There had to be more than this fueling Zoe’s resentment toward our grandmother, but for now all I could do was try to help her understand that Fiona always had the best intentions when it came to her family.
“Before Granny Fi died, she confessed to me her only regret was having told Mama about the curse,” I told Zoe. “She said she’d only wanted Mama to understand why she was so protective of Papa, not push her to break it. Fi said she begged Mama time and again to stop, but Mama was possessed with the notion that only she could break the curse. And Papa wouldn’t do anything against Mama’s wishes. You know how they were.”
“Siamese twins of the soul.”
~
Eighty years ago
Friday, December 13th ~ the day of the fire at Battersea Bluffs
Celeste quickly folded the letter and placed it in the tin box, her eyes narrowed to better focus on the approaching stooped figure. She’d never imagined such a day. Robert Toomey, here at Battersea Bluffs. Her whole being quaked with apprehension as she opened the grand double doors. The man who stood there held a well-worn Bible in one hand, and a tattered duffel bag rested on the ground at his feet.
He tipped his hat in respect, then took in the woman before him. “Ah, Celeste. You are as beautiful as the day we first met on the wharf.”
He had once been handsome, but it would be untrue for her to say he hadn’t changed either over these past thirty years. So instead she asked, “How are you then, Robert?”
“I’ve had better days. Age takes its toll, does it not?” He pulled his threadbare coat tighter across his chest to ward off the howling winds.
“Come in from the cold.” She gave him a wide berth.
He struggled with his bag, but Celeste stopped herself from reaching down to help.
“Shall I put on the kettle, or would you care for a wee drop of whiskey?”
“I’ve not had a drink in over a year now.” She’d noticed the tremor in his hands.
“It’ll be tea then.” Her own were trembling as she filled the teapot. Robert came closer and reached as if to caress her face, but she abruptly stepped away.
“Did ye never feel nothin’ for me, Celeste?” he cried. “I was hopin’ …”
“Hoping what, Robert?”
“That I’d see something other than hate when you looked at me.” He then began a terrible coughing fit.
She pulled out a chair for him. “I am sorry you find yourself in poor health.”
“Mine was not a virtuous life,” he said, stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket. “Sins take their toll. But I’ve found the Lord. Or ’twas the Lord who found me.” He set the Bible on the table.
“’Tis a shame He came to you too late to save my parents.” She turned her back to the man who had brought such pain and lit the stove.
He bowed his head. “I never meant for your father to be ruined. It was an accident. I’d been overcome by drink that night, as so often I was back then.”
“Please.” Celeste whipped back around. “I can’t bear to hear it.”
“I’ve traveled cross the great pond to see you, woman.” He stood, nearly toppling the heavy table and brought his fist firmly down on the hard oak. “Will ye not grant one last wish to a dying man?”
Celeste, though alarmed, tried to sound calm. “It’s best you stay seated, Robert, and tell me why you’ve come.”
“Don’t ye know?” he looked at her with rheumy, beseeching eyes.
“I pray it’s to take back the curse. Let this nightmare end so we may live the rest of our lives in peace.” The words rushed out.
“I’m even muddling this up.” He laid both hands on the Bible, as if trying to derive strength from it. “I’ve made this vast journey to repent. So I can meet my Maker knowing I done right. Please find it in your heart for forgiveness.”
“I will forgive you if you take back the curse,” she begged.
“Curse?”
“The oath you swore against Percy that took my sons from me.”
“I heard about your sons. A frightful, terrible loss.”
“Take it back,” she commanded.
“As if I had such power. Only the Lord . . .”
“Say it!” Celeste was nearly hysterical. “I need to hear the words.” Then merely a whimper, “Please, say it.”
“I take it back. I swear on this.” He lifted his Bible. “There is no curse against you or Percy or any Mitchell or anyone you love.”
The kitchen remained quiet while Celeste composed herself. And then, “Thank you, Robert.”
“I am sorry for the heartaches I have brought you.”
