by Jessie Olson
“Ben, can I ask you an awful question?” she knew exhaustion eliminated her sense of tact.
“Yes, Elizabeth.”
“Did you take her blood?”
He stepped back from the embrace. “She didn’t want to know about that part of me. She knew I fed, but pretended for a long time that I wasn’t a vampire. She would cook me dinner. I played along to make her happy. After the first summer at the springs, she asked me to do it. I only did it once. She was anemic from not eating. I think it made her more depressed. I think she did it because she was jealous and afraid that I was going to leave her.”
“Did you want to leave her?”
“No. Not even when she stayed in her room for days and days.”
“You really loved her.”
“I did. I do.”
Lizzie made a short smile of empathy. She bent down to brush the dried sand off her knees. She didn’t know what to say. She was fascinated to know about him, about his life one hundred years ago. It was almost as though it was a different person who lived that life. How could the Ben who was her classmate at Springs be a mill owner in Raleigh during the 1890’s? He knew about parts of Coldbrook that were long buried under seventy year old trees. And yet the sadness in his eyes made it real and present. She felt her own grief to know there was such unhappiness in his life. She caught herself gawking at him as she let these thoughts go through her mind. She shook her head quickly and looked about for her abandoned shoes.
Ben found the shoes and winked playfully. “Do you want to go back to the room? Or do you want to get breakfast?”
“I am tired…” Lizzie realized she had been in her dress for almost twenty hours. “Ben?”
“Mm hmm?”
“Thank you for telling me,” she touched his shoulder lightly. “It does … I am sorry that she was so unhappy. But I am glad that you... loved her.”
Ben put his arm around her shoulder and started walking back to the hotel. He paused and turned her into him quickly. “I love you, Elizabeth.”
“Ben,” she felt panic freeze her limbs and feared her knees would succumb to her exhaustion.
He took hold of her and kissed her passionately. Before she had a second to notice, he lifted her into his arms and was carrying her back to the hotel. Lizzie couldn’t find the words to express the swirl of emotion inside of her. She let the quiet of the dawn speak it for her.
Chapter Fifteen
Lizzie unwrapped her cottage cheese and stirred it as she settled back into her chair. She had broken her rule about eating at her desk lately. She didn’t want to risk running into any nurses from the donor bank. She hadn’t given in four months. She gave Polly a lame excuse that she was low on her iron. It was a lie. She was taking Ben’s advice about vitamins and supplements. She wanted her blood to be healthy and better than anything he could get at the clinic. It prompted her to get up and run before the summer sun warmed the earth too much. It made her anxious for the next Saturday when her eight weeks would be up.
She wondered briefly if it was wrong to want it so badly. The first time she was hardly aware of what she offered him. She was confused and tired and desperate to believe that he wasn’t some delusional freak. Maybe she was still confused and unaware of a danger to which she should pay attention. But Ben was… he said he loved her. She couldn’t imagine he would let her do anything that was a danger to herself.
She logged into Facebook to check the status of her friends. There was nothing from Ben, whom Lizzie realized, really didn’t care for the social networking scene. Nora signed in from Scotland to say she was enjoying the hikes and pubs with her new husband. Sara uploaded the latest pictures of six month old Josie. Meg vented a new tirade against editing.
Lizzie couldn’t come up with something clever or interesting to add for her own status. She didn’t really care anyway, knowing Ben wasn’t going to be reading it. Meg and Nora both knew she was on cloud nine. She didn’t really need the other 109 people on her list to know that. She debated changing her status from single… but decided she didn’t want to prompt the comments Davis and Andrew would leave on her wall.
Lizzie logged off as she scooped out the last of her cottage cheese. She fingered the slices of apple and switched her screen over to Google. She stared at the cursor for a few seconds before deciding to type “vampire clinic.”
