Widow's Tears

by Susan Wittig Albert

  Ruby picked up the bell and rang it, then silenced it and put it down quickly. It was the bell they had just heard. “It’s the same bell you were hearing earlier?” she asked. “The one you mentioned to me?”

  “Yes.” Claire’s eyes were large and round. “Of course, I had no idea where the sound was coming from.” She swallowed. “And the violet scent. Did you smell it?”

  “When I first came into the room,” Ruby replied. She sniffed. “Yes, very faint, but I can still smell it.” That was what had made her want to sneeze.

  Claire backed toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.” She shut the door behind them. And then, as they stood there, they heard the bell inside the room. It rang with an imperious tone, fell silent for a moment, then rang again, more impatiently.

  “Maybe she wants us to bring tea,” Claire said tentatively.

  “I vote that we ignore it.” Ruby lifted her chin. “I don’t bring tea. Or do floors.”

  Claire folded her arms. “And I don’t do windows.” She raised her voice. “No tea, no floors, no windows—hear?” Their shared nervous laughter seemed to make them both a little braver.

  The bell rang violently and kept on ringing, then stopped abruptly, as if someone had silenced the clapper.

  Claire shook her head. “Do you see what I’m up against?”

  Ruby took a deep breath, opened the drawing room door, and looked inside. The brass bell stood on the table where they had left it, and the chair was empty. But the violet scent was noticeably heavier and, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a light, quick movement and heard the soft swish of a long skirt. She closed the door firmly.

  “See anything?” Claire’s voice was thin.

  “Definitely haunted,” Ruby replied with a shudder. She ticked off the rooms on her fingers. “The kitchen, the dining room, the music room, the drawing room. Four haunted rooms.” She forced a smile. “Gosh, Claire—you could line people up at the door and sell tickets. A dollar a room, two dollars for sound effects. What’s next?”

  “The library.” Claire laughed a little and some of the color came back into her face.

  “Don’t tell me it’s haunted, too,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes dramatically. The word itself didn’t change the physical facts—the wind outside the window, the sound of the harp strings, the imperative brass bell. But now that they were able to laugh, the situation seemed a little less frightening.

  “Actually, yes,” Claire said hesitantly. “I’ve smelled pipe smoke there. Cherry flavored tobacco. I recognized it, because I had an uncle once who smoked that kind.”

  She opened the door and flicked a switch. They were looking into a room lined floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves filled with leather-bound books. A large globe, some four feet in diameter, sat in one corner with a brown leather chair beside it, and there was a leather sofa and other chairs and tables around the room. Under a window, a library table held a stack of what looked like scrapbooks. A collection of framed black-and-white photographs hung on the wall beside the window.

  Claire pointed to another door. “That leads to a small study—handsome desk, leather chair, wooden filing cabinet, more bookshelves. A rather masculine room.”

  “The man of the house,” Ruby muttered. She went to the wall and looked at the framed photographs—imposing houses surrounded by palm trees, beautiful gardens, beach scenes, churches, even a hospital. Each one was labeled in a spidery script. St. Patrick’s Church, Marwitz House, John Sealy Hospital, Pagoda Bath House. All were labeled Galveston. All were built in an ornate, late-Victorian architectural style.

  “Except that there was no man,” Claire said, and flicked off the switch. “Just the two old ladies. Which doesn’t explain the nursery or the playroom,” she said as they went, closing the library door out into the hall.

  “Nursery?” Ruby asked. “Playroom?”

  “The second and third floors,” Claire said with a sigh. “That’s a whole other story, so to speak. I’m not up to it right now.”

  “The tobacco you smelled,” Ruby said. “How about Mr. Hoover? He was here, wasn’t he? Maybe he smoked a pipe.”

  “How’d you know that?” Claire asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Actually, he and his wife stayed here for several days summer before last, back when he was considering renting the place. I don’t think he smokes—at least, there’s a big No Smoking sign in his law office. Still—” She paused. “I wonder if the Hoovers saw anything.”

  “According to local lore, they did,” Ruby said ruefully, and told Claire what she had learned from Monica.

