by Rachel Renee
“I understand now.”
“What about your family? I know you have a pa, but you’ve never mentioned anyone else.”
A small huff escapes his lips. “You don’t want to know about my family.”
“Sure I do.” If I’m going to spend time with this man, I do want to know more about him. “I’m sure you’ll be helping me out around here some more, so I’d like to get more acquainted with you.”
His cheeks rise once more, almost closing his eyes in their presence. “Maybe next time. I better be going.” His cup is empty and there are only crumbs left on his plate. Is it because he’s finished or just done with the subject?
“Next time then,” I tell him. We both stand and I walk Tucker to the door, letting him out into the darkening evening. After waving goodbye, I shut the front door, replacing the lock before going back to my coffee and cookies.
By the time my second cup of coffee is gone and three cookies are devoured, I’ve decided I can’t leave this town until a few mysteries are solved. What is the real reason my mother stayed away? Who is Tucker? And, are there any Astors left in the area? My mind switches back and forth through the many questions I still have and goes back to that recent picture I found in my own room. I bet if I find the answer to those other questions, I’ll be able to figure out how that picture came to be.
I drift in and out of consciousness as I settle into the couch for the evening. The picture frame slides from my fingers and to the floor. There’s more to this story than meets the eye and I intend to find out just what is being kept secret from me here in Crimson Falls.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I decided to tackle Granny’s room this morning. If I wanted answers, it seemed to be the best place to start. Her room smelled stale, which I thought was weird because it hadn’t been that long since she was in it. I’d almost feared I would feel her spirit when I walked through the threshold, but I didn’t. That kept me moving, the thought that I was alone to pillage. Rusty sat by the door, blocking the opening so that no one would be able to get in except through him.
There were quilts upon quilts in her closet and an old trunk sitting at the foot of the queen-sized bed. It took the removal of the blankets to get to the good stuff, the papers hidden beneath the pile of fabric hoping to never be discovered. I couldn’t believe it would be so easy to find exactly what I was looking for. But it didn’t escape me that it was almost too easy.
I grabbed the entire pile and spread it across the wooden floor beneath me. With Rusty as my guard, I scoured letters, pictures, and pieces of history saved within the box. Granny’s family disowned her when she married my grandfather. Apparently, the Duponts and Astors did not run in the same circle. Both families were old money, and that is where the similarities stopped. The correspondence in the first pile of old letters was from Gladys’s brother, a John Astor, which kept her apprised of family dealings even though his father was against it. He repeated that in every letter. If father knew I was telling you all this, he would disown me as well. Then, why did he continue to keep in touch? By the end of the stack, he told his sister he could no longer write to her for fear of being persecuted by their father. He’d finally grown a conscience or maybe someone caught wind of his discretions, but his last words were not of well wishes or apologies that he had to cut ties. No, the very last line, of the last letter said, you should get out while you can. Such odd words. Nothing indicated he thought she should leave my grandfather before then.
Looking back through the envelopes, I realize there may be some letters missing because there are huge gaps in time between the stamped dates. I have documents spread out all over the floor in front of me so it’s possible I may come across something else from my great-uncle John. Or, if he’s still alive, maybe I could just go and talk to him? Ask him in person what I need to know. If he’d even talk to me, some stranger with his sister’s looks.
I’m too distracted by that idea to even continue on with the remaining papers. “How about some lunch, Rusty?”
He awakens immediately, standing and stretching his back from lying in one position for so long. “We need to take a break from all this.” I wave my hand over the mess before me. He’s out the door before I can stand myself.
I let Rusty outside then go to make myself a sandwich. The temperature seems mild today, not a chill in the air. After putting my lunch together, I take the plate and the cup out the back door and settle into an old rocking chair that faces the side of the property. The tree line is expansive, covering so much of my view. Just out of my left eye, I catch a glimpse of another house. I can only see what looks to be a porch through a small opening in the trees. Granny’s closest neighbor. I should go talk to them, pops into my head. Maybe I’ll take a few cookies and go introduce myself.
That’s exactly what Rusty and I do after lunch. I place a few chocolate chip cookies on an empty plate, put a napkin over top to keep the air from making them too hard, and begin on my trek. Rusty is happy to have me adventure through the woods with him. He keeps nudging my hand before running ahead a few paces and then stopping once more to wait on me to catch up.
“I wondered where that well-mannered dog came from. Now I know.” A loud gruff voice booms from the shadows.
My head darts to the right, to the sound of the man’s voice. I hear him again before he finally moves into my line of vision. “You must be the new owner of the Dupont place.”
The older man, his hair completely white, but still covering the whole of his head, reaches his hand out in my direction.
“Just the current occupant. I’m Ella Dupont, Gladys’s granddaughter.”
He’s unmoving in his reaction, hand outstretched waiting for me to reciprocate. I place my empty hand in his. “Nice to meet you…” I leave the sentence open, hoping he will share his name with me.
“Jackson,” he answers.
“Mr. Jackson,” I repeat.
“No, just Jackson. Mr. Jackson was my father.”
“Jackson,” I say while continuing to shake his hand.
“I didn’t realize Gladys had a granddaughter still living.”
