“Yes, please. I’d like that.” She felt as if she’d just woken from a bad nightmare. Still shaken inside, she tried to compose herself. She couldn’t tell John about it. He’d never believe her. He might even think she was going crazy. She would remain silent, at least for now.
John returned from the kitchen with a scotch and soda for her. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.” She grabbed the glass as though it were a life-saving potion. John stepped back. “Where will I find the phone books?” he asked.
“They’re in the laundry room over the washer and dryer.” John nodded and left.
Andrea downed the drink in three quick gulps. Then she laid her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes. Her head throbbed. After a few minutes, she rose to go upstairs and lie down. As she started up the stairs, she heard John in the kitchen on the phone, talking to someone from the towing company.
She visited the bathroom medicine cabinet for some aspirin, and then went to the bedroom and lay down. As she began to relax, she started to doze off. It took all she had to stand back up to undress and get into a nightgown.
Chapter Five
A soft morning breeze came with the new day, accented by sunlight creeping in through the partially open window. The sound of a woman crying woke Andrea. It was distinct — she had no doubts this time.
Quietly, Andrea rose out of bed. John stirred a little, but never woke up. She tiptoed carefully to the door and out of the room. Heart beating at a rapid pace, eyes wide open, she surveyed the hallway. The crying was louder out here, but Andrea couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
She crept down the hallway toward the staircase, pausing several times to look behind her. At the head of the stairs, she stood still and listened. The long windows at either end of the hallway let in the dim morning light, casting shadows everywhere. She wanted to flee back to the bedroom, but she held herself there. The mournful weeping began to fade, and then stopped completely. Silence engulfed her.
She started down the stairs, hesitating on each step. With a little prayer to boost her courage, she walked through the living room into the dining room, and then through the kitchen, checking around and behind her all the way. She only heard the birds outside and an occasional creak from the floorboards beneath her. She took a deep breath and returned to the foyer.
With a tight grip on to the banister, she made her way back up the stairs. She trembled with fear. When she reached the top of the stairs, she paused a moment and listened. A stream of sunlight danced on the shiny, varnished attic door across from the staircase. Suddenly, the crying started again.
She couldn’t move a muscle. Her heart pounded against her chest, her cheeks grew cold, and a shiver went down her spine. With all the courage she could muster, she took a few steps toward the attic door. As suddenly as the crying had started, it ceased. Once again the silence of the early hour closed in on her.
Confused and frightened, she turned, hurried down the stairs and ran back into the kitchen. She felt weak as she went to the table and sat down. The morning sun streamed in through the window over the sink, illuminating the stove and refrigerator. Everything remained quiet except for the sound of the birds outside.
On the verge of tears, she went to the back door and opened it. The morning breeze felt soothing against her face. What am I going to do?
“You’re up early.” John’s voice startled her.
Andrea spun around. “Did you have to sneak up on me like that?” she snapped.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me come in. You’re awfully jumpy, Andrea. I wish you would stop it already.” John went to the counter. “I see you didn’t even make the coffee yet.”
Andrea returned to the table, pointedly ignoring him. John filled the coffee pot with water while she sat thinking about what she’d heard.
“What’s the matter, babe? You don’t look too good. Is something bothering you?”
“I’m very tired, John. I didn’t sleep well last night. This house makes strange noises and it keeps me awake. I’ll just have to get used to it, I guess.”
He walked over to the back door. The morning sun had drawn the wet dew from the lawn, making a thick mist over the whole yard. “It looks like it’s going to be a hot one today. Try not to do much. It will only make you feel worse if you knock yourself out around here. Just try to rest, or better yet, lie down and take a nap later.”
John poured them each a cup of coffee, brought the cups to the table, and sat down. He sipped his coffee a few times, then said, “You’re still upset about your car, aren’t you? I had a tow truck get it out of the ditch last night, and everything is just fine. There’s a little scratch on the front, but nothing I can’t have rubbed out. Don’t worry about it.”
Andrea kept her head down as John talked. She couldn’t have cared less about the car. She had other things on her mind. John tried to be sympathetic, making remarks about all the hard work she’d been doing around the house. It didn’t make her feel better.
When it was time for him to get ready for work, he stood and kissed her on the cheek. “Love ya, babe. Try to get some rest today. You’ll feel better.”
Tears started down her face. She felt bad that she had been so cold to him. How she wanted to tell him everything, but she held back. She knew he wouldn’t believe her.
****
As the morning unfolded, Andrea avoided going upstairs. She stayed in the kitchen, rearranging dishes in the cupboards, washing the floor, and drinking a lot of coffee. While she worked, she stopped periodically and listened for noises in the house. Nothing but the sounds of the birds outside. She knew at some point she would have to go upstairs and get dressed. She needed to convince herself it would be okay. After all, she shouldn’t be afraid of her own home.
Despite her lingering fear, she dug deep inside and found the courage she needed to make her way up the stairs. She put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and then went on to make the bed, being very careful not to look at her hand.
