by Carrie Bates
“How dare you bring that filth into the house!” her mother had spat. “I will not have my daughter marrying the son of a cotton picker! It would soil our family name!”
Frank fled the house, never to return to Beaufort. Elizabeth had even called for guards to stand in front of the property to ensure he wouldn’t come by. Mary had been so heartbroken, she refused to leave her room. She ate nothing for days and became so malnourished she almost died. After missing a number of shifts at the family bakery, her uncle came by to see what was ailing Mary. Her uncle kindly listened to Mary’s woeful tale and comforted her by insisting that she learn the family business so that she could one day take over. Still, the animosity toward her mother’s prejudice remained. Truth be told, Mary hated her mother.
This time around, Eli’s birthday gift to Elizabeth was beyond extravagant―it was down right ostentatious.
“Oh my!” Elizabeth gasped upon unwrapping the parcel. Glimmering brightly in a handsome velvet box was a pair of diamond earrings. “These are spectacular!”
Mary helped her mother into the earrings; Mary despised her brother for gifting them to Elizabeth; what on earth did she need diamond earrings for?! It wasn’t as though she was going out anytime soon. Her mother had become paralyzed from the waist down as a result of an injury that occurred shortly after William’s death.
Following the tragedy, Elizabeth would drink excessively during the nights when everyone else was asleep in their room. On one such occasion, Elizabeth attempted to descend the great swooping wooden staircase inebriated. She took a hard tumble down the stairs, injuring her spine and rendering her legs useless.
While Elizabeth napped in her illustrious new jewels, Mary completed the sweet potato pie, filling the house with the scent of buttery pastry.
Her face flushed and her brow damp with perspiration, Mary took a seat. She was feeling particularly drained from the events of the day. As she removed her apron and blotted her face with a handkerchief, a curious thought crossed her mind. She could easily rid herself of her mother and be free to marry Frank―that is―if he’d still have her. Elizabeth was a frail, paralyzed old woman. If Mary slipped a little cyanide into her mother’s pie and killed her, no one would suspect a thing. People would simply assume Elizabeth’s elderly heart gave out. All Mary would have to do is mix a little pesticide from the gardener’s hut into the whipped cream for the pie.
“DING!” The timer for the pie sounded, startling Mary from her macabre fantasy. She carefully took the steaming pie from the oven, placing it on the countertop to cool. She couldn’t kill her own mother. Besides, it wouldn’t be long before Elizabeth succumbed to her age. All Mary had to do was fake a caring attitude and wait.
That night, Mary forced herself to eat the wretched stringy pie with her despicable mother.
“I think it could have used a bit more sugar,” Elizabeth criticized. “The crust is also a little dry.” She clucked her tongue in disappointment. “Mary, I just don’t know that you’re cut out to be a baker.” Mary wanted nothing more than to scream in her mother’s weathered face. She wanted to rip the old witch from her queen-sized poster bed and beat her senseless with a rolling pin.
“Good night, Mother,” Mary said. She left the room swiftly.
As the night went on and Mary’s rage stewed and boiled beneath her skin, the weather became increasingly hostile. In her semi-conscious state, Mary could hear the wind thrashing through the trees. It was the sudden crash of thunder that disturbed her. She shot up in bed as though possessed. Lightening shattered the sky, eerily illuminating her room. Awake and unsettled, Mary decided to go to the kitchen to heat some milk in order to settle herself. As she passed her mother’s room, she heard a series of wheezing gasps.
“Help!” the voice croaked. It was her mother crying out in pain, desperate and vulnerable. Despite her hatred for her mother, Mary couldn’t help but feel a sense of compassion for Elizabeth as she struggled to breathe. She rushed into the room, a dim lantern in hand. Her mother’s face was blue. Her skeletal fingers clawed at her throat. A terrible gurgling sound emanated from the pit of her withered lungs. Mary phoned the hospital, instructing a team of medical professionals to come to the scene at once, lest her mother die of asphyxiation.
