The Widow's Walk

by Robert Barclay

  “But didn’t the bank want all of this furniture when it foreclosed?” he asked. “I’d think that they were very angry when it came time to auction off the property, and every scrap of its interior furnishings came up missing.”

  Constance smiled a little.

  “You are correct,” she answered. “When it came time to auction off Seaside, all the furniture was already stored here for safekeeping.”

  “But you certainly couldn’t have moved everything by yourself,” Garrett protested. “And if you were completely unable to communicate with people, then there was no way to ask for help. So how on earth did everything get down here?”

  “The slaves,” Constance answered, “plus much help from the Jackson family. The Jacksons convinced them to do it, in hopes that Adam and I might one day return here. But without Adam and me to continue helping, Seaside was no longer a true station, and the slaves left. The Jacksons eventually gave up hope and departed, as well. I was so sorry to see them go.”

  Garrett turned and looked at all the furnishings again. He had never seen their like. It would have taken him untold years and countless dollars to accumulate such a collection as this. But he also knew that the furniture and the invisible barrier that had lain before it were not the real issues here. Yes, Constance wished for him to have the furniture for Seaside. But her continual, desperate question would come again very soon, and he would need to give her an honest and heartfelt answer. Only moments later, Constance looked at him and cleared her throat, politely separating him from his thoughts.

  “It is now time to answer me once and for all, Garrett,” she said. “And this time you must tell me the truth, no matter what it is. After all you have seen this day, can you at last accept my story?”

  Garrett took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He could not believe what he was about to say. But seemingly before he knew it, he had uttered the words.

  “Yes, Constance,” he said softly. “I do believe you now. I never thought that I would be saying these words, but I am, and I mean them. Before today, dismissing your story was the only logical answer. But after seeing all the amazing things you have shown me, believing in you isn’t just the right conclusion. It’s the only one.”

  Constance immediately broke out into tears of happiness.

  “Oh, thank God!” she said excitedly. “After all this time, at last someone can see me and hear me, and believes in my story!”

  Then her happiness suddenly lessened a bit, and she looked at him again with questioning eyes.

  “I cannot begin to thank you for your trust,” she said. “But you must also know that we are only at the beginning of this journey, rather than at its end. We must discover why it is that you are so different from everyone else. Because if we don’t, I fear the worst will befall both of us.”

  Before Garrett could ask her what she meant, he suddenly realized that he was trembling. The truth of Constance’s situation had settled in at last, and he honestly did believe her story. He also knew that she was right—they were just beginning this journey together, and that they must somehow find the answers to the many questions confronting them.

  “I do believe you, Constance, I really do,” he said to her, his voice choking with emotion. “But I have so many questions I hardly know where to begin, or how to find the answers.”

  When Constance stepped closer and put one palm upon his cheek, each of them immediately felt the same sense of deep need and overpowering desire that had engulfed them only a few nights ago, while sitting on the veranda. Suddenly realizing what was happening, it was all Constance could do to pull her hand away. As the wonderful sensation faded, they each realized that this issue, and many more like it, would have to be resolved one way or another.

  Just then Constance felt a quick bolt of fear go through her. The two of them were about to enter into some great puzzle that may have no solution. And if they could not unravel it, something in her heart told her their lives might become forfeit.

  As Garrett recovered from the passion that had flowed through him, he took a deep breath and smiled a little.

  “I do believe in you, but I have a question,” he said.

  Constance gave him a light smile.

  “Then please ask it of me,” she said.

  Garrett sighed and shook his head a little bit.

  “What now?”

  Chapter 13

  After leaving the barn, Garrett and Constance settled down before the dining room fireplace and talked late into the night, until Constance fell asleep atop Garrett’s sleeping bag. Garrett remained so stunned over Constance’s amazing revelations that he found sleep impossible, and he stayed awake until dawn, whereupon he drove into town to pick up some breakfast and coffee. Because today was Saturday and Jay’s crew would not be working, he’d have plenty of privacy to talk to Constance again.

  Back at Seaside now and seated on the veranda, he took a welcome sip of coffee. His tiredness was starting to seep through, and he needed the caffeine. Then he looked out over the restless waves again, contemplating everything that Constance had told him.

  That Seaside had once been a station for the Underground Railroad had been interesting, but not enough to convince him of Constance’s story. That had come later, with the amazing invisible barrier that she had used to hide all the furniture in the cellar, safe from the bank’s clutches. When he saw it he had been absolutely stunned, and he had no choice but to believe her.

  The many things she later told him about her life during the past seventeen decades had been no less fantastical, yet he now believed all of that too. Constance’s story was one of despair, hope, triumph, and tragedy. But the greatest question—the riddle that truly united their existences—was how and why Garrett was the only known person in the world able to see and hear her.

