The Clockwork House

by Wendy Saunders

  ‘So, what happened next?’ Ava had propped her elbows on her knees and was resting her chin on her fists as she watched Bunty in rapt fascination.

  ‘Luella and Jonathan must have fallen in love, or decided it was mutually beneficial for them to wed. They married in January of 1919 and that fall came the storm and with it, the disappearance of not only Luella and her husband, but every child in that house.’

  ‘What about her mother?’ Ava asked.

  ‘No one knows,’ Betty shook her head, picking up the story once again from Bunty. ‘There’s no record of her at all after the stroke. We don’t know if she died; there’s no burial plot for her in the cemetery where Ephraim and Edison are both buried.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Ava frowned. ‘If they all died or disappeared without a trace, that means I’m not descended from them? So how did I end up inheriting the house?’

  ‘You’re not a direct descendant,’ Bunty told her, but her mouth once again thinned slightly, and her eyes were guarded. ‘Ephraim had a younger sister; she left the island after their parents died of Typhoid. From what we understand she had nothing to do with her brother. She married and had children, who in turn had their own children. Several decades after the disappearance of Luella, the town council declared her legally dead. They tracked down Ephraim’s sister’s descendants, the Wallaces, and the house passed to them. They moved back to the island, but they never lived in the house.’

  ‘So, Luella would have been my great, great aunt or something.’ Ava mused.

  ‘Something like that,’ Bunty muttered quietly as she watched Ava, her blue eyes unreadable.

  Ava opened her mouth to speak once again but before she could utter a word, a loud car horn blared. She looked across to the entrance to the woods and saw a huge RV driving up, followed by a small neat silver Honda.’

  ‘Ah, my car at last,’ Bunty stood and smoothed down her slacks. ‘Well Ava dear, I’m afraid we shall have to leave you now.’

  Ava stood and watched as the RV parked alongside her truck. The compact Honda parked opposite and behind them both came Killian’s red pickup. Killian climbed out of the RV and tapped the side as he headed toward Ava.

  ‘She’s solid,’ he grinned, ‘much better than a tent. You’ve got a small kitchen, seated area with table, a toilet and shower, and most importantly, a double bed, big enough for you and that half dog, half bear that’s permanently attached to you.’

  ‘It’s mine?’ Ava’s eyed widened as she glanced lovingly at the RV, the way some women might eye diamonds.

  ‘Don’t get too excited, its only on loan,’ Killian told her. ‘Mr Wilson loaned it to you.’

  ‘Who’s Mr Wilson?’ Ava frowned, ‘and why is he loaning me his RV?’

  ‘Mr Wilson is the retired principle of the local high school; he’s friends with my dad. Usually he takes off for the summer with his wife, who’s a retired nurse. They like to take to the open road for a few months, but their daughter has just given birth to their first grandchild after years of IVF and they don’t want to miss a moment of it.’

  ‘You gossip like an old woman Killian,’ Kelley laughed as he opened the door of the Honda and unfolded his tall frame from the small car.

  Killian shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘it’s yours for the time being.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied sincerely, itching to get inside and take a look around. Instead she followed his gaze and watched as two huge guys climbed out of his pick-up. One was older with a leathery, weather beaten face and a wild grey beard. The other was younger but with a day’s worth of scruff on his face and colorful tattoos covering both forearms. Both of them wore plaid shirts and beaten up old jeans.

  ‘That’s Judd and Hank,’ Killian nodded. ‘They helped us to clear the road; you shouldn’t have any trouble passing now.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Ava offered them a smile.

  ‘Ma’am,’ they both nodded in turn.

  ‘Well we’re just gonna head back now,’ Killian climbed into his pickup as Judd and Hank hauled themselves into the back.

  ‘Well now just you hold on there a hot second,’ Ivy smiled with siren red lips as she fluffed her platinum hair. ‘If you would be so kind, could I trouble you for a ride?’

  ‘Ivy May Harding,’ Barbara chided, ‘her hand involuntarily toying with the gold cross at her throat.

