Haunted Ground

by Irina Shapiro

  Meg finally rose to her feet and made her way downstairs, wary of the silent house around her. Everyone was at church for the ceremony, but she stayed back, knowing that her mother had hours left to live. The wedding feast would take place at Mary’s parents’ house, which was just as well, since this was no time for celebration. Meg wanted to prepare her mother for her final journey herself. There were women in the village who normally did that, but she wanted to do it, to feel that last connection to the woman who’d loved her so. Meg filled a basin with water and took a clean towel and a hair brush before treading back upstairs. She set the basin on a low stool, but couldn’t bring herself to begin just yet.

  Meg gingerly opened the heavy trunk at the foot of the bed and reached for the folded length of fabric carefully placed at the very top. It was her mother’s shroud. As a girl, Meg always fled the room when her mother worked on the garment, but her mother simply smiled and told Meg not to be frightened. Death was a part of life, and she wanted to go to her Maker wrapped in a fine shroud, one she spent hours making and embroidering with flowers and vines. It was a fine garment for her final journey, and she intended to put love and care into the sewing of it. Now that Meg held the fabric in her hands, she was glad her mother had taken the time to make it beautiful. She deserved to be wrapped in something fine and precious, something made with love. Meg sighed as she laid it aside to be used after her mother had been washed, groomed, and ready to be laid in her coffin. The day after the funeral she would begin working on her own shroud. It was time.

  Meg was startled by the banging of the door and Jasper’s voice booming through the house. “Meg, come congratulate me. I’m a married man.” He looked well pleased with himself, his face ruddy with the cool wind of an October morning and his hair escaping the leather thong holding it together.

  “What are you doing here?” Meg asked, her voice flat.

  “I got a little present for Mary, but forgot to take it to the church. I’ll be on my way now,” he said as he slid something into his pocket. Meg strongly suspected that by “got” he meant took from his mother’s box of valuables. She had very few, but they were all from their father, given with love and gratitude. That made Meg angry.

  “Mother has passed,” she said, pleased to see Jasper’s look of shock. “Not a good omen for a wedding day, is it?” Meg felt momentary shame for being spiteful, but she couldn’t help herself. Jasper had treated their mother shabbily in the past year, and he deserved to be reminded of it, even if it was his wedding day.

  Jasper just shook his head and sank into a chair. He’d been their mother’s favorite; her baby, born after several miscarriages and stillborns. She adored him, and expected the rest of the family to do the same, which they had. And now this “baby” couldn’t even be bothered to shed a tear for the woman who loved him, as he jumped to his feet and turned to Meg before leaving the house. “Why don’t you come along, Meg? There’s nothing left to keep you here. Your boys are there already, and you could use a bit of gaiety.”

  Had Meg been a man, she’d have decked Jasper in the face and watched him go down like a tree, but she was a woman, and her only weapon was her tongue.

  “No, Jasper. I think I’ll stay here and keep watch over our mother. May you and Mary have much joy of each other, and may she love you at least half as much as she loved Brendan.” Meg nearly laughed out loud at the expression on Jasper’s face. She’d hit him where it hurt, and she felt strangely gratified. Jasper was always insecure where his older brother was concerned, and if he felt he was competing with Brendan in his marriage bed, then so much the better. Meg smiled and cocked her head as she looked at Jasper. “Well, why are you still here? Your bride is waiting.”

  “You’ll pay for that,” Jasper hissed before he flung the door open and disappeared into the misty morning. Meg was sure she would, or perhaps she was paying for it already.

  Chapter 59

  The house was cold as a tomb, the silence loud with reproach and judgment as Jasper sat staring into the cold hearth. The acrid smell of ashes filled his nostrils and the frosty air nipped at his bare feet, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t go up to seek the warmth and comfort of his own bed. The ironic thing was that he was really happy that morning, happier than he’d been in years. Everything he’d planned for was finally coming together and falling into place. His father was rotting in his grave, Brendan was out of the way, soon to be permanently, and Mary was his wife at last. He’d meant every word when he made his vows in church that morning, but Meg had found his Achilles’ heel, and used it to disquiet his mind. He might not have gotten so angry with Mary had Meg not planted the seed that morning, forcing him to question Mary’s love for him.

  Jasper barely made it through the wedding celebration, so eager was he to take Mary home and consummate their union. She looked so fetching in her indigo gown, which so exactly matched the shade of her eyes and made her auburn hair seem even brighter. She was flushed with happiness, dancing with any man who’d asked and not even bothering to stop for food or drink. Jasper wanted to claim every dance, but the men wanted to drink with him and wish him well, knowing that they’d better stay on the good side of the new master. Jasper had eaten his fill and drunk twice as much, but he was clearheaded when he came to bed, his blood singing with lust at the sight of his darling.

  Mary was already in bed, her beautiful hair tumbling around her shoulders and over the white linen of her high-necked nightdress. She looked so demure and virginal that Jasper nearly unmanned himself right there and then, but this was their wedding night, and he would make sure it was memorable for them both. The quick tumbles to satisfy his lust would come later, once Mary was used to him and as aroused as he was. Jasper recited psalms in his head to keep his desire at bay and devoted himself to pleasuring Mary. He didn’t notice at first that she seemed strangely unsurprised by the things he did, just gave herself up to him in a submissive way that he found most pleasing. Submission in bed was a wonderful quality in a wife, he’d thought.

