House of Ashes

by Loretta Marion

  “So it was the skeptic who pushed for the marriage?” We’d arrived at the cliffs, and sat down on a large rock to take in the view.

  “Good memory. He has a grim view of commitment. His parents fought a lot when he was growing up. There were many separations and reconciliations. He spent a lot of time with his grandfather. But as much as he protests, he really does crave stability. And besides, I wouldn’t just move in with him. My father’s a Baptist minister.” She raised her brows in a meaningful way. “Daddy can be quite the intimidating figure.”

  Another check of the phone.

  “You guys met in college, right?” I had assumed they weren’t high school sweethearts, with Vince’s slight Midwestern twang and Ashley’s accent with hints of sweet Southern tones.

  “Yep.” A wistful smile crept across her face. We both heard the noise of a car door slamming, and looked up to see Vince approaching in his long, easy stride. Ashley’s smile multiplied exponentially, and I had the feeling she was not only happy to see her husband but also relieved.

  When she jumped from her perch to give him a smooch, it further occurred to me that these two were rarely out of each other’s sight.

  “Cassie made us lunch,” she told her husband.

  “I’ve been hearing all about your courtship.” I began unpacking the food.

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “Not much to tell.”

  “It was fate.” Ashley beamed. “I was wait-listed and had almost given up hope of being accepted. Of course, Vince was a triple legacy and—”

  I looked up because she stopped abruptly. Ashley was flushing deeply, and I didn’t think it was from the heat of the midday sun. I wasn’t sure what I’d missed, but there’d been a definite shift.

  “Did Ash tell you about our wedding?” Vince asked. “Her father is a minister, and he wanted not only to escort his daughter down the aisle—and rightfully so—but he also wanted to perform the ceremony, select the music, and sing a solo.”

  “Where was this?” I asked after he finished sharing the humorous aspects of their wedding day.

  “It was a destination wedding,” they said in perfect unison, as if rehearsed.

  “Bermuda,” they said again, then laughed at their parroting. “We do this all the time.”

  I envied them this sense of unity.

  “I hear it’s beautiful.”

  “September is the best time to go.”

  “So you’re coming up on your anniversary? We’ll have to celebrate before you leave.”

  A look passed between the two, and I realized my gaffe.

  “That’s silly, isn’t it? You’d want to be alone.” I was embarrassed for intruding.

  “You’d be more than welcome to join us.” Vince smiled warmly. “But we were married on the twenty-seventh and might be at our next port of call by then.”

  “I knew I’d make a sailor out of you eventually.”

  He blushed uncharacteristically. “Trust me. I’ve a long way to go before I’m ready to call myself a true sailor.”

  “You’re being modest.” We’d only managed a few outings, but Vince had taken to sailing as if he’d been born with a mainsheet in his hand. “Regardless, I hope you won’t be too far away to come back for visits.”

  Another of those enigmatic gazes passed between them, making me feel the outsider.

  “I hope so too,” Vince said, then rubbed his hands together. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving.”

  “What’s new?” I teased.

  The outing had served its purpose, and the awkwardness had evaporated. But I still had the distinct impression neither of them was ready to start their next chapter. Perhaps it was jitters about a new job in an as yet unknown location. Or maybe they’d become subconsciously enchanted by the essence of Percy and Celeste. I could think of stranger possibilities.

  8

  Late July ~ five weeks before the disappearance

  The mordant odor seemed to strengthen. I had to find ways to escape the haunting stench before it drove me mad. When I opened the can of paint thinner to clean my brushes, I inhaled deeply—which was a mistake, for it made me dizzy and caused me to stumble. Next thing I knew, I was being carried from the barn. It felt similar to my fire dreams, which were always incredibly realistic, but when I saw Ashley and Vince run back inside to snuff out a small fire along the side wall, it became all too real.

  It took some effort to pull myself up, but I managed to stagger back to the door. The fire was already out, and I watched Vince gesture toward my newly finished paintings.

