by Tony Martin
“You asked, and I’m telling,” said Gretchen. “Short version is this: the mansion has been in the family for all these years. There’s always been a male Dubose living there, and at one point, there were four generations under one roof. Jacob the third had just one boy, Laidlaw. That was Joseph’s father.
“Got to tell you about Laidlaw. I knew him well. If there were anything like a black sheep from a family, Laidlaw would fit the bill. Laidlaw was just shiftless and no-good. He wouldn’t hit a lick at a snake with a stick. He just coasted through school, barely getting by, but they felt obliged to pass him because of his family. He went to Auburn on a football scholarship – he was a good athlete – and before the first year was out, Jacob, his daddy, went to Auburn to get him. Turns out that he got a girl from Troy pregnant. Jacob was so mad that he couldn’t see straight. He put Laidlaw to work managing the sawmill, and basically wouldn’t let him leave town. They arranged a wedding for Laidlaw and that girl, but before they could get married, the poor thing committed suicide. Hung herself. Lost her baby. Preacher, I can’t help but believe that Laidlaw had something to do with her death. If he didn’t hang her personally, he sure drove her to do it.
“Laidlaw finally does get married. He married a trashy girl named Florene Wiggins from down around Siloam Springs, south of town.”
Joshua had to laugh. He’d heard all about the Wiggins from Siloam; they were a convoluted and inbred family known all over the county. “You ol’ Wiggins!” was a favorite insult on the playground at St. Helena Elementary.
“Is there a punch line coming soon?” asked Joshua.
Gretchen glared at him. “Laidlaw was in his mid-thirties when he married that Wiggins girl. They brought her to the mansion to live and it just about killed Laidlaw’s mamma. Matter of fact, she did die soon after Laidlaw was married. Florene put on all sorts of airs, trying to be something she wasn’t and never could be. Women like that can be all painted and gussied up, but it doesn’t change who they are.
“But Laidlaw had more business sense than anyone gave him credit for. The sawmill did just fine all those years. They had one son, Joseph, and that’s Meredith’s daddy. He was a fine man. His death – everyone thinks he’s got to be dead - was a real loss.
“Just a couple of other things. When Meredith was born, the house held Laidlaw and Florene, and Joseph and his wife, Marilyn. When Meredith was about seven, Laidlaw had a massive stroke. He was confined to a wheelchair and from all accounts was just mean and abusive to everyone else in the family. Soon after his stroke Florene died. Poor Marilyn – she had the sorry job of looking after her father-in-law. ‘Course, they’d had Bernadine helping for years, but she and Laidlaw didn’t get along at all. I guess Marilyn did all she could. She was a better woman than I could ever be.
“Meredith was eight when Laidlaw died. It was a strange thing. Meredith found her granddaddy dead in the bathroom. Apparently, he’d gotten up in the middle of the night, rolled into the bathroom, and somehow got out of his wheelchair. He’d cracked his skull wide open on the edge of the bathtub. I don’t know what kind of relationship Meredith and Laidlaw had, but it still must’ve been hard for her.
“After that, though, it looked like the Duboses were going to be fine. Joseph sold the sawmill for some ungodly price, and he’d made several wise investments over the years, so he was set for life. Those three just adored each other, and Meredith is just a precious child. What a tragedy for her to lose her parents like that!”
“That’s quite a story,” said Joshua. “Looks like that family has experienced all sorts of tragedy.”
“You know, Preacher, most families do,” said Gretchen somberly. “Just about all of us could tell of hard times. No one gets by without some heartache. The Duboses have had their share, but no more than most others. Want to know what I think?”
“If I said no, would that stop you?”
“Probably not. But Preacher, a lot of what happens to folks is what they bring on themselves. Several of those Dubose boys were just outright scoundrels. The kind of things they did not only hurt themselves but hurt those they loved.”
Joshua pondered this a moment. “You are so right. There are real consequences of sin.”
