I was grateful for Emily. I could tell her anything in the world and she’d believe me. But I supposed that’s what best friends were for. I continued to search for nearly another hour. I uncovered one account after another of people seeing all three children sitting in front of the middle window of the second floor of the manor; the same window I’d seen the shadows. There were no more reports of sightings after 1974 because most were arrested for trespassing since the window in question could only be observed from the rear of the manor.
“I have to find out what that middle room is, Em.”
“It does seem to be a key player in this mystery. But what about the graveyard? Did you actually look at any of the headstones to see who was buried there?”
“I didn’t. And if Ben did, he didn’t say anything to me about it. After the lady bug flew away, we walked the rest of the trail to the orphanage, and then went back because it was getting late and Sophia was getting cranky.”
“Then the first stop on Monday needs to be the graveyard.”
“Okay, Em. But I think we should get babysitters. I don’t want to take the girls.”
“That’s a good idea, Claire. I can bring my mom with me and she can stay with both girls, if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine. But in the meantime, I’m going to finish this research.”
Sophia began to stir, and I could hear Ben walk through the kitchen toward her room. I closed the lid on my laptop and went to get her so he could finish working on his case. He intended to work straight through the following day so we could have the weekend free. Ben, Sam and Steve planned on taking a load of unusable things from both houses to the local charity store, and they needed to dig out the old row-boat and take it to the salvage yard. They also intended to look for a canoe and take it on a test run so Ben and I could take Sophia out on the Lake on Sunday. Our whole weekend was planned. The women, of course had the duty of grilling and preparing lunch for when the guys were done with the “man chores”, as Ben had referred to them. I laughed at him at the time he said it, but I was grateful for the help in clearing the unwanted stuff.
Sunday morning was cloudy and cold, and we worried we wouldn’t be able to go out on the lake as planned. But by the afternoon, the sun was hot. Before we knew it, Sophia’s lifejacket was all buckled, and we were shoving off from the dock of the cottage. It had been a long time since I’d paddled a canoe, but we soon fell in sync with one another. The lake wound around a private little cove on the other side of the orphanage. Sophia giggled at the fish and turtles that surfaced. When we came upon a patch of lily-pads near the shore thick with frogs, she tried to imitate their noise. In the center of the canoe, she wriggled to the side trying to reach for them, and nearly fell in. It scared us so much that Ben put her on the floor of the canoe closer to him. It was fun to enjoy the day through Sophia’s eyes, and we were certainly bonding with her very quickly—as though we’d been a family all along.
As we rounded the curve that took us toward the manor, I could see shadows moving in the middle window of the second floor. I checked the other windows, wondering if it could be reflections off the lake, but the other windows appeared dark. I turned around to look at Ben, who was in the rear of the canoe, but he hadn’t seemed to notice anything unusual. I kept quiet about it, but kept a steady eye on the manor.
“Did you see that?”
I turned suddenly, wondering if I’d missed something at the manor, but he and Sophia were looking into the water, observing a school of fish swimming near the surface.
I nodded, but they didn’t look up at me. “I see them now.”
I laughed at how excited they were about the fish, until something caught my attention from the corner of my eye. I turned my head fully in front of me in time to see Amelia standing in the middle window of the second floor. I looked back to see if Ben noticed, but he and Sophia were too involved with the school of fish that circled the canoe.
When I looked back toward the manor, all three children stood in the window, Amelia, with her finger to her mouth. I could almost hear the shushing sound from her lips in the slight breeze that rippled across the lake, creating circular indentations in the water. I shivered from the sudden chill, wondering if it was from Amelia, or just the wind. Behind me, I could hear Ben and Sophia enjoying the school of fish, while I couldn’t take my eyes off Amelia; or the two children that stood on each side of her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I paced the hardwood floors of the cottage, waiting for Emily and her mother to show up. Ben was on his way to his client’s trial back in Milford. He had to drive my car since we’d forgotten to remove the car seat from his, and he didn’t have time to mess with it. I seemed to be more concerned than he was regarding what his colleagues would say when they saw him pulling up to the courthouse in my beat-up, old car. He was so casual about it, that I let it go. I had bigger things on my mind.
Sophia finished her breakfast, while I continued to pace. I was exhausted from staying up half the night talking to Emily about what I saw during our canoe trip around the lake, but I was also very wired and ready to get the exploration of the manor underway.
Finally, Emily’s white SUV pulled into the driveway, and I swallowed hard the nervous lump that suddenly found its way into my throat. This was it. There was no turning back now. Within minutes, I would be facing one of my biggest fears.
The walk to the family plot seemed a little shorter a few days before when I’d walked it with Ben, but I kept going until I could finally see the clearing up ahead. My feet were covered in mud from overnight rainfall, and the air was still thick with humidity. Overhead, excess water dripped from the treetops, soaking my hair and clothing.
By the time we reached the clearing, we were both shivering from the cold and dampness of our dew-drenched clothes and hair. I sighed heavily, noting the air rolling visibly in front of my face.
I nudged Emily, teeth chattering. “It’s so cold I can see my breath.”
