by Y G Maupin
“Oh, Hello,” Sarah laughed out of breath at the surprise. I guess, the dead don’t need to sleep, she thought to herself.
Beverly’s stern looking face softened and replied. “Hello to you too. Trouble sleeping? Would you like some tea?” she motioned towards the kitchen. Both women walked that way and Sarah replied “No, its best I stick to water this late at night. But the moon is rising. Would you like to sit out in the garden and watch?”
The two women sat on the porch overlooking the garden of flowers and vegetables that had been carefully sown and cultivated by Sarah. She sat many mornings before the heat of the day along its paths, dressed with a wide brimmed hat and kid gloves, a woven basket at her side. A garden had been a dream of hers since she was a little girl that lived in the city.
The spirit watched the tall woman swinging on the porch swing in her reverie. This was a woman of leisure and always had been. Had there been any strife or times of uncertainty, Beverly was not sure, but she suspected something. What she did know was that Sarah excelled at hiding her truth.
“Beverly. Because you are here does that mean that you lived here, or worked here at some time?” Sarah asked, swinging slowly on the white swing.
Beverly shook her head. “I didn’t actually work her, my mother and her mother before her. I was a little girl here for about seven years and then the owners went away, so we had to leave as well.” She answered as if interviewing for a job.
Sarah sat up straighter. “Your mother and grandmother? Do you mean?” Sarah let the unpleasant question drift out.
Beverly smiled. “No this was after the stock market crash. The owners lost everything they owned out in the big city and had to sell this home. They were no longer able to keep help and they were all dismissed with a letter of recommendation and a month’s pay. I remember my mother wiping the tears from Ms. Evelyn, Evelyn Conroy Carter at that time, she had already married and moved away and her mother and sisters were unable to stay in the house. Even their older brother Mr. Conroy was nowhere to be found.” Beverly leaned in and quietly added.
“He drank himself to death eventually when he realized he was unable to help his family,” she finally confided.
Sarah was astounded. “But I thought they sold, because no one wanted to live here anymore?” Beverly shook her head slowly.
“Oh no, that wasn’t the thing at all. I remember asking my mother about them once when I had grown, wondering what ever happened to that big round woman with the four daughters and handsome son that she had raised all by herself. I thought for sure that people that looked good and had that much to speak for them had landed on their feet but my mother said, no. That family experienced even more hardship as the years went by. She always said that it was a good thing that Mrs. Conroy didn’t live to see the mess her family and home became after the crash of twenty-nine ruined them all. She had died earlier that year from a long illness. Pneumonia.” Beverly ended.
Sarah was blown away. This was nothing like had been reported in the records at city hall or the well-rehearsed listing that the realtor had recited. Although she hadn’t minded the thought of living in a home that had once had sadness pass through it, they saged before moving in, she was uneasy at the thought that people just weren’t up front with them to begin with!
“All the daughters went to the city, one was already married when the house went to auction. It can only be assumed that they found work, had families and moved on. Like I mentioned, Mr. Conroy died an alcoholic and had tried many times to kill himself but was never as successful as the drink was in doing him in.”
Sarah shook her head. “Mm mm. Such a shame. But those things were common in that time period. It must have been hard for your family as well if you grew up during the depression?”
Beverly shrugged her shoulders with a slight smile. “If you’ve always been poor, just a little more poverty doesn’t always make that much difference. We worked for a short time in that house over there.” She pointed to Olive Henderson’s home across from the Littleton Mansion.
“That must have been a delight,” Sarah murmured, as the night wind picked up.
“They were kind people. Of course, in those days we all knew our place and roles and we never overstepped where we belonged. We were there until the end of World War II when their son came home and we were no longer part of their family budget,” Beverly intoned knowingly, with a wry smile.
“Why that’s almost sixteen years. You were a young woman. Had you already married?” Sarah asked, sipping what was left of her water.
Beverly didn’t answer. She was remembering that day they left, a little bit hurried but quick with their belongings and movement out of the house. Her mother was in her early fifties and was experiencing some arthritis in her knees and hands at that point. Beverly had taken over most of her duties that required heavy lifting or strenuous cleaning. There were no letters of recommendation or severance at the end of that employment.
“I wasn’t married at that time. We decided to move to the east side of Fort Worth for a while before settling in South Dallas. I was in the plaza the day they shot Kennedy,” she replied matter of factly.
Sarah’s hand shot up to her open mouth. “No!” she whispered. “What did you see?”
Beverly saddened. “It was nothing but chaos. People were running and shoving others to the ground. It was all I could do to keep my son’s hand in mine. My mother was almost trampled and it took her several weeks to recover from all the bruising to her legs from where people stepped and tripped over her. We were lucky she only had a bruised hip and no broken bones. But there was so much commotion that day. It was a sad day indeed for us all.”
There was a lull in the conversation. It was too early in spring to hear evening crickets and several weeks before the calling frogs of night fall would sound. Only the gentle purr of the black cat on the rail of the porch sounded along with the light wind in the branches of the live oaks. Suddenly, a shot rang out across the way, echoing in the distance.
“Gunfire!” Sarah exclaimed.
