Authors: Lynn Ricci
The knock startled her, making her jump and sending some of the papers on her lap onto the floor.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Mason Brown.”
Sarah sat up, pulling at her sweatshirt to untwist as she stood and slowly walked across the living room to the door and found she had locked it. Turning the latch she opened the door to Mason who hung back in the dim hallway.
Dressed in jeans with a dark blue thermal shirt he had an open plaid flannel over it and snow boots and she was sure he had been out shoveling. The military cap he normally wore was pulled down low on his forehead and although he easily stood six inches taller, he kept his head tilted down so the brim covered his eyes.
“Sorry to bother you. The Baldwins stopped by on their way out last night and mentioned you were sick. They asked that I check in on you. With the snow, I figured you didn’t leave today as they said you planned to do.”
“That was nice of them.
No, I am not feeling well and they shut down train service so I can’t get home.”
“Do you need anything? Can I get you something from the market?”
“I’m ok.” She wondered if he was really willing to go to the market since he seemed to shun being seen by, and interacting with, people.
Sarah started coughing and motioned for him to come in.
She retreated quickly to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, her throat feeling as if it had been ripped open. She drank the cool water until she felt she could speak again.
“That doesn’t sound good. Do you have enough medicine?” She was touched with the concern she heard in his voice and again wondered what had happened to him.
“I’m ok. I have medicine and was thinking of ordering take-out but maybe they aren’t even delivering in this storm?”
Mason was still near the front door where the light was off. He looked out the three tall windows although there was not much to be seen at this level, and said, “No, I don’t imagine that you would get anything quickly.”
Sarah squatted while he was talking to pick up the mess of papers that had fallen. The papers had scattered as they fluttered to the floor and were now out of order. Mason hobbled towards the papers to help, painfully bending over, picking up and placing the manuscript papers on the table. Seeing this Sarah tried to stop him, “Oh, I can get those. I just knocked them over by mistake.”
Holding a few papers in hand he stood up glancing down at the paper in his hand before he set it down with the others. A strange look crossed his face and Sarah, who had been trying to not glance at him as she had been instructed by the realtor, caught the look while looking up under her veil of hair.
“It’s a historical piece on Boston. It’s a first-time writer who came across several family diaries in his attic and he’s cobbling it together into a look at Boston at the end of the nineteenth century. My job is to help edit, verify and research as well as get any legal releases we may need for photos, people, that kind of stuff.”
Mason kept his eyes down towards the papers on the table. “I wasn’t trying to intrude into your work.
It’s just . . . never mind. Sorry.” His head hung lower and his back, hunched already, seemed to bend with weight.
Sarah’s heart clenched for this man who didn’t have any social interaction and felt it necessary to apologize for helping her.
Cocking her head, and really looking at him, she thought there was something more he wasn’t saying.
“No intrusion, and please, what is it? Were you going to say something?”
“I noticed on that last page I picked up, it mentioned patches of garden breaking up the two sides of the street here in the South End. It says they were included as a beautification method for the city; to keep small parks available as neighborhoods sprung up.”
“Yes, that’s what I’ve seen written about the parks.” Sarah had a quizzical look, wondering where he was going with this.
“It was also for socializing, and sometimes eating.”
“I’m sorry, I think you lost me.
I get the socializing if people were enjoying the park, walking through at the same time . . .”
“No, it was more than that. The parks were wider then, before streets were built for cars rather than carriages. The women would meet out there in the afternoon to watch the children play, and tend to their gardens.
People would set up tables in the warm weather months, visit with each other and have lemonade. Sometimes play cards.”
Sarah sat down, listening to Mason speak about a different era with a tone she could only think of wistful or nostalgic. She thought of the painting in his apartment of the three women conversing at a garden table in their long summer dresses and piled up hair, and envisioned them in the garden outside their brownstone a hundred years ago. A chill went up her spine and she pulled the blanket across her lap wondering if her fever had returned.
“The more affluent families would have their house hands bring dining tables out and the family might be served their dinner under the shade of the trees, enjoying the cooling breezes instead of the trapped heat in the brownstones. Maids would bring out the linens and china, adding fresh flowers on the table, much more civilized than the way people eat outside today on picnic benches.”
He cleared his throat before continuing. “When young ladies were being courted their suitors might ask to take an evening stroll through the gardens, with family members following behind. It allowed them a small degree more privacy than meeting in the parlor with the family all within hearing distance. It was a peaceful place with benches for men to take a stroll after dinner or partake in a cigar or pipe.”
Mason shook his head, lost in his own words. “Sorry, I shouldn’t. . . ”
“No! That’s great.
It was so interesting I could visualize what you were saying. I will need to do more research and get it all in there. Everything I’ve read so far has been about the architects and city planners and the more business end of things. This would give more life to the book.”
Mason was quiet for a moment then limped back to the cover of the dim lighting by the front door. He turned back to Sarah, closing the subject of the gardens. “I use a market that delivers to me, and if you want Chinese I am sure I can get that whether they are delivering or not, but you need to eat. What would you like?”
“Chinese would be great. Maybe some soup and a noodle dish? I don’t think I can eat too much else with this sore throat.”
“I will bring it up when it arrives.
Are you sure you don’t need anything else?”
“I’m sure. Let me give you some money.”
She reached to the side of the couch where she had dropped her pocketbook the day before and when she turned back Mason had disappeared out the door.
Sarah looked around the room deciding she needed to straighten it up before he returned.
It bothered her to not have her place in perfect order with neighbors popping in last night and today. Picking up the mugs with cold leftover tea and the notebooks and magazines strewn around the room she felt a little better. Taking a candle jar out from the kitchen cabinet she brought it over to the coffee table and lit it. The aroma of clove and orange wafted upwards and she was glad she didn’t have a head cold, too. Climbing back under her blanket she pulled her legs up towards her chest and watched Storm Central while waiting for her egg drop soup. She dozed off for a bit and woke when she heard the music announcing an update.
“And although we are in a lull here in
Boston, between bands of snow, the Doppler radar shows we will see additional accumulation by the early morning hours.” The weatherman was pointing at large green and dark green areas covering most of Massachusetts. Looking happy with this latest development he added with an almost giddy smile, “This is a
doozy
of a storm!”
When the knock came, sometime later, Sarah called out from the couch, “Come in!”
Mason opened the door and came in, his left foot clearly giving him trouble, carrying a brown paper bag. When he glimpsed the candle on the table he stopped.
“What’s going on here? Why do you have an open flame?”
“Open flame?”
“It specifically states in the lease I do not allow open flames, except in fireplaces with screens.”
Sarah sat up and quickly blew out the flame, feeling badly that she didn’t remember that clause and wondering if it was a fire that caused his severe scarring. She turned the volume down on the television to apologize. “I’m sorry Mason – I just thought it would be a nice scent.”
Mason relaxed and nodded his head.
He placed the brown bag on the kitchen counter, opening the top and taking out one white Chinese food container for himself. “Your dinner is in the bag. If you need anything else, let me know.” He turned to leave, keeping his back to Sarah.
“Please, sit and eat with me. Or are you concerned I am contagious?”
“I can’t, but thank you for your generosity.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to hold you up from anything.
Were you leaving to see family for Christmas?”
Mason stopped and slowly turned towards Sarah, safe in the shadow by the door and took a deep breath.
“My family is long gone. No, I just wanted to give you some privacy and, to be honest; I am not used to sharing a meal.”
“Well then please, I insist. Why should we both eat solo?”
As Mason seemed to contemplate this invitation, a low moaning emanated from the next room. They both turned their attention to the open bedroom door and darkness beyond.
The moan rose to a howling wail that drowned out the faint television volume.
Sarah’s eyes widened and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she tried to figure out what the sound was. It was an unworldly sound, something she never heard before and never wanted to hear again. With difficulty, she tore her eyes away from the bedroom door to look directly towards Mason who had already begun making his way towards the bedroom. His movement set Sarah into action, pulling the blanket from her body and jumping up from the couch to follow. As she closed the distance to Mason and the bedroom, the wail escalated but she could now tell it was coming from outside.
Mason entered the bedroom first and stopped short, staring out of the side window towards the fire escape.
Sarah came through the doorway a moment later and saw in the dim glow from the street light below the black cat she had named Midnight, clawing at the snowy window. The cat stopped, looking at the two of them through the glass, turning its head to purposefully view each. Its fiery gold eyes became slits and the cats back arched, the hair raised along the black creatures back like a jackal. The cat hissed through the window, baring teeth and leaving a foggy mark on the cold glass. It then walked back and forth in an agitated state, its tail twitched back and forth but its body was calculated grace more reminiscent of a panther than a domesticated house cat.
Sarah and Mason watched the cat's strange behavior in silence; neither daring to move. The cat turned back left and then without warning lunged at the glass smacking it hard and causing Sarah to step back.
Again, the cat circled around and threw itself at the glass and Sarah wondered what would happen if the window cracked or if it got in. She realized, with a moment of panic, she was actually scared of the cat she had wanted to invite in as a pet.
“That’s the cat I’ve mentioned, but it’s never acted like this.
Do you think it’s rabid?”
“No, it’s not rabid.” Mason offered no more, but his tone sounded like he suspected something he wasn’t willing to share.
The cat hissed again and then disappeared, jumping down out of their sight.
Mason moved as quickly as his hunched form would allow towards the window and Sarah stayed back, wrapping her hooded sweatshirt closer around her body and watching. Mason leaned to the right to look out but could not see the cat. He turned slowly and looked directly at Sarah, obviously not thinking or caring about his disfigured and scarred face, hooded eye, and stooped