The Blacker House

by Nicole Mulloy

  “I don’t know where those came from,” he said, referring to the crayons.

  “You bring a pocketknife to school?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve been carrying it since I was a freshman. Nobody’s ever found it.” He started picking up his various items from the table and stuffing them back into his pockets. “I discovered a long time ago that if you’re quiet, nobody bothers you.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” she said, giggling.

  Patrick reached into the filing cabinet and grabbed the oldest looking book, then pulled another one out for her. They began searching through the listings to find the property. After a while, they located the property where Kate’s house now stood. Patrick jotted down the information they needed and set off through the maze of boxes to find the right one. That alone took them ten minutes.

  “Here it is,” Kate finally said, pointing to a box in the corner, behind another row of filing cabinets. There was less than a foot of space between the cabinet and the wall.

  “Can you fit though there?” Patrick asked, looking at the crevice and then back at Kate.

  “Yeah, I think so,” she said. She pushed her way around the cabinet and was temporarily stuck between it and the wall, but another push set her free. She stooped to the box and rifled through the dank documents.

  “Ah-hah!” she cried out victoriously after a few minutes. “Here it is. Can you write this down?” she yelled to Patrick, “because I don’t think I’m going to be able to get back here again.”

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  “From 1845 until 1862, the land was owned by Andrew O’Connor. It looks like it was a farm. Lots of acres.”

  “O’Connor?” Patrick repeated questioningly.

  “Yeah, what?” she said, peering through the darkness at Patrick’s face.

  “Remember the Ouija Board? Remember Connor?”

  “Oh, my gosh.” A coldness gripped her and she suddenly felt her teeth chattering.

  “Anything else?”

  “It looks like the property was auctioned off to a Sylvester Millay in 1862 after O’Connor’s death,” she said.

  “Auctioned off? That probably means O’Connor didn’t have any children.”

  She flipped through the documents. “It doesn’t say.”

  “Okay. Then who got it?”

  “Uh, in 1895, the land was purchased by John Blacker. That’s when he built the house, I guess.”

  “Got it,” Patrick said, writing it all down. “Can you get back out?” he asked, peeking through the crevice at Kate.

  “I sure hope so.” She put the papers away and turned around. Putting one leg through the crack and leaning forward, she once again was temporarily stuck while she readjusted. When she pushed to free herself, her boot caught on something. She sprawled forward into Patrick, knocking him backward into the boxes behind him. They both fell to the floor, Kate on top of Patrick.

  They remained motionless as the boxes teetered above them. That was when Kate noticed the position they were in, she lying on top him with Patrick’s arms around her. Every inch of skin on her body responded to his touch. Her breathing quickened for a moment. She lay in his arms and gazed into his sparkling light brown eyes, suddenly wanting him to kiss her. Instead, he looked at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

  Disappointed, Kate smiled apologetically. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m such a klutz. Are you okay?” She could feel her cheeks burning.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” He removed his arms from around her, much to Kate’s dismay. She put her hands on the floor and tried to push herself to her feet. Just as she dropped her head, he leaned up and his nose met with Kate’s forehead in a terrible crunch.

  “Ow!”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Kate said, her face burning red with embarrassment. Nice way to sweep him off his feet, Kate.

  He laughed. “It’s okay. It’s fine.” He touched his nose carefully. They got to their feet, both brushing dust off their clothes.

  “So, are you and Ashley an item?” she blurted out, knowing that the words had come out too fast.

  He laughed, much to her surprise. “No.”

  “No? You looked pretty intimate at the dance. I was just wondering if you two were seeing each other.”

  “No, Ashley’s just a friend.”

  “Just a friend, huh?” she prodded, trying to get more from him.

  “Yeah, like I said, I know her from guitar class.”

  “You looked like you were more than friends.”

  “Oh,” he nodded, as if he knew why she was asking.

  She looked at him with anticipation, her eyes wide. “Yeah?” she said, hoping to move him along.

  “You see, I’m just moral support. She just found out that she’s pregnant.”

  “Oh, my God,” Kate said, clapping her hand over her mouth in shock. “Who’s baby is it?” Not yours, please, she thought.

  He stooped, picking his notebook up off the floor, where it had fallen during the collision. “Some guy. I don’t know who. She told me at the dance that she was pregnant. I...well, I was just telling her that I would be there if she needed me. Then, she started to cry, because I guess the guy took off as soon as she told him. So, I hugged her and said everything would be okay. I don’t know if it will be, but I didn’t know what else to say.”

  “Wow, poor thing,” Kate said, feeling bad about criticizing the girl at the dance, even if she did have mall hair.

