What Happened to Anna?

by Jennifer Robins

  Soon, with John holding her close, they both fell asleep.

  Chapter Nine

  It was the middle of July, and John and Andrea had been in the house only a few weeks. Andrea had lost interest in the things she’d wanted to do with the house — the new furniture and lamps she’d planned to buy, the flowers and bushes she wanted to plant. Nothing else occupied her mind but her search for information about Anna and what had happened to her.

  The next morning she rose early. There had been no disturbances in the night, and she felt rested but excited about going to Dearborn to find Mr. Hanus. Before John left for the office, he made sure she had a map and cautioned her about driving on the highway. Andrea became a little annoyed with all his concern, but she tried to stay civil.

  “Make sure you call me as soon as you get home,” he added. He leaned over to kiss her goodbye. “I left the map on the dresser. Be careful, and watch for the signs I highlighted for you.”

  She hurried to dress and get on her way. Enthusiasm built as she started out for her day’s adventure. Nothing could stop her now that she’d made up her mind to go forward with her investigation. The morning was sunny and warm, with clear skies above. She paced herself at a moderate speed. The trees, meadows, and streams along the roadside made for a pleasant drive.

  As she drove, she thought of what she would say to Samuel Hanus. How would she tell him why she was so interested in that painting? She wondered if he would even remember where he’d gotten it, or from whom. The thought crossed her mind that he might be an old, grouchy man who wouldn’t even want to talk to her.

  Once she arrived in Dearborn, she pulled into a gas station to ask directions. A tall, skinny redheaded man walked up to the car, wiping his hands on a cloth. He smiled. “What can I do for you, little lady?”

  Andrea got out of the car and handed him the paper. “Can you tell me how I can get to this address from here?”

  “Come inside. We have a map of all the streets. Sunset Drive is clear across town.”

  She followed him into the small station. The man took a map from the shelf behind the register and unfolded it on the counter. He showed Andrea where she would be going. He even drew a line with a marker, highlighting the route. “From here, you’ll take Third Street to this intersection, then turn left and go down Main until you get to the first red light, here. Then turn right, and there it is. Sunset Drive.”

  “Thank you so much. I really needed this.” She took the map he gave her, went back to her car, and started down the street marked on the map.

  Being in a place she had never been before by herself set her nerves on edge. Dearborn was larger than Partersville, which made it harder to find things. The familiar traffic congestion brought back memories of Chicago. After weaving across town for a half-hour, she finally found Sunset Drive — kind of off the beaten path.

  A small, brick ranch with white awnings over the windows had the right address on the mailbox. Flowers were planted along the walk leading up to the front door. She went up to the steps. “I hope this man is home,” she whispered as she rang the bell.

  What am I doing here?

  She waited a few minutes and then rang it again. No one came to the door. A third try still brought no response. She called out, “Hello?”

  A stone walk along the side of the house narrowed on its way to the back yard. Andrea followed it to the rear of the house, where she could see an older man with bushy, snow-white hair putting something into a wheelbarrow. When she came toward him, he looked up with a big smile on his face, as though happy to see a visitor. Taking a handkerchief from his back pocket, he wiped his brow and said, “Hello, young lady. What can I do for you?”

  Andrea smiled back. “Are you Samuel Hanus?”

  “I sure am,” he said, a little happy skip to his voice.

  When she told him she’d come from Partersville, his smile widened. She could tell he was familiar with the small town just by the look on his face, and she wasted no time asking about the painting in the restaurant. “Do you know the one I’m talking about?”

  He looked at her with wonder in his eyes. “There’s a lot of artwork in that restaurant. Most of them are ones I once owned. By now there must be a lot of paintings I don’t know about.” He swiped the handkerchief over his nose. “Could you be more specific?”

  “It’s the portrait of an older woman in a sitting pose. Her hand is over the arm of the chair, and she’s wearing an unusual-looking ring on her finger. It looked like it was painted in the last century.”

  Samuel chuckled. “Oh yes, I know the one. Let’s go to the patio and sit down. I’ll get us something cold to drink, and we can talk about it. That painting’s always been one of my favorites.”

  They went to a small, concreted area at the back of the house. A round table and two lawn chairs were set to the side. Andrea sat down while Mr. Hanus took off to get refreshments. When he returned, he set two glasses of iced tea down on the table, then sat next to her. “Now, what makes you so interested in that particular painting?” he asked.

  She searched for an answer. “Oh… I just liked it so much… It, ah, that is… I found it to be very interesting and wondered where it came from.” She stumbled with words, not wanting to let him know her real interest.

  He leaned back. “You came all this way to talk to me about it because you find it interesting?” He chuckled as he reached for his glass of iced tea. “I think it’s more than that. Isn’t it?”

  “Well, not only is it nice, but…” She was forced to be more honest about her visit. “I think it may have belonged to someone who once lived in the house we just moved into. It’s an old house, and I’m interested in its history. I saw the painting and…” She couldn’t come up with any other explanation.

