by Sharon Hays
Maryanne let out a sigh, saddened by the story, but she was still very interested. I didn’t know you had another brother. You never mentioned him.”
Yes, we were not close at all to Charles. He spent most of his life in England, and John and I stayed here. Charles was a quiet man. I know that he had talked about a lover while he was here, but did not go into detail about her. I have always wondered if he was having the affair with Jaqueline Doubre. I still don’t know that for sure.”
“That’s quite a story; I would like to know more when we have some time to talk further if it’s all right with you.” Maryanne flipped through the tired pages from the satchel. There was so much to go through: pictures, documents, and other papers that would obviously be important. “Let’s have another meeting in a week or so, and we can go through these documents and be a little more prepared before we finish the story, and go from there. How do you feel about that?”
“Certainly, Maryanne, I can do that. I have next Tuesday available. Would that be convenient for you?”
“Joan, will that fit into your schedule? Mine is open.”
“Sure, let’s plan that next Tuesday, then.”
“Perfect, Mrs. Dirkshire, Tuesday it is. We can come to your house in Lyons if it would be easier.”
“That would be even better, Maryanne. How thoughtful of you. I will have a pot of tea and my delicious pie. What kind do you like?” She was beaming.
“Whatever is easy for you is fine, thank you, but you really don’t have to go to any trouble. Just tea or coffee will be fine.”
“No, I insist! I love baking my pies, and I love company, so it’s a date. Don’t be late. Would one o’clock be okay?” Mrs. Dirkshire was alone and company was all she had to look forward to, since her brother passed away. Even though she was distraught, she looked forward to the company, and perhaps that was the reason.
“Yes. We will be there at one o’clock sharp.” Maryanne answered.
“Well, I must return to Lyons for an appointment with my doctor, so you hang on to these papers until we meet again on Tuesday. You can go through them and do whatever research you need. I’ll be off, now.” She stood up and took her cane, picked up the satchel, and Maryanne and Joan walked her out. Maryanne gave her a quick hug and helped her into the vintage Cadillac. She started up the car and it purred like a mountain lion. Maryanne thought she obviously took very good care of that old Cadillac. The sweet woman slowly pulled away, her hair glowing through the window like a huge cotton ball. She peered out the window as she left, waving her tiny hand. They were both amazed at the spirit of this more-than-eighty-year-old woman.
Maryanne sighed as she watched her drive away. “She is really quite an amazing woman.”
“I agree with that wholeheartedly. They don’t make em like that anymore,” Joan answered.
They both agreed to continue their research tomorrow, on the documents and papers Mrs. Dirkshire had left for them.
4
At four p.m. on Thursday, Maryanne entered the Carnegie Branch County Library to begin research on the Manor. Rows of books stood out like a forest of Aspen trees in winter. The library had a scent of the past, even though a renovation had restored it to almost original condition, when it was constructed in 1906. She remembered coming here once when she was a child. The library had been renovated in the mid-eighties, and reopened after closing down for nearly twenty years. They kept its original interior design. Nothing much had changed, except the librarian who sat quietly reading behind the massive desk. The chunky, gray-haired woman in her sixties peeked up at Maryanne through thin, rectangular-framed glasses as she lowered an old book of poetry by Edgar Allen Poe. Maryanne recognized the book as one she had acquired several years ago.
“Hello, may I be of assistance?” The woman’s polite voice resonated through lines of book-filled shelves in the oversized room.
“Yes, maybe you can. Are you familiar with the Farthington Manor, better known as the Valencia Manor?” Maryanne elaborated.
Appearing much more interested, the librarian placed the book on the antique wood desk and took off her reading glasses. “I am familiar. Actually, I did a little research on it a few years ago for a project we had in a history class I took about the city. Boulder, I mean. We researched some other historical buildings, such as this library and some other important locations in the area. I have been working here since it reopened in the eighties. I have a file on the Valencia somewhere and can look it up, but it will take a while. She got up from the high-backed leather chair and walked to the counter where Maryanne stood. She took a small notepad and pen, jotting down the particulars. Maryanne gave her a little more information, and she walked with her toward the door. “Can you come back here tomorrow afternoon? Or if you have time, you could wait. It will take about an hour, give or take, to get the information together.”
“Thank you. I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon. It is getting a little late, and I have an errand to do before dark. I don’t want to put you out, as I know you are busy here.”
“It wouldn’t be any trouble, and I am not that busy, but tomorrow will be fine. I’ll have everything you need by then.”
Maryanne nodded in acknowledgment. “Thanks, I will be back.” She walked toward the large door and then turned back. “Oh, by the way, I’m Maryanne O’Donnell. Nice to meet you. Sorry, I was so excited about the forthcoming information, I forgot to introduce myself.” Maryanne walked back toward the librarian, and they quickly shook hands.
“I understand. I’m Susanna Brown. Looking forward to visiting with you tomorrow.” She repositioned her glasses, turned around, and returned to her desk.
