Unwept

by Tracy Hickman

  Across from her, on a side table, sat an enormous bell jar on an ornate base of darkly stained and lacquered wood. Inside was a piece of wood and pinned to that a single large luna moth.

  “I know just how you feel,” Ellis muttered, tapping the dome of glass.

  She leaned her head against the clock case and shut her eyes. Am I still ill? They said I was getting well. He must have brought the trunk in; I just don’t recall it. Is this my life now? To see and not see, to know and not know, to remember my name, but little else? Should I tell someone about the trunk? Who? The nurse who plays tricks or the doctor who is not my uncle?

  She swallowed, determined that Jenny would not find her looking so helpless. Breathing evenly, though the weight of what had just happened pressed down on her, she lifted her head and looked about the entry. She glanced down the wide hall, which spilled into a narrow interior rotunda that held the sweeping circular staircase that wound its way up to the second-floor landing. She allowed her eyes to ignore her trunk and continued to examine the room. At the base of the stairs the parquet floor was inset in the pattern of a map’s compass. The compass points were inlaid with gold, as was the vining pattern that circled it. Across the rotunda was a set of doors. On her right and left more doors. Which way to the parlor?

  Ellis rose and walked across the entryway and stood on the compass of wood and gold on the circular floor at the base of the stairs. Nearing the trunk for which she felt an odd distrust, she unbuttoned her traveling jacket and, removing it, nonchalantly placed it across the upended trunk along with her gloves, as though to put the unruly luggage in its place. She stepped onto the compass and, extending her right arm outward and covering her eyes with her left hand, she smiled and spun around on the compass. Just as her head felt a pleasant dizziness she stopped abruptly and opened her eyes. Her arm was pointing to the double doors back down the hall that were just to the right of the front door. She crossed back to it and opened both doors to peer inside.

  It was a charming irregularly shaped room. The oddity was caused by the wall just to her right that rounded with the rotunda on the other side of it. She saw at once that although there were various comfortable chairs and the occasional end table scattered about the room, this was not the parlor but the music room. A red mahogany butterfly baby grand piano sat in the sunlight that shone through the windows. She could see from the doorway that though the piano was finished with a high polish it was dusty. She crossed the threshold to the piano, forgetting about the parlor.

  She sat down on the bench and pressed her fingers lightly against the cover and pushed up. The polished wood folded back along the piano hinge. The keys gleamed under the light from the window next to it. Ellis pressed the tips of her fingers lightly against the keys’ cool surface, her hands in a careful and practiced arch. The instrument responded with a run of notes and a pair of exquisite chords sounding in response to her hands. Ellis smiled for a moment, but then her hands hesitated, faltered and stopped. She realized she could no longer remember the piece. It was frustrating, for the music was in her but unremembered. She struggled a few more times but at last dropped her hands in her lap in disgust. There must be something here I can play.

  She stood and brushed her hands together and then along her skirt to remove the dust. She opened the bench looking for sheet music. But it was empty and there was none on the piano itself. Her lips tightened in disappointment. She spied a bookcase in the far corner of the room where the circular wall met the wall opposite the doors. She crossed the room, curious to see if it held sheet music. It held knickknacks, seashells, dead flowers in a vase and the covers to a few songs, but no actual music.

  How odd.

  Ellis, feeling some temerity, picked up the vase, thinking she would ferry the dead flowers to the trash for her cousin. As Ellis reached for the vase she stumbled, her hands catching the edge of the bookcase. She heard a tiny click, the bookcase swiveled slightly toward her and she felt a puff of air. She gently tugged the case toward her and found that it was not only a bookcase but also a door that swung open from another room.

  She took the vase in hand and she stepped in, thrilling to the prospect of a secret room. The wall to her right was lined with cupboards. On the wall opposite the door was a long row of windows set high into the wall. Bright light spilled into the room from above. In the center of the room was a little treadle sewing machine, a chair and a long rectangular table covered with dust, like the piano. A workroom, she thought glumly. She wondered about the contents of the cupboards. Linens? Cloth for dresses? She stepped through the door and set the vase on the table. As she opened the first cupboard, which was empty, she heard a gentle click behind her. She spun around to find only a blank wall where the door had been moments before.

