by Connie Myres
“Oh, yes, Mr. Stine did mention that.” Her money. Mary wasn’t sure what to think. For most of her life she lived a stable existence with a modest income. Her job at the library supplied only enough to pay basic bills, but nothing more.
“You’ll get used to all this. You’re richer than Mr. Stine and he’s pretty rich.”
Pickles stood up and perched his little paws on the door’s armrest so that he could see out the window as Eddie pulled onto the highway. Cars whizzed by as instrumental music played quietly in the background. The early afternoon sun warmed the car. It was a pleasant June day.
Mary was happy. She smiled, enjoying the sight of a farmer’s cows grazing in a pasture. Kids riding bikes in the early afternoon, now that they were out of school for summer break. And white puffy clouds moving away, leaving the great blue sky above.
When they reached Anisteem, Eddie drove slowly through downtown where old brick buildings lined the busy main street. “You’ll find everything you need in Anisteem. The grocery store is that direction and there are several restaurants. The library is down that street, but you won’t need to work there unless you want to.”
“It’s a lovely town.”
“Would you like to stop and get something to eat before we get on the boat?”
“I’m anxious to see the estate if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
Eddie drove to the Anisteem port and up to the dock where their boat waited. Mary put pickles back in her tote and walked with Eddie up to a building where the sign CHESHAM CHARTER BOATS hung above the door.
“Hello, can I help you?” A jolly man, big and broad, said as they walked inside.
“Hello, I’m Eddie Winters and we’ve booked a boat to get us over to Shadow Island,” Eddie said, approaching the counter. “This is Mary McMaster, you’ll be seeing a lot of her.”
“I’m Brad Chesham, the skipper of the Daisy Dancer. But you can call me Moose, everyone does.” Moose looked at Mary. “Are you going to be living at Ender House?”
“I believe so if that’s what you call the McMaster estate. Why do you call it Ender House?”
“It’s a name given to it by the locals long ago. Ender Lane and Ender House are what the mansion is known as around here.”
“Why is that, Mr. Chesham? Why not McMaster House?”
Brad looked at Eddie and then back at Mary. “Weren’t you told?”
“Told what?”
“Maybe it’s not my place to say anything, but the place is cursed.”
“I do not believe in ghosts, Mr. Chesham. And I have already been told of deaths on the property. I suppose it is to be expected just as any home that has been around for many years would have tragic events.”
“There’s more to that place than ghosts—”
Eddie cleared his throat just as Moose was about to speak.
“We can talk about it later,” Moose said. “But to answer your question about Ender, it basically refers to the end of the line. End of the road. End of life. Ender.”
Mary couldn’t help but remember Mr. Stine telling her she was the last person in the Humphry McMaster bloodline. “Why would it be given such a name?”
Moose avoided eye contact with Eddie. “The original owner of the place—I suspect your ancestor, Humphry McMaster—a long time ago, somewhere in the eighteen-fifties, legally won the right to take land from Zachariah De Moen so that a train depot and lumber yard could be built at the location, just outside of town—at that time Michigan had one of the largest lumbering industries in the country. Anyway, without what—many say—adequate compensation to the De Moens’, everyone in the family—his wife and five children—ended up dying during the blizzard that year. Everyone except for Zachariah himself, though I suspect he was dead inside from losing his loved ones. It was mostly because the old guy couldn’t afford to care for his family. Zachariah was a farmer and after his farm was taken—well, he wasn’t very good at earning an income any other way, so they say. With nothing left to lose, he cursed ol’ Humphrey and his bloodline—spiritualism was big back then—an eye for an eye I guess.”
“Then I am cursed, too, if what you say is correct. But I do not believe in curses no more than I believe in ghosts.” Mary said the words firmly, however inside she was beginning to doubt her logic with so much talk of troubles surrounding the estate.
“It’s nonsense, nothing but superstition,” Eddie said. “I say we get this young lady over to her new home.”
