by Patricia Fry
"Thank you, thank, you," Margaret said, sinking into the bed and resting her pounding head on the pillow.
Without responding, Pearl promptly left the room and returned with a heavy towel. "Here, let's put your head on this," she said, folding it several times and easing it under Margaret's head.
That's when Savannah noticed the woman's hands. Burns, she thought. Gads, those are awful scars. She watched as Pearl examined Margaret's head wound in the light.
"I'll get some soapy water."
"What can I do to help?" Savannah offered.
"Sit with her. I'll be right back."
Savannah took a closer look at the wound. "Just bleeding a little," she told her aunt. "You may need stitches."
"You're not going to put stitches in my head, Vannie."
"Why not?" she asked. "I am a veterinarian, you know."
"And I'm not a cat or a horse!" she replied indignantly.
Savannah peered more closely at the wound. "Oh Auntie, that must really hurt."
"That's what I've been telling you. Whoever hit me was no weakling."
"Are you sure someone hit you? We didn't see anyone out there. Maybe you ran into a tree limb; it was awfully dark. Or maybe you fell and hit your head on that big rock. What did you see right before it happened? Do you remember?"
Margaret rolled her head to face Savannah and looked at her for a moment. She closed her eyes. "I don't know. Let me think... black," she murmured. "... all black."
"There's no one out in the swamp, I can tell you that," Pearl said, when she returned with a tub of water. "If there was, I'd know about it." She placed the tub on a nearby table and stared off into space for a moment. "People come and visit my swamp and sometimes take away stories." She focused on Savannah and spoke with conviction. "... all figments of their imagination—images created by the mist as it dances with the trees and reeds, no doubt." She insisted, "If what they think they see is real, I'd know about it."
That was the first time Savannah noticed Pearl's face. She was probably pretty when she was younger. What is she, seventy-five, maybe? There's something familiar about her. I can't put my finger on what it is. "Well, what do you think happened to her?" Savannah asked.
"Like you said, she may have run into a branch or she fell and just doesn't remember it." Pearl then instructed, "Here, clean the wound, will you? I'll go get my supplies and we'll fix that up."
"You're going to sew my head?" Margaret asked, meekly.
Pearl stopped, turned, and glared at Margaret. "What if I am?"
"But... how do I know you... "
"What choice do you have, lady?" Pearl snapped. She smiled. "It's your lucky day. For your information, I'm a nurse—or I was. I've done lots of suturing." She patted Margaret's shoulder. "You're in good hands; don't worry."
"Just relax, Auntie," Savannah said as she squeezed excess warm soapy water out of a clean rag and proceeded to dab gently at the wound.
****
"She's sleeping," Savannah said quietly when Pearl returned to the living room after cleaning her instruments. "You did a great job. Thank you."
"I doubt that she'll have much of a scar. I'm glad I didn't have to use sutures. Those butterfly bandages seemed to do the trick. I imagine she'll have a black eye, the wound being there on her forehead and all." She looked at Savannah. "You're a mess. I don't have anything that would fit you right, but I'm sure what I have would be more comfortable than those muddy duds you're wearing."
Savannah looked down at her jacket, jeans, and sport shoes. "Gads, I shouldn't have worn these into your home."
"You didn't have much choice." Pearl turned and headed back down the hall, saying, "I'll see what I can find." She returned with a flannel nightgown and wrap-around robe. "Go on in the bathroom and clean up. You can wear these. The robe's long on me, so should be okay for you. I put a washboard in there in case you want to wash out any of your things. We can dry them in front of the fireplace overnight." When Savannah hesitated, she said, "Go on now; I'll brew us some coffee. Are you hungry? I made some bread pudding this afternoon."
Savannah shook her head. "Coffee sounds wonderful. I'll be right back." She hesitated and then walked swiftly toward the hallway feeling tears well up in her eyes.
****
When Savannah returned, fresh out of the shower, wearing dry nightclothes, she found Pearl wrapped in a robe, sitting next to the roaring fire petting a black cat. "Coffee's ready—help yourself," she said, motioning to a coffee pot sitting on a side table.
