by Linda Hughes
After a reverent prayer by the priest, everyone with the family took a white rose out of a vase provided for the purpose and placed it on the casket.
The priest then said, “Trusting in God, we have prayed together for Harry and we come to the last farewell.” He turned to an altar boy beside him to dip his fingers into the holy water the boy carried in a bowl. The priest sprinkled holy water over the casket. “There is sadness in parting, but we take comfort in the hope that we will see him again.” Now the priest turned to another altar boy to take a small incense burner from him, one that hung from a short chain. Swinging the urn back and forth over the casket, the priest continued the final prayer.
Meg could smell the incense from where she stood and closed her eyes to take it in. Harry, the little brother she adored, was at peace. Of that she felt certain.
The priest finished his prayer, reminding everyone about “faith in Jesus Christ.” After that, the straps holding the casket were slowly released and the box was lowered into the ground. Sad as that was, it seemed right that Harry finally be put to rest with his ancestors. Meg imagined they would always watch over him.
For a moment the gathering didn’t move, even though the ceremony had ended. Then a few at a time, people started to go back to the church lawn.
Jed took Meg’s hand as they walked to the picnic. Meg was surprised to find herself ravenously hungry and she couldn’t wait to enjoy some of the fabulous food spread out on tables all over the place.
The reception turned out to be a joy. The warmth and camaraderie of the community was overwhelming. Although the funeral of a child had just taken place, a sense of rejuvenation prevailed. It was a beautiful early summer day, and eventually a large gaggle of children cast off their church ties and jackets and shoes and socks, and played tag on the lush green grass. Meg found herself enjoying their antics.
Best of all, Jed’s sister and her family joined her family. Meg immediately felt at ease with them. When Jed’s two nephews joined the game of tag and ran around like “hooligans,” as their uncle called them, she thought of having her own children someday.
“There’s nothing like children,” she said, “to lighten the mood and remind us to enjoy life.”
“That’s true,” he agreed. “They are the essence of life.”
By the time they finally piled back into the cars to return to the house, the sun hung low in the sky, scattering long shadows across the church lawn.
Meg slept well that night, dreaming of her little brother as he’d been when they were children. Harry’s adorable little face with its wide smile and lively eyes, and his unruly mop of black hair, would be the image of him she carried in her mind for the rest of her life. He would be happy. Best of all, he would be at peace.
Meg could now sleep in peace, as well.
36
The moment Abby stepped onto the back stoop of the big house, she knew something was amiss. The place was as still as a tomb.
Pausing before touching the handle of the screen door, she said a quick, silent prayer. What could possibly have happened to this family now?
The screen door squeaked as she pulled it open. She knew that door had just been put up, seeing that agreeable early summer weather had arrived. The inner door stood open. Abby tiptoed into the kitchen.
Cook stood at the stove, her back to the room as she stirred a pot. “Hello, Abby,” she said without turning around. “Come in and get your tea, dear, and let me tell you what’s happened now.”
Abby poured herself a cup of tea, sat, and waited, nibbling on a biscuit from a plate already sitting on the table. Cook scooped up a clump of porridge into a bowl and brought it over to Abby. Cream, brown sugar, and a spoon awaited, so Abby fixed up the offering and began to eat, allowing Cook to tell her story in her own way.
The hefty old woman plopped down and explained. “Everyone else already ate. We were all up very early this morning. You see, the sheriff arrived at four o’clock. The sound of his motorcar so early in the morning woke some of us up and the others woke up from our rambling around trying to see why the sheriff had come this time.
“To make a long story short, Elizabeth hung herself in her cell last night. She used a bedsheet, tying it to a high rung of the bars on her window. She’d pulled her bed over to get herself up there, then tied a noose around her neck, and kicked the bed away.”
Abby watched as the longtime family cook relayed what had happened. There was no remorse, only sadness. Abby continued to eat her porridge.
“We were all gathered in here by the time the sheriff got done talking to Mr. Sullivan, even Miss Meg. Mr. Sullivan came in and explained it to us. Abby, it’s the second time he’s had to do that — come in here and explain so we wouldn’t be caught off guard. That poor man.
“This family needs for something good to happen, something happy for a change.”
Abby finished her porridge. “It will. I know it will. Soon. I don’t know exactly what it is, I only know it’s coming very soon.”
“Oh, Abby! Are you sure?” Cook’s eyes lit up.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“Oh, thank you, my friend. You’ve given an old woman hope.”
“There’s always hope, Cook. Always.” Abby wasn’t sure why she said that or predicted what she did. She simply knew from her ancestors that it rang true.
Cook got up and went to work as servants came and went, so Abby rose to leave. As usual, Cook reminded her to take her sack of food. Abby thanked her. She would never leave this offering that Cook prepared for her. It was Cook’s way of telling her she was loved. Taking it was Abby’s way of returning that sentiment.
Walking across the lawn, sack swinging at her side, she decided to stroll down the beach to get home. She wanted time to think. It came as a bit of a shock to her that she felt no emotion over Lizzie’s suicide.