The damp doctors hurried themselves out of the rain and gathered in Elizabeth’s room. By this time, she had become limp. Her chest ceased to rise, and she was no longer showing any signs of struggle. Mary was pushed aside as the doctors pumped Elizabeth’s chest in attempts to restart her heart. Unfortunately, this hadn’t been their first time at the house. Elizabeth had experienced a similar fit several months prior.
Due to her old age, Elizabeth’s organs did not function with a high level of efficiency. She’d often reported feeling breathless or complained about a pain in her chest. The doctors presumed her to have a lung disease. However, at this stage in Elizabeth’s life, there wasn’t much that could be done to treat her ailing body.
Mary felt like a fly on the wall. She was useless to do anything but watch the events unfold before her. Her heart fluttered in her chest as the reality of her mother’s death hit her. This could be it - the moment when Elizabeth finally kicked the can, rendering Mary emancipated. She closed her eyes, envisioning Frank’s firm but gentle hands on her hips…Please, cyanide, take her…
“Miss Redding, I’m pleased to report that your mother will be okay.” A doctor informed Mary of the news, bursting her romantic vision like a pin bursting a balloon.
“Oh… thank you.” Mary’s heart dropped to her stomach. A part of her felt sick. She’d hoped her mother would die the same way a child hoped for toys on Christmas.
Having completed their mission, the doctors filed out of the house, leaving Mary alone with her recovering mother.
“Mary?” her mother called, weakly.
“I’m here, Mother.” Mary moved to her mother’s side. Her mother took her hand. Mary could feel Elizabeth’s leathery hand quivering with fright. She was scared. “P-promise me you’ll take care of me?” she whispered. Elizabeth glanced up at Mary from her place on the bed. Her eyes were weepy and pitiful, like those of a distressed puppy.
Remorse and pity took over Mary’s body. She stroked her mother’s hand, affectionately. “I promise, Mother,” she said.
***
As the weeks passed by, Elizabeth’s condition grew worse and worse. She kept Mary up late every night crying out in pain and blubbering incoherently. She was a suffering animal that needed to be put out of its misery. Her willingness to hold onto the bleak life she had was both puzzling and frustrating for Mary. Why would anyone in a considerable amount of pain wish to go on living? Perhaps Elizabeth, being the control freak that she was, only wanted to stay alive in order to continue serving as the role of dictator in Mary’s life.
It was on the hottest day of the summer that Elizabeth had another breathing spell. That morning, Mary had fed her peaches and oatmeal laced with cyanide. Elizabeth was quieter than usual. She didn’t bark orders or squint critically at things. Instead, she was still and mute. It was almost as though she was waiting patiently for Death to come and take her away.
“Mary,” she began, in a feeble failing voice, “m-my lungs feel like they’re going to explode.” Mary had just returned to her mother’s room with a glass of water, only to find her mother’s face draining of color. Again, she called the hospital and again, the doctors streamed through the doors. By the time they reached Elizabeth, her breathing had stopped. Elizabeth’s eyes were vacant, and her mouth was parted as though she had something to say. She looked dead, but the doctors assured her they could bring her back.
“Let’s begin chest compressions,” a doctor remarked, his hands hovering over Elizabeth’s chest.
“No!” Mary barked. The doctors gaped at her. “Elizabeth told me she no longer wishes to be resuscitated. She’s tired and wants to be at peace,” she lied.
“Very well,” the doctor said. “We must respect her wishe
s.”
Mary felt as though she was living in a dream. She watched the doctor gently pull Elizabeth’s eyelids over her clouded eyes. It was asked whether Mary would like a moment alone to say good-bye to her mother.
“No, that’s alright,” Mary responded. “I’ve had plenty of time.”
Elizabeth’s body was then shrouded in white cloth and carted away to the local funeral home, where she would be prepared for her funeral.
***
In the days that followed Elizabeth’s burial, Mary sought after Frank. Now that her prejudiced mother was dead in the ground, Mary was free to be with her true love. She wrote Frank a letter explaining the recent events and inviting him back to the house for dinner. Frank responded respectfully and positively to her attempt at contacting him. He agreed to meet.
