Edge of the Shadow

by Yvonne Montgomery

  Andrea looked more closely at the Oriental rug and saw a thin line of salt extending the full length of the bed. She followed the trail around the end board and found more on the other side. She climbed onto the bed and peeked over the edge. Her bed was encircled with it.

  Andrea slid off the bed and examined the room. Nothing else appeared to be out of place and the rest of the rug was clean—not a dust bunny to be found. Why would somebody put salt around her bed? Andrea considered the women at Wisdom Court, and stopped. She didn't even know them yet and already she was trying to decide who might be playing tricks on her.

  Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to get away from the place. Groping for clothes, she stepped into jeans, pulled a shirt over her head. All she'd done since her arrival was ask questions without answers. She dragged the comb through her hair and slammed it down on the dresser. She was tired of being afraid.

  After the briefest possible time in the bathroom she threw open her door and dashed into the hallway. Halfway down the stairs she encountered Aura Lee, but before the older woman could say a word, Andrea announced, "I'm going for a walk."

  "Why, so am I." Aura Lee beamed at her. Today she wore an amber sari and several strings of beads. "I'm just heading to the store to pick up a few things. We could go together."

  "Um, that would be—"

  Aura Lee patted Andrea's shoulder. "You have something else in mind, don't you?" She smiled at Andrea's surprise. "I have psychic tendencies. You run along now."

  The warmth in her eyes prompted Andrea to say, "If there aren't too many things, I could get them for you."

  "Aren't you sweet. Are you sure?" Aura Lee frowned at her. "You're not here to run errands, you know. You have your own work to do."

  "Just this once. I won't tell if you won't."

  Aura Lee nodded in solemn agreement, but her eyes twinkled. "Thanks, dear. Just a gallon of milk and a dozen eggs. If you walk down Ninth Street, you'll pass Clifford's where we have an account. They're open on Sundays. If you go somewhere else, I'll pay you for whatever you spend."

  "Okay." Andrea continued down the stairs. Her hand was on the doorknob when Aura Lee called after her.

  "Oh, and could you get some salt? We're almost out."

  Andrea slammed the door shut behind her.

  The noise of the door brought Kerry to her front window, coffee mug in hand. Tilting up a couple of slats to see better, she saw Andrea stride across the courtyard. When she'd disappeared behind the hedge, Kerry turned back toward her study. Wonder what she's running from now.

  The candy box from the attic was on her desk, along with three of Caldicott Wyntham's leather-bound journals stacked at the edge. After her run-in with Andrea, Kerry had gone to the main house with Rose and Aura Lee to take the box from the library. She'd told Rose she wanted to explore the diary.

  She wasn't about to leave it where anybody else could ransack it. Kerry lifted the lid and opened the velvet case. She pulled out the sundial, letting the chain hang over her hand.

  Underneath the grime clouding the compass she could see the needle dancing. She folded the gnomon upright and stared at the tiny shadow cast by the lamp. On the reverse side was an inscription, but she couldn't make out the whole thing. Her fingers curled around the edge of the disk. It was such an elegant little instrument. If lightning hadn't struck the old tree, it would have remained concealed as long as the house lasted.

  Kerry lifted the cover of the diary and reread the dedication. Jessamine Cunningham had probably been one of the poor souls who'd set out to find a new life in the West. Instead she'd lost both parents and had gone to work for the man who'd given her the diary. Kerry spared a thought for Mr. Thornton, kind enough to give his employee such a gift for her birthday.

  Jessamine's writing commenced in neat copperplate, but as the spring days lengthened into summer and her duties as Mr. Thornton's hired girl multiplied, the entries became hurried scrawls. She wrote of long laundry days and the endless battle against dust and dirt in the house. Weeds threatened the kitchen garden, as did grasshoppers and cutworms. The hearty meals she and the housekeeper, Mrs. Selkirk, prepared became more elaborate when Mr. Thornton's sister and nephew arrived in Boulder for a visit. The more formal paragraphs of the opening pages gave way to scribbles reflecting the girl's loneliness and fear for her future.

  June 3, 1908.

