An Ever Fixéd Mark

by Jessie Olson

  She went to the buffet and opened a drawer where she found silverware. It was tarnished and untouched, but a beautiful set that would make the Fulton House conservationists drool. The cabinet opened to exquisite bone china. Dishes, bowls, and even serving platters. She went to the furthest drawer and found a pile of silk napkins. They were embroidered with purple flowers. Lizzie lifted up the napkins and felt something scratch her finger. She put her finger to her mouth and with her other hand retrieved the frame buried in the material.

  It was a black and white photograph of a blond woman in Victorian dress. A dark, ruffled dress. The shape of her corset was evident in her unexpressive pose. Her blond hair was up but stylishly curled. She was very slender, almost too thin. Ben said she didn’t eat. She looked as though the corset was the only thing forcing her posture – as though without it she might collapse into a formless mass. She looked sad and hid the honesty of her eyes from the camera. It was just as she imagined Maria.

  Lizzie took the photo to the brown leather chair in the living room. She stared at the details. She was very pretty. Fair. Her eyes were light – either blue or light gray green like… like Ben’s. Sad. Lizzie could tell the determination to look at the camera was a mask to something else. Maybe Lizzie decided that because she knew what happened to Maria.

  Lizzie shut her eyes. She was upset with herself for making such harsh assessments. Why was Lizzie so bitter towards Maria? That poor soul… Maria lived in a different time. It couldn’t have been easy for her to love Ben. A vampire. A killer. A man she couldn’t marry. A man who didn’t age. A man who wasn’t a man…

  Lizzie rested the photo on the arm of the chair. Her gaze wandered out the window at the brilliant morning sun. She let out a sigh, letting herself admit her own questions that settled in her brain. She wasn’t going to be like Maria. She wasn’t Maria. Maria didn’t run a half marathon. She looked too prim and proper to appreciate the benefits of Ben’s youthful physique. Lizzie knew Ben loved Maria. She saw it in his eyes when he spoke of her. She saw it in the fact he kept her china, silver, and linens in a dining room he didn’t use. She knew Ben was capable of that emotion. She wondered if in her depression Maria ever did.

  Lizzie heard her phone ring. In a panic, she put the picture back in the drawer of the buffet… as if Ben was calling he would see her looking at that picture. She arranged the napkins hastily and got to her phone as the beep sounded to alert a missed call. She held her breath and pressed the button to identify the caller. She breathed out a sigh of relief at Meg’s name, glad it wasn’t Ben.

  Lizzie went back to the office and computer. She moved the mouse to wake the screen saver. She clicked the bottom of her Facebook home page and breathed relief when she didn’t see Ben’s name online. Not that he would be online. He was busy working. Of all things, he wouldn’t log onto Facebook.

  She skipped back to the news feed and wasn’t much interested in the changes since she left the computer fifteen minutes before. There was nothing at all from Oliver. Nothing to show whether she should fear him or fluff off her worries as ridiculous. She felt slightly foolish about trying to hide her contact with him. She went back to her wall and reread his friendly message. It was friendly, but what would Ben say? What would Oliver think if she deleted it? Did it matter? Honestly. She was two weeks away from turning 34. She wasn’t in high school where she needed to worry about what someone might or might not think. She shook the idea out of her head and logged off of the computer.

  *****

  “I’m surprised you don’t have big plans for tonight,” Paula smiled sheepishly over her pint.

  “My friends are taking me out tomorrow,” Lizzie rationalized the lie of omission she told Nora and Meg. She didn’t want their pity or reproving glances. She furthered the pretense by determining to spend the night at his empty apartment. The idea of Maria’s objects still unnerved her so she delayed going home by inviting Paula out for a pint. “Ben is back on Monday. So I’ll be busy enough. Besides I had a fabulous birthday cake from the Fulton House staff today. That is worth a million restaurant dinners.”

  “Andrew must appreciate your compliments,” Paula set her glass down after deciding against another sip. “I’m surprised he didn’t want to come out for drinks.”

  “He and Davis had plans. But this is nice,” Lizzie felt foolish with her lame compliment.

