by J. D. Shaw
Kathy folded the brochure back and set it back on the desk. “So we’re looking for journals, newspaper stories, anything about the family?”
“That’s a good start.” Vivienne nodded. “If you find something like that let me know.”
“You got it.” She stepped into the parlor and whistled. “I’ll say this, the rich sure know how to live. There must be enough molding in this place alone to build a new house.”
Vivienne chuckled as she pushed open a swinging door. “As a confirmed member of the middle class, I wouldn’t know.”
“Me either.” Kathy replied as she disappeared into the parlor.
Vivienne found herself inside the kitchen area of the home and found herself quite disappointed. She had expected a grand room filled with multiple stoves, rows of hanging pots and pans, and counter space to prepare meals for an army. Instead, the room was surprisingly narrow, compared to the more spacious layouts in modern homes. At most, Vivienne guessed one would be able to cater to a dinner party of no more than eight to ten people. An old wood-fired stove that looked to weigh at least a ton, took up most of the floor space near the center of the room. The behemoth had no dials or controls, it simply warmed up and cooked food. Back in the day, she imagined it probably was the envy of every housewife in Cayuga Cove. To the modern eye, it was simply a heavy iron eyesore.
Yet, there was something vaguely familiar about it. She stared at the scrollwork detailing, trying to recall where she had seen something like it before. Had it been in a magazine? Or had there been a smaller version in Nathaniel and Tristan’s antique collection? She reached out and touched the handle to the oven door. The metal was cold, and it took more effort than she had imagined to yank the door open to get a peek inside.
She was surprised to see a single orange flame flickering feebly in the darkness of the oven. She was about to yell to Kathy to come take a look when her memory of just where she had seen the oven before returned with a vengeance. It had been in her vision of Natalie being attacked in the kitchen.
“Kathy.” Vivienne called out.
The single orange flame swelled with a whooshing sound as the oven came to life. Vivienne quickly turned away and found Natalie standing behind her. Her hands shot out in surprise and passed through Natalie as if she were made of smoke.
CHAPTER 15
Vivienne felt woozy for a moment. It was as if her power to jump into memory had been activated, but once again it felt somewhat alien to her senses. She was detached from the action, as if a ghostly observer. She watched in silent horror as Natalie reached right through her chest and opened the oven door.
She was dressed in a rather somber black dress that nearly went down to her ankles. Her hair was pulled back into a conservative bun where a small white cap that an old-fashioned maid would have worn was pinned into place. Her face was devoid of emotion as she stared blankly ahead.
“Natalie?” Vivienne asked with bewilderment.
Natalie didn’t appear to notice her at all. She simply closed the oven door, pivoted on her heels, and walked over a row of wooden shelves where several metal containers were neatly arranged.
“Is it too much to ask for supper to be served at the proper time, Miss Burdick?” A voice called out from somewhere on the first floor. Seconds later, a woman dressed in an old-fashioned burgundy dress with white pearl buttons sailed into the kitchen. “The children are starting to fuss and you know how my nerves have been lately.”
Natalie quickly grabbed a dark green oval container from the shelf. “I apologize, Mrs. Rothwell. The hurrier I go, the behinder I seem to get.” Her voice was steeped with an Irish accent that took Vivienne by surprise.
Vivienne stepped carefully away from the stove and started to examine the kitchen which matched her earlier vision inside Natalie’s head. “This can’t be right.” She spoke aloud to herself. “This must be more than a century ago.”
Natalie pulled the lid of a large pot and stared at the contents inside. “I only need a moment to thicken the stew, Miss Rothwell.”
“Well for heaven’s sake please hurry. You’ve been working here for four years now, Miss Burdick. I think perhaps you’ve become complacent that your position here is quite permanent.” The woman in the fancy dress put her hands on her hips as she surveyed the kitchen. “My husband is not paying you to keep a filthy kitchen either. I expect you will be up late this evening scrubbing it clean. If you can’t keep up with the daily requirements of running this home, I shall not think twice about replacing you.” She pushed the swing door and disappeared into the other room.