  When Papa and Mama lost the farm in Missouri two years ago, I thought that was the worst. Now I would go back to those days in a second. At least we had each other. I feel so lonesome that sometimes I wish I'd died too. Mr. Thornton is kindly, but I'm still hired help and not his kin. He's got his older sister and her son Edward, who is not very nice. When they was here they treated each other like strangers, though Mr. T. went fishing with Mr. Edward.

  June 15, 1908

  It is beautiful in Boulder. The air is clean and crisp like apples, and sometimes all the colors look sharp in the thin air. The mountains reach up so high they probably touch Heaven.

  Today a batch of climbers from the Chautauqua climbed up the meadow. From here the women, in white shirts and skirts, looked like giant butterflies over the waving grass. Mr. T. said they was going to the Royal Arch, where the rocks make a bridge that frames the valley. I wish I could see it.

  I said that to Mrs. Selkirk and she looked at me like I was witless and set me to polishing the silver. She is a good woman, I reckon, but I don't think she likes me. When I make a mistake, she acts like I did it on purpose. I try and stay out of her way.

  Kerry's sympathy was with the girl, trying to meet the exacting standards of the straight-laced housekeeper, shut off from people her own age. Though her parents had been killed in a wagon accident, she'd found a job and worked to better herself. Her descriptions of the books she read during her scarce free time were earnest and sometimes insightful.

  The girl had guts, Kerry thought admiringly. I wonder if I'd have done as well in her circumstances. She turned a page of the diary and continued reading.

  * * *

  Andrea followed the sidewalks down the hill, anxious to put distance between herself and Wisdom Court. The different designs of the houses caught her eye, and she began to enjoy looking around. A stone residence constructed in the clean lines of the Prairie style was next door to a Craftsman bungalow where a black Labrador slept on the porch. A blonde woman smiled at her from behind the screen door.

  For several blocks most of the homes were two-and three-story Classical and Colonial revivals but a few blocks later she found a tiny castle built from rock with a crenellated tower above the main door. The surrounding fence was covered with honeysuckle vines and the sweet, haunting scent made her feel she'd traveled back in time. If a princess with a veiled headpiece had waved at her from the tower, she'd not have batted an eye.

  The neighborhood was an old one, judging by the height of the trees. Maples shook out their new leaves in the breeze and aged pines and spruces brushed at the air, releasing their sharp scent. The mountains looming behind them surely held up the bright blue sky.

  Clifford's was built of river rocks that might have been left over from the castle. The little store was across the street from an old cemetery. Andrea gazed toward the headstones among the trees, tempted to explore before buying the milk and eggs. To say nothing of the salt, she thought. But she was thirsty and she went into the shop. A radio propped against the cash register was blaring big band music, and the air was thick with the scent of overripe oranges.

  Andrea found the milk and eggs. The salt was on a shelf near the coffee maker, and she set down the other items to reach for the largest foam cup she could find. The tattooed young woman at the checkout stand smiled at Andrea around the gum she chewed in time with the music. Her spiky black hair and vermilion bangs quivered as she rang up the purchases. "Nine eighty-three."

  "I'm staying at Wisdom Court," Andrea told her. "Aura Lee said they have an account here?"

  "Sure thing." The girl slid a form from und
er the counter and slipped it into a slot on the register. The machine whirred and spat out the receipt. "Just sign at the bottom."

  "So you're a Wisdom Court woman." The old man in the lawn chair behind the counter squinted at her under shrubby brows. Sparse white hair tufted from the center of his head like milkweed fluff. His eyes darkened with trouble as he watched her.

  Uncomfortable now, Andrea made a business of signing the invoice, finally daring another glance at the old man.

  "I remember when Miz Wyntham bought that old house," he said abruptly.

  The checkout girl murmured, "Grandpa," but he ignored her. "People talked about her and her women's school, or whatever she called it. Like college students wasn't bad enough."

  "Is that so." Andrea pushed the bill and the pen across the counter. She sipped her coffee as the girl bagged her groceries.

  "Yes, that's so." The old man's mouth moved silently, rehearsing what he would say next. He blinked several times. "She wasn't friendly. Put herself above everybody else, like she was better than us."

  Andrea groaned inwardly. "I never met her." She took the plastic sack and picked up her cup.

