“She was so lonely. I wish I knew how old she was. Sounds like she and Jonathan hadn’t been married that long.”
“Maybe there’re other journals.”
“I hope so. I wanted to look in the trunk again. Maybe I missed another one. It was mostly full of clothes, so another journal could have slid down on the side or something.”
“We can look tomorrow.”
“What about cleaning?”
“How long will it take to look through a few boxes to see if there are other journals? You remember where the trunk was?”
She nodded. Right by that old cradle. Had it been Tansy and Jonathan’s?
“Then look in nearby boxes, chances are stuff is stored by age. There sure doesn’t seem to be any other method to the storage.”
“Mmm.” Caitlin sipped her cider, wondering about Tansy and the past and how closely she felt tied to the woman. Was history repeating itself with a slight twist? Zach wasn’t going to war to fight, but he was away for long periods of time and often reporting on armed conflicts.
“I’m tired. I’m going up to bed for good now,” she said, rising a little later.
He followed her to the foot of the stairs.
“I’m glad you came back down to decorate the tree,” he said.
“Me, too. It’s pretty, isn’t it?” she asked, looking at it through the archway. It sparkled and shimmered with lights and ornaments.
“We didn’t get any tinsel on it,” she said.
“It doesn’t need it. Good night, Caitlin.”
He kissed her briefly and headed to the living room. He’d clean up the boxes and other clutter and then head for bed. Tomorrow he’d begin his campaign.
Caitlin awoke with a feeling of anticipation. She and Zach had reached a truce last night. They’d enjoy each others company for the next couple of days, and then separate. It would be nice to have someone to share the holidays with. And with this new truce, there’d be no pushing to change her decision.
She frowned. At least she hoped so. The kisses he’d given her last night didn’t seem as platonic as they could be. But he’d been away for a long time. What was a kiss or two between friends?
Could they be friends? She tried to picture them meeting for dinner or something each time he returned to the States. She could not picture them reminiscing together.
There was too much between them, including that flare of attraction and awareness that rose every time he came near her. Just lying in her bed she felt fluttery merely thinking about Zach. She so wished things were different and that he’d be home for her every night!
Pushing aside her confused thoughts, she rose and quickly dressed. Despite the furnace, it was still cool in the bedrooms. One glance out the window showed a storm brewing. The intermittent sunshine of yesterday was gone. Gray skies made the day seem dreary. There would probably be rain by afternoon, she thought.
Wearing old jeans and a sweatshirt, she went downstairs. The house was silent. The Christmas tree lights had been turned on, sparkling in the pale morning light. Zach was already up.
But when she went into the kitchen, he wasn’t there. The coffee was warm on the stove. The box of Christmas cookies was on the table. Had that been his breakfast? She looked out the window to see if he was on one of his walks and spotted him near the river. He seemed to like walking along the bank. It must be so peaceful and serene after the places he’d been over the years.
Still, wasn’t he cold? The branches on the trees swayed in the wind. She looked at the sky again, ominous and gray. Would it snow? She wished she had a radio to keep up with the weather forecasts. Aunt Sally hadn’t had a radio, only an old television set that was on its last legs the last time Caitlin visited. She hadn’t seen a new one since she’d been here. The old one was in Aunt Sally’s bedroom—not a place she was going with Zach ensconced there.
Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she watched Zach as she took a sip. He stood on the edge of the bank, a short drop to the river. She almost called out to be careful. What if he slipped or tripped and fell into the icy river?
Then she almost laughed. How foolish. The man practically lived in danger zones. What was a riverbank?
He turned and walked with his head bent, pausing and then stooping down. She could not see what he was doing, but watched until he stood. He glanced at the house. Could he see her at the window?
Caitlin turned quickly and went to the refrigerator to pull out some eggs. She’d prepare a big breakfast, mainly for him, and then get ready to plunge into the cleaning.
By mid morning, Zach has received two calls, each pulling him away from the tasks at hand. They’d started on the room across from the one he was using as soon as breakfast was finished. They worked well together and the task went quickly, despite the interruptions.
“Another room?” Zach asked as they left that one, cleaning supplies in hand.
“Not today. After I shower and fix lunch, I want to use your laptop to see what I can find out about the war. Maybe even find mention of Jonathan. I suppose his last name was Williamson. But it could have been a different one that many generations ago.”
“I have a couple of calls to make this afternoon, so you can be searching for your long lost kin while I work.”
She bit her lip. Was this when he’d get a new assignment and be off? Would he leave before Christmas? It was two days away. Even if something was happening that needed reporting, surely Zach could stay for two more days. Let someone else cover the news.
When had she gone from wishing him not there to hoping he’d stay another two days?
Chapter Eight
Caitlin settled in the living room with Zach’s laptop. The lights still sparkled from the tree. Looking out the window, she was surprised to see light snowflakes drifting down. She’d known a storm was brewing, but hadn’t expected snow. So it might be a white Christmas after all, she mused.
Using her phone as a hot spot, she spent the next couple of hours researching the War for Independence, noting major southern battles, searching for Jonathan Williamson. There was no record of a soldier by that name that she found, but she was fascinated about the accounts of the different skirmishes.