She supposed he was. It had cost him dearly enough to be here, and she would do no more to bring the man any further down.
“I forgive you, Robert,” she finally told him.
~
Present day
“I tried to exorcise him once.” Zoe said, so quietly I thought I misheard.
“You exorcised him? When?”
“In college. The smell was driving me crazy. Evelyn decided the house was possessed, so she checked out a library book with instructions for conducting an exorcism.”
“How did you do it?”
“We had to burn something that once belonged to him.”
“Where on earth did you find anything?”
“Evelyn went to see Mr. Stanfield, and believe it or not, old Archie had that man’s Bible.”
“You burned a Bible?” I was recalling the original newspaper report about the verses Robert Toomey had underlined in the book of Revelation. Then it dawned on me that it was Zoe, not Fiona, who had likely found the page marker with the dates of death for Percy and Celeste’s three sons.
“It was all we had. We did it at his gravesite. Did you ever notice the stone was changed?”
“That was you?”
“Thief of life, with burning strife, actions caused for mourning rife. Those were the words of the exorcism. I’ll never forget them.”
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Zo-Zo. I wish you had told me.”
“You were too young then.”
“But not all these years since, when I could have helped you understand.”
I pondered the wisdom of sharing my own attempt to exorcise the lighterman’s curse. Though my tattoo of the phoenix had come to represent something else altogether—a symbol of liberation from my own personal demons.
“You can’t go back.” My sister might’ve been holding an angry grudge toward Fiona, but it hadn’t stopped her from quoting our grandmother.
“Maybe you should,” I argued.
“Meaning?”
“Come home to Whale Rock and face those fears.”
“Face a ghost?” she scoffed. “Right.”
“I’ll be here with you. We will forgive Robert Toomey, just as Celeste was willing to do.”
“But did she? Forgive him?”
“We’ll never know,” I relented. “But isn’t it worth a try? Together we’ll stand strong, a united force to end the curse of Robert Toomey once and for all.”
She was quiet a moment.
“Zoe?”
“I’ve got other pressing matters at the moment.”
“Can I help?”
“Not unless you can turn me back into a vivacious thirty-year-old,” she sobbed.
Oliver had strayed again.
“You can’t go back,” I echoed her earlier words. “But you can come home, Zoe.”
~
Eighty years ago—the day of the tragic fire
“Praise God, you have lifted my heavy burden.” The wretched Robert Toomey shut his eyes tightly, a tear escaping, which he quickly wiped away.
Celeste herself felt lighter. They sat quietly for a moment before she asked, “What will you do now?”
He shrugged. “Look for work.”
Her panicked eyes searched his. “You cannot stay here.”
“Aye, true. I made some mates on the trip. They’ll find me work at the Boston
docks.”
She doubted he was in any shape for dock work.
“Have you any money?” she asked.
“Enough to get settled.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “Ah, ’tis time I go.”
At the door, she took some bills from her pocket and pressed them into his grasp.
“I couldn’t.”
His look was so pained, it brought tears to her own eyes. The swell of compassion was a surprise and a relief. Gone was the hatred.
“Consider it a loan. Once you get yourself a job, you’ll send it back.”
He balled the money in his fist and held it to his heart, but said no more.
Celeste watched Robert Toomey hobble down the lane and out of her life, hardly believing he had actually been in her home, sitting at her table. She returned to her desk with intentions of finishing the letter to Mattie, but it remained in the tin box. Instead, she gazed contentedly out at the bluffs, warmed by a sense of optimism for the first time since Edwin and Jerome’s accident. She envisioned Ambrose’s return, having a grandson to help raise and a daughter-in-law to befriend. Celeste had always wanted a daughter. Her dreams filled her with such happiness as she dozed.
Hmm. What was that lovely scent? She was enveloped by the mingling sweetness of sugar and vanilla. But where was she? It was a chore to open her heavy lids. At her desk, of course. Through the haze, she made out a delicate china cup on her desk. The teakettle! Had she forgotten to turn off the burner? She’d been so eager … for what? Oh, but she must get up. She tried, but the smoke was too thick. She would just stay in her chair for a moment. Percy would be home soon, and he’d know what to do. She’d wait for him there.
