by Wendy Webb
“You’re right about one thing,” Nick said. “I can hardly believe this. It’s just—” He sighed. “I deal with black-and-white issues. This is one hell of a shade of gray.” Nick leafed through the copies of articles. “What happened with the trial?” he asked her. “Was he found guilty?”
“I don’t know!” Kate cried. “The library was closing. I didn’t get to the rest of the story.”
“You’re going back tomorrow, I assume,” Nick said.
“As soon as the doors open.”
“Let me know what you find,” he said. “I won’t be putting this in the case file, but now you’ve got me hooked.”
Kate took a gulp of her coffee and gathered her copies back into their folder. “I’ve got to tell Simon about this,” she said. “He’s not going to believe it, either.”
She stood up and Nick reached for her hand. “You know, Kate, I have no idea what to do with this information. But I’m really glad you took me along for the ride.”
She smiled at him and squeezed his hand, electricity jolting through her as she did so. The truth was, Nick was the first person she’d thought of calling when she found out about Addie and Jess. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she knew it meant something.
“I’ll be in touch,” she said.
Kate hurried up the hill and burst through the doors of Harrison’s House to find Simon in the library with a cup of tea.
“I found it!” she announced, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. “It’s all true, Simon.”
She opened the folder and fished out the copies, telling him the whole story.
“You know what I wonder?” Simon said, still staring at the articles. “She died more than a century ago. You’re dreaming about her now. Why?”
“I don’t follow you,” Kate said.
“I think we’re going from a whodunit to a whydunit and, from there, to a whyKate.”
Kate wasn’t sure what he meant.
“Think about it from your perspective,” he said. “What would be so vital, so important, to compel you to come back from the dead and reach out from beyond the grave to someone living? Because that’s exactly what I think Addie is doing.”
“It sounds creepy when you say it like that.” Kate grimaced. “Do you think it’s that deliberate? You’re making it sound like Addie herself is doing all of this somehow. Invading my dreams.”
“If she’s not doing it, who is?” Simon said. “And why?”
Kate felt a chill at the thought of it. All these events were becoming too starkly real, too tangible. The bodies, the photograph, the articles. Her own physical reactions. The whole situation was haunting—literally.
“Do you think I’m supposed to do something for her?” Kate wondered.
“You want to hear a flat-out guess?” Simon said. “I’ll bet it has something to do with the trial.”
“We don’t even know if her husband was found guilty or innocent at this point,” Kate said. “Still, like Nick said last night, what could it possibly matter now? She’s been dead for almost a century. That trial is so long in the past that nobody even remembers it anymore.”
“Addie does.” Simon smiled.
As Kate settled in beneath her thick down comforter later that night, a confusion of thoughts swirled through her mind. It was difficult to process all that had happened during the day. A newspaper article confirming that the woman in her dreams was real and might have been murdered had produced a tightening in Kate’s stomach that wasn’t quieted by a good dinner, fine wine, or the companionship of the person closest to her in the world.
She couldn’t get it out of her mind. It was breathtaking, literally. Kate had been having trouble filling her lungs with air ever since she had seen those black, typewritten words on the page, those grainy photographs confirming Addie’s existence, and the fact that her death had resulted in the “Trial of the Century.”
Now, as Kate punched her pillow and turned onto her side, she couldn’t turn off those thoughts. Was Simon right? Were her dreams and Addie’s sudden reappearance somehow tied to the murder and the trial? Kate wasn’t sure, but whenever she thought of the notion of Addie’s husband killing her, she was overcome by a feeling that was hard to define. It just didn’t seem possible. The love that she had felt between them in her dreams—it was hard to imagine that kind of love curdling and ending in death.
Simon popped his head into Kate’s room, breaking her train of thought.
“And how are we doing?” he inquired.
“We’re doing just fine,” Kate laughed.
“I’m going downstairs to Skype with Jonathan,” Simon said. “If you need anything, just holler.”