“Find anything?” Zach asked, standing in the doorway. He’d been on the phone the entire time. She’d been vaguely aware of the murmur of his voice coming from the kitchen.
“Lots of information, nothing on a Jonathan Williamson from Virginia. Are you finished your calls?”
“For the time being.”
“No major story needing your reporting?” she asked, stretching out her legs. She was feeling a bit stiff from sitting for two hours in front of the computer after all the bending she’d done while cleaning.
“No.” He walked over to one of the front windows and looked out. “It’s snowing heavier now than before,” he said.
She put the computer on the table and rose to join him. Several inches of snow blanketed the yard and trees. She shivered, not really cold, but feeling the chill from the air near the glass.
“You have the only television in your room,” she said. “Check the news to see what to expect.”
“Or look it up on the Internet,” he said.
She complied and found the forecast more severe than she’d expected. “It says we could have more than a foot of snow. And the cold weather is due to continue through the week, so it’s not going to melt anytime soon.”
“Do we need to go anywhere?”
Caitlin shook her head, staring at the five-day forecast on the computer. She’d bought enough food to last a week or longer. She made sure she bought all she needed for a nice Christmas dinner. It wouldn’t be a hardship to remain inside.
“I wish we had some wood for a fire,” she said wistfully, shutting down the computer.
“There’s some stacked beside the barn.”
“Carriage house,” she corrected absently. “Is there? Do you suppose it’ll burn?”
“It’s been there at least since
last summer, probably longer. It’ll be nice and dry. I’ll bring some in.”
“I’ll help.”
They bundled up and went out into the snow. Caitlin lifted her head to the falling flakes, delighting in the feel of them landing on her cheeks. She laughed and spun around.
“This is so much fun. Usually I hate having it snow because I have to go to work and know the streets are going to be treacherous. But this is different. No responsibilities until January. It can snow all week!”
He watched her with a brooding gaze. “If it snowed all week, we’d have ten feet of snow to plow through at the end.”
“You know what I mean. Isn’t this fun?”
“It beats the dry heat of the Middle East,” he said. “Come on, the wood's on the far side.”
They brought in several armfuls of split logs, stacking them near the large fireplace. Then Zach found a tarp in the carriage house and covered the rest of the pile so it wouldn’t get wet with the snow.
“Isn’t that a little late?” Caitlin asked, watching him. “There’s already snow sticking.”
“But it’s not much and we may end up needing this for heat if something happens to the power. This will keep any more snow from accumulating directly on the wood.”
“Want to walk along the river?” Caitlin asked, not ready to go back inside. She’d seen him several times along the bank of the river. What was the appeal? In the muted light, the water looked gray and cold as it silently flowed on its way to the sea.
“Until our feet get cold,” he said.
“We should have brought boots.”
“I wasn’t expecting to come at all,” he reminded her. Taking her hand in his, he gestured upstream. “Let’s go this way, I haven’t explored this direction.”
The snow made walking treacherous. They stayed well away from the riverbank, slipping and skidding from time to time as they trudged along in the quiet of the afternoon.
Soon they passed another house, lights blazing from the downstairs windows, necessary with the storm darkening the sky.
“Do you know who lives there?” Zach asked.
“Mrs. Watson. She was one of Aunt Sally’s favorite friends, though she was younger by a decade or more. When I visited, she’d often have us over for dinner. Other than Mrs. Watson and the McDonalds, Aunt Sally devoted herself to me and didn’t visit with her friends or neighbors while I was staying with her. The McDonalds were the family on the other side who had the boat I used.”
The next house they walked behind was dark. No one home, obviously. “The Carstairs live here. Wonder if they’ve gone off for the holidays.”
Some time later Caitlin stopped. “My feet are freezing.” She was getting cold all over, except for her hand held by Zach. Her hair was covered with snow, as was Zach’s. She shook her head, dislodging a shower of flakes. Shivering in the cold air, she noticed the wind seemed to have picked up.
“Time to return anyway,” Zach said.
She nodded.
They hurried back to the house. Entering the kitchen, Caitlin toed off her shoes, wiggling her toes against the linoleum floor. “It feels so much warmer in here.”
“Want to get that fire going now or later?” Zach asked, shrugging out of his jacket.
Once again Caitlin wondered if it were warm enough for him. She should have thought of that before suggesting the walk.
“Now’s fine, I guess. What are we going to do the rest of the afternoon?” It was too early to start supper, but Caitlin wasn’t sure she just wanted to sit in the living room together and talk.
“We could explore the cellar a bit more,” he said, hanging both their jackets across the back of two chairs to let them drip on the floor as the snow melted. “Look for those journals you want to find.”
“Okay.” Caitlin wasn’t as excited about exploring the cellar as Zach seemed, but she knew she’d much rather have him with her than do it on her own. Maybe in addition to searching for the journals, she could make a hasty inventory and get some idea of what would be involved in clearing the place.
