Somewhere Between

by Patty Wiseman

‘Time is drawing near for the child’s arrival. We must travel home or risk giving birth on the highway or at some inn along the way. The trip is difficult, but we will be home in plenty of time.’

  Next entry: ‘Home, at last. I am writing this settled in my old room surrounded by the many gifts friends have brought for the baby. Jonathan’s parents made the announcement.

  Phebe skimmed over the account of the days of confinement and reached the day of the birth.

  ‘He’s beautiful. A shock of black hair, Edmund’s strong jaw, and his eyes, why they are exactly like Edmund’s. I’ve named him Anthony.’

  The clock struck eleven p.m. The house was quiet.

  She closed the book and hid it in the folds of her skirt. Please come tonight, Edmund. I have so much to tell you.

  The minutes ticked by. If he didn’t show himself soon, it could mean he’s gone forever. But, it doesn’t make sense! Mary wants him to know of the son she bore him.

  A glow appeared near the window.

  “Edmund is that you? Please show yourself. I have news.”

  While she watched, he appeared as before.

  “Hello, Phebe.”

  “Well, at least you remembered my name this time. Where have you been?”

  “I told you. I have no control over when I come and go.” He looked down at the book in her lap. “You still have the diary.”

  “Of course.”

  “Have you read it?”

  She stood. “Parts of it. I only did it because you weren’t around. You should be the one reading it.”

  “What have you learned?”

  “No, I shouldn’t be the one to tell you.” She laid it on the table and opened to the place where Mary revealed Anthony. “Read it, find out for yourself by Mary’s hand.”

  He stepped toward her. “I have read some of it. It’s why I disappeared.”

  “You said it was something more sinister, and then, you were gone. What was it you read?”

  “It wasn’t Jonathan who killed me.”

  Phebe couldn’t get her mouth to work. It flopped open and shut. She thought of the confession Mary spoke of, assumed it meant Jonathan told her what he did. When she finally recovered, she asked, “It wasn’t Jonathan? Then who?”

  He faded a bit. “Mary wants me to read the diary. There’s something else she desperately wants me to know. Do you know what it is?”

  “What? Something else? What could be more important than who killed you?”

  “Mary has a message of importance for me. Will you keep it from me?”

  Phebe released the breath she’d been holding, hoping to find out who killed Edmund, but she realized Mary’s message about their son was not delivered. “Of course, you’re right. There’s news you should know.” She pointed to the passage of interest.

  He shook his head. “No, I can’t bare seeing Mary’s handwriting. It’s so beautiful, like her. It increases my sadness immeasurably. You’ve read it. Please tell me what she wants me to know.”

  Phebe marveled at this profound turn of events. I came to this house to be governess to three small children and find myself talking to a ghost. I stand between two realms as a messenger for a mystery that happened long ago. It’s impossible to comprehend, but if he wants me to tell him. I have no choice.

  “You have a son.”

  As much as an apparition can, he trembled. The light around his body turned into a kaleidoscope of pulsating colors. An overwhelming sense of happiness filled the room and Phebe basked in the joy-filled atmosphere.

  “A son,” he whispered.

  “Yes, his name is Anthony.”

  Several minutes of silence passed as the light continued to dance and play around the room. It was like a celebration.

  Finally, the resplendent glow receded.

  Edmund sat down in the chair. “I never knew it. Mary didn’t tell me.”

  “It’s all in the diary. Do you remember she wanted to reveal something just before your wedding day, but your brother interrupted?”

  “Yes, I remember. I was murdered shortly after. Is this what she wanted to tell me? She was with child?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I left her.” He bowed his head. “I left her to deal with the scandal alone.”

  “No, Edmund. You were murdered. It wasn’t your fault.”

  He looked at her, eyes tortured. “It was my fault. My indiscretion. I can never forgive myself.”

  As Phebe reached to comfort him the room took on a different light.

  Edmund looked up and stared past her.

  She glanced around the room, but saw nothing.

  “Mary, is that you?” Edmund stood and took a step.

