“Do you hate me?” Anna sniffled, clumsily lowering her battered body into the chair.
Catherine gasped in horror. “I could never hate you.” Looking down upon the woman she had failed to protect, she said, “I hate him. And I hate myself.”
“Why would you hate yourself?” Anna looked up at Catherine. The gaunt expression clouding Anna’s normally bright features broke Catherine’s heart.
“I let him do this to you. I sat back and let him beat you.”
“There was nothing you could have done,” Anna said flatly. “If you had tried to intervene, he would have beaten me more harshly, then Richard, before sending you away. He could have harmed you, as well. If any of those events had occurred, I most certainly would have perished. You saved me with your quick words. He won’t beat me tonight, because of you. Tonight he’ll sit in his den wallowing in delight that the town of Stewart thinks he’s a great man. Then he’ll drink himself to sleep. With him passed out in his sacred den, I’ll be spared from his advances. For these things, and the light you’ve brought into my life, I’ll be forever grateful.”
“I’d be grateful if he were sleeping in a jail cell this evening,” Catherine hissed with disgust.
“Jailed for what?” Anna scoffed. “I’m his wife, and he’s the great Horatio Stratton. The sheriff would never take exception to his treatment of me. Rufus may be a good man, but I harbor little doubt that he owes his position to my husband. It wouldn’t matter even if my husband weren’t who he is. He could be Sam, the town drunk, and the authorities still wouldn’t interfere in a family matter.”
“A family matter?” Bile rose in Catherine’s throat. “Beating your wife is a family matter?”
“Yes.”
An uneasy silence encompassed them as Catherine went about the evening chores. “Did your father treat your mother in this manner?” Anna asked.
“I came quite late in their lives,” Catherine said with a heavy sigh. “My brothers were already grown men. My father, for the most part, simply ignored my mother. He died when I was still young. Perhaps that’s why I grew into such a free spirit.”
“You were lucky.” Anna smiled weakly.
“Perhaps Richard will be given the same stroke of luck,” Catherine said, smiling wickedly.
“Catherine, it’s wrong to wish him harm.”
“Is it?” Catherine held out her hand to Anna. “Come now, it’s time for bed. I’ll help you.”
“No,” Anna whimpered in protest. She leaned her frail body into Catherine’s. “I don’t want you to see what he did to me.”
“You need help,” Catherine whispered as she wrapped her arms tenderly around Anna’s bruised body. “I wish he would leave tonight, so I could hold you and bring you some sense of peace.”
“Knowing that you’re near brings me peace,” Anna said as Catherine gently guided her up the main staircase.
Catherine was queasy as she assisted Anna into her dressing gown and helped her to bed. Rage churned through her when she spied her lover’s normally milky white flesh marred with purple and black.
“I love you,” she said softly. She placed a kiss on Anna’s lips.
She stepped softly out of the bedroom and closed the door quietly. She vowed that she would sneak down the hidden corridor later and listen on the other side all night. No matter what happened to her, she could not allow her brother to go anywhere near her lover. She could smell the brandy long before she spied his presence lurking in the dark hallway.
“What are you doing down here?” he slurred. Catherine quirked her eyebrow in disgust at her brother’s rumpled state.
“Seeing to Sister,” she hissed. “Seems that she has injured herself. She took a nasty spill last evening.” Her words were cold and her eyes narrowed. She was aware he understood fully that she knew what he had done.
“She’s a clumsy wench.” He shrugged in an uncaring manner. “I was th-thinking.” He stumbled over his words, apparently lost in an alcoholic haze. “I might see fit to send you b-back to your beloved France. You’d be given an allowance, of course.”
“Trying to get rid of me?” She chuckled, her angry gaze never straying from his cold dark eyes.
“I’ve been trying to rid myself of you since before you arrived,” he groused.
“I think I’ll stay on here at Whispering Pines for a little longer,” she said. “Paris no longer possesses what I need. Tell me, dear Brother,” she continued, boldly standing up to him. “Do you miss your beloved trips to the Orient and India? Is it true what I’ve heard about your other family?”