“My apologies, ma’am,” Moose said. “I just wanted you to know what people will be murmuring behind your back.” Moose slid a clipboard across the desk. “I just need a signature and then I can get you over to your breathtakingly beautiful new abode.”
With the details now in order, Eddie pushed a luggage cart out to the car while Moose prepared the 31-foot boat for the trip. Mary walked onto the dock and looked out over the blue water to what looked like a distant piece of land with trees jutting up on the horizon. “Is that Shadow Island?” she shouted over to Moose who had started the twin engines.
“Indeed it is. It’s not too far away, but I wouldn’t swim it because there are rip currents out there that can pull a person out to deeper water, even pull ‘em under if they’re a poor swimmer.” Moose set the motor to idle. “People have swum it before, though, when the currents were calm. Ice sometimes develops between here and there, but don’t walk on it, too unpredictable you know. Can you swim, Mary?”
“Yes, I am a very good swimmer. I swam all the time as a child—inland lakes, not ones with powerful currents like you describe.
“People who can’t swim should not live on an island, I always say. Too dangerous with all the water around.”
Mary turned when she heard a rumble coming down the dock. Eddie had the cart loaded with Mary’s luggage and some other containers, along with a briefcase.
“What’s in the plastic tubs?” Mary asked as she watched Eddie hand the suitcases over to Moose.
“Mr. Stine thought it wise to send along some basic supplies; food, water, and—toilet paper.”
“Need the toilet paper,” Moose said.
“I thought the Simmons kept the place stocked with necessary items,” Mary said, feeling a little uncomfortable as she watched the boat rock in response to Moose’s shifting weight as he took the items into the cabin.
Eddie handed Moose the last of the luggage. “I believe they do, but Mr. Stine wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”
Moose sat the tubs on the cockpit floorboards. “The Simmons have been away since Mr. McMaster passed on. A vacation of sorts, they said, when I picked them up and brought them back to the mainland. But by the looks of the cargo that they took with them, I’m not so sure they’re coming back.”
“Did they say when they would return?”
“Like I said, I don’t believe they are returning; looked to me like they were leaving for good.” Moose held out a hand to Mary. “Are you ready to get on board, my lady? You and your little dog?”
“I am ready.” Mary and pickles boarded Daisy Dancer as Eddie returned from having left the empty cart by the shack. He released the lines and hopped in the boat as Moose pushed the throttle forward. Mary sat on a bench, gripping Pickles so that he would not fall over the side as they sped away toward Shadow Island.
Water sprayed, filling the air with tiny refreshing particles. Pickles, however, buried himself deeper inside Mary’s tote.
As they approached the island, the mansion came into view. It was massive and alluring, nestled among numerous trees, past an expansive lawn.
“Quite a place, isn’t it?” Eddie said over the roar of the engines.
“Have you been out here before?” Mary asked, in awe of a house that would gobble her little bungalow up for a snack.
“No, only Mr. Stine. But I am anxious to get a closer look at the place.”
“It’s a big place for one person to live in,” Moose said as he steered Daisy Dancer toward
shore.
“There’s a boathouse.” Mary pointed to a covered dock with a small boat inside.
Moose nodded. “Neither Mr. McMaster or the Simmons ever used it that I know of. It’s for emergencies, I assume. Calling me is a whole lot easier.”
Mary looked back at the mainland, now feeling the isolation the island would bring. “You know, Eddie, it was never discussed if there are electricity and phone service on the island. Do you know?”
“Sorry, I neglected to tell you, Mary,” Eddie said. “The only phone service is by your cell phone. Do you have one?”
“No, I do not. I’m rather behind the times.”
“You’ll have to get one.”
“I’ve been bringing the mail out every Friday,” Moose shouted as he approached the dock. “Mr. McMaster gave me a key to the post office box. I’d also pick up the Simmons if they wanted to go into town. I used to bring fuel for the generator years ago, but not anymore.”
“Generator? Is that the source of the electricity?”