“Rifle shot,” Beverly corrected. Within minutes, a second shot rang out.
“Where do you think that it came from?” Sarah asked, fully knowing that it had been from the direction of the Henderson household. She was too afraid to admit it and even more afraid to investigate the property that shared a fence with her home.
Beverly stood up from her chair on the porch. “I can check. You stay here, or better yet, go wait in your room with Miss Alice. If it is what we think it is, there’s nothing you can do about it and it's best that you’re not around to see that.”
Like an obedient child, Sarah stood and walked to the porch door. Turning back she called out to Beverly, “Be careful.” And slipped inside the house.
The spirit stopped for one moment before gliding to the edge of the expansive garden. She didn’t want to barge in on the death or near death of anyone nor did she want to interfere in the act of someone pushing to get out but she had to be sure what they heard actually produced what they thought. Quietly, she stood on the edge listening to see if there was any other commotion. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself at the door and made her way inside the Henderson home.
Sixteen
Beryl drove home with a better understanding of what all those people were doing standing around the streets and alleyways. Instead of being creeped out, she drove slower to get a better look to see if there were any that she recognized. She also now knew that those weren’t home invaders, well they were but they were really spirits and they were trying to kill her! That pissed her off a bit. They had no idea who they were messing with. Turning down her street she noticed that there were less roamers on the sidewalks.
“Hmm,” she said out loud. “Maybe they’ve gone home or something.” But as she made it to her condo and parked the car, the crowds had gotten thicker and they were like zombies milling around and generally being a nuisance. Beryl got out, guns blazing with anger, and slammed the
car door shut. Just let them try and make me kill myself, she thought as she got her groceries out of the passenger side. Bumping the door shut she marched to her home determined to let the loitering spirits know that she was not one to be messed with. Some tried to follow but she swung the plastic bags like a carnival ride to back them off. That really didn’t make a difference as the bags just passed through the apparitions. Her hands shook a little as she found her keys to open the door, but she tried to convince herself that it was more out of anger than from fear. Once inside, she went from room to room in rapid succession to be sure that she was the only one there. Once confirmed, she sat on her couch with her grocery bags at her side and breathed with a concentration of not passing out. She was not built for fast movement. She needed to do Zumba again she thought. If end times were coming and only the strong survived, she would need to not only be healthy in her mind, but in her body as well.
Birdie lay in the four poster bed in Sarah and Alice’s guest room. She was so tired, but her mother was on her mind. She was concerned after learning about today’s spirit reveal and wondered if that had anything to do with her mother leaving all of a sudden. She turned over and thought about Travis. He had just broken up with her four days ago and even though she wished he was dead she really didn’t want to see him go. That was a common outcome with most guys she dated. When she met them they were so needy and broken, like new birds that were pushed from their nest. Birdie loved them all, rescued them, fed them and loved them like they had never been loved. Time would pass and they would not only heal in their heartbreaks, but their confidence and desirability would improve. She had been doing that forever, she thought. She recognized that about herself since seventh grade. Her attitude and response to being left changed through the years but she never stopped taking in the forlorn and being abandoned by the men they would become. It wasn’t just the confidence that was either restored or created in them, it was the way they moved about and carried themselves that turned them into sexual beacons for other women. And of course getting the attention from other women, made them embarrassed to have to break it off with Birdie, but they did so without fail. Skin cleared up, hair was no longer greasy. Slouching ended and their ability to hold a conversation with the opposite sex improved. For all Birdie knew, they also got better at sex. They weren’t very good when she met them. Clumsy and inattentive would be a generous statement for almost all of them. But they left satisfying other girls and eventually women as she grew up and Birdie was the one left behind. Sexual healing wasn’t just a sexy song from a legend, to her she was healing her partners with her sex and getting the raw end of the deal. She turned onto her back and straightened the comforter over her legs and body. What had happened to her mom? She kept turning the thought over and over in her head. Then she heard a gunshot. Frozen in the downstairs room she waited. Maybe it was someone scaring off a coyote, but then there was a second shot. She laid there for a moment and then carefully slid out from under the sheets and slipped into her sandals. Grabbing a borrowed robe off the back of the plush chair, she yanked open the door. Sarah was rushing towards the stairs that were right in front of her door.
“Was that gunfire,” she whispered urgently, to get Sarah’s attention.
Sarah paused. “Rifle shots,” she replied, and detoured to the young lady instead of going upstairs as had been recommended. They clasped hands. Birdie began to whimper a little and Sarah shushed her.
“Let’s go upstairs and tell Alice.” Birdie nodded and followed the older woman taking the stairs at a brisk pace. They rushed into the bedroom out of breath and nervous with a bit of fear. Sarah sat on Alice’s side of the bed and gently moved the sleeping woman’s arm. “Alice,” she spoke in a hushed voice that was firm. Giving a little bit of a jolting shake she repeated, “Alice!” and the woman's eyes opened up startled.
“Wha, what? What’s going on? Are you ok?” She tried to sit up. Sarah handed her glasses to the shaken woman.