Kate could already feel the heaviness behind her eyes as she snuggled down into bed. “I have a feeling I won’t be hollering. I’ll be drifting off in very short order.”
“Let me tuck you in,” Simon said, pulling the covers up to her chin. He kissed her, turned off the light, and closed the door, leaving Kate alone with her thoughts as her eyes fell shut.
She found herself standing in the middle of a large room. She recognized it almost immediately—it was the ballroom on the third floor of Harrison’s House. But it was different from how Kate remembered. It was cleaner, newer. All the shutters were open, and the windows were freshly washed. Candles lit the room—Kate saw their light flickering against the windowpanes.
Odd, Kate thought. Someone must have been up here cleaning all night long. Would Simon have done that? Why?
Then it occurred to her. Oh, I’m dreaming.
Then she heard the voices. Talking and laughing. Glasses clinking, high heels on the wood floor. The room was filled with people. Was this a party? Kate longed to turn around and see what was happening but could not direct her gaze away from the window. She felt a slight breeze on her face as she noticed that some of the windows themselves were open as well. The view was expansive and dramatic, but this, too, was different than she remembered it. Kate could see all the way down the road to the harbor, where two enormous ships floated lazily in the background and a cluster of smaller boats filled the slips at the town dock. People crowded the streets, walking into and among the shops. They congregated down at the harbor, and Kate noticed a group of young people—families, she thought—enjoying a picnic on a grassy hill overlooking the water. Green leaves adorned the trees, flowers were everywhere, and the sun was setting, turning the sky into an explosion of pinks and purples. What a lovely day, Kate thought. It must be high summer, tourist season.
She leaned out of the window to get a better look. The town itself was immeasurably smaller than Kate knew it to be. Where the Flamingo restaurant should have been, the whole block was taken up by what looked to be a warehouse. The bookstore and the drugstore, both gone. In their places, an open field with a large sign proclaiming FRESH BLUEBERRIES! PICK YOUR OWN!
Next to the water, the Dockside Café, too, was gone. An industrial building stood there, two stories high. Kate saw a sign on its wall but could not make it out completely. Only the word FISH was discernable. She saw no antique shops and no art galleries. There were stores on the streets, just not the ones that Kate knew. A grocer, what looked to be a restaurant. Was that a hardware store? Kate couldn’t make out the rest of the signs.
Instead of the row of stately Victorian homes that Kate had come to know, one small, clapboard house with a decaying front porch stood between Harrison’s House and the town center. Shabby though the house was, Kate noticed a magnificent garden that stretched into what looked to be two lots. Kate could make out stalks of corn, sunflowers, lettuce, beans, and a whole host of other vegetables ripening in the sun. Beautiful, Kate thought. She noticed that the roads were unpaved and entire blocks were simply undeveloped, grassy land. Lines of raised, wooden sidewalks snaked through town, so the ladies and gentlemen who lived there wouldn’t soil the bottoms of their dresses and trousers on the muddy, dirty streets. The lakeshore looked rugged, untamed and dominant against such simple
edifices.
It wasn’t until Kate looked closer at the people on the street that she got it. Long dresses, three-piece suits and bowler hats, parasols. Model T cars. Horses tied to hitching posts here and there. No cell phone, power line, or music to be seen or heard. She was looking out the window into Wharton circa 1910.
Her other dreams had seemed just as concrete and real to her as this one did, but they had not contained such specific information. She learned a bit about Addie in those other dreams, to be sure, but she hadn’t learned anything about her surroundings. This dream, this was all about experiencing Wharton as it was a century ago. Kate was joyous, wanting to take it all in. She consciously tried to remember every last detail. I must not forget anything. Please let me remember it all.
“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” a voice jolted Kate out of her reverie. She had been staring intently out the window, but at the sound of the voice, she felt herself whirl around toward the interior of the room.
