Another couple of inches of snow had fallen during the service. The Christmas Eve landscape was washed in moonlight. Standing in the cold for a few minutes, he glanced up to see Larry Collins coming down the steps. When their eyes met, Collins gave a slight wave, which Manning returned. He was grateful to Collins for information he and Jenna had discussed several times. If Collins was to be believed, then there was still much to do, still many questions that had to be answered. But with so much snow on the ground, anything buried under the lawns at Atwood House would have to wait, probably until spring. Collins had mentioned a church foundation at the north end of the property, and if remnants of a foundation still existed Ben Manning would locate them.
Chapter 35
At a few minutes before nine o’clock, Manning opened the door to the sweet smell of flowers. Thinking maybe Jenna had slipped in and left the basket of red poinsettias on the foyer table, he went over to see if she had left a note or card. Nothing. But the strange weave of the basket caught his attention. It was undoubtedly old, with traces of red paint visible on one side. Maybe she had found it in one of the antique or thrift stores downtown. The more he looked, however, the more he became convinced that it was not something Jenna had left at all.
After hanging his coat in the foyer closet, he locked the door and went to the kitchen to make coffee. But when he got there, the lights were on and a couple of empty bowls were on the counter. From the kitchen, he could see into the dining room, and saw immediately flickering shadows on the walls. If this was Jenna’s doing, he could not have been more surprised.
A candelabra set in the center of the table had long white candles burning. Candlelight was the only light in the room. The table had been set for two, with places fixed at opposite ends. On the credenza, a large bouquet of flowers had been arranged in a pink vase that looked Japanese. If Jenna had put all this together while he was at church, it was a surprise he would never forget.
The scent of jasmine in the room was weakened by another scent, which smelled fresh, like the smell of rain. She had wiped the dust from the furniture. Each piece glistened in the soft candlelight, chairs, the china cabinet and credenza, each shining bright as the Christmas Star.
“I hope you like it,” she said from the doorway across the room. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Manning.”
“Anna.”
“It is such a beautiful night and I was so much alone. I hope you will forgive this impertinence.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Please, I hope you are not upset. I wanted to surprise you.”
“And you certainly have done that.” Looking across the dining room table through glimmering candlelight, he said in words barely audible, “Merry Christmas.” The words sounded far away and reminded him of those faint sounds bumping and ricocheting off the stone walls of cliffs he had climbed as a boy in Bristow. But these words were spoken here, in front of a woman who had left her time to spend Christmas with him. Or, was he, instead, in her time?
“You are alone tonight?”
“Jenna? She’s with her family.”
“I realize how impulsive you must think me.”
“No, Anna, it’s—”
Before he could finish, she held up a brightly wrapped Christmas present accented with green ribbon gathered into a bow. “This is for you.”
She brought the present around the table, stopping so close to him that the alluring scent of jasmine took hold of his senses. With every breath, the fragrance got stronger, until he realized the provocative aroma was having a calming effect. Standing in front of him, offering him a Christmas present, was this striking woman from another time. For several seconds, their eyes met, and the deeper he looked, the more sadness he saw. Once again, the impulse to hold her was strong. If only he could kiss away the awful sadness, tell her he was the solace she was seeking.
He’d been so overwhelmed by her presence that the brooch she had pinned to her dress had gone unnoticed until now. It looked like the one Jenna had found—the one Anna had asked him to return. She must have seen him staring at it. If she did, she said nothing. Why had she stopped asking about it, he wondered? She surely had not forgotten about her request to have it returned.
“Thank you. Thank you very much. How could I ever anticipate such a wonderful thing as this?” Trying hard to put words together while Anna looked at him, he was barely conscious of the present he was holding.”
“Please open it,” she said tenderly.
Setting the package on the table, he unwound the ribbon and carefully set it aside. The wrapping paper was stiff and had pictures of Santa Clause standing in snow among evergreen trees on a hillside. Santa was dressed in the familiar long red robe with white trim that he’d seen in drawings of Victorian Santa’s. Slowly, not wanting to tear the paper, but also looking at the strange way the package was wrapped, he glanced at Anna, who was smiling. After setting the paper aside, he noticed that the plain white box had a small green envelope with his name on it. It was attached with a spot of melted wax. He freed it from the box and opened carefully the lightly sealed envelope. Removing a card bordered in holly leaves and red berries, he was conscious of his hand shaking, conscious of Anna’s smile, conscious of the seductive aroma that filled the dining room.
Dear, Mr. Manning,
I would appreciate greatly if you would wear this for me tonight.
Yours, Anna
Folded neatly in the box was a dark tailcoat, beneath which he found a pair of gray trousers with vertical black stripes, a heavily starched white shirt and a black silk tie. Except for the shoes and socks, it was a complete set of gentleman’s formal wear from either the late 19th or early 20th century. Though he could not accurately date the clothing, the one thing he knew with certainty was that they were the kind of clothes he’d seen in old photographs. He was astonished . . . speechless—jolted so visibly that he was sure Anna noticed.