On the way to the Valencia, Maryanne checked out the sky. Though it was only six o’clock, it was rather dark, as heavy rain clouds had moved over the horizon. “Just what I need. I hope it doesn’t rain right away,” she whispered to herself as she entered the driveway at the Manor. The light pole was still flickering, but no other streetlights were on. It still looked dark and haunting, just as before. She took her notebook and jotted down a memo for Joan to call the city maintenance again, for repairs. She had already contacted the power company, and the interior lights should have been turned on by now, so Maryanne had high hopes that she would be able to see inside with no problem. She parked in the driveway, which was much easier than trying to navigate the broken sidewalk again. Maryanne sat in her car for a moment, gazing up at the Manor, mostly excited, but a little skeptical. Not thinking too much about the skeptical part, she opened her door, climbed out, and noticed it had started sprinkling.
She warily made her way toward the iron-gate surrounding the yard. When she pushed against it, she become aware of a large chain around the lock hanging on the fence, and breathed a sigh of relief when she found it had not been secured. Pulling it off the fence, the gate began to swing freely with a chilling high-pitched squeak. Drawing in a deep breath, she walked slowly toward the side steps that led to the front door, where there was a narrow, brick pathway, leading to the back yard. Follow the yellow brick road, she thought, trying to make light of a dark situation, mumbling to herself and trying very hard to overlook how tense she had become. Edging her way alongside the house, each step was carefully placed, one brick at a time with watchful footing. A scurrying noise in the bushes startled her. Stopping in her tracks, a rush of fear shot through her, while she was thinking it could be a large rodent searching for prey, or perhaps an unknown person was watching her. The thought gave her cold chills. Quietly waiting for something to happen, there was nothing but eerie silence.
It was reaching seven o’clock. She forced away her fears, scanned the shrubbery, and then continued to navigate the brick path. Overgrown lilac bushes lined the side of the house, in front of the iron fence that surrounded the property. She came to the end of the house, went through a small opening and emerged into an enormous back yard. It revealed an exquisite, three-tiered brass fountain with Italian sculptures of majestic horses that seemed
to jump out from underneath a pool. A brass lion’s head was mounted above the pool, where water could pour from its mouth into a large bowl. She could imagine such a picture, back when water and care were part of its daily routine. Two sculptures of cherubs sat on either side of the lion’s head, holding torches; another sat beneath the pool, holding a cluster of grapes between the two horses. Sitting at the top was a magnificent bald eagle with wings extended. The fascinating sculpture was like nothing she had ever seen. The antiquity of the brass turning green was indescribable. Maryanne stared in awe at the beautiful fountain, wishing she had brought her camera. Two life-size bronze lions stood on each side of the fountain in regal splendor. Truly, these were works of art. Photographing this amazing find was already top priority. The vast yard revealed a small pond that had become overgrown with weeds, bushes, and foliage. Debris was scattered here and there, reminding her again that no one had cared for this property for many years. She thought how stunning this must have been when there was a family caring for the lovely landscape and when all of the sculptures were flawless. Her thoughts wandered to a place in the past, where she could visualize such beauty.
Through the silence, the same rustling noise emanated from behind the bushes, startling her again. Scanning with frightened eyes from left to right across the bushes, she could feel her heart beat through her entire body. She backed up closer to the house. The rain was becoming more intense, so she moved toward the back door and pulled the brass handle. The screen door opened easily, and she moved it toward her, stepping around it next to the weathered, wooden door. It had the usual squeaks and creaks, but opened effortlessly. Again, dismissing internal warnings of possible risk, she pushed her way through, into a spacious back porch. It must have once been adorned with all the comforts of a Florida Room, she imagined. Dark clouds had completely encompassed the horizon, and torrents of rain could begin at any moment. Taking the small flashlight from her Gucci bag, she flipped it on, just in case.
Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” resounded through the house when her cell-phone interrupted. Waking up the spirits, she thought, making another joke trying to keep her fears at bay. “Hello?” she answered, as she sat down on a dusty wicker chaise lounge and laid her bag down beside her.
“Where are you, Maryanne? This is Joan.”
“I’m at the Valencia Manor. Can I call you back when I’m finished here? It’s raining cats and dogs, and I can hardly hear you. I’m inside the back porch, trying to get protection from the weather. The lights are out, and I can’t see too well in here. I’ll call you as soon as the rain quiets down.”
“Please call me back as soon as you are able to get a good signal. Please be careful, I’m worried about you. I’ll be waiting for your call.” Click.
Maryanne stuffed her cell into the bag and looked around, shining the flashlight through the Florida Room. The only thing she noticed was a few chairs and wicker tables, placed here and there, obviously in serious need of repair.
She became quite comfortable as she laid back on the chaise, taking a break and waiting for the rain to make up its mind. The break turned into an hour, and she woke to the sounds of thunder. Maryanne was startled out of a dead sleep to deafening sounds all around her. Rain was still pouring down in torrents, and lighting flashed through the sky. The pounding and thunder echoed through the night as she sat on the chair quivering in the blackness of the vacant house. Her flashlight went out and the only visibility she had was from bolts of lightning that shot across the sky, lighting up the room, causing shadowy figures to move about. She envisioned angry spirits, unhappy at her invasion of their ghostly quarters.
