Stephanie was caught off guard for a moment. "Today's date is November 16, 2012," she said aloud in amazement. "It is exactly ninety years to the day, from when this entry was made." Her heart thudded with both anxious anticipation as well as an unexplainable sense of impending dread. She nonetheless read on, driven by a thirst for knowledge, which demanded to be quenched.
Dwight must think me some sort of fool. He believes I am unaware of what he had been doing behind my back, and with whom. While I stay at home raising his three children, he is out gallivanting with his whore; that immoral sow, that depraved vixen who goes by the name of Agatha Jefferson.
Stephanie was stopped in her tracks. That name, Agatha Jefferson. Stephanie suddenly realized where she had seen that name before. She went back to her computer screen and reexamined Jason's side of the family tree. Her stomach sank with revulsion. She was right. She wished to God she was mistaken but she was correct. Agatha Jane Jefferson had been the name of Jason's great-grandmother, the one for whom she could not locate a husband. Could this be the same Agatha Jefferson that Marie Livingston had written about? She didn't like the direction this letter was heading; no, not in the slightest. Her stomach felt as if it might heave at any moment.
He claims to be working late, to be busy conducting his business dealings far into the evening, but I am no fool. I know better. The Devil's business is what he is up to I say. Spreading his demon seed about the county with his harlot is the only business in which he participates. Sharing a bed with that jezebel. That is his supposed important business.
"Oh my God!" Stephanie said aloud in bewildered amazement. "What in the world was going on? Was Jason's great-grandmother sleeping with my great-grandfather? Is that what Marie is saying? Could that have actually been possible?"
Stephanie suddenly recalled how the lawyer. Mason Armstrong had mentioned, since both sides of their family had been from Schuylkill County there might be a chance they were distantly related several generations back. She thought he was just trying to be funny or clever, but perhaps he had unknowingly been right. Or maybe he had seen the letter she now held in her hands and he had known about everything. She was uncharacteristically grateful the lawyer was now dead. She knew how terrible such a thought was for her to have, but at least she wouldn't have to face him in her shame.
She never counted on discovering something as unsavory as an extramarital love affair, let alone a love triangle involving ancestors from both sides of their families. She hadn't believed such things happened back in the early 1900's. But then she realized such types of illicit relationships were going on since the dawn of time. Although disgusted by what she read, she was driven to learn more. She looked down at the blank paper and continued to read the message Marie Livingston wanted her to read.
But I am not the fool Dwight makes me out to be. I have heard the women in the marketplace speaking in hushed whispers as I walk by. They all laugh at me behind my back. They enjoy my pain because we are wealthy and they are but the wives of poor coal miners. They seem to take pleasure from what has happened as if it somehow brings me down to their low social level. I have overheard snippets of their conversations... bits and pieces... enough for me to be able to piece together the sordid mess. I have found out about her, Agatha, about what she has been doing with my husband... and about their bastard daughter as well.
"Bastard daughter?" Stephanie exclaimed. This story was getting worse by the minute. Now she wondered if the daughter about whom Marie was speaking was some other daughter or could it actually have been Elizabeth Jane Jefferson, Jason's grandmother. Could her grandmother, who had survived the Livingston tragedy and Jason's grandmother have been half-sisters? It seemed impossible, or at least it was impossible for Stephanie to comprehend.
Oh yes. I have learned the horrible truth and I would be dishonest if I didn't say that the knowledge has vexed me to the point where I am struggling with my own sanity. Each day that I am forced to reside in this house with that ungodly fornicator, knowing that his illegitimate offspring lives in town, just a few miles away, knowing that others in the community have been aware of his indiscretions and are ridiculing me behind my back, the more I feel myself losing touch with reality. And why would that seem so strange? Why should I want to try to live a normal life, bearing the burden of this knowledge? Why should I not just let my mind go? Why not just stop fighting this inevitable creeping madness? I suppose should speak to someone. Maybe I could talk to our minister, but what in the world would I say to him? After all, he too is a man. He would most certainly side with Dwight and blame me for not providing for my husband's manly needs. Oh dear God, I am beside myself with anguish.
Stephanie's eyes welled up with tears. The language Marie used in her journal was so heartfelt and so incredibly painful to read, that she felt as if she, Stephanie, were feeling the very same pain and sorrow Marie had endured. Stephanie suddenly was reminded of how several months earlier Jason had been working so many late nights and she had briefly wondered whether or not he might have been having an affair; perhaps with someone at work. Although she had put the idea all but completely out of her mind, she now recalled the pain she felt in the pit of her stomach at the very thought of him cheating on her. Had it been true, she might have suffered with the exact same feelings Marie expressed in her letter.
My heart has been broken and now I can feel my mind is rapidly on its way to shattering as well. I know I must do something but I know not what that might be. I am not proud to say I have actually considered killing both Dwight and his harlot. I have had fantasies of slitting their throats with a butcher knife and listening to their final breath bubble and gurgle from there open wounds. I have dreamt of watching the light leave their eyes as they slipped away in death. I have even imagined kidnapping and drowning their little bastard, Elizabeth Jane, in the river like a sick kitten; and perhaps someday I will.