A soft breeze flowed from the window, gently lifting the curtains up and down in a sweeping motion. As she pulled the blankets off to let the bed air out, she began to feel more at ease. The warm, summer day gave her a sense of calmness.
When she picked up her pillow to remove it from the bed, she jumped back. The photograph stared up at her from the bottom sheet. Andrea dropped the pillow. The woman’s eyes seemed to bore right into hers. Hands shaking, she moved forward to reach for the photograph. Slowly, she picked it up and held it out in front of her. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
After she’d regained her composure, she took the photograph back to the closet and set it in the old wooden box on the floor. There had to be a ghost in the house. There was no other explanation. Could Anna be trying to communicate with her somehow? Or just trying to scare her? And why?
Too many unanswered questions swirled around in her head. She went back down to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of iced tea, then went out the back door to gaze at the back yard. She wondered what she could do. If only there was someone to talk to. The things she’d learned from Marie Holden made no sense.
She went down a mental list of her friends back in Chicago, but crossed off every person. None of them would believe her, because they were all just as logical as John. They would say she’d imagined it all, and would worry about her. If they worried enough, they might even call John to talk about it, which would make the situation worse. She would have to talk to the old lady again. There had to be more to the tale.
By early afternoon, Andrea was ready to start out for the nursing home. As she went to leave, the phone rang. She picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Devon.” Emily Peter’s voice came through loud and clear. “I’d like to know if you went to see Marie the other day.”
The intrusion disturbed Andrea. Emily Peters knew more about the house and about Anna than what she was willing to tell. Was it just curiosit
y that made her call, or something else? “Well, as a matter of fact, I did see her. She told me of her mother’s stories about the Dickens family. I suppose you know it’s been said that Anna Dickens died very suddenly.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that. Marie’s mother was their neighbor, and a friend of Anna’s. The Holden family goes back for generations in this town. In fact, there’s a family burial plot out in the old cemetery outside of town. That was the only graveyard around here back in the 1800s.”
“Wait. Where is this old cemetery you’re talking about?” Excitement sharpened Andrea’s voice.
“It’s just south of town, by the old railroad tracks on Route Fourteen. Why do you ask?”
Andrea wouldn’t answer, and decided to politely end the conversation. “Thank you for the call, Mrs. Peters, but I have to go now. I have a dentist appointment and I’m going to be late.” She hung up before Emily had a chance to say another word. She hated telling the little white lie, but she wanted to get out quickly and seek out that old cemetery. Her visit to the nursing home would have to wait.
She hurried to her car and started out of the driveway. She remembered seeing the railroad tracks when John had taken all of them for a ride in the country when Peg and Tom were visiting. On her way, Andrea stopped at a gas station before getting on the highway and asked for directions.
The attendant, an older man with graying hair peeking out from under his baseball cap, said, “Yeah, that old cemetery has been there for as long as I can remember. No one goes out there anymore. Just stay on the highway until you come to Route Fourteen, then turn right and go about three miles down. You’ll see it.”
She drove for what seemed like a long time, but at last she saw the railroad tracks. Open, overgrown fields stretched out for miles. No houses or buildings could be seen in any direction. It looked so lonely, like a scene from an old movie about the early days of the land.
The cemetery was neglected and run down, overgrown with grass and weeds. Old trees, mostly dead, stood with broken branches hanging from their limbs. A rusted iron gate hung almost off its hinges at the entrance. Broken branches had fallen from the trees and blocked the way in. Obviously no one had been there for a long time. What a forsaken place. Even the grass hung listlessly to one side, as if it were about to wither and die.
She had to park alongside the gate and proceed on foot. She made her way back to a grouping of headstones inside a broken fence. On the largest one, the inscription read Holden in large letters. Emily Peters was right. Andrea felt sure Anna’s grave must also be somewhere in this lonely, forgotten place.
She started toward the back of the cemetery, looking at the names on the headstones. Some were no longer completely legible, but she could make out enough to rule them out. When the rows of headstones ended, only a few markers remained at the edge of an open field. She spotted a small stone far in the corner, barely noticeable in the high growth of weeds. If it hadn’t been for the wind caressing the high grass and pushing it to one side, she would never have seen it.
Her heart skipped a beat when something inside of her told her to go look at it. Fear, anxiety, and curiosity grew in intensity as she made her way back to the lonely, isolated grave. Her woman’s intuition had come to life.
She stood over the small headstone, but couldn’t see the inscription behind the overgrown grass. She bent down and held the blades aside with her hand to expose the writing on the stone. In deeply carved letters, it read, MY BELOVED WIFE, ANNA MARIE DICKENS. Andrea pulled her hand away. The long grass sprung back, once again covering the inscription.
She wondered why Anna’s husband hadn’t reserved a plot for himself beside hers. Maybe he’d known he wasn’t going to die in Partersville. The eerie stillness of the old cemetery gave her chills. Making her way back through the broken branches and high grass, she shook from the sadness inside her.