“Insolent bitch.” Horatio scowled. “Those brats aren’t mine.”
“Of course they aren’t.” Catherine brushed past him. “A good Christian man such as yourself would never be a party to such degradation. Speaking of which,” she said over her shoulder, “if Anna has another spill, it wouldn’t do your reputation any good for that news to slip out, now would it? You may have the town in your pocket, but I know your business associates, and they include some that would frown upon your bride’s clumsy nature.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Never, dear Brother,” she said coldly. “But I’m very close to Mrs. Bonner, the wife of Jonathan Bonner. He’s part owner of the wharf that harbors the family’s ships, is he not? They’re such a fine family, who find many things abhorrent, such as clumsiness, and respectable men weighing anchor in foreign ports.”
“He’s a very pious man,” Horatio said bitterly.
“Yes, he is.” Catherine beamed. “And so influential in the import-export trade. Best to let Anna get some rest tonight,” she said, smiling when Horatio stormed down the staircase.
Never in her young life did Catherine Stratton ever think that she would be capable of blackmail. Now, she was berating herself for not doing it sooner. Horatio wavered only slightly, yet it was enough to spare Anna from any further abuse, physical at least. Catherine never revealed to her young lover just how low she had sunk in order to protect her. Instead, she reveled in the joyous holiday that she shared with the captivating woman and her adorable son.
Catherine vowed that she would indeed call upon Mrs. Bonner if Horatio ever struck Anna again. Of course, if the pious Mr. and Mrs. Bonner ever discovered just how close Catherine and their young daughter Lily had been in their youth, Catherine held no doubt that it would be she who would end up sitting in a jail cell. None of that mattered to her. What mattered was the light that had returned to Anna and Richard that Christmas. Soon after the holiday, Richard went back to school, and thankfully, Horatio returned to the sea.
What Catherine was unaware of was that at the same moment she was blackmailing her brutish brother, Miranda Wilkins was having a very intense conversation with Rufus Mulder, the town sheriff.
“It just isn’t right.” The maid wagged her finger at the stodgy man after she had badgered him in his office well into the night.
“Miranda,” Rufus said, uneasy with the conversation, “you don’t know that he’s doing anything wrong.”
“He beats that poor woman,” Miranda said bitterly. “I swear, if you don’t do anything, someday he’ll kill her.”
“What would you have me do?” Rufus said. The sick feeling in his stomach grew. He knew that Miranda was probably telling him the truth, but he was helpless. If it were any other man in town, he could pull him aside and threaten him. Employing the same tactic on Horatio Stratton would cost him his position and, more than likely, his home.
“She’s his wife,” he said.
“Don’t make it right.” Miranda scowled.
Emotionally, Rufus agreed with her, yet again he was helpless.
“It’s because you’re on his payroll, isn’t it?”
“So are you,” Rufus said. “Everyone in town knows how the staff up there does the old man’s bidding for a few extra coins.”
Miranda’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “She’s a nice lady,” she said wearily. “I hate spying on her. She
doesn’t do anything wrong. Sets him off when you tell him that. I hate that he pays us so well so we’ll treat her badly.”
“He owns the whole damn town, and there isn’t anything we can do,” Rufus said. “I thought things were better after his sister arrived.”
“Oh, she’s a pistol that one.” Miranda laughed. “She doesn’t take any guff from the old man and can play him like a fiddle. At least she could, until last evening. I’ve never seen a man act like that just because they put up a tree and a few trimmings. The way he grabbed the poor missus by the throat, you’d think she was playing around with the butcher.”
“Maybe she is,” Rufus said. “I can’t believe he started choking her for decorating the house.”
“I swear to you, that’s what got him going. She isn’t stepping out on him. She spends all of her time with Miss Stratton. It’s just the two of them up there in that big house. All they do is talk and work on their stitching. Half the men in this town would give their eyeteeth for such a devoted wife.”