“Yes, ma’am.” Natalie replied meekly as she opened a wooden drawer and pulled out a small wooden spoon. She dipped it into the container marked ‘flour’ and dropped several heaping amounts into the stock pot which hissed and bubbled.
‘Could this be her great-grandmother?” Vivienne wondered. It had to be some sort of relative. She had never seen such a close match before except for twins. She then noticed a newspaper opened up on the floor near the sink. There were several piles of vegetable peels and a bucket on top of the pages, but she could make out the date quite clearly, September 15th, 1872.
Natalie returned to the stove and began to ladle out the portions of stew into some large serving bowls. “Angels, please let Mrs. Rothwell like the stew and make the children behave.” She spoke softly as she positioned them on a silver tray and hoisted it to waist level. “Amen.”
Vivienne followed Natalie through the swinging door into the dining room. She caught a glimpse of some people sitting at a formal table when suddenly the room swirled into darkness and everyone disappeared. She rubbed her eyes and a moment later the table was empty and a few sconces on the wall flickered with feeble candlelight. Natalie was down on the floor, with a scrub brush and a bucket cleaning the floorboards.
“Hazel and the children are asleep.” The male voice she had heard in her earlier vision returned. Only it was not Eddie Robertson, it was Edgar Rothwell. He was tall and quite thin, dressed in a gray woolen suit that was well tailored to his trim figure.
Natalie did not look up from the floorboards. She continued to scrub the wood in gentle, even strokes. “I’m glad to hear that, Master Rothwell.”
He walked over to her, his thick-soled shoes clopping loudly in the large room. “You don’t need to be so formal now that everyone is upstairs.”
Natalie plopped the brush into the bucket and looked up at him. “I’d prefer to keep things formal.”
He knelt down and put his hands on her shoulders. “It breaks my heart to see a lovely young lass wasting her best years as a servant.”
“I’m quite happy here, Master Rothwell.” Natalie looked quite uncomfortable in his grip. “If you could be so kind as to talk to Mrs. Rothwell about how I’ve improved in my performance, I would be most grateful.”
“Hazel doesn’t pay the staff. Her opinion means nothing.” Edgar leaned closer and put his nose against her dark hair. He inhaled deeply. “You smell like summer in the gardens. Fresh and full of life.”
Natalie squirmed out of his grip and picked up the pail in her right hand. “You’re too kind, Master Rothwell.”
He reached out and gently took the pail out of her hand. “It’s been so long, since I’ve smelled that.”
“’Tis only the start of autumn. We’ve got some time before the lilacs bloom again.” Natalie turned to leave but was held in place. “Spring will return before you know it.”
“I love how innocent you are.” He smiled. “Hazel is like winter. Dull and lifeless. She only delights when things wither and die under her cold demeanor.”
“I wish you wouldn’t speak ill of Mrs. Rothwell like that.” Natalie pleaded. “It makes me uncomfortable.”
He pulled her closer to him. “I need you, Natalie. I need you to bring me back to life again.”
“No, Master Rothwell.” Natalie tried to pull away. “I am not one of those kind of girls.”
“Ah, but you are my dear
and we both know it.” He paused for a moment and then lunged at her, pressing his lips against hers.
She turned her head to the side, facing Vivienne. Her eyes welled up with tears which started to stream down her cheeks. “Please, Master Rothwell. I beg of you to stop this.”
“I cannot.” He dropped the bucket on the floor, splashing sudsy water across the floor. “I need you Natalie. I must have you.”
She tried to fight him off, but he easily forced her against the wall. “Please have mercy. I cannot do this.”
He grabbed her chin and forced her to look straight into his eyes. “How is it you could spread your legs for some filthy gandy dancer laying track with his calloused hands?”
“It was a mistake.” Natalie admitted. “I was not in my right mind then.”
“Did I not help you out when you were with child down at the factory?”
