Was it an hour, or did it only seem so that she stayed crouched beneath the window in the dark, her heart pounding, her entire body shaking uncontrollably? “Dear God, don’t let me have a heart attack,” she prayed. “I’ve got to get help. Please, oh please, God, don’t let them die.”
Finally she raised herself from the terrace floor and slowly retraced her steps back to her darkened bedroom. Feeling her way, she found her bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. All was quiet downstairs. She inched her way down the stairway, one step at a time, all the while listening, praying, listening and praying. Her slippers made no noise on the carpeted stairs. Reaching the landing, she stopped, stood still and listened. Hearing nothing, she proceeded down the last few steps to the foyer.
A few more steps into the living room, she saw Claire lying lifeless in a pool of blood, her face and hair blotched in red. Horror-struck, frightened and trembling, she didn’t know what to do. She was not a nurse, had only had basic first-aid training, and that was years ago, but she knew she had to do something. Rushing to Claire’s side, she saw the frozen glaze in her unseeing eyes and screamed. “Oh, no, God, no!”
She looked around for Meg and Rosemary. Walking cautiously through the dining room into the kitchen, she saw Meg’s bloody, still body slumped against the desk, the phone dangling from the wall. She feared the worst, but when she felt Meg’s pulse, she realized she was alive. She pulled at the sleeve of her blood-soaked sweater, revealing her bullet-shattered elbow. Running to the laundry room, she pulled out a drawer and grabbed an armful of bath towels. Returning to Meg, she knelt down beside her and, folding a towel length-wise, she formed what she hoped would serve as a tourniquet and wrapped it tightly around her elbow and applied firm pressure to stop the bleeding. Despite her nervousness, she was very careful in moving her friend in order to avoid more damage to her arm. She laid her gently on the floor, placing a folded towel under her head. Remembering the first-aid course, she grabbed ice cubes from the freezer and, bundling them in another towel, placed them on the swollen area. She then carefully placed Meg’s arm between the two firm pillows she grabbed from the kitchen window seat for support.
It was then that she heard the sound in the pantry, and slowly opened the door to find Rosemary cowering on the floor in the dark, sobbing and shaking. Dropping to her knees beside her, Meg put her arm around Rosemary’s trembling shoulders and said, “They’ve gone, Rosemary. They’ve gone. Are you alright?”
There was no answer. Anne stood up, put on the light and realized the fragile, frightened figure trembling on the floor was suffering from traumatic shock. While she herself had been paralyzed with fear when she heard the gunshots and screams, she wasn’t downstairs when it happened. Rosemary was. She heard the gunman shoot Claire. From her hiding place in the pantry, she heard Meg pleading for her life. She heard the blow to Meg’s head. She feared the gunman would find her and shoot her, too. So much horror so soon after her own sorrow. Anne held her tight, quickly looked her over for any sign of blood or injury, but found none. Hugging her again, she said, “Rosemary, you are safe now,” again repeating. “They’ve gone.”
When Rosemary continued in a catatonic stupor, Anne said gently, “You need to lie down. Let me help you.”
Wordlessly, Rosemary struggled to get to her feet as Anne pulled her up. Anne did not want her traumatized further by seeing her lifeless friends in the kitchen and living room, so she led her through the library to the wicker sofa on the sun porch. She then searched the laundry room and found several blankets in the closet. Pulling one from the shelf, she poured a glass of water in the kitchen before returning to the sun porch.
“Here, Rosemary,” she said, “drink this. Then lie down. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She returned to the laundry room for another blanket and tearfully placed it over Claire’s body.
Having tended the immediate needs of her friends, Anne then attempted to call for help. Picking up the phone on the kitchen floor beside Meg, she pressed the receiver to get a dial tone. But there was none. Panicked, she ran to the phone in the den and grabbed the receiver, but again there was no dial tone. Then she realized the intruders must have cut the wires. Knowing she couldn’t get a signal on her cell phone, she realized it was up to her to go for help.