  “It was a busy day. I’m glad I am not going home to drink on my own.”

  “I’m surprised YOU don’t have big plans tonight.”

  “It isn’t my birthday.”

  “Things didn’t work out with Nicole, huh?” Lizzie sipped from her beer.

  “I think after we finished comparing notes on our favorite historical periods, we didn’t have much to talk about in the present,” Paula looked at Lizzie.

  “Well, I’m sure there is someone more interesting about to come in your life.” Lizzie bit her lip to stop from rolling her eyes at herself. She always hated it when someone said that to her… after Will. She did end up with Ben… who was unlike…

  “My friend answered your Raleigh mill questions,” Paula offered. “He sent a couple articles and scanned some photos, too. Nothing too exciting. He didn’t find any pictures of the owner you mentioned… Oliver. But he found a picture of his brother. I guess he was part owner of the mill. He said there was some speculation about Oliver’s involvement with the murder. Apparently he had a thing for his pretty young mill workers.”

  “That sounds interesting,” Lizzie swallowed another mouthful from her glass to shield the honesty of her reaction. She forced a moderate smile as Paula handed her a manila envelope. She was impatient to see the picture of Ben and to read the proof of the connection to Oliver… if it really was any sort of proof.

  “I didn’t look through all of it. It seems like some information was swept under the carpet. You said your friend was related to the mill owner, right? Or was it the girl?”

  “The owner,” Lizzie said shortly as she pulled out the papers. It was difficult to focus and read in the light of the bar. She paused at the series of photographs. There was one with a number of workers and Ben was in the middle, in a long black coat and bowler hat. Lizzie looked up at Paula watching her. “He looks a lot like him,” Lizzie felt the lie form on her lips instantly. Paula would have seen the pictures and had a sharp enough mind to notice the resemblance to Ben… if she ever had the opportunity to meet Ben. “My boyfriend. I guess they are related. They even have the same name.”

  “Huh. Then he’s related to both owners,” Paula let out a breath and glanced towards the bar. Lizzie welcomed her distraction and tried to look closer at the picture. He had the same strong shoulders and serious expression. She wondered if he was thinking about Maria when that picture was taken. Lizzie set down the paper and watched Paula’s focus on the bar. She wondered if there was someone in particular, or if she was just that uncomfortable being with Lizzie.

  “Too bad nothing that mysterious or scandalous ever happened at the Fulton House,” Lizzie called her attention back to the table. “No murders of poor innocent girls.”

  “Huh? Oh yeah, I don’t think so,” Paula looked at Lizzie, her restraint relaxed by her beer. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine John Fulton killing one of the house maids.”

  “Or Margaret.”

  “Definitely not Margaret,” Paula perked up as the waitress came to collect Lizzie’s empty glass. Lizzie nodded to her gesture about a refill and watched Paula dodge her eyes.

  “She’s cute.”

  “Yeah, but not…” Paula drank some more of her glass. “I also photocopied something I found in the archives last week.”

  “What?” Lizzie sorted through the papers again.

  “It’s just a tiny paragraph about Horace Fulton’s wedding to Charlotte,” Paula explained. “Thanks to your detective work with Gerard Fulton, I was able to find this article from the Boston Examiner.”

  “In 1815,” Lizzie briefly scanned the article de
scribing the wedding celebration held at 127 Brattle Street on April 22nd. The groom was the son of John and Caroline Fulton. The bride was the daughter of Ephraim and Jane Chester of New York. Several notables were in attendance to wish the couple well. Lizzie got the gist of those details and decided to revisit it and the other papers when she was alone in Ben’s apartment. She knew there was a bottle of wine to keep her company with Maria’s ghost.

  “Didn’t Harriet write about a Mr. Chester in that letter?” Lizzie took a sip of her fresh beer.

  “Yes, she did,” Paula looked back towards the bar, making Lizzie realize she was glancing at a clock. “I assume that was Charlotte’s brother.”

  “Oh,” Lizzie breathed out slowly. The fact Paula openly made an assumption about Fulton history and the constant glances at the clock showed that Paula didn’t intend to stay at the bar much longer. “Well, it’s all pretty interesting. Thanks for the info, Paula.”