  It was only when he finally penetrated her that he realized that his cock slid in without any resistance or obstacle. It was a smooth ride, not something one would expect of a maiden. And that’s when it hit him. Mary wasn’t a maid; she’d lain with other men, most likely Brendan, and then the rage took over, painting everything in front of Jasper in blood-red hues, his fist striking Mary before he even knew what he was doing. He didn’t hit her again, but her pitiful whimpering kept echoing in his ears as he stumbled from the room and ran downstairs to hide in the darkness with only the corpse of his mother to keep him company as she rested on the kitchen table with a candle at her head and feet.

  Jasper suddenly wanted to cry and ask for her advice, but it was too late. His mother, his staunchest supporter, was gone. Brendan, who’d loved him and guided him was most likely already dead, betrayed by the brother he trusted. And his sister lay alone in her widow’s bed, cursing Jasper to a life of misery, which in truth, he deserved. Jasper slid out of the chair and onto his knees, ignoring the cold, hard floor as he clasped his hands in front of his chest and bent his head in supplication. “Dear Lord, forgive me my trespasses and grant me absolution for my sins, which are many. Amen.” Jasper remained on his knees, waiting for some kind of sign from God that his contrition was to be rewarded, but all he heard in the silence was the muffled sound of his wife’s weeping.

  The Present

  Chapter 60

  I walked down the street slowly, peering at the house numbers and somehow hoping that number ninety-seven wouldn’t be there and I could just go home, having told myself that I tried, but there it was. The house was just like all the others, white and two-storied, with a black door and a wrought-iron gate that led to the short path. I could have sworn I saw a curtain flutter as I unlatched the gate and trudged up the path, my heart pounding in my chest. I was nervous to see this woman who was my aunt, and who had made the choice to give me away and tear me apart from everything I had ever known.
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  I rang the bell and waited. The door opened and a small, dark-haired woman appeared on the top step, wiping her hands on her flowery apron as she glanced up to see who was calling. She tried to smile, but faltered, her face crumpling as she saw the resemblance to her sister and the realization of who I was hit her like a freight train. At least I still had the power to make people cry, I thought vengefully as I watched Myra’s futile attempt at composure.

  “Myra Hughes?” I asked, more for the need to say something rather than to confirm that it was really her. I’d seen her in pictures with my mother and grandmother. She was no longer the smiling young woman of the photos, but other than some gentle aging, she hadn’t changed all that much. She would be a few years younger than my adoptive mom, but the gray, if she had any, was skillfully covered with hair color, and the few wrinkles actually gave her face character rather than making it look old. Myra’s make-up was artfully applied, bringing out her large dark eyes and arched brows and downplaying her full lips with earth-tone lipstick. A colorful scarf was wrapped around her neck, picking up the blue-gray of her sweater set. She looked elegant and well-groomed, no longer the girl in bell-bottom jeans and tie-dye shirt.

  “Yes,” she choked out, holding the door open wide for me. “Please come in.”

  I followed her into the sunlit front room. Myra stood in the middle of the room, her face a mask of confusion as she tried to figure out how to begin this conversation. Finally, she seemed to come out of her trance and offered me a seat on the tan leather sofa. Her house was much like the woman herself: elegant, uncluttered, and full of light.

  “I’ll just make some tea, shall I?” I didn’t really want tea, but I realized that although I’d been somewhat prepared for this meeting, I had taken her completely by surprise, and she needed a few minutes alone to compose herself. I owed her that much, so I set down my bag and took a seat.

  “That would be great,” I said, granting her the time she needed. I could use a few minutes to calm my thundering heart as well. The idea that I might be on the threshold of learning the truth left my mouth dry and my hands shaking. Aidan had offered to come with me, but this was something I needed to do on my own, and he respected my wishes, extracting a promise that I would call him as soon as I was finished with Myra.

  My aunt finally returned to the room with a tea tray laden with a pot, cups, and a plate of carefully arranged cookies. The china rattled softly as Myra tried to steady her shaking hands. She poured a cup for me and then one for herself before setting the pretty teapot down and turning her gaze on me.

  “What must you think of me?” she asked, probably hoping that I wouldn’t answer. “Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you, Sandy, or of Kelly. It’s as if someone made a hole in my heart the day she died and no matter how I’ve tried to fill it, I haven’t been able to. We’d been so close and then she was just… gone.” I’d never had a sister, but I could imagine what it would feel like to suddenly lose someone, someone who’d been like your other half. But she still had me. She could have done the right thing by her sister and taken care of her daughter.

  “Why?” I asked, cutting straight to the chase. “Why, Myra?”

  “I had no choice.” She set down her cup and looked at me, her eyes searching my face. “He never told you, did he?”

  “Who should have told me what?” I didn’t really like the sound of that, but it was too late to back out now. I’d come to find out the truth, and the truth would set me free – or so I hoped.

