by G. F. Frost
“Okay, honey. I think we should go now, I don’t believe in wearing out a welcome. I remembered those this morning, and just felt that they belonged here. Since you’re working so hard on putting this place back together, I thought you should have them. Miss Totti would want me to give them back, I think. I may even have a few more things once I get to digging,” she said.
Massey helped her up from the sofa and brought her the walker.
“Thank you so much. I will find the perfect place for these also.” Massey said as she followed them to the door.
Mrs. Purdue gave Massey a good hug and a wink as she approached the porch.
Massey watched from the porch as the small vehicle carrying the two women sped down the drive. The tiny booties were still in her hand. She looked down at them. Placing them in the tissue once more, she carried them into the parlor and laid them on the mantel beside the picture. She felt a bit of a chill as she looked into the faces of Joseph and Marie.
Chapter Twelve
Father Patrick’s phone call was brief and polite. He wanted to know if he could stay another night before Theo arrived home. Massey was happy to hear from him and happy to know he would be coming over again. She had begun to worry whether he would be interested in coming to Lovesong or even discussing his dream with her after not hearing from him in the last few days.
She hurried to the kitchen to prepare a large pot of red beans and rice for him. She knew he would enjoy a hearty dinner. The meal was well under way and darkness had arrived just before the priest. He seemed more rested and a lot less ill at ease than the last time Massey had seen him. His demeanor was pleasant and relaxed as he sat with her and his cup of coffee at the kitchen table. He seemed happy to see Jenkins and even stroked his neck as he made small talk about the parish and a few of the holiday plans for the little church.
Massey joined in the conversation without mentioning the dreams or Mrs. Purdue’s gift. She knew the time would come when Father Patrick would bring it all up, and she wanted him to be the first to talk about it. Dinner was warm and comforting. She brought out the little apple pies for dessert and watched as he devoured three at one sitting. Father Patrick never came to visit without bringing his appetite.
Both had barely settled into the parlor when he began to speak about his dreams and his plans for Massey. He carefully chose every word when detailing the events of what occurred while he was there those evenings. He made certain that he included a possible “logical” explanation for each occurrence, but Massey knew that he believed otherwise. She sat quietly as he spoke, watching and listening for any glimmer of support in his words. They came, but always accompanied by rehearsed follow-ups. She understood why.
“Massey, I’ve told you what I saw and dreamed and heard during my nights here. I am a man who believes in the unbelievable, but as I’ve said before, I have a responsibility to inquire and ask, study and pray for the right answers. I cannot rely on my mere opinion or yours to help here. We, as humans, are easily swayed by suggestion. I want to help. I want to know more, but I cannot promise answers. I’ve prayed and studied and asked for answers the last few days, but some things are never answered and never meant to be answered. Can you deal with that?” he asked.
Massey nodded.
‘I’m so glad you’ve come back. I thought you may have had second thoughts about it all. I’m not crazy, Father. More things have happened. I just need to know that you believe me.”
Father Patrick smiled at Massey and nodded. She knew that he would do all he could, and she knew that he had made a firm decision when deciding to come back for another night in the house. She told him about her latest dreams and about the gift Mrs. Purdue had brought. He listened carefully. After Massey had told him everything she could recall about the dreams, he pulled out a stack of pages from his briefcase.
“I’ve called and spoken to many people about what you’re dealing with, Massey. I’m not saying that this is what’s going on, but sometimes spirits remain because of unfinished business or because they are bound to a place due to something they yearned for in life. If, and that’s a big if, this could possibly be what we’re dealing with here, I feel that I should help these souls find their way. I pray that I can help them and you. I have obtained permission from the Arch Diocese to perform a blessing here at the house and on the grounds. I hope that will take care of all your concerns.” Father Patrick spoke softly as if he were advising Massey during confession.
“So what are we suppose to do now?” Massey asked.
“Well, I’m going to stay this evening and take notes and pictures and record everything I see and hear, if anything, and I will pray about it tomorrow. I will come back and do the blessing when it is convenient after then,” he said.
Massey agreed and they began to discuss when and where certain things took place in the house. They walked from room to room. Father Patrick snapped pictures and jotted down quick notes. They made their way into the cemetery as he captured pictures of the tombstones and graves. There was nothing out of the ordinary until they began to walk towards the house.
Most of the lights of the house were on. The windows glowed with a pale yellow tint through the blinds. They were talking about Tattienne and her kindnesses when they heard the singing. As usual, it was soft and distant at first. They both stopped as Jenkins began to bark at the house. He was looking up at the second-floor bedroom window. Massey grabbed Father Patrick’s arm as if letting him know that she heard the singing. They stopped and listened.
“Hush, Jenkins!” Massey whispered.
The dog began to bark more violently as he looked towards the upper windows. Father Patrick pointed towards the light in the window of Massey’s room. A figure stood behind the half-opened blinds. It was a dark form, looking down at them. Slowly, it moved away from the window and appeared in the next. Massey let out a low yelp, and Jenkins ran to her side.
“You stand right here, don’t move, and I’ll go up there,” Father Patrick whispered.