  “Sure,” Paula nodded as Lizzie drank more of her beer quickly.

  “And thanks for coming out with me,” Lizzie smiled. “But I should probably head out.”

  Paula looked at the half full pint glass, but wasn’t able to mask her relief. “Yeah,” Paula nodded. “Happy birthday, Lizzie.”

  *****

  Lizzie took the mail out of Ben’s box and balanced it with the bags and leftover cake in her hands. She juggled the objects as she turned the keys in the lock and shut the door. She managed to cart everything down the hallway into the kitchen, where she saw Ben staring out the window over the back yard.

  He turned to her and smiled. “Happy birthday, Elizabeth.”

  “Ben,” she stood still with her hands full in the doorway of the kitchen. She felt her breath leave her body as Ben left the window and went directly to her. Lizzie dropped everything and grabbed hold of him as he leaned in to kiss her. She felt the ache of longing to be in his arms that resonated in the quiet moments of every day of the past two weeks. She didn’t let herself think how much she wanted him there on that day until he was there, kissing her and holding her in his arms. She pressed her body towards his as he completed his embrace. “You’re home,” Lizzie whispered when she pulled herself out of the kiss.

  “You have to get dressed,” Ben kissed her again. “I am taking you out to dinner.”

  “What?” Lizzie asked breathlessly.

  “For your birthday,” he cupped her chin in his palm.

  “I don’t want to have dinner,” she kissed him and jumped up to wrap her legs around him. Ben caught her and balanced her all the way to his bedroom. Then he let her go and made her stand up at a distance from him.

  “I am supposed to bring you to your favorite restaurant.”

  “What do you mean supposed to?” Lizzie felt the one and a half beers swim in her head as the oxygen slowly returned her thoughts to speed.

  “Meg arranged a little something… but I didn’t tell you,” Ben managed a confident smile in spite of his struggle. She saw the burning in his eyes and knew he hadn’t made it home in time to visit the clinic.

  “Meg?” Lizzie wished she hadn’t had those beers.

  “I’m only telling you so you won’t… tempt me to stay home,” Ben presented a bag branded with a name of some designer she vaguely knew from conversations with Andrew.

  “This is from your harshest critics,” he winked. “The box inside is from me.”

  “But you weren’t coming home until…” Lizzie pulled out a red dress and a velvet box.

  “I wouldn’t miss your birthday, Elizabeth,” he watched as she opened to see two ruby studs.

  “They are beautiful.”

  “You got home later than I expected.”

  “I had drinks with Paula,” Lizzie looked back at him, overwhelmed and still slightly buzzed. “How long have you been planning this?”

  “I haven’t been planning this,” he smiled. “It’s all Meg. For about a month now. My only part was getting the band. I have a connection.”

  “Jack?”

  Ben grinned broadly. Lizzie threw herself at him again, not giving him much opportunity to resist her grateful kiss. He started to lift her shirt over her head and finally stepped back. “Now get dressed,” he showed his struggle through his gleam.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lizzie wasn’t surprised to find Ben absent from her side when she finally opened her eyes at noon. He hadn’t fed and was more restless – in spite of the fact the party didn’t leave the restaurant until midnight and then continued at Andrew and Davis’ apartment. She imagined quite a few people stayed after she and Ben made an exit some time around three. She didn’t remember shutting her eyes until after six, completely missing her normal run time.

  Lizzie hastily put on a tank top and walked into the kitchen, where Ben sat reading at the peninsula. She thought it would be appropriate for him to have a cup of coffee and then focused her brain back to clarity, remembering he didn’t drink coffee. She sat on the stool opposite and rested her chin in her hand to gaze at him happily. She didn’t think it would be difficult to coax him back to the bedroom when she was just wearing her tank top and boy shorts. She wondered if he was hungry enough to forgive her lower red blood cell count.

