I wiped beads of sweat from my clammy forehead. While I tried to reset my breathing, I looked around to take it all in. I didn’t remember the hill being so prominent. Now I understood how this hill became “Appleton Hill.” It truly dominated Ashwell’s landscape. From where I was standing, it was possible to see most of the town. In fact, that’s how Ashwell came to be.
From what I was told by Claire and her mother, the Appleton family had a long ancestry. They had established themselves at the top of this hill, the only one in an otherwise flat piece of land, over three centuries ago. This meant they needed people to care for their estate. And that’s how the town formed around it, creating a halo of tiny houses where the workers planted roots and formed families. This eventually led to churches, schools, stores. Once work, commerce, education, and spiritual life were established as the foundation of this up-and-coming community, there was nothing left to do but grow.
In front of me, the house was barely looming over the hill. What was visible of the flagstone steps looked worn-out. Beneath my feet, it was possible to appreciate―under the vines and weeds growing without control―some depressions on them, as if everyone who had climbed up or down the hill had stepped on the same spot over and over.
I picked up my bags again, ready to reach the top of the hill. I climbed the next step, but something held me back, breaking my momentum. I turned to look and found some ivy had caught in the wheels and handles of my luggage.
“I know Tom said he worked here doing landscape”―I yanked the creepers away to set my suitcases free―“but he must not be very good. This is ridiculous,” I concluded once I was able to get going.
The higher I climbed, the more abundant and unruly the foliage appeared. If anything, it looked like someone had not been taking care of the premises. And it only got worse the more I studied the landscape. The trees were impossibly high, and the bushes were out of control. By the time I reached the final steps, the grass was knee-high.
I dropped my suitcases to catch my breath and get myself together before ringing the doorbell. I looked up at the manor and more memories came back to me. It was impossible to stop them.
I’m here because of those memories, I reminded myself. Hello, house. At last, we meet again.
The house was a full-on mansion, but its size had been reduced to cater to modern needs and the impossibility of caring for it properly by a family that was constantly shrinking in number. Claire had told me that some of the original rooms had to be demolished because her family didn’t have enough money to sustain the entire estate. I had the faint recollection the Appletons lived by renting the land at the back of the hill, but by no means were they wealthy anymore. Therefore, the inevitable neglect eventually led to making some harsh decisions about the property.
Yeah, I know a thing or two about cutting your losses.
Overall, the manor looked okay from where I was standing. A new coat of paint was definitely in order, and by the crooked wink a few shutters gave me, some hinges needed to be replaced. The cracks on the walls had certainly multiplied over time, but I was sure the climbing plants in their constant effort to swallow the house were not helping. Scary, yes. Condemned… not yet.
I gave a wobbly step forward and rang the bell. The sound of the door unlocking happened faster than I anticipated, and I felt my heart fill with anxiety. Then, the door slowly opened, and I recognized the older version of the woman who had taken my mother’s place when she was drowning in liquid demons.
Beatrix Appleton.
Her hair was still blonde and delicate, perhaps now a bit dustier than I remembered, but it was arranged in a nice bun. The pale blue eyes had more wrinkles around them, yet they remained as translucent as ever. A sharp nose and a smiling mouth with almost invisible lips completed the face I had come to know and appreciate. And the wheelchair. The wheelchair that had doomed her to this hill was still there. The wheelchair that had prevented Claire from following her dreams.
“Althea. I am so glad you decided to come.”
“How could I not?” After I stepped inside, I leaned over and we embraced. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know if it was the memories, the act of returning to a place I never once considered coming back to, or the fact that Beatrix Appleton still wore the same perfume, but all of that made Claire’s absence even more palpable. Until that moment, it had been nothing but a concept. But that concept was shattered by the reality of hugging the frail body of someone who I had once considered a mother, and the impossibility of hugging the vibrant body of a person I had treated like a sister.
I had to get myself in check to stop crying; I didn’t want to burden Beatrix Appleton with my grief. She already had enough with her own. We broke apart, and I saw her wiping some tears away as I was doing the same.
“Well, sometimes, if you’re not happy… it is best to leave,” she said while holding my hands in her bony ones. She changed the subject, leading the way to the main staircase. “Come on, let’s get you settled first.”
While Beatrix Appleton used her electric chair to carry her to the next floor, I followed close behind. At the top of the stairs, another wheelchair waited for her. She struggled to swap chairs, and I mentally kicked myself for not being quick enough to aid her.
“My bedroom is downstairs if you need me. The bathroom is down this same corridor, the last door.”
“Thank you. I hope I’m not intruding; it’s for just tonight, so―”
“Nonsense. I want you to feel welcome, Althea. You have no idea how much I appreciate you being here.” Beatrix gave me the warmest of smiles.
“Well, it means a lot that you remember me and took the time to contact me. Thank you for holding up the funeral.”
“You were like a daughter to me, Althea. I’m very proud of what you’ve accomplished. I am certain that Claire would’ve wanted you here.” A tear formed at the edge of her left eye, and it didn’t take long for it to spill over the cheekbone, where she quickly wiped it away.