Once Savannah had settled into a chair, a coffee mug in her hands, she said, "I feel so much better. Thank you. Only... "
"Only what?" Pearl asked.
"Only my husband has got to be so worried. Is there any way... any way at all I can get word to him that we're okay?"
The woman shook her head. "Nope. Even if you had one of those little pocket phones, it probably wouldn't work out here."
"What do you do in case of emergency?"
"Take care of it the best way I can, then wait 'til morning when it's easier walking," Pearl said matter-of-factly. She studied Savannah for a moment and asked, "What were you doing at the mansion... with a cat? And what were you doing out in the bog at night?"
Savannah peered at the woman over her coffee mug. "Well, we could ask you the same questions about living out here in this remote area alone. How far are you from civilization, anyway?"
"'Bout five miles, by mostly dirt road, from the nearest neighbor. The closest town is ten miles and the hospital is another five miles beyond that. Why do I live out here?" She looked at Margaret. "It's gonna be a long night. We can swap stories while we keep an eye on your aunt. We need to wake her every few hours to make sure she's coherent. In the morning, the tide will be out and you can walk back to the mansion for help."
"How far is it? It seems like we walked forever."
"The Peytons are my closest neighbors—so five miles." She snickered, "... a rough five-mile walk, as you know."
"How long have you been living out here like this?"
"Long enough to know I need to be prepared for emergencies. Just last week, I had to stitch up Brownie, over there. He got too close to a badger." She shifted her gaze to Savannah. "So tell me about the cat you're looking for."
Savannah felt a chill when she thought about how worried Michael and Max must be and began choking up when she considered the danger Rags could be facing out in the wilderness. She wept quietly, then took in a ragged breath. "Our cat was featured in a documentary and Mr. Peyton invited us to his home for the premiere. Rags—our cat—escaped, and my aunt and I were looking for him."
"Why did you think he'd come out here? Did he tell you?"
Savannah gazed at Pearl, her brow furrowed. "Well, no. We couldn't find him anyplace else, so we started looking out this direction. We thought we saw him, and we continued after him." She reached over near where her shoes dried next to the fire, and picked up the harness. "We found this—he was wearing it when he disappeared—so we're pretty sure he's out here somewhere." She shrugged. "... or was."
"But you didn't see the cat?"
"No. After we found his harness, we noticed that the fog had come in and we lost our sense of direction."
Pearl sat quietly for a moment, rocking back and forth in her chair. She then said, "My cats sometimes escape and they tell me they've been to the big house."
"The mansion? They tell you?"
"Well, yes—doesn't your cat give you mind pictures?"
"Um... "
"Blackie came home wearing a new harness yesterday," she said, smiling down at the big cat in her lap.
"Oh?" Savannah leaned forward a little. "What did it look like?"
"It was... well here, I can show you. Sesame is wearing it today. She likes it." Pearl stood, placed the black cat in the chair, and walked to the back of the house. When she returned, she carried a brown-and-whit
e cat wearing a blue harness.
"Oh my gosh, that's Rags's harness."
Pearl perched on a wooden chair with the cat and stared at Savannah. "What do you mean? This belongs to your cat? Then how would Blackie get it?" She glared at Savannah. "Did you put it on him?"
She shook her head. "I sure did not. But obviously someone did."
Pearl was silent for a moment and then said defiantly, "Sesame doesn't want to give it back."
Savannah waved her hand in the air. "That's okay. She can have it. It's the least we can do... " She thought for a moment before speaking again. "I'm surprised that a cat would walk all the way to the mansion from here. Most house cats don't travel too far from home."
Pearl ran her hand over Sesame's fur several times before saying, "If you really want to know, most of my cats came from the mansion. They were turned loose and became feral. Some of them like to go back and visit sometimes... and they bring me stories."
"Stories?"
"Yeah, of the people they meet there, the handouts they get. They watch. They see a lot and they show me mind pictures."