“Life’s hard enough without us bringing grief on ourselves,” Gretchen said. Her eyes were distant. “There’s a lot we can’t help, but there’s just as much that we can.”
Joshua watched Gretchen closely. She seemed thoughtful and pensive. “Anything else?” he asked finally.
“That’s pretty much the story,” said Gretchen. “There’s more to tell, but you can get an idea of what the family has been like. Now it’s just Meredith, all by herself. Poor child. Why did you want to know about the Duboses?”
“It’s because of Meredith,” said Joshua. “Seems like she may be having some emotional problems. I spent some time yesterday with Christine Tracy – they’re good friends, you know – and Christine wants me to visit Meredith.”
“Meredith grew up with my grandson,” said Gretchen. “She’s always been a sweet girl. Sad, though,” she concluded.
“It is sad.” Joshua rose. “Thanks, Gretchen. This really helps.”
Gretchen rose and walked to the door. “I’m glad to help.” She stopped at the door and looked back at Joshua. “Just be careful.”
“Careful about what?” Joshua asked, puzzled.
“Silly of me,” Gretchen said with a dismissive wave. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“OK,” said Joshua, still evaluating her comment. “Thanks again.”
Gretchen nodded and left his study, closing the door behind her. Joshua leaned back in his chair, looking at some invisible point along the edge of the ceiling. After a few moments, he shook himself and reached for his Bible. He thumbed through it, not really sure what he was looking for. Something in Gretchen’s account had caught at one part of his mind, even though he couldn’t identify what it was. Then it struck him.
Joshua turned in his Bible to Exodus, chapter twenty, to the Ten Commandments. He found what he was looking for in verses five and six:
“I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments.”
Joshua closed his Bible. He’d often wondered about the reality of what he thought of as “old sin,” those tendencies toward wickedness in families that kept turning up generation after generation. While he knew that great children often came from bad families, and that wonderful parents sometimes raised hellish kids, he knew that there was such a thing as unresolved sin. It all had to do with that cosmic idea of karma, of cause and effect, or, in biblical terms, sowing and reaping. He disagreed with Gretchen on one point: the Dubose family seemed to have more than its share of grief, and a lot of it did have to do with the scoundrels who occupied the mansion over the years.
“Hello?”
“Meredith? How’s it going?”
“Oh, hi, Christine. Just fine.”
Christine lay back on her bed, cradling her phone against her shoulder and cheek. She thought for a moment about carrying on some small talk, and then decided to press on.
“Meredith . . . how are things at your house? I mean, are things quiet and normal?”
Meredith sighed. “I don’t know what’s normal. But quiet, yeah, I suppose,” she said ruefully.
“Listen,” said Christine, “I hope you don’t mind, but I talked to our preacher about what you’ve told me has been happening. I told him about the last night I spent with you.”
“You did what?” said Meredith, horrified. “What have you done?”
Christine winced, and then continued. “I told him everything. Brother Josh is a great guy. I just thought maybe it’d be best if we had someone else to talk to, someone who’d understand, maybe.”
“Great,” said Meredith sardonically. “Now there’s three of us who
think I’m crazy.”
“He doesn’t think you’re crazy,” said Christine. “He thinks you’re still upset about your parents.”
“I am.”
“And if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be normal. But, for a preacher, he understands. I didn’t get the feeling he was blowing off all that you’ve said has happened without at least hearing about it from you. I asked if he would mind talking to you. He said he’d be glad to.”
Meredith thought a moment. “Is he gonna treat me like he’s a shrink?”
“Hardly,” said Christine. “He just wants to help. He’s just that kind of person.”
“Well, shoot,” said Meredith. “What could it hurt, right?”
Christine, relieved, reached for one of her stuffed animals and held it tight. “That’s great. He’s a good listener. You’ll like him.”
“I’ve never even met the man,” said Meredith. “What’s he like?”