Jackson must not be an original in these parts. “I had a sister who died when we were just children. Momma and I left right after.”
“I heard about her. Just didn’t hear the whole story.” The man finally lets go of my hand. “What have you got there?” His head tilts to the plate in my hands.
“Oh, I brought you some cookies. I wanted to come introduce myself to the neighbor. Which I’m assuming is you?”
“That’s me. Well, just in the last few years. Took over the place for my uncle who passed.”
Handing the plate to the man, I follow him as he meanders up to his porch. He sets the plate down on a small table situated between two rocking chairs. “Won’t you join me for some tea?” he asks, moving toward the open screen door.
“Sure,” I answer.
“Take a seat and I’ll be right back.”
Jackson’s skin is the color of coffee with heavy cream, colored by the sun or from nature, which one, I’m uncertain. Only the gray around his temples and the slight wrinkling forming around his eyes tells me he’s a bit older than he actually appears.
“Your dog has stopped by to see me a couple of times. Stays long enough for me to scratch his ears then runs right back the way he came.”
I let out a small chuckle. “I wondered where he kept running off to.”
“He’s a good boy. I always wanted a dog like him,” he tells me as he places the cup and saucer in my awaiting hands. “You’re lucky I don’t try to keep him.” Jackson gives me a wink.
“Why do you think he only stays long enough for a scratch? He’s a smart dog and probably realized your intentions.” We both laugh now.
“Tell me about him. His story.”
I find it only slightly odd that the man is asking about my dog and not me, but I gladly oblige. He sips his tea, listening attentively as I retell the tale. “I’m glad I d
idn’t keep him,” he says after I’m finished. “He certainly belongs to you and you to him.”
I answer with a nod before finally sipping the hot tea I’d been holding the entire time. “So, you’ve only been here a few years. Where did you live before?” I want to keep a conversation going, which prompted me to ask the first thing that came to my mind.
“Ohio, born and raised. My daddy was from Crimson Falls. Always said he hated the place and refused to visit. My uncle took over the family estate when our grandparents passed away. He never left the town until the day he died.” He sits contemplatively for a moment. “Well, guess he’s still here in some aspects. Bodies buried in the cemetery in town.”
“That’s when you came along?”
“Yes, ma’am. Didn’t plan on staying long, but kind of got drawn into the small-town feel. It’s nice knowing everyone or at least mostly everyone. When I go to the diner, they know what I want without even having to say the words. Stella at the bakery brings me left over goodies from time to time. I’m stuck now.” He smiles before lifting a cookie to his mouth.
“I wasn’t planning on staying long either. Just a day or two. There’s too much to go through in the house though, so I decided to stay a few more days.”
“It’s not that Tucker boy that’s convinced you to stay?”
I feel a blush coming on. “No. I mean, he revealed that Granny hoped I would want to, but he was not the deciding factor.” I hadn’t admitted to myself that I thought anything of him, but my cheeks aren’t too shy to show my feelings.
Jackson nods but he doesn’t mention anything else about Tucker. “Gladys was a nice old woman. Lonely, that’s for sure. She’d come over every now and again to sit and have some tea in the afternoon. I stopped by to check in on her on occasion and I know Tucker spent some time helping her around the house, but she didn’t go to town often or have any other visitors.”
“Really? That makes me sad. I pictured her out and about, walking the town, going to the store.”
“She had Tucker for that. He always brought her groceries.”
“He’s a pretty good guy,” I comment.
“Seems that way. I don’t know him well, but to help your Granny the way he did, I’d have to say I agree.”
“What did you and Granny talk about? Did she tell you she was lonely?” I’m hoping that’s not too personal and that he’ll want to answer.
“She talked about her husband, her son, and daughter-in-law. Mentioned the death of the granddaughter a couple of times but never said anything about anyone else. She’d talk about her childhood from time to time. Said she was just biding her time until it was her turn.”
“Her turn?”
“Death. She’d lost all the people she loved which is why I think she never got close to anyone again. Was afraid to lose them too. She was just waiting until it was her time to see those she loved once again.” He shakes his head. “She never admitted it, but I could just tell that is what she was feeling.”
“I hate that I never really knew her. I was five when we left and my memories of my time here have been lost in the rubble of more recent memories.”
“And your schooling.”
“Yes, and that.”
“You look similar to her. The same round eyes, remind me of the ocean. Yours are greener though, hers were more blue. And that jawline is just as strong,” he adds.
“Someone else said that yesterday. Guess it must be true.” The two of us sit in silence for a moment. It’s not awkward, but I can’t help but break it. “Did she ever mention a curse to you?”
“A curse?” His brows lift and he opens his eyes wider. “No. She never…” He says the last word as if he was going to say more but thought better of it.
“She never what?” I ask.
His head jolts up. “She never mentioned it.”
“Okay. I was just wondering. My momma kept me away for all those years because she said this town is cursed.”
He’s shaking his head once more. “Well, I guess you better get going. I’ve got a little work to get done before nightfall.”
