His sturdy walk toward the barn revealed his sense of purpose. He certainly takes his responsibilities seriously. I wish he could stay for a while.
When he disappeared into the barn, she closed the door. “I have next week’s lessons to prepare. I better get to it.”
The classroom kept her mind from the events of the previous night. She managed to complete a whole week of lesson plans. At lunch time, she wandered into the kitchen and satisfied her growling stomach with another of Myrtle’s sandwiches.
“Wonder if Jake has returned?”
She wandered outside and ducked inside the barn. “Jake? Are you in here?”
When there was no answer, she passed the stalls and spoke to each horse. The last few stalls were empty, the horses in service to the family.
The day smelled fresh after the torrential rain and she decided to take a walk. Curiosity got the better of her. She headed to the cemetery. “If I can’t read the diary, I can look at the public headstones.”
The path showed signs of the storm with leaves and debris, but she picked her way through and entered the gate.
When she reached the back corner, she quickly found Edmund’s resting place.
“Hello, Edmund. Where did you go last night? I have news for you. I found the diary and started to read it, but decided you should be the first. Please come visit tonight. I want to show you.”
She didn’t expect any response, it was broad daylight. He’d never appeared during the day. As she turned to leave, she stopped in front of Mary’s grave. “What do you know, Mary? What is your secret? Will its reveal help Edmund rest in peace?”
“What are you doing back here, Ms. Phebe?”
She whirled at the sound of Jake’s voice. “Do you always sneak up on people?”
“Sorry, I was headed back to the barn, when I saw you here. Your red headscarf stands out, ya know.” He grinned, showing deep dimples.
She reached up and adjusted the scarf. “I didn’t think anyone would object to my taking a walk. It’s peaceful here.”
“You’ve come to this spot before. Do you know somebody buried here?”
“Why no, just meandered around, found myself in this corner.”
“Naw, don’t buy it. You were gawkin’ pretty hard at Mrs. McAdams tombstone. You curious ‘bout her?”
She cocked her head. “Now, what would I be curious about?”
“How she died. What happened to the baby.”
“Baby? So, you know about the baby?”
He took her elbow and pulled her toward the gate. “Rumors abound in these parts.”
She tried to steady her heartbeat. “What information would one glean from those rumors?”
“I’ve got too much to do this afternoon. Not enough time to gossip about the towns secrets. You’ll just have to wonder.” He laughed as he pulled her along.
They parted at the barn.
One more time, she entered the empty house with no more information than before.
A large yawn escaped. “The fresh air made me sleepy. I may have a long night ahead of me. A nap is in order.”
She fell asleep with Edmund’s handsome face dancing in her head. I hope he returns. I’ll miss him if he doesn’t.
PHEBE’S RESILIENT PERSONALITY AND STRONG resolve almost failed her as a reign of heavy thumping sounded overhead. She usually faced things head on, wide-eyed and with a bent toward logic. This time, however, the noise was different, more like boots tromping back and forth, and it sent a chill right through her.
“What in the world?”
Startled from sleep, it took a second to adjust to her surroundings. She fixed her gaze on the ceiling. He’s back. Edmund is back.
Hurriedly, she patted her hair in place, smoothed her dress, and ran out the door. “Oh, I forgot the journal.” She rushed back to retrieve it, glanced at the clock beside the bed, and scampered back to the stairs.
“It’s midnight. He sounds very upset.”
At the parlor door, she waited, almost losing her nerve.
She pushed the door open. He stood before her, eyes blazing.
“Edmund!”
“It’s past midnight, I’ve been waiting for you to come.” His voice boomed so loudly it rattled the glassware on the table.
She drew herself to full height and issued a reprimand. “You may recall I was up half the night searching for the diary. And you were nowhere to be found when I returned. I’ve had little sleep and am in a foul mood. I’d tread lightly if I were you.”