Pushing cell phone recall, she tried to reach Joan, but the signal was gone. Darkness was all around, and she was filled with thoughts of possible supernatural activity. She pulled herself up from the lounge chair, tried the flashlight again, with no results, and then tapped it against the chair until it finally came to life. She breathed in a huge sigh of relief as the flashlight lit up the room. Searching for an entry to the main part of the house, the light exposed another door, and she carefully moved toward it, and into the room. There was a sizeable, cherry-wood, table, surrounded by ten beautiful, hand-carved, wood chairs, and Maryanne envisioned a family of ethereal guests sitting around the table, enjoying a midnight feast. The flashlight cast shadows against the wall, as if a family of ghosts were dancing to a haunting melody. Thunder rolled, lightning bolts flashed across the sky, rain hammered the roof, and her heart pounded in an eerie symphony, while shadowy spirits seemed to fly to and fro, around the walls of the room. Maryanne became frightened and had the urge to run out of the house, but the storm was too intense. She was exhausted from her quest, and decided to wait out the storm. And then, something compelled her to search deeper into the mystifying Manor. Her sense of adventure was peaking, and Maryanne’s creative imagination could not quench her curiosity as she continued to investigate its mystery.
She scanned the flashlight around the room, and fixed it on the portrait of a man, who appeared to be from the late eighteen-hundreds; a stoic, stern-faced, white-haired gentleman, stared into the room with cold, piercing eyes. She quickly moved the light away, searching the house for more comforting fixtures. Rain pounded the roof like a stampede of wild horses. Suddenly, a thud and crashing sound pierced through the already disturbing noises, emanating from the adjacent room, heightening Maryanne’s attention, once again.
“Who’s in there? I only came in to get out of the rain. Please, if I’m intruding, I’ll leave as soon as the storm clears!” She spun around toward the door, aiming her flashlight ahead, searching her way out of the terrifying house. Half running, she stumbled, sprawling across the floor as the flashlight slipped out of her hand. The light disappeared again, and Maryanne lay there in a panic. As she crawled across the floor, lightning flashed, giving her just enough light to find the door. She picked herself up, and stumbled out of the room near the porch where she had entered. There was another thud and crash from inside, as she ran to the back door, and out into the pouring rain. Darkness surrounded her, while rain pelted her shivering body. She kept running all the way around the side of the house, stumbling and falling. She was determined to reach her car. Up ahead, a tall figure darted across the front yard, pushing through the bushes. A rush of fear swept through her. Maryanne stopped. Someone was out there. She had to hide!
A deep voice sliced the darkness, “Hey, wait! Don’t be scared. It’s Officer Ramos. I came to see what was wrong.” His flashlight found her, wide eyed and fear stricken.
“Joan called me and said you weren’t answering your phone!” The officer walked back toward Maryanne where she stood in a panic, thankful it was the officer. She wrapped her arms around the detective and held on tight, and then let go___ a little embarrassed at what she had just done.
“Oh thank God, it’s you! I thought someone was trying to…never mind, I’m glad it’s you. I had a horrible experience in that house. I think someone was in there, and I ran out. Maybe it was only the rain and thunder, but I got out and left the door open. When I heard you, I really freaked. Sorry I almost knocked you down,” she commented, half smiling.
“Come on, let me take you home, and we’ll pick up your car tomorrow. You’re drenched and cold. Let’s get the hell out of here.” He took her hand and led her to his squad car. She didn’t even look back, as they headed in the direction of her home.
“Do you have your car keys? If you give them to me, I can get one of the guys to follow me and bring your car back to your house a little later.”
“Oh, I can’t believe it! I left my purse in the house! I have to go back. It has everything in it, my ID, driver’s license, credit cards, money, and keys to my house. Will you take me back there? If someone is in the house, my purse could be stolen.”
“Sure Maryanne, I’ll turn around.” He slowed and made a U-turn, and they started back in the direction of the Valencia. The rain had slowed down, and clouds seemed to
be clearing away, giving more visibility from the moonlight. “Here we are. I’ll be right back. Where did you leave it? Is the house locked?” He threw questions at her one by one as she tried to remember everything in sequence.
“No, it’s unlocked. I have a key, but it’s in the purse, but you won’t need it. I was at the back of the house in the sunroom where I sat down on a lounge chair. I put it on one of the chairs. It was dark. But go in the back door around the left side of the house. Maybe I should go with you. I am still pretty shaken up… and what if there’s someone out here?”
“Lock the doors, and you will be fine, I promise. I’ll hurry.” He took the flashlight and disappeared behind the Valencia into the dark, drizzly night.
He turned the corner, where moonlight illuminated the backyard and fountain. Standing for a moment, he scanned his light around the yard, checking it out thoroughly before going to the door. He turned the handle, but the door was locked. He pushed, nudged, and turned it again, but it wouldn’t budge. Frustrated, he returned to the front of the house, and pushed open the iron-gate leading to the front porch. He grasped the cold, brass handle, turned it side to side, but again, the house refused their entrance. Hurrying back to the car, he knocked on the window. “Miss O’Donnell”