  Samuel smiled. “I bought that painting from a woman, who said she got it at an auction somewhere in Partersville. She said it was part of a household of items being sold off to pay back taxes on the property owned by the county. I estimated the painting to be at least a hundred years old.” He wiped his brow with his handkerchief.

  This confirmed her suspicions. The painting had to have belonged to Anna. Maybe that’s why I had the vision of the ring? It could be the ring had some important connection to Anna. The big question remained — why would Andrea see it on her own finger?

  “It was one of my favorites,” he said. “I had a hard time giving it up, but I wanted those old paintings, including that one, to be on exhibit in that wonderful mansion restaurant. It seemed like a good place for them.”

  She became relaxed with Samuel now that she’d met him and found him to be a very pleasant individual. She told him about her century-old house, but left out the parts about the disturbances and Anna’s ghost.

  “I’m sure that beautiful piece of art hung on the walls where I now live. I’ve researched the history of the house and believe the painting once belonged to the family who built it. They were the first to live there, and they were from England. There’s quite a story about them, but I won’t take your time with that.”

  Samuel looked at her inquisitively. “What made you think the painting once hung in your house? I find it amazing you thought that.”

  She hesitated a moment. “Oh, it’s just a feeling. I know that sounds strange, but it seems to fit the pieces of the puzzle I’m looking for.”

  He stood up. “I still have some very wonderful paintings in my collection. Would you like to see them?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Hanus. I really must go. It’s a long drive back to Partersville, and I have many things to do today.” Andrea gathered her purse from the concrete floor of the patio and stood. “Thank you for your time and all the information you gave me. Maybe I can come back sometime and visit you. I would like to see your art collection.”

  The kind gentleman walked her to her car and stood in the driveway and waved goodbye to her as she drove away.

  ****

  As soon as Andrea arrived home, she hurried to
call John, excited to tell him what she’d learned about the painting. “He told me enough to convince me it belonged to Anna and most likely hung right here in this very house. I bet the woman in the painting was related to Anna, and she gave her that ring. I know there’s a connection, John. I’m sure of it.”

  John sighed. “A connection to what, Andrea? I don’t see what this proves. You don’t really know any of this to be true. You only think it’s so.” She tried to convince him, but he remained skeptical. “Okay, Andrea, what are you going to do next, put an ad in the newspaper?”

  His snide remarks didn’t play well with her. “I don’t know, John, but I have to keep searching for the answers.”

  “While we’re being scared out of our wits and are stupid enough to stay in the house waiting for more? This is crazy. I say we sell the house and get out of there. I can’t understand why you would want to put up with all of this.”

  “John, please. Let’s wait a little longer.”

  “All right, but I’m not happy about this.” He took a deep breath. “How about dinner at that restaurant tonight? We can take another look at the painting.”

  “I’d like that,” she said, relieved that John was being cooperative. He’d shocked her a little, but it was good for her to have his support.

  Casually, she climbed the stairs to go check on the photograph, glad to see it still in the wooden box. She took it out, thinking about the ghost in the house. It frightened her, but at the same time it made her feel sad. The sadness crept into her soul like a black shroud covering her entire existence.

  After a quick change of clothes, she went down to the kitchen for a few crackers and some herbal tea before tackling household chores. She turned the radio on to keep her mind off Anna and the search for answers.

  John called at five to let her know he was about to leave the office. She hurried upstairs and showered, dressed, and brushed her hair. John arrived home shortly and they were on their way to the restaurant.

  He nagged her about moving during the drive into town. “This is crazy, Andrea. Don’t you see it?” He kept his voice soft and even as he went on trying to make her understand his point of view. “I can’t believe you want to stay in a haunted house. That is, if it is truly haunted. I still don’t believe in ghosts. At least I didn’t.”

  Andrea refrained from interrupting him as he vented his opposition. “I don’t like any of this,” he went on. “I don’t understand what’s happening. I think we need to get out of this before it gets worse.”

  He finally stopped talking as they pulled into the driveway of the restaurant. He parked a short distance from the entrance, then got out and circled around to help her with her door. He took her by the arm to lead her. “Let’s look at that painting before we order dinner — though I don’t know what we’re looking for. I know, you told me about the ring, but it could be any ring.”

  Once inside, they walked directly to the display of art on the walls in the large foyer. Both stood and stared at the painted ring on the canvas. With the palm of his hand, John stroked the side of his head. “Are you sure that’s the ring you saw on your own finger when you had the spell?”

  “Not a spell, a vision. It happened while I was making the bed. I smoothed the sheet down and all of a sudden there it was, out of nowhere, on my finger. And when I pulled my hand back it disappeared.” She turned once again to the painting, and pointed to the ring. “That’s it. I wasn’t just seeing things, either. I really saw that ring on my finger. I feel very strongly about this. I bet it once belonged to Anna.”

  “She does look a little like the woman in the picture.” He cupped his chin between his finger and thumb. “There is a remarkable resemblance, all right.”

  Andrea nodded.

