“The one in white,” Anna repeated, though merely saying the words seemed to take her breath away. Unable to stop herself, she turned to look at the woman again. Yes, there she was— still staring at Anna, still smiling, looking happy. Was the woman mad, to be grinning like a fool at a funeral?
When their eyes locked again, the woman nodded knowingly and pointed at Anna as she had before. “It’s you.”
Anna wasn’t sure if she heard the words, or if they somehow went straight into her mind. No one else reacted. It was as if they couldn’t see the woman.
Anna stared at the ground again. Have I lost my mind?
“You must be catching your death of the flu,” Aunt Wilma said with a sympathetic and somewhat patronizing tilt of her head as a Rushton family member stepped forward to offer a prayer over the grave.
As he spoke, Anna had to force her head to bow. Keeping her eyes closed took more effort than a day of harvesting potatoes, and once she failed entirely, opening them a crack to peek at the woman, only to close them again because yes, the strange vision was still there. More than anything, Anna fought the urge to cry out, to tell her aunt and everyone around her that she wasn’t sick or imagining things, and that they should all run away, right now, because something eerie was afoot. Or she should simply run away herself, down the hill from the cemetery and all the way back to the Ingersolls’ house on Main Street, where she’d lock the doors, run upstairs to her new bedroom, and hide.
But something told her that the woman would find her no matter where she went. Anna squeezed her eyes tight again but could practically feel the woman’s stare through her lids.
Who was she? Could Aunt Wilma and the rest of the gathering really not see her?
The prayer ended, and the throng murmured, “Amen.”
As the people began to disperse, Aunt Wilma touched Anna’s arm, and she inhaled sharply as if struck. Aunt Wilma gave her a strange look— one almost saying that yes, Anna had indeed lost her mind. She forced herself to not yank her arm out of her aunt’s grip, something particularly difficult when Aunt Wilma said, “Dear, I’m afraid you’re seeing things— and you poor creature, you’re so pale. You’re still exhausted from travel.”
A nod was Anna’s only response. She was exhausted, but no amount of fatigue could explain what she’d seen in the rainy cemetery. She said nothing more as she followed her aunt away from the burial plot. Before she stepped beyond the cemetery wall, Anna couldn’t help but look back one last time and hope the whole thing had been a figment of her imagination.
Not only was the woman still there, but she had also turned, so she again faced Anna. Without anyone in front of her, the woman clearly hovered above the ground in what looked like a nightdress with lace at the bottom and on the cuffs of her sleeves and a ribbon tied into a bow at the neck. She held a candlestick with a half-burned candle, which was lit, its flame flickering slightly, but not going out, even when a gust of wind nearly displaced Anna’s hat from her head.
Through it all, the woman continued to stare at Anna with the same knowing smile.
Aunt Wilma adjusted her umbrella so it covered both of them better. Her voice broke into Anna’s thoughts. “Come. No need to fret over David Rushton. He’ll rest in peace. Let’s get you home and to bed with a nice bowl of soup.”
Not until Anna had walked past the cemetery wall did she realize that the woman had no umbrella. She stood— hovered— in the rain, yet her candle burned bright, and her personage remained entirely dry.
Chapter Two
That afternoon, Anna went to the high school in an attempt to get a teaching position. The amused smiles she got from the staff told her plenty— how they thought that the education she’d received in little old Shelley, Idaho, amounted to nothing, and her teaching certificate didn’t count, either. Did she look as if she’d just fallen off a turnip truck? Her clothes weren’t as stylish as theirs, but she wasn’t entirely naive and ignorant of the world. If they could have seen her spitfire of a headmistress, Miss Alice, they might have had a different opinion.
As she made the forty-five-minute walk back across layers of fall leaves, through the mist of an impending rain shower, she avoided puddles and pondered what to do next. The principal, Mr. Hatch, did say he’d add her to the list of substitute teachers. If he ever called, she’d have a chance to prove herself to him and the rest of the faculty.
