The Widow's Walk

by Carole Ann Moleti

  “Not yet.” Mae placed a new roll of paper towels on the holder, and slipped the nearly finished roll into her cleaning bucket of supplies.

  “I ate what Mae packed me to take out with Mike. But he left without me this morning. I was right on time.” Kevin’s disappointment eeked out. He sat down to play with Eddie.

  “Mike didn’t sleep well last night. Probably was anxious to get out early. See if you can convince him to eat beans and chicken.” Liz handed the plate to Kevin. The lies just oozed out of her these days.

  “Grrr. Here comes the airplane.” Kevin sneaked a bean into Eddie’s mouth, and the baby gummed and swallowed it before he realized it wasn’t a banana. Kevin switched to chicken to keep him guessing and, this time, mimicked a train. “Woo, wooo, here it ‘tis.”

  “Soup will do us all good on a day like today.” Mae rummaged for a pot and plunked a drippy chicken into the sink.

  Elisabeth persisted. Now, it’s time to go-now.

  Liz spotted a cluster of things for upstairs on the butcher block near the kitchen door: toilet paper, shampoo, a six-pack of soap. She seized the opportunity and dumped the yogurt into the trash. “I’ll bring this up.” Her arms laden, she bolted and dumped the lot on her bed.

  After the ritual glance over the bay, she crept into Elisabeth’s corner of the walk-in closet, oblivious to the stuffed animals and other baby things. Silk rustled as Liz ran her hands over the dress. The lavender scent deepened as Elisabeth swirled around. Liz’s mind went numb as the ghost took control. She slipped out of her clothes and stood naked in front of the mirror. She put up her hair, preening for her Edward, before she stepped into the middle of the deep green skirts and pulled them up over her waist, slipped her arms into the sleeves, and twisted them behind her back to fasten the buttons. She used the buttonhook to do up the shoes, then peered out into the hallway.

  Mae and Kevin’s voices, the clack of a meat cleaver, and Eddie’s squeals echoed, muted by the kitchen door. They wouldn’t be coming up anytime soon. Liz bundled the sweat suit into her arms, along with the soap and paper goods, and hurried to the attic door.

  It wasn’t until Liz placed her hand on the banister and started up the steep staircase to the roof that Elisabeth’s needling eased. Like an addict in the throes of withdrawal, just the promise of being up there, Elisabeth’s spirit once again united with a body communing with her long lost sea captain, offered relief.

  Cold air blasted as Liz pulled open the door. Ice crunched under her feet as she stepped out onto the widow’s walk. Steel gray waves capped with frigid white foam danced under the leaden sky. Frosty air filled her lungs. Tiny ice crystals blew off the bay and melted on her cheeks. Ghostly kisses ran down her neck like tears, dampening the neckline of the dress.

  Elisabeth took control of her tongue. “Green was always your favourite colour, my love. Our son’s birthday is coming. Almost a year since you last came to me. Pray tell, will you return once again?” Elisabeth’s longing, her anguish, released itself into the wind.

  A gust carried his response, a whisper for only her ears. “Stay here, in our house. Honour my memory by living your life. Jared is caring for you both now.”

  “No, Edward!” Elisabeth swept tiny icicles off the gingerbread railing in frustration, not even flinching when a frozen splinter plunged into her palm. “Take me with you, my darling. Please.”

  The air stilled. The kisses vanished along with his presence. He had refused her once more.

  Elisabeth shrunk back to mourn. Liz shuddered. Her hand throbbed. Bloody droplets froze before they hit the railing.

  Liz pulled out the shard of wood and rubbed an icicle over the gash. She made her way down the steep, winding stairs. Denying Elisabeth yesterday had brought her literally out of the closet. The only chance of assuaging the ghost was to come up here every day. The visits hurt no one, and they might banish the panic attacks, maintaining her image of a woman in control; a good wife, an attentive mother.