  ‘Oh, hush up, you always sit up front with Bunty. I am not squeezing into the back seat of that pint-sized car with Betty, Ester and Norma again. Why she near on punctured one of my lungs with those knitting needles. I keep telling Bunty she needs a bigger car before one of us gets skewered by Norma. Well, it’s not going to be me, no siree. Boys?’

  ‘Miz Harding,’ Killian replied, ‘of course you’re welcome to ride with us. I can drop you home on my way back to my office.’

  ‘Thank you kindly. You boys must be so thirsty after all that manual work. You must come in for some of my home-made lemonade,’ she beamed widely as she swept past Kelley, pinching his butt with a saucy wink. ‘I insist.’

  He shot Ava a look of sheer panic as he stepped closer to her.

  ‘What’s the matter Kelley?’ she chuckled, ‘allergic to lemons?’

  ‘More like allergic to Miz Harding,’ he growled under his breath. ‘If you have a moment Ava,’ he took her arm and drew her gently away, missing the narrowed glare Ivy shot his way.

  ‘What is it Kelley?’

  ‘I’d have preferred not to do this with an audience,’ he glanced over his shoulder at the three men and six older ladies watching him raptly. For a second, he almost expected them to break out the popcorn.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Ask you out,’ his mouth curved into the most adorable smile and once again her belly clenched.

  ‘Ask me…?’ her mouth fell open, at a loss as to what to say. ‘Kelley I’ve barely been on the island forty-eight hours; I’m not looking to date anyone. I don’t even know if I’ll stay once the house is completed. I may sell up and move on.’

  ‘It’s just dinner Ava,’ he smiled, ‘not a proposal. I’d really like the chance to get to know you, no expectations, but what can I say? We’ve already spent the night together.’

  There was a sharp hiss of air and Ava glanced across to see Betty’s eyes widen.

  ‘Nothing happened,’ Ava replied loudly. ‘We fell asleep with my dog planted between us like the Great Wall of China.’

  ‘So? What do you say?’ Kelley asked hopefully as she turned her attention back to him. ‘I mean, you cooked last night, so I owe you a meal. This is the perfect opportunity for you to try our local lobster.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she frowned.

  ‘Just think about it, okay?’ he grinned as he walked backward toward his brother’s truck.

  ‘Fine,’ she took in a deep breath, ‘I’ll think about it.’

  Resisting the urge to fist pump the air in triumph, Kelley turned and practically skipped to his brother’s pick up, deliberately skirting past the cab where Ivy sat expectantly beside his twin, looking like she’d swallowed something sour. Kelley vaulted easily over the side and planted himself in the bed of the truck alongside Hank and Judd.

  ‘What?’ Kelley asked.

  Hank took a long drag on his cigarette and stared at him.

  ‘You got it bad boy,’ he shook his head.

  Ava watched as the truck pulled away, ruthlessly ignoring the little flutter in her belly when Kelley smiled her way.

  A few moments later the ladies departed, with hugs and air kisses, as a firm, ‘no refusal’ invitation was issued to their next luncheon.

  Finally, Ava was once again alone with her thoughts. Although her mind was filled with all the things, she’d learned about the Lynchs, a seriously dysfunctional family to say the least, she found her thoughts kept returning to the question of who had been playing fetch with her dog earlier.

  Something tugged insistently at the corners of her mind, but
every time she reached for it, it tattered and tore, scattering like ashes blown from a bonfire.

  Before she could reason why, she found herself once again retracing her steps around the side of the house to where she’d dropped the ball in the dry dusty grass.

  She searched and searched, but as the sun began to beat down mercilessly, high in the midday sky, the strange little leather ball was nowhere to be found.

  7

  The Lynch House, Midnight Island.

  Jan 1893.

  Her back arched off the bed, as another ear-splitting scream tore from her lips. Her abdomen clamped painfully with another breath-stealing, vice-like grip. She felt a rush of hot thick fluid gush from between her spread legs, her soiled nightgown hiked up to her waist, exposing her tight, swollen belly.