  "Tried to talk to her." The old man watched her, lips still moving. As she turned to leave, he muttered, "Tried to tell her about the house. Something's wrong about the house. They say it's haunted. You might meet 'er yet."

  Andrea stopped. "What do you mean?"

  "Grandpa! Stop that. I'm sorry," the young woman said with a worried glance over her shoulder. "He gets confused... he doesn't mean anything by it."

  Andrea nodded without expression.

  "Was always somethin' off about it," the old man insisted in a reedy voice. "Wasn't just me that noticed."

  "What kind of things were 'off?'" Andrea asked. Could he possibly be referring to the kind of thing that was happening to her? When he didn't respond, she added, "Do you tell people that story just to frighten them?"

  Resentment kindled in his narrowed eyes. "You're another one of 'em, ain't you? Pay no mind to the signs—"

  "Grandpa, that's enough!" The girl jerked her head toward the door. "I'm real sorry. You better go."

  Andrea pushed the door open and left. Outside she drew in a deep breath and let it out, glad to be out of the funk of the store. What could Caldicott have done to him that he should talk about her like that, even after her death? A woman like her, someone who charted her own course, could have been enough for him to make mischief. But what had he meant about the house?

  Andrea waited for a break in the traffic and crossed Ninth Street, stopping at the iron fence bordering the cemetery. Beyond it lay a forest of headstones—granite, sandstone, marble. Some still stood upright, but many were tilted with the weight of years. Sipping her coffee, she slowly walked along the fence line, noting the different designs of the tombstones.

  Andrea reached the gate and had started inside when she heard a horn. She glanced around and saw Dolores waving at her from her little pickup truck. "Can I give you a lift?" she called.

  The milk weighed a ton and she wasn't looking forward to carrying it uphill. "Yeah!" The driver in the car behind Dolores leaned on his horn as Andrea hurried to the truck. The door swung open and she hopped inside. At another horn blast from the car, Dolores gunned the engine. "Dios, he's in a hurry." Her brown eyes were snapping with good humor.

  Andrea set the bag on the seat and fumbled with the seat belt. "Thanks for stopping."

  "No problem." Dolores glanced at the bag. "You get any chocolate?"

  "Nope, just milk and eggs for Aura Lee. And salt."

  "Too bad. I could do with a Snickers. Or maybe a Mounds bar. Mmmm, yeah, coconut." She downshifted as they approached the next intersection. "I'm going back for one."

  "No."

  Dolores turned toward her, gold hoop earrings swinging against her cheeks. "How come?" She'd raised her foot off the accelerator and the pickup was slowing. Again the horn blared from behind them. Dolores shot an irritated look over her shoulder and pushed the pedal down. "What's up?"

  "I had a run in with the old guy in the store. Maybe you could get your candy bar someplace else." Andrea thought about telling her what he'd said, but decided to let it go.

  Dolores sneered. "So long, jerk."

  "Huh?"

  She glanced over at Andrea. "Mr. Horn Guy behind us just turned off. Good riddance. I've still got a bunch of chocolate at home. Like I need it." She shot another look at Andrea. "I'm sorry about last night." She shook her head. "Kerry hasn't been here all that long, and she's mostly working, you know? One thing I've noticed is that she obsesses about anything to do with Caldicott. Of course, she's writing about her life, but that doesn't explain what was going on last night."

  Andrea stared out the passenger window. "I guess I figured you'd all think that I'd done whatever she was so mad about." She turned back to Dolores. "I didn't."

  "Why would you expect us to think that?"

  Andrea shrugged. "I didn't defend myself or shove her accusations down her throat or anything. I was so upset that all I really wanted was to disappear. That isn't the best way to impress people of your honesty."

  "Look," Dolores said, "I know it's hard at first at Wisdom Court. Everyone else has been around for a while and you feel like you'll never crack the code. We've all been there and we've all had to make our own places. It's one of the best things about Wisdom Court, believe it or not. It's what keeps the chemistry changing and dynamic."

  "I've had plenty of dynamics, thank you very much. I could do with a little peace and quiet so I can get started on my painting."