Christine giggled. “He’s not bad looking. Married, no kids. Early thirties. Blonde hair, blue eyes. He has buns of steel.”
Meredith laughed, full-throated and hearty. “You are so gross! You’re talking about a preacher. I don’t think that’s what I was asking. You would notice.”
“Yeah, and you will, too. He’s a great guy, really. You want me to call him and let’s work out a time to get together?”
“Sounds fine. Maybe tomorrow night … is that Thursday?”
“I’ll call him.”
“And Christine,” said Meredith, and she was suddenly somber, “you don’t think I’m nuts do you? Do you believe what I’ve told you?”
“Of course I do,” said Christine, although she had been wondering since Joshua’s visit just how emotionally stable her friend was. “If we can work it out, we’ll shoot for about six. I’ll be through with my classes before then, and if that won’t work, I’ll call you.”
“Sounds fine,” said Meredith. They visited for a few more minutes before Bernadine called up: “Supper’s ready!”
“Seeya,” said Meredith.
“Bye, sis.”
Joshua was wallowed deep into his recliner when the phone rang. It was Christine Tracy.
“Brother Josh, do you think you might be able to go with me to Meredith’s house Thursday about six? She really does want to talk with you.”
Joshua mentally scanned his schedule. Thursday was fine. “Works for me,” he said. “Bethany would like to come too, if that’s not a problem.”
“No, sir, I don’t think it would be.”
“How about I just come pick you up about 5:30?”
“Sounds fine.”
“Christine, how would you feel about your dad going with us?”
“What?” Christine was horrified.
“I guess not,” said Joshua. “Just a thought.”
“I’ll ask him if you want me to,” Christine said unenthusiastically.
“No, that’s fine. It’ll just be Joshua and the girls,” Joshua said.
“OK, then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Brother Josh.”
Meredith finished supper. It was just her and Bernadine. Bernadine never ate with the Dubose family. She ate, alone at the table, after everyone else was finished. After the disappearance of Joseph and Marilyn Dubose, Meredith had insisted that Bernadine eat right along with her. Bernadine was of the old school. She grew up to believe she had “her place,” and it wasn’t at the table with her employers. Meredith believed that Bernadine was family, and just because of their formal relationship of employer and employee, it was foolish to put that distance between them. Bernadine was slow to warm to the idea, but since she had practically raised Meredith, she adapted.
Meredith planned to go back to school in the fall. Like most young ladies of her generation, she’d developed a degree of self-sufficiency that would have been totally unknown to her grandmother. While CPAs and her father’s roster of lawyers handled so many of the business affairs of the estate, she had quickly developed a grasp of exactly what her – her – fortune was. Jimmy Tracy walked her through the maze of stocks and bonds and other holdings, and was amazed to learn that, on paper at least, she was a millionaire – several times over. Like so many gentrified children, children of “substance,” as her mother used to say, she took what she and her family had for granted. Now, she found herself wealthy, in the enviable position not having to worry about money, and lonely beyond words.
Money, however, held no real allure for her. She just wanted her parents back. After she had finished eating, and helped Bernadine clear the table, she went out on the front porch and settled into one of the white wicker rocking chairs.
Dark clouds had been gathering in the west the better part of the afternoon. As she rocked, she watched the clouds mass and curdle in silent majesty around her house. The air was still, and as she sat and watched, her mind unfocused and wandering, the rain began, gentle and gray.
“Meredith, sweet pea, why don’t you come in?” called Bernadine from the front door.
“In a little bit,” said Meredith. She found the fine rain comforting. Although the clouds looked vicious enough to bring a downpour, for the time the rain just served to freshen the air.
Idly Meredith stood, stretching languorously, and walked around to the corner of the house. The porch – veranda, as it was more properly known - ran across the front of the home and along two sides. She looked down, scuffing the toes of her sneakers around the ancient brick. The pinkish clay brick was molded and fired right on the property and had lasted over one hundred and eighty years. Rain ran in little rivulets off the eaves of the house and gently splattered at the edge of the bricks.