When it seemed as though that was all Pearl had to say on the subject, Savannah said, "May I ask about your scars? What happened?"
Pearl placed Sesame on the floor, then picked up Blackie out of the chair and settled down with him on her lap. "Burns," she said, holding one hand out and gazing at it. When she saw Savannah staring at her, she said, "There was a house fire." She continued to rock and pet the black cat, seemingly retreating into another time and place. After a while, Blackie eased off her lap and Pearl stood. She rushed toward the kitchen. "I'll have some bread pudding now; you'll join me, won't you?"
"Sounds nice. Yes. Can I help?"
"No," she said, turning and looking sternly at Savannah. "You stay there. I'll bring it."
The fire sure feels good, Savannah thought. She looked over at her aunt. Seems to be sleeping peacefully. This is a nice house, she glanced around the room.It's warm in here, but the décor is kind of cold. She grinned.They say that the way we decorate and maintain our living space says a lot about who we are. She shivered. Gosh, Pearl seems nice enough, in a rather eccentric way, but her surroundings tell a different story. I hate the colors—everything's so drab and uninteresting. And the furniture is mostly metal. Ick! She chuckled to herself. They say that one person's trash is another person's art, but the accessories in this room are ridiculous—I mean, a mason jar full of beans, fake Spanish moss around a few candles, a stuffed rat... Is that a rat?
Curious now, she walked over to where it sat on a shelf. She couldn't resist touching it, but when she did, it toppled over onto the floor. "Darn!" she said under her breath. Hope I didn't break the thing. When she knelt to retrieve it, something caught her eye. Hey, what's this? It appears to be the most tasteful thing in this room—I wonder why it's shoved under the shelf, collecting dust. It looks like pewter—an exquisite pewter picture frame. Savannah edged it out and wiped some of the dirt off with her hands.Gads, it's been collecting dust bunnies for a long time. I wonder why? "So you never forget," she read from a piece of paper covering the frame. Beneath the note was a photo of two children obviously posing for a professional photographer. A brass label under the photograph identified the children, "Karen and Arthur."
"What are you doing?" Pearl demanded when she returned with two bowls of the bread pudding. "Do you usually snoop when you're a guest in someone's home?"
Savannah quickly attempted to shove the frame back under the freestanding shelf, when the hanger caught on the carpet. She reached for it again and Pearl screeched, "Leave it. Just leave it." The woman set the bowls on an ottoman and rushed to the shelf where Savannah now stood. "Go eat your pudding. I'll take care of this," she said, retrieving the photograph and placing it face-down on the shelf.
Several minutes passed before Savannah broke the awkward silence. "Your bread pudding is delicious. I didn't know I was so hungry."
"Want more?" Pearl asked, as if nothing had happened between them. "There's more."
"No, but thank you," she said, glancing over at her aunt. "Is it time to wake her? She might want something to eat and another glass of water."
This was the second time they'd roused Margaret. Savannah helped her to the bathroom while Pearl poured a glass of water for her and dished up a little of the bread pudding. "Feeling better?" Savannah asked, keeping her aunt steady as she walked down the hallway.
"Not really. Sure am glad to be in a bed, though," she said.
After Margaret drank half glass of water and ate a few bites of the pudding, she lay back and soon fell fast asleep.
"I'm going to bed," Pearl told Savannah. "You can sleep in the spare room at the end of the hall," she motioned.
"I'd rather stay here and keep an eye on my aunt, if you don't mind. Is it okay if I just curl up on the sofa?"
Pearl thought for a moment and said, "Okay. I'll bring you some blankets."
"Thank you," Savannah said as she pulled the blankets up over herself. She was exhausted, but she couldn't fall asleep. Thoughts of her husband and baby daughter filled her head. I can't think about that right now, she told herself. I must relax and get some sleep. But soon, something else interrupted her attempt at slumber. What is Pearl's story, really? Who are those children? What happened? Was the gravestone we saw this morning for the little girl in the picture? Why was it over on the Peyton's property? Why does Pearl have Karen's picture in her home and who is Arthur?