Natalie nodded. “It was kind of you and Mrs. Rothwell to adopt my son as your own.”
“Where would you be as an unwed mother? No good Christian woman would have you working in her home, soiled with the sin of pre-marital relations. You’d probably both be dead and buried in the ground by now.”
Natalie’s voice began to waver. “I will be forever grateful to you for giving my child the life I never could.”
He smiled at her. “Then, I expect you to be grateful. I expect you to do as I command.”
“Angels protect me.” Natalie whispered as his hands began to undress her.
“Don’t worry darling.” He cooed in her ear. “This is only going to hurt for a little bit.”
Vivienne rushed forward and tried to grab him, but she passed right through his body and fell forward. As she rolled across the floor the voices faded and the room faded to black.
“Help me.” A female voice called out from the entrance foyer.
Vivienne groped her way through the darkened room and found the entrance foyer. The light changed back to a bleak daylight that somehow made the scene even more gloomy.
“Please help me.” The woman’s voice called from above.
Vivienne walked over to the main staircase and looked up toward the second floor. Hazel Rothwell was dressed in a long white nightgown, her hair in a single braid along her right shoulder. She stood at the edge of the bannister, her hands gripping the wood.
“Can you hear me?” Vivienne asked.
Hazel did not respond. She began to cough violently and lurched over the edge. Spatters of red dripped down her nightgown. “Lord, help me. Ease my suffering.”
“Be careful.” Vivienne tried to warn the woman.
“I was a good wife, taking in a bastard child as if he were my own.” She coughed again. “Casting a blind eye while my husband ravished the help.”
Vivienne raced up the staircase in a mad dash to help her. “If you can hear me, say my name. Say Vivienne.”
Hazel coughed once more and then collapsed, her arms and legs sliding through the wooden posts. “Oh Lord, don’t let me suffer like this. What have I done to warrant your wrath? Have I offended thee?”
Vivienne reached the top of the staircase just as Hazel disappeared and the light changed from day to night. The wall sconces flickered to life with dim candlelight once more.
“Is there nothing you can do, Doctor?” The voice of Edgar Rothwell sounded from a doorway nearby.
Vivienne followed the sound to a large double oak door that was half open. She peeked in and gasped.
Edgar Rothwell was standing next to a large canopy bed with another man dressed in a white coat whom she assumed was a physician. “Her appetite has diminished with each passing day.” Edgar spoke softly. “She has been delirious most of the time. It pains me to say so Doctor, but she has made threats against her own life. She seems to think the good Lord is punishing her for her sins.”
“Her mental health has always been fragile. I think it would be best to keep her here in the guest bedroom and away from the young children. She needs rest and quiet.”
Vivienne stepped into the room and could now make out the form of Hazel reclined in the bed. Her lips were drawn tight against her face, her hair a tangle mess.
“I will keep her quiet and have the maid keep watch.” Edgar nodded.
Hazel’s eyes twitched and she suddenly lurched upwards in bed with a start. “Vivienne.” She screamed and then reached out with a blue-tinged hand. “She is the angel of death come for my soul.”
Vivienne stumbled backwards in shock. “You can see me?”
Hazel laughed maniacally and then dropped back down into bed. “Take him first, feast on his black soul to your heart’s content. Let him writhe in the flames of hell.”
“Hazel, who are you talking to?” The Doctor asked.
Hazel closed her eyes and said no more.
The Doctor leaned forward, putting his ear to her nose. After a few moments, he stepped away. “I’m sorry, Edgar. She’s gone.”
Edgar nodded solemnly. “At last she is at peace.”
The room slowly darkened and the figures of all three dissipated like smoke. Vivienne stepped back out of the bedroom and found the light slowly changing back to daytime. From further down the hall she could hear the voices of children. She followed the sound to a small playroom. A young boy and girl, each with dark hair were playing with wooden toys.
