Ruby's Letters

by Maggie Van Well

  “Carlos.” There was no way he heard her. Her voice was too faint. Fear gripped her. The room blurred. She tried to focus her eyes, but, against her will, they closed.

  When they opened a few seconds later, she groaned. The room was coated in a grayish haze, giving it the feel of a black and white movie. The only color in the room was a blue mist. In that mist, a few feet in front of her, stood the Lady in the Shawl.

  Emma licked her lips. “Ruby?”

  She nodded and smiled, her hand reaching out to her. “Come with me, Emma.”

  “Am I dead?” She touched the ghost’s hand. It never occurred to her to be scared. This was Ruby, her protector and Betsy’s lost aunt.

  “No, my dear, you are not dead. And I am so sorry for your headache.”

  Emma touched her forehead, but she couldn’t feel anything. It was as if she, too, were a ghost. “That was you?”

  “Yes, but I have good reason.”

  “And that would be?”

  Ruby beamed. “You have succeeded. You solved the mystery and now I can show you, but you had to have a headache first.”

  “There has to be an easier way to talk to ghosts.”

  “There is and you will discover it, but for now, let us not waste time.”

  Emma gripped her hand and looked around the room. It was so familiar and yet so different. Everything gleamed like new, but the fireplace she had so painstakingly repaired was half-way bricked up again. “Where are we? I mean, I know we’re in the brownstone, but…when?”

  Ruby squeezed her hand. “Please, don’t be frightened. I promise you will come to no harm.”

  “I’m not frightened, I’m just curious.”

  “The date is March 13th, 1888.”

  Emma’s gasp echoed in her ears. Okay, maybe she was a little frightened. “The day you died? The day Hilary died?”

  Ruby’s smile was one of pride. “That’s correct.”

  Emma must still have her heart, because she felt it pounding in her ears. “I’m in 1888?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. The best way to describe it is to say you’re in a memory. The house’s memory.”

  “How can houses have memories?”

  “Have you never heard of residual hauntings?”

  “Yes, of course. My friend told me they were echoes from the past. Like a movie clip running over and over again.”

  Ruby smiled and patted her hand. “That’s all a residual haunting is. A particular memory that, for some reason, embedded itself into the fabric of the house. If you had been here on March 13th—any March 13th since 1888—you would see glimpses of what you’re about to see now.”

  “So that’s why all the previous owners left. They kept getting glimpses.”

  “That is certainly one reason to consider.” Ruby faced the room again, holding her finger to her lips.

  A few seconds later, a tall thin woman marched into the room, slamming a newspaper onto the counter. Emma glanced at it as it unfurled on the kitchen table and recognized it instantly.

  The newspaper from the fireplace!

  Her eyes shifted to the woman storming around the kitchen, gathering butter and eggs. Even in a memory, the woman’s anger filled the room.

  The woman turned and faced them. Emma sucked in her breath when she recognized the face she’d seen in the mantel mirror. “Hilary Smith.”

  Ruby’s brow arched. “I see you know her.”

  “Yes. Can she see me? Can she hear me?”

  “No, dear, this is just a memory.”

  “Wow, who would’ve thought my migraines were worth something?”

  A bell rang. Hilary smashed a cast-iron frying pan onto the stove and walked toward the door.

  Moments later, Emma heard two women arguing, and then Ruby walked into the room, wearing the same clothes she wore as a ghost. She picked up the newspaper from the counter.

  The Ruby in the memory turned to Hilary and said, “I meant to come to see you sooner,” holding up the paper, “but the blizzard made traveling dangerous.”

  Hilary stepped closer, looming over her. “Then why did you not fly on your broomstick?”

  “Please, let us not toss venom,” Ruby said, waving away Hilary’s insult with the hand that held the newspaper. “I know you have done the unthinkable, and I’m here hoping to change your mind.”

  Hilary grabbed the paper from her and twisted it in her hands. “There is nothing I have to say to you except leave my home!”

  “Mrs. Smith, your children miss you.”