For the first time in ages, Mary smiled. She hugged Frank’s written message close to her chest. In two days’ time, she’d be reunited with her love in the spacious Redding house left behind by her mother. Frank and Mary could live comfortably together. Finally, Mary could live the life that she wanted.
On the day of Frank’s arrival, Mary sifted through her wardrobe in search of a nice dress. Her mother had never allowed her to wear anything that didn’t entirely mask her womanly figure. She selected a form fitting dress that buttoned down the middle. Mary would be sure to leave just enough buttons unfastened to show off her ample bosom. She’d hired a personal chef to come in for the evening and cook the two of them a delicious elegant meal. Savory smells wafted through the house. Mary’s stomach fluttered in delightful nervousness as she painted her lips. Frank was due for arrival at any minute.
“Take that off! You look like a whore!” Elizabeth’s disapproving voice hissed eerily in Mary’s ear. She gasped, dropping her lipstick in fright. She took a deep breath, dismissing the ominous sense of doom that laced her gut for mere nerves. A knock at the door had Mary forgetting her fear altogether. Frank had arrived!
Mary welcomed Frank with a huge embrace. His richly sun-toned skin was warm and filled her with joy.
He chuckled. “It’s so good to see you again.” Mary was speechless. Frank was even more handsome than she remembered. His well-toned arms glowed under the evening sun. His eyes sparkled, and his smile filled his entire face. Mary took a moment to compose herself and then invited him in.
“It smells incredible in here,” Frank remarked, removing his hat. He marveled at the house’s tall ceilings and extravagantly patterned walls and drapery. “This truly is a remarkable house.”
“Wait until you see the gardens,” Mary said. She took him playfully by the hand and led him to the back of the property, where a table had been set for their romantic evening dinner.
The trees shaded them as they sat out in the heat. The flowers in the gardens provided a spectrum of color, as well as an array of pleasant muted scents. Frank and Mary sat across from each other. They stared longingly into each other’s eyes. Everything was silent and serene. Frank’s hand slid slowly across the table top, reaching for Mary’s. When their hands touched, Mary felt a spark go off in her head. She hoped for more sparks as the evening progressed.
The chef entered the scene with their dinner in hand - a classic braised chicken breast with mouthwatering herbs and spices, delightfully crisp roasted potatoes, and a medley of seasonal vegetables.
“I must admit,” Frank said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, “when you invited me to dinner, I was a little hesitant to return to this place, given what happened on my previous visit.”
It was at this point that Mary expressed her sincerest apologies for her mother’s narrow-mindedness. “I love you, Frank,” she confessed. “I would do anything to be with you.”
Including killing your own mother, you whore, Elizabeth spat out.
As the words left Mary’s mouth, the temperature in the garden suddenly dropped. Chills consumed Mary’s body, paralyzing her in place. She felt as though every drop of blood in her body had been frozen. That’s when she heard the voice again.
“You let me die for that scum!” It was the hoarse scathing voice of her mother from beyond the grave. “You promised to care for me! You’ve betrayed me and tarnished this family’s name! For this, you will pay.”
Mary tried to scream. She tried to move her body, but she was stricken still as a statue. Frank, on the other hand, appeared unaffected. He continued eating his dinner as though nothing had changed. Then, he began to choke.
Having received prior payment and having completed his services, the chef was no longer on site. This left only Mary and Frank… and Elizabeth.
Mary watched in paralyzed horror as the love of her life struggled for air. Through splutters and coughs, Frank uttered choked cries for help. He called Mary’s name, but she was unable to respond. To Frank, Mary appeared to be nonchalantly watching him die. He fell from his chair, his body thrashing for air. Mary’s mind seethed with anger and sadness as Frank’s writhing body went still. She swore and cursed her mother’s name, thinking the profanities as loudly as she could. Mary swore she would set fire to the Redding house as soon as she came out of her frozen state. Unfortunately, Mary’s body remained completely paralyzed until she died of dehydration.
