Promises to Keep

by Rose Marie Ferris

  Julie was worried when they drove into the yard and she saw that, with the exception of the porch light, the house was completely dark. She bade Tom a hasty good night and hurried inside. In spite of her concern, she was lighthearted after her innocent evening out and she fairly danced into the parlor.

  "Did you have a nice time, dear?" Elizabeth called pleasantly enough from the couch.

  As Julie turned on a floor lamp she gaily replied, "I had a wonderful time, Grandmother. But why were you sitting in the dark?"

  "I wanted to make sure that boy didn't take any liberties when he brought you home."

  "His name is Tom, Grandmother, and he was very gentlemanly." Julie was starry-eyed with pleasure as she held up her wrist to display the silvery little bangle on it. "See," she said softly, "he even gave me a present."

  Elizabeth blanched and her eyes hardened. "He gave you that?" Her nostrils flared indignantly as she asked, "Are you sure it wasn't payment for services rendered?"

  "I—I don't know what you m-mean."

  "I think you do!" Elizabeth struggled to her feet and regally drew herself to her full height. "I'd rather see you dead," she hissed, "than have you turn out to be a cheap little tramp like your mother."

  Julie counted to ten before she replied and in this way she managed to keep her voice low and steady as she dissented. "My mother wasn't a tramp."

  "Oh wasn't she?" A feral glitter entered Elizabeth's eyes. "Then why was she too ashamed to come and see me after she ran off with your good-for-nothing father?"

  "Gran," Julie reminded her gently, "you said you'd told her that if she married Daddy, she was no daughter of yours. You ordered her to leave and not come back."

  "Don't you put words in my mouth, Miss Know-it-all," Elizabeth said scornfully. Her face had grown livid and her breathing was irregular. "If I say your mother was a tramp, it's not half of what she deserves. And you!" she shrieked. "You fall into bed with the first boy who looks at you twice."

  "Please try not to get excited," Julie begged, her voice rising with concern. "There's no reason for it, because I didn't do anything wrong!"

  Elizabeth's breathing was stertorous, and she collapsed onto the couch, lying against the pillows at her back for support.

  "I'll get your medicine," Julie cried.

  She ran to her grandmother's bedroom to find the mild sedative the doctor had prescribed, and by the time she returned to the parlor Elizabeth was drifting in and out of consciousness. Her flesh seemed to have sunk into her skull and her face was gaunt and ashen. Her lips were blue and she moved them fretfully, trying to speak.

  "What is it, Gran?" Julie asked.

  Weakly, Elizabeth motioned to her to come nearer and when she did, she reached out to grab her wrist. Her talonlike fingers were astonishingly strong.

  "Promise me—" Elizabeth gasped. "Promise—"

  "Yes, Grandmother?"

  Julie leaned even closer in order to hear what Elizabeth was saying, and a cloud of her grandmother's rose-scented cologne enveloped her in a choking miasma that clogged her nose and throat.

  "Swear… to me… you'll never… never—"

  "I swear it, Gran," Julie blurted hastily.

  With a monumental effort Elizabeth pulled herself upright, and her fingers tightened until her nails were digging into Julie's wrist.

  "Say it!" she commanded.

  Julie knew what Elizabeth was asking of her, and her stomach churned with nausea as she recited the vow her grandmother had so often requested of her. "I swear I'll never leave you, Grandmother."

  "And you won't get married!"

  "I promise, Grandmother." At that moment Julie would have promised anything to win release so that she could get to the telephone and call the doctor.

  Her reserves exhausted, Elizabeth fell back against the upholstery. Her fingers grew limp and she patted Julie's hand approvingly. "You'll always be my own sweet little girl," she muttered raspily. Her eyes rolled wildly, as if she hadn't the strength to coordinate them, and she lost consciousness.

  "We never spoke of that night again," Julie said to Garth, "until just before Grandmother died. She must have known she hadn't much longer, because she asked me to repeat my promise to her."

  "I can see why you felt obliged to go along with her," Garth remarked, "but you must have recognized that Elizabeth was using emotional blackmail to dictate the way you led your life after she was gone. Surely you never seriously planned to keep your word!"