Surprised at the force of her own words, she stood her ground, chin uplifted in defiance, but heart pounding at the reality of what she’d done. I just scolded a ghost.
Edmund’s eyes lost their fire, his shoulders dropped like a recalcitrant child. “I’m sorry. When you didn’t come back, I thought you deserted me.”
“Well, I didn’t leave you. I came back. You left me.”
He whispered, “I had no choice. My time was up.”
After her heartbeat resumed its normal rhythm, she indicated the chairs. “I found something. I want you to see it.”
“You found the diary?”
“Yes, sit down. I opened it only long enough to verify it was Mary’s. I didn’t read further. It was in a traveling trunk in the corner of her room.”
He sat down, trembling. “A traveling trunk?”
“Yes, it appears she was about to take a trip. Her clothes were inside, along with baby things—and this.” She stretched out her hand.
Edmund took the book and studied it, but didn’t open it. “Baby things?”
She watched him try to process the news about a baby, watched the confusion pinch his face. It dawned on her—he doesn’t know.
Gently, she asked him, “Did you know Jonathan married Mary after your death, er, murder?”
The room rattled again with Edmund’s anger. “No! Not my Mary.”
“It’s true, Edmund. The proof is in the cemetery. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed it. They’re graves are side-by-side. Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan McAdams.”
This time, the explosion reached a deafening level as books flew, glasses rattled, doors slammed, and Edmund became a whirl of light and smoke.
She shouted above the fray, “Edmund, stop. You must stop it now. Mary wanted you to know. You have to read the diary.”
Slowly, the room stopped vibrating, his ghost-like appearance became clearer until he was a solid entity once more.
“Why would she marry him? He didn’t love her. Why? Please tell me why.”
“She left this for you. I’m sure she explains it all in here.”
He took the book but didn’t open it.
“Are you going to read it or simply stare at it? You’ll get your answers now.”
He looked at her, his countenance soft, vulnerable, like a small boy who lost his way. “Yes, answers.”
She studied his face, noted the strong jaw line, the hint of a dimple, the Romanesque nose, and those eyes. Green with flecks of amber. He certainly is a handsome man.
He opened the book and read.
He whispered low, “She was leaving him.”
“Why?”
Edmund dropped the diary on the floor. “He confessed to her.”
She picked it up. “Confessed what? To murdering you?”
“No, something more sinister.”
“Well, are you going tell me or do I have to read it for myself?”
Like a candle snuffed out, Edmund disappeared.
She blinked in disbelief, book in hand. “Edmund?”
The room turned cold, as if life had left it.
“Please don’t go. Don’t leave.”
No amount of pleading brought him back. He was gone, and she feared would never return.
Finally, she looked at the diary left in the chair. This is where I will find the answer he so desperately sought.
Reluctantly, she headed downstairs to her room, the diary clutched tight. She laid it on the nightstand, sat on the s
ide of the bed, and stared at it.
“The family will come home tomorrow. I don’t know what to do with this book. It won’t do to show anyone, and I can’t reveal what I’ve done.”
The gaslights flickered.
In the silence, she heard a frantic knocking coming from downstairs.
“Someone at the door, at this hour? But, who would come here in the middle of the night?”
Undecided, she waited. “Maybe they’ll go away. A lost traveler perhaps? They mustn’t know I’m alone.”
A muffled voice called for her to open the door.
Once more, the rapping resumed on the kitchen door, a familiar voice persisting.
She rushed down the stairs to the kitchen, unlatched the lock, turned the doorknob, and pulled it open.
PHEBE GASPED AT THE SIGHT of Jake standing in the doorway. “Whatever are you doing out this time of night?”
His round eyes and knit brows reflected a concerned look, replacing his normal matter-of-fact countenance. “I was outside trying to see why Zeke was barking so fiercely. There was a… uh…light.”
She took his arm and pulled him inside, ready to close the door against the darkness.
Zeke stood beside the door, his dark, shaggy coat damp, eyes wary. Both ears stood at attention.