She breathed out heavily, testing my observation. We huddled together for warmth as we approached the farthest headstone to the left of the clearing. Edward Fredrick Blackwell, II, June 15, 1834 – September 27, 1895, and Elizabeth Steward-Blackwell, August 23, 1834 – January 12, 1897, were the first set of headstones, and had to have been Dr. Blackwell’s parents, judging by the date and placement in the plot. Next was a line that formed the entire Blackwell family that had resided at the manor: Edward Fredrick Blackwell, III, May 2, 1869 – September 13, 1901; Peyton Amelia Blackwell, January 21, 1870 – September 3, 1901; Fredrick Edward Blackwell, April 3, 1887 – September 5, 1901; Amelia Rose Blackwell, February 9, 1891 – September 5, 1901; Elizabeth “Lizzie” Ellenor Blackwell, January 11, 1897 – September 5, 1901.
I read and re-read the names and dates. “They all died within ten days of each other. That is so sad.”
Emily raised an eyebrow at me. “Maybe that’s what Amelia is trying to tell everyone that sees her. Why they died.”
“We already know. It’s in all the reports. It’s my family history—murder and suicide. How could you forget such a terrible thing?”
“Stop being so dramatic, Claire. Maybe there’s more to it than what was printed in the newspapers. I never believe the media, and back then they didn’t have high-tech forensics to figure out things. They went on assumptions mostly, so we may never know what really happened.”
“How do you suppose we find out? Sit around here and wait for Amelia to show up and tell me?”
Almost before I finished my sentence, Amelia appeared, hovering over her mother’s headstone, the black parasol in one hand, the other to her lips.
I pointed. “Em, turn around. There she is.”
Amelia vanished before Emily could turn her head.
“That’s odd. She disappeared. I wonder why she did that.”
Emily chuckled. “Maybe because you practically shouted for me to turn and look at her. Maybe
she’s shy. I don’t know.”
I shook my head. “She can’t be shy. She appeared to all those other people over the years.”
Emily stood behind a large tree to block some of the wind. “She only appeared to them because there were no relatives for her to seek out until now. Maybe she doesn’t want anyone to see her but you, Claire. She probably feels the family connection to you.”
“You think? I don’t know. Maybe she does. Or—maybe I’m crazy, and she only appears to me because she’s all in my head.”
Emily put her back to the headstones. “Try it again. See if she comes back now that I have my back turned.”
I looked at Peyton Blackwell’s headstone and waited. Several minutes dragged by, and still, nothing. “I don’t know, Em. I think we should give up.”
Emily folded her arms. “Maybe you should try calling out to her.”
I shook my head again. “No way. I’m too cold to stand here and call out to a ghost like I’m a crazy person.”
Emily pushed out her lower lip like she did when we were kids when I wouldn’t give in to her persistent demands.
“We aren’t children anymore, Em. That won’t work on me anymore.”
Emily laughed heartily. “That’s what you always say. Just try. Please?”
“Okay, Em. Just give me a minute to concentrate.”
Emily laughed. “I told you it always works.”
“Not funny, Em.”
I closed my eyes for a minute and thought about my feelings at my mother’s funeral since that seemed to work the last time. When I opened my eyes, she was there with a hand on her mother’s headstone. She placed her finger to her lips and pushed out her lips to make a shushing sound, but just as before, no sound escaped her lips. Then she walked over to each of her sibling’s headstones and did the same thing, though she made no sound when she walked, nor did any sound come from her lips. Finally, she stood at her own headstone and put her finger to her lips and shushed, then, she vanished.
I continued to watch for a few minutes, wondering if she would return, but she didn’t. When I relayed to Emily what I saw, we both thought it was strange that she should stand at her own headstone, and that she didn’t go near her father’s.
“Do you suppose the Widow Karington is buried in here somewhere in the midst of all these people?”
Emily walked over to the other side of the clearing, and stopped at the farthest headstones. “Here she is.”
I approached Emily and looked at the headstones of the Karington's, and read them: Jonathon Matthew Karington, June 27, 1859 – July 9, 1900; Lucinda Blackwell-Karington, November 10, 1859 – October 17, 1953; “Lucinda was my great, great, great grandmother. The woman that named my mother after her, then, left her on the doorstep of the orphanage.” Jonathon Matthew Karington, II, January 11, 1879 - February 1, 1941; Colleen Stidwell-Karington, December 23, 1879 – December 1, 1940; “They would be my great, great grandparents.” Henry Albert Karington, December 5, 1904 – November 17, 1951; Amanda Radcliff-Karington, June 15, 1904 – November 17, 1951; “My great grandparents.” Ellenor “Ellie” Rose Karington, September 12, 1938 – October 15, 1953. “That’s my mother’s Momma. The one that died giving birth to her. She was so young. That must have been very scary for her.”
I paused at Ellie’s headstone, the date of her death caught in my throat like an ice cube that stays just long enough to instill fear in a person.
Emily broke the silence. “Do you think we should move your mom next to her mom?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I think she’s fine just where she is. I have no idea if she would even want to be here with her since she never knew her.”
“It isn’t Ellie’s fault she died giving birth, so I’m sure Lucy wouldn’t hold a grudge. But you’re right; she probably would be happier where she is.”