She passed beneath a tree, and water droplets fell from the leaves onto her hair. Anna hurried past, then pulled her scarf up like a hood, which she probably should have done from the outset. Her ears welcomed the protection.
She would try for a position again next school year, or perhaps after Christmas break, if a teacher got married and moved away or something else happened to open a spot. In the meantime, she needed a job. The biggest reason was to earn money toward an independent future, but she also needed something to keep her out of the house so she didn’t feel so obligated to her aunt and uncle. They wouldn’t want to give her charity forever, and she certainly didn’t want to be the recipient, either.
She turned onto Main at the tabernacle and, two blocks later, found Uncle Milton sitting on the porch steps on the corner of 100 West. He looked up as she unlatched the metal gate and went through. He appeared to be waiting for her.
“Still looking for paying work?” he asked, chewing on a piece of grass.
“I am,” Anna said, happy to not go into detail. She eyed the grass stuck between Uncle Milton’s teeth and covered up a smile. She had a feeling that Aunt Wilma, who went out of her way to look the part of the wife of a wealthy businessman, wouldn’t approve of her husband chewing grass.
The habit reminded Anna of the farm that had been her home for as long as she could remember. For a moment, it also made her feel a tad lighter in her step, and she felt more comfortable around Uncle Milton immediately. Had the steps not been damp with recently fallen autumn rain, she would have sat beside him, but she didn’t want to get her second-best dress muddy.
“Figured you’d like to get out of the house a bit,” Uncle Milton said. He glanced over his left shoulder at the house and chuckled as if he knew full well that Anna hadn’t been inside much today— and didn’t want to return, either.
If so, he’d guessed correctly. She wasn’t used to such elegant surroundings. The second floor alone had two bathrooms and five— five!— large bedrooms. The dining room had a bowed window that looked onto Main Street, and the next room was a recent addition: a sunroom where Aunt Wilma reportedly spent much of her time in the summer, reading or feeding her pet canary, the window screens open for fresh air. And that didn’t count the kitchen, the basement, or the grand staircases and entryway, with their elaborate woodwork.
Anna preferred smaller, humbler accommodations. She would have been quite happy to stay outside for some time, even if it meant getting a bit damp— although the rain had eased and sun shone through the clouds now.
“Talked to Jedidiah Sorensen,” Uncle Milton said. “Said he could use some help over at the church building. It’s paying work.”
Anna tilted her head. “Paying work… at the church?” The congregation was run entirely with volunteers and lay leaders.
“Oh, it isn’t church work, precisely,” Uncle Milton clarified. He pulled the grass out of his mouth, studied it, and cast it aside, then slipped a new blade inside. With it clasped between his teeth, he went on. “It may keep you busy for a few days— maybe a week or more, depending on what you find.”
Intrigued, Anna stepped closer. With one hand, she wiped a spot beside Uncle Milton as clean as she could, laid her scarf on top, and sat on it. “What is the work?”
“We used to have a woman in the congregation— a spinster.” He squinted as if remembering. “She grew up here, and all her family passed on before she did. She used one of the church closets to store some of her things. Nobody minded except Mrs. Pye, who thought the church should charge a rental fee. But she didn’t have two pennies to rub together; s
he couldn’t have paid one. In her final months, she moved from house to house, with members of the congregation caring for her. Keeping her things at the church was easier than moving them around all the time.” He sighed and shook his head. “She was only fifty-some-odd years old— a little younger than my Wilma— but to look at her, you’d have thought she was much older. Anyhow, she’s been gone a year now, and some folks are getting antsy for her things to be cleared out— as if they have some urgent use for the space.” He narrowed his eyes and added, “Come to think of it, I think she died exactly a year ago today.”
Anna felt an odd thrill at the idea of going through the belongings of an unknown woman— an oddly intimate task for a stranger to perform. Yet she found herself wanting to do it.
“What was her name?” she asked, curious now— and glad that she’d been chosen to go through the woman’s earthly belongings rather than a man who might not appreciate the things that were close to a woman’s heart.
“Nanny Mae Workman,” he said, enunciating each syllable.