And then Celeste Mitchell drifted off into a sweet, unconscious state until the flames took her.
33
Present day ~ Whale Rock, Massachusetts ~ Cape Cod
Friday, December 13th
It was the anniversary of the tragedy that forever altered the Mitchell family tree. Eighty years ago, my great-grandparents died, and their home nearly succumbed to the fire that killed them. But Battersea Bluffs still stood atop Lavender Hill, a defiant and tough old lady.
I carted a wagon of wreaths up to the cemetery, with Whistler in tow, and noticed a small group of locals already gathered at Percy’s Bluffs for the annual tribute, mostly descendents of the men who’d helped save my home. I gazed out to the cliffs where my great-grandparents had met their end, wondering if I’d remain forever shackled to the wicked spell cast upon our family by Robert Toomey. When I finished decorating the graves, I left the wagon and joined the gathering in their solemn remembrance. Afterward, I invited them all to the house for hot cocoa and Christmas cookies.
Myron Kaufman, my current tenant in the carriage house, was also there. I was glad for the company. He was a fine and interesting man, safe in that he was very happy in his marriage and home life. Myron had rented the place through the end of February, and I already had another renter scheduled for the spring.
I spent the rest of the morning dragging down boxes from the third floor, sorting through Christmas ornaments and thinking about Ashley and Vince.
I smiled to picture my young friends sailing around the Greek Isles or wandering through the colorful Athens street markets I’d read about in my internet searches. At least I knew where they were and that they were safe.
I was spending a fair amount of time on my laptop these days as I began to follow the case of corruption charges brought against several members of the North Philadelphia Police Department. I was hoping for a swift conviction so Ashley and Vince could return home.
It was a quiet day, and the phone hadn’t rung once. Not that there was ever a steady stream of calls, but usually somebody checked in. Often it was Zoe or Brooks, but sometimes Evelyn or Lu as well. Busy with their own holiday preparations, perhaps they’d forgotten the significance of the date.
It was mid-afternoon now, and I’d lit a fire to combat the chill that seeps in through antique windows on raw days such as this. Nat King Cole was crooning of a nipping Jack Frost and roasting chestnuts as I finished stringing the tree lights. There were two stockings on the mantle, one stuffed with rawhide treats and chew toys, the other hanging limp and sad.
Whistler lifted his head and looked toward the door, with the soft groan he gave to announce Myron’s comings or goings. I pushed the curtain aside to take a peek, but instead of Myron’s Blue Chevy Blazer, it was a familiar gray Avalon rounding the bend of the drive. Before Daniel even stepped from his car, the room filled with that wonderful scent of burning sugar. I realized now, it had been the absence of Percy and Celeste that had me feeling lonely all day. But they were indeed making their presence known now, the message unmistakable.
As Daniel walked toward the house, a fluttering warmth surged through me, and the sweet aroma intensified.
“Okay. I get it. You approve.”
And then I proclaimed my own oath.
“ ‘Be damned the lighterman’s curse. My own phoenix will rise from the ashes of Percy’s Bluffs, freeing us once and for all.’ ”
ALSO AVAILABLE BY LORETTA MARION
The Fool’s Truth
Author Biography
A true bibliophile, Loretta Marion’s affection for the written word began in childhood and followed her like a shadow throughout her life as she crafted award winning marketing and advertising copy and educational brochures. When not whipping out words on her laptop, she is traveling, enjoying outdoor pursuits, or is curled up with a delicious new book. Loretta lives in Rhode Island with her husband, Geoffrey, and their beloved Mr. Peabody, a sweet, devoted and amusing “Corgador” (Corgi-Labrador cross).
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Loretta Marion
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-843-9
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-844-6
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-845-3
Cover design by Erin Seaward-Hiatt
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
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First Edition: November 2018
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House of Ashes Page 34