The other toddler, a girl with short dark red hair, immediately follows suit and runs after him, squealing with joy. Julia shakes her head. Sighing, she focuses her attention on the older children. “Mary,” she says, “Just because you are losing doesn’t mean that Frederick is cheating. Fredrick?” She looks sternly at her son, her blue-eyed gaze penetrating.
“Yes, Mother?” The boy is squirming.
“Did you cheat?”
“No. Not really.” He looks miserable. “Maybe a little.”
“Ha!” Mary says in triumph. One look from Julia silences her.
“Apologize to your cousins, please, Frederick. We’ll discuss this later.” While Frederick mumbles an apology, Julia quickly walks over to the toddlers, who are reaching for some flowers in a vase. She firmly grabs hold of them before they can pull down the vase from the table. She speaks again to the older children. “I realize it’s been a difficult time. But please, consider my sister’s health. We don’t want to upset her. She is upset enough as it is.”
“Aunt Julia?” The younger girl at the table, who looks about the same age as Frederick, speaks timidly.
“Yes, Helena?”
“Why did Mother lose the baby?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. We trust that our Lord has the answers. Even if we don’t have them. Especially then.”
Helena stared at the floor. “But it has been weeks! And all she does is sleep. I miss her.”
“That’s just the medicine the doctor gave her, dear. Once she feels better, and stronger, she won’t need that anymore.”
“Aunt Julia?”
“Yes, Helena?”
“Why did our president have to die? Our Lord spared the first lady while they were here visiting, and she was so ill. Why did He let the bad man shoot him? Why did He not spare the president as well?”
The room is holding its breath, the older children listening intently, with no sound except for the giggles of the toddlers.
Julia, looking sad, shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know, Helena. I don’t have the answers. It’s a horrible thing to have happened. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. I’m sure the man responsible will be punished. Let’s pray President Roosevelt will have a happier fate.”
A crash breaks the silence: the little redhead has managed to pull down the flowers, vase and all, from the table. “Eleonore!” Julia calls out.
Chapter 6
Sara woke up. Staring at the ceiling, she replayed the dream—one of her vision dreams as she called them. The realization sunk in that another cycle had started. She had been through this before, more than once. She wished she did not have this… this connection with the dead. But there was no point in wishing. The dreams guided her to unfinished business from the past, and they would stay with her until she found out what that business was. It seemed to have to do with Julia. After all, it had started after she touched Julia’s letter. Eventually the dreams would lead her in the right direction. But it could take a while, and along the way it would cause many sleepless, and sometimes frightening, nights.
This one had not been so bad. Some talk about a dead president, which would help in pinpointing the timeline. And Alice had had a miscarriage. That could be the pregnancy mentioned in the last letter. The little redhead, Eleonore, seemed to be about the right age.
She balled her hands into fists. She had enough to deal with without this mystery on top of everything. Was she not having enough nightmares already? And her fight with David… he didn’t call yesterday. Well, two can play that game. Grumpy, she started her day with inquiries into which charity would be willing to pick up her furniture before the end of the month.
In the afternoon, she took the Muni to Union Square. Phoebe was already there waiting for her.
“Hi! How’s it going?” Phoebe hugged Sara and looked her over. “You look tired. Are you okay? Did you have a wild night?” She winked.
“I wish. More like the opposite.”
They went in some stores, looking at clothes and purses, but Sara, who normally loved to shop, was not enjoying herself as much as she had anticipated. For one, Phoebe had expensive taste, and Sara did not have much money to spare at the moment. Phoebe also talked a lot, and Sara was tired. After perusing a shoe store, in which Phoebe tried on several pairs that left Sara wondering how she managed not to break an ankle, Sara suggested they take a break.
They sat down for a coffee. Phoebe was kind of quiet, but Sara felt her stare.
“It’s okay,” Sara said. “You can tell me. I’m no fun today.”
“I wouldn’t say that. You seem distracted.”
“That’s the same thing my boyfriend told me. I’m sorry.”