  That’s not possible.

  Not seeing any other exits, she sprang to the wall where the door had been. She pushed against the wall in the place she judged the door to be, but it seemed to be solid wall and would not give way. A door in, but none out? I shouldn’t be poking around in someone else’s house. What seemed like a bit of innocent snooping just moments before now felt like a serious mistake.

  She slid her hands over the wall and finally found a hairline crack down the wall where the door must be. Scrabbling her fingers along the door, she looked for a latch. She stepped back from the door and leaned against the table edge. She picked up the cutting shears next to the sewing machine with the thought of prying open the door somehow. She tried to push the sharp tips into the crack, but the gap was much too narrow. She dug into the wallpaper and hard plaster around the crack but succeeded only in marring the wallpaper as the shears slipped skittering along its surface. She set the scissors on the table in disgust, knowing that after making such a mark on the wall she wouldn’t be able to keep her misadventure a secret.

  Earlier, standing in the sun outside, she thought she knew the layout of the house. But this place was not familiar. The feeling of being trapped suddenly overwhelmed her, drawing up memories of her earlier nightmare. She suddenly began yelling, banging her fists against the wall.

  “Hello, can you hear me? Jenny, I’m in here!” she yelled over and over again at the invisible door. She knew her cousin had most likely not yet returned. In a few minutes Ellis’s voice grew hoarse and she leaned heavily against the wall. She was ashamed and afraid. She’d been impulsive in deciding to explore the house on her own.

  She took in deep breaths, chiding herself to remain calm and allow reason to prevail. Could there be another way out?

  Swallowing hard, she smoothed her skirt and hair and looked around the room to consider her options. The high windows were too far out of reach even if she stood on the little chair next to the sewing machine. As a last resort, I will find a way to break the windows. Perhaps someone will hear glass crashing even if they can’t hear me yelling in here.

  Wondering how soon it would be wise to carry out her more desperate plan, she walked about the room inspecting it. If there was another entrance into this room where would it be? Under the windows to the outside? She slid her hands along the length of the wall, walking counterclockwise beneath the windows looking for another hairline crack in the wall. No. Who brings mending in from the garden anyway? She determined to circle the room and continued to slide her hands across the corner of the room and onto the wall directly to her left, across the room from the cupboard she’d opened. It was smooth under her hands and she had to brush away the memory of her nightmare on the train. The wall ended in a narrow wall set at a forty-five-degree angle attached to the wall she had entered through. Instead of a rectangle, the room was an odd lopsided pentagon.

  She stood back to look at the angled wall. There was a small watercolor of a shipwreck on a rocky shore hanging on it, painted in bright colors in childlike strokes. As she spread her hands to either side of the wall her fingers detected on her left that which she had been hoping for: another hairline crack. With all her might she pushed against the wall. It s
wung open easily and she fell headlong in a heap at the base of the double doors just beyond the rotunda. She found herself staring back across the parquet compass toward the front door, the grandfather clock and her trunk. She shakily stood up, looking back at the portal to the sewing room: another bookcase. This bookcase had a vase similar to the one she’d moved earlier. She tilted her head to one side and, reaching out, lifted the vase. After a few seconds it swung shut, clicking into place. She replaced the vase.

  She smiled sheepishly with relief. What a strange mechanism, she thought. It’s not safe, really. I’ll have to mention it to my cousin … as soon as I feel comfortable enough to confess my folly.