  "No, I don't suppose I ever did. And when I met you… Well, I thought I could handle marriage. Then on the beach that day, you asked about the scar, and it all came back as if it had just happened and I couldn't—" She drew a deep, quivering breath. "It didn't seem right that I should be so happy after what I'd done."

  Garth pulled her into his arms and she rested against him gratefully, burying her face in his chest. "It's all right, darling," he said quietly. "I understand."

  "Could we visit my grandmother's house before we go home?" she whispered.

  "Are you positive you want to?"

  Julie nodded emphatically.

  Garth's hand moved over her back to the nape of her neck, stopping when it came in contact with the chain. He laced his fingers around her neck as if to assert that his claim on her outweighed Elizabeth's.

  He was troubled by her request but he could think of no good reason to deny it. It might even be constructive.

  "I don't see why not," he agreed. "When would you like to go?"

  "Now!" she exclaimed anxiously. "This afternoon!"

  Chapter Thirteen

  The house came into view when they reached the brow of the rise. It was smaller than Julie had remembered as it crouched, squat and foursquare, on the hard-packed earth that surrounded it. After today's thaw the yard would be a sea of slick, red mud.

  Her grandfather had built the house as a gift for his bride in the early 1930s. With its gables, its broad veranda, and fat round pillars, it tried too hard to be charming and instead seemed merely dated. Probably its original siding had lent it a kind of distinction, but Elizabeth had replaced that with white asbestos shingles many years ago.

  It had not fared well in the year it had been vacant. Everything about it showed signs of neglect and abuse. The shrubbery was overgrown, sending out choking tentacles that would screen out most of the light. Most of the windows had been broken and were boarded over, giving the house a blank, aggrieved look, as if it mourned its own demise, and one corner was tilted at an extreme angle, for it was sinking into its cellar. This added to the illusion that it was waiting to pounce on the incautious passerby.

  Dan had opposed their coming here. "I don't think it's a good idea," he'd said, cryptically concise. "It's changed."

  Jessie had disagreed. "It's something Julie has to do, Dan," she argued. Dan had looked at her with dismay. "I've made no secret of my feelings about Elizabeth over the years," she'd explained, "so this will probably sound hypocritical, but Julie was the only person who ever loved Elizabeth. For one reason or another, you and a few others may have respected her, but Julie really cared about her. So maybe it's only proper."

  Dan was still not convinced of the wisdom of the trip but he offered to call Cal Beatty, the present owner, to clear the visit with him and arrange for him to meet Garth and Julie with the key.

  As the sedan bucketed over the rutted surface of the drive, slithering and jouncing with bone-jarring force, Julie saw that Cal had already arrived and was waiting for them in his pickup. Just before they left the drive for the more solid surface of the sparsely graveled barnyard, one of the rear wheels slid into a particularly big pothole, and the car jolted to a stop.

  "Damn!" Garth muttered.

  He shifted into low gear and rocked the wheel from forward to reverse, trying unsuccessfully to gather sufficient momentum to. drive the car out. After several such attempts, he got out to assess the situation. He muttered another oath when he found that the wheel was buried to the middle of the hubcap
.

  Cal climbed down from the cab of the pickup and came toward them, picking his way with a daintiness that was at odds with his roughcut features and rolling, bowlegged swagger. As he covered the last few steps, he hitched up his trousers and when he reached Garth, he grinned affably and held out his hand.

  "You must be Julie's husband," he drawled. "I clean forgot to mention to Dan how bad the road is these days. It hasn't seen a load of gravel for so long, you need four-wheel drive to get over it. I'm surprised you made it this far, but you're sure as hell stuck now!"

  "We sure as hell are," Garth ruefully agreed, but he smiled as they shook hands. "Thanks for taking the time to meet us."

  "I'm happy to be of service," Cal responded.

  Julie got out of the car to join them while they appraised the damage and Cal nodded soberly at her.

  "This little lady's always been a favorite of mine," he commented. "It's good to see you, Julie."