  “Look at what she’s been working on.”

  Ashley walked over to take a closer look. “Are you sure these are Cassie’s?”

  “You mean because they look so much like her mother’s?” He shook his head and directed his chin to the rear of the barn. “I moved those to the back stall the night she collapsed.”

  “Weird. I could swear these were the same agonized-looking people.” Ashley’s voice seemed filled with wonderment as she slowly turned toward Vince. “Maybe Cassie’s copying her mom’s paintings for some reason?”

  “If so, she has a great memory—or she could be working from photos? Still …”

  The blare of fire sirens fast approached, and Vince began to cover the canvases with some opaque plastic sheeting. As they made to leave, they found me propped against the door.

  “My God, Cassie, you’re bleeding!” Ashley rushed to my side. “We need to get you to a doctor.” She was panicked.

  “We called nine-one-one. There’ll be an ambulance,” Vince reminded her as he rushed past me to greet the arriving vehicles. Or so I thought.

  I looked down to see the red wetness staining the front of my pants and was filled with relief.

  I grabbed Ashley’s arm before she could follow. “It’s just my period.” Finally.

  She looked again at the bleeding. “Really? It’s awfully heavy.”

  “Trust me, I’m fine.” The sirens were closer now. “Please stop Vince from saying anything to the EMTs.”

  I quickly threw on a smock to cover the blood just as the volunteer firefighters charged in with their equipment. After a few moments of dazedly observing the flurry of activity, I looked about for Ashley and Vince, but they were nowhere to be seen. From the fire squad chief, I learned a call had come in from a frantic female, who they’d presumed was me. I didn’t correct that notion because a WRPD cruiser skidded to a halt, and out leaped Brooks.

  “You okay?” His genuine concern nudged me to the edge, and I crumpled into his outstretched arms and began to sob.

  Brooks murmured calming words as he escorted me to the house and then returned to the barn to tie up matters with the fire department. After I stripped off my bloody clothes and showered, I found Brooks waiting for me on the porch.

  “Do they know how it started?” I asked, pulling my sweater tight from a chill within.

  “They have some suspicions.”

  “Arson?” This was too much to take in.

  He shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  “Who would want to set fire to the barn?”

  He answered by looking beyond me into the house first and then fixing me with a meaningful stare.

  I shook my head vehemently. “Absolutely not. They called nine-one-one and got me out of the barn.”

  “What were you doing in there?” he asked.

  I explained how I’d been painting and became faint from inhaling the turpentine.

  “So what happened to them?” Again he pointedly gazed into the house.

  Good question. But I deflected by asking what evidence there was.

  “It appears the fire started where you’ve stored some nearly empty bottles of solvent. However, solvents don’t automatically combust.”

  “Did they find any matches?” I motioned for him to follow me inside.

  “No.” He leaned against the kitchen counter. “Could’ve been a lighter.”

  “What about the vandals yo
u told me about a few weeks ago? Didn’t you say they’d been setting fires?”

  He frowned skeptically. “We’ll start by questioning your friends.”

  We heard voices approaching from outside, and seconds later Vince and Ashley came in through the porch, with Whistler in tow on his leash.

  “So sorry for deserting you, Cassie.” Ashley gave me a hug. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Whistler bolted,” Vince explained as the dog dropped to the kitchen floor, panting roughly, briars clinging to his thick black coat. “And it was hell trying to find him in the dark.”

  Ashley was now sitting on the floor and had taken Whistler’s head in her lap. “It’s okay, baby.”

  I lifted my eyebrows to Brooks, who’d been quietly watching from the sidelines. I didn’t think the kids even noticed him until he cleared his throat.

  “Oh, sorry, Officer.” Vince held out his hand, inspected it, and withdrew it when he noticed how dirty it was.

  “I can come back tomorrow if you’d prefer,” Brooks offered.

  Ashley looked up, quizzically.

  “Chief Kincaid needs to question us all about the fire,” I told them. “But if you’d rather wait?”

