The Apothecary's Daughter (Romance/Mystery/Suspense)

by Samantha Jillian Bayarr

  I patiently waited for her to finish, trying to choose my words carefully. “Em, I’m pregnant.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “I was sick this morning so Hillary and I picked up a test when we were in town today and it came up positive.”

  Silence on the other end.

  “Em, say something.”

  “You took a pregnancy test without me?” She was practically shouting.

  “Be mad at me later for taking the test without you. Right now I need my best friend to be happy for me.”

  “I am happy for you, Claire. But I don’t feel much like your best friend anymore.”

  “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Em. I just wasn’t thinking. Besides, Hillary is older than we are, and more experienced with this stuff. And she lives closer, so she was here with me. That’s all. I could never replace you, Em. Please don’t be mad at me. It’s bad enough that I don’t have my mom here to share this with me, so I need you now more than ever.”

  “You’re right, Claire, as always. And I’m sure Lucy is looking down from Heaven, and she’s very excited to have two grandchildren.”

  “Yeah, but it’s just not the same. They won’t ever know her.”

  “Claire, those children will know her by the love she passed on to you that you will pass on to them.”

  “That’s true. Plus, they’ll have Frank and Ida, and Ben’s parents—that is, if they like me when they finally meet me. What are they going to think of me when they meet the woman their son married after spending a grand total of six hours with her, and he has one instant child and one on the way all in the matter of a few weeks? Not to mention, what is Ben going to think about all of this? What if he doesn’t want any more children right now? What if he thinks this is all too much too soon?”

  By this time, I was practically hyperventilating.

  Emily tried to calm me. “He wouldn’t have married you and adopted Sophia all in one day, if he wasn’t okay with it. He loves you, and another baby will only add to that love.”

  Suddenly, I was more nervous about the pregnancy than whether or not Ben would find out I’d been seeing ghosts.

  

  Ben brought home the contracts for the SUV from the dealership in Milford, and he also brought me chicken with wild rice soup, and a loaf of tomato-basil bread—my favorite. He unpacked deli sandwiches and gooey pecan pastries for desert. I was happy he’d texted me an hour earlier to suggest it since I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for cooking, even if it was just to put one of the prepared dinners in the oven.

  Ben cut small pieces of sandwich for Sophia and placed them on her highchair tray. “I hear you were able to sleep in a little this morning.”

  I looked up at him nervously. “What else did you hear?”

  He stopped what he was doing and looked me in the eye. “I called Hillary before I went into court to check on things and she said you were still sleeping. Did I miss something today?”

  I took in a deep breath, knowing this was my window to tell him. “Yes, you missed something. I’m pregnant.”

  Ben took a gulp of water to wash down his sandwich. “Are you sure? We’ve only been married a few weeks.”

  “That’s exactly what I said to Hillary, but she took me to the pharmacy and bought me this new test that you can take when you’re only one day late. Since I’m three days late, she said it was safe to take it without worrying about its accuracy. When it came up positive, she helped me get an appointment with her doctor tomorrow morning. I was going to wait to tell you then, but I couldn’t wait.”

  He knelt down in front of me and held my hand to his mouth and kissed it with smiling lips. “You just make me love you more every day that we’re together.”

  I collapsed into his arms, relieved he was as happy as I was. After dinner, we put Sophia in the stroller and took a walk in the brisk moonlight. We discussed possible names for the new baby, and made plans for the official announcement at our upcoming wedding party at the manor.

  

  After the doctor confirmed my pregnancy, and I felt totally violated by the exam, Hillary and I took Sophia to get new shoes at the shoe store downtown. I needed to keep myself occupied until Ben was able to call me at lunchtime so I could give him the good news.

  Hillary pointed me to a parking spot in front of Wellington Shoe Store, and I wondered if it was the same store in which the Blackwell’s had purchased Lizzie’s shoes more than one hundred years ago. This section of town boasted old shops complete with originally restored storefronts. Hillary put money in the parking meter, while I unbuckled Sophia from her car seat. I felt like I’d stepped into another era as the clang of the bells on the door alerted the owner we’d entered his shoe store.