  A grim-faced woman kneeled between her thighs, her sleeves rolled up to her flabby elbows, her enormous bosom heaving with every breath. Her face was pock marked, her lips slack and wide, her cheeks ruddy and well rounded.

  She prodded and poked between her legs, her thick fingers intrusive and unwelcome as she shoved them inside her intimately.

  ‘I can feel the babe’s head,’ her voice was raspy with age and too much love of the tobacco leaf. ‘Not much longer now.’

  She wanted to slap at those hands, to instinctively cringe away from the humiliating examination, but the pain ripped through her belly once again and she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. All she could feel was an enormous amount of pressure between her legs, and suddenly there was stretching and burning as she felt her skin begin to tear.

  She looked down in horror to see a small head sticking out of her, covered in a thick white fluid and smears of blood. She would’ve screamed then, if one final excruciating wave of pain hadn’t gripped her stomach so hard it robbed her of breath. Given no other choice, her body simply took over and clamped down hard, expelling the tiny bawling infant into the waiting hands of the old woman, in a gush of blood and other fluids.

  She turned her face away from the ugly blob of bloodied flesh, with its wet patch of dark hair and flailing limbs.

  She fell back against the pillows breathing heavily, her pale cheeks stained with tears and sweat.

  ‘Oh my,’ the old woman cooed as she wiped the babe clean and wrapped her in a fine white linen. ‘It’s a girl madam, and she’s a beauty.’

  ‘Take it away,’ she whispered harshly, not bothering to turn her head. ‘I don’t want it.’

  ‘But madam,’ the old midwife frowned, ‘she’s your daughter.’

  ‘I said…’ she replied coldly, ‘take it away.’

  Not to be deterred the woman edged around the huge, heavy, canopied bed and held the babe in front of her, peeling back the linen to reveal a tiny delicate face.

  She stared at it numbly, until it opened its eyes and stared back at her. The horror washed over her in waves, almost choking her with the rage and disgust she felt.

  It had his eyes and they bored into her soul, mocking and cruel.

  ‘Get rid of it,’ she hissed.

  The babe began to cry then in earnest, as if it could somehow feel its mother’s rejection. It squirmed and mewled in the old woman’s arms, red faced and shrill.

  ‘But madam, she’s hungry, she needs to nurse.’

  She lay there, staring at the rich fabric of the damask drapes, trying desperately to block out its cries. Her breasts, tender and swollen, began to harden painfully as they flooded with milk, her nipples wet as the child continued to scream. She felt warm milky liquid dripping onto her rib cage, saturating the front of her ruined nightgown but she couldn’t bear the thought of it against her skin, or the feel of its tiny mouth clamped to her nipple suckling.

  The very thought repulsed her.

  ‘Madam,’ the old woman tried again as she rocked the babe.

  ‘I SAID TAKE IT AWAY!’ she turned and screamed.

  The woman stumbled back a few paces, holding the tiny babe to her ample bosom protectively. She turned quickly, in a swirl of heavy skirts and headed toward the door, stopping abruptly when a huge imposing frame blocked her way.

  ‘Sir,’ she swallowed nervously.

  He was tall, and powerfully built. His dark eyes dipped down to the mewling bundle in her arms, his jet-black hair glowed in the candlelight, so it almost looked wet, swept back from his face. Two wings of pure white flared out from his temples making him look even more dangerous.

  ‘It’s a girl sir,’ she held out the squalling bundle for him to see, but he didn’t look. He’d already lost interest.

  ‘Take it to the wet nurse on the third floor,’ his voice was low and gravely. Devoid of any warmth it sent shivers skittering down her spine as she dipped her creaky knees in a half curtsey and shuffled hurriedly past him.

  He gave no more attention to the old woman or the child, his black eyes were fixed on the woman laying on soiled sheets, her exposed thighs stained with blood as she buried her face in her pillow.

  His mouth curved slowly as he reached out and slowly closed the door to the sound of her bitter weeping.