“It is indeed,” Kate said, in a voice that was not her own. Kate was astonished to be facing Harrison Connor, her own great-grandfather, as young and vibrant as he looked in the photo Kate had found in that very room. He was wearing a tuxedo and flashed a sincere smile when their eyes met. Only then was Kate able to see beyond him into the sea of people in the ballroom. Women in floor-length dresses, men in tuxedos. The room was glittering with light and shimmering with laughter and music. Some people were dancing, while others stood in groups drinking cocktails and chatting. Servants wandered about carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres and drinks. Kate looked down at her dress, green taffeta, and then was able to feel it scratching against her legs.
Kate heard herself saying, “I’m so glad you invited us to this gala. It’s quite lovely.”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Addie, I know you’re no fan of these affairs.” Harrison chuckled, taking her hand. “You’re so good to come anyway.”
Kate felt herself smiling at this man.
“I brought this up from the cellar especially for you.” Harrison handed her a wine glass. “I know that the martinis we’re serving tonight aren’t to your taste, so I raided my private wine stock. It’s from France. I thought you might enjoy it.”
Kate smiled and thanked him as she brought the glass to her lips. She tasted the wine, cool and crisp on her tongue. “This is delicious, Harrison, thank you,” she said.
“Your husband is a lucky man,” Harrison said, raising his glass. “I don’t believe he realizes exactly how lucky he is to have such an extraordinary wife.”
Kate looked across the room and saw the man to whom Harrison was referring. Addie’s husband, Jess Stewart. She recognized him from the dreams. And from the photograph, and the newspaper article about the trial. He was so effortlessly handsome, so alive there in the candlelight of a glittering ballroom, wearing a tuxedo as though he had been born in it. He was holding a martini glass, standing in the center of a gaggle of beautiful women. He said something Kate could not hear, which caused the women to erupt into laughter.
“I don’t know how extraordinary I am.” Kate felt herself smiling and shaking her head. “Jess loves these affairs—look at him over there, life of the party as usual. And me here, cowering in the corner. I never quite know what to say.”
“Say? Darling Addie, you needn’t say anything at all.” Harrison smiled at her. “You’re the most captivating woman in the room without speaking one word. But I understand your feelings. Sometimes I’d rather just stand here looking out the window at the harbor instead of entertaining all of these people, as well.”
“Do we have a pair of wallflowers here yet again?” It was Celeste, sidling up to her husband. She hissed, “Harrison, mingle! And Addie, my goodness, can’t you ever join in? Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud!” And then she flounced off, toward other people’s conversations.
“She hath spoken.” Harrison smiled to Kate. “So shall it be done.” Harrison held out his arm, and Kate felt herself take it as he led her into the fray. They walked toward the group of women congregated around Addie’s husband.
“Jess, old boy, I’m so sorry to have monopolized your enchanting wife this evening,” Harrison said, a bit too casually considering the force of his gaze into Jess’s eyes. “You must have been wondering what had become of her.”
“Addie!” Jess gushed, embracing her and kissing her on the cheek. He smelled of alcohol. Was he drunk? Kate thought he was. “Darling, you must meet some old friends of mine. Sally Reade, Claire Thorson, and Helene Bonnet.” He gestured toward the striking women standing next to him. “I’ve known these girls since my early college days. They’re in town from the city this weekend.”
Before Kate had a chance to respond, one of the women spoke. “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Stewart.” Sally Reade bared her teeth—Kate supposed it was a smile—and extended her hand. “I’ve been longing to meet the woman who married our Jess Stewart.”
The two other women giggled. “We all thought Sally was going to be the one who coaxed him to the altar,” one of them said. “In college they were quite close.” More laughter.
“We were never so surprised as when Jess came back to the city and announced he was engaged,” said the other. “You must be quite something, my dear, to have won his heart.”
These sort of catty women made Kate’s skin crawl. She would have loved nothing better than to put them in their places with a few well-chosen words. But she could not speak. She simply looked from one woman to another and back to her husband again, with tears stinging her eyes. Then Sally Reade smiled broadly and put her hand lightly on Jess’s forearm as she leaned in and whispered something in his ear, all the while staring into Kate’s eyes. Kate did not mistake the woman’s intent. This was a clear gesture of ownership.
