A Secret in the Attic (Mystery/Suspense/Romance)

by Samantha Jillian Bayarr

  Amy stood beside her as her maid of honor. Once again, the preacher repeated the words spoken only minutes ago.

  “If there is anyone here who thinks this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace.”

  Everyone held their breath as the doors to the back of the church flung open. Jake entered just then.

  “Wait. You can’t marry him. I love you.”

  Confusion shook Jake’s expression as Emma and Jonathon turned their attention toward him. Amy stood and ran to meet him half-way down the aisle of the church.

  She jumped in his arms. “I’m so sorry I almost married Jonathon.”

  Jake hushed her by placing a finger across her lips. “It doesn’t matter. Grandfather told me everything. I was so afraid I wouldn’t make it here in time. I drove all the way from Chicago.”

  Amy’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Jake kissed her, then, looked up at Jonathon and Emma waiting at the altar. “Wait a minute. What did I miss? Why are they getting married?”

  “It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you just as soon as the preacher is able to get through the ceremony—hopefully with no more interruptions.”

  They sat down in the nearest empty pew. Emma flashed her a smile before turning around to commence with the ceremony.

  Amy listened intently to the preacher as he asked them to repeat their vows. He had to ask Emma her full name since she wasn’t the original bride and he had not registered her.

  “My full name is Emma Marrietta Stanford.”

  Amy stood and skipped up the aisle toward the front of the church. Emma and Jonathon turned just then, stern looks in their eyes.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt again, but what did you say your middle name was?”

  Emma placed her hands on her hips impatiently. “Is this a trick, Amy Lucas? Or can we get on with my wedding?”

  “I assure you, Emma. I have NO intention of breaking up your wedding. I just want to know your middle name.”

  “Marrietta. Did you hear it that time? Or do I have to shout it from the rooftop?”

  Amy could feel the blood draining from her face. “Please spell it.”

  “M-a-r-r-i-e-t-t-a. Is there a point to this, or are you stalling my wedding for some reason?”

  Her grandmother was beside her then. “Emma, why didn’t you ever tell me what your middle name was? Every time we talked about it when we were kids, you said you didn’t have a middle name.”

  Emma flashed her mother a nervous smile. “I’m sorry Momma, but I hated being named after your crazy grandmamma.”

  Amy had to grab the edge of the pew to steady herself. “Are you by any chance related to Alison Marrietta?”

  “Yes. She’s my great grandmother. My grandmother, my mother, and I carry her name as our middle name. How did you know about her?”

  Amy exchanged a smile with her mother and grandmother. “It doesn’t matter. Go marry Jonathon. Just promise me you’ll have a good life.”

  Emma hugged her. “I will. I promise.”

  She returned to the altar and the two were finally joined in holy matrimony. Amy stood proudly beside her for the rest of the ceremony as her maid of honor.

  ****

  After the wedding, Jake and Amy went back to her apartment with her mother, grandmother, and Henry in tow. Amy went to her room to retrieve the book containing the curse so she could explain things better to Jake. It was laying face-down on her bedroom rug where she’d thrown it days before.

  As she set it down on her kitchen table where the gang had gathered, she noticed something different about the book. Upon closer examination, she could see the crack that had separated the doves on the stone medallion was no longer visible. She pointed it out to her very nervous grandmother before deciding to open the book to pages containing the curse.

  All five of them gasped in unison when Amy opened the pages and found them devoid of any sign of the original curse.

  Amy grabbed the book, leafing frantically through its pages. “This can’t be. What happened to all of our names?”

  Her grandmother snatched it from her grasp to get a better look. She carefully turned every page, noting that the book was not missing any pages, and that it was the same book. The last page contained faint writing. Amy turned on the light so they could read it.

  Her grandmother read it aloud:

  A selfless act has spared the fate of each female descendant, present and future, of Ellen Louise Jacobson. Now each of them shall be free to marry their one

  true love, and the curse of the widowed bride is

  herby broken forevermore.

  Alison Lucile Marrietta

  Amy looked to her grandmother for any sign of hope that this wasn’t another trick.

  Henry cleared his throat. “If you want, your grandmother and I can marry first to put it to the test. You two youngsters have your whole lives ahead of you. I’m so old; I haven’t much to lose if I perish on my wedding night. At least I’d die a happy man.”

  Her grandmother scowled at Henry. “Is that your idea of a proposal?”

  Henry’s expression turned serious as he took her grandmother’s hand in his. “I’ve waited a long time for you, Annabelle. Will you honor me by becoming my wife?”

  The woman threw her arms around the aged man, tears spilling from her eyes. “Of course I will. I thought this day would never come.”

  Her expression changed as she turned to Amy. “What do you suppose it was that broke the curse? Giving up Jonathon to Emma? With her being a direct descendant of Alison, and you being a direct descendant of my mother, your great Grandma Ellie. Do you suppose letting her wear the dress had anything to do with it?”

  Amy thought about it for a minute. “Maybe it was everything rolled into one, but I don’t care. The curse is broken, and now I can marry Jake.” She let out an unladylike whoop, but calmed when she met his gaze. “That is if you’ll still have me.”