  "Hello, Cal. How have you been?"

  "Can't complain," Cal replied laconically.

  He resumed looking down at the wheel, scratching the back of his head as he contemplated it so that his Stetson tilted forward to shade his eyes.

  "I have some chain in the truck," he volunteered. "I reckon we can tow it out easy enough."

  "I'd appreciate it," said Garth.

  "Why don't I unlock the house first so Julie can get a start with whatever it is she wants to do."

  As they strolled across the yard, sidestepping the larger mudholes, Cal said, "I'm surely glad you came by, Julie. I've been wantin' to have the house demolished, and the only reason I've held off is 'cause I thought you might want to have one more look around. As you know, most of the furniture's been removed, but there are still some personal things of your grandma's you might want." He shook his head regretfully. "It's gotten to where I have to keep it locked to make sure the kids stay out. It's a real attractive nuisance, and I've been afraid one of 'em would get hurt messin' around inside."

  Garth eyed the crazy slope of the partially submerged corner with interest. "Is it safe to go in?" he asked.

  "Oh, it's safe enough, all right. Just mind how you go."

  When they neared the porch, Cal stopped for a few seconds, standing with arms akimbo as he surveyed the decrepit state of the building. Settling his hat more squarely on his head, he said, "I'm not ashamed to admit this place gives me the creeps. It puts me in mind of a horror movie I once saw. I don't recall the name of it, but Vincent Price was in it."

  "House of Usher," Garth provided.

  "You saw it too, huh?"

  "I read the story," Garth said dryly, "but I see what you mean."

  "It's all so dilapidated," Julie observed sadly. "What happened, Cal?"

  "Standin' water in the cellar. Bein' deserted. Kids and tramps nosin' around. Besides which, your grandma hadn't done a lick of maintenance for some years."

  The floor of the veranda creaked a strident protest as they followed Cal across it. Some of the boards had been torn away, leaving huge gaping holes. Cal pulled a bristling keyring from his coat pocket and, selecting one of the keys, he unlocked the door and swung it open.

  "You'll notice I put a deadbolt on," he remarked.

  "The old-style locks were so flimsy, it made it too easy to break in."

  He moved to one side to allow Julie to step into the house and suggested to Garth, "Let's see about your car now. After I've seen you back to dry land, I won't hang around. Feel free to take your time. I'll come by this evenin' to lock up again."

  Garth hung back uncertainly as Cal started down the steps. "I don't know," he said. "I don't like to leave Julie alone—"

  "I'll be fine, Garth." She produced a brittle smile. "Honestly I will."

  Left with little choice, Garth turned away from her to hurry after Cal's rapidly retreating figure.

  Her show of bravery notwithstanding, Julie went into the house with dragging steps. Even though the sun was still far above the horizon, the light in the entry hall was murky. As it always had, the dingy brown wallpaper in the hallway seemed to deaden even the brightest day. The air was cold and dank, and she wrinkled her nose with distaste as she quickly brushed away a cobweb that was sticking to her cheek. The musty odor of mildew, dust, and mice was very strong.

  Elizabeth might not have had the ready cash to repair the roof or shore up the foundation or to redecorate the interior, but under her supervision the house had shone with a patina of painstaking attention. It had always been fragrant with a mélange of beeswax, lemon oil, and the potpourri of dried rose petals and spices she had been so fond of.

  Julie prowled from room to dismal room, lamenting the extensive signs of malicious destruction. The few remaining pieces of furniture had all been subjected to vandalism of one sort or another. They had broken legs and stained slipcovers; their upholstery was torn and the stuffing was spilling out. She dreaded going into her grandmother's bedroom, and with good reason. When she opened the door and peeked in, she saw that it was the sorriest of all. The wallpaper hung in strips, the ceiling plaster was pocked with holes, and the draperies were in tatters, while the floor was gouged and darkened with scorch marks, as if someone had tried to light a bonfire indoors.

  The parlor, on the other hand, had been spared such treatment. Julie avoided this room until she had gone through all the others. It was the one she most associated with her grandmother and even now Elizabeth's presence persisted. She felt it almost tangibly when she entered.