  A waiter led them to a table along the right wall of the spacious dining room. John suggested they try not to talk about the painting or any of the other problems they were facing while having dinner. He opened the menu, while Andrea gazed around. The Victorian décor of the room gave her the same feelings she’d had during those visions.

  “How about a nice steak with a baked potato and a tossed salad? Doesn’t that sound good, babe?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  John ordered for both of them. When the waiter left, he looked at Andrea. She had a faraway look, and there would be no way to avoid talking about the situation. “Okay, Andrea. There are some things that I’m curious about. This crying you say you hear — is it always in the early morning?”

  She focused her attention on him as she answered. “Yes. It’s in the morning, very clear and distinct. It always happens when I’m upstairs. Sometimes I think it’s coming from the attic, but I’m not sure. It sounds like it is.”

  “I’ve checked the attic several times. What about those visions? Are you sure about that, or do you think it could have been your imagination?” He waited for her to answer him, but she’d fallen silent. He asked again. “Are you sure you were having a vision, or was it your imagination? Tell me, Andrea.”

  She put her head down. “John, I’ve thought and thought about it, and I know what I saw. It was not my imagination. These visions are very real. When I had the vision in the hallway, it was just like I was in an earlier century.”

  As John listened to her story, he could not help believing to some extent. What else could he think after witnessing the episode with the cold and frost? He desperately wanted to give Andrea the benefit of the doubt, but it was difficult for him to admit to something so bizarre.

  “I know you think I’m making this up, John, but I know what’s happening. We have a ghost in the house. It’s Anna. The sooner we try to find out why she’s there, the sooner we may be able to do something about it.”

  Hoping to avoid an argument, he held a hand up and stopped the conversation, then switched to talk about his office. He had landed a big account that day and elaborated on that for the remainder of the dinner. The conversation was entirely one-sided. Andrea sat quietly listening to him go on while still thinking about Anna.

  The waiter came with coffee. John had finished his dinner, but Andrea had hardly touched her food. He looked at her with great concern. “You really believe there’s something we can do about what has been going on, don’t you?” Andrea remained quiet. “I wish you could say something to make me understand what it is you want, Andrea. I just can’t buy this idea of ghosts in the house. Now, answer me. Do you really think we can do something about all of this?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. She looked across the table at him. “I want to at least try.”

  “All right, but if things go too far, I want you to promise me you’ll listen to reason about selling the house and moving.”

  Andrea shook her head. “I think if we could find out what really happened to Anna, it might clear things up. I would like to know if she is in fact buried in the old cemetery.”

  “Oh no, don’t start that again. We are not going to have her grave dug up. It’s against the law.”

  “You could at least come with me to look at it. I’d like to prove to you there is such a grave. I’ve been there, and it makes you think when you see how lonely it is in the back of that old cemetery.”

  “I don’t see the point, Andrea, but if it’ll make you happy, we can go tomorrow. Even though I think this is crazy.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I’ll have time then, but I don’t want to spend all day with this.” He gulped down the last of his coffee and paid the bill, adding a healthy tip. Then he escorted his solemn wife out of the restaurant, not letting her go back to the painting again. He wanted to get home and call Peg before it got too late. He hadn’t talked to her since the Fourth of July weekend.

  Andrea wished he’d tell his sister everything so she could confirm Peg had also heard the crying during their visit. But she only heard him talking about the family and the weather. Once John hung up the phone, he locked up and closed all the windows, and they headed up to bed.

  Andrea lay awake for a long
time. She couldn’t help listening for sounds in the house and wondering what she could do next. If only she could come up with something to convince John to stop thinking about moving. She wanted to find a way to stay in the house. He was getting serious about it, and she didn’t want to give up their dream home.

  Just after midnight, she dozed off. At three in the morning she began to toss and turn, pulling restlessly at the blanket. John stirred and tugged it back away from her.

  Suddenly, she woke up, startled. “John! It’s freezing in here.”

  He bolted up in bed. “What the…?” Then he jumped out of bed and ran over to the window. He tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Steam flowed from his mouth as he shouted, “Not again! What is this?” He ran out into the hallway and headed for the staircase, with Andrea right behind him.

  “John, wait.” She tried to keep up with him as he raced around like a madman. His face had gone fiery red, a deep frown wrinkling his forehead. He scared her almost as much as the unexplained cold.

  After a frantic run through the downstairs rooms, he finally stood in the middle of the living room and looked at the frost everywhere. Andrea ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck. Gushes of freezing air shot across the room and hit them like an arctic wind. He held Andrea tightly to him. Neither of them could move—shivering, teeth chattering. Andrea buried her head in John’s chest. Several minutes passed, then everything became very still.

  John let his arms loosen, and then dropped them down to his sides. In slow motion, he walked out to the foyer and tried to open the front door, but it wouldn’t budge. Desperate, he began to tug with great force. His hands stuck to the doorknob and stung with pain, as if he held a large ice cube. He took his t-shirt off and wrapped it around his hand, then tried again, but the door still wouldn’t open.