  Liz poked her head out the doorway. Once she was assured the hallway was empty, as fast as the bustle and high button shoes would allow, she hurried to her room to hide the dress, put away the toilet paper, to just be Liz again.

  With the grief-stricken widow subdued, and her resolve bolstered by the new resolution, Liz joined Mae and Kevin in the parlor. Eddie crawled over Kevin who lay sprawled on the floor.

  Mae dusted the bookshelves. “So, what do ya think about Mike leavin’ this mornin’ without Kevin?” She held the feather duster up like a teacher’s pointer.

  “Fer goodness’ sake, Mae. Leave the poor guy alone. Maybe he doesn’t want company and is just too polite to say so.” Eddie dropped a pile of wooden blocks on his stomach. “Ugggh.” Kevin sat up and tucked the baby under one arm.

  They still didn’t suspect. “Mike’s been . . .”

  “Upset.” Mae put her hands on her hips.

  “Ya should stop puttin’ words in everyone’s mouth, Mae. It doesn’t involve ya, does it now?” Kevin showed Eddie how to knock over a block tower, and the baby giggled.

  “No, but . . . ”

  Liz took her turn. “I’m worried about Mike out there all alone, Kevin. That’s all.”

  “Understood, Liz. Leave it to me, will ya? Us guys never interfere when the ladies are workin’ things out.”

  “Ya wouldn’t dare.” Mae stomped out.

  Kevin stood, brushed himself off, and handed the baby to his mother. “I’ve got to earn my keep. As much as I love babysittin’, there’s a lot more manly things to be attendin’ to.” He saluted, grabbed his coat and wandered through the dining room into the kitchen. “Mae, where are ya?”

  Unintelligible fussing drifted from behind the closed door –typical husband-wife bicker.

  Eddie rubbed his eyes and whined. Time for a snack, then a nap. Liz sat on the sofa, rested her feet on the stool, and stared into the flames. The baby helped open the bra snap. “Time to get off the breast, Eddie, isn’t it?”

  He latched on with a relieved whimper. Even though she was going back to work, Liz was in no hurry to wean him. She stared into the glowing embers. Nestled belly to belly, Eddie traced her breast with a chubby hand. She savored the moment, the memories of happier times. Even nowadays when every encounter, every conversation with her grown son was loaded with strife and anguish, thoughts of Jay as an infant, and a loving, inquisitive little boy, re-kindled her maternal instinct. Should she call and tell him how desperate the financial situation had become, ask him to call off Bill Jeffers? No, Jay would say that he was doing the right thing by protecting her from wasting more money on a failing business and that Bill had had Dad’s confidence and the fact she was having trouble paying her bills proved it was necessary. She’d have to make this work–somehow.

  Chapter 3

  Mike wiped his boots on the mat and stopped to scrub off the smell of fish and frozen hemp. He rubbed some greasy cream Liz had bought him into his chapped hands and smeared some on his face for good measure. Now he was fit to be near them.

  How would he explain leaving before Kevin even got up this morning? Should he tell him Liz went up to the widow’s walk every day to be with Edward Barrett’s ghost? Should he tell Kevin there was another specter, Jared Sanders, probing his insides like a snake hatching from its egg and slithering around inside his head? It would be easy to blame it all on Lady Elisabeth, who they’d all encountered. But no matter whose fault, if they sold this house, Mae and Kevin were out of a home and a job.

  Kevin had obviously been waiting. The mudroom door creaked; the cowbell clanked. “There ya are, Michael. Had lunch packed and all this mornin’.” He sat at the kitchen table, too forgiving to be mad, but hurt oozed out of his words.

  Mike joined him. “I needed some time to myself. To think things through.”

  “Even though I’ve inherit
ed many of Mae’s meddlin’ ways, I won’t force myself on anyone.” Kevin patted Mike’s shoulder. “Looks like ya haven’t slept in a while.”

  “Lady Elisabeth was in our room last night.” He left out the rest of the details.