Like Rosemary, she, too, was traumatized by the nightmare she was experiencing, but she knew she had to be strong to help her friends. She had heard the shots, the screams, men’s loud rough voices, and knew there were gunmen in the house, evidently bent on robbing them. She knew it was bad, but she was not prepared for the carnage she found. How could she be? This was a beautiful family home. These were lovely, refined women, all of whom had worked for the good of society in their own special way. They didn’t deserve this violence, this horror, this madness.
She knew the nearest neighbor was the cabin down on the roadway. But she couldn’t ask those people for help. Claire had told them that the teenage boys who lived there were involved with drugs and had been arrested for breaking into the Lodge last spring. Could they have done this? she asked herself, horrified at the thought. No, she definitely couldn’t go there.
She had seen car lights when the intruders left. That meant the gate was open. They must have cut the lock. Her keys were upstairs in her bag. She could race past the house and get to the village for help. But then she realized she had arrived first and Rosemary had parked behind her under the portico. Where were her keys? She hurried into the living room searching for the women’s purses. But they were not on the sofa where they all tossed them. Again, reality set in and she realized the intruders must have taken them. That was what they came for!
Her tortured mind swayed between paralysis and sheer panic. Even so, common sense told her not to touch anything. But she felt she had to cover Claire for fear the sight of her violent death would further traumatize Rosemary. She had to move Meg to stop the bleeding. And she did try the telephone. She did everything she could for her friends and didn’t think about destroying evidence; that didn’t even enter her mind. She was in a panic when she saw Claire lying dead; beautiful, tender-hearted Claire who didn’t harm anyone in her entire life. Anne was horrified at what had happened. A short time ago, she’d left three happy women enjoying snacks and sharing stories about their children, and now Claire was dead and Meg could be dying. If she hadn’t gone upstairs early, she, too, would be lying there with them. And what about poor Rosemary? She was still grieving for Harold and was not emotionally or physically strong. She had to get her out of here.
Again Anne prayed. She was a woman of strong faith and knew God had spared her in order to help the others. Slowly a plan began to form in her troubled mind. Tomorrow was Sunday and people would be at the little church down the road. She’d hike through the woods behind the cabin, and stay parallel to the road so she could come out across from the church. If she could get there, she could get help for Meg and Rosemary, but her heart was broken that it was too late for Claire.
She knew she could do it. She had been the outdoors type all her adult life, gardening, walking and hiking, roaming the woods for wildflowers and berries in the summer and Christmas greenery in the winter. Wherever she lived, she joined walking enthusiasts and weekends found her on a trail, most often in woods like Cape Ann where the terrain had deep ravines covered with rocks and boulders. She was in good physical condition for her age; her legs were strong, her body firm.
Having decided to go for help at daybreak, she climbed the stairs to her room, her chest heaving, her legs unsteady. She frantically searched the dresser drawers for clothing to wear in the woods and found a pair of blue jeans and a red corduroy shirt she’d brought in case the weather turned cold. Her hands shook franticly as she yanked on socks and her cut-out ankle boots.
She had been terrified since she heard the first shot. Now alone in the stillness of her room, the enormity of what had happened finally set in and her emotions took over. She fell back on the bed and sobbed unc
ontrollably. Raw and red-eyed, her heart pounding, she cried and prayed, “God, please help me,” over and over again.
In time, she calmed down. She knew she had to stay awake to care for Meg and comfort Rosemary. Slowly she got up and went downstairs. Passing the blanket-draped body of Claire, she checked on Rosemary who lay sobbing softly on the sofa in the sun porch. She then went into the kitchen and changed the towels on Meg’s elbow. She spent the entire night checking on Meg in the kitchen, changing the towels and tightening them over her wound, and watching over Rosemary, who had finally fallen asleep. Occasionally, she dozed in a nearby chair, but when she awoke, the nightmare returned and she immediately checked on her two friends.
Chapter 25
In the dewy morning light, Anne put her plan into action. First she checked on Meg, who was still unconscious on the kitchen floor. She changed the towels and made her comfortable. She then went into the sun porch to find Rosemary awake but still traumatized.