I nodded in silence, hoping that her words were right. The sour truth was that the last time Claire and I had seen each other was fifteen years ago. She refused to let me into her home when I came to pick her up two weeks after our graduation, and simultaneously, she kicked me out of her life.
“You should get settled. We’ll have lunch in the dining room in an hour.”
“And… when is it?” I couldn’t even finish my question without getting a lump in my throat.
“Tomorrow. 10:00 AM. I’ll see you downstairs.” Beatrix gave me the dry facts with a sharp tone as she turned away and headed toward the stairs.
I grabbed my luggage to enter my new room when I realized maybe I needed to do something else first.
“Mrs. Appleton, do you need help? Do you want me to help you downstairs?” I yelled across the hallway.
“No, no. I’m fine. I’ve been doing this for years, dear.”
As I watched her disappear down the corridor, the heaviness of her solitude hit me. Suddenly, the thought of that frail woman alone in this house became frightening. Beatrix Appleton was already a widow when Claire and I became friends. She had no other children aside from Claire, and now that she was gone, Beatrix’s future had become bleaker than ever.
“What the hell were you thinking, Claire?” I asked under my breath before crossing the doorway.
The dining room looked exactly as I remembered it. A long, majestic table and twelve chairs, all with intricate carvings. The dining set was magnificent, but it was evident the wood hadn’t received proper treatment in a while. The table was set for two, with Beatrix sitting at one end of it. She was already waiting for me to take the place to her right. The dishes and silverware had fallen into the same category as everything else in the manor―historic and tragically unkept. A pair of tarnished silver candlesticks completed the table setup.
Everything remained where I remembered it to be. The same vases and statuettes decorated the same small tables against the wal
ls, the same carpets and oil paintings. Even the wood in the fireplace looked like it hadn’t been used in fifteen years, judging by the coat of dust on it. I guessed that was the one thing new around there. The grime.
To Mrs. Appleton’s left, and right in front of me―once I took my place―was a fantastic view of the hill. Large windows occupied the entire wall and gave way to the gardens. Heavy curtains, in what I guessed had been a shade of pink, flanked each window.
Unlike the front gardens of other houses in Ashwell―and matching what I encountered when I climbed the hill―this green area was not so dead. Somehow, the life missing from the house was very much present in the foliage surrounding it. The winter had not managed to subdue Appleton Hill’s stubborn nature. Yes, it was possible to spot the occasional leaf in a timid shade of brown, but the vast majority of the garden was deep green. For a moment, I felt the pulse of an ongoing fight between the life spilling out of the trees, bushes, and plants on the other side of the glass, and the death huddled up on this side, where Appleton Manor tried to hold its footing.
“This is such a magnificent piece of land,” I stated to break the uncomfortable silence. Even though it looked wilder than in my teenage years, I found the hill fascinating. The impossibility of differentiating one plant from another, even if your eyes were able to look beyond the first line of knee-high grass, had me enthralled.
“Yes, indeed it is.” Beatrix unfolded a napkin and placed it on her lap. “It is such a shame it will no longer be my home.” The initial pride in her voice faded away and was replaced by sadness.
“I had no idea. Are you selling?”
“Yes, we are,” she answered, and gave a sigh of unhappiness. “The only Appletons still alive are my sister Rose and myself. We are nothing but a pair of old broads now. And look at me, I can’t do anything. I need help to take care of the manor. It’s the right move.”
I offered to serve the lasagna―already on the table when I set foot in the dining room―to let Mrs. Appleton continue with her explanation. I had to admit, as logical as she sounded, it was shocking to hear it. I couldn’t imagine other people living on the hill.
“Although it breaks my heart to say it, it is the best financial decision to”―Beatrix gestured toward the large windows―“sell this marvelous piece of land. Let someone else make this their home. Rose and I will take the money and find a new place. We’ve always had people who climbed the hill just to tell us they would buy this place for any amount we established, so finding an offer will not be difficult. It is the right move,” she repeated, as though trying to convince herself.
I had served both our plates, and I was settling down to eat my lunch when she grabbed my hand with a sort of desperate strength. It took me so completely by surprise, I almost dropped my fork.
“Would you mind greatly if we say grace? I don’t know what your beliefs are, my dear Althea, but I feel like…” she struggled, as if trying to find the right words. “In these dark times… I need to renew my faith every single step of the way, so I don’t fall apart.”
I could have sworn her eyes grew brighter for a brief moment, the blue of her irises turning sharper, if it is possible for a color to have an edge. However, something told me saying no wasn’t really an option, and her question was not truly one. I felt I had unwillingly stepped into a chess match. Beatrix had chosen first. I was black; therefore, she had awarded herself the first move.
This is a woman in her 60s. She is in a wheelchair and she just lost her only child. Stop creating ghosts where there are none, I reprimanded myself.
“Of course, whatever you need,” I agreed, placing my hand over hers. I smiled and bowed my head.