It was a surprise visit from Mary’s precocious brother, Eli, that resulted in the discovery of the bodies. Upon witnessing the fly-infested mounds, Eli contacted the local police. Both Frank and Mary’s deaths puzzled the forensic doctors. How was it that two presumably healthy adults suddenly dropped dead at the same time? An investigation was launched to no avail. As the years went by, Elizabeth’s spirit continued to linger within the walls of the Redding house, rendering it unlivable by all who dared attempt at making it their own.
Chapter One
Redding House, June 25, 2018, Beaufort
Catherine lounged on the porch of her soon to be new house. Her fiancé, Leonard, was to meet her at the house by 9 am. A quick glance at Catherine’s watch told her he was late. Typical Leonard. The two were to sign for the house around 10 am, so there was plenty of time for Leonard to lollygag. As much as Catherine adored her fiancé, Leonard was chronically tardy. For this reason, Catherine always told him to meet her for appointments an hour early, to ensure he’d arrive just in time.
Leonard had the moving van containing all their possessions. Seeing as they were moving into a much larger space, the couple had decided to purchase a much larger bed. Catherine had had her eye on one from an online seller in town. It was a vintage king-sized poster bed made of a glossy rich-toned wood. The etching work done on the headboard was stunning, definitely worth the investment. Catherine had come to the house separately in her car, while Leonard met with the seller to buy the bed.
The house they’d chosen was an historical mansion. Although it required a number of updates, the house was beyond charming. The house was garbed in several different shades of white. The body of the house was done in a pink-white. It was so subtly pink, one had to be standing directly in front of it in order to tell for sure. The trim around the windows, as well as the porch was a contrasting stark white. Catherine especially liked the lace-like appearance of the porch rails and pillars. The house held a delicate ambiance. It was the sort of place Catherine imagined would host tea parties and book clubs.
Peering through one of the windows, Catherine could see the vintage furniture set that came with the house. She loved the high-backed chairs, as well as the curved wooden arms, and the eloquently carved feet of the sofa. In their current state, they were a gruesome faded olive, however, Catherine would happily have them re-upholstered.
Although Catherine was glad to be out of the over-crowded city of Columbia, she would miss her students. Catherine was an elementary school teacher who had taught a grade three class for five years. Come September, she was due to start a new teaching job at a school in Beaufort. She was both nervous and excited about the job. She hoped more than anything that the children would be pleasant and her fellow teaching comrades would b
e amicable. For the time being, however, Catherine was on her summer break and planned to use the time to settle into her new space with her fiancé.
Speaking of her fiancé, Leonard rolled into the driveway, thirty minutes overdue.
“Great news!” Leonard declared, hopping out of the van. “I got the bed. The guy had a bad back and said he’d knock off fifty bucks if I loaded it up myself. So, I did. That’s why I’m late.” Leonard looked past Catherine, wiping a sheen of perspiration from his forehead. “Where’s the realtor?” he asked, wrinkling his eyebrows in confusion.
Catherine laughed. Leonard was positively adorable. “The realtor won’t be here until 10,” she informed him. “I told you to be here at 9 because I knew you’d be late. In your funny little head, 9 means 10.”
“Well, in that case…” Leonard darted back into the van, appearing with a tray of iced coffees. “Coffee time!”
Catherine punched Leonard playfully in the arm. “You liar!” she exclaimed. “You were late because you stopped at a Starbucks!”
“Guilty,” Leonard confessed. “I also sort of figured you were fudging the time.” He smiled his lopsided impish smile, and pushed the chilled coffee into her hands. “Now, drink up! Once we sign for this bad boy we have a long day of unpacking ahead of us. This coffee is necessary!”
The two took their morning refreshments and sat beneath a tree draped in Spanish moss. The moss resembled furry curtains and helped to blot out the stiflingly hot sun. The realtor came with his clipboard and pen. The two signed for the house, making the Redding house officially the Catherine-Leonard house.
