The Bell House

by Lori Titus

  She hoped that she would never lose that feeling. She lay in bed with her eyes closed, holding onto the sensation. It was like basking in the afterglow of the sun after it had disappeared behind the clouds.

  Untouchable, but the imprint of his presence was there.

  “I love you, Stephen,” she whispered and opened her eyes.

  The room around her was furnished to her taste. The bed was firm and warm; the new comforter was a cheerful print of red and pink. The dresser and chest stood ready, though she had not bothered to put away the new clothes that she’d bought over the past few weeks.

  Everything was so brand new that it seemed to have its own scent, like the smell of a new car.

  She sat up slowly and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, having slipped from the tie she’d pulled it back with. But her skin was clear, and her eyes weren’t puffy.

  Then she remembered. She had spent quite a while talking with her sister the night before. When she’d gone into the new house, she’d been thoroughly tired. She fell asleep without crying.

  The urge to cry was always there, a weight strapped to her chest. But it was a small improvement that she hadn’t cried.

  She slipped out of bed and made it downstairs into her new kitchen.

  Jenna firmly believed that a coffeemaker was the most important thing in a kitchen, and she’d made sure it was on her counter before she went to bed. With relief, she set it to brew and sat down at the kitchen table, still sleepy. She put her head down for a moment, the wood cool against her skin, and thought about her mother.

  JENNA REMEMBERED THE day she and her mother stood together at the gravesite of Travis Bell. The rest of the mourners had left an hour before, and only Jenna remained, with her mother beside her.

  “Baby, grief is different every time,” Louise said softly.

  “I just feel like there was still so much more I wanted to know about Daddy,” Jenna said. “He came in and out our lives so much. I didn’t think I’d miss him. Or that it would hurt this bad.” She turned on her heel, looking at Louise. “Mama, you can tell me. You miss him too, don’t you?”

  She nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. “Yes, honey. But it’s different for me. My missing him has been a permanent condition for a long time now.”

  Jenna put an arm around her mother’s waist.

  “Why’d you love him?” Jenna asked.

  That brought a sweet, sad smile to Louise’s face. “I think he set his mind to loving me first. He said he wanted a different kind of girl. Someone steady to make a family with. A woman he could be proud to be seen with. Once he made up his mind, it wasn’t that easy to resist him.”

  “But later. After he cheated and you guys broke up?”

  “I don’t know that I ever quite forgave him, but I learned to move forward. But yes, there’s always that little bit of me that remembered how sweet he was when we first met. I love that man to this day. But some of the other sides to his personality? The ugly things that he showed me? I don’t like those at all.” She paused. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

  “Well, a dead person isn’t any less of an asshole once they get put in the earth,” Jenna said. “I know it’s crude, mama, but it’s true.”

  “Lord. You realize you’re incorrigible?”

  “Sure, that’s probably his fault too.”

  “Do you want to go now?”

  “Yes.”

  They turned away from the gravesite and started walking towards the parking lot.

  “I hope that when I pass, you’ll have a husband and a family of your own,” she said quietly. “The world is a hard place when you don’t have people that care for you around. And I don’t want you to grieve so hard. I did when my mother passed.”

  Jenna shivered. Clouds scattered overhead. “Don’t talk that way, mama. That’s not going to be for a long time.”

  There was something in her eyes, an uncertainty. “One doesn’t know these things,” she said.

  Later on, Jenna realized her mother probably felt that there was something wrong with her body. Either through pain or intuition, she knew. The beginnings of the thing that would kill her were already there. It just hadn’t surfaced yet.

  JENNA WAS ROUSED FROM her memories by a knock on her door.

  She opened it, and Taleya walked in, sweeping past her with the air of an adult. “Hey, Aunt Jenna. I saw your lights were on.”

  “Hi, sweetie. Does Gramma know you’re down here?”

  “Yeah, she said it’s okay so long as you don’t mind.”

  “No, I don’t. Have you had breakfast yet?”

  “Yes, I did. Maya is still finishing hers. She takes, like, forever to eat a bowl of cereal.”

  “I see. Mind if I have some food myself? I feel rude not offering you anything.”

  “Well,” Taleya batted her eyelashes. “I can always have some orange juice.”

  Taleya followed her back into the kitchen and they sat down together. The little girl watched her with inquisitive eyes.

  “Is there something that you want to ask me?”

  Taleya folded her hands in front of her. “Yes. But if I tell you, will you promise not to mention it to Gramma?”

  “That depends. Is this about something that hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Hmmm. Okay. Well, how about we talk about this, and then you tell me why you don’t want Gramma to know.”

  “Well first, I’ve got a question. Are you really related to Gramma, or are you my papa’s sister?”

  It took Jenna a second to process what she was being asked. “You mean Henry? No, I’m your gramma’s sister. Why do you ask?”

  “Because she doesn’t like you.”

  Jenna sat back in her chair. “Well, I hope that’s not true, honey. What makes you think so?”

  “She’s mean.”