  “Yeah, I feel bad for her. She’s a senior at Huntington High, but I don’t think she’s going to graduate. She said she’ll probably drop out when she starts to get big.”

  “And I thought I had a problem. I’m just living in a haunted house,” Kate said with a little laugh, not sure how Patrick would take it. She relaxed when he laughed too.

  “Well, maybe I can help fix your problem. Or maybe I’ll just make it worse. I don’t know,” he said with a chuckle.

  Kate couldn’t help herself. She suddenly leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Patrick’s lips. He remained perfectly still while she kissed him, then when she pulled away, he pressed his lips together as if imprinting the kiss there.

  “What was that for?” he asked. His voice trembled slightly.

  “I just think you’re a really great guy. You’ve been so helpful to me. I just wanted to say thank you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  Kate knew the best way to tell a guy that you want to be kissed, even without saying a word. She tried it out on Patrick. She looked at Patrick’s eyes dreamily, then dragged her gaze slowly down to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. It never failed.

  He leaned over to Kate. His kiss was gentle as his lips pressed against hers. Not too wet or too dry, Kate found it perfectly delicious. As one of his arms encircled her back, her heart raced. Although she had just kissed Jacob not two days before, she felt as if she had never been kissed before.

  When he finally pulled away, Kate was breathless. She looked at him through heavily lidded eyes, enjoying the moment, when she noticed that Patrick looked agitated.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, still slightly dazed from the romantic kiss, the taste of him still lingering on her lips.

  “Your boyfriend,” he said with distaste.

  “Oh,” Kate said with a wave of her hand. “It’s over with him.”

  “Really?” He brightened slightly.

  “Yeah, it just wasn’t the same, you know? It makes me sad, because I really liked Jacob. But things...things just weren’t right anymore. Besides, I think he’s cheating on me.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Hey, I’m not worried about it,” she said with a smile. “It’s funny, because a few weeks ago, I would have been crushed if I thought Jacob was cheating on me.”

  “So, what happened?” Patrick asked, his eyes cast downward. Suddenly, he looked very interested in his shoe.

  “I’m not sure. I guess my attraction to him was mostly physical,” she said. When she saw P
atrick’s eyebrows rise, she continued. “Not that kind of physical. I just liked the way he looked. And he was nice to me, but when he was here, we didn’t really have much to talk about. I had a horrible time at the dance.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah. I saw you dancing with Ashley and ….”

  “Wait, were you jealous?” he said, with a surprised smile. “I thought you liked Chris.”

  “Nah.” She waved her hand to dismiss the idea. “I’m getting used to the idea of Chris being with Lucy. He’s sweet to her and she’s so happy.” It was funny. Kate hadn’t really known she felt this way until she said the words out loud to Patrick. She was relieved to find that the words were true. She really was okay with it now. “Besides,” she continued, “I think Chris and I make good friends. If we went out, gosh, what a nightmare! We’d probably kill each other.” He’s still awfully nice to look at though, she added in thought.

  “So, you broke up with Jacob?” He still looked slightly stunned.

  “Not yet, but I’m going to.”

  “Wow,” he said.

  She smiled. “So, I just wanted to kiss you. I guess I’ve wanted it for a long time, I just didn’t know it. You’re so different from any other guy I’ve ever liked.”

  “So, you like me?” Patrick said, smiling at her now.

  Kate froze. Yikes, did I just say that? Be cool, she told herself, be cool. “Uh, well, yeah,” she said, shrugging. There wasn’t much point in playing it cool now. She had already blown it. “So, do you want to go out sometime?” she asked, feeling extremely awkward. Kate had never asked a boy out on a date before. It felt strange to be on the other side.

  “Is it really over with Jacob?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you have no interest in Chris?”

  “Only as a friend. And now as the boyfriend of my little sister, or I should say, the boyfriend of my sister,” she corrected herself. Chris was right. Lucy wasn’t so little anymore.

  He grinned. “I will go out with you,” he paused to add his condition, “but not until you break up with Jacob.”

  Kate nodded. “Alright,” she said calmly, trying to hide an excited grin. Making me wait, she thought, I like it. For a moment, the two were silent as they smiled widely at each other. Patrick finally broke the silence.

  “Should we get back to work?” he said.

  “Do we have to?” she said with a wry grin.

  Patrick was all business. “While we’re here, let’s take a walk upstairs.”

  *

  They approached a large polished door marked “Marriage Licenses.”

  “Now, I know we’ve got something good started here, but do you think we should get married already? I should tell you…I can’t cook,” Kate joked.