  He also sensed that she was holding something back. Something important, he feared, that could have a profound effect upon their lives. If asked, he would be unable to explain why he felt that way. All he knew was that he had become as certain of this unknown danger as anything in his life. By now, he also realized that there would be no point in trying to push Constance regarding this issue. She was the kind of woman who revealed things little by little, and he would respect that. In the end, what choice did he have?

  Although he suspected she had more to tell him, he remained amazed by what she had already confided. She had “lived” here anonymously for more than seventeen decades while watching Seaside’s previous owners come and go; some of them good people, and some not. And not once in all that time had she ever set foot off the property. She had been forced to steal clothing whenever she could. And although none of Seaside’s previous owners could see or hear her, she was still forced to remain stealthy at all times. She had also explained to him that she had been a very successful midwife, a skill taught to her by her late mother.

  The more Garrett thought about it, the more he realized just how lonely, scary, and nerve-racking Constance’s existence must have been during all that time. Being a party to the world but never a part of it, she was always worried about being discovered, despite no one being able to see or hear her. And it was those same attributes that would become not only her saving graces, but also her most maddening obstacles against achieving a normal life.

  Last night she had also shown him the pitiful little area in the barn with the ragged mattress and what few personal possessions she called her own. When he asked why no one had ever discovered it, she told him that like in the barn cellar, she kept this place hidden with an invisible barrier. He immediately insisted that from now on she would live in the main house. Although she would have to carefully avoid Jay’s workers, he knew that she was up to the task. Garrett had also decided to set her up in one of the second-floor bedrooms, and to get her some new clothes.

  Because Constance’s fall from the widow’s walk seemed to be the catalyst for everything, he found that part of her tale particularly compelling. She had awakened on the ro
cky shore completely unharmed and fully unaware of her strange plight. That very same day she had discovered a newspaper that had been left in the guesthouse, announcing the loss of Adam’s ship with all hands. The newspaper date told her that several months had passed, yet for Constance it seemed to be the very next day after her fall. She could only assume that she had spent all that time lying unconscious on the rocky shoreline and invisible to everyone, although she had no idea how or why she had survived the ordeal.

  The paper also stated that because Mrs. Canfield was nowhere to be found and her husband was lost at sea, their mortgage had fallen into arrears and foreclosure proceedings would be instigated against Seaside. And so Constance remained at Seaside for the next 170-odd years. Because she never grew older or became ill, she eventually came to realize that she was neither fully alive nor dead. Something about this enchanting place and her fall from the widow’s walk had trapped her between worlds, and she had no idea how to escape her fate.

  Then a man named Garrett Richmond purchased the property and began a proper restoration. And with that he had seen her in the kitchen, the first person to do so in all that time. It had been that single, shocking experience which had thrust everything into motion, and it was now up to the two of them to try and find the way back for her. For in his heart Garrett truly believed what Constance had said to him last night. Unless they could get to the bottom of everything that had happened here, some unknown danger might indeed threaten both their lives. Just then another thought struck him, and he shook his head with disbelief.

  My God, he thought. I’m sharing my house with a ghost . . .

  Mere seconds after his mind created that thought his heart rejected it. Constance was no ghost, nor would he ever again allow himself to think of her as one. Although he knew that she was not truly whole in the same way as other people, she still seemed a fully flesh-and-blood woman. She was a real person to him, and not only would he refuse to think of her in any other way, but he would also do his best to convince her of the same.

  How much Constance has seen! he suddenly realized. The more he considered that thought, the more staggering it became. The Civil War, the dawn of the American industrial age, World War I and World War II, the Great Depression, the Cold War, and the rise of this current technological era; all of which she had experienced solely through this unique prism called Seaside. She had also watched the families who had owned this great house; their trials and tribulations, their joys and defeats, their lives—and in some cases—perhaps even their deaths. He knew that Constance must possess a truly unique perspective on this day and age, and he wanted to hear more about that. But most of all he wanted to help this beautiful woman who was trapped between worlds, and for whom his heart was starting to care so much.

  Sighing softly, he looked back out over the waves, thinking.

  He knew he had to help her, of that much he had become certain. But how? he wondered. He had no real idea about what had happened here so many years ago, plus he knew nothing about mysticism, or any other forces of nature that might have caused Constance’s situation. He would not tell her so, but it disheartened him whenever he tried to think of a way to unravel this terrible conundrum. He felt like a young lamb lost in the woods, with danger lurking at every turn of what would soon become a rudderless quest for answers. He had no idea what that first step would be, but he must do his best to find it.

  And what of his ever-increasing feelings for her? he soon wondered. The more he came to know her, the more he cared for her. Was he falling in love with this beautiful and intelligent woman from the past? And what about his dream of her, so lifelike in its perfection, which had occurred shortly before he had first seen her in the flesh? How was something like that possible? Then there was also the wonderful feeling each of them always shared, whenever they touched. What would become of them, as together they tried to unravel everything that had happened here? And despite her continuing love for her lost husband, how would Constance eventually come to feel about him? Would she—

  “Good morning,” he heard Constance say.