“Oh, that’s all ancient history, girls,” Sally said, bringing Kate’s eyes back into focus. “Jess is an old married man now! With such a lovely wife!”
The scene began to fade before Kate’s eyes. Sally slowly vanished, as though she was evaporating. The other partygoers disappeared as the candles were extinguished and the room went dark. The wood and the floors and the doors and even the windows began to age, yellowing, cracking, gathering decades of dust in an instant.
She saw a man rushing into the turret at the end of the room, emitting an awful cry that sounded like a wounded animal on its deathbed. That scene swiftly faded into the picture of a child playing on the floor, growing up, and finally putting those childish toys away for good. Fires were lit in the fireplace and doused in rapid succession. Spider colonies came and went, mice were born, scurried about, and died, windows were opened, closed, and then shuttered permanently. All of it happened in an instant, in front of Kate’s eyes. And then, just as it had happened in this room once before, when she was a child, the air seemed to be sucked from the room. Kate couldn’t breathe.
“What’s going on?” Kate cried, gasping for breath as she slumped to the floor in the darkness. “Help me!”
“Honey! Kate! Wake up!” It was Simon, holding her. They were on the floor of the dark and dusty ballroom.
Kate stared into his face with wild eyes. She was confused, remembering with such clarity the scene she had just experienced moments ago, here in this very room—gleaming, beautiful, and new—juxtaposed with the dusty, neglected reality of the present. She hovered between the two worlds for a moment, not knowing which was real and which was the dream.
“Simon?” she whispered.
“Come with me.” He helped Kate to her feet. “We’re getting out of here.”
They didn’t notice the dark figure hovering in one corner of the room, dissipating into wispy smoke before disappearing completely.
Moments later, they were back in Kate’s room. Simon had retrieved a hot brandy from the bar, and she was crawling back into bed.
“Okay, now tell me what happened,” she said to him. “How did I get upstairs?”
“I came to check on you a few minutes a
go, and you weren’t in bed,” Simon told her. “I thought maybe you had gone downstairs to the kitchen—or to the bar—and so I started down there, but then I noticed that the door at the end of the hallway was open. I went up the stairs to find you standing in the middle of the room. Just standing there. You were asleep, I think.”
“I’ve never been a sleepwalker,” Kate said, taking a gulp of the brandy.
“There’s a first time for everything, I guess,” Simon said.
“You will not believe what I was dreaming about,” Kate said. “You just won’t believe it.”
Simon’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t tell me it was another one of those dreams,” he whispered.
“It seemed so real,” Kate murmured. Her eyelids felt heavy and thick. “Harrison was in it. There was a gala party.”
“You sound like Dorothy, post-Oz.” Simon smiled, stroking her hair. “Listen, honey, there’s no place like home. You need to get some sleep, for real this time. This sleepwalking is not a good sign. God only knows where you’ll traipse off to next. Move over, kiddo. You just earned yourself a bed partner.”
Kate obeyed, slumping down on her pillow, exhausted by the day’s events. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow,” she mumbled. Within seconds of uttering those words, she fell into a deep sleep.
“I think he was cheating on her,” Kate said, chewing a mouthful of eggs at breakfast the next morning.
“Who?”
“Addie,” Kate said, surprised to find tears welling up in her eyes. “I think her husband might have been cheating on her.” The words of betrayal scratched her throat as she verbalized them, just as they had when she’d arrived at her parents’ house on the night of her birthday with the news that Kevin had been with another woman. Kate’s head pounded.
“Okay, out with it.” Simon leaned closer to Kate. “I’ve been dying to know. What in the world did you dream last night?”
Kate told him the whole story then—the party in the ballroom, the view of the town as it had been a century ago, Addie, standing in a corner like a wallflower. Harrison Connor, a dashing young man. The other woman.