By the time the gazebo came into sight, she realized that she had indeed separated herself from the former object of her blind devotion. Like Cook, she found it incredibly sad that any woman would come to that desperate end. But Elizabeth Sullivan, she now knew without a doubt, had been a violently mentally ill person.
Up ahead she could see Meg lying in the hammock in the gazebo. Perhaps, she reckoned, she should leave the young woman alone. Like herself, Meg might need time to herself to think.
But Meg saw her and waved, and stood up. When Abby reached the gazebo, she put down her sack of food, and she and Meg hugged.
“You know,” Meg said.
“Yes.”
“I’m so glad to see you. I have a confession and you’re the only person I want to tell. I suppose I should confess to my priest, but I’d rather tell you. You won’t make me do fifty Hail Mary’s.”
Meg’s thin smile, weak as it was, told Abby that everything would be all right.
“Shall I put up a screen between us,” Abby teased, “so you feel more comfortable telling me?”
“Let’s sit over here.” Meg pointed to the steps leading to the dunes facing the bay. They sat, and Meg pulled up her knees to wrap her arms around them. Looking out at the water she said, “I’m not sorry my mother is dead. Oh, I’m sorry that anyone would come to such a tragic end, but I have no sympathy for my mother.
“Abby, am I a terrible person?” She looked at Abby with a furrowed brow.
Abby said, “If you are, I am, too. I feel exactly the same way.”
This time Meg’s smile brightened, softening her features into those of a carefree young woman, just what she should be.
“Meg, your mother overshadowed our lives every moment of every day. She was bigger than life itself. She was beautiful, charming, talented, and… insane. In death, we cannot allow her to continue to control our fates. We must move on without her; we cannot let guilt over her bring back that veil of gloom she cast over us. That veil has always kept so many of us here from being happy. We need to step out of that shadow and live in the light!”
Now Meg beamed. Gesturing broadly, s
he said, “You’ll never know how happy I am that you said that. You see, Jed and I have decided to get married. Soon. Just a small family affair. We want you there, of course. And I don’t want any lingering remorse to ruin our day. In other words, I don’t want the ghost of my mother lurking about in the corner to spoil my happiness.”
The ancestor’s voice in her head told Abby that would not happen. The woman and her troubled spirit were gone from this earth. Abby told Meg and she was glad.
“Father says he’s fine, too,” Meg continued. “I think he is. Actually, I think everybody is. Father called me into his study a little while ago and asked if there was anything of my mother’s in her cottage or asylum rooms that I might want. He pointed out that she owned expensive clothes and jewelry, and made beautiful paintings. But I couldn’t think of one thing of hers I want.
“Isn’t that sad? My own mother and I want no mementoes of her.”
“I don’t think it’s sad. I think it makes perfect sense.”
“After I told Father I didn’t want anything, I heard him call the asylum and tell them to sell everything. They can keep the money. He told them he knew she’d given away many paintings to people there and they were welcome to keep them, of course. In fact, he said that now that her story will make headlines again, the value of her work might even go up. So be it, he said.
“He also told them to cremate her body and bury the ashes in the town cemetery. He doesn’t want her around our family in the church cemetery.
“When we talked in his study, I told him I have no compassion for her because of what she did in this life, but I pray to God to relieve her of her madness in the life beyond.
“Father said he prays to God to somehow forgive her because he cannot.
“I think my father is an amazing man.” Meg peered out over the bay where a few sailboats had launched to glide along in the early morning sun.
“Yes, and you are an amazing young woman,” Abby said, placing an arm around Meg’s shoulders and squeezing. Meg patted Abby’s knee. Abby lowered her arm and brought her hands together in her lap.
“Meg, I think that Hannah will become your new mother. She’ll be a wonderful mother. But I hope you’ll always think of me as a friend, maybe even like an old aunt, or something.”
“No, I can’t do that. I’ll think of you as an aunt, but not old.”
Abby snickered. “Thank you for that!”
They sat for a while longer, enjoying the spectacular view.
When they parted, Abby felt renewed. So many secrets had been kept for so many years. Most had now been expunged so that this family could finally live in peace. The only secret she would never reveal was the true nature of her relationship with Lizzie. Abby believed that all sexual relationships should remain private, including her own.
No longer under Lizzie’s spell, no longer a prisoner of their web of deceit, Abby wondered if she would ever experience romantic love again. And if she did, would it be with another woman or with a man? She didn’t know. She did know she would stay open to all possibilities.
Entering her cabin, she felt lighter, younger, and happier than she had since she’d been a child living a carefree existence here with her parents. There had been happy times in this cabin. There would be happy times again.
To make that happen, there were three things she needed and wanted to do. First of all, she needed to be more appreciative of the loving friends she had amongst the Sullivan family and their household. She had other kind friends around town, too. There was no need for her to feel so lonely.
Next, she wanted to join a church, although she didn’t know which one yet. There was her mother’s Methodist church, the Sullivan’s Catholic church, and many others in town. She would try one out each Sunday until she found one where she felt most welcome.
