sitting on the bed, trying to work out how we're going to get out of this place, I sigh. "I'm happy to admit that I can't explain everything," I say after a moment. "The difference, Paula, is that whereas you rush to fill the gaps in our knowledge with superstitious talk about ghosts, I'm happy to leave the questions open while we investigate more closely. I'm pretty damn sure we'll be able to come up with a rational explanation that doesn't involve ghosts wandering around the place".
"Wait here," she says, turning and walking out of the room.
"Where are you going?" I call after her, but she doesn't reply. I'm left sitting in the room, trying to work out what I'm going to do. The bad weather means hiking out of Devil's Briar would be risky, but the sudden disappearance of the gas can from the workshop means the truck isn't an option either. With the small plow attached to the front, the truck wouldn't have any trouble getting through the snow, but the whole business is academic if we don't have the gas. The only possibility, right now, seems to be to wait for the snow to melt and then hike out of here, in which case we'll have to sit around eating the canned meat Paula found and drinking melted snow.
"You want to see something cool?" Paula says, returning to the room with something hidden behind her back.
"Shoot," I reply.
She pauses for a moment, before holding a small metal tin out toward me. "You like?" she asks.
"What is it?" I say, peering closer.