“Rosemary, the phone line is cut and our cells don’t work up here. I’ve got to go for help,” she said, taking her friend’s cold, trembling hand and holding her tight. “You’ve got to help take care of Meg. She’s been shot in the elbow and we’ve got to stop the bleeding. I’ve wrapped her wound in towels and there are more on the counter.”
Then she explained that she was going to walk through the woods behind the cabin and get help at the church. Looking at her watch, she saw it was nearing eight o’clock.
“I think it’ll take about an hour, maybe more, to get to the church through the woods. I want you to take care of Meg until I can get help for her. Keep the towels tight over the wound.”
Rosemary, her face white, her eyes swollen and still showing signs of shock, nodded weakly.
“I’ll try, Anne. Please hurry.”
“I will, Dear. You just rest here on the sun porch and check on Meg. Don’t go in the living room. We shouldn’t touch anything.”
Putting her arm around her shoulders, she again hugged Rosemary and assured her help would be here soon.
Anne opened the front door and noticed that Meg’s black SUV, which had been parked under the portico, was gone and realized the intruders must have stolen it. Closing the large oak door behind her, she hurried across the wide expanse of lawn damp with early morning dew. Beyond the lilac bushes along the stone wall, she looked for a way into the forest of flaming hardwood trees. They had been so beautiful to her from the veranda; now she hoped she could find her way through them to safety. The woods behind the Lodge and the cabin bordered a section of the national forest that protected the dam several miles on the eastern fringe of the property. Anne thought she could find her way along the edge of the forest and stay parallel with the road while keeping a safe distance from the cabin.
A short way into the woods, she came upon the brook that ran along the rear of the Lodge, and remembered that when she was young she’d learned that if one is ever lost in the woods and came upon a stream, to follow it, because it would eventually lead to human contact. But this brook flowed downward in the direction of the cabin so she crossed it and made her way along the base of a slope in what she hoped was the direction of the church. If she kept a good distance between herself and the cabin, and stayed parallel to the road, she thought she could get to the church safely.
But there was no footpath for her to follow, not even an animal track, which she and her walking club had often followed on Cape Ann. She was completely on her own to depend on her sense of direction as she plowed through dense underbrush. She told herself she couldn’t become disoriented, that she had to keep parallel with the road to come out near the church. Both were on her left; on her right was the forest preserve. She’d stay in the corridor between them.
God was her constant companion as she pushed aside low-lying branches and made her way forward in the thick woods, hardwoods mingled with stands of dark green conifers. When she awoke that morning, her only thought was to get help. She hadn’t taken the time to eat or shower or even comb her hair, which didn’t matter because as she hurried through the thicket, it was caught and pulled by undergrowth and low-lying limbs, which also scratched her face and hands. She was thankful for her jeans and heavy jacket, which protected the rest of her body.
The fall foliage was as beautiful up close as it had been when she admired it from the windows of the Lodge, the train and the SUV, but Anne didn’t notice it this morning. Since awakening to the reality of the horror of what had happened to Claire and Meg, she had thought of nothing but getting help for them. As she hurried through the woods, pushing aside branches and underbrush and climbing over fallen trees, her thoughts kept returning to Claire – beautiful, generous Claire lying in a pool of blood in the living room that had been the scene of so many happy times for generations of her family. And Meg and Rosemary. Was Meg still alive? “Please, God,” she pleaded. “Let me get help in time.”
As she pushed ahead in what she hoped was the right direction, she saw nothing but the dense forest of glowing hardwoods and dark green evergreens. She didn’t know how far she was from the road, because there was no traffic noise. The road ended a short distance from the Lodge entrance. A gate and posted sign prohibited access to the adjoining national forest. There was very little traffic because the public road ended at the Lodge property.