  “What is it, Edmund? What do you see?”

  “It’s Mary, after all this time, I can finally see her.”

  Phebe stood and whirled around. “I don’t see her, where is she?”

  He whispered, “She’s right beside me. My beautiful Mary.”

  PHEBE WATCHED AS EDMUND FADED from the room.

  “No! Don’t go. I don’t know who murdered you.”

  But, he was gone.

  She remained motionless while disbelief riddled any expectation of normalcy. “Mary was here, but I didn’t see her. How is it I can see Edmund, but not Mary?”

  She paced back and forth, looking for something, anything to explain what just happened.

  The room offered no clues.

  Suddenly, doubt crept into her thoughts. The appearance of Edmund, at first, left her excited as well as intrigued and occupied her thoughts daily. But something different was happening now. She didn’t like it. “One ghost maybe, but another I can’t see? She hurried to the door. “I must leave this room before a whole host of dead McAdams appear or rather not appear. Oh, what am I saying?”

  The journal lay open on the table. She closed it with a bang and left the room, intent on leaving the book and the ghost behind. “I won’t come back here. It’s over. Mary and Edmund are together. That was the goal. Now it’s time for my interference to end.”

  Tears stained her cheeks as she struggled to awaken the next morning. Sleep did not come easy last night as she wrestled with dark figures floating through her dreams, sparking fear and trepidation.

  It was hard to dress, to arrange her hair. She moved in slow motion, dreading the day with the children.

  “This isn’t like me. I love children. I love this job.” She shrugged. “Maybe a hot breakfast will restore my spirit.”

  The kitchen was quiet.

  Myrtle stirred a pot on the stove, curls of steam licked her face as they curled to the ceiling.

  Winston busied himself with the arrangement of the breakfast tray for Mr. and Mrs. Powell.

  Myrtle greeted her, “Good morning, Phebe. Hope you slept well.”

  She opened her mouth, but was distracted by a stab of green light in the morning sun. Its brilliance blinded her. An emerald on Winston’s hand shot shards of green light in the morning sun.

  The ring! I completely forgot.

  “Something wrong, dear?” Myrtle asked.

  “What? No. The light…it blinded me for a moment.” She stared at Winston’s hand.

  Myrtle dropped the spoon and rushed to her side. “Why you’re positively pale, Phebe. Should we send for a doctor?”

  “Please. No doctor. I didn’t sleep well, that’s all. I’ll be right as rain after some of your blueberry pancakes.”

  Winston flushed at Phebe’s intense gaze. “You’re staring, again. Is something amiss?”

  “Your ring. Is it new? I don’t believe I’ve seen you wear it before.”

  He tucked his hand behind his back, a rare blush staining his cheeks. “The ring? No, not new, a gift. I forgot to remove it.”

  “A gift? What a special gift. A family heirloom, perhaps?”

  He stood straighter and frowned, the blush changed from light pink to a foreboding deeper red. “May I remind you of your station here, Ms. Whiteside. You are the governess a
nd its improper for you to continuously ask intimate questions of the staff or the children. I suggest you adjust your behavior accordingly.” He stomped from the room.

  Myrtle’s grip tightened on her arm. “Sit down, Phebe. You look as if you are about to faint.”

  She sank into the chair next the table. “Why’s he so angry? It’s a beautiful ring. I’m merely curious.”

  “Winston takes his job of overseeing the family very seriously. Preserving their privacy is his number one priority. Ever since you arrived, you continue to ask questions. It’s unbecoming. I think we’ve indulged you because this is a new employment. But you must curb your bent toward curiosity and understand your place here.” She patted Phebe’s hand and returned to the stove.

  “But, the ring. I’ve seen it before.”

  Myrtle swiveled to face her, lips pressed into a fine line, eyes narrowed. “I strongly suggest you forget about that ring—if you want to keep your position here.”

  The air in the room chilled by several degrees when the veiled threat was issued. Suddenly, she was afraid. Whatever was going on in this house was more sinister than first imagined.