  Sophia ran straight to a section with colorful sneakers and picked out a pink pair. The proprietor, a frail, gray-haired man, who introduced himself as Mr. Alvin Mills, looked as though he was the original owner. The old man crouched down and helped Sophia find the right size using the wooden slide-ruler that also looked authentically original. Surprisingly, she wasn’t afraid of Mr. Mills, and he talked to her very gently as he fitted her for the shoes.

  When she had two sets of the sneakers, one in white, and one in pink, Hillary and I followed Mr. Mills to the back of the store so he could tally our purchase. In a glass case below the antique cash register were several old pairs of shoes and hooks just like the one in the nursery at the manor. Behind Mr. Mills, pictures of the town in its original state filled the wall, except for one lone picture at the end. Upon closer examination, I could see that it was Lizzie trying on the pair of shoes I found in the nursery. She was young—about Sophia’s age.

  Mr. Mills pointed to the picture. “That’s the first pair of shoes my grandfather sold when he opened this store in the spring of 1898.”

  I continued to stare at the old photo. “That’s Lizzie Blackwell. I found those shoes yesterday in the nursery at Peyton Manor.”

  I surprised myself by offering so much information to the stranger.

  Hillary stared at me. “You have those very shoes in the picture?”

  I looked again at the picture. “I’m almost certain they’re the same ones. I even have one of those hooks with the shoe store stamp on it.” I pointed to them in the glass case.

  Mr. Mills pulled a similar pair from the case and opened the rim of the shoe to reveal an ink stamp. “The only way to know for sure is to look on the inside of the shoe. If it carries this stamp, then it’s the same pair. My grandfather stamped every pair that left the store. It was his way of advertising. He gave away a lot of those shoe hooks too. It seemed to work, or I probably wouldn’t still be here.”

  I nodded my agreement, but Mr. Mills continued to talk. “You must be the new owner of that estate. Is it haunted like everyone claims? Most of the town-folk that saw ghosts up there have all left town, and I haven’t heard any reports in years.”

  “I haven’t seen any ghosts,” I lied.

  “Well if you do, there are still a few folks around here that would be interested in hearing about it.”

  I thanked him for the shoes, wanting nothing more than to leave the store as quickly as possible. I picked up Sophia and headed for the front of the store, Hillary calling after me to slow down.

  Outside the shop, I took in a deep breath of air, determined not to share my secret with anyone other than Emily for as long as I lived.

  Hillary caught up to me then. “Are you okay?”

  I wiped sweat from my brow while I thought of a lie she’d believe. “I felt a little nauseous, that’s all. I had to get some air. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize, Claire. It’s going to take you a while to get used to being pregnant. Let’s get the baby in the car and get you home. You okay to drive?”

  I nodded and we drove back to the cottage. Hillary helped me get lunch for Sophia, and I asked her if she minded watching her for a little while so I could go for a walk. She agree
d, and I walked out the back door toward the lake. I was grateful for the warmth of the afternoon sun, but it was a long walk around the lake to the manor. I needed to get a look at the inside of those shoes. I wasn’t sure why. It certainly wasn’t going to prove anything about their lives or their death, but I felt a strong urge to be there to see it for myself. To know that my family had purchased from the same store I’d just visited. To know that they had lives, and not just an end to those lives, because that’s all I knew of them so far.

  When I reached the manor, I kicked the mud from my shoes that clung to them from walking so close to the edge of the lake. The heavy door needed a few pushes before it would open—most likely swelled from the damp weather. I kicked off my shoes in the foyer and went straight up the stairs to the nursery. I picked up the shoes from the dresser and peeked inside the top flap, revealing a worn ink stamp with the store logo. I set the shoes down and looked around the room. Something was amiss. At the small, round table in the middle of the room, a teacup was missing from the set. I walked over to the table, noting that it was missing from the seat where Amelia sat the day before, sipping tea with her siblings. Same as the previous day, I ran my hand along the chair, and three children appeared, one by one, dressed the same as they had in the past—all four teacups were now on the table.