To the side, an area seemed to be reserved for infants and children that had died over the past one hundred years—apparently from the orphanage. The most recent one was from 1967, which made me feel better about the orphanage. I figured they most likely died because of primitive health care. Back then they didn’t have the technology or the knowledge that we do now, or will have in the future.
The next section had several random adults, one headstone in particular read: Petra – Died October 12, 1900, A Faithful Servant.
“Do you suppose they cared that much about all their servants, that they would give them a proper burial in the family plot and mark their grave?”
“Any family that cared that much for their servants couldn’t be full of murderers, Claire.”
“I suppose not. But they say stress does awful things to a person’s mind. Dr. Blackwell had to have been under a lot of stress with his wife just dying, and facing having to give up his children.”
“Are you ready to go see if there are any clues in the manor?”
“I guess so, Em. But don’t you think the police or detectives or whatever they had back then would have found evidence and removed it when they arrested Dr. Blackwell?
“I think they called them Constables back then. And maybe they didn’t find anything, but just went on the obvious assumption. He was planning on dumping them at the orphanage and taking off supposedly to peddle his medicines that might have contributed to his wife’s death, but who knows why really. Maybe he had a mistress.”
“Back up a minute, Em. If he was planning on placing them in the orphanage the next day, why would he go through the trouble of killing them? It doesn’t make sense.”
Emily laughed at me. “So now you’re a detective?”
“Maybe. I guess we’re about to find out.”
As we walked swiftly back to the manor, Emily asked me if I thought Amelia had a secret, or was it possible she was trying to keep everyone quiet so as not to “wake the dead”. I couldn’t even begin to try to answer that one. I was still so baffled by the incident with the sepia photo, that I couldn’t try to put any of this in perspective, much less, try to get into a ghost’s head to find out what she was thinking—that is, if such a thing was even possible.
When we reached the manor, I eyed Ben’s car, wondering if we should just give up and go back to the cottage. The look in Emily’s eyes let me know she was nowhere near giving up, even if she was never able to see the ghosts herself.
Determined to adopt Emily’s same attitude, I walked up the brick steps of the large porch and stood at the oversized wooden door and peeked through the leaded glass window.
“The door isn’t going to open itself, Claire.”
I winked at Emily. “Maybe we should wait for Amelia. I wonder if she could open it.”
Emily held her hand out for the key I clenched in my hand. I surrendered it to her without argument, and she turned the lock. This time the door was easier to push open. I figured the workers must have oiled the hinges, but didn’t really care as long as we could get it open again in case of a hasty exit by a chicken like me.
As I stepped into the grand entrance of the manor, I clenched Emily’s arm. “It looks like a museum.”
She didn’t say a word, but walked directly to a family painting that hung above the brick fireplace in the main sitting room.
“I don’t remember that being there when Ben and I were in here last week. I wonder if one of the cleaning crew put it there.”
“Are you sure, Claire? Maybe it had a sheet over it like the rest of the furniture.”
“I suppose it could have. I recognize the children, and that would be Peyton and Edward beside them. The painter did a wonderful job of capturing the children. They look just like they did in the sepia photo I found in the box at the cottage.”
Emily took a step back. “Amelia almost looks real. Don’t you think so, Claire?”
I stepped sideways, and then back again. “Her eyes do seem to follow me when I move. Do you think she’s watching us now that we’re in her house?”
“Do you feel a presence?”
I thought about it
for a minute. “No. Not really. But that doesn’t mean anything. I didn’t really feel a presence any of the other times I saw her. She was just sort of there.”
A faint jingling sound reached my ears, and I strained to figure out where it was coming from. “Do you hear that, Em?’
Emily looked at me, pausing to listen. “You mean the wind? It’s really starting to storm.”
I shook my head. “No. I hear jingling. Like from a bell or something. Almost like Christmas bells.”
Emily paused again to listen. “I don’t hear anything.”
I pointed to the wide stairwell to my right side.
“It sounds like it’s coming from up there.”
I walked toward the stairs, but Emily grabbed me by the arm. “Are you sure you’re ready to see what’s up there?”
“Yes.” I surprised myself by answering quickly.
Emily sat on the stairs. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready.”
I sat down slowly beside her, looking her in the eye for any sign she was joking with me.
“Are you serious, Em?’
She nodded her admittance.
“What happened to Emily the fearless adventurer?”
“It’s not that. I’m afraid that if I see the ghosts too, then this adventure of ours could be far scarier than anything we’ve ever done. But if I don’t see the ghosts, I may have to face the fact that my best friend could be crazy.”
All I heard was the word crazy. “Thanks for believing in me, Em.”
She covered her face with her hands, her elbows resting on her knees. “That came out wrong, Claire. I’m sorry.”
I stood up and walked up a few of the stairs, then stopped and turned back to Emily who hadn’t moved.
“I’ll go up alone and check things out. This way, if I run into any ghosts, we won’t have to worry about whether or not you see them too. Then there won’t be any comparisons to our levels of sanity.”
The Apothecary's Daughter (Romance/Mystery/Suspense) Page 10