  With her eyes glaring, Hilary threw the newspaper into the fireplace. “Do not speak to me about my children! It is because of you that my daughters have been disgraced. Because of your insipid match-making, they married men beneath them.”

  “But they are happy! Surely you must realize that is more important than money or pedigree.” She reached in the linen bag hanging from her wrist and withdrew a bundle of envelopes. She held them out to her hostess. “These letters reveal your disapproval of their marriages and hatred of me. But that’s not all. They reveal love. Rebecca sent them, hoping I could persuade you to meet with her and her sisters. Can’t we get past this animosity and come together to heal your broken family?”

  Hilary slapped Ruby’s outstretched hand away. “Is healing amongst your so called ‘powers’ now, Miss Van Leer? I know what you are. If we lived in the sixteen-nineties you would have been hung.”

  Ruby chuckled. “I assure you, Mrs. Smith, I am not a witch.”

  Hilary’s lips disappeared from her face, and a pulse beat wildly at her temple. “I don’t care what you are. It is because of you that I can no longer speak to my own children.”

  “Because you disowned them!” Ruby declared, her face twisted in disgust.

  She turned away from Hilary and sat at the table. “Come, let us work through this.”

  Hilary’s face turned from anger to twisted, ugly fury. Spinning around, she grabbed the frying pan from the gas stove and swung it through the air. A sickening, loud crack followed as it made contact with the back of Ruby’s head.

  “Ruby!” Emma gasped as she watched her fall like a rag doll to the floor. “No!”

  Rushing over to her, she fell to her knees, trying to scoop her frail body into her arms. But instead of feeling a solid form, her hands felt as if they were moving through dry water.

  She hugged herself and let out a small sob before turning to Hilary. “You evil bitch!”

  Hilary, of course, couldn’t hear her cry. She stood over Ruby’s body, frying pan clutched in her hand, breathing hard.

  A few seconds later, she dropped the pan and raised her shaking hands to study her palms. Nothing showed, yet Hilary wiped them on her apron, twisting the material as if wiping her hands hard enough would wipe away what she had done.

  Then, as though someone had lit a fire under her, Hilary hooked her hands under Ruby’s arms, dragging her over to the fireplace. A long trail of blood followed.

  Emma touched the floor expecting to feel the sticky, warm liquid. She didn’t. It was just a memory. Still, her stomach lurched.

  Ruby’s ghost pulled Emma to her feet. “Just watch.”

  Once Ruby was in the firebox, Hilary dragged the masonry tools that lay about the room over to the hearth and measured sand. “One part portland, two parts sand. One part portland, two parts sand,” she chanted.

  “She planned to kill you?” Emma asked as Hilary put way too much lime into the sand and portland mixture. “Oh, that’s never gonna come out right.”

  Ruby looked at her and raised her eyebrows.

  Emma smiled sheepishly. “Really not important.”

  “No, she didn’t plan to kill me. As you must have noticed, the fireplace had already been bricked up half way. She had a mason blocking up the fireplace, but because of the blizzard he was unable to finish it.”

  “So that’s why the top part was done so poorly.”

  Emma watched in fascination as Hilary knelt on the floor, mixing mort
ar and laying bricks with trembling hands. It was so surreal.

  “Why was the letter you wrote to Rebecca in with the others?” Emma asked.

  “I meant to mail that letter after I left Hilary’s home.” Her lips twisted. “I never did get to mail it. A waste of a perfectly good two cent stamp, I tell you.”

  She turned to Ruby in disbelief. “Yeah, I can see where that would annoy you.” She switched her gaze back to Hilary and grimaced. “Jeez, she’s not using a level, those bricks are never gonna be straight, and oh, God, that mortar is awful. It’s amazing it held up for over a hundred years.”

  Emma had no idea how long she remained there, watching Hilary make a mockery out of bricklaying. Once she had pushed the last brick into place, she grabbed a mop and bucket, and cleaned up the blood. After that, she stood at the sink and scrubbed her hands. Then she sat down at the kitchen table…and laughed.

  The bitch laughed!