  “Okay. So obviously I’d understand why you wouldn’t want me to repeat that to Gramma.”

  “I was curious, but that’s not the big thing I wanted to ask you.”

  “Okay. Go ahead.”

  “I saw something that shouldn’t be here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Taleya sighed. “I saw your and Gramma’s daddy. But I don’t understand how he can be coming here when he’s supposed to be dead.”

  “WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?” Jenna asked, pushing her coffee cup aside.

  “It’s happened a few times.”

  “Recently? Days ago?”

  “Last week was the last time. He was outside, talking to Gramma.”

  Jenna was struck speechless. It took a moment for her to collect herself.

  “Are you sure that wasn’t Henry?” she asked. “Or maybe a friend of the family that Gramma was speaking with?”

  “I know it wasn’t, because I spoke to him before. Aunt Jenna you have to believe me!”

  “Sweetheart, calm down. I do believe you saw someone. But my father has been dead for a few years. It couldn’t have been him.”

  Taleya crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. The expression reminded her very much of Diana.

  “It can if he’s a ghost.”

  “Well what would make you think that?”

  “Because you can’t see through regular people. And he said he was dead, anyway.”

  “When was this?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but it hadn’t gotten cold yet. He was standing outside my window by the oak tree.”

  “Did this happen at nighttime?”

  “No. The sun was going down, but it wasn’t dark yet.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That he was my gramma’s daddy and I should come to the window so he could see me better.”

  Jenna’s heart pounded. “What else did he say?”

  “That we don’t see him all the time, but he’s always here.”

  “Did he try to do anything? Did he try to touch you?”

  “No. Well, like I said, I could see
through him. And he was on the other side of the window. He was just standing there by the tree with his hands in his coat pockets. And he was wearing a hat.”

  “A hat?”

  “Yeah. You know, like the one Michael Jackson wears when he dances for ‘Smooth Criminal.’ ”

  Jenna was speechless.

  Her father owned such a hat.

  That was a detail that she didn’t believe these children would know—or even Diana would know, for that matter.

  “It’s called a fedora,” Jenna said.

  “Fed-whatever,” Taleya said. “I know those kind of hats because we watch Michael videos.”

  Diana was a huge Michael Jackson fan. She didn’t let her children listen to new music on the radio, but they were given old CD’s of their grandmother’s to listen to, and of course his was music was amongst – the- girl’s favorites, including a collection of videos from the 80s and 90s.

  “What was he doing the next time you saw him? The man, I mean?”

  “He just stands around a lot,” the girl said. “The last time that I saw him was when he was talking to Gramma on the porch.”

  “What did they talk about?”

  “I don’t know. They were whispering. I got up to go to the bathroom . . .”

  “This was at nighttime?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she saw him? The same person that you’re talking about?”

  “Yes. I asked her about it the next morning.”

  “And what did Gramma say?”

  “That I had better not tell anyone, not even Papa.”

  Jenna sat back. She was stunned.

  “Please, Aunt Jenna. Don’t tell her that I told you. She’s gonna whip me again!”

  “DAMN, HENRY, I CAN’T believe you woke up screaming like a little bitch this morning.”

  Diana was still wearing her green pajama bottoms and a too-tight white t-shirt, lounging on the living room sofa.

  “It was a nightmare is all,” he grumbled. “Would a little fucking sympathy be too much?”

  “Actually, yeah it is. Nobody don’t want a pussyfied man.”

  “Well, I guess that explains why I don’t want yours.”

  “What—what did you say to me just now? Because I know I did not hear you right.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with your hearing, Diana. That’s for sure.”

  “What’s wrong with you lately?” she stood, hands on hips.

  “I don’t know. Look, I’m going to the store. Do you want anything?”

  “Sure. Eggs and milk. There’s a list on the fridge.”

  He pulled a scrap of paper off of the magnet that held it in place.

  “Hold up. All this?”

  “Yes, all that. We got kids. What do you expect?”

  “Alright,” he shoved it into his pocket. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  WHEN HENRY NEEDED TO get away, he drove out to the river.

  It might not have been the best day to be out. There was a breeze coming in off the water so cold it felt like bony fingers seeping into his skin. But it was tranquil and green. He sat on the edge of the dock. He hadn’t bothered to even take his fishing pole out of the car, because he didn’t feel like trying to catch anything.

  He did bring his beer. He sat, drank, and tried not to think. The vision of that dark, oily liquid creeping across the walls of his bedroom was still on his mind.

  One of his friends had gone to Iraq. Though he’d come back with his body whole, his head wasn’t right. He spent nights unable to sleep, and then, when sleep came, he screamed. Simple sights triggered the depths of terror in him: a cane, a smiling child, even a flag.

  Henry felt something not as profound but similar. There was a creeping sensation in his gut. He was aware that there was something very wrong. He just couldn’t figure out what.

  It was one thing to have nightmares but another to see things that couldn’t be there.