Lastly, she wanted to see if she could find any relatives from either side of her family, Chippewa and white. She’d never even tried. There might be an aunt, uncle, cousin, or grandparent out there who would like to get to know her. She knew it was possible that they might not even know she existed because her parents had no longer been close to them once they married. But that didn’t mean everyone in those families would reject Abby. If they did, she’d always know she tried.
Her enjoyment of her newfound freedom suddenly allowed her to make one more decision, this an astonishingly madcap one.
Living so frugally all these years, she’d saved an enormous amount of money. She wanted to buy a Model T Runabout motorcar. In all honesty, she could afford ten Runabouts, what with all those metal boxes of cash buried in her yard. But one car, maybe even a burgundy one with a cloth top, would do.
She’d been utterly fascinated by her first ride in a motorcar, the Sullivan limousine, on the day of Harry’s funeral. Sam would teach her to drive. And she’d heard that Mr. Sullivan and the judge were opening a Ford store in town within a week. She could be their first customer.
It was time to move on with her life and a car was perfect for trying something new.
She couldn’t wait to move out of the veil of Elizabeth Sullivan’s shadow herself, and get on with her life.
37
Meg leapt out of bed. Smoke! She smelled smoke! Holy moly, the house is on fire! What else can possibly go wrong? her mind screamed.
Without taking time to grab her robe, she fled out of her room in her nightgown, colliding with Hannah outside their doors.
“The house is on fire!” Meg bellowed.
Hannah grabbed her by the shoulders. “No! It’s not the house. He said he wanted to do it, but I never thought he would!”
Meg heard her but didn’t comprehend, still heading for the stairs. “Do what?” she shouted behind her.
“Come,” Hannah said, grabbing her arm. “I’ll show you.”
They scampered down the stairs. The maids and Cook showed up in the vestibule, everyone rushing about in their nightwear for fear of being burned alive.
“Jesus, Mary, Mother of God!” Peggy hollered. “The house is afire!”
“It’s not the house,” Hannah reassured them. “It’s out here.”
They ran out the front door and looked toward the bay, where there was no mistaking what was going on. A towering inferno stabbed the night sky from the location of Elizabeth Sullivan’s cottage.
Hannah grabbed Meg’s hand and they ran toward the blaze.
Coming over the rise of the knoll, Meg could see her father, calm and composed, standing outside the reach of the flames. An empty kerosene can lay on its side at his feet. Reflections from the fire dappled his face with a flickering glow, an image Meg would have thought sinister except that his countenance was one not of a man possessed but rather of a man on a mission.
She and Hannah halted abruptly, staring at the wild flames that shot thirty feet into the air with black furls of smoke billowing into the heavens. Golden sparks showered out in all directions to float around in the sky, competing with the stars for sparkle and brilliance.
Slowly, they walked up to Herbert Sullivan. He put an arm around each of them, one on each side of him. The heat assaulted her face, but Meg refused to leave her father’s side. He needed this. They all needed this.
Her mother needed to be exorcised from this place, too.
Pinpricks of light appeared around the bay as people awoke from their dreams to investigate what had roused them in the dark of night. Lighting their lanterns and candles, they no doubt stood transfixed by the spectacle across the water.
It didn’t take long for the sheriff to arrive. He came running over the hill but stopped when he saw what was burning down. After assessing the situation, with no fear of the fire spreading, seeing that the knoll where the cottage stood was surrounded by acres of sand dunes on three sides and a large body of water on the other side, he merely sat down in the sand and lit a cigarette to watch the show.
Workers and volunteer firefighters started showing up, but no one objected or tried to put out the flames when they rea
lized what had happened.
Elizabeth Sullivan’s cottage sanctum along with all her paintings was being burned to the ground by her husband. No reminders that she ever existed were to remain on Sullivan property.
Jed and Judge appeared. As he approached, the judge whistled and said, “Hot damn! That’s one hell of a fire!”
Jed put his arm around Meg and stared in wonder at the display in front of them.
Meg thought she saw Abby way up north on the beach, but the dark silhouette disappeared. After some time, however, the silhouette appeared again, this time dragging some kind of large object behind it. Closer and closer it came. Curious, Meg broke away from Jed to go see what on earth Abby was doing. Meg’s movement made her father notice Abby for the first time and he headed in that direction, passing his daughter and reaching the woman first. Meg could now see that Abby had lugged the large painting from above her fireplace all the way down the beach.
Of course, Meg now understood, the painting had been the work of her mother.
Her father unburdened the Indian woman by taking the painting from her. Tall enough to carry it unfettered, he marched to the edge of the fire and pitched the canvas with all his might.
A flurry of flames engulfed it within moments.
By the time the blaze waned into nothing more than husky hunks of cinder, the promise of dawn painted the eastern sky in glorious shades of pastel.
They’d all sat down in the sand, Meg’s head on Jed’s shoulder as she dozed. Throughout the night, a hundred people had come and gone, one declaring, “This is the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen! Better than fireworks on the Fourth of July!” The sheriff had disappeared an hour earlier.
“It’s over,” Meg’s father said. “Let’s go home.”
They got up, said drowsy good-byes, and everyone went to their respective residences for some welcome slumber.