“Nanny Mae,” Anna repeated.
Uncle Milton nodded. “She taught school for years, but eventually came down sick with some lady trouble. Had to quit teaching, and it turned out that she had no savings— she’d donated all she could to orphans and young people trying to get an education and whatnot. So folks took turns hosting her in their homes. She spent her last two months with us, actually.” Uncle Milton twisted so he could see the front of the house and pointed at one of the bedroom windows. “She slept in that room, right there. Always thought it was sad that she and Wilma didn’t exactly see eye to eye.”
He’d indicated the same room Anna herself slept in last night.
“Interesting.” A little chill trickled along her arms now, making her feel jittery. Silly. What did it matter if an elderly woman, now dead, had once slept in the same room Anna did now?
Maybe Nanny Mae’s life is my fate, Anna thought with dismay as she turned from the window. I’ll be an old maid, all alone in the world, teaching students until I’m too frail to keep up. Then I’ll be carted from one house to another, having no real home, until I finally die.
Uncle Milton didn’t seem to notice her unease, because he went on. “We meant to move her to a neighbor’s house because she didn’t have the strength to manage the stairs anymore, but she passed before arrangements could be made.”
“How sad.”
“If you’re willing— and I told Jedidiah you probably would be— you’ll be going through the old woman’s things and deciding what to throw away, what to keep, and where to keep anything worth saving. So, you willing? Because he’s expecting you in the next...” He checked his pocket watch, holding it out from his face and moving it closer and farther away until his aging eyes focused on it. “About twenty minutes. You’ll just make it if you start walking now.”
“Um, all right,” Anna said. “I’ll let Aunt Wilma know.”
She hurried inside, changed into a dress better suited for working around dust and dirt, and wrapped a shawl about her shoulders. On her way out, she flew through the kitchen, where she called to her stunned aunt, “I’ll be working at the church!”
And she was out the back door. She rounded the corner and passed Uncle Milton on the porch, still chewing on grass, and waved as she passed. “Thank you.”
“The least I can do for a young lady who won’t lecture me on chewing grass— and who won’t tell the missus about it.” He grinned and raised an old, leathery hand in a wave.
Anna chuckled, lifted her skirts, and headed northward across Main Street, hurrying across the damp road and avoiding the occasional puddle. She would arrive a bit later than Mr. Sorensen expected, but hopefully that wouldn’t be a problem. He wasn’t the bishop, just the groundskeeper.
When she arrived, she found him working in the flowerbeds, pulling out dead annuals in preparation for winter. He straightened, wiped some of the dirt from his hands, and extended one to Anna. “Pleasure to meet ya,” he said with a nod. “You’re welcome to go on in that door and get to work. I’ll be out here if you need anything.”
“All right,” Anna said. She went up the side stairs of the church and peered into the door. An office appeared to be on her right, and a long hall stretched in front of her, with rooms on the left side. Unsure where to go, she returned to Mr. Sorensen. “Could you direct me to Miss Workman’s belongings? I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with the building.”
“Oh, of course. Silly me. I forget that not everyone has lived in this town as long as I have. I think the closet is locked.” He chuckled and led the way, wiping his muddy boots on a mat outside before entering. He led her down the hall, and as she followed, she looked up at the chandelier and an upstairs balcony. So pretty.
She followed Mr. Sorensen to one of the rooms off the hall and from there to a closet she probably wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. He found a kerosene lamp, which he lit and handed to Anna. “This here will help you see inside better. Don’t worry about making a mess; that’s the first step in organizing, no matter what.”
“True,” Anna said.
“Take your time,” he said, heading back outside. “It’s best we clear the space as much for her as anything— let her rest in peace and all that.”
The outside door closed behind him, leaving Anna alone. Her brow furrowed as she repeated his words in her mind. Let her rest in peace? What might be keeping Nanny Mae Workman from resting in peace? Standing there with the lamp, Anna suddenly didn’t want to look into the dark space for fear of what she might find.
Don’t be silly. It’s nothing more than odds and ends collected by an old woman. Nothing that can hurt you. Have a strong backbone and get to work.