She rolled her eyes at herself for being so ridiculous. She saw links for role-playing and fan sites for novels and movies. Nothing remotely legitimate. She added Ben’s name to the search words. All it managed to do was pull up the sites with members by the name of Ben. She clicked on one that teased her with the words “blood donor.’” But the screen just showed a bunch of pale faced Goth girls with stage blood dripping out of the corner of their mouths.
Lizzie jumped as the door to the office opened. She quickly switched her screen, lest Richard should see the half naked women on her screen. “Good afternoon Lizzie,” her boss closed the door. “It’s hot out there.”
“Is it?” Lizzie looked up from her computer screen.
“I hope you aren’t running in this weather.”
“I got up at five this morning. Soupy air, but I kind of like it,” Lizzie smiled at her boss. “It’s quiet in the morning, before the rest of the world starts going.”
“That’s devotion,” Richard sighed. “Good for you.”
“Good for my heart,” Lizzie took up a piece of her apple to show she was eating lunch and not interested in talking. Richard took the hint and went back to his office.
Lizzie returned to Google and changed vampire clinic to blood clinic, keeping Ben’s full name in the line. There were still a number of gothic fan sites, but halfway down the page there was a site with the words “to ensure safety, health, and well-being.” Followed by Dr. Benjamin Cottingham.
Lizzie clicked on the site and found herself helpless at a login. There wasn’t an option to create a login, just a generic email to which one could write and request information about hematological health. Lizzie entertained the thought of creating an alias and email, but quickly talked herself out of it. It was dishonest. And whoever screened her alias probably knew Ben.
She went back to Google once again and typed “wool mill Raleigh MA.”
The first few options were links to tourist sites. She scrolled through a couple genealogies of people from Raleigh and a few newspaper articles about strikes. She went back to the top and clicked on the tourist site. There were a few color photographs of brick buildings along a river framed with the golden leaves of autumn. It could be any mill in Massachusetts, really. They were modern photos. The mill was no longer active, but appeared to have some recently abandoned businesses.
She scrolled down the page and saw a black and white photo dated from 1891. There were a few women with long skirts and serious expressions, but none with blond hair. Why was she convinced Maria had blond hair? Raleigh had a lot of Eastern European immigrants. Wouldn’t it make more sense if she was one of those dark haired women? Lizzie doubted any of them was the owner’s secretary.
She clicked back to the search page and selected an article about a strike. The words blurred in her mind, not really appealing to her curiosity… until her eye caught the phrase “negotiated with owner, Oliver Thomas.”
The name echoed in her brain as though someone just said it aloud to her. Ben and Oliver’s surname was Cottingham. It sounded so familiar. Was there someone connected to the Fulton house by that name? Oliver Thomas. Lizzie couldn’t find it in her memory.
She went back and searched for Oliver Thomas Raleigh Woolen Mill.
Again, there were a number of irrelevant results, including a link to a theater for an upcoming production of the musical, Oliver! She clicked through several pages until she found an article from the Raleigh Historical Society. Lizzie scanned through the article, which was basically a general survey of Raleigh history. Nothing seemed to justify its inclusion on search results. Then halfway through, she found a few sen
tences that grabbed her attention.
“The Thomas Bros. Woolen Mills operated from 1885 until 1905. The founder and original owner, Oliver Thomas, opened the mill to manufacture textiles and yarns. His brother and co-investor, Benjamin Thomas, took over management of the mill in 1890. Raw materials were supplied from local farms throughout the Connecticut River Valley all the way up to Canada. Thomas Bros. Woolen Mills employed many immigrants, primarily young women, who settled in Raleigh and surrounding towns. The mill was highly successful, due principally to a contract with the government to provide blankets to military hospitals. In spite of the success of the factory, Benjamin Thomas chose to sell the business to Pennsylvania businessman Edward Stapen.