The boy stood in the middle of the kitchen and pointed to the dog. “Can Zeke come in? I don’t want to leave him outside alone.”
She stepped aside, and the dog trotted inside.
“I don’t understand. What kind of light?”
“A bright, flashing light.”
After guiding him to a stool, she persisted. “Where?”
He paused. “In the cemetery.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t lightning?”
He shook his head and pointed to the window. “There’s no storm tonight. Wasn’t lightning. It stayed in one place—the place you always go.”
The milk gurgled heavily as she poured it from the bottle. She handed him the glass. “Here, drink this.”
Her mind raced to make sense of what he said. Light in the cemetery, by Edmund’s grave.
Jake gulped the milk, plunked the glass on the table, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s not all.” He glanced at the milk bottle and back at his glass, but didn’t continue.
“Well, are you going to tell me?”
“I also saw a light in the upstairs window of this house seconds before.”
This time, she sat down.
Both remained silent, simply staring at one another.
Zeke curled up at her feet as if he’d known her forever.
Still unable to process what Jake said, she gazed at the dog instead. “What breed is he?”
“Zeke? Don’t know. Mutt, I’d say. Found him along the road one day and brought him home.”
“Well, he’s a fine dog. You’re lucky to have him.”
“You know somethin’ about the light. I see it on your face.” He reached down and scratched Zeke’s ears, his voice softer. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”
She hesitated. “If I tell you, do you promise not to breathe a word of this to anyone?”
He nodded. “I promise.”
“Cross your heart?”
He made the sign across his chest. “Cross my heart.”
She stood and paced the kitchen, the decision to tell him weighed heavy, but simply to have someone to talk to about the whole thing would relieve her mind.
Jake watched her, twisting around as she came behind him.
“All right. I’ll tell you. It’s the ghost.”
He didn’t speak, only blinked a few times.
“Did you hear me, Jake? I said I saw a ghost.”
“Yes, I heard you. A ghost. Was it Mr. Edmund?”
The question stunned her. The words strangled in her throat. “How did you know?”
He stood and poured another glass of milk. “I’ve seen him before.”
Stunned, she gawked at him.
He chugged the white liquid straight down before he answered. “I figured you saw him, too. That’s why you hung out in the cemetery.”
“But…but.”
His stoic face flashed a hint of a grin. “You thought you were the only one to see him?”
She found her voice. “Well, yes. No one else wants to talk of it. The subject of loud thumping came up, but no one mentioned they actually saw him.”
Jake patted Zeke. The dog beat his tail against the floor in a happy response. “I’m not sure anyone else has seen him. I ain’t talked to the others about what I saw.”
A bit relieved at his casual demeanor, she pressed for more. “How many times?”
“Oh, only three or four times. He doesn’t see me. And I’ve only seen him in the cemetery. Crying over Mary McAdams grave.”
“But, aren’t you frightened? It’s a ghost, after all.”
A smidgen of a smile creased his lips. “I was at first, but he doesn’t notice me. I kind of got used to him. When the light appeared in the window upstairs, I figured something new happened. I remembered you were alone, thought I’d check it out.”
Phebe went absently to the ice box and pulled out the roast beef and bread. “It’s late. You must be hungry. Would you like a sandwich?”
“Yes, please.”
Assembling the sandwich gave her time to decide how much to tell him. After all, he was only twelve. After the run-around from Winston and Myrtle, it was nice to have someone who wasn’t afraid to talk about it. However, she didn’t want to take advantage of a young boy’s willingness to discuss the matter. She must take care.
Her back was to him as she prepared the bread. “I was told not to go up to the third floor. They said the other governesses heard thumping up there. It’s why they didn’t stay. Even though I was told to avoid it, I didn’t listen. That’s when I met him—Edmund, I mean. He appeared one night, tossing books onto the floor. He saw me, as well.”
“Did he tell ya about his murder?”