“Your boyfriend? Sid?”
“Please, no! Not Sid—he’s just a guy I met at yoga and had coffee with. Very persistent, though. No, his name’s David. We fought on the phone two days ago and we haven’t talked since.”
“That’s not good. Why don’t you call him—talk it over?”
“Because I think he should call.” After all, he had hung up on her.
Phoebe seemed to think that was amusing. “If he thinks the same about you, you’ll never speak again…”
“I did nothing wrong,” Sara said huffily. “Besides, he could be more… he isn’t very… I don’t know how to put it.” What exactly was bothering her? Maybe it was the fact that he had never said he loved her, or that he was in love with her. All she ever heard was that he liked her a lot. She could think of a number of people she liked a lot, but she wasn’t spending any nights with them. First she had thought he was the quiet type who just didn’t say these kinds of things very often—only when it mattered. But “not very often” turned out to be never. At least so far. “He’s happy to have me around,” she said, “but there’s no sign of commitment. Maybe that’s why I went out with Sid. He just kind of takes over—he’s very direct.”
“You like that better?”
“Maybe. Sid’s too much. A bit too intense. But David could stand to be a little more.” Sara stared at her coffee. “Otherwise, he’s great. He’s steadfast, loyal, sweet, caring...” She hesitated. “I just wish he was a bit more assertive—you know, in letting me know I’m the one for him. That sort of thing.”
“Have you told him about your concerns?”
“No. I don’t really know how to tell him. If I have to ask for it…”
“Well, if you want to keep him, I suggest you tell him it bothers you.”
“It’s more than that, though.” Sara rubbed her eyes. “I’m confused. Being back here, I realize I miss the city more than I thought. And I keep having these nightmares—about my parents’ accident. It was here in San Francisco. It’s why I moved. I couldn’t deal with it anymore… I’m sorry, I don’t want to bother you with this.”
“No bother at all.” Phoebe placed her hand on Sara’s and squeezed it lightly. “They were visiting you? Were you with them?”
Sara remembered the phone call: her mom’s excited voice, telling her they were coming up for a surprise visit, asking whether she had time for dinner that night.
Phoebe pressed on. “What happened? Can I ask?”
Sara never talked about the accident. Aunt Shelley had asked her many times, with limited success. It was just too difficult. Maybe it was because Phoebe was a relative stranger, but this time, Sara wanted to talk. “We were driving, turned at a crossroads, and got hit by a truck. My parents both died on the scene. I was badly hurt.”
In contrast to her normal chattiness, Phoebe listened quietly, her eyes full of sympathy. She did not urge Sara to go on, which was perhaps all Sara needed to do so.
“I remember seeing the truck coming toward us, like in slow motion. I remember the noise when it hit us. It was so loud—my mother screaming, and how abruptly it ended. Lights. I remember the lights—it was nighttime. Of police cars, an ambulance, a fire truck. My chest hurt. I had problems breathing.”
“That sounds horrible.”
“Apparently I had a tension pneumothorax. It’s this thing when one of your lungs collapses, and with every breath, you pull more air into your chest cavity. It can’t escape, and the air builds up, compressing your heart, until it stops. Beating, that is.”
“Did it?”
“What?”
“Your heart? Did it stop?”
“I don’t know—I was told it was touch and go. They were able to fix it at the scene, I guess. I don’t remember much, bits and pieces. I woke up in the hospital with a chest tube.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. That’s awful.”
“I never talk about it, you know.”
Phoebe shook her head. “That’s not right. You should. It must have been very traumatic. No wonder you’re having nightmares.”
“I just couldn’t.” She fiddled with the coaster. “Thing is, when I was in Dunnhill, other things started happening, and I couldn’t deal with the accident or my parents’ death. There was so much else going on.”
“Like what?”
“Well for one thing, I met David. But also, I was having these bizarre dreams…” She stopped. Was Phoebe the right person to tell all of this to?
“What kind of dreams?”
Sara took a deep breath. “About dead people.” She told Phoebe about some of her previous experiences.