On the other hand, if she did decide to move here, she'd have years ahead of her in which to go through the items in the cellar and determine what to keep and what to discard.
She grabbed a tablet and pencil and headed down the steps after Zach. He seemed to relish the idea of wandering through the spooky place. Halfway down the door slammed behind her.
“Did you leave a window open?” Zach asked from the bottom of the stairs.
“No, but that door slams shut a lot. I forgot to prop it open. I think the house slants or something,” she said, descending the remaining stairs. “When you think about it, a house that’s two hundred years old and still standing is pretty remarkable.”
“There speaks a child of modern America. I’ve been places where dwellings are several hundred years old, not just two.”
“Mmm.” She looked around. The dim lighting faintly illuminated the clutter. “Where do we start?”
“It’s your cellar, where did you find the journal?”
“Over here.” She retraced her steps from earlier and soon stopped by the old cradle. Nudging it, she watched it rock gently for a couple of moments. “I wonder how old this is? It’s probably been in the family for generations.”
Zach looked at the cradle, the tightness in his chest returning. Did all roads lead to children? A sadness swept through him. He wished he could see Caitlin when she was pregnant. See her holding a newborn, her head bent over him, her blond hair shielding her face. Then she’d look up and he’d see the love shining in her eyes.
Like he used to see it shining for him. Couldn’t Caitlin see what they had was good? How could she throw it all away?
“Probably has dry rot,” he said. He looked around the area. Other furniture was haphazardly stacked out of the narrow aisle. There were trunks and crates and boxes stacked two and three high.
“It doesn't have dry rot and with a little cleaning and polish it’ll be beautiful. Carry it upstairs for me, would you?”
“Whatever for?” He looked at her.
“I can clean it up while I’m here.”
“Caitlin—” He had nothing to say. It had all been said. “Fine.” He pulled it away from the other furniture and lifted it. It was heavier than he expected and awkward, but he maneuvered it through the narrow space and to the bottom of the stairs. “Get the door,” he said, motioning her to go ahead of him.
She passed him and ran up the steps.
“It’s stuck,” she said, pushing against it.
“Great.” He set down the cradle and, skipping every other step, joined Caitlin at the top. He tried the door. It didn’t budge.
“It didn’t lock, did it?” he asked, twisting the knob.
“No. It sticks sometimes.”
He pushed it with his shoulder. There wasn’t enough room on the top step to get much leverage. Zach tried again. The solid door held firm.
He looked around the frame. “The hinges are on the other side, but maybe I can pry off the board on this side and get to them.”
Just then the electricity failed and they were plunged into darkness.
“Zach?” Caitlin reached out and clutched his arm.
He turned and drew her closer. “It’s all right. Just be careful and don’t fall down the stairs. I guess the storm got worse.”
“This place gives me the creeps,” she said.
“It’s only the underside of the house. Come on, take the stairs slowly and we’ll get to the bottom. Do you know if your aunt had any flashlights or candles down here?”
“I haven’t a clue. I never came here much when I was a kid. I know there are candles in the drawer in the kitchen.”
“Fat lot of good they do us right now.”
“Can’t you pry off the frame and get the door open?”
“Sure. It may take a little longer in the dark, but we’ll manage.” He wasn’t sure how, but she sounded nervous. He said what he could to ease he
r mind.
They reached the bottom, as Zach found out when his shins connected with the cradle. “Dammit,” he muttered. If Caitlin had let the fool thing stay where she found it…
“So how can you work on the door when you can’t see anything?” she asked, still holding tightly to his arm. “And where are you going to find any tools. I bet Aunt Sally had them all in the carriage house.”
“If we can find a screwdriver or some kind of metal wedge to pry off the board surrounding the door, we’ll be all set. There has to be something around here.”
“I don’t know where anything is in this place,” she said. “How can you find anything in the dark?”
“Then we’ll just sit down and wait for the power outage to end. It might not be long. Probably not as long as some of the places I’ve been.”
“Or it could last a day or two,” Caitlin said.
“Don’t borrow trouble.”
“Do you have a light on your phone?”
“Yeah, but I left it on the charger when we went for our walk. Do you have yours?”
“No, it's in my purse,”
They sat on the bottom step. Zach looked off into the darkness. His eyes would have adjusted by now to any light. There was none except that from the crack beneath the kitchen door.
He could try to find some device that would work, but not knowing the layout, or what was even available, it sounded like a fool’s errand. Plus, if Caitlin didn’t turn loose his arm, he wasn’t going anywhere.
He pried her fingers off, then laced them with his. “There’s nothing to be scared about,” he said. “It’s just old furniture and boxes of stuff.”
“Maybe ghosts.”
He laughed. “I doubt it. Your aunt Sally lived here all her life, she’d have told you if there were any ghosts.”
“Maybe.”
“Tell me about Tansy. Isn’t that the name of the woman who wrote that journal you’re captivated by?” he said, hoping to get her mind off her fear. He hoped the electricity came back on soon. “She may have been in this cellar herself.”
“I wonder who she was. And what happened to them,” Caitlin said.
The Christmas Locket Page 8