She straightened her posture, put her shoulders back, and stepped forward, determined to do the job she’d come for. A nail stuck out from the wall about four feet from the floor, perfect for holding the lamp. With it hanging, Anna could look over the space quite easily. The closet wasn’t large, and it didn’t have nearly as much stored inside as she’d expected.
Ridiculous that you were afraid of this even for a moment.
Anna withdrew one wooden crate and then a second. Wanting to sit somewhere other than the floor, she carried one of them down a hall until she found an area that was probably the main entrance to the building. Off to the side was the chapel proper, which explained why the hall had no classrooms on the right side— that’s where the chapel was. She walked over to the chapel door and peered inside. Rows of pews faced the podium on her right. Three arched stained glass windows— two on the far side, one to her left, which was the back of the room— had climbing vines and flowers. The afternoon sun shone through, creating warm colors.
This would do quite well as a place to sort through Nanny Mae’s belongings. She set the crate onto the floor in front of the first pew, then returned to the closet for the second one. With the lamp resting on the side of the podium, Anna settled onto a bench to sort through the contents of the first crate. Before long, she found herself enjoying bits of history she uncovered as she looked at and touched items that had once meant something to a real person— a woman much like herself, with no family and no prospects.
Sitting there in the glow of the stained glass windows brought a peace and simple beauty that Anna reveled in as she worked. She had yet to be in this room during Sabbath services, but she’d admired the windows in passing. At this late afternoon hour, they looked richer in color than she would have guessed. Slanting rays of sunlight glanced off the hardwood floor.
She found several journals, which she decided must be kept for the sake of history. Would reading them be wrong?
I’ll decide later, she thought as she stacked them on the floor and peered into the crate for what was next: stacks of paper and cards. She came across several yellowing dance cards filled with names of young men. Anna smiled. Proof that Nanny Mae hadn’t always been old and frail. Anna pictured her young and full of life, going to dances, flirti
ng with young men, having her eye set on a special one.
The dance cards seemed to speak of a vibrant young woman who had enjoyed friends and a social life. Why hadn’t she married?
Anna found more cards from birthdays and other special occasions. She paused to read words penned by Nanny Mae’s parents, a grandmother, an aunt. More and more, she seemed to have once been a typical young woman living a typical young woman’s life. Yet she’d died alone, with no place to call home, and no family. Did any of the neighbors who had taken her in consider her a friend?
Troubling thoughts continued to build in Anna’s mind, one after the other, as she sorted through the first crate. Her fingers touched some heavy paper— a black backing and something else glued to the front. She gently freed it from under an old Bible, revealing it to be an old photograph. She made out sky and clouds on a top corner, and as she slipped the photograph out further, she made out the top of a house, pine trees, and finally, people standing before the house. The picture was sideways, so Anna pulled it out all the way and turned it so she could study it with the proper orientation.
Staring back at her were three young adults, two women and a man, all in clothing a couple of decades older than the fashions of Anna’s day. The woman on the left looked like Anna’s own mother— she’d grown up in this city, so it might be her. But Anna didn’t recognize the other two. The clothing looked old-fashioned, even compared to Shelley fashions; her hometown tended to be woefully behind on such things. She turned the photo over and found another piece of paper glued to the back, bearing with the words Ellen, Howard, and me.
Ellen. Anna sat back and smiled. So that was her mother. The man— Howard— was tall, with dark hair. He wore a pinstriped suit and a mischievous smile. Anna had a feeling that if he hadn’t needed to stand so still for the photographer, he would have been laughing.
The other woman— likely a young Nanny Mae— wore a broad hat, long skirt, and a shirtwaist not unlike the old-fashioned thing Anna wore to the funeral, only pale colored, with a brooch at the neck. Her hair could have been any number of colors; with only a black-and-white image to judge by, there was no telling besides the fact that it wasn’t very dark. But something about the woman’s eyes caught Anna’s attention; she looked closer. The young Nanny Mae seemed familiar. Not her clothing— especially not the hat.
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