  Perhaps the vandals and vagrants had felt it, too, or perhaps they had been dissuaded from coming into the parlor by the portrait of Elizabeth Ayers that guarded the room from its place of honor above the mantel. The portrait had been painted, not too skillfully, by an itinerant artist when Elizabeth was in her late twenties. But while the artist might have had problems with perspective that caused him to render a likeness in which Elizabeth's hair was a shade too red, her lips too thin and her jaw too heavy, he had faithfully captured her eyes and, in them, all the imposing haughtiness of her personality. Her pride, dignity, and iron will seemed to leap from the canvas, empowered by their own vitality.

  When Garth returned to the house, Julie was still in the parlor. She was standing by the fine old mantel, staring so intently at Elizabeth's portrait that she didn't notice when he came in. Even when he crossed the room and stood close behind her, she didn't acknowledge him.

  He saw that she had pulled the ring outside the collar of her blouse and she was holding it, running the chain through her fingers as if she were saying a rosary. She didn't look at him. She didn't even blink. For a time, he also studied the portrait.

  "She was very beautiful," he said at last.

  "And very proud." Julie's voice was hushed and without inflection. "I'd forgotten how terribly proud Grandmother was. Maybe that's why I was so frightened by your pride when—"

  "What, Julie?" he prompted.

  When she did not immediately respond, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him.

  "I do love you, you know," she said in the same apathetic tone. "Those newspaper clippings… someone gave them to me just before we left the wedding reception."

  Garth's hands tightened on her shoulders. "Charlotte." He spat the name out as if it had left a bad taste in his mouth. "Rupert enclosed a note with the ring to inform me that she'd confessed. According to him, she didn't believe you knew almost nothing about your parents and she wanted to call your bluff. She thought it was a relatively harmless prank to gift wrap the articles and give them to you as a going-away present." He shook his head. "The sad thing is, knowing Charlotte, that's probably the truth!"

  Julie's hands worked frantically at her grandmother's ring. "She told me you'd only married me to uphold your family's honor because my father had been blamed for accepting the bribe and your father was instrumental in his conviction. She said you didn't love me, that you never would, that you couldn't love a little nobody like me."

  Garth's mouth
turned down at the corners. "And you took her word for it?"

  "You'd never said you loved me. You still haven't."

  "Sometime when you have a few minutes to spare, I'd advise you to read the engraving in your wedding band."

  Her hands stilled, and she let go of the chain at her neck to hold her left hand out in front of her, close to Garth's chest. Her eyes shifted incredulously to the wedding band.

  "Here," he offered gruffly, taking her hand in his, "let me help you."

  Her hand was icy and the ring slipped off her finger easily. He held it so she could see the message that was deeply inscribed inside the band. It read simply FOREVER MY LOVE. Her eyes smarted with tears and she touched the inscription with wonder.

  "It's beautiful," she murmured.

  Garth cupped the ring in his hand as if he were testing its weight. "I told the jeweler it had to last a lifetime," he revealed. "That's why your ring is so heavy."

  "I'm so ashamed—"

  Garth placed a silencing fingertip over her mouth. "I never want to hear anything further from you about shame or guilt," he' instructed firmly. "I think you've had more than your share of that already."

  "But I should have had more faith in you."

  "The same charge could be leveled at me," he replied steadily. "As a matter of fact…" He drew himself up sharply.

  "… you still have some questions." Julie ended the sentence for him.

  He stepped away from her and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking up at Elizabeth's portrait.

  "You still have to make a choice between your grandmother and me," he said.

  "May I have my wedding ring back?" She held out her hand for it.

  He turned to confront her. His expression was arrogant as he deliberately slid the ring onto the end of his little finger. It wouldn't go over the first knuckle.

  "You can have Elizabeth's ring or mine, but you can't have both. I'll be damned if I'll play second fiddle to a ghost!"

  Julie's hand trembled, and her eyes registered her warring emotions. He was suddenly afraid he'd lost his gamble and he moved close to her again.