Phoebe was quiet, her forehead wrinkled in a slight frown.
“You think I’m crazy,” Sara said softly.
“Not crazy. Maybe a little eccentric. It doesn’t bother me—I do live in L.A.” Phoebe smiled. “But it requires some suspension of reality, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I do. For a while I thought I was going crazy. But it turns out the dreams are true. And last night, I had another one of those dreams.”
“You did? About what?”
“About Julia. The whole family was there. Not Theresa or Alice and her husband, mind you. But all the kids. It was a very homely scene. I was kind of jealous, actually. Such a large family gathered together. What a priceless thing to have.”
Phoebe pulled a face. “Hmm. I have two brothers. They weren’t always the best company. But I understand where you’re coming from. So, in your dream, what happened?”
After Sara retold her dream from the previous night, Phoebe still looked skeptical. “If you don’t mind,” she said, “can I play devil’s advocate?”
“Go ahead.”
“You say Alice lost her baby, which fits with what I found—that she only had three living children. And I told you about that.” Phoebe pulled out her cell and started typing. “I’m not being rude, just looking something up on Wikipedia.” She read for a moment, then said, “Listen to this. The president before Roosevelt was William McKinley.” She scrolled down some more. “He was shot on September 5, 1901, and died September 14. You could’ve picked this up in a history class. It could have been deeply buried somewhere in your brain.”
“It could’ve. McKinley certainly sounds familiar. I’m pretty sure I don’t know who his wife is, though.”
Phoebe kept reading. “His wife, Ida Saxton, was frail, apparently. She had epilepsy. Hold on. There’s more. It says here that they traveled to San Francisco in 1901, where she got so ill that they had to cancel their planned tour of the Northwest.” She lowered her phone, looking surprised. “You didn’t know about this?”
Sara shook her head. “No. I told you—these dreams are different. It’s like a window to the past.”
“How can you tell it’s one of those dreams?”
“It’s like I’m watching a movie, but it’s all very real, like I’m actually there. Sometimes I also feel certain emotions—from the people I’m watching. That part is unpleasant, most of the time.”
“What did she look like? Julia, I mean?”
“Pretty. Kind. Very curvy. Blue eyes. Long, red hair. I guess red hair runs in the family. You have it. My mother had it too.”
Phoebe looked mildly embarrassed. “Yeah, no such luck. Sadly those genes did not make it all the way down the line. My red hair is courtesy of my hairdresser. Don’t tell anyone.” She tapped her pink fingernails on the table, lost in thought. “Your dream would’ve taken place shortly after McKinley’s death, I presume. Toward the end of September 1901. Of course, the million-dollar question is, what’s unresolved in our great-great-grandmothers’ past?”
Sara sighed. “If only I knew. Your guess is as good as mine.” The prospect of finding out was already making her miserable. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” she said with a gloomy expression. “Eventually. Because no matter how hard I try to stay awake, in the end, sleep always wins.”
Chapter 7
The lights flicker in the room. It is not a well-lit room, but there is enough light for Sara to see a figure sitting on a sofa, reading. It is a woman, her face hidden by the book she holds. Sara can feel her loneliness like another person, an unshakable companion, that follows the woman wherever she goes.
The door opens with a click, and a man walks in. He is handsomely dressed in a formal suit. A large yet elegantly shaped nose dominates his pleasant face, and sharp, dark eyebrows sit above his deeply set eyes. He doesn’t look young, nor old. There is some softness around his abdomen, and his brown curly hair, which he has attempted to smoothen with pomade, has started to recede from his forehead. The man smiles upon seeing the woman.
“Julia,” he says, slurring the word.
Julia looks up from her book. “William? You’re home tonight?”
“Just for a bit. I’m on my way out.” William pours himself a large drink, spilling a little. “Would you like s-some?” he says, holding up the bottle.
“No, thank you. And neither should you, from what I can tell. Where are you going tonight?”