I’m taken aback by the abrupt end to our conversation. Setting my cup and saucer down next to the half-eaten plate of cookies, I stand, turning to the man. “Thank you for the tea and conversation. Maybe I will see you again before I head home to Georgia.”
Jackson’s eyes are glossed over as he waves a silent goodbye to me before lifting himself from his chair and hurriedly walking to his front door. Rusty and I move quickly off the porch and in the direction of our house. I’m not sure what happened, but it’s apparent that I struck a nerve.
When I arrive back at the house, I elect to continue on with the pile of history that Granny left. I come across a picture that looks like me, or an older version and realize it must be Granny. We do have the same eyes, or the shape is at least the same and that jawline, the one I hate, is apparent as well. My mind drifts back to my Uncle John and the thought that he could still be living. I wonder if he still resides at the address on the envelopes.
Getting to my feet once more, I decide to go for a drive. Rusty hops in beside me as I start up the old Chevy. I reach into the glove compartment and pull out my map, scouting for the city of Arbordale. Once I locate it, I grab my pencil and mark the route I will need to take. I spot the street I’m looking for just inside the city and circle it.
The drive is long but I use the time to think things through. What am I going to say if John Astor is in fact, still there? “Hi, I’m your great-niece and I want to know why you told my Granny to get out of Crimson Falls.” Or did he mean the marriage? Maybe my grandfather wasn’t a good man? Nothing has indicated that, but I guess those final words could have multiple meanings. Maybe I’ll just introduce myself and see where it goes from there? He’ll want to know why I came, how I found him…or at least those are the things I would want to know.
As all the scenarios pass through my head the drive lapses quickly and I’m in Arbordale before nightfall. I look to my map once more, searching the streets I need to get to my destination. The houses are few and far between on the outskirts. Once I make the final turn, there is only one in sight. A huge mansion covers the horizon and expansive lawns spread out in front and on either side. Getting nearer, the image shrinks some, but the size is still quite impressive.
The driveway wraps around the front and I feel quite inadequate in my appearance. I’m going to feel pretty stupid if this no longer is the Astor estate. Putting the truck in park, I decide to leave it running, just in case. “You stay put,” I tell my companion. “I’ll be back.”
My hand shakes as it reaches for the handle. “You’re just going to introduce yourself and ask if your uncle lives here,” I tell myself.
My feet crunch on the gravel as I make my way to the sizeable front door. The brass knocker is as large as my head and I feel small as I reach to give it a bang. Within moments, it swings open. A man, wearing a blue polyester suit, and whom I recognize from one of the pictures I had seen earlier, is standing before me. He’s older, of course. Not as much hair as he once had, and a few more wrinkles and a cane in his hand indicate his years.
“Are you John Astor?” I ask immediately.
“That would be me. And you are?” His mouth tips upward.
“I’m…I’m Ella Dupont. My granny was named Gladys and I think she was your sister.”
“I don’t…” he starts to stay but stops himself from going any further.
“I found some correspondence between the two of you from a long time ago. I don’t know much about my family, but I inherited the Dupont Estate and…”
“You shouldn’t be here. Or, there.” He grabs ahold of the door as if he’s going to slam it in my face.
“No, please wait. If you could just answer a couple of questions, I’ll leave and never come back.”
“I don’t want to talk ill of the dead.”
“I don’t have anyone else to ask.” My hands are in prayer position,
hoping my pleading will give me an in.
John Astor’s jaw clenches. “Gladys made her bed. She chose a Dupont over the Astors. She chose to live in that God forsaken town. I’m not interested in reopening old wounds.” His hand pushes the door, but I put my foot in between it and the opening.
“Just one question then. Is the town cursed?”
He starts laughing hysterically, his hand releasing the door as his body shakes all over. “Cursed,” he mumbles. I watch him as he gets a good laugh at my question. I move out of the doorway since he has let go of his hold on the handle, but that was my misstep. As soon as I’m out of the way, he grabs the knob once more and slams the door in my face. I can still hear his laughter as I stand, shocked. I don’t turn until the noise dies down, realizing that it was a mistake to come here. I swear I hear him speak as my foot hits the first step. “You should get out while you can.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
I don’t know if it was my imagination or if he really said those words to me, but I repeat them the entire way home. They are so ingrained in my mind that as I drift off to sleep, every dream includes them. When I wake the next morning, my heart is racing as fast as if I had been running. I don’t remember the dreams, just the words. Is the curse real? Is that why Mr. Astor was laughing or was he laughing because I asked such an absurd question? Did he really utter those same words he wrote to his sister all those years ago?
I have more questions than ever as I make myself some breakfast and take it up to the papers and pictures in Granny’s room. I sit on the floor for what seems like hours, searching each piece one by one, rereading letters from John, but there’s nothing that indicates a curse or unhappiness besides the fact that Granny missed her brother and her mother. She had the hardest time being estranged from her mother. I think they must have been close before Granny got married because John mentions their relationship from time to time. It’s hard to imagine that she would cut her daughter off the way she did, but apparently her husband, my great-grandfather was a force to be reckoned with. John speaks of his temper and his hope to marry outside of their inner circle too. He wants to get away, but seemingly that never happened. He’s still living at the address that he wrote to Granny from.