  Patrick laughed. “I thought, now that we know Mr. O’Connor’s name, let’s see if he was ever married.” He paused, then added. “By the way, I can cook.”

  “Really?” Kate was impressed.

  With the help of the clerk, Patrick and Kate were soon staring at a series of registers, water-damaged and handwritten with messy ink.

  It looks like O’Connor was married three times. A Margaret Macy in 1847.” Patrick flipped through the papers. “Sylvia Potter in 1851. Mary Adkins in 1857. All died.”

  “All of them died? How?”

  “It doesn’t say.” Patrick turned to the clerk. “Do you still have the death certificates of these women?”

  “Sorry,” the clerk answered with a pop of gum. “We used to keep all the birth and death certificates in the basement. Flood destroyed em’ all. All we got now is what came after 1931.”

  “The flood again,” Kate whispered.

  “Thank you,” Patrick said to the clerk. He grabbed Kate’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  *

  The building which housed the Huntington Historical Society was surprisingly upscale. The building was red brick with large white pillars over a vast porch. The lawn was clipped to a perfect velvet green carpet. Not one fallen leaf littered it.

  “We southerners are proud of our heritage,” Patrick said in a fake southern accent. They exited the car and walked up the pansy-lined path. The flowers had seen better days, as the warm days of autumn were being tampered by a crispness in the air.

  “Hey,” Kate said, stopping Patrick in his tracks. “That’s a good point. Why don’t you have an accent? Were you born in West Virginia?”

  “Yes, but my parents are from upstate New York. So, I guess I talk like they do. Why, are you disappointed?” he said.

  “God, no. I can’t stand that redneck accent. It’s like fingernails on a chalkboard to me.”

  “I kind of like it.” Patrick said with a grin. “It’s got character, you know? And it almost sounds like singing to me. It’s very melodious.”

  “Melodious, huh?” Kate said with skepticism. “Okay, I’ll try to think of it that way. Maybe I’ll be able to stand it.”

  “Well, what about your accent?” Patrick teased as they continued up the stone path to the large white door.

  “What accent?” she asked innocently. “I’m from Nebraska. We don’t have accents.”

  “I beg to differ. You have your moments.”

  “Like when?” she laughed.

  “I’ll let you know,” he said as he opened the door for her. She socked him playfully in the arm as she passed him. Already she felt as if they had been dating for months. She felt comfortable with him, and yet, the idea that he wouldn’t go out with her yet was exciting. Kate loved having something to look forward to, and dating Patrick had suddenly become something she was anticipating with great enthusiasm.

  They walked into a beautiful entryway. A long, polished staircase curved directly ahead of them, just as in Kate’s house. Elaborate moldings decorated the corners and expensive wainscot lined the hall which led to the back of the house. They walked up to a clear plastic box, over which a sign read, “Suggested Donation $2.00.” Patrick started to reach into his back pocket, but Kate stopped him. She opened her purse and dug a handful quarters out of the bottom of her purse. She stuffed them into the box, hoping it was enough, and proceeded toward a large cherry desk.

  An enormous book sat on the desk. “Please sign in,” a small sign directed. Kate flipped through the pages as Patrick followed the instructions on another sign. It said, “Please ring bell for service.”

  A second after Patrick rang the silver service bell, a man appeared. It seemed as though he waited behind the door, ready to pop out the second he heard the tinny sound of the bell.

  “Can I help you?” he asked. He was a tall, thin man with glasses and whiting hair. In an argyle sweater and loose corduroys, he looked like a rumpled college professor. He twitched immediately following the word “you.” His whole face skewered up for a split second, then relaxed.

  “Yes, we’re looking for history on a particular piece of land here in Huntington. Can you help us?” Kate asked.

  “I bet I can. Which piece of property?” he said as he turned and headed for the back of the house, indicating for Patrick and Kate to follow. They walked into a large yellow room full of filing cabinets and one dated-looking computer. “This is our property research center. We’ve got listings for just about every house in town here.”

  “It’s the property where the Blacker House sits now. Do you know where that is? On Fifth Avenue?” Kate said.

  “Yes, I know the property. Lovely house,” he said with a tight smile.

  “Yes, thank you. I live there now,” Kate replied.

  “Really?” he said, his eyes lighting up.

  “Uh-huh.” She continued. “We want to know if anything, you know, historically significant happened on that property.”

  He smiled. “Come and sit down,” the historian said as he pulled up a chair at a small table in a sunny corner. Patrick and Kate sat down on either side of him.

  “In fact, something interesting did happen on that property. An infamous man lived on you
r property, a man named Andrew O’Connor. Have you ever heard of him?”

  “Only recently,” Kate said quietly.