Meredith paused at the edge of the veranda, looking down the drive that curved through the arches of the oaks and circled in the front of the house. On the south side of the house was a porte cochere, a sort of portico built for horse and buggies to pass under and unload their passengers. Now it was just and extension of the driveway, and both Meredith’s BMW (a graduation gift from her parents) and Bernadine’s old Taurus were parked under it. Meredith begged Bernadine to get a new car – she knew Bernadine could afford it – but Bernadine wouldn’t because her friends would accuse her of “puttin’ on airs.” Meredith knew better than to argue.
Beyond the parked cars, back behind the house, were some ancient outbuildings – a smokehouse and stables. Beyond that were the rough stone foundations of a half-dozen slave cabins and a long dry well. Meredith caught herself peering through the gray rain, past the outbuildings, to the woods beyond. Sunlight was rapidly failing, and she couldn’t really see the trees clearly. The fine mist shrouded the woods.
“What am I looking for?” she asked aloud, and the sound of her voice startled her. Because, she realized with a chill, she had been looking for something.
What? she wondered, and walked slowly to the opposite corner of the veranda. In the gray twilight, she could barely make out the pristine white gazebo, now muted and monochrome. The rain was falling a bit heavier now, but there was still no wind.
Meredith examined the gazebo for a few moments, thought about how as a young girl it had been one of her favorite spots on the estate. It was the site of many tea parties, where dolls courted and married, and on more than one occasion, she and her boyfriend of the moment had crept off to the latticed enclosure for some furtive, guilty makeout sessions. “Just as if Mamma and Daddy didn’t know,” she thought, and a wave of bittersweet longing swept over her.
Meredith decided she would relax a few more minutes in the rocking chair before going inside. There wasn’t much to look forward to: some TV, read a little, go to bed. She knew she had to break the routine of the last few months soon. She sat in the rocker, pulling her sweater close, because she realized she was colder than she thought.
Simultaneously, she thought two things: one, she recalled the voices in the hall of just a few nights ago. She remembered the dream of having a man in her room, leaning on the mantle and studying her wi
th aloof curiosity, when Christine was spending the night with her. Second, she felt the alarming and all too correct sensation that she was not alone.
Meredith, suddenly very cold, looked back toward the edge of the veranda and toward the gazebo. The rain was still falling steadily. In the last of the existing light, she saw a woman standing midway between the gazebo and the house. Meredith grasped the arms of the rocking chair and caught her breath. She didn’t move.
Nor did the woman standing in the rain. The woman was as motionless as a statue, and Meredith could tell that she was dressed in a black or dark gray dress. She couldn’t make out any definite facial features; the rain obscured any details. She was wearing a wide-brimmed black hat, and her hands hung at her sides. Meredith could tell that although the rain was falling all about her, her dress and hat didn’t seem wet at all.
As Meredith watched, paralyzed, the woman opened her mouth in a soundless O. Her hands came up and covered first her lower face, then moved up and clenched at her temples. She took a couple of steps backward, still looking directly at Meredith, then turned and began walking away.
“Wait,” said Meredith breathlessly, but still couldn’t bring herself to move. The woman continued walking away, never turning, until she was lost in the rain and darkness.
Then, in a rush, abject fear fell on Meredith like a shroud. She came to her feet, still staring toward where the woman had been, and felt her eyes fill with tears. She turned and rushed in the front door, past Bernadine who managed a “what’s wrong, dear?”, and ran up the stairs to her bedroom.
Meredith ran into her room, slamming the door, and clutched one of the bedposts. She realized she was sobbing, great wracking gasps. She looked toward the fireplace. Some weeks before, when Christine was spending the night with her, she had awakened to see a man dressed in a cutaway coat and boots standing next to the fireplace, studying her. She had since convinced herself that it was a dream, but a dream so palpable and substantive that it had taken on its own life.