“Yes, we’re both ok. But there were shots across the way just now. Didn’t you hear them?” Of course not, Sarah thought. Alice had the sleep of the dead.
Alice sat up a little straighter now. “How do you know where they came from? How many shots? Did you hear any voices or shouting before or after?” she was moving towards getting out of bed but Sarah stopped her.
“Hang on. Beverly told us to wait here while she checked it out.”
“Beverly? What’s going on? How is she going to? Oh I get it. Right, ok.” Alice understood. “Well, that’s fine but I can still get up. Let’s get appropriately dressed but looking like we were sleeping, which we all were, right?” She looked firmly at Birdie. Birdie nodded in agreement.
“I’m sure the police will be here shortly if what we think happened truly happened. Which way did it come from?” She pointed to the front of the house. Sarah gulped and shook her head pointing towards the back. A slight groan came from Alice, as she realized how bad this could be with the people behind them, but not surprising at the same time. Olive Henderson was not only an uptight, closeted bigot that acted like the queen of their small town, she was also notorious as a harridan of vitriol toward her cowed husband.
Shaking her head, Alice sighed. “It was bound to happen, spirits or not. Gerald was going to snap at some point and knock her block off.” Quickly looking at Sarah who had taken a sharp breath inward. “Not that it would be ok to do that to her or any woman, “Alice added in deference to her partner. “But given their nature and past public interactions, this particular loving couple wasn’t so loving to each other.” Sarah folded her arms and stared at Alice. Alice shrugged her shoulders in a who me stance and got out of bed.
“She wasn’t that bad,” Sarah started and went to correct herself. “Listen to me. Already talking as if she were dead when we don’t even know what the commotion was about even if there was a commotion.” She ended knowing that across both gardens and into the other house, there were probably two bodies on the floor. One having killed the other and that most of the town while shocked, would not be surprised. Alice went to her bathroom and shut the door. Birdie was braiding her hair as she looked in the dresser mirror.
“If they did kill each other I feel so bad for their kids,” she said. “They’re both at school right now and would have been coming home for Easter next week.” Sadly she turned to Sarah. “I knew them from high school. They were really nice kids.” Birdie thought about her mom and wondered what she would do if she found out she had been killed by one of her lovers. She needed to get in touch with her as soon as it was light to make sure she was ok, even though at this time of night, chances were pretty good that Carol was up with whoever was currently occupying her bed. “Let’s meet in the study. I need to make a phone call,” she said, and left their room
T had made it home without incident. Securing all her doors, which wouldn’t deter any ghostly intruders at any rate, she made her way upstairs having let the cat outside for the night. She tossed and turned for a good hour, thinking about Jackson, and wondering if he would be trying to make the jump to mortality. She didn’t see why he wouldn’t want to try. Even if he didn’t want to come back to her, he would at least try for his family. She was sure that he missed them at least. Feeling thoroughly sorry for herself, she fell asleep and promptly dreamt of their last conversation together.
“You’re being dumb.” He levelled at her as he got dressed. She was all a flutter making their small bed together. Tears streamed down her face as she stubbornly refused to reply to him. “All I said was that we could have a baby right away. We could even start now, and it would be okay if you were pregnant when we got married because it’s not a big deal anymore.” He hunted for matching socks in his drawer. Having to match socks was one of his pet peeves, and he hated that she would just throw the socks into the drawer after doing laundry, mixing hers in with his.
“I care,” she said, yanking a pillow from across the bed to her side. “I care what people think when they s
ee me ready to burst, but no wedding ring on my finger. I’m the one that has to carry the burden, I’m the one that’s going to get all the stares and questions and snickers from people at the grocery store.” She jabbed a finger at her chest for emphasis.
“Burden?” he was incredulous. She was off the deep end. “There’s just no getting around that you have a problem with kids. I know what you’ve been through, and you’ve come out great. I love you for being who you are, but this anti mom attitude doesn’t come across as real to me. It's just not natural given how nurturing you are to everything and everyone else you come into contact with.” he said.
She strode to stand in front of him. “I don’t have an anti mom attitude. I’m not ready for kids and I don’t know when I will be. It's unfair to me and us as a couple to force this step before we’re both ready, especially if I will be doing the majority of raising and caring for this child.”
Jackson was stunned. He just stared at her, mouth agape at her statement. She continued.
“I’m the one taking the health risk. I’m the one getting swollen and sick with stretch marks all over me. I’ll be the one out on maternity leave having to make the substitute teacher arrangements, and I’ll be the one nursing the baby.” She counted on her fingers. She knew she sounded harsh, but facts were needed to fight against Jacksons emotions.
He got up and went to the door. She turned to watch him leave. “Where are you going?” She called after him.
“My boots are downstairs.”
T followed him down, trudging the carpeted stairs and avoiding the cat that slept on the landing. She felt a heaviness in her heart. It was shame. She had been exaggerating what the cost of having a child would do to her personally. She didn’t care about swelling or stretch marks. She was just scared of not loving her baby. Even if her baby was with Jackson, because the baby would look at her with its knowing baby eyes and understand that its mother was not only incapable of raising a child well, she was incapable of keeping it safe.