Massey nodded and grabbed Jenkins by the collar.
“Sit, Jenkins!” she said as she watched Father Patrick enter the house.
The cold air engulfed Massey as she stood silently watching the figure pacing between her bedroom windows. She thought of the night she had seen it before. Theo hadn’t believed her. She shivered.
A man, she thought. It seems to walk like a man.
Just then, she saw a flash, and then another and another. Father Patrick was taking photographs in her room. She hoped he would capture something!
The singing stopped forcing Massey to feel even more alone in the cold darkness of the yard. Before long, Father Patrick appeared at the door.
“It was gone!” he yelled.
“It was not there. There was no one there!” He sounded frustrated.
Massey joined him on the porch.
“It’s the same as what happened before. It’s exactly what I saw weeks ago. You saw it!” Massey said as she entered the house.
Father Patrick’s hands were trembling. He tried to steady them but had to slide them into his pockets to keep Massey from noticing. He had seen it. He had seen the dark figure looking down at them, pacing the floor from window to window. Yes, he had seen it, and he knew that Massey had seen it, which made excusing it impossible. He hoped the pictures would reveal something.
Pulling the small digital camera from his pocket, Father Patrick sat at the bottom of the stairs and began to review the snapshots. The room was as it should have been. There was no dark figure, no mass, no shadow, nothing. He scanned through them again as if something would magically appear that hadn’t been there previously. He lowered his head and shook it. He knew what he had seen. Massey searched his face for any sign that would let her know something was there, but she did not find it.
“No luck, nothing’s there,” Father Patrick said.
“But you saw him too,” Massey replied.
Father Patrick looked up at her and nodded. He had a l
ook of confusion. He felt that he had over-reacted and was hoping he had not fueled her imagination. He knew in his heart, once more that something was going on there. Standing up, he placed the camera back into his pocket and walked into the parlor. Massey followed closely.
“Why did you refer to it as him?” Father Patrick asked as he walked to the fireplace.
“I don’t know. It just moved like a man to me,” she answered.
“I heard the singing,” Father Patrick whispered.
“What is all this? What is going on? It’s not just the dreams anymore, and it’s not just me. You have to admit that.” Massey looked at the picture on the mantel.
Father Patrick shook his head as if he was at a huge loss.
“Are you afraid to stay here alone, Massey?” he asked looking into her eyes.
“I’m not. For some reason, I’m really not afraid. Sometimes I feel uneasy, and anxious. Sometimes I feel that I should leave lights on, but I’m not afraid to be here alone. It’s as if I’m waiting for someone who needs me to call. I’m just waiting anxiously, nervously,” she answered.
Father Patrick walked to the hall tree in the foyer and put his jacket on. Massey didn’t ask any questions. She followed, Jenkins close behind.
“Get a jacket. It’s cold tonight,” Father Patrick said as he walked out the front door.
Massey quickly grabbed a long cape hanging on the hook and followed him.
The two stood several minutes looking up into the bedroom windows. The lights were exactly the same, the blinds partially opened as before, but nothing was there. They stood, quietly watching and waiting. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary.
Father Patrick pulled the jacket close around his neck and walked across the yard towards the cemetery. The lights of the drive gave just enough illumination to show the graves. He walked through the gate and up to the two fallen headstones. Bending down, he placed his hands on Joseph’s stone and closed his eyes. Massey watched quietly as the priest seemed to be wording a silent prayer above the grave. Then, he moved to Marie’s grave and did the same. After he had finished, he raised his head and looked around on the ground as if searching for a lost item.
“Everything I’ve read says that the baby was buried here somewhere. I don’t understand why there is no marker.” Father Patrick pushed the dried leaves from side to side.
“I’ve looked. There is nothing,” Massey replied.
Father Patrick rose, rubbing his hands together to clean the dust and leaves from them. As if staged, a voice came from within the house again, but it was not singing. They could hear low crying coming from the rooms upstairs. Father Patrick stood as still and rigid as a statue, listening. Massey turned quickly and looked up at the windows. There was nothing there. The low sobbing of a woman continued. It was sad and desperate. The two of them stood side by side, motionless, listening.
Suddenly, Father Patrick made a dash for the front door and ran into the parlor. The sobbing had become louder. He began to dig into his bag, searching for something. At once, he pulled out a very small recorder and began to push buttons. The sobbing grew louder and louder. Father Patrick walked from room to room with the small device pushed in front of him as if he were warding off something evil. As he took the first step up the stairs, the sobbing became wailing and louder with each step. Massey placed her hands over her ears as she slowly followed the priest.
Father Patrick’s heart was beating fast as he approached the bedroom. He knew that the sounds were coming from there. Picking up the crucifix from his chest, he entered the room. In one hand, he held the recorder and the other, the silver cross from his neck.
As he stepped across the threshold, the lights of the room began to flicker violently. He motioned for Massey to stop behind him. Peering into the room, she saw Father Patrick walking around the room making the sign of the cross in each corner. He was saying a prayer of some sort, but Massey could not hear him. The crying had become screams of loud, hysterical wailing sobs. Massey crouched into the corner of the hallway with her hands still covering her ears. She could see Jenkins at the bottom of the stairs cowering in the corner next to the front door. He was shaking.