“It was until a power cable was laid underwater from the mainland to the island back in the nineteen-seventies. Now the generator is used as a backup. Mr. Simmons will take care of all that if you decide to keep them on...and they decide to return.”
“Sounds like I will need to continue their employment.”
With Daisy Dancer now secured to the dock, Eddie helped Mary and Pickles out of the boat. He took his briefcase and a suitcase that Moose handed him and followed Mary down the dock toward a sidewalk that led to the front entrance and its wraparound porch. He took in a deep breath. “The air is so fresh out here. Not like the city where I live.”
“My health should benefit from all this nature.” Mary pointed to a large shed between the dock and the mansion. “Is that where the generator is?”
“I believe so. I have a map of the island to give you.”
“And a letter?” Mary glanced at the briefcase.
“Yes, and a letter along with some other documents.” Eddie pointed across the yard to a quaint blue cottage. “That must be the Simmons cottage over there.”
“Do I have keys to all the doors that must be around here?”
“I have the key to the front door and the rest of the keys are in the study, I’m told.”
When they got to the top of the hill, they walked onto the porch and turned around to face the mainland and Moose who was walking up with one of the tubs.
Mary sniffed when the scent of pine wafted past her nose as she looked out over the water. “I can’t think of a more wonderful sight. Pickles and I will spend a lot of time sipping tea or a hot toddy or two out here while watching boats sail by.” Mary giggled. “Me, not Pickles.”
Moose walked up the porch steps, the boards creaked beneath his feet. “I never get tired of looking at this place.”
“I think I am going to like it here.” Mary sat pickles on the porch floor.
“You might get a little lonely out here,” Moose said, adjusting the weight of the tub in his arms as he caught his breath. “My niece, Madisyn, can help you out if the Simmons don’t return. She’s lookin’ to earn a little extra cash while she’s in college. But, like I said, I’ll be out here every Friday, unless you need me sooner.”
“That’s three days,” Mary said. “I’ll be fine until then. It’ll take a while for me to figure out what I do and do not need. But I will have to get a phone.”
“The Simmons would call me on their cell phone but there should be a CB here that you can use. Mr. McMaster would use it on occasion before he got sick.”
Eddie balanced the briefcase on the porch railing, opened it, and took out a ring with two keys. He handed them to Mary. “Here are the keys to the front door.”
Mary took them and walked up to the large dark wooden door with a big black door knocker in the center. She put a key in the lock and turned the tumbler.
Chapter 3
Mary opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit entranceway. A musty stale smell mingled with artificial berries from an air freshener, causing her to wrinkle her nose.
“I will need to open some drapes,” Mary said, looking for the light switch. When she found it, she flipped it on and let out a gasp when muted light from a crystal chandelier filled the space. “Oh my, this place is magnificent. A little dark but—” Mary could not find the words to explain the grandiose sight. Large paintings of people and animals hung on the walls, big blocky furniture took up floor space, and paisley patterned carpet stretched from wall to wall.
Mary walked further into the entrance hall, toward the staircase, halfway down on the left. “It’s going to take me a while to learn the layout of the place.”
Eddie walked up next to her. “I briefly looked over the layout of the mansion. The room to the left is the reception room, and that’s a bathroom next to it. And to the right is the drawing-room; and next to it is the library. Past the staircase, the door on the left leads to the dining room, a sitting room, and the kitchen. And the other door goes to a passage that leads to another staircase that the servants used.”
“Oh, Pickles, we’re going to love it here.” Mary looked down, expecting to see the dog near her feet, but he was not there. “Pickles, where are you?”
“He’s still on the porch,” Moose said, setting the tub next to the door. “I think he’s afraid to come inside.”
Mary sat the keys on an entryway table and looked out the open door. “Oh, Pickles, you’re shaking.” She walked onto the porch, picked up the trembling pooch, and went back inside. “He’s just not used to our new home.”
“Dogs can sense things,” Moose said. “Even I’ll start shaking if I think too much about this place.”