  “More haunted house stuff,” Claire said grimly, shaking her head.

  Ruby chuckled. “Look at it this way: at least, you won’t have to advertise. Word will get around, and all the ghost-busters in Texas will beat a path to your door.” She paused. “And you might talk to Mr. Hoover and find out what really happened when they were here. Another witness, so to speak, and maybe an objective one.”

  “Good idea. I will.” Claire paused, her hand on a doorknob. “And here, at last, the morning room—Aunt Hazel’s favorite. And mine.” She opened the door. “Do you remember it?”

  “Oh, I do,” Ruby said, smiling. The room, painted a pale yellow, was on the eastern side of the house where it would catch the first light of the morning. A table and two straight chairs sat in front of the window, the white curtains pulled back to either side. There was a small fireplace with a brick surround and hearth, flanked by a pair of comfortable upholstered chairs. “This is where I met your great-aunt Hazel. She was sitting in that yellow chair over there by the fireplace. She seemed very old to me, with her stooped shoulders and her nearly white hair. But she made me feel at home. She was nice.”

  “She gave us cookies and lemonade, as I remember,” Claire said in a soft, reminiscent tone. “And sent us out to play. And then you—” She looked at Ruby.

  And then the two little girls had gone out of this room and into the main hallway, where Ruby had felt the first shimmering of Gram’s gift and looked up the stairs to see the woman in the dark skirt and the gray shirtwaist with the black ribbon. At the time, she had been so startled—yes, and frightened, too—that she hadn’t caught any details. Now, in memory, she saw the image clearly, as if it were happening in front of her: the woman half-turned and fixed in place, one hand raised as if to fend off danger. Her eyes were wide, her face white, her expression terrified, as if she were looking at something so unimaginably awful that it had turned her to stone. What did she see that frightened her so? Was someone—or something—pursuing her up those stairs?

  And seeing her now, in memory, Ruby could feel the woman’s fright, which was all the more terrible because it was impossible to know why she was afraid. And all the more important because it was the sight of her on the stairs that had changed a young girl’s life. After that moment, Ruby had had to learn to live with a sixth sense in a world where most people got along very well with just five. After that moment, nothing had ever been the same.

  And suddenly, with a chilling certainty, Ruby knew that there was some sort of inexplicable bond, some deep and enduring connection between herself and the woman, and that it somehow transcended that single moment on the stairs. What was it? When was it? Where? What could it mean? But of course, to know all those things, she would have to know who the woman was and when she had lived and why she was so frightened. How had she died? Did her fear have anything to do with her death? Or with the headstones in the graveyard? Or—

  Claire reached out to her. “What’s the matter, Ruby?” she asked, concerned. “You look funny.”

  The room was spinning. Ruby groped her way to the nearest chair and sat down with a thump. She closed her eyes, then opened them again and took a few steadying breaths. Finally, she said, “Sorry. I’m okay. It’s just that…for a minute there, I thought I must know that woman—must have had some sort connection with her, I mean.”

  “What made you think that?” Claire asked. “Di
d she look familiar to you? But judging from her dress, she’s from a different time, so I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off.

  “I don’t know, either,” Ruby said, “and I’m not sure I want to.” But that wasn’t true, was it? The truth was that she wanted to know. She wanted desperately to know. “You…you didn’t feel like that, those times you saw her?”

  “No way.” Claire shook her head emphatically. “I’d never seen anyone like her in my whole, entire life.” She peered at Ruby. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” Ruby looked around dizzily, trying to get her bearings. She caught sight of a small television set topped by a rabbit-ear antenna on the other side of the room and was startled at how glad she was to see something so ordinary. She fumbled for something to say. “The TV—it’s yours?”

  Claire nodded. “It gets a couple of San Antonio network channels, but the reception is lousy. If I stay here, I’ll have to get one of those satellite bundles—TV, phone, and the Internet.” She gestured. “I was thinking about using this room for my office. I feel safer here than anywhere else in the house, almost as if it’s protected—by Aunt Hazel, maybe.” She glanced uncertainly at Ruby. “Does that sound silly?”