  8

  Ava pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs as she smiled softly. Bailey was dozing, spread out across the small double bed in front of her. She wiggled her toes and buried them comfortably in Bailey’s fur as she didn’t seem to mind. Glancing around the place she was currently calling home another strange rush of warmth stole through her chest.

  This was the first time she’d ever lived in an RV and she had to say, she was pleasantly surprised. It didn’t look that big from the outside, but it had way more room on the inside. It was ridiculous how much living space she now had. Behind the driver and passenger seats there was a small booth with a square Formica table and padded benches. Opposite was a stove and sink. Then there was the door beside that, with steps down to exit the vehicle. A long sofa ran along the opposite wall and at the end was a small bedroom containing a double bed, and a bathroom with a toilet and shower.

  Some might have turned their noses up at the modest accommodation but to Ava it was a small slice of heaven, her own heaven. No more sleeping in her truck, which was well on its way to giving her a crick in her neck that no chiropractor would be able to fix. No more questionable motel rooms, with busted locks, things growing in the shower and disturbing stains on the sheets which looked as if they hadn’t been laundered in a decade, because it was all she could afford, and definitely…. definitely, no more communes. No more sharing bathroom space with twenty other people, no sleeping on pallets listening to the other people in the same space snoring, or worse grunting and groaning in the darkness, noises she’d discovered far too early in life.

  Ava closed her eyes for a minute and drew in a slow breath. Silence. Well, other than her dog’s soft snore, and the gentle sounds of the ocean, which crept through the open window at her back even as the sweet, salty breeze tickled her neck and danced down her spine.

  There was no one else; it was just her and her dog, on her very own cliff top. She sighed loudly in pleasure, causing Bailey’s ears to twitch as she lazily opened one eye.

  ‘What do you think?’ Ava muttered quietly as she looked down at her best friend. ‘Is this home?’

  Bailey thumped her tail a couple of times before closing her eyes again.

  Ava wasn’t certain, but it sure came close. She’d never felt such a pull toward a place before. She wasn’t sure whether to breathe a sigh of relief or not. For a while there, she’d wondered if the apple had fallen a little too close to the tree and that she had been doomed to wander restlessly like her mother had. Except, for Serenity, it was a choice rather than a punishment, but for the first time ever she’d felt the tug deep in the pit of her belly.

  Maybe it was just wishful thinking; maybe it was the tenuous tie of long dead relatives she knew nothing about. All she knew was the desperate desire for roots, for something sturdy to hold on to. A place to belong.

  The problem was, her roots were slowly d
isappearing. Her family tree had withered away until there was nothing, but dry fossilized roots hidden by decades, centuries even, of gossip, rumor and supposition, shrouded in legend. If she had any hope of uncovering the truth and discovering who and what she came from, like an archaeologist, she’d have to peel it back layer by layer.

  Her dark eyes fell on the brand-new large leather notebook she’d purchased the day before, that was laying open on the bed beside her. Page after page was now filled with her neat handwriting as she’d meticulously documented everything she’d been told about the Lynches and about the house itself. Every single scrap of information, from Killian and his wife Hope, to Kelley and the eccentric ladies of the historical society.

  Half of it was crap of course, in fact probably more than half if she was being totally honest. It was going to take a while to weed through decades of teenage over-imagination and small island gossip.

  It was intriguing though, she had to admit, plus it gave her something to occupy her time. After all there wasn’t much she could do while the house was being ripped apart and put back together. She could help carry debris as the house was cleared and she could wield a paintbrush fairly efficiently, but that was the sum total of her manual labor skills.

  It was the thrill of uncovering a century old mystery that had her skin tingling and her blood pumping. She glanced across at the photo frame she’d recovered from the house. At that moment it was nestled on a plastic bag to stop any broken glass from falling onto the bed. Sliding it over so it was directly in front of her she picked up the frame, careful to hold it over the plastic. She’d dusted out most of the broken glass and was now able to study it more carefully in the daylight, than she had been within the dim confines of the boarded-up house.