“Hogwash, Moose. It’s as Mary said, it’s a place that the dog has not gotten used to, yet,” Eddie said, walking toward the library. “But what I’m hoping is that Mr. McMaster used the library as a study because I didn’t see a specific room labeled as such.”
Mary held Pickles tight, stroking his head. “That would make sense. A bedroom could serve as an office, too. But it wasn’t like he had a shortage of space.”
Eddie opened the closed library and switched on the light. He stepped aside as Mary walked in behind him.
“Oh, my,” Mary said, bringing a hand to her mouth. “This is a magnificent library. Look at all the books; shelves and shelves of wonderful books. I can’t wait to go through them.” She sat Pickles on the floor and walked up to a bookcase loaded with dust-covered cloth and leather hardbound reading material; floor to ceiling. “I know what I’ll be doing this evening.”
Eddie walked to the desk along the wall across from the fireplace. He set his briefcase on the desktop before opening the drapes of a nearby window. “Look, Mary, you have a wonderful cottage garden just outside the library.
Mary sat the musty book she had plucked off a shelf back where she had gotten it and walked next to Eddie. “It is lovely. Look Pickles, lots of pretty flowers that you can dig around in.” She looked around for Pickles, finding him with his snout against the glass-paned door leading out into the garden.
“Looks like he wants outside,” Moose said, walking up to the French door. “Mind if I let him out?”
“No, not at all.”
Moose unlocked the door. The minute he opened it, Pickles shot out and at once ran up to a decommissioned water fountain of a woman with a bucket in her hand pouring air instead of circulating water. He began digging into last year’s spent zinnias, matted on the ground next to this season’s new green shoots. “Looks like Pickles is making himself at home.”
“Indeed he is,” Mary said, smiling. “I believe I will want to stay here. Eddie, could you let Mr. Stine know my decision?”
“Sure can, Mary, but you should check the rest of the mansion, first. I’m sure it’s all fine but if there’s a problem you might want to delay your move.”
Moose sat down the monkey see, monkey do figurine he was looking at and blurted out, “Like a de
ad body.”
“No, Moose,” Eddie said, unlatching his briefcase. “Like plumbing or heating problems, not corpses.”
“There better not be any corpses in the house,” Mary said with a giggle as she left the door to the garden partway open for Pickles to enter when he finished excavating.
Moose went to the window and watched Pickles flinging dirt and flower stems. “Some say there are bodies buried here—someplace. At least two of ‘em because they came up missing a few decades ago.” He turned and looked at Mary who was staring back. “Your relatives I suspect because they were Horace McMaster’s parents. Some say Horace himself offed them for the money, but I don’t think so because he already had access to all the money he wanted. Others say Horace was crazy in the head and he did a Lizzy Borden whack job on them and hid the bodies.”
Eddie slapped a stack of papers on the desktop. “Moose, you’re scaring Mary. Do you really have to keep mentioning these tall tales of yours? From what I read, their boat capsized in rough water between here and the mainland; unfortunately, their bodies were lost in the storm.”
Moose joined them at the desk. “You’re right, Mr. Winters, that’s the official record.”
Eddie handed Mary a sealed manila envelope with her name handwritten with a flourish of inked swirls. “Is this from my great uncle?”
“It is,” Eddie said. “I don’t know what’s inside it, but the rest of these papers are things that Mr. Stine and I found during our research, like the mansion floor plan and some of your family tree, he said, straightening the stack.
Mary sat the envelope on the desktop. “I think I should look at the rest of the house before I go through the paperwork.” A wet sneeze from Pickles caught Mary’s attention. She watched him walk through the library’s half-opened door and up to her where he promptly shook particles of black dirt and pieces of dry leaves from his body, scattering them over the hardwood floor and Mary’s plain black shoes.
Moose laughed. “Looks like Pickles has you cleaning the place already.”
“Pickles is a little trouble maker, but I love him nonetheless.” Mary bent down and patted the pug’s dirty head. “Now I’ll have to find the broom and dustpan.”