  Ben met her eyes, but didn’t return the smile. Lizzie looked down and saw the pile of mail he was reading. On top of the bills and junk mail he sorted, Lizzie recognized the papers Paula gave her at the pub. Lizzie straightened her smile and recoiled her posture away from him.

  “Elizabeth, I understand,” he said softly, but couldn’t completely disguise his sadness.

  “What do you understand?” she asked quickly, not sure if it was motivated by self defense or shame.

  “You want to know things.”

  “These are from work,” Lizzie sheepishly pulled the papers away from him. It wasn’t a complete lie. There was an article about Horace Fulton’s wedding.

  “Elizabeth,” Ben spoke in a tone Lizzie knew was of consequence. She looked up and met his eye, which did not offer the consolation of levity.

  “I need coffee,” she got off her stool.

  Ben quickly presented her with a steaming mug. “Elizabeth.”

  “I….” she took the mug from his hands and went back to the stool.

  “I’m not angry with you.”

  Lizzie set her cup down and looked at the papers, then Ben. “There’s a picture of you.”

  “Not much different. I’m glad hats aren’t a necessity as they once were.”

  Lizzie stifled the urge to laugh. She knew there was something much more grave coming. “Ben…” she stopped herself, feeling the need to say something but unable to say anything… really.

  “Oliver killed Eloise.”

  Lizzie couldn’t look at him, but felt his stare watching for her reaction. She breathed in deeply and took a sip from her coffee. It was still black and too strong for her preference. She didn’t want to leave her stool to get the milk in the refrigerator. The silence settled between them, disturbed only by the hum of the appliances. Lizzie glanced again at the papers, but they blurred in her focus. “I know,” she muttered, even though she didn’t realize her intention to say those words.

  “How?” Ben sat across from her again.

  Lizzie lifted her eyes suddenly and saw the intensity of Ben’s stare. “I don’t know.”

  “Elizabeth,” he touched her hand, saying her name for the third time.

  She curled her fingers into her palm under his touch. She knew she should feel ashamed, but his sympathy startled her more than the anger she feared would. She did not settle her eyes away from him, nor did she respond to his call of her name.

  “I want you to know,” Ben wrapped his fingers into her clenched palm. “I just… don’t want to overwhelm you. I don’t know how to begin.”

  “Oliver…” Lizzie muttered, wondering if she should say he contacted her.

  “I feel responsible for him, Elizabeth,” Ben sighed. “He tries to do the right thing. But he hasn�
��t had as much… his sense of discipline is different than mine.”

  “There is a sort of sibling rivalry between you?”

  “I guess you could say that,” Ben let go of her hand. “But… Elizabeth, what do you know about Eloise Hutchins?”

  “She worked in your mill.”

  “Is that all?”

  “She was young,” Lizzie felt her mind cloud and the words jumble together in her brain.

  “She was… is that really all you can think of?”

  “She had red hair,” Lizzie didn’t know where that detail came from.

  Ben leaned back and smiled, but stopped it as if it was painful. “There isn’t a photograph of her in those papers.”

  “Maybe I’m wrong,” Lizzie rested her fingers around the handle of her coffee mug. She wanted to tell him she guessed the color of Maria’s hair, but didn’t think that was an appropriate argument. She looked at the black coffee, tempted to drink in spite of its bitterness. She didn’t know what to say next, but was more afraid of the silence that hung heavy in the air. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  Ben looked at her, as if expecting her to answer her own question. He slowly pulled one of the pages out from the pile. It was the article about the wedding. “Why is this here?”

  Lizzie clenched her jaw. She didn’t want him to avoid the truth any more. “Paula copied it for me,” Lizzie hissed. “We were trying to figure out who Charlotte was. But that has nothing to do with Eloise Hutchins.”

  “It has a lot to do with Eloise Hutchins.”

  Lizzie took the piece of paper back from him and reread the article, not deriving any clearer detail in her fury than she did after a pint in a noisy bar the night before. She couldn’t imagine what a fourteen year old mill worker in 1889 had to do with a Cambridge wedding in 1815. She scanned her memory of the Fultons’ history to determine if they had any dealings in western Massachusetts. Her head clouded more and more, aching with each additional thought.