“The Tivoli. Would you care to join me? I know you love Carmen. Chelie Delooshan is performing tonight.”
Julia shakes her head, but she looks slightly disappointed. “Maybe we can all go together when they open the new Opera House. You know I couldn’t go with you alone. What would Alice think? Besides, I have to mind the children.”
“Right. What would Alice think? My wife, who hasn’t left the house in over a year,” William says sarcastically. Then he waves his arm, as if Julia’s concerns were a pet that can be shooed away. “The children are s-sleeping. Sshhh!” He mockingly puts a finger to his lips. “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he whispers. “Lin can watch them.”
“Alice is doing better every day, William. She’s off the laudanum. She’s spending time with the children. I’m certain that before long she’ll be able to join you at your parties and operas.”
“We’ll see how long that lasts,” William scoffs. “Good God, she’s no better than those poor bastards sprawled out on the floor of the local opium dens.” He takes a big gulp from his glass. “Well, I’m glad she’s doing ‘better.’ But when it comes to going out, I’d rather take you, my dear. You’re more fun.” He winked at her. “At least you used to be.”
“William!” Julia frowns disapprovingly. “Alice has been through a lot.”
He snorted. “And you haven’t? But I don’t see you s-suckling the laudanum bottle. No, Alice’s always been a touch overdramatic.”
“Perhaps…” Julia shrugged. “But she has a good heart.”
“A good heart…” William walks over to Julia and leans over. “That’s debatable. But s-she’s my wife, and she doesn’t warm my bed at night.” He reaches out with his free hand and caresses some strands of hair hanging loose on the side of Julia’s face, sloshing his drink over her dress with the other. “You were always my favorite, you know,” he slurs. “If it hadn’t been for your Edward messing things up.”
Reeling back from his pungent breath, Julia slaps William’s hand aside and pushes him away from her. “I was never your favorite—at least not after you met Alice. And Edward didn’t mess things up for you. He was a convenient ending to an awkward situation. But for me, he was everything. I had no idea
what love was until I met him.”
A fleeting look of anger crosses William’s face as he turns around to refill his glass. Leaning on the table, he says, “You say that, my darling. But I know you could learn to love me again.” His eyes are resting on her, almost dreamingly. “I’m not a bad man, Julia. I could take care of you.”
Julia is still sitting on the couch, frozen like a statue. “I never said you were bad. You’re my brother-in-law, for heaven’s sake. And my sister is upstairs. I thought we were beyond this.”
“You’re not that naïve, Julia. And just s-some advice: Alice… Alice is not well. Mark my words. Before long, s-she’ll make us all miserable.” He tosses his drink back in one big swig. “I’m sure I can find s-someone else who’ll want to come along tonight. Enjoy your reading.” He staggers out of the room.
The last thing Sara sees is Julia, sitting on the couch, staring ahead, her book lying forgotten beside her.
Chapter 8
Sara’s alarm clock showed it was five a.m. Resisting the urge to call Phoebe so early, she got up and fixed herself some coffee. Going back to bed was out of the question, and she desperately wanted to talk to someone about her dream. Phoebe had been right—something had been going on between William and Julia. Not that Julia had seemed all that eager to continue it. If only the dream had shown her more. Impatient, Sara grabbed her laptop and started to make notes about what she had seen.
A little later that morning, she battled heavy traffic to get to the storage unit. When she finally opened the door of her unit, she was welcomed by a wave of stale, dry air. Flipping on the light, left her view of the little room obscured by stacks and stacks of boxes. A little deflated, she mumbled, “Oh my, I forgot there were that many…”
Inside this unit were all her possessions, and those of her parents—the stuff she had not wanted to get rid of. Packed up, it was safe, out of her way, unable to remind her of the past. Back then she had figured she would get around to it sometime, perhaps when she had more storage space, like a house. She had always imagined she would buy a house at some point, become a real adult, with adult things. Not likely to happen, a voice inside her head told her, since you can’t even figure out how to keep a boyfriend.
A Dose of Deadly Intentions Page 5