  Dolores turned onto Baseline and geared down to climb the hill. "It'll happen. One of the things you need to remember is that everybody's on edge right now. Nobody's used to life without Caldicott, and we're all hurting. Especially Aura Lee."

  Andrea frowned. "I'll talk to Kerry. I didn't see whatever was in that box she was talking about. I don't even remember drawing that sundial, for that matter. I didn't have anything in mind at all." She slanted a look at Dolores, wondering if she dared bring up the notion of sketching things without knowing it. Hadn't Dolores said she sometimes felt as though what she sculpted was a surprise to her?

  "So what's it to Kerry if you draw a sundial?" Dolores shrugged. "It was a nice little sketch and she went ballistic. I'm just sorry it happened. By the way," she added, "since you escaped before I could ask, did you like my stuff?"

  "Oh, yeah. I think you've said so many things on so many levels that I'm just blown away."

  A pleased smile curved Dolores's lips. She flicked on the turn signal and they swung into the drive toward Wisdom Court. "Thanks. Everybody was enthusiastic enough for me to go ahead and mount the show. If you all hated it, I would've had to think it over." The pickup rattled down the lane. "I just wish Caldicott could have been here for it. That woman knew what she liked, but she also knew plenty about art. I miss her."

  Andrea thought about what the old man at the store had said. The women who lived with her, who had really known her, were the ones she should pay attention to. "I'm so sorry I didn't meet her. She changed my life."

  Dolores nodded. "Yeah. Mine, too."

  The sound of Dolores's pickup pulling into the parking area jerked Kerry back to the present. She looked up from Jessamine Cunningham's diary, her gaze sliding to the face of the mantle clock. "Holy shit," she muttered. Over an hour had passed. What she'd planned to do was cross-index Caldicott's first three journals. Now it was nearly time for lunch.

  Kerry stood up and stretched her arms over her head. A faint headache throbbed between her eyes. It was probably from trying to decipher Jessamine's worsening scrawl. It had been worth the effort, she thought with pleasure. The entries had gone from the early lists of chores and mundane details to her feelings and observations of the people she encountered. Her thumbnail sketch of the pharmacist's wife who had snubbed her on the sidewalk in front of her husband's drugstore had made her laugh out loud.

  Kerry gla
nced again at the clock, then slipped the diary into the desk drawer and locked it. "I'll be back later," she murmured. She almost felt that Jessamine could hear her.

  Chapter 10

  Andrea set the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and began emptying it. The air smelled of lemon and a spice she couldn't identify. She sniffed again. Thyme, maybe, but she always confused that with basil. She'd put the eggs and milk in the refrigerator and was searching for a place for the salt when Aura Lee swept into the room carrying a laundry basket.

  "Thanks so much for getting those things, dear." She hefted the basket onto the counter. "You saved me a trip."

  "No problem." Andrea nodded at the salt. "Where does this go?" Besides my bedroom carpet, she wanted to add.

  "The pantry's right here." Aura Lee reached for a handle on what Andrea thought was merely a tool rack and opened it, revealing shelves of canned goods and baking supplies. "I'll take it."

  Andrea held onto the box. "Aura Lee, I found a line of salt around my bed this morning. Do you know how it got there?"

  Aura Lee beamed at her. "Of course, but it wasn't this kind." She took the box of Morton's from Andrea's limp grasp and set it on a shelf. "It wouldn't work as well. I use only the purest sea salt, I promise you."

  "But why? What possible reason could you have for—"

  "How did you sleep last night? You didn't have any nightmares did you?" When Andrea shook her head, Aura Lee nodded, pleased. "I didn't think so. You looked much more rested when you went running out of here this morning, much more energetic than you have been."

  "Okay," Andrea said. "I don't understand what you're talking about."

  Aura Lee clicked her tongue. "My dear, it's perfectly simple. If you circle a bed with sea salt, the sleeper will be protected against harm, be it in dreams or in reality. You were so upset the other night with that nightmare and the sketch you drew. I just wanted to help you get some sleep."

  She had slept well. "Well, thanks. I appreciate the thought."

  Aura Lee snapped a green towel from the clothesbasket and swiftly folded it. "Happy to help, dear. Will you be here for dinner tonight?"