Chapter 7
Savannah awoke to the sound of a man's voice. When she opened her eyes and glanced around, the memory of the night before jolted her upright.It's daylight. Auntie, she thought. How is she? Savannah quickly threw the blankets aside and rushed to the daybed where her aunt still lay sleeping.
"Hellooo," came the male voice again.
In the meantime, Pearl rushed from the hallway, muttering, "Oh, hold your horses," as she tied the sash on her dingy robe. She unlocked the door and greeted the man gruffly, "Come in before you catch your death."
Savannah grabbed the robe she'd worn the night before and slipped into it. When she looked up, she saw a man wearing a uniform entering the home.
He did a double take when he saw her. "Are you Savannah Ivey?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, breathlessly.
"Where's Margaret Sheridan?" he asked, glancing around the room
Savannah pointed just as her aunt began to stir.
Margaret moaned. "Vannie?" she said, raising herself up slightly. She grimaced when she saw the man. "Who are you?" she asked in her husky morning voice.
"Security for the Peyton place. Been lookin' for you ladies. Your husbands are terrible worried." He narrowed his eyes. "How'd you end up here, anyhow?" That's when he noticed the bandage on Margaret's forehead. "What happened to you?"
"Please," Savannah said, "can you get word to our husbands?"
He nodded. "Yeah, I can do that. Do you want a ride back to the estate?"
"Yes, but first call our husbands, will you? Let them know we're okay." She grimaced in Margaret's direction. "... well, pretty much okay."
"I'll do that right away, ma'am," the security guard said, moving toward the front door to make the call from his car.
"And ask them if they found our cat," Savannah said.
He shook his head. "I can tell you, they did not. The cat's still missing." He started to open the door, but turned back. "He's makin' headlines. Everyone's lookin' for him, hopin' to get the reward, you know."
Savannah looked at her aunt, who stared wide-eyed. "Reward?" she said. "Michael put up a reward?"
"Not your husband; Mr. Peyton," the guard said, before stepping out through the front door.
Savannah stood stunned for a few seconds while digesting the information she'd just received. When she saw her aunt toss back her blankets, she walked over to her. "How are you this morning?"
&nb
sp; "Gotta pee. Gotta pee," Margaret said. "Where's the facility?"
Savannah slipped one arm around her aunt. "Here, let me help you," she said, guiding her to a standing position.
"Whoa," Margaret said. "It's pounding a little." She then urged, "Hurry, Vannie, gotta pee."
When the women returned to the living room, Margaret walking slowly under her own power, the security guard had returned. "Your husbands want you home ASAP. Are you ready to go?"
Savannah reached out and felt the clothes they'd spread around the fireplace the night before. "Everything seems to be dry. Let us get dressed and we'll be right with you."
"Roy, how about a cup of coffee while you wait?" Pearl asked.
"Sounds good."
"Come on in the kitchen," she invited.
"Move, Sesame," Savannah said, gently nudging the cat off her jeans. "Gotta get dressed."
"Hey, isn't that Rags's harness?" Margaret asked, pointing at the brown-and-white cat.
Savannah nodded. "Yes, evidently the black cat came home wearing it yesterday and Pearl put it on this big girl."
"Now that's odd, isn't it?" she said.
Savannah handed her aunt her clothes. "You go first. Wait, do you need help?"
"No, I think I'm okay." She started to walk toward the bathroom when she turned and asked, "Who's Pearl?"
"Our hostess," Savannah said. "You met her last night. She treated your wound. Don't you remember?"
"Oh, I thought that was a dream. Her name's Pearl?" She thinned her lips, then said, "Okay."
Ten minutes later, the two women were dressed and ready for the ride home with the security guard.
"Pearl, thank you ever so much for helping us out," Savannah said. "Is there anything you need that we can bring out to you?"
"Yeah, groceries, more cats... ?" Margaret quipped.
Pearl smirked a little. "No thanks. I'm okay." She leaned into the women. "If I were you, I'd stay away from the bog at night."