She whirled around, butter knife in hand. “You know about that?”
“Yep, everyone does. My stomach is growling. That sandwich sure looks good.”
“Oh, sorry.” She turned back to the task. “But, why doesn’t anyone talk about the murder? Why is it such a secret?” She turned back to the task.
“Some kind of scandal. Some whisper about it, but mostly people avoid it. Something to do with Mrs. Powell, I think.” He grabbed the sandwich from her hand and wolfed it down.
She watched him. “My, you were hungry.”
Still chewing, he pointed to Zeke. “You got anything for him?”
Scraps were kept in a container in the icebox to feed to the pigs outside the barn.
“I think I can scare up something.”
They watched Zeke gobble the pig’s bounty in silence.
Jake spoke first. “You were tellin’ me how you met Edmund—er, his ghost.”
“Oh, yes. I was reflecting on what you said about Mrs. Powell. What is she hiding?”
“Hiding? I don’t think she’s hidin’ anything. Jonathan and Mary are her parents. She doesn’t like to talk of them from what I hear. Mother told me Ms. Powell moved all the portraits to the library and locked the door. Not sure why. My father was assigned the task.
“The library? I was just there last night. I didn’t see any portraits.”
“Oh, the pictures are there, all right. If you were in the library, they must have left you a key. If you want, I’ll show you.” Jake stood.
Phebe retrieved the key from her dress pocket and followed the boy.
Inside, Jake went to the first portrait on the far wall. “This one is Mr. Jonathan.”
The man was stylish, light brown hair, no smile, with a somber, almost petulant look. His brown eyes were hooded, as if posing for a portrait was somewhat tedious. His attire was as austere as his unremarkable countenance.
“He looks nothing like Edmund. His hair is straight as a board, Edmund’s is
wavy. His eyes are brown, his jaw is weak. And the nose, why it’s aquiline compared to Edmund’s Romanesque nose. I can’t see any family resemblance.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. Over here is Mary.”
The light revealed a young, beautiful woman. Golden hair piled atop her head in the fashion of the day, bright blue eyes, a sweet smile, and adorned in a rose lace dress, a cameo pinned at her throat.
“I can see why Edmund fell in love with her,” Phebe said.
The next one made her gasp. There was no doubt the man staring back at her was Edmund. A happier, more carefree depiction, but him none-the-less. “Edmund.”
Her heart skipped. Dark hair, strong jaw, the prominent nose, and those amber and green eyes. The painter captured his very soul. The happy smile made him even more handsome, if that was possible. Unlike Jonathan, his ensemble complimented both his eyes and dark hair. A forest green jacket, a deep burgundy ascot fashioned with a pin emblazoned with a crest of some kind, and an emerald pinky ring on his hand.
He certainly had a flair for fashion. It’s easy to see he was in love with Mary when that was painted. His eyes sparkle with new found love.
There was one more picture. A baby. Only months old, but something about the portrait struck her immediately.
A gold placard said, Anthony Maurice McAdams. Dressed in a soft blue outfit, the child looked merry and happy. The sweet smile resembled Mary, but the eyes of green and amber were those of Edmund himself.
She held the candle closer. The eyes glowed in the dim light. Amber flecks danced as light flickered over the painting.
“This is extraordinary. Edmund, Elizabet, and this baby have the same eyes.”
She moved to Jonathan’s portrait and studied it again.
The next wall held more family portraits.
The first was a couple, seated side by side with a gold-plated inscription at the corner. Portia and Sigmund McAdams. By the mode of dress, she determined they must be Edmund and Jonathan’s parents. The man also wore a pin emblazoned with a crest. She noted the green eyes of the woman and the annoyed look of her husband.
She moved to the next one. An auburn-haired woman, not as lovely as Mary, but handsome. “Who is she?”
“That’s Ms. Lucy.”
“I’ve not heard anyone mention her.” Phebe said.
Somewhere Between Page 6