  Jake suppressed a smile. “I might have to think about that. After all, you did almost marry another man today.”

  Amy placed her hands on her hips, challenging him. “I only did it because I couldn’t marry you and stand by helplessly while you perished from my family curse.”

  Jake couldn’t help but smile at her tough act. “I already told you that my grandfather told me the whole crazy story. At first, I thought he was joking, but seeing this book, and hearing the explanation from your grandmother just now really put things in perspective. I don’t want to miss out on another day without you in it. I love you Amy Lucas.”

  With that, he knelt before her and held out the little black box containing the ring he’d purchased during his first trip to Chicago. “Will you marry me for real this time, Amy?”

  Her love for Jake welled up in her heart, threatening to spill out. She didn’t have to think about her answer. “Yes.”

  Jake didn’t care that their relatives stood only a few feet from them. He pulled Amy close and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

  His grandfather let out a whoop. “I guess we have two weddings to plan.”

  THE APOTHECARY

  Chapter One and Two Sneak Peek

  WRITTEN BY

  SAMANTHA JILLIAN BAYARR

  CHAPTER ONE

  I jolted upright in my bed, still in that sleep-state, my chest heaving as I fought for air, and tried to ignore the sensation I was falling. I was having the dream again, but I wasn’t sure how since I knew I couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes. I wiped cold sweat from my brow, hoping the act would erase the cadaverous chill that had settled in my foreboding thoughts. I forced myself into wakefulness, knowing I wasn’t willing to sleep anymore because sleeping meant dreaming, and I needed to put an end to the visits from the little girl who plagued my dreams.

  I’d called her Amelia, as if I knew her. Though she looked strangely familiar, I felt as if we were unknowingly connected. Despite my best effo
rts, I couldn’t save her from the frigid state from which she haunted my dreams because Amelia had obviously been dead for a very long time.

  I shivered. Maybe from the sudden change in weather, but more likely from the discerning chill that had taken up residence in my heart as a result of the last few days’ events. I wasn’t functioning well, or even coping beyond the present moment, much less looking forward to the forthcoming events with which I was powerless to avoid.

  I pushed my feet into my slippers to escape the cold, hardwood floor, and wrapped my robe around me. It was only the first week of October, but the past few nights had generated an extreme cold that had drawn my nightmares closer to life. I grabbed my cell phone and shuffled sleepily past my mother’s closed bedroom door, then into the kitchen. Placing the vibrating phone on the counter, I let my thoughts drift back over the past week as I mindlessly went about my morning routine.

  I glanced down at my cell phone, trying to ignore the persistent vibrations. It was Emily again. Every time it vibrated, it drew closer to the edge of the counter, threatening to drop to the floor if I didn’t answer it. Determined to ignore the relentless calls, I sipped hot coffee, wishing for something stronger—something to numb my thoughts to match my deadening heart. The phone continued to nudge me from the stupor that threatened to overcome me. I knew if I didn’t pick it up, a text was sure to follow. Emily and I had been friends since fifth grade and she knew me all too well. She knew I was awake. She probably knew I was drinking my microwaved coffee and ignoring her call. I knew she wouldn’t stop calling until I gave in and answered.

  I lifted the buzzing phone to my ear, unable to speak.

  “Claire. How are you feeling?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?” I managed.

  “A shot at humor. That’s a good sign.”

  “Emily, really, I’m not in the mood for small talk this morning. Why are you calling me so early?”

  “I was up with the baby. I just got her back to sleep, so I figured I’d check on you.”

  “How did you know I was up?”

  “I think I know your sleeping habits by now, Claire. I know you have a lot on your mind and I didn’t want you to be alone with your thoughts.”

  “I wasn’t entirely alone. I had the dream again.”

  Emily snorted. “The creepy one with the frozen dead girl?”

  “For some reason, I called her Amelia in this one. I don’t know an Amelia, but I have a terrible feeling I’m about to.”

  “Just keep repeating to yourself that it’s only a dream. I know it’s tough right now, Claire, but you have to keep your mind clear, and try to stay focused.”

  I sighed heavily. “Yeah, and what about you, Miss Busybody? Calling me at this hour.”

  “I had the baby to distract me, but I knew you’d be up trying to sort things out by yourself.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I have my cat. I’m not entirely alone here. And a good stiff drink would be enough to distract me. No offense, Emily, but a baby is not my idea of a good distraction.”

  “Don’t be so quick to rule it out. Having a baby is wonderful. You aren’t getting any younger, Claire.”

  “I’m only twenty-five. Besides, there’s one major problem with having a baby in my life right now. Did you forget I don’t have a husband?”

  “You don’t need a husband to have a baby.”

  “Seriously Em? Why would I have a baby without a husband? So I can struggle the way my mother did with me?”

  My mind flooded with thoughts of my mother again. Things I was trying not to think about. My mother had been raised in an orphanage, abandoned by a fifteen-year-old mother who had died giving birth to her. She never had the opportunity to have a real family because she lived in the orphanage until she was eighteen years old, when they pushed her out into the world where she became a transient hippie until she met my father.