  Kevin’s eyebrows knitted together, and he paused before responding. “Maybe it’s time for the two of ya to get away. I mean, facin’ this every night can’t be good for your love life, or anything else.”

  “You got that right. I’m working on it.” Enough said. Kevin and Mae weren’t stupid. They probably had already started looking for a new place to live. And new jobs. “I’ll wait for you tomorrow. If you haven’t changed your mind.”

  “Sure thing.” Kevin picked up a lid that was nearly simmering itself off a pot of chicken soup.

  Mike’s mouth watered. “That smells good.”

  “Aye. Let me find Mae to see when it’ll be done.” Kevin headed through the back hall to search for his wife.

  Mike walked through the dining room and nearly bumped into Kevin coming into the parlor from the back stairwell. Mae and Liz chatted on the sofa while Eddie played quietly at their feet. He crawled like a sprinter at the starting gate toward the two men.

  A fire crackled behind the protective grate. Something Liz had sprinkled on the wood released an aroma of cinnamon, oranges, and cloves. Any stale floral smell triggered a memory of the dress. Mike’s stomach churned. He plunked himself down onto the couch.

  “Well, we’re all here now aren’t we? Let me see to boilin’ some rice for the soup, and some of that egg pastina for the baby.” Mae kissed Kevin on the cheek on her way out.

  “Make me some of that pastina, too, will ya?” Kevin called.

  “Yer just a big baby.” Mae stroked her husband’s cheek and grinned.

  Kevin followed to be sure she would oblige.

  Mike tickled Eddie until the baby squirmed, anxious to get back to his pile of toys. Liz remained silent, staring into the flames. They’d sat here more times than Mike could remember, but the way his gut twisted now, the ghosts saw some significance to this otherwise pleasant domestic scene. What it was he didn’t know, and didn’t care to.

  “How are you feeling?” A spark of life, enthusiasm, glinted in Liz’s eyes, in sharp contrast to Elisabeth’s blank gaze.

  “Better today.” Mike caught a whiff of her fruity perfume and sneezed.

  “Bless you. I start a substitute job tomorrow at Cape Cod Technical High School, teaching English and history.” Liz was trying to look excited but tight neck muscles gave away her disquiet. “You left Kevin behind this morning.” She nestled against him.

  He moved closer and put his arm around her shoulders. “Kevin is going out with me tomorrow. Early. The forecast calls for high winds in the afternoon.”

  It was already blowing when I went up . . . out . . . this morning.”

  The good mood, the sparkle in her eyes. She’d been up there again.

  Looking for Edward. Mike had been refusing to admit it but that had to be Jared’s ghost goading him.

  She’s going back to work, getting out of the house, Mike countered.

  “Dinner’s ready.” Mae called.

  They clustered around the table and feasted on soup loaded with enough carrots and celery to give them a day’s worth of vitamins. As he finished his own bowl, Mike dunked a piece of crusty bread into the dregs and shared it with Eddie, who was examining each fleck of pastina before he ate it.

  Mae and Kevin bantered. Liz fussed over Eddie. Mike waited for a spectral reminder or the phone to ring delivering more bad news, but normalcy routed the forebodings. He’d have time to give Eddie an early bath, and hopefully an early bedtime. He and Liz could use more snuggle time. But would the ghosts leave them in peace tonight?

  Mike almost dozed off in the rocker, but Eddie finally went to sleep. He put the baby into the crib, marveling how the pastina had filled his little belly so well he wasn’t looking for Liz for a change.

  The walk-in closet was dark and quiet, perfect for a nursery. If only it wasn’t haunted. Liz had hung curtains from the ceiling to divide the cavernous space, creating plenty of places for the specters to hide.

  The green dress was nowhere in sight now, tucked away in some corner with the other antiques. And he wasn’t going to look for it. What he did want to locate was his wife.

  She languished in the big claw foot tub, her back to the door, raising one leg at a time to scrub with a loofah sponge. As much as he wanted to watch, intruding on her private ritual seemed crass. The sponge fell over the side.