“You don’t like it.”
“No, it’s not that at all. It’s only that I never expected such a gift.”
“My husband was such a particular man about his clothes. I bought this the year it happened, before he had a chance to wear it.”
Again, as though it was a burden too heavy to manage, she was remembering her husband’s accident while looking at Ben, as though she wanted to talk about it but was unable to do so without being emotionally distraught. During the few moments he looked at her, he was again jealous of her husband. The accident had occurred a lifetime ago, and there had been too many sorrows in Ben’s own life for him to anguish over Anna’s grief. Even though he felt her pain, he drew back momentarily.
“If it fits, I’ll wear it,” he smiled.
Fifteen minutes later, standing in the dim light of the foyer, Anna Atwood watched Ben come cautiously down the stairs, and without taking her eyes off him, waited until he was standing on the last step before speaking. “William,” she sighed.
Completely shocked by her words, he said nothing.
“Let me straighten your collar. Your tie is crooked,” she said, walking over to where Ben stood, still dazed at her obvious confusion.
“Anna, it’s me, Ben Manning.”
She put the back of one hand across her mouth, and there was a small gasp as she backed away. She managed to get the words out at length. “I am so sorry, Mr. Manning; it is only that you remind me very much of my husband.”
Trying to break the despair that had taken hold of Anna, he asked, “How do I look?”
Again, she put a hand across her mouth, but this time to keep from laughing. “Handsome. Quite proper really.” Her eyes brightened. “It is a handsome fit, I think.”
Standing in his stocking feet, he held one foot out in front of him. “It feels nice to be a proper gentleman, even without shoes.”
Anna was wearing a dark purple dress with a low neckline accentuated with tiny pi
nk flowers. A string of pearls against her skin danced like all those sunny reflections he’d seen in the water near the stone bridge. She cut a stunning image, one that left enduring impressions. Turning away from him, she walked toward the library as though these movements were perfectly natural. After all, it was a house in which she was very much at ease. Standing near the fireplace and gazing into the lingering flames of a small fire, which had burned low while he was at church, it seemed to Ben that she was reminiscing again, and he knew immediately there were consequences with that, like that day at the bridge, and he didn’t want to experience Anna’s sad recollections again.
After replenishing the fire, he said, “Let me get you something to drink, Anna. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Thank you.”
It was taking him too long to decide what to bring her, so he took out a gallon of cider and warmed a pot of it on the stove, poured the hot cider into two white mugs and returned to see her standing in the center of the library, as though she was taking in with interest everything around her. Ben placed the tray on the desk and watched as she continued to look curiously around the room.
“You have so many beautiful things.” Speaking about the beige couch, she said, “It is large and quite comfortable.”
The recessed lights in the ceiling seemed to fascinate her. She looked at them and then at the desk lamp that Ben switched on, only to back away a step or two when the light filled that part of the room. The telephone, the computer, the television, all these caught and held her attention. She was like a child fascinated by things which seemed unfamiliar to her. Slowly coming over to where Ben stood, she looked under the lamp shade, but quickly turned away from the bright light.
“Here you are, Anna, warm cider. Why don’t we sit on the couch where you’ll be more comfortable?”
The rustle of her dress caught his attention momentarily. For a few seconds, he thought about his own appearance, which to Anna must have seemed quite normal, but to him, extremely confining. Wherever she went, she left behind a trail of perfume, soft aromatic overtones that were very pleasing to Ben.
“Merry Christmas, dear Anna, and thank you again for these fine clothes.”
Sitting next to him on the sofa, her hands folded in her lap, she was smiling and seemed much at ease with him sitting so close. “The young lady, you like her?”
“Jenna is a very nice person, and I like her very much.”
“You will marry her then?”
“We’ve never discussed that.”
“I envy her.”
He took one of her hands in his and held it a few moments before speaking again, “Don’t you know how I feel about you, Anna? Can’t you see it in my eyes? It’s in every word I speak to you.”
She put her other hand on his. “The strange frightening occurrences that have taken hold of my life remain most difficult for me. Our time together is little more than moments.”
“But you’re here now, and there’s no danger. There is nothing to frighten you.”
Withdrawing her hands from his, she looked at him desperately, as though she was thinking thoughts he should know. “You cannot deny that our time together is regrettably little more than stolen minutes.”
He knew instantly she was right. They were living their lives on borrowed time. From the beginning, it was an improbable love affair with too many years between them. No matter how much they wanted to be together, there were so many irresolvable complications. Moments were all they had and moments could never be enough for either of them.
Anna Atwood was a young woman still grieving for her husband, and not even Ben Manning could silence the pain she was forced to endure. Yet, she came through all those years to see him, and each time she did he felt his heart slipping away. She was such a fragile thing, sitting years away from the world she knew. If there was anything at all keeping her from slipping farther into melancholy and despair, it had to be the rooms in Atwood House, and just maybe—Ben Manning.
