What Happened to Anna?

by Jennifer Robins

  As Andrea unfolded the bottom sheet to spread it out on the bed, she glanced over at the closet door. She felt the urge to get the photograph out again, but she hesitated. One weird vision was enough for her. The radio on the dresser caught her eye. She turned it on to a music station to distract her attention away from the closet. The sudden sound of a lawn mower outside drowned out the music, so she turned up the volume.

  Going back to the bed, she bent down to smooth the sheet out. Suddenly, a gold ring with a large, odd-shaped pearl, surrounded by diamonds, appeared on her finger. Surprised and startled, she stood and drew her hand up away from the bed. The ring mysteriously disappeared.

  She ran out to the hallway, scared beyond belief, and leaned her back against the wall next to the bedroom door. Slowly, she held her hand up and turned it over and over. No ring. Great sadness came over her, and an overwhelming need to cry swelled inside until her eyes filled with tears.

  Wanting to get out of the house, she paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, then hurried down to the kitchen and out the back door. Bright sunlight, shaded by the canvas awning over the patio, danced across the lawn and lit on the trees where John worked, weeding around a trunk and throwing the weeds into a wheelbarrow.

  When he saw her exit the back door, he waved to her. Although usually good at concealing her feelings, Andrea wasn’t sure she could do it this time. She desperately wanted to tell him what happened, but she knew how skeptical he could be about these kinds of things. He would never believe her. It was hard for her to believe it herself.

  Walking slowly, she took some deep breaths. The sun blinded her, so she held an open hand over her eyes to shade them as she approached him. John had taken his shirt off, and his lobster-red back drew her attention. “You’ve been getting too much sun, John. Your back is beet red. You better get inside.”

  He nodded. “Okay, but first come and look at this.” He led her to some flowers that he’d weeded earlier. As he rattled on about them, pride in his work lit up the smile on his face. Despite the sunburn, John was in a good mood. “Hey, babe, let’s go into town tonight for dinner. There’s a restaurant everyone is talking about. It’s in an old restored mansion. They kept it authentic. I hear the food is good, too.”

  Andrea more than welcomed the idea of getting out of the house for a while. “Sounds good to me. Let’s go.”

  John wanted a short rest after a nice cool shower, but suggested they leave early so they could take a ride in the country before going to dinner. Andrea liked that idea, too. It gave her time to put the laundry away and get the kitchen cleaned. She cautioned him not to fall asleep because it would be too hard to wake him.

  “I know, Andrea. I just want to lie down for a while and get a little rest. I’m not sleepy, just physically tired from all the work I did in the yard. I’m not used to it.”

  Andrea finished making the beds, fearful of a reoccurrence of that ring on her finger. She kept a close watch on her hands while she placed the sheets on the bed. Relieved when she finished the task and no visions had appeared, she went down to the kitchen to continue her chores.

  She cleaned the kitchen, then took the laundry up to the bedroom to fold and put away.

  Her thoughts were continuously on the photograph and the sudden crazy visions she’d had. The possibility of a ghost became more real. Although somewhat frightening, at the same time a certain amount of curiosity gave way to excitement and intrigue that Andrea could not deny — could not suppress.

  John lay on the bed, arms stretched out, his back facing up. Andrea looked at his sunburned skin, which almost glowed with heat. “You better let me put something on that. It’s very red. Does it hurt?”

  “Not much, babe. I’ll probably feel it later though.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m going to put something on it.” She went to the bathroom for some lotion, returning with the bottle in hand. With a light touch, she smoothed the cool cream on John’s back. She could feel the heat from his flesh as she covered the reddened area.

  John snuggled comfortably on the bed for an hour and a half, while Andrea took care of a few things still needing to be done in the kitchen.

  ****

  They drove over country roads, through a valley lined with trees. A stream ran along the road, which made a proud presentation for the state of Michigan. Looking at the wonderful scenery calmed Andrea some. Miles later, when they were almost at the county line, John turned around and headed back to town. By the time they arrived at the restaurant, Andrea had developed an appetite and was ready for something good to eat.

  On a hill with a long circled drive sat an old, wonderful mansion with a large parking area off to the side. Wide stone steps gracefully led up to the front entrance, adorned by white columns supporting an overhung roof. It looked like a historical southern mansion with its stately appearance. An antique carriage with a canopy over the seat sat on the front lawn, adding character to the scene. The well-kept building, professionally landscaped, stood out among the other structures on the street.

  After parking the car, they got out and went up the steps to the double doors, which led them into the large lobby. Old-fashioned floral carpeting welcomed them in. Andrea couldn’t help but admire the oil paintings on the walls of the large, roomy vestibule. Landscapes and portraits depicting an era of long ago hung in neat order on either side of the entrance doors. All were mounted in beautiful, carved wood frames that enhanced the artists’ renderings.

  They were greeted by a man dressed as an old-time waiter, complete with a handlebar mustache, white shirt, vest, and bowtie. “Welcome. Let me show you to a table.” He escorted them to a table at the far corner of the dining room, then handed them each a menu. “Would you care for a cocktail?” he asked as they settled down in the high-backed chairs. Andrea ordered white wine, while John ordered scotch and soda.