"Elizabeth Jane?" Stephanie exclaimed horrified. It was as if reading the name of the child in Marie's letter made it official. The “bastard” girl Marie referred to was Jason's grandmother. Stephanie and Jason really were related. And although any relation might be considered distant, it was still too close for Stephanie to feel comfortable. To make matters worse, Jason's great-grandmother had been a shameless slut, not only throwing herself at Dwight, a married man, but allowing herself to bare his illegitimate child as well. Then the woman had the audacity to parade the little girl around town proudly like there was nothing wrong and as if she had every right to do so. She shamelessly allowed all of the women in Ashton to see the result of her immoral actions.
Stephanie was becoming furious as she thought of the shame and humiliation Marie must have felt at being subjected to such an outrage. Marie was obviously a proper woman; a woman of high breeding while Agatha was likely nothing more than a common tramp. What other sort of woman would allow herself to behave in such an unacceptable manner? And to think that this slut, this whore was Jason's great-grandmother! Stephanie was starting to realize that had she been Marie; she too might have wanted to seek revenge for the injustice. She too might want to drown the illegitimate child in a river as Marie had suggested. With extreme uncertainty, Stephanie read the next section of Marie's journal entry.
Drowning seems like a fitting end for such an immoral blemish on a righteous society. Miraculously, I have somehow managed to hold onto enough of my shattered mind to prevent myself from turning my murderous thoughts into foul deeds. I can still comprehend that if I were to take such an action, I would likely spend the rest of my life in prison. Perhaps someday, when my mind has become completely lost... I can only hope then I will be able to act without any such moral or rational considerations.
But for now, I have to think of my children... Dwight's children... my two sons and daughter. My Sarah Louise is the spitting image of me. She is my sweetheart and my joy. She is my precious own little girl for certain, so much like me that I now prefer to imagine she was conceived without the benefit of Dwight's
accursed seed. She looks nothing like her father. She acts nothing like her father. In fact, she IS nothing like her father. She is like me and only like me.
"My grandmother," Stephanie said quietly. "My grandmother looked just like her mother." Stephanie thought back to how she, herself had resembled Marie in the portrait which had originally hung in the living room and which now was stored in the attic. "We all must look similar. We must all look like Marie." Stephanie recalled her own mother and how much they resembled each other as well. Stephanie read further.
My boys on the other hand, Matthew and Charles, they are so very much like their father. In fact, they look and act so much like their father that it sometimes frightens me. It is almost as if they are not just his sons but copies of himself. And now, since learning of Dwight's sinful treachery, I have begun to wonder what will become of these two boys when they grow to be men.
Do they have more than appearance in common with Dwight? Will they too someday grow up to break the heart of the women they profess to love? Will they lay with wanton women and father bastards like Dwight has done? Will they subject their wives to shame and humiliation as I have been subjected? I suspect they probably will. They both are so much like their father. They idolize him, imitate him and want to be just like him. I would have to assume their fate will lie on a similar accursed path as their father's.
Stephanie was once again taken aback. What was Marie saying? If she originally didn't like the tone of the journal, she liked it even less now. Once again her stomach turned, but this time in anticipation of what sort of unspeakable direction the journal entry might take.
I must do something to punish Dwight for what he is done to me, but what that will be I still do not yet know. I can barely find the strength and presence of mind to write this account, let alone to plan my revenge. My mind wanders constantly, never able to stay on one subject for very long. I seem to think in short random bursts and from the reactions of those with whom I have interacted of late, I suspect my speech might also have become just as erratic. I see how they look at me and how they all talk about me when they think I am not noticing. It is like they all know I am going mad and as if they are all in it together against me; all waiting for the madness to take control.
Perhaps I already am mad, and if so then all the better. Because if I truly am insane then these horrible thoughts of revenge and violence I have been having are not my fault. If I can't stop these thoughts and if I can't control them, how can they be my fault? Maybe I am a danger, not only to others but also to myself. Maybe I should be locked away somewhere, in a place where I cannot act on my unspeakable thoughts.
But what if I were to act on them, would it be my fault? Of course not. The blame would lie entirely at Dwight's feet. He is the guilty party here, not I. I am quite certain people would all say he was the one responsible, not me. He is the one who had lain with the harlot. He is the one who fathered the bastard child. He is the one whose activities would have been responsible for driving me mad. How could that possibly be considered my fault? Who would blame me? No one, I suspect. They would say Dwight brought all of it upon himself by his immoral actions. They might even honor me for my courage in the face of such adversity.
They might try to lock me up or even hang me for my actions, but what would I care? My life as I once knew it is over, so what would be the difference? It would still be better than living with the shame of what has happened to me, and being helpless to strike back. I'm certain if I am locked up, I would miss my lovely little Sarah, but God help me... I believe I would not miss the boys. No, not one bit. I would not miss seeing their father's face reflected in theirs, his eyes in their eyes, his sinful actions in their future actions. I know that is a most horrible and un-motherly thing to say, but the more I think of it the more sense it begins to make to me. Those two are more his boys than mine.