  Emma put her arm around Ruby. “This must be so hard for you to see.”

  She patted the hand on her shoulder. “It is, yes, but I’ve seen it before, and I’ve known how evil Hilary is for a very long time.”

  Emma wondered why they were just standing there. Okay, so the mystery was solved. Couldn’t they go back now?

  She was just about to suggest it to Ruby when Hilary stopped laughing and stared at the floor. Emma followed her gaze and focused on the letters tied in a blue ribbon.

  Hilary jumped to her feet and snatched them up. She walked over to the gas stove, lit it, and then held the letters close to the flames, but they never touched it.

  She toyed with the ribbon, twisting it around her finger. Curiosity must’ve gotten the better of her. She tugged at it just as the bell rang.

  She turned off the flame and hid the letters under a kitchen towel. Glancing at the fireplace, then toward the door, she swallowed hard, took off her blood-stained apron and tossed it into the dirty mop water. When she was satisfied it was submerged enough, she hurried down the hallway to the entrance.

  Hilary opened the door a crack and peered outside. “Mr. Pigot, what are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to finish the fireplace,” the unseen man answered, as if she should know.

  “I no longer have need of your services. You may go.”

  “But the fireplace—”

  “Has been finished. I couldn’t wait forever for you to get back to work.”

  “But, Mrs. Smith, surely you realize it was impossible for me to come back before today.”

  “Nevertheless, the job is done. Good-bye.” She started to close the door.

  He must have pushed on it, as Hilary met resistance. “May I at least get my tools?”

  Hilary slammed the door.

  She hurried back to the kitchen, straight for the towel. She put it aside. Taking one of the envelopes from the bundle, she opened it.

  Hilary’s face was set in a cold, hard mask, but as her eyes scanned the page, her features softened. Her cold eyes turned glassy. Even as she tried to blink away the tears, her lower lip trembled.

  The bell rang again. With a grunt, Hilary replaced the letter in its envelope and stormed to the door.

  This time, Hilary looked through the curtain to see who it was. She gasped. On the other side of the door, Emma caught a glimpse of a policeman.

  “Just a moment!” Hilary rushed to the kitchen, gathered the letters, secured them in the ribbon, and then hurried up the steps.

  Emma felt a tug at her stomach. A feeling of weightlessness followed, and then her feet lifted off the floor. Grabbing Ruby, she drifted up through the floors with her until they reached the master bedroom. They arrived shortly before Hilary.

  With hurried movements, Hilary lifted the mirror above the mantel and shoved the bundle of letters into the spot where they would remain for over a century.

  The tingling of the bell sounded again, accompanied by an urgent knocking.

  Hilary flew from the room.

  A cry resounded from the staircase, accompanied by a horrible stumbling sound and then a loud crash.

  The room went black. Emma was floating again. When the light came back the room was still hazy, but not the black and white hue as in the memory. She was back in 2006. But instead of the kitchen, she was now in the master bedroom.

  “She died.”

  Emma was, for some reason, surprised to see Ruby was still with her. “From the fall?”

  “Yes.” Ruby slowly paced, her hands clasped at her waist. “She needn’t have worried though. The policeman was there because the mason complained to him about Hilary not allowing him to retrieve his tools.”

  Emma sank to the floor. “So that’s how it all happened.”

  “It is.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ruby.”

  The ghost patted her head. “Don’t be sorry. Because of you, I will be able to go to a much more wonderful place.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You were brave enough to give your heart to Ryan.”

  Emma shook her head in confusion. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “If not for him, you wouldn’t have found those letters. You’re a strong woman, my dear, but Hilary’s hate is stronger. If not for the bond formed by the love you and Ryan share, she would have subdued you. You couldn’t have solved the mystery.”

  “So then why didn’t you just tell me?”

  Ruby sighed deeply. “Humans have no idea how their choices affect every detail of their lives. Because you chose to help me, you followed a path that strengthened your love for Ryan and Betsy.”

  Emma rubbed her temples. “This is all so confusing.”