  Ellis peered cautiously through the large double doors and found an enormous but welcoming room beyond. A salon for entertaining, surely not the parlor. Before her were wide windows overlooking the gardens, and to her left windows overlooked a broad lawn, which disappeared down a gentle slope toward the sea. A large fireplace was the focal point in the far corner of the room. About the fireplace were nestled divans, overstuffed chairs and little tables, each with a scattering of little knickknacks. Ellis might take pleasure in examining them later, but now her eyes were on the garden. Her greatest desire was to find a way outside and perhaps just rest on the porch till her cousin arrived. A door stood open at the far end of the salon and Ellis entered it, finding it to be a formal dining room. Immediately to her right were French doors leading out on to the back porch. Without hesitating, she opened the doors and walked out of the house into the autumn air. The back-porch steps led her down to a flawless bower of pink roses welcoming her. Beyond that was a shallow grassy hill that led downward toward the water’s edge.

  A gentle ocean breeze drifted up the low hill. Ellis found it a pleasure to walk over the perfectly manicured expanse of thick green lawn. Just below the clipped grassy hill was a white picket fence with a small gate in the middle.

  Ellis shaded her eyes from the afternoon sun and looked at the small beach and sparkling water just beyond the gate.

  There at the water’s edge was a young woman with her white muslin skirts tucked up into the wide blue brocade belt at her waist, legs exposed. She was twirling at the water’s edge chasing the tidewater that sprayed up onto her legs.

  Jenny. She knew it was Jenny. Ellis’s heart beat faster.

  “Jenny! Jenny!” Ellis waved and ran down the hill toward the little fence. The young woman looked up and gestured in return, running up the hill toward the gate and Ellis.

  “Cousin Ellis!” Jenny clasped Ellis awkwardly across the gate. Ellis returned the embrace and sighed. She didn’t recognize the young woman’s face as she’d hoped, but somehow in touching Jenny she felt happy.

  Ellis opened the gate. Jenny rushed through, her words tumbling out before her.

  “Did you just get here? Is the doctor with you? Did you bring lots of party dresses? Do you like lobster? I should have been at the door to greet you. We have so many things planned for you! Is your trunk upstairs? Did you meet anyone from town on the way in? How was your train ride? Would you like to see your room? There are so many handsome young men in town just now for the fall house parties. You’ll have to meet Merrick; he’s by far the handsomest. He’s my beau, you know. Is that shade of green popular in the city? It reminds me of a soldier’s uniform.” Jenny pointed at Ellis’s skirt.

  Ellis had opened her mouth several times in an effort to answer Jenny’s barrage of questions, which quite took her breath away. Finally perceiving a moment’s hesitation, she looked up, smiling, and simply said, “No, I don’t think so. In fact, I can’t stand it.” The girls’ eyes met in merriment. Their laughter spilled out and floated out across the water.

  “I can see you’re travel weary. Here,” said Jenny, taking Ellis’s hand in her scarred right hand. Jenny tucked Ellis’s hand into the crook of her elbow. As she did so waves of relief poured over Ellis. In this moment she felt safe. Arm in arm they strolled up the lawn toward the house.

  “Your garden is lovely; it still looks like summer,” said Ellis.

  “Oh, do you really like it? I was hoping you would. Merrick thought you would like it, too. He helped me with it. You always liked summer best. Did I mention he’s my beau?”

  Ellis wondered if the very important-seeming Mr. Bacchus had actually been trimming the hedges in the garden. It seemed unlikely.

  Ellis hesitated, not knowing how to respond. She knew it must show in her face, for Jenny chortled lightly and said, “Forgive my blithering. I’m just so happy to see you. I know I probably shouldn’t ask, but do you remember anything yet? Do you remember me?” Jenny looked into Ellis’s eyes with such hope that Ellis wished she were good at lying so she could tell her yes.

  “Well, I’d have to say that beyond knowing my name, I don’t know anything much. I have a million questions I’m just bursting to ask you.”

  They sat down on a porch swing and gazed out over the water.

  “Where to begin? Please tell me something about myself, my family, where I’m from, anything at all really,” begged Ellis.

  “Oh, dear Ellis, I wish I could!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I once lost memories, too, and the doctor and Merrick helped me piece my life back together again. This is one of the reasons you’re here, because they believe I’d understand better than most how you’re feeling. I wish I could tell you things, but the doctor would be unhappy with me. He says your case is different than mine and it is very important for you come to remember on your own.”