A cold chill ran from the base of Stephanie's skull to the bottom of her spine, and her stomach clenched to read such insane ravings. Marie may have believed she was losing her mind, but Stephanie was certain the woman's mind was long gone by the time the letter was written. She could not imagine thinking such evil thoughts about her little Sammy. True he did look exactly like Jason, he too idolized his father and in many ways acted just like Jason, but he was his own special person. Sammy was the result of both her and Jason's love. She could not imagine herself thinking as Marie had thought, but then again neither had she gone through the mental anguish which Marie had suffered. Perhaps such trauma caused one to think irrationally and allowed irrational ideas to seem rational. Stephanie hoped she would never have to find out for herself. She read on.
I know such a statement might sound cruel, especially since the boys sprang forth from my own womb, but they are just so much like him; like that horrible lecherous father of theirs. I know I shouldn't think like that. They are not just his boys but they are my boys too. I love them. But they are also his boys as well and he loves them too. And God forgive me, but I hate him so. And I want to hurt him in a way he will never forget.
I must think further on this. My mind is swimming in a river of befuddlement. I am beyond confused. I am unsure of which of my thoughts are real and which are fantasies. I know what I want to do but that is in direct conflict with what my mind is telling me I should do. I think I now know how to hurt Dwight. I know now how to break his heart as he has broken mine. But I can't do it. Can I? Yet I know I must do it. I will do it, but not today. Not this month. Another time. God help me I need to rest. I need to think clearly. I hate what Dwight has done to me. And I hate the rambling wretch he has caused me to become.
That was where the letter ended. Stephanie looked off into the distance as if in a trance, thinking about what he had just read. She set the papers down on the floor next to her and once again, it was no longer the aged stationary adorned with calligraphy but was a stack of new printer paper completely blank.
Stephanie reviewed the newly typed family tree and compared the names once again with those she read in the letter. As strange as it might seem to her, it was true that Dwight Livingston was not only her great-grandfather but was Jason's illegitimate great-grandfather as well. They shared a common ancestor, and although distantly related, they were essentially cousins.
In Marie's letter, she had said how much her boys looked like Dwight and her daughter looked like her. Maybe Dwight's illegitimate daughter carried whatever genes might be responsible for this similarity and passed it down through Jason's lineage as well. Stephanie remembered again how much she and Jason resembled the portrait of Marie and Dwight. Then she began to recall how often people commented on how they both made such a perfect couple, how good they looked together, or how much they looked as if they were meant to be together. Some people even went so far as to say they looked more like brother and sister than husband and wife. And now she had discovered the reason why; they actually were related!
She began to ponder if she would have discovered this information early on in their relationship; would she still have gotten involved with him?
She assumed she would not have, under fear of potential birth defects in their offspring. But Sammy was not deformed or didn't suffer any mental deficiencies. He was a perfectly normal child. Then she realized something she had never thought about previously. Sammy was not exactly a perfectly normal child, was he? No. He was special, very special. She recalled how he was overly sensitive to things that for most children went unnoticed. Stephanie recalled how he had reacted when he had seen the mirror in Washburn's bedroom so many months ago and how he had appeared to react much differently to their other kids when he stood staring out into the field where the deer carcass lay rotting. They had been revolted, disgusted and frightened by the event, but not Sammy. He had been smiling and repeating the word 'boys'.
"Boys?" Stephanie said. "He had been saying boys. What had he been seeing?" She thought once again of Marie's journal entries about her two boys and about how those two boys as well as Dwight a
nd Marie had all died on the exact same day. And how that day was December 19, which was also Sammy's birthday.
She had to find out what happened back then. She had to learn what tragedy had befallen the Livingstons of that December day in 1922 when Dwight, Marie, Matthew and Charles all perished. And she had to learn once and for all what the mysterious horrible family secret was that caused her parents to essentially destroy their own family historical records.
From inside the mirror Marie watched unseen from her world of the dead. She was becoming anxious with anticipation, seeing the plan finally beginning to take shape. Now there was just one more thing Stephanie had to see today.
Stephanie looked once again into the envelope, which she thought was empty and was surprised to find a folded piece of yellowed newspaper buried deep near the bottom of the envelope. It was strange that she had not seen it before when she had found Marie's letter, not to mention the fact that she had never noticed the envelope in the box in the first place. But like the letter, it seemed today was the day that this article was to make its presence known.
To any other onlooker, the "article" from the newspaper would have looked like a clipping from the previous day's daily newspaper, freshly printed in modern newsprint, probably an advertisement or some general uneventful local news. But to Stephanie, like the letter it appeared ancient, yellowed and tattered.
The front-page article was dated December 21, 1922 and was from the Ashton Daily News. The headline screamed in bold letters “Murder-Suicide Claims The Lives Of Four Family Members”.
Fallen Stones Page 33