  “Not to me,” Ruby said. “I’m all in favor of protection—the more, the better. How about using this room for our meals, instead of that cavernous kitchen?” She heard herself giggle. “That way, if the pans on the rack want to hold hands and dance to a little harp music, we won’t be there to listen.”

  “Good idea,” Claire replied, looking closely at Ruby. “Listen, we need to take your stuff upstairs so you can get settled, but we’ve had a lot of house for the moment. It’s not quite three yet. What would you say to a short walk outside?” She glanced out the window. “Before it rains, if that’s what it’s going to do.”

  Still feeling shaky, Ruby stood up. “What I’d like,” she said, thinking of the row of headstones, “is to see that graveyard you told me about.”

  “Why?” Claire asked, frowning.

  “Because I’m curious,” Ruby said. “Two old ladies lived here, you said, and I suppose they’re buried out there. But you mentioned a row of headstones. So who else is in that graveyard? Just seems a little odd to me.”

  “I get your point,” Claire replied. “Come on. We’ll go back through the kitchen.”

  They went down the hall, around a corner, and into the kitchen. Ruby had thought they were alone in the house and was startled to see a small, plumpish woman with shoulder-length dark blonde hair standing beside the table, dressed in jeans and a man’s loose plaid cotton shirt. She straightened hurriedly, and Ruby noticed that her shoulder bag, which lay on the floor beside the table, was half-open. Had she left it open when she put her cell phone back, or had this woman been going through it?

  “Oh, Ms. C-C-Conway,” the woman said, stuttering a little. “I brought your friend’s suitcase in—it’s over there, by the door—and some stuff outta the garden.” She gestured to a dish on the table. It held several carrots, a handful of radishes, some green onions, and some lettuce leaves. “Thought you might like a salad for supper tonight.”

  “Thanks, Kitty,” Claire said. “That’s sweet of you. Hey, I’d like you to meet my friend Ruby Wilcox. Ruby, Kitty is Sam Rawlings’ wife, and a great gardener. Raises chickens, too.”

  Ruby felt a disorienting jar, as if the floor had trembled under her feet.

  There was a crooked man

  Kitty ducked her head, her face turned half away. “Glad to meet you, Ms. Wilcox. Sam said to tell you he moved the yard tractor out of the garage, so you can put your car in there if you want.” To Claire, she said, “I copied down the stuff on your grocery list. Yogurt, bread, milk, coffee.” She nodded toward the list on the menu board. “We’ll bring it back with us when we come home and save you a trip. Was there anything else?”

  Who had a crooked wife

  Ruby felt the beginning of a shimmer and tried to turn it off.

  “Thanks, Kitty. I appreciate—” Claire broke off abruptly and went around the table. “Good heavens, Kitty. What happened to your lip? It’s all swelled up! And your eye?”

  “Nothin’,” Kitty said, keeping her face turned. “Honest, Ms. Conway. It’s okay. Like I said before, I don’t want you fussin’ over me.”

  found a crooked sixpence

  “No, it’s definitely not okay! Let me see it.” Claire pulled Kitty around and brushed her hair back. The woman’s lip was split and swollen. Her right eye was swelled half shut, the puffy skin around it colored purple and green. “That’s terrible, Kitty! That must hurt!”

  “It was the bathroom door this time,” Kitty said, jerking away. “Gotta get me a night-light. I put some ice cubes on it when it happened. It’ll be better tomorrow.”

  crooked man

  Ruby sat down at the table, still trying to dial down the shimmer—and that stupid nursery rhyme that kept echoing in her head.

  crooked cat

  “Kitty,” Claire began. “You really ought to get a doctor to stitch up that lip. And your eye might be—”

  “I’ll just put these in the fridge and get out of your way,” Kitty said in a determined tone. She picked up the dish and took it to the refrigerator. “I thought you and your friend was walkin’ down by the creek or I wouldn’t’ve come in.” She closed the refrigerator and started toward the door.