  “Now’s good,” Vince said. “No reason for you to make an extra trip.”

  Brooks indicated the table, where we all took a seat except for Ashley, who was still ministering to Whistler and gently removing thorny twigs from his fur.

  “Cassie says you called nine-one-one about the fire?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where were you and how did you come to notice the fire?”

  “We’d ridden to Eastham for some burgers, and as we came back up the lane, we smelled smoke. It was dark, so we didn’t see anything at first until we rounded the bend and noticed the lights in the barn.”

  Ashley picked up the story. “Cassie’s been working late out in the barn, so we checked on her there first, and that’s when we found her passed out by the work bench and some flames over on the side of the building.”

  “Ash called nine-one-one, and I carried Cassie outside. Once we were sure her pulse and breathing were normal, we ran back into the barn to smother the fire until the pros arrived. Thankfully, it was a small fire. I don’t think there’s any damage.” Then Vince looked at me with concern and asked, “Did the EMTs check you out?”

  “I’m good.” I answered and quickly diverted the conversation. “Where did you find Whistler?”

  “In some brush on the side of the marsh.”

  “Is there anyone who can corroborate your whereabouts this evening?” Brooks asked, resuming control of his interrogation.

  “Teddy at Wizards in Eastham.” Ashley responded a bit defensively.

  Brooks arched his brows at this but said nothing as he jotted the name in his notebook.

  “I think that’ll do it for now.” And then, possibly to make amends for the interrogation: “Cassie was lucky you arrived when you did.”

  Vince swept his hair to the side and shared a sincerely relieved expression with Ashley while I shuddered, considering the horror of being stranded in an all-consuming fire as had once happened to my great-grandmother.

  “If you’re finished, we’d like to take Whistler upstairs. It’s been a pretty traumatic night for him.”

  “For all of us,” I agreed. “Thanks for rescuing me.” Again.

  “I hope you’re satisfied now that they mean me no harm,” I said to Brooks after they went upstairs.

  But he quickly dashed those hopes, raising his notebook and saying in a dubious tone, “Let’s wait and see if their story checks out.”

  * * *

  It was past eleven when the frantic call from Zoe came in. I’d made Brooks promise not to tell her, but in small town Whale Rock, where nosy parkers abound, there was no containing the chatter. All the more so when it involved a fire at the legendary Battersea Bluffs.

  “You have got to get out of that house,” my sister pleaded with me. “I’ll wire you plane fare. Just pack a bag right now and leave.”

  How could I explain to her? As much as Zoe hated to come home, I never wanted to leave.

  “I’m staying here, Zo-Zo.” She started to protest, but I cut her off. “I don’t know what you have against Whale Rock, or maybe just The Bluffs, but I don’t share your aversion.”

  “You’d never understand.”

  “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  “When I’m in that house …” She hesitated. “Oh, Cassie, it’s too hard to explain.”

  “Try,” I urged.

  “It’s a feeling of—I don’t know—like I’m always gasping for air.” She sounded miserable. “It’s that pervasive smell.”

  “What smell?” I asked, though I was convinced I knew what she was going to say. What else could it be but the telltale calling card of Percy and Celeste? At long last I would be able to put my sister’s mind at rest. She’d no longer need to be afraid. Zoe could come home at last.

  “Of burning …” But she was unable to complete her thought.

  So I finished it for her. “Burning sugar.”

  “What?”

  “The scent. It’s a sweet burning smell, like boiling caramel, right?”

  “No. That’s not it at all.” She paused so long I didn’t think she would tell me. “What haunts me in that house is the smell of burning flesh.”

  I sat on the bed in a haze of disbelief. Burning flesh? How could Zoe and I have completely different perceptions of the presence in this house? And then I considered the unpleasant odor that had been shadowing me lately. Was that what I was now smelling? Had our great-grandparents wanted Zoe gone from The Bluffs? Do they now want me gone too? As I was mulling the possibilities, a most disturbing thought sprang to mind: What if the manifestation in this house wasn’t the spirits of Percy and Celeste at all?