  Amelia went through the same routine, and I watched closely for any changes in behavior—as if ghosts had behavior. As Fredrick seemed to finish his tea, he nodded to Amelia, then, got up and walked out into the hall. I wanted to follow, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the other two. Amelia seemed to be urging Lizzie to finish the tea, but neither of their expressions changed.

  When Amelia seemed satisfied Lizzie had finished her tea, she stood and took Lizzie’s hand, leading her out of the room. I followed carefully behind them, trying not to make any noise. They both slipped through a door across the hall. I was afraid to open it, but decided to anyway. Inside the room was a very high iron bed similar to the crib in the nursery. Amelia assisted Lizzie with a step-stool, then, tucked her into the lavish down bedding. She leaned in and kissed the little girl on the forehead, then, walked back into the nursery. She picked up her teacup, refilled it, and walked out of the room with it. I followed her once again to the room across from where she’d tucked in Lizzie. Though she walked through the door, I opened it to a room that mirrored the other with the same iron bed, but with lavender bedding. Amelia carefully set the teacup on the bedside table, then, climbed into the bed using the stepstool. She draped the covers over her legs, drank the tea, replaced the teacup on the bedside table, and lay down all in one quick motion, as though rehearsed.

  I stood there for a moment, feeling as though I was invading her privacy, until she looked over at me. It sent chills to the back of my neck the way her eyes seemed to pierce right through me. Then she sat up in the bed and put her index finger to her lips as though to shush me. I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to be quiet because she was trying to rest in peace or whatever spirits do when they’re dead. But she suddenly got up and walked past me, turning her head behind her as though to see if I would follow her, so I did. She led me to a narrow door in the hall that opened up to a stairwell. I followed her up the stairs, my footsteps creaking over each step, while hers remained without a sound.

  Before I reached the top, I heard the same faint bell sound I’d heard the day before. It was coming from whatever was at the top of the stairs. I followed Amelia and the noise into the attic. Boxes crowded the entrance. New boxes. The same boxes that were packed up from the cottage. Ben must have had the cleaning crew bring them up here. Looking around, it didn’t appear that they’d cleaned anything. Everything was covered in dust. Pieces of unused furniture, and several trunks took up most of the space, but there were a few things that I had no idea what they were.

  Amelia stood in the middle of the attic, seemingly waiting for my attention to focus on her, but the jingling of the bell distracted me again. It was a small calico cat with a bell hanging from its neck on a red silk ribbon. I wondered how it could have found its way into the manor, but hoped it had been feeding on any mice that could have inhabited the vacant place. It scurried past Amelia, and I tried to keep up with it, but I wasn’t as coordinated at maneuvering around the items that covered the attic floor as the cat was. I spotted it near the oval window and walked to it. I bent down to scoop up the fluffy animal in my arms, but my arms closed around nothing.

  Startled, I squealed and jumped back, my heart leaping into my throat. Now, trapped in a corner, I watched as Amelia picked up the cat and hugged it close to her, the expression on her face almost that of satisfaction.

  Obviously her cat, and not a stray like I’d thought; I was almost relieved that she was able to pick up the animal. She looked me in the eye then, as though to mock me, but I didn’t let her games irritate me. All I wanted was to discover a motive behind the haunting from this child.

  Looking me straight in the eye, she pointed to the area behind me. Feeling a little unnerved over her communication tactic, I turned around and saw a large steamer trunk up against the wall behind the deep, brick chimney. Wondering why it was tucked away behind the chimney, I tried to lift the lid but it was locked. I looked to Amelia for help. She stepped toward me and pointed to a brick in the center of the chimney that seemed to be loosened from the surrounding bricks. I tugged on it, pushing it from side to side until it broke free. Behind the small space was a long, thin, skeleton key that looked different from the keys that opened the doors to the manor. I pulled the key from its hiding place and replaced the brick.