  When he’d first met Diana, she was a different woman—or at least she seemed so. She kept herself fit. She was enthusiastic. Her son and daughter had still been young then, and she hadn’t experienced the tragedy of losing one child to death and the other to drugs. In some ways, Raquel was more unreachable to her than Ahmad.

  Maybe if those things hadn’t happened, she wouldn’t be what she was now.

  Henry doubted that. Her rage was always there, waiting to come out. She lived on it. It fed her. Fourteen years ago, he’d mistaken that for passion for life. Now that he could see he was wrong, it was too late.

  THERE WERE THINGS HOLDING him to this place and to this woman. He really could not imagine not coming home to her even though he could not fathom how much longer they could exist this way.

  Down the road a few miles, there was a girl he knew that offered him pleasure when he wanted it, and though he’d had a hot and heavy thing with her once, that too had begun to wane. Not that he felt guilty, but he feared getting caught.

  And with Jenna around, there was another pair of female eyes to notice if he came home too late or too early. Diana was a dependable little drunk, and he knew when he could expect her to be asleep in the afternoon. But Jenna might mention something. He had noticed that she was loyal to Diana, and that was something he needed to be aware of.

  He took a long, cold draught of beer, enjoying the smoothness of it as it went down his throat.

  When he was finished, he stood and stretched.

  His eyes were half closed when he saw it.

  Then, he opened them wide.

  Something oily and black bubbled from the surface of the water out in the middle of the lake.

  He turned and ran back to his car, burning rubber as he drove away.

  Chapter Five

  Jenna decided to keep Taleya’s secret for the time being.

  There had to be a way to approach Diana about it without getting the child in trouble. At first, she feared that maybe Taleya actually saw some person hanging around the house, someone interested in children, but that fear seemed far less likely when Taleya said that her grandmother spoke to this person.

  But that begged another question. Was this someone that Diana didn’t want her husband to know she was talking to? Is that why she said she’d whip her if she mentioned it? Anyone would think it odd for a married woman to be outside talking to a strange man in the middle of the night.

  Had Diana insinuated that it was a ghost to scare Taleya into silence?

  Jenna shook her head. She could see how it might be something like that, but she didn’t like the idea of a grown woman playing mind games with a child.

  How bad were things in Diana’s marriage? Jenna had definitely sensed the tension between her sister and Henry in the short time that she had been there.

  In the days following her conversation with Taleya, Jenna made a concerted effort to stay to herself. Though she wanted to help in some way, she had the feeling that any attempts would be viewed as interference.

  It was hard, because she was worried about the girls, but—intrigued by the idea of writing about Patricia Bell—she started to throw herself back into her writing.

  PATRICIA’S MOTHER, a woman named Soraya, was born a free woman but later sold into slavery.

  She was brought to America from Haiti. She was of mixed race, the daughter of a Cuban father and a black mother. After her father’s death, she and her mother were sent to Florida and sold into slavery. County records showed that a plantation owner from South Carolina, Samuel Bell, happened to be in town that weekend and showed up for the auction that day. He bought Soraya, who was then separated from her mother and brought to the Bell plantation in Florida to work in the house-.

  Soraya was a pretty girl, and Samuel probably had his eye on her from the very beginning. It wasn’t long before he first put his hands on her. Soraya had been fifteen when she arrived on the planation in the winter of 1847. She gave birth to Patricia in the summer of 1848.

  Samuel had acknowledged Patricia as his daughter.r />
  She lived in the servants quarters, separate from the house but far better than the shacks the field slaves lived in. Of course, there would be an intimacy there between the staff and the family members they served, to a point. There were only five servants on the Bell plantation that worked in the house.

  What the legal records did not do was fill in the blanks. Was it spoken about that Patricia was his daughter? It was possible that other of the house workers were siblings too. It might be kept a secret from the mistress of the house, but then again, a woman knows these things. You can’t see a child grow up before you and not notice some imprint of the father there.

  What was particularly interesting was the relationship between Patricia and Samuel’s white son, Thadd.

  Had the two of them grown up playing together? Thadd was only two years older than Patricia.

  She’d been given to him as a virgin at fourteen. The mulattoes and Negros were considered similar to livestock, and the use of them for breeding and sex was recorded amongst their business ledgers.

  Jenna wondered. Had there been anything between them? A familial bond before that? A friendship? Once the boundaries had blurred and things became physical, how had Patricia felt?

  What kind of love, or hatred, or sick combination of both could thrive under such circumstances?

  JENNA STARTED WRITING on paper first.

  It took a week to buy a new laptop. Her old one had been lost somehow on the flight back home, so she went at it the old-fashioned way. She was sorry later, because she had to transcribe everything she’d written, but once she had it all on her computer, she sat back and read the beginning:

  They came to my quarters after sundown.

  When I heard their boots scraping against the grass, I knew it was someone from the house.

  They did not bother to knock. They opened the door.

  I stood up from my cot. My back was to the wall. Mr. Bell and Thadd stood in the doorway. There was a fine moon out, and it lit their faces up like silver.