“Or Miss Stratton.” Rufus leered. “Can’t understand why a woman as pretty as that isn’t married.”
“That won’t last with her looks and money,” Miranda said. “Then poor Mrs. Stratton will be alone again, without any protection. Mark my words, after that happens, you’ll be called up to the manor to cart Mrs. Stratton’s body off to the morgue.”
“Stop being so dramatic, woman,” he scoffed at her. “You read too many of those damn detective novels.”
Chapter 32
Stewart, Massachusetts
October 31, 1916
Rufus Mulder lived to regret dismissing Miranda Wilkins’s warnings when the maid burst into his office, ranting frantically about blood pouring from the walls. It took him over an hour to calm the hysterical woman. During that hour, his one-and-only deputy, Thomas Sullivan, was dealing with other members of the manor’s staff who had run from the house in a blind panic.
Rufus felt chilled to the bone as he listened to Miranda’s wild ramblings. He spoke to the others who had gathered in the tiny building that housed the town jail and post office. When he journeyed to Whispering Pines, a few members of the household staff, all of whom looked frightened and pale, greeted his arrival.
Unlike his employees, the great Captain Stratton strutted out onto the front porch looking completely calm and at ease.
“Morning, Sheriff Mulder,” he graciously greeted the man.
“Good morning, sir,” Rufus said.
“What brings you by on such a fine day?” Horatio asked casually, as though he were strolling in the park.
“Seems there’s been quite a stir up here,” Rufus said carefully. “Some kind of Halloween prank, I’m certain. Captain Stratton, could I see your kitchen?”
“No.” Horatio shrugged.
“Beg pardon?”
“I said no. There’s nothing amiss here.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist,” Rufus said.
“And I’m afraid you don’t have the authority to insist.” Horatio snickered. “When you do, I’ll gladly show you any part of the house you wish to see. In the meantime, good day.”
Rufus was stunned into silence. The captain was right; he didn’t have to show him any part of the house if he didn’t wish to. Defeated, Rufus turned to leave, making one last inquiry before he left.
“Captain, may I ask how your wife and sister are this morning?”
“Very well, I suspect.” Horatio snickered again. “They’ve been called out of town on a family matter.”
And that was it. By the time Rufus had obtained legal permission to view the house, there was nothing to see, with the notable exception of deep gashes marring the kitchen cabinets, walls, counters, and floor.
Neither Anna nor Catherine Stratton were ever seen or heard from again. There were a few fanciful tales spun by the staff about seeing or hearing one or both women lurking about the house. Other than the wild stories of their ghosts lingering about the manor, the two women had simply vanished.
Rufus Mulder retired years later with one regret; he had never brought Horatio Stratton to justice. He knew the man had murdered the women, and even though he never stopped investigating the case, he could never prove what had happened to them.
On the day Horatio Stratton was laid to rest without any mourners, Rufus stood and watched, along with Richard Stratton and his former deputy, as the garden in the back of the manor was dug up with a backhoe.
Over the years, Captain Stratton had been seen digging up the garden while muttering to himself. Rufus felt certain that was where they would find the two missing women. He was so disappointed when nothing was found. He returned the next day for one last look around and was stunned. The plot of land that had been torn up the day before was filled with rows of flowers in full bloom. No one could explain it. Rufus never returned to Whispering Pines, yet even on his deathbed he still pondered the fate of the two women and blamed himself for their deaths.
Chapter 33
Atchison, Kansas
2005
The city of Atchison was nice enough, but Faith couldn’t wait to get out of town. She was beyond pissed when she was pulled off of the Salem project. She had been looking forward to spending time with Shawn. Working together on the project might just have been the push Shawn needed to let Faith back into her heart.
After everything that happened in Danvers, it really looked as if Faith was about to get a second chance. She would have been working with the same team, and since the cities were so closely located, they wouldn’t have had to move out of the hotel. As it turned out, the team didn’t move out of the hotel; it was only Faith who had been reassigned to the Atchison team.