“Blessed be the force that runs through our veins and keeps us alive.” Her voice formed words that floated around us with an ominous presence. “Blessed be the force that brought this child… this beloved child of mine, Althea, back to my doorstep. Although we might not understand or even agree with the unfortunate reasons that created this opportunity, I know that there is a plan for all of us. Claire… wherever you are, my dear daughter, know that I miss you and I wish things had unfolded differently. I know my future looks dreary, but I believe...” She clenched my hands even tighter, to the point where a line of sweat formed between our palms. “I believe we do not choose the path, but the path chooses us. It is our duty to face it bravely and with grace.”
Chapter 3
That was certainly miles away from the way I witnessed my mother blessing the table when she had some days out of her drunken fog. To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure if I should even say Amen when it ended. I smiled awkwardly, released my hands from her clutch and refocused on my plate.
Yet, who was I to question what were the right words to say for a mother whose daughter has committed suicide? I was only there to give her what she needed. I was there to show my gratitude for all the years she took me under her wing without hesitation. And I was there to find some answers too, so I could get my own closure. I swallowed my first bite of lasagna, along with all my troubling thoughts.
“Any good?” Mrs. Appleton asked with a smile when she saw my look of satisfaction. “Marguerite’s cooking is fabulous, I know. I told her to only use red meat. I don’t know about you, but Claire and I never liked chicken.”
“I like chicken better than red meat.” I tried to stay on topic, but something did not add up in Mrs. Appleton’s story. “I thought you cooked this, Mrs. Appleton. This tastes exactly like the one you cooked when I was a teenager.”
“Yes, well...” She took her eyes off me for the first time and focused on her plate. “I taught Marguerite how to make my sauce years ago, when she started working for me. She copied it perfectly, don’t you think? That’s how good a cook she is. She has been nothing but a gift from above.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her.” I took a sip from my glass of wine, thankful that the conversation had moved on from that peculiar prayer Beatrix had uttered.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Marguerite no longer works here.” Beatrix took a bite of food and I patiently waited for the rest of the explanation I knew was coming. “Her daughter is pregnant. She had some blood pressure issues, and she is in the middle of her second trimester, so the doctor advised bed rest for what is left of the pregnancy. Marguerite has to care for her daughter now.”
I expressed my sympathies for Marguerite and her daughter while I chewed on my newfound doubts. How could Marguerite cook the lasagna if she was not working at Appleton Hill anymore? I didn’t wish to intrude, but I could not justify my silence. Maybe Beatrix Appleton needed help and I could provide it.
“I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, Mrs. Appleton, but how do you manage? Are you here all alone? Do you need me to help you find someone new?”
“No, no.” She waved her hand and dismissed my concerns. “Don’t worry about that. My sister Rose is arriving today to attend Claire’s funeral. She will help me, and we will start to pack up my life here. Before Marguerite’s departure, a week ago, she left a mountain of cooked meals and most of them are in the fridge. All I have to do is heat them up. Being alone is not a problem.”
Beatrix swallowed hard. That exact sad sensation had crawled up my throat when my friend’s name came up in the same sentence as the word “funeral.” Until that moment, we had held a conversation that pretended to be blissfully unaware of the true reason behind our meal. Beatrix took a deep breath, as though gathering strength from an inner well that was almost drained.
“You don’t need to worry about me, my dear. I am well cared for.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes while the fog outside turned thicker to the point where it seemed the windows not only had curtains on the inside but also on the outside, as a shifting white wall kept pressing against the glass panels. I saw the top of the trees moving, which I found peculiar, as mist and wind do not usually go together. Maybe some birds had disturbed them.
“How about that movie car
eer of yours?” Beatrix forced my imagination to sit back at the table along with my body.
I smiled awkwardly, like I did every time someone mentioned my career as if I was doing something glamorous. I wish people knew it really wasn’t. It was merely work, like any other, and certainly not more important than that of a doctor or a teacher.
“Oh, now, don’t be shy. You know you are ‘Ashwell’s Golden Girl.’ A nomination for a female director after how long? There is nothing to be shy about. June is so proud of you. Have you talked to her?”
The conversation had taken a sudden left turn. I drank my wine, trying to subdue the nervousness the mention of my mother’s name always provoked in me.
“Claire told me your mother’s boss allowed her to hang a little frame at the flower shop with the front page of The Ashwell Chronicle’s article about you. She is so proud,” she repeated.
“It’s only a nomination. It doesn’t mean I’m going to win,” I answered. And I wish everyone would stop treating me as if I already had, I thought to myself.
“Nonsense. I know the editor of the newspaper, Edmond. As soon as he heard the news, he changed the layout so you would be on the front page, even though he lost money having the entire thing reprinted.” Beatrix reached out and grabbed my hand yet again. “That’s how proud we are of you, my child. You are a breath of new life for this old town.”
I thought the worst part was over, but her next statement put salt on a wound I had licked for years, and that I was now trying to close.
“You know? When we found out there was a chance that you might be nominated, I decided to get up early to watch the announcements. That morning, when I made my way to the TV room, I found Claire there as well, waiting. When your name came out, she burst into tears. Tears of pride, of course.”
I smiled once again in awkward silence while I wondered if that was the actual reason behind Claire’s tears. Something told me the real cause was past regrets more than anything else.
The Haunting of Appleton Hill Page 2