  Myrtle placed a stack of pancakes in front of her. “Now, eat.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she whispered.

  The two women didn’t speak further.

  I think I might have lost a friend this morning. She finished her breakfast, washed and dried her plate, placed it back in the cupboard, and climbed the stairs to the classroom.

  The children challenged her physical ability all morning. Lack of sleep and the encounter in the kitchen jarred her focus. As noon approached, she yearned for the quiet of her room and the comfort of her bed. The afternoon class would prove impossible without a short nap.

  Winston came to gather the children without a word or a glance in her direction.

  She did notice the ring was gone from his hand. “Good, no more thoughts of Edmund and murder, no more Mary, no midnight excursions to the third floor, and no more ring. From now on, I concentrate only on the children and their lessons.”

  The intent to skip the noon meal gave her pause. On the one hand, it allowed her time to recuperate, on the other, she risked Myrtle bringing a tray to her room. “Although, she’s quite upset with me, so she might think better of it. At any rate, I need a bit of rest if I’m to continue today.”

  The decision made, she marched to her room determined to rest undisturbed. The lock made a satisfying click, reassurance her sanctuary was secured. A deep breath cleansed the morning’s chaos from her mind as she rid her sore feet of the cumbersome shoes and stretched out on the bed. “Just a few winks and I’ll be ready to face the afternoon.”

  A last plump of the pillow and she escaped into a peaceful slumber.

  An unusual sensation woke her. Nothing tangible, just something. She turned and tucked her hand under the pillow and came wide awake as her hand brushed something hard. She flung the pillow aside and snatched her hand back as if a snake lay coiled, ready to strike. She stared in disbelief.

  Mary’s journal.

  PHEBE WASN’T EASILY RATTLED. IN fact, she prided herself on facing hardship or challenges with squared shoulders and a thrust of her chin. But this…this left her shaken.

  “I know I left the journal upstairs. I even slammed it shut on the table. How did it get here? Under my pillow, no less.”

  Like a lion crouched in retreat against an aggressive foe, she eased away from the journal and off the bed. She couldn’t stop staring. The book taunted her, the vibrations from it palpable. It was inanimate, of course, but she expected it to rise in the air and sail toward her at any moment.

  She shook her head. “No. I made my decision last night. No more ghosts. No journals. No mystery. Whatever happened upstairs I’m determined to put aside now.

  Her nerves receded a bit at the decision, but the book still lay there. How would she dispose of it?

  A knock on the door made her jump.

  “Phebe, it’s me. I brought you a sandwich. Please, you must eat.”

  Panicked Cook might see the journal, she flung the pillow over the top of it and jumped back, unwilling to make more contact than necessary.

  “Yes, I’m coming.”

  Myrtle held the tray with wide eyes and a contrite, lopsided smile. “May I come in for a second?”

  Phebe drew the door wide, cautious of an oncoming tirade. “Certainly.” She watched the cook set the tray on the table.

  Myrtle wiped her hands on her apron, nervously. “Phebe, I…I want to apologize for my abruptness this morning. I shouldn’t have spoken to you in that manner.”

  “No, you’re right. It’s not my business. I’m too nosy for my own good. Please, don’t fret about it. I will make every effort to concentrate on my job and not let my imagination run away with me.” She paced around the room, willing her to leave.

  The cook spoke, her voice soft and caring, “Child, it’s only…this old house holds many secrets. Very old secrets. I suppose Winston and I are part of the fabric woven throughout this family as we’ve been here since we can remember. As an outsider, you simply wouldn’t understand. Anyway, please forgive me for my harshness. I hope you’ll continue to join Winston and I for meals. We do enjoy your company.”

  Myrtle left and closed the door behind her.

  Phebe rushed to secure the lock.

  Hunger got the best of her as the savory aroma of ham and warm bread filled the room.

  While she ate she watched the pillow, half afraid the journal would crawl out from under it. “I have to do something with it. How will I ever sleep with it in this room?”

  The meal finished, it was time to go back to the classroom. She chose to leave the journal under the pillow and decide what to do with it later.