  Old gaslights still hung on the walls amidst several floor-to-ceiling tapestries. The high ceilings and scrolled moldings simply took Andrea’s breath away. It was like stepping out of the present and into the past. The atmosphere closed in on her, reminding her of the photograph and her visions.

  The waiter returned with the drinks and asked if they were ready to order. “Give us a few minutes,” John told him as he looked over at Andrea. “I know what I want, but I think the lady needs more time.”

  Andrea had been so busy looking around she hadn’t checked the menu, so when the waiter returned yet again, John went ahead and ordered for her — scampi, one of her favorites — steak for himself. As the waiter turned to leave, John called him back. “Oh, yes, we’ll have some breadsticks also.” He turned his gaze to Andrea and asked, “What’s up, babe? You’re so quiet.” He shuffled his fork and knife around on the table as he looked over at her. The faraway look on Andrea’s face concerned him.

  “Nothing, John. It’s nothing. I’m just taking in this wonderful room with so many atmospheres. It’s so very nice.”

  “I knew you would like it here. It’s your kind of place.”

  Conversation during dinner was light. John did most of the talking, telling her about his office and the progress he was making with sales to new clients. Andrea only half-listened as she picked at her meal. A few times she responded with an, “Uh-huh.” Her mind continued to wander off to the wooden box in her closet at home.

  After dinner, they walked to the lobby. John went off to the men’s room while Andrea browsed around, looking at the paintings on the walls. She admired several landscapes as she traveled the length of the room. Suddenly, she came upon a portrait of a woman sitting in a chair, hand draped over the armrest. The third finger of that hand wore a ring — to Andrea’s surprise, the same one she’d seen on her finger in the vision she’d had while making the bed. She stood motionless, staring with great intensity. Her gaze fell down to her own hand as she recalled what it had looked like on her finger. There’s no doubt the ring is the same. It’s just too unusual to be mistaken. How incredible to see it there
in that painting. The moment lingered with despair and emotional dissolution.

  John came up to her. “Nice painting, isn’t it?”

  His voice startled her, and she jumped. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Are you ready to go?” Andrea nodded, and they headed for the door. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

  “It was fine,” she answered softly.

  John held her arm as they went down the front steps to the parking area. “You didn’t eat much. Was there something wrong with the food? Mine was good. I really enjoyed every bit of the steak.”

  “It… it was nice,” Andrea stuttered. “The food was good. I just wasn’t very hungry.” For her, the food hadn’t been the main attraction. She would have to return to the restaurant to find out more about the painting — where it had come from, who had once owned it, and the identity of the woman in it. Anything that would shed light on the mystery of the photograph.

  When they arrived home, John pulled the car up to the garage. Andrea looked up at the house, noticing a light on upstairs. “Did you leave a light on in our bedroom, John?”

  He looked up at the bedroom window. “No, I didn’t. You must have.”

  She didn’t remember turning a lamp on. It had been daylight when they’d left the house. Why would I have turned a light on? Once inside, she raced up the stairs and hurried to the bedroom. The photograph lay on the bed against a pillow.

  Pressing her hand tightly over her mouth, she held back a scream. She knew she hadn’t put that photograph on the bed, and she also knew she hadn’t turned the light on. She found it inconceivable that John would have placed it there.

  His voice came from the doorway. “What’s the matter?”

  At first she couldn’t speak, but then her hand fell away from her face and pointed down at the photograph. “Look!” she shouted. Her hand shook.

  Puzzled, John came closer to the bed. “It’s that picture you found. What about it?”

  “Did you put it there? On the bed?”

  “No. I never touched it. You must have put it there and forgot.” He frowned when she shook her head. “Andrea, you’re losing it. You must have put it there.”

  She had no desire to argue with him. “Never mind, you’re probably right. I just forgot.”

  Something was going on, and this proved it. The photograph hadn’t gotten from the wooden box in the closet to the pillow on the bed by itself. Someone had to have put it there, but who?

  “I need to get an early start in the morning,” John told her as he proceeded to get ready for bed. With her back to him, she started to undress.

  Andrea changed into her nightgown only to face a difficult night. She spent a good part of the night in the chair by the window instead of tossing and turning in the bed, but from sheer exhaustion, she finally settled down next to John and fell asleep.

  Chapter Four

  As the first sign of the morning sun rising at the edge of the eastern sky, John woke with the sound of the alarm clock. Andrea stirred, but didn’t wake. Being careful not to disturb her, he got out of the bed and put on his slippers.

  Quietly, he went down to the kitchen to make coffee. As he filled the pot with water, he thought of Andrea and how quiet she had been the night before at dinner and again on the way home. He had been so preoccupied with his new office and getting everything set up. He’d gotten home late more often than not and hadn’t paid much attention to her. He felt a little guilty realizing she had no friends here and had been left alone most of the time. He wanted things to be nice for her so she’d be happy and content.

  A cup of coffee in hand, he went back upstairs as quietly as possible, so Andrea could sleep. After a quick shower and shave, he dressed, then went to the side of the bed and nudged her. “I’m leaving, babe. There’s coffee down in the kitchen. I’ll call you later.”