Adding grist to the mill was the little problem that everyone on the Kansas team had worked with Faith before, and they all had reasons for disliking her. First, there was Trudy Gorsy, the three-hundred-pound psychic with flaming red hair, whom Faith used to take great pleasure in annoying back when she was a naysayer. Then there was Dwayne, Trudy’s ninety-pound balding wimp of a husband. He didn’t like Faith because Trudy didn’t like her. Of course, that didn’t stop the weasel from staring at Faith’s breasts every chance he got.
Next on the list was Billy Mariner, a scientist and professional naysayer, who viewed Faith as a sellout and didn’t believe that her experiences at Whispering Pines were anything more than a publicity hoax. And finally there was the director, Ronan Summers. Faith had gotten the smarmy twit fired from the last project they worked on together after she caught him doing lines of cocaine in her trailer. Apparently, the production company decided to give him a second chance. The rest of the crew didn’t like her, because at one time or another, she had been gruff or unpleasant with each and every one of them.
“Ms. Charles, if it isn’t too much trouble, we need you on camera,” Ronan snarled at her.
“Yes, Your Highness,” she growled, taking her place on her mark in front of the nondescript house. For the first time, the crew actually chuckled at one of Faith’s little barbs. “Ready when you are, Majesty,” she said curtly to Ronan, who was doing his best to stare her down. Faith simply scoffed at his feeble attempt to intimidate her.
Ronan curled his lip. “Action,” he shouted before she was properly prepared. Faith simply shrugged and began her spiel.
“This is just an ordinary house in the heart of Atchison, or is it?” Faith spoke in a cool and professional manner. “Not according to two former residents who claim to have been attacked by some unseen force.”
As Faith continued her narration, she spied a familiar figure lurking in the shadows. Faith concluded her narration with a triumphant smile. She knew that she was dead-on, and that Ronan would probably complain and make her do several more takes just to annoy her.
“Let’s try it again,” Ronan sneered. “And try to get it right this time.”
“I thought it was perfect.” The commanding voice came from the man who had been lurking in the shadows.
<
br /> Faith smiled brilliantly as all eyes turned towards Dave Sandusky. The tall, thin, dark-haired man folded his arms across his narrow chest, his demeanor daring anyone to challenge him.
“We need to set up inside,” Ronan said and quickly ushered the crew away.
Dave was the man who decided which projects received funding and which projects were shut down. His role at Sunny Hill Productions was a close second to being God. His sudden appearance on a shoot was never a good sign, since it usually meant the suits weren’t happy and someone was about to be fired. Everyone with the exception of Faith made a hasty retreat into the two-story home.
“You do know how to clear a room,” Faith said as he approached her. “Am I being fired?” she asked in a flat tone.
“You?” Dave chuckled as he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up. “Not this time. The powers that be are very unhappy with all of the grumbling they’re hearing from this project. I’ve been sent here to make certain that everyone’s getting along. I’m also here to see how well you and Trudy get along.”
“We don’t.” Faith snorted. “Nothing against ghost hunters, but all I’ve ever seen Trudy do is convince people that they see things that aren’t there. Why do you care if I get along with her? I’ve never been known for my ability to play well with others.”
“She’s on the short list for Whispering Pines,” Dave said.
“No.” Faith shook her head. “She wouldn’t be able to deliver the way that Shawn did.”
“Dr. Williams is everyone’s first choice, but she’s declined.”
“So, you picked the bottom of the barrel? Trudy is all wrong. What about Wu or Sue Simpson?” Faith knew that going back to Stewart was going to be hard enough. If she had to endure the nightmare that was waiting for her there with Trudy Gorsy, she might just be forced to kill herself.
“Farrah passed. She feels that the shoot would be too intense even for her. And Sue’s having another baby,” Dave said. “The short list consists of Trudy, Schumacher, and Rupp.”
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