Chapter 36
She left him sitting on the couch in front of a dying fire. It was long after midnight when he walked into the foyer and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. At first, he was a little shocked to see the reflection of a “proper gentleman” as Anna had called him. He smiled when he wondered if Anna’s time could ever be his time. Would he be at ease in her time, comfortable without the modern conveniences of modern society?
It was Christmas morning. In church steeples everywhere, bells heralded the miracle of Christmas. Even heathens and atheists could hear the bells ringing boldly, proclaiming ecstatically the birth of Jesus Christ. No one knew where these anti–Christians lived, maybe in the house next door, or down the street near one of the churches. But they were surely there somewhere, living in the houses of Newburgh, Indiana, and their hands were no doubt covering their ears. But the bells kept ringing—kept right on ringing in their ears and clanging in their heads, and though they seethed with anger they were forced to endure the awful bells. There was no judge to proclaim a violation of church and state. There was no escape from the bells on a day as holy as this. Regardless of political correctness, church bells rang loud, not just in Newburgh, but in cities and towns everywhere.
Still dressed in the clothes Anna had given him, he went into the dining room with a mug of fresh coffee, smiling as the bells continued to clang. His one great hope was that the bells were banging so loud in the heads of the nonbelievers that they were unable to eat breakfast or read the manufactured morning news or watch television news commentators stretch the perimeters of the television screen with phony journalism.
Using a white linen tablecloth and dishes from the rosewood china cabinet, Anna had set a beautiful formal table. The candles had burned into extinction, but the table was so attractively set that he pulled out the heavy chair at one end and sat down to think of her.
It had been a Christmas Eve to remember. Anna was a profound enticement, the kind of woman never forgotten. Although their Christmas Eve supper together hadn’t happened, Ben went over the words that had passed between them. He tried hard to imagine what Anna must have felt, sitting not on one of those stiff settees, but on a couch with soft cushions. When she looked around the house, she might have considered herself a piece of old furniture among so many modern things. This thought alone caused anxiety, but it was not a thought to which he gave any real credence. Inside the walls of Atwood House, there was a perplexing strangeness that Anna could not possibly comprehend, and more than likely confusion still reigned in her thoughts, wherever she was on this bright beautiful Christmas morning. At least those were Ben Manning’s early thoughts, his presumptions on this snowy Christmas morning. Only once did it occur to him that these presumptions might be inaccurate.
“Good morning, dear Anna,” he said softly, looking across the table to the empty chair at the other end. “Merry Christmas, sweet beautiful Anna. How much I wish you were here.”
And those church bells kept ringing in steeples everywhere. How loud! How resounding their message. And heathens and atheists must be going crazy as the bells continued to reverberate in their sanctimonious ears. Except for the noisy church bells, there was a great oppressing silence in the dining room. For a few moments, he considered using the brooch. He’d done it once and it had worked. Why not again? What was she doing this Christmas morning? Was she with friends? Was she sitting alone with thoughts of her husband, or maybe even thoughts of him? Was she warm? Was she smiling? Was she wearing the same dress? Did she walk the halls of Atwood House, hoping to catch a glimpse of him? Maybe she was traveling to a friend’s house where she would spend Christmas Day. Wherever she was, would she think of Ben Manning who was so many, many years away from her?
“Anna Atwood, why did you ever come into my life?”
The emptiness in Atwood House remained cruel and painful. The empty chair at the end of the table was nothing more than a pie
ce of furniture. In the doorway behind it, a small ray of sunshine lasted only seconds. Grayness was everywhere. Even the windows in the library had long lines of gray that for some strange reason reminded him of highways he had traveled.
His feet were cold. He laughed out loud. What a sight he must have been when she saw him standing in his stocking feet on the stairs. Remembering her smile, he shook his head as though it hadn’t happened at all. But it had happened. Her heart had beaten here in the dining room, only hours ago, and he knew she would return. She would come again, and maybe again, and he’d be there waiting.
He heard the front door open and close. but sat there unable to move, unable to think clearly. Who would visit so early on this gray Christmas morning?
“Ben,” she called. “I have a present for you.”
“In here, Jenna.”
She stood in the doorway staring at him in disbelief. “Ben Manning!”
“Merry Christmas,” he said softly.
She came up next to where he was sitting. “I don’t believe this. It’s her. She was here.” She saw the note Anna had written on top of the wrapping paper. “Really, Ben.”
“It’s nothing more than a note, a Christmas card.”
Jenna put the Christmas present on the table in front of him. “This is too impossible to accept. I suppose she set the table, too?”
“She’s a lost soul, Jenna.”
“Can’t you see what she’s doing? She’s making you into her husband, Ben.”
“The clothes were nothing more than a Christmas present.”
“No, they are much, much more than a Christmas present. The clothes are Anna’s way of owning you.”
“Come on, Jenna. You’re making too much of this.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Ben, listen to me. Anna is trying to make you the husband she lost. Why can’t you see that?”
“You’re confusing me. All I know is that she asked me to wear these clothes, wanted to see how I looked in them, nothing more than that.”
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