  Ruby squinted, staring at her. “If I had come to you the moment you released me from the fireplace and asked you to make sure Hilary Smith was known as a murderer, would you have done it?”

  “No, probably not.”

  She lowered herself next to Emma. “The choices you made led you to where you are now.”

  “I had to make the journey.”

  “That’s right. And now it’s almost time for me to go home.”

  Emma smiled, unable to describe the overwhelming feeling of joy at helping someone so special. “And when will that be?”

  “As soon as Betsy declares this house as hers and I know my dear niece is safe.”

  A cold voice startled them both. “I knew that woman meant more to you than just the homeowner.”

  With a gasp, Emma and Ruby turned toward the doorway. Hilary floated there, bringing with her a red mist and the smell of musk oil.

  Chapter Thirty

  “OH, DEAR,” Ruby said, her voice quaking. “I should have made sure we went back to the kitchen. Emma, run!”

  “Ruby, no!” she shouted, her arm outstretched, but it was too late. Her eyelids drooped. She fought to keep them open but to no avail. The light faded away.

  When she opened her eyes again, the room was clear and the ghosts were gone.

  The face of Betsy Morris loomed over her.

  With a deep sigh, Betsy put her hand over her heart. “Oh, my goodness, you gave me such a fright.”

  Emma jerked up, her gaze spanning the room. “Betsy, you have to get out of here. Now!”

  Betsy looked taken aback by Emma’s order. “That was my plan. We should leave now. There was some kind of disturbance at the parade on Vine Street. The police, a news van, and EMTs are all at the scene. I hope we can get to your car.”

  Emma jumped to her feet and grabbed the older woman’s upper arm. “The body we found in the fireplace was your Aunt Ruby. Hilary Smith killed her and buried her there.”

  Betsy froze. Her face drained of color. “Aunt Ruby was murdered?”

  “Yes! I promise I’ll explain later, but for now I have to get you out of here.”

  The bedroom door slammed shut. Red mist filtered into the room. The power saw in the corner began to shake. Emma gagged on the heavy scent of musk.

  “Shit!” She knew what came next. Tools wer
e stacked neatly in piles, but not for long, she feared. She ran to the door and yanked on the knob. It didn’t budge.

  What the hell? Emma brought her hand to her throat. She gulped. The silver necklace was still on her dresser. And the herbs gathered dust in the console of her car. She’d become too complacent, thinking Hilary had given up trying to hurt her. How could she have been so stupid?

  “Ruby, help us!”

  There was no blue mist. What had Hilary done to her?

  Betsy came to her side. She looked slightly worried but hardly on the verge of panic like Emma was. “Can’t you get it open?”

  “No, Hilary locked it.”

  “But there’s no key.”

  Emma let out a humorless laugh. “Well, apparently ghosts don’t need one.”

  “So what do we do?”

  Remembering what Sheila had told her, Emma gripped Betsy’s shoulders. “Proclaim this house yours.”

  Her client looked confused, but did as instructed. “This house is mine.”

  Emma tried the door again. Still locked.

  “Damn it! We must have to have Hilary declared a murderer first before your declaration will neutralize her.”

  Betsy nodded in understanding, and then glanced at the shaking wet saw. “We really must stop leaving so many weapons around for her to use.”

  The older woman’s attempt at humor didn’t bring a smile to Emma’s face, but it did give her and idea. She hurried to the tools and grabbed a hammer. Hilary couldn’t throw them if she didn’t have any.

  If nothing else, Emma could try to get the attention of the police. She aimed a hammer at the large picture window and hurled it. It sailed through the air, hit the window, and bounced right back at her.

  With a shriek, she ducked.

  The mist thickened, coating the walls and window.

  The wet saw lifted off the floor.

  C’mon, Emma, think! Something must have kept Hilary from harming her these last few days.

  She searched the room, looking for anything she may have left behind or removed that had kept her attacker at bay. Then she spotted her jacket. Yes! She ran to it and pulled it around her body, wrapping her hand around the seashell she’d kept in her pocket since Hilary had used her for target practice.