  However, my father ran off only a week after their wedding, leaving her unexpectedly pregnant with me. Having no idea where he’d run off to or if he’d ever return, my mother finally settled down and raised me alone on the tips she earned as a waitress at Frank’s Diner. Now, as I mindlessly glanced down at my mother’s black rosary sitting in a clump on the kitchen counter, I realized I was now an orphan just like my mother had been.

  I glanced at the clock on the stove and realized Emily was still talking in my ear.

  “Isabelle is already two and you still don’t have a Sophia yet.”

  “Do we really have to have this conversation right now, Em?”

  “I’m sorry, Claire. I guess I was hoping that changing the subject would take your mind off things. I just don’t know what else to say to you.”

  “How about telling me you’ll be here at eleven to pick me up so I don’t have to ride to the cemetery alone.”

  Emily was quiet for a moment. “I can do that. I’ll be there.”

  I hung up the phone without saying another word. I was far too drained to even think about anything; despite the fact my thoughts couldn’t be quieted. Her words about my lack of family stung more than she meant them to. We’d promised each other years ago that we would name our daughters for each of our middle names. So far, Emily had held up her end of the bargain with having Isabelle, my name sake. But she was right. I was already two years behind her and still had no daughter of my own to name after my best friend, Emily Sophia Bradford—yet.

  ****

  I stood on the fake grass carpet that surrounded the grave upon which my mother’s simple casket rested. Clutching my mother’s black rosary to my chest, I could feel my heart pounding. It rang in my ears, drowning out the words spoken by the priest. “As we lay to rest Lucinda Blackwell-Mayfield…” My mother was raised Catholic by the nuns in the orphanage, and the rosary I desperately clung to had supposedly belonged to her own mother. It was the only thing she had been endowed with from the teen who’d unwillingly surrendered her life giving birth to her.

  Just how the rosary had followed her to the orphanage would probably always be a mystery to me, for she never really wanted to talk about it much, but she clung to that rosary until she let out her last breath. The only thing I knew for sure, was when she left the cold halls of the Wellington orphanage at the age of eighteen, the rosary was given to her by the nuns, who’d explained it had been left with a note stating that it had belonged to her mother.

  My mother admitted there were rumors that circulated the halls of the orphanage claiming that it had been the dying Widow Karrington who’d left my mother on the steps of the orphanage that cold October morning in 1953 with a very large sum of money and a secret note. My mother always made light of the rumors, especially the one that claimed she herself had been named after the Widow Karrington, whose maiden name had been Blackwell; first name, Lucinda. My mother rejected the name Lucinda because of this, and had always insisted on being called Lucy. She always joked that she didn’t even have a proper last name until she married my father, Grayson Mayfield, III, but we both knew how that one turned out.

  I clutched Emily’s hand as the casket was lowered into the tomb that would become my mother’s final resting place. I’d chosen a spot near a tree, but not too near as to block the sun from shining down on her grave. My mother loved the feel of the sun on her face and the sound of birds chirping, so this was the perfect spot, if there was such a thing. Birds chirped from the nearby tree and I hoped my mother could somehow hear them and approve of the spot I’d chosen for her. As for me, the sun felt as if it shone black so as not to contrast with my mood. I turned my head and allowed tears to fall unchecked as the casket lowered out of sight. I let go of Emily’s hand and began to walk toward the parking lot, my heart threatening to pound its way from my ribcage.

  As I approached the curb, a man in a dark grey suit walked toward me, his crisp blue eyes reflecting bits of the clouds. His sandy brown hair thick with gel moved only slightly in the breeze, but his focus on me as we neared each other almost made me f
orget why I was at the cemetery. He stopped me before I passed him. “Excuse me Miss, are you Claire Mayfield?”

  I mindlessly nodded my head, and pulled my unruly hair behind my ear as he pushed a business card into my hand. I glanced down at the card that boasted the name of a large, local law firm.

  He managed a half smile; his dimples momentarily mesmerizing me.

  “I apologize for coming here, but I’ve been trying to track you down for a week. I read of your mother’s funeral arrangements in the newspaper and knew this might be the only place I could find you. Forgive the intrusion, but I need to speak to you about your mother’s estate.”

  “My mother’s estate?” I looked up at him furiously, clutching my mother’s rosary in my fist and shook it at him. “This rosary is the only thing my mother left me, and you can tell the hospital they’re not getting their hands on it to pay her bill. I’ll find another way to cover her debt.”

  He backed up slightly, holding his hands up in mock defense. “I think you’ve misunderstood me, Miss Mayfield. I’d like to go over the details of your mother’s inheritance.”

  “My mother was an orphan, and orphans don’t get an inheritance. You must have the wrong Lucy Mayfield.”

  “Was your mother Lucinda Blackwell, born October 15th, 1953? If that is your mother, and she is the same Lucinda Blackwell that was raised in the Wellington Home for Children, then I will need to discuss some things with you.”

  I shook off the feelings of suspicion as the young lawyer forced a smile.

  “That is my mother. But she had no family. You must have the wrong Lucinda Blackwell. The nuns at the orphanage told her she had been left on the doorstep of the orphanage by a midwife who’d put to rest the unknown fifteen-year-old girl who’d given birth to her.”