  Ellis struggled with tears. Two spilled over the rim and down her left cheek. This was not the answer she was hoping for or one she understood. She now knew why the doctor had dodged answering any questions in the car.

  “Tears. I wish I could put them in a bottle, dear Ellis. It’s going to be fine somehow; I promise,” and Jenny leaned forward, touching more than wiping them away. “I recall less about you because of my accident than some of the others, I guess. I’m sure you will begin to remember soon.”

  “I wish I had some proof that I’d been here before … that I know this place … that I belong. I wish I just had a picture, a photograph, of the two of us.” Ellis tilted her head down and away from Jenny’s awkward ministrations.

  “I think it’s quite possible, now that you mention it, there is a picture somewhere in the house. It’s very important to you, isn’t it?” Jenny twisted the muslin of her skirts in her fingers, looking thoughtful.

  “It would make all the difference to have something tangible.”

  “Tangible,” Jenny echoed the word, and her eyes brightened. “Well, if we found a picture, then you’d just be looking at it, right? I mean, I wouldn’t have said anything. I couldn’t be accused of breaking the rules.”

  Rules? Jenny thought. What rules?

  Smiling at each other, they jumped up from the porch swing and arm in arm strolled into the house.

  6

  DISTANT THUNDER

  The sound of a low rumble rolling over the ocean woke Ellis. The morning air beyond the snug warmth of her quilt was chill. She struggled to hold on to sleep as a thin slice of morning sunlight slipped through the drapes of the French doors and fell across her face. She opened her eyes and they focused on the tiny framed photograph on the bed stand next to her.

  Jenny had brought it to her last night. It was a picture of two young women. One of the women had long, flaxen hair and bowed lips. Alicia, Ellis supposed, as Jenny had said so. The image certainly looked like the woman Ellis had met hanging on the arm of Merrick the day before. The photo was grainy, however, making it hard to discern whether the features of the second young lady were Ellis’s own. It was obvious that the porch in the background was Summersend. From hairstyles and apparent ages it looked as though the picture may not have been taken too long ago. She ran her fingers across the glass, studying her face and form in the picture. It seemed to be her and somehow more herself than she presently felt.

 
She dropped her hand away. It’s because I knew myself then. She breathed in envy for the certainty that she had known in the moment the picture was taken. Ellis was now keenly aware of the gift in conviction of one’s own identity. It was silly, she knew, but she would have been more comforted if the photograph had been of her with Jenny and not Alicia. She knew she should feel lucky that Jenny had bent the doctor’s rules a bit for her sake. It was harmless enough to have the picture and no real help except that she now knew she’d been here before. And that was much more than she could claim yesterday.

  Sliding her feet from beneath the covers, she reluctantly placed them on the dusty wool carpet beneath her feet. When she first entered the room last night, she was struck by the beauty of the vaulted ceiling. A pair of French doors led to a tiny, private balcony with a view of the bay and a narrow stair up to the widow’s walk. The ornate wood-carved canopied bed commanded the room. The down quilt on it was embroidered with soft pink roses like those in the garden below. The scene called to Ellis’s heart. Someone knew what she would like … perhaps even more than she did.

  The room was lovely but on closer inspection not really ready for a guest. The bedding was the only thing in the room that wasn’t covered in dust.

  Her eyes lit on her trunk, next to a large armoire.

  Ellis frowned. How did it get up here?

  Ellis had wanted to ask Jenny about the trunk last night but thought better of it. If Jenny saw Ellis’s dismay she kept it to herself and no explanation was forthcoming about the dusty room or the trunk. These things were just another oddity on a long list in a very odd day. Ellis had shrugged her aching shoulders into the nightgown Jenny produced for her use. In bed she had closed her eyes tightly, pushing away thoughts of the train and the nightmare as a deep weariness stole over her. Jenny had made her feel welcome. The smooth keys of the piano had felt good beneath her fingers, though she was unable to play a tune. Sleep wrapped her in a sweet, dreamless oblivion until the sun found her.