  One look into Amelia’s face let me know she was more eager for me to get the trunk open than I was. I searched the front for a lock, but there wasn’t even a latch. Amelia pointed to the side of the trunk near the bottom, so I felt around the area in which she pointed until I finally found it. I leaned over the trunk and craned my neck to see which way to put the key, then turned it the only direction it would go. I could hear the lock clicking as I twisted the key a full turn.

  I opened the heavy lid cautiously, feeling concerned it may be full of mice or spiders. Instead, I found it to be lined with a light blue, silk fabric that had yellowed with age. A shallow, sectioned separator sat at the opening; each section was filled with ribbons, buttons, and wooden spools of thread in various pastels, as well as needles and a small pair of black cutting shears that looked to be made from cast iron.

  Amelia stood next to me and tried to reach into the partitioned section, but her hand went right through. Unsure of whether she wanted something in the immediate area, or if she wanted me to look in the bottom of the trunk, I reluctantly lifted the partition and set it on the floor. She nodded to me as I emptied the trunk little by little of yards of lace, cotton material of various shade and texture. When I completely emptied the trunk, Amelia leaned in and put her hand through the bottom. Remembering an article I’d read somewhere about old trunks having false bottoms, I tried moving the board, but Amelia was pointing to the side of the trunk near the lock. Reaching around the side, I turned the key all the way to the other side, feeling delight as the bottom of the trunk popped open with a spring latch. Looking to her for permission, I pulled out a black parasol; probably the same one she used at her mother’s funeral. Beneath that was a beautifully hand-carved comb, a small yellowed hankie with the initials PAB, a black rosary, a skeleton key, an empty box of pharmaceutically labeled sleeping powders, and a bottle labeled Dr. Blackwell’s Sleep Elixir. Remnants of brown liquid still clung to the bottom of the bottle; thick and syrup-like.

  The final item in this secret compartment was a journal. I picked it up and blew dust from the cover, not daring to open it unless the child gave me a look of approval. I looked into her face, and I could almost see relief in her eyes. I took that as a sign that I was allowed to view its contents, so I opened it slowly.

  The first entry was dated January 17, 1901. I didn’t get past the date before I thought I heard Ben callin
g my name from downstairs inside the manor. I listened again as I watched Amelia disappear in front of me. I didn’t want her to go, but I was eager to see my husband.

  I could hear Ben’s footsteps on the creaking stairs of the attic as he called out to me. “Claire, are you up here?”

  “Over here,” I called out to him.

  As he rounded the corner near the chimney, I held up a hand for him to help me to my feet.

  He surveyed the contents of the steamer trunk that still lay scattered on the dust-laden floor of the attic.

  “What did you find?”

  I crumbled back to the floor, picking up the items slowly, while trying to find the right words to make this wonderful man who trusted me to understand what I’d been seeing.

  He crouched down on the floor beside me and lifted my chin until my eyes met up with his. “What is it, Claire?”

  I blurted it all out like word vomit. He listened intently as I explained about the freezing crib rails in the nursery, the tea party, and how the children had gone to bed in their good clothes after having tea. Finally, I relayed how I’d gotten to the attic and found the steamer trunk with the assistance of Amelia. Although I knew the significance of the black parasol since I’d seen her holding it at her mother’s funeral when we’d stumbled upon the family graveyard, I knew there was a mystery to be solved in the remaining items that more than likely belonged to her mother. The box of sleeping powders and bottle of sleeping elixir was a whole other matter. I told him my immediate thoughts of how they could have been the tool used in the death of the children, but how they’d ended up at the bottom of the trunk that Amelia had so obviously and carefully hidden the other objects in was something I needed to piece together. When I finished my story by telling Ben how foolish I’d been to try to pick up the calico cat, he interrupted me.

  “I saw that cat running in the hall when I came looking for you. I heard the bell around its neck and thought it was a stray since it seemed spooked by my presence.”