  “Can I help?” Mike knelt next to the tub and picked it up.

  “I didn’t know you were there.” Liz wrapped her arms around her bare breasts. Soap bubbles obscured his view. He ached to massage every inch of her. “You startled me. Do my back, please.” Liz relaxed into her usual carefree nudity. She shifted, sitting up straight to allow him access for her request, and he brushed the soapy sponge along her spine.

  “Mmm, keep going.” She leaned back against the edge of the tub.

  He moved it down over her chest and belly, resisting the urge to plunge his hands into the water and get to the best parts. “Feels good?”

  “Yeah.” She got to her feet and dripped on him until he clambered up and wrapped her in a towel.

  Her skin, slick with moisture, and her eyes, fixed on his, had him throbbing, ready to drop his pants, and take her right there on the bathroom floor.

  She placed one leg on the rim of the tub, rubbed her hands together, and massaged in body lotion. He took the bottle and slid behind her to help with the other leg, then her back and chest. She arched against him when he brushed his hands over her breasts and continued south.

  “Why don’t you go warm up the bed?” He smoothed what was left of the lotion on his hands across her back and rear, kissing the still damp curls on the nape of her neck.

  “Okay.” She dusted on powder.

  Mike coughed and went to the guest bathroom to brush his teeth and freshen up. He headed back to the bedroom, his shirt already off and belt loosened.

  Liz was swathed in the sheets. “I thought you ran away when you saw all those stretch marks and varicose veins.” That teasing glint flashed. She grinned expectantly.

  “Nah, my gallbladder scar is much scarier.” Mike dropped his pants, and the baby let out a howl, deflating his spirits along with everything else.

  An eternity passed waiting for Eddie to eat and fall back to sleep. Mike tucked him into the crib and hurried back under the covers–both to escape the cold and ensure they wouldn’t be interrupted this time.

  There was still a sip of milk in her breasts for him to sample, as well as the delicious scent of her body, the smooth skin, her waiting arms. He quickly got back into the mood that she’d never gotten out of, as she pulled him inside her with an unusual urgency. Was she turned on by him, or in a hurry to get to sleep? Not that he could blame her. It was already close to ten and his internal alarm was set for five a.m.

  “Next time,” he moaned, “we’ll do it on the bathroom rug, or hell, in the tub!”

  “How about both?” Liz gasped, shifted to straddle him, riding high. When she went over the edge he followed.

  “Both.” He traced her face, ran his fingers through her hair, and pulled her against him.

  “Yeah.” She murmured, burying her face in the fold of his neck. “Things are going to get easier, Mike, I swear.”

  “Well, maybe not easier but better, right?” Being tangled together with Liz, alive, warm, in the flesh, offered some promise they’d overcome it all.

  She didn’t answer, didn’t move, and neither did he until morning light peeked in on them. He watched Liz sleeping, savoring her heart beating against his chest.

  Jared intruded. I married her a
fter Edward died to save her from losing everything. But she killed herself looking for him. And she’s going to do it again.

  Leave us alone! Mike pushed him away.

  The baby whimpered.

  Liz stirred, murmured. “I don’t want this to end.”

  He ran his hands over her warm, soft curves, savoring the last of the moment. “Stay right there. I’ll get him.”

  Mike grabbed Eddie and hurried back to the warm bed. The baby cooed with delight and crawled over to his mother. His tiny hand caressed her.

  Liz lay there like a goddess or the subject of a Caravaggio painting, naked with a cherub nestled in her arms, the baby’s mouth working on her breast. From temptress to earth mother in a second, and whatever mystical or evolutionary purpose there was, Mike still couldn’t quite understand what it was about the image of a mother and child that captivated him. The same thing that got him up every morning to support them. The same thing that had driven this enigma of a woman into his arms a year ago, six months pregnant by a ghost that had pulled her back in time to tie up some unfinished business.