As suddenly as it all began, it ceased. The quiet that surrounded them was as deafening and terrifying as the screams and cries. Massey rose from the corner as Father Patrick backed out of the room. She ran to him and grabbed him by the arm. Before either could say a word, they had descended the stairs and were standing at the bottom of the staircase looking up. Jenkins was still shivering in the corner. A low whine was coming from the frightened animal. Father Patrick could feel Massey’s nails digging into the flesh of his bicep.
Massey felt the tears coming. She didn’t know what to say and obviously neither did the priest. They stood holding one another at the base of the stairs, shaking. Father Patrick could feel Massey’s body shivering beneath the cape. He placed his arm around her and held her tightly as he walked her to the kitchen. She could not speak. He sat her at the table and placing the recorder in front of her, walked into the pantry. He returned to the table with a bottle of wine.
There was no time wasted looking for a glass, he poured the coffee from the two cups that they had used earlier and filled each to the top with the wine. Massey’s hands were trembling so much that she had trouble getting the cup to her lips. Father Patrick, on the other hand, downed the cup in nearly one gulp. Then, he poured himself another.
“I’m going to call the Arch Diocese again tomorrow,” he said nervously.
Massey nodded as she pushed the cup towards the bottle of wine. Father Patrick refilled the cup and pushed it back towards her. They were both looking at the small recorder on the table. Each knew what the other was thinking.
“We won’t listen to it just yet,” Father Patrick said.
“Do you think it’s on there?” Massey asked as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
He shrugged.
“You can’t stay in that room tonight, Massey. We’ll stay together down here somewhere. I’m going to stay up all night. You need rest. Isn’t Theo coming home tomorrow night? You’ve got to talk to him.” Father Patrick’s voice sounded older.
Massey pulled the cape from her shoulders and let it fall across the back of the chair. She placed her face in her hands as her elbows rested on the table. The events of the night had shaken and frightened her. Her mind was whirling with thoughts of Marie and Joseph. She felt exhausted.
Father Patrick nearly finished the entire bottle of wine by the time he rose from the table and joined Massey and Jenkins in the parlor. Massey was sitting in a chair beside the fireplace with the picture of Joseph and Marie in her lap. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying. Jenkins lay at her feet sleeping.
“You need to get some sleep. I’ll stay here right beside you. It will be okay.” Father Patrick’s voice sounded unsure but calming as he spoke.
Massey didn’t even consider a bath this evening. She went to the kitchen, placed the cups in the sink, and turned out the kitchen light. Hesitantly, she peered through the curtains covering kitchen windows and out into the yard towards the cemetery. She couldn’t see Joseph and Marie’s headstones in the darkness, but she knew they lay still on the cold ground just beyond her view. She let the curtains fall from her hands and backed away.
Father Patrick had found the quilts and pillows in the closet and was making a nice bed for her on the sofa when she returned. Massey didn’t say a word and didn’t resist. She climbed into the soft pile of fabric and laid her head on the pillows. It felt good. Before closing her eyes, she glanced across the room at the handsome priest sitting near the window. He was reading a large, thick book. He flipped page after page, reading and looking at pictures. The repetitive sound of the dry pages flipping against one another made Massey even sleepier. Soon, she was asleep.
* * * *
Father Patrick watched Massey sleep. He looked at the pretty woman lying quietly on her side, covers bundled around her. He
thought of how he liked her strength and goodness. If he had married, he thought that he would have liked to marry someone like her. He admired her open-mindedness and friendly demeanor. He loved her laugh and how she tried to act brave in the midst of everything she had experienced. She seemed to bring out something good in people.
As he looked at her, he noticed the section of hair falling across her face. He wanted to walk to her and gently push the hair back away from her forehead, but he didn’t. Glancing back down at the old book in his lap, he wondered if he should feel guilty about his thoughts of her. He smiled. He knew God wouldn’t blame him for his feelings. It had been years since he had felt closeness to a woman.
As Massey’s breathing became slower and deeper, Father Patrick placed the book down on the floor and went to the pantry for a flashlight. He wanted to do a bit of exploring while she slept. Even though he was still slightly shaken by the earlier happenings, the wine encouraged him. In fact, it was probably the wine that prompted his feelings for Massey this evening too. He found Theo’s large flashlight just inside the pantry on a shelf. He flicked it on a couple of times to make sure it worked well.
The first few steps of the stairs seemed to unnerve him. He was waiting to hear the sobbing again, but the higher he ascended, the less afraid he felt. He walked into each room, even the baths and storage rooms. He stood in each room listening as if he expected to hear voices or meet an unexpected guest. He was proud of his own courage after the effect tonight’s events had on him.
After searching and exploring the rooms, he returned to the parlor to check on Massey. She lay still and quiet, curled into a sweet mass on the cushions of the sofa. Her reddish-brown hair fell across her cheeks and down her shoulders onto the blanket. She looked peaceful. Jenkins lay in front of the fireplace twitching as if he were dreaming of chasing squirrels. Father Patrick smiled.