Descending a slight slope, she stepped into a hole covered by leaves and fell on her hands and knees. Thankfully, the thick leaf bed cushioned her fall and she wasn’t seriously hurt, but both her hands and knees were bruised. She got up, brushed leaves from her jeans and jacket and plodded on. She tried not to think of the horror back at the Lodge, but the scene kept flashing into her mind, bringing with it fear and anxiety.
She remembered the story Meg told about her sister at dinner Friday night, which moved her deeply. Although it happened long ago and Meg was over the pain, to her the story was new and very fresh in her mind. Now Meg was facing her own tragedy, which was much more violent than her sister’s death. She saw the gunman shoot Claire; she tried to run for help and was shot herself and maybe she, too, would die.
“Oh, Lord,” Anne prayed. “Please don’t let that happen. Please don’t let Meg die, too.”
The thought renewed her determination to press on, to get help before it was too late. She glanced at her watch, which said 9:20. She had been in the woods more than an hour. How much farther, Lord? she asked silently. Is it safe to turn toward the road? she wondered. The cabin was about a mile from the entrance to the Lodge, the church another two miles from the cabin. Had she walked three miles since leaving the house shortly before eight o’clock? She didn’t think so. A walking enthusiast all her adult life, she clocked twelve to fifteen minutes a mile when she was younger, but in later years she had slowed down to twenty. And that was on well-kept trails and pathways, with arms swinging and one foot placed firmly in front of the other at a normal walking gait. Here in the mountain wilderness, there was no defined trail, no clear, hard surface underfoot. Rather, the floor of the forest was covered with leaves, concealing holes, rocks and fallen tree limbs, all of which hampered her flight. While she hurried as fast as her age and physical condition allowed, she thought it would take at least another hour to reach the church.
At the top of a small rise, she came upon a sight that stopped her cold in her tracks. There along the top of the ridge was a wild bobcat, its tufted ears erect, its eyes alert, but its stance was not threatening. She stood motionless, petrified that it would attack. But it only looked at her for a long moment, then turned and dashed down the ravine and out of sight, leaving her shaken and breathless.
Despite her good health, the trek was taking its toll on the aged woman. She was tired and sore, both her face and hands were scratched and bleeding, but she continued on slowly, one small step at a time. Leaning against a tall, glowing birch tree, she rested a few minutes to catch her breath. The woods ahead were mostly level, for which she was thankful. As she plodded along, weary and worn
out, the scenes back at the Lodge kept replaying in her mind.
Finally, she reached a point when she knew she could go no farther, that she had to see if she was anywhere near the church. She was deep in dark woods when she turned to the left and headed in the direction of the road; at least she hoped that was the right direction. She’d tried to be careful, to keep her bearings as she fought her way through the forest. She was no stranger to hiking in the wilds, having walked many rough trails during her lifetime. She had always felt close to nature; even wild animals didn’t bother her if she didn’t bother them. She’d seen several bobcats in her lifetime, but none up close and personal, and certainly none when she was alone in their habitat. Thankfully, this one was just out for a Sunday morning stroll and no doubt was just as startled by her presence as she was by its.
Another fifteen minutes brought the elderly woman to another rise where she could see a clearing straight ahead. Hopefully it was farmland, she thought as she made her way toward it. Approaching cautiously, she walked out into the open but saw nothing except woods bordering the field. She continued straight, increasing her pace, but not by much. When she was almost at the edge of the clearing, she saw it.
The far end of the field abutted the road! Her heart pounding rapidly, her pace quickened as she hurried to the edge. But where am I? she wondered. Looking first to the right and then to the left, she saw the church a short way down the road. She had overshot it, but not by much. It was on a small knoll, and there were cars in the parking lot. There’d be people there to help her. Thank God!
Once on the hard surface of the road, she stood for a moment, looking in both directions. Directly across from her were more woods, not as thick as the forest preserve but woods nonetheless. She crossed the road and walked slowly toward the church. Now that she was close to getting the help she so desperately needed, a mixture of emotions began welling up inside her. Excitement and relief replaced fright and terror, but she also knew what the rescuers would find at the Lodge.
The Mystery Trip Page 15