“The mill brought a moderate amount of fame to Raleigh in the fall of 1889. Fourteen year-old Eloise Hutchins was employed at the factory. After a factory picnic on June 5th, she did not return home. Her body was found several months later not far from the mill. There were several accusations and suspects for her murder. Two years later, family friend, Luigi Parinoli, hanged himself and left a confession for the murder.
“Lizzie, can you run a report on the Capital Campaign to date?” Richard reappeared at her desk.
Lizzie slowly lifted up her eyes, not quite digesting all of what she had read. “For this fiscal year or years prior?” she hoped her questions hid the flush that had risen to her cheeks.
“Both. Can you run them in separate reports?”
“Sure,” Lizzie nodded and looked back to her computer. She waited for the door to Richard’s office to close. She read the two paragraphs three more times. Benjamin Thomas. He changed his name. That wasn’t startling. Not… too startling. Not so startling as the murder of a young girl so close to the time that Oliver decided to leave the mill. Lizzie closed her eyes and did her best to push the information out of her brain as she pulled the data for her reports.
*****
Lizzie led her group up the stairs and into the master bedroom. She smiled graciously as she waited for the stragglers to enter the room and quiet their comments about how small the beds seemed. She shook her head as two middle-aged women from Texas explained to each other that everyone was shorter because they didn’t eat enough meat. Lizzie thought about challenging them, but decided to tell how John Fulton married Margaret, two years after losing his first wife to consumption. She described the abbreviated details of their wedding in Boston and the names of their children. Only Harriet and Peter grew to adults. She pointed out the bed that really wasn’t that much smaller than her own, as well as the intricate hooked rug beneath their feet.
She paused barely long enough to allow her visitors breath to process a question. She went back across the hallway into Harriet’s room. As the two Texan women straggled across, she looked at the young woman’s glassy stare and then at the faded upholstery of the infamous chair.
She still didn’t understand what made that chair so impressive. It was three hundred years old. Well, closer to two hundred and fifty. It looked three hundred. The fabric was faded. Gerard Fulton had a legitimate point. The sun was brutal against the dark brocade. The walnut frame dried out and lost its sheen. The stuffing of the cushion was beyond uncomfortable. She supposed even the mice found no delight resting there. It was French. She knew that, but was unimpressed. The material wasn’t likely original. She couldn’t imagine the glassy eyed Harriet sitting in that chair. Maybe her sister-in-law Charlotte sat there and listened to Harriet swoon over Mr. Chester as she got dressed or ready for bed.
She suddenly remembered a dream. Something about a vampire biting her in that chair. When did she dream that? Did she know what Ben was? Or was that Meg’s influence? She shook the thought out of her mind as she focused on her Texan tourists and began her discussion of Harriet’s short-lived history. She felt a cool draft fall against her shoulders as she left the chair behind and took her small party into the guest bedroom. Was it a breeze pushing through the leaky windows? Or had something… Lizzie shut her eyes, trying to wrestle between reason and her distracted mind. It was a hot July afternoon. Maybe the pocket of cool air startled her because of the warmth throughout the house.
She discussed the dresser and the few objects displayed on top of it. She listed some of the famous visitors to the Fulton House. She concluded her tour by bringing them down the servant stairs and back into the gift shop. The image of the vampire biting her floated back into her mind. The chill had nothing to do with ghosts or cool air. She was anticipating her date with Ben later that evening when the dream would be real.
“How’d it go?” Paula asked.
“Pretty good,” Lizzie reached for her water bottle and offered a pleasant smile. One of the Texan women approached with a pile of postcards, which Lizzie put in a bag as Paula rang them up. Within ten minutes the shop was empty.
“So when are you going to bring Ben here so we can meet him?” Andrew appeared from behind one of the bookshelves. Lizzie was sure her cheeks burned with the memory of the thoughts she indulged while giving her tour.
“I don’t think he’s interested in taking a tour.”
“Why not?” Paula left the desk to straighten the books on antique French furnishings.
“He’s more of a scientist,” Lizzie shrugged and took the seat behind the desk.