  “I worked for your father, Jack Maxwell. That’s how Kelly met him. She came by the office to pick me up after work one day. She’d come to visit me in New York, you see,” Myra said wistfully. “I’d never seen him like that. Mr. Maxwell was usually cool and businesslike, but he was all smiles, asking Kelly about England and flirting with her as if she were a grown woman and not a teenage girl. He suddenly offered to take us out to dinner. I felt awkward; he was my boss, but Kelly was eighteen, and she just wanted to eat out at a nice restaurant in New York. This was the type of place we could never have afforded. I tried to show Kelly the city, but I was a secretary living on a tight budget. Five-star restaurants were quite out of my league.”

  I set my cup on the table with a clatter, my stomach twisting and churning as I saw where this was going. Myra gave me a look of pity as she stopped, giving me a moment to compose myself.

  “Was he…?” I whispered.

  “Yes, Jack was your father. Kelly was supposed to leave after a few weeks, but she stayed on, hoping that Jack would offer her a future. She’d fallen in love for the first time, you see, and she wouldn’t listen to reason. He talked of leaving his wife, but of course, he never did. She finally went back home — heartbroken and pregnant. She married Neil within a month. She liked him and might have been happy with him had she never met Jack, but now she’d known real love, and nothing less would do for her. She only married Neil for your sake. She didn’t want you to be branded a bastard. I know that sounds old-fashioned, but in some places such stigma can still carry a lot of weight.”

  “Did my father know?” I asked, desperately hoping that he hadn’t.

  “Oh, yes. She telephoned him when she found out. He and his wife had been trying to adopt for years, so Kelly thought that a baby of his own might tip the scale in her favor, but he just wished her luck and sent her some money. That was their last contact.”

  Myra silently handed me a tissue, her hand brushing mine in a gesture of comfort. “I’m sorry, Sandy. I’m sure you didn’t expect to hear this about your father, but it’s the truth, and that’s what you came here for, isn’t it?” I just nodded, my mouth dry and sour, my vision blurred by tears.

  “What happened when she died?”

  “I couldn’t keep it from him, and he demanded that I bring you back to New York after the funeral. He was the natural father, as a DNA test would prove, so I didn’t have a legal leg to stand on. My mother was inconsolable over Kelly’s death, and having you ripped from her just sent her over the edge. She was never the same after that. I should have come back home to be with her, but I was so torn by guilt, I just couldn’t bear to see her pain. So, I ran away, like the coward that I was.”

  “And left me?”

  “Jack Maxwell and his wife legally adopted you. Corinne was over the moon. She’d wanted a baby so desperately, and she thought that something positive had come out of this terrible tragedy. She had no idea you were really her husband’s daughter.”

  “Did you know they’d changed my name?” I asked through tears.

  “Yes. I thought it was very callous of him, but what could I do? Your father paid me off to leave. He didn’t want anyone around who could betray his secret to his wife. I took the money and went to London. I couldn’t stay in New York, not if I couldn’t be a part of your life, and going home was too painful. I’ve been here ever since.”

  “So, my mother never knew?” At least my poor mother couldn’t be blamed. She was an innocent victim in all of this, completely unaware of what her husband had done.

  “No. She just thought she was getting a poor orphaned little girl. She’d despaired of ever getting a baby, and there you were, vulnerable and in need of a good home and someone to love you. It was a private adoption, and it happened very quickly. They took you home after a week and I never saw you again. I’m so sorry, Sandy. I wish I would have fought for you, but I felt powerless.”

  “Why did you never try to contact me?” I already knew the answer, but I had to hear it anyway, just to be sure.

  “I have, but I never heard back. Jack must have destroyed the letters. Besides, I didn’t want to spring all this on you without warning. They were your parents now, and I knew they’d do everything in their power to make you happy. Jack had his faults, but I was sure he loved you. I saw the way he looked at you when I brought you to the lawyer’s office, and I knew he’d lay down his life for you if need be. Was he a good father to you?”

  “Yes, he was, b
ut I also thought he was a good husband. I believed my parents had a happy marriage.”

  Myra just shrugged, smiling ruefully. “Maybe he’d changed.”

  “Were there others, besides Kelly?” I probably shouldn’t have asked, but I needed to know. I wanted to believe that my father had fallen in love with my birth mother and that she had been the only one, his secret vice that he’d taken to his grave, but Myra shook her head.

  “Yes, there were others. I was his secretary for several years, so all their calls went through me. He never gave them his personal number for fear of your mother finding out. He did love her, you know, but he wasn’t content with just one woman. Some people aren’t cut out for monogamy.”

  Myra refreshed my tea, watching me with those dark eyes. I could see she wanted to ask me something, but was looking for the right moment. She took a sip of tea, staring down into her lap before her head snapped up, decision made. “May I call you in New York?” she asked. “I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but you are the only person left of my family. Is there any chance we can be friends?”

  I looked away for a moment, my glance falling on a framed picture of Myra and Kelly, two young girls sitting on the top step of the house, their arms around each other, dark hair mixing with red as they smiled into the camera, completely unaware that in a few short years, one of them would be dead and the other would face exile from the home she couldn’t face.