When she reached the car, she checked her watch. She should still have time to see Marie before visiting hours ended. She headed back into town, anxious to tell Marie she’d found Anna’s grave. She drove in the fast lane, exceeding the speed limit most of the time. She was sure the sweet elderly woman could tell her more about Anna. She wanted to know everything.
The nurses were busy organizing activities for some volunteers when she arrived at the nursing home. Many had come to bring candy, books, and magazines to the residents. Andrea went to the back wing to find Marie.
A nurse at the desk recognized her and came over. “You’re here to see Marie Holden, aren’t you?” When she nodded, the nurse frowned. “She’s in her room today, down with a bad cold. Try not to stay too long. She needs a lot of rest.” She showed Andrea to Marie’s room.
Marie lay in bed, coughing and wiping her eyes with a tissue. Andrea greeted her in a soft voice. “Hello, Marie. I’m sorry to see you’re down sick. I won’t stay long, but I have something to tell you.” She sat in a chair next to the bed and leaned forward.
The frail lady looked over at her and smiled. “You came back so soon. I’m glad.” She tried to sit up, but Andrea insisted she not exert herself. After a moment, she laid her head back on the pillow. “What is it you have to tell me?” she asked.
“I went to an old cemetery I found out about from Mrs. Peters at the historical society. When she told me your family had a plot out there, I knew Anna’s grave had to be there, too. I found it.”
Marie lifted her head, looking surprised. “So you found her grave, did you? That is, if she’s really buried there.”
Andrea’s eyes grew wide. “What do you mean? Do you really think she’s not buried there?”
“No one really knows, young lady.” Marie wiped her eyes again. “My mother never thought Anna died back then. I can remember so clearly. ‘Anna is not dead. I’ll never believe it.’ My mother said it all the time.”
“Why did your mother think that?”
“My mother was afraid Joseph had put Anna in an institution or something. She told me they buried Anna immediately after her death. There was no wake, no time for people to come and pay their last respects. It was a closed casket, so no one saw the body. Anna hadn’t been seen for several weeks before that. So you see, she may not be buried in that grave after all.”
Andrea looked into Marie’s watery blue eyes and questioned her further. “Didn’t anyone ever try to find out? Shouldn’t there have been an investigation?” What were all those people thinking?
Marie shook her head. As she was about to say something more, she began to cough. Andrea stood up. “You’re so sick, Marie. I’ll come back another day.” She took the woman’s frail hand in hers and gave it a slight squeeze, then let go. “Get some rest. I’ll see you again soon.”
All the way home, Andrea thought about what Marie had told her. Could something awful have happened to Anna, and her husband hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell the truth? Maybe that’s why her ghost is in the house. Maybe she can’t leave. How strange. She felt such a strong tie to Anna, and not just because of their resemblance.
Perhaps Marie’s mother had been right. Maybe Anna had gone insane and been sent to an institution. Insanity had been considered a terrible thing in those days, something no one would talk about. Joseph could have faked the funeral and let everyone believe Anna was dead.
Another possibility that crossed her mind — Marie could be making it all up. After all, she was a lonely old woman. Maybe she just wanted attention. Nevertheless, that didn’t explain the unusual things that had gone on since Andrea moved into the house.
When she arrived home, she looked at all the windows before she entered the house. Good, no evidence of anything like the last time — no white stuff, no frost. She climbed the stairs to change clothes. As she opened the closet door, she couldn’t resist looking at the old wooden box. She bent down and lifted the lid only to find the photograph had disappeared.
She looked through the closet. Not there. Taking everything out of the box, she searched it thoroughly. Then she went aro
und the room checking everywhere—under the pillows, in drawers, under the bed, all over. Tears came to her eyes, as though she were watching a very sad movie. She had to find that photograph. Andrea couldn’t control her feelings. They overwhelmed her. The tears streamed down her face. Why is this happening? It didn’t seem real.
When the phone rang, she wiped her eyes with her hand and hurried over to the bed to answer it. “Hello?”
“Where have you been?” John sounded tense. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“I went shopping.” The quick answer just popped into her head. At times she resented John trying to exercise male domination over her. She liked to do things on her own without him questioning her at every turn.
“I have to go, Andrea, I have another call. I’ll see you later.” She sighed with relief when he hung up, because she had almost burst into tears and would have let loose on him any minute.
It was too late to cook something big for dinner, but she had some leftover baked chicken in the refrigerator. She popped it into the microwave to warm. As she took down plates from the cabinet, something in the middle of the table caught her eye. She went over to investigate.
Anna Dickens’s sad eyes stared up at her from the yellowed surface of the photograph. Andrea clasped her hand over her mouth, her heart beating fast. How could this be? Her hand shook as she held up the photograph to inspect it.
She couldn’t do this alone anymore. She needed to talk to John and tell him everything that had been happening. It would be hard to convince him. Nevertheless, she would talk to him at dinner. She took the photograph back upstairs, now more determined than ever to solve the mystery of Anna’s disappearance. She felt a lot less frightened now that she’d made plans to discover information through contacts, research and any other means she could find.
What Happened to Anna? Page 7