“Yeah, but I want to meet him,” Andrew persisted.
“We should go out some time,” Lizzie suggested. “Ask Davis when he’s available.”
“He’s available next Friday,” Andrew concluded. “I’ll cook dinner.”
“Ben works late on Fridays,” Lizzie stopped herself from accepting. “What if we did cocktails and nibbles?”
“We’ll do a late dinner. Paula, are you in?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Your loss. What does he eat?”
“Actually, he has food allergies.”
“What?” Andrew’s eyes lit up. It was a challenge, not an impediment. “Does he eat meat?”
“Kind of,” Lizzie saw Paula look up.
“I’ll think of something brilliant,” Andrew beamed, obviously not concerned. “And a fabulous cocktail.”
“Of course,” Lizzie smiled.
“Maybe you can inspire yourself by dusting the kitchen,” Paula smirked suddenly. “You were supposed to do that an hour ago.”
“Of course, lovely,” Andrew sneered and disappeared down the corridor.
Lizzie let the quiet fall between herself and Paula. Lizzie looked away and noticed an open newsletter of the American Museum Association. A small grayscale photograph caught her attention. It was… Oliver. She picked up the newsletter and read how Oliver Cottingham, known as Professor Ol to his students, had finished a summer workshop with a California science museum about the repercussions of campsites in reserve lands. A group of students and museum staffers spent several weeks in a local state forest evaluating carbons released into the air by RVs and cars brought into the park. They also measured the number of non-degradable objects left behind by campers and the effect on the water. The study was profiled by local news stations and furthered the partnership between the science museum and the college. Professor Ol and his group were already busy planning to expand the project to research the environmental impact of other tourist sites.
“Hey… Paula, weren’t you at a museum in Pioneer Valley before this?” Lizzie disturbed the quiet as her mind wrestled between the article she just read and the searches on Google.
“Yeah, I worked at a local historical society while I was in college.”
“Did you ever hear about a wool mill in Raleigh?”
“There were a lot of mills on the Connecticut River.”
“Yeah, but there was a murder of a girl at this one. Oliver Thomas was the owner. Does that ring any bells?”
Paul looked at her and squinted as though it would prompt her memory. “That sounds vaguely familiar. The victim was young, right? And they blamed it on an Italian. Very Sacco and Vanzetti.”
“S
o the Italian didn’t do it?”
“I don’t remember the details. I think a friend of mine did a paper on the prejudices against immigrants in the area. He works at a museum in New York right now. I can shoot him an email and ask him if you’d like.”
“Yeah,” Lizzie offered her smile again. “Someone I know might be related to the owner.”
“Huh,” Paula gazed at her.
“If your friend has any pictures, that would be a nice present for my friend.”
“I’ll email him today.”
“Thanks,” Lizzie folded the newsletter shut. She lifted her eyes when the bell sounded the door opening. “Hey!” she exclaimed happily as Jen and Jack walked in.
“Hi Lizzie!” Jen greeted her with a hug.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“We came to see a friend perform in Porter Square tonight. Jen made me come early so we could take one of your tours,” Jack explained.
“We were hoping we could convince you to join us for dinner when you are done?” Jen asked. “That is if you don’t have plans?”
Lizzie paused, torn between her dinner and Ben’s. “I am supposed to meet up with Ben,” Lizzie caught the look of satisfaction from both of them. “He might not be able to join us for dinner, but maybe he can come hear some music.”
“Don’t let us ruin your plans,” Jen argued.
“No,” Lizzie shook her head. “Ben will be glad to hear you are in town.”
“Great,” Jack looked at his wife. “Let’s do it.”
*****
“Lizzie gave us a great tour,” Jen smiled. “I’m surprised you haven’t gone on one yet, Ben.”
“It is a terrible faux pas, I admit,” Ben looked at Lizzie.
“I think he would make me self conscious,” Lizzie avoided his eyes.