  All three children filed into the classroom eager to resume their lessons. It gave her spirits a boost to see how they adapted to her style of teaching. The boys treated her with a new respect after the little ruckus on their return from visiting the aunt.

  Elizabet looked a bit out of sorts, however.

  Phebe bent over her at the desk and whispered in her ear. “Are you feeling okay, Elizabet? Your face is flushed.”

  The child looked up without a smile. “I didn’t sleep very good last night.”

  “Oh, and why is that?”

  “I’m not sure. Something woke me up. I had trouble falling asleep again.”

  Her heart lurched, her mind going immediately to the events of last night. Did Elizabet hear something?

  Phebe decided to address her statement directly. “Did you get cold, perhaps? I wasn’t there to tuck the covers under your chin. If that is what happened, I apologize. It won’t happen again. You three were out of hand, you know. Discipline was in order.”

  “No, I wasn’t cold. Something brushed my cheek and woke me up.”

  “Oh, a little moth, maybe. It’s that time of year, you know, they…”

  Elizabet placed her hand on her cheek and said in an unusually soft voice, “It wasn’t a moth. It was a kiss.”

  She stared at the girl. “A kiss? Maybe it was a dream.” Her hands turned clammy as her imagination went immediately to Edmund and Mary. Could they—?

  “It wasn’t a dream. It was a lady.” Elizabet bent her head back to the book in front of her.

  At the child’s matter-of-fact statement, Phebe froze, unable to respond, wanting to press for more, knowing she could not. Instead, she bent close to Elizabet’s ear and whispered, “We’ll talk after class, dear.”

  Elizabet sat still, silky dark curls hiding her face.

  Reluctant to resume class, she did the only thing she could do—walk away and start lessons.

  After class, the boys rushed out of the room eager, she supposed, to get back to whatever mischief boys get into at that age.

  Elizabet tried to follow suit.

  “Wait, Elizabet. I’d like to talk to you.” Phebe sat down behind desk. “Suppose you tell me what happened last nigh
t.”

  The girl stopped in the doorway and turned. “My grandparents came to visit me, that’s all.”

  TRY AS SHE MIGHT, PHEBE couldn’t concentrate on the words coming from Elizabet’s mouth. The child’s lips moved, but the only thing her brain could comprehend were the words, my grandparents came to visit me.

  “Ms. Phebe, did you hear what I said?”

  “What? Oh yes. I heard you.” Her shoulders straightened, and she put on her most practical mantle. “I know you think you were awake, but sometimes dreams are so vivid they appear real. For example, how could you know it was your grandparents? They died before you were born. You’ve never met them.”

  Elizabet rolled her eyes with an impatient sigh. “Because, they told me!”

  The regular rhythm of her heart stopped and took on a wild, erratic clatter. Maybe I didn’t hear her right. “They talked to you?”

  “Well, no. I didn’t hear them talk.”

  “Then how…?”

  The amber flecks in Elizabet’s eyes glowed. “It was them.”

  “Okay, that’s enough for today, little one. Let’s talk about this tomorrow when you’ve had a good night’s sleep.” She put her arms around her. “Now, go find your brothers.”

  The little girl nodded. “Will you come and tuck me in tonight?”

  “Of course, I will. Have a nice dinner with your parents. I’ll see you at bed time.”

  Reluctant to let her go, she watched Elizabet walk out of the schoolroom.

  Is it true? Edmund and Mary appeared to little Elizabet? She paced the classroom floor. I wanted to leave this ghost thing behind me. Now Elizabet thinks she’s seen them. How is that possible?

  “Ms. Phebe…” Elizabet returned with a smile shining on her face. “Grandfather…I know he’s who you went upstairs to visit that night. Now we share a secret. Just between us girls. Promise you won’t tell.” She put a finger to her lips.

  Before she could respond, Elizabet skipped away again.

  She didn’t know how long she sat there, frozen. Elizabet appeared unaffected by whatever or whomever she saw last night. Now, the child wanted to keep it a secret.