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He bent and kissed her cheek. “Gotta go,” he said, and walked away. At the bedroom door, he hesitated a moment and gazed at his lovely wife lying there. Her beauty brought a smile to his face, and he breathed a deep sigh.

  Andrea sat up. After her sleepless night, she’d expected to be tired, but instead she felt full of energy and eager to place her call to Mrs. Peters at the historical society. She slid her feet into her slippers and grabbed her robe from the end of the bed.

  She headed down to the kitchen. The clock on the wall over the sink read seven-thirty. A little too early to be calling someone she didn’t know. With a cup of fresh coffee in front of her, she sat at the table, deep in thought about the photograph and how it had appeared on her pillow the night before. Worry overwhelmed her — the crying, the visions, the ghostly ring on her finger. But worst of all had been the sad, awful feelings she’d felt when these things happened. Andrea longed to find out everything she could about the house, but most of all about this woman, Anna.

  Patience was not one of Andrea’s best traits. In a nervous state, she paced back and forth in the kitchen, her cup in hand. She became more edgy as the time dragged on. As soon as she finished the last drop of coffee in her cup, she went to the counter to pour another, which only made her more nervous. She swung around quickly with the cup in her hand and dropped it on the floor. It shattered as it hit the tiles, sending coffee and pieces of glass flying in all directions.

  By the time she finished cleaning the mess from the floor, it was almost nine—time to make the call. She’d written the number for the historical society on a piece of paper and stored it in the top drawer of the counter. She took it out and quickly dialed the number.

  Emily Peters answered in a cheerful voice. “Hello, this is the Partersville Historical Society. Can I help you?”

  “Hello, my name is Andrea Devon. I just moved to Partersville, and we bought a century-old house here. I’m interested in the history of my new home and thought you might have some information about it.” She tried to be very careful not to mention anything about ghosts.

  “Oh yes. I have listings on all of the century-old houses in Partersville. What is your address?”

  Andrea gave her the address, then asked, “Would it be possible for me to see you today, Mrs. Peters? Early, if that’s okay with you. I’m really interested in the history of this house and just can’t wait to find out all I can about it.”

  “I have all of the records in the back room here at my antique shop. It’s located in the town square — you won’t have any trouble finding it. Come in today and we’ll look it up.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Peters. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  She hurried to finish her household chores so she could leave for town before lunch. She wanted to revisit the old restaurant and speak to someone about the painting. This was going to be an exciting day. She had high hopes she would find some answers.

  The beautiful summer afternoon, much cooler than the day before and with less humidity, offered an enjoyable time out for Andrea. The picturesque countryside, lined with mature trees and rolling meadows, was nothing like Chicago. She thought of her parents back home and wondered how they were. It had been a while since she’d talked to them. She made a mental note to call them in the evening.

  The parking lot was full when she arrived at the restaurant. She had a long walk up the steep driveway to the front steps. As she approached the entrance, her heart quickened with anticipation. In the lobby, she went straight to the well-cared for painting of a distinguished woman with white hair. What connection could she have to Anna? The elderly woman wore a long, dark brown dress that covered her from her neck down to her high-button shoes. Her face had a gentle and pleasant look, but very stately. The ring almost jumped out at Andrea as she stared at it. It took all she had to pull herself away from it.

  She headed for the dining room. A waiter approached and escorted her to a table across the room, handing her a menu. “Would you like something to drink?”

  A drink sounded good, but she had the appointment with Emily Peters ahead of her and wanted to have a clea
r head. She ordered coffee and a club sandwich.

  Most tables were occupied by what looked like business people. She felt a little awkward sitting by herself, the new kid in town. Everyone seemed to know each other and acted like close friends — something Andrea wasn’t used to. Back in Chicago, it was a rare sight to see so many people as friendly as these were. For the most part, Chicagoans didn’t even know their next-door neighbors.

  The waiter returned with her order. Andrea smiled up at him. “Can you tell me anything about the paintings out in the lobby?” she asked. “There is one in particular I’d like to know about.”

  “No, madam,” he answered, “but the manager might know. I can send him over to see you in a few minutes.”

  While Andrea waited for the manager, she ate her sandwich and had a second cup of coffee.

  A tall, slender man with thinning hair and a handle bar mustache approached the table. He spoke with a French accent. “I understand you are interested in our fine paintings. What can I tell you about them?” He took a seat in the chair across from her and crossed his legs.

  “I was curious about where they came from. I’m most interested in the one of an older lady sitting in a chair.”

  “The paintings were given to the owner of the restaurant by an art collector. I think his name is Samuel.” He paused a moment, and his brows drew together as his face took on the expression of someone struggling to remember. Then he said, “Yes, it is Samuel Hanus.”

  Andrea was delighted. “Do you know where I can find this Samuel Hanus?

  With a puzzled look, the manager fingered his mustache, twisting it tighter at the ends. “He once lived here in Partersville, but he moved away. I don’t know where he moved to, but the people who bought his house might know. There’s an old phone book in the kitchen. I can look and find the address for you. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right back.” The man excused himself and left.