  “Look, Kitty.” Claire put her hand on the woman’s arm. “I know you didn’t run into the bathroom door. And I know you said you didn’t want to talk about things like…this. But if you ever feel like you need help, you just come over here. It doesn’t matter what Sam says or whether it’s day or night. You just come.” Her voice was urgent. “You hear me?”

  “I hear, Ms. Conway,” Kitty said impatiently. “Thanks.”

  crooked sixpence

  “I mean it, Kitty!” Claire protested, still holding on to the woman’s arm. “You can’t go on this way, you know. One of these days, he’s going to hurt you seriously. You need to get away from him. I can put you in touch with a counselor who will be glad to—”

  “Thanks,” Kitty said again, more loudly this time. “But I don’t want to get away. He just goes a little haywire sometimes. Everything’s gonna be fine. Honest.”

  “Kitty, please—” Claire began.

  There was a furious honking outside and Kitty cast an apprehensive glance at the clock over the refrigerator. She twisted her arm out of Claire’s grip. “Look, it’s already after three and Sam’s waitin’ for me. I gotta go. We’re headin’ to Houston to visit some friends. We’ll be stayin’ overnight, gettin’ back tomorrow. I penned up the chickens and left plenty of food and water. You won’t have to bother with ’em.” And with that, she was out of the door.

  Shaking her head disgustedly, Claire came back to the table. “Wife beater,” she muttered fiercely. “It’s a clear case of domestic violence. I’d fire him, but that’s not going to help her. It might just make things worse.” She looked at Ruby, then frowned. “Hey, Ruby, you okay?”

  Ruby rubbed her forehead. The shimmering was fading. “There’s something wrong with—” She stopped. Wrong with the Rawlingses? Of course there was. The wife was a battered woman, the husband a batterer. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? What else was going on here?

  crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile

  “Can I get you a glass of water or something?” Claire gave a little laugh. “I don’t keep any booze around, or I’d offer you a stiff drink.”

  Ruby shivered. “I’m okay,” she managed. She cleared her throat. “You’re not—you’re not afraid of Rawlings? Obviously, he’s violent.”

  “Afraid?” Claire made a wry mouth. “Well, maybe a little. The day I got here, she was sporting a shiner on the other eye. Last week, it was bruises all over both arms.”

  “What are you going to do?” Ruby asked shakily. She bent over and took her billfold out of her bag.

  crooked sixpence


  Claire thought for a moment. “Maybe I should drive over to La Grange tomorrow morning and talk to Mr. Hoover. He’s the one who hired Sam.” She paused, chewing on her lip. “To tell the truth, I guess I’m a little apprehensive about firing him myself. He’s never threatened me, but he’s got such a short fuse, he might—” She broke off, frowning. “What are you doing?”

  “Just checking,” Ruby said. Her credit cards and cash seemed to be untouched.

  “You don’t think Kitty was messing around with your purse, do you?”

  “If she was, she didn’t take anything,” Ruby replied. She put her billfold back. While she was at it, she took out her phone. She’d text China and let her know that she got her message and ask about Grace. Tonsillectomies weren’t particularly dangerous, but you never knew. And she needed to know if her mother had gotten back to the nursing home safely.

  Ruby flipped her phone open. “If you want to fire Sam, maybe you could get Mr. Hoover to do it. That might be the safest thing—appropriate, too, since Mr. Hoover hired him.”

  “That’s true,” Claire said thoughtfully. “But what’s to keep him from coming back? Sam, I mean.”

  “A restraining order,” Ruby replied. “Mr. Hoover would know about that.” She frowned at her phone, not believing what she saw. The battery was out? Already?

  “What’s the matter?” Claire asked.

  “Battery seems to be gone,” Ruby replied. “But I charged it in the car on the way here. And it was okay when I got China’s message just a little while ago.”

  Claire gave her a crooked grin. “Maybe your ghost has cut off your connection to the outside world.”

  “Your ghost,” Ruby said emphatically, and snapped the phone shut. She retrieved the charger from her bag. “Got a plug I can use?” Claire pointed to the coffeemaker on the worktable beside the stove, and Ruby plugged her phone into the outlet. “Drat.” She jiggled the connection. “It’s not taking a charge. You’re sure this plug works?”