Vivienne stepped into the room and nearly screamed. It was Connor, except the little boy’s skin was pale blue, looking similar to a weak winter sky. His lips were drawn tight against his mouth, cracked and bloody. He pulled a small wagon around him, humming a merry little tune.
His sister, was propped back against a large trunk with a rag doll in her hands. She wasn’t as blue as the boy, but her eyes were sunken in and lined with dark circles. She combed the doll’s hair with a little brush and coughed. A spatter of crimson splashed across the doll’s face.
“Oh children, what has happened to you?” Vivienne asked with a heavy heart.
The little girl looked directly at her. “We’re sick.”
Vivienne’s heart raced in her chest. “You can see me too?”
The little boy stopped the wagon. His green eyes glowing like emeralds. “And hear you.”
Vivienne stepped closer to them. “How did you know your mother could see me?”
“She told us.” The little girl giggled. “She still comes to tuck us in at night.”
“Didn’t she die?” Vivienne asked.
The little boy nodded. “She said she’s waiting for us.”
“Jacob. Mother said not to tell her about that part.” The little girl chided. “Now she’s going to be angry.”
Jacob folded his arms across his chest. “She’s going to be mad at you too, Constance.”
“No one is going to be mad at anyone.” Vivienne corrected them. “How long have you both been sick?”
“Since mommy fell ill.” Constance replied.
“Where is Natalie?” Vivienne asked them both.
Jacob looked at Constance.
“Don’t tell her.”
Jacob looked back at Vivienne and shook his head. “I’m not supposed to say.”
Vivienne knelt down in front of him. “Honey, it’s okay to tell me.”
“I can’t.” He replied.
“I’ll tell your mommy it was my fault if she wants to blame someone.”
Constance got up from the floor and pressed her right ear to the wall. “We were too loud. Daddy is coming.”
Vivienne could hear the sound of heavy footfalls coming closer to the playroom. “Please children, you need to tell me where Natalie is.”
Jacob pointed upwards to the ceiling.
“Is she up on the third floor?”
He nodded.
“No one is to ever go up to the third floor. Daddy forbids it.” Constance whispered. “If you go up there, he’s going to be very mad.”
“So will mommy.” Jacob added. “She doesn’t like Natalie at all.”
Vivienne straightened back up
just as Edgar Rothwell’s stern voice shouted into the room. “I told you children to stay in your beds.”
The children screamed and their little bodies shattered like glass and disappeared, leaving the playroom empty except for the toys.
Vivienne stepped out of the playroom and back into the hallway. As she did she heard a crackling sound, dry and sharp. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the lid of the trunk slowly rising and a skeletal arm reaching upwards from inside of it. “Children?” Hazel’s voice echoed.
The light faded back to evening as the candle sconces flared to life. Vivienne pulled the door closed and hurried back to the staircase. It was only when she reached the bannister she realized that they went no further up.
She looked at the ceiling and guessed there had to be an attic door with a pull cord either in the hallway or in one of the rooms. With her options limited, she started back down the hall. In the dim light, it was very hard to make out any details.
There was the muffled sound of a scream from the ceiling above her. Vivienne paused and listened. Footfalls creaked on the ceiling above her head and walked in the direction of the children’s playroom. She followed them and then turned the opposite way into a small office with a desk and a bookcase. The footfalls continued above her head and then disappeared beyond the wall past the bookcase.
She stepped lightly past the desk and listened once more. There was the muffled sound of two people, a male and female in some sort of conversation. She couldn’t make out any of the words, but she was certain the female voice sounded very much in distress.
Her hands moved along the leaded-glass doors that kept the books safe from dust. She tried to pull it open but it was locked.
The murmur of the voices continued and she felt even more compelled to figure out where the attic entrance was hidden. She opened the desk drawers, searching for a set of keys. She found only bottles of ink, sheets of writing paper, and dust.
The voices stopped suddenly and Vivienne was enveloped in silence. She slid the desk drawers closed and turned around to give the lock on the bookcase another jiggle.