  Garrett turned to see her standing in the doorway. Although she wore the same dingy clothes as last night, today she appeared freshly scrubbed and well rested.

  “Good morning to you too,” he answered.

  He gestured to the empty lawn chair.

  “Come sit next to me and we’ll have some breakfast. I went into town and got it while you were still sleeping. And by the looks of you this morning, the hot water and upstairs bathtub must be working fine, right?”

  Constance nodded.

  “It was wonderful,” she answered. “Over the course of so many years, I have oftentimes had to make do with much less. Even so, it sometimes remains difficult to accustom myself to these modern conveniences.”

  Constance came and sat down next to him. When Garrett handed her a Styrofoam cup of coffee, she took it in her hands tentatively, as if unsure whether to drink it. Then she took a small sip and nodded her head.

  “It’s good,” Constance said. “But there are still countless things that went unsaid last night. And it will probably take many more nights of talking before you even begin to understand all that has happened to me, and the way that I have become.”

  Garrett nodded solemnly.

  “Go ahead,” he answered.

  “Well,” Constance replied, “there is food, for example. Ever since my fall from the widow’s walk I have never needed food, or anything to drink, either. I just don’t require them to survive. It’s strange, I admit, but there it is. Over the many years I have oftentimes tasted food, but mostly only to remind myself of it, or to discover the flavor of something new. And so I do eat from time to time, but usually only to satisfy my curiosity. And since my fall from the widow’s walk, I haven’t been ill for a single day.”

  “What did you do in the wintertime?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When it got cold out in the barn,” he answered. “You certainly couldn’t have stayed there all winter long. So what did you do?”

  “I had no choice but to come into the house,” she answered, “and to do my very best to avoid the people, and to not make any noise. I became good at it. I also spent a lot of time in the cellar, where they didn’t often go.”

  Yet more amazing revelations, Garrett thought. She’s right. There does seem to be a great deal more for me to learn.

  He reached into the McDonald’s bag and produced an egg sandwich, which he handed to her.

  “Have you ever had one of these?” he asked.

  Constance shook her head.

  “No,” she answered, “but I’ve seen them on television. I’ve always been curious about them.”

  She removed the paper from the sandwich and took a tentative bite before swallowing some more coffee. Garrett watched with amused interest.

  “It’s a shame you don’t eat more,” he said to her. “There are so many wonderful things in the world to try.”

  Constance smiled at him then wiped her mouth with a paper napkin.

  “Perhaps,” she said.

  After taking another sip of coffee, Constance gave Garrett a small smile.

  “I spent all of last night talking about myself,” she said. “But I know so little about you. Please tell me.”

  Garrett smiled and shifted in his chair. After again casting his gaze out across the waves, he did his best to tell her about himself, his family, his education, his practice, and his passion for architecture.

  “And there you have it,” he said to her, “my life in a nutshell.”

  Moments later he shook his head and laughed a little bit.

  “And then all of a sudden, along comes this beautiful woman who is sitting in my kitchen and crying her eyes out,” he added. “All the rest of it you already know.”

  Constance sat there quietly for a time, thinking. When at last she finally spoke, what she had to say would prove intriguing.

  “You know,” Constance sa
id, “perhaps your buying this old house is part of whatever mystical plan is being carried out here.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “You just told me that ever since you were a young boy, you have been oddly attracted to this house,” Constance said. “And that it always exerted some sort of ‘magical’ pull on you, as if trying to draw you near. And then there is your fascination with my time’s culture and architecture. You may not have thought about it this way before, but every time you rode by Seaside on your bicycle, or you drove past in your car, I was here, and I looked exactly the same then as I do now. It’s almost as if it was arranged that I should be here, waiting all this time for you to come of age, to buy this house, and to then be the only person in the world with the ability to realize my presence. Do you not see? Whether we wish to admit it or not, all these things are just pieces of the larger puzzle. Even so, everything returns to the question of ‘why.’ Why us, Garrett? And why here and now, after so much time has passed?”

  Garrett was both intrigued and impressed by the way Constance had just phrased things. He had in fact never considered that even as a young boy coming out here to admire Seaside that she too was here, a fully grown woman who looked exactly the way she did now. Had she ever seen him as he rode by on his bicycle, or later in life as he enviously drove past the house in his car? Or didn’t it matter, given that if she did see him, he would have appeared to be just a simple young man to her, with probably no importance in her life whatsoever?

  After thinking about things again, Garrett realized that there was more to tell her and he decided to recount his dream. He then went on to tell Constance that the dream was an exact duplicate of his experience when he had heard her crying in the kitchen, and gone there to first see her.

  Although Constance said nothing at first, the expression on her face said that she was stunned. A few moments later she finally found her voice.