  ~

  Eighty-three years ago ~ Whale Rock

  Three years before the tragic fire at Battersea Bluffs

  Percy had arrived home earlier than usual.

  “’Twas the weather that kept everyone away today. There’d be no shortage of whales to be seen. Especially with the size of the herd we saw yesterday.”

  Celeste had not looked up from the letter that lay in her lap as Percy poured himself a cup of tea from the pot and took the chair across the old oak table from his wife.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s news from home. Not good, I’m afraid.” She finally looked at him through tear-swollen eyes.

  “Is your mum or da ailing?” He reached across to lightly stroke her hand.

  She still thrilled to be touched by those hands, but today it was the comfort they offered she needed most. “Both, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry.” And she knew he was, even though neither of Celeste’s parents had ever forgiven him for kidnapping their daughter, despite her countless declarations that she’d gone willingly.

  “There’s been a fire. The entire fleet of Da’s lighters was destroyed.”

  “No! What happened?”

  She drank in her husband’s handsome, sun-weathered face, predicting his reaction before answering. “It’s thought Robert Toomey might have done it.”

  “What? Why would he do such a thing? Your da treated him like a son.”

  “Apparently someone else has been nicked for it.”

  “So why do they think it was Robert then?”

  “Your old mate, Smithy, overheard him bragging about it in a pub after a few tankards. Smithy’s mum told mine.”

  Percy slammed his fist hard onto the oak surface. “Damn that Robert Toomey! The man is mad, I tell you. Mad as a hatter.”

  Celeste nodded in agreement. What else would push a man to do something so monstrous, if not madness?

  “They’ll come live with us. We’ll send them money for passage.”

  “You are a good man. And thank you for offering, but they’ll not come. To do so would be to admit they were wr
ong about you.”

  “Even now, when their beloved Robert Toomey has come under suspicion for their ruination? Still, they cannot find it in their hearts to forgive me?”

  “They are proud people.”

  “Pride won’t help them in the poor house now, will it?”

  In the end, nothing would help. Celeste’s parents died in an influenza epidemic the following winter. Had they been able to afford the coal to keep their flat properly heated, they might not have succumbed. The money Percy insisted on sending them had been returned.

  Celeste was struck with overwhelming guilt for leaving her parents, for not being there to prevent their deaths. But she was most repentant for her part in bringing down upon her family the evil curse of Robert Toomey.

  ~

  Present day

  I was unable to escape the awful burning smell, yet I couldn’t keep away from my studio. Still, I had a difficult time concentrating on my work because of the severe menstrual cramps.

  It was Ashley who found me doubled over in pain.

  “Cassie, I’m worried. You’re so pale.”

  “It’s just an exceptionally heavy period,” I insisted, but then we both noticed blood had seeped through my jeans again.

  She took me by the arm and tugged me toward the door. “You need to see a doctor.”

  I didn’t argue, but not wanting to be recognized at the nearest clinic in Orleans, I directed her to the urgent care facility several towns away in Dennis.

  Three hours later, a doctor was explaining to us what an ectopic pregnancy was.

  “And the baby?” I asked, still not believing I wasn’t completely barren after all. It was unfathomable to think that, after years of trying to conceive with Ethan, it was Billy’s sperm that ended up working the magic.

  She shook her head. “It’s not a viable pregnancy, Ms. Mitchell.”

  I sat in stunned silence. But if the embryo hadn’t gotten stuck on the way to my womb, what then? I’d marry Billy and we’d live happily ever after? Talk about implausible scenarios.

  The doctor interrupted my brooding.

  “I don’t think surgery will be required. Your fallopian tubes are still intact, which is good news for your future reproductive health.” She handed me some informational pamphlets and went on to discuss the treatment. “We’re going to treat this pharmaceutically. It’s good you didn’t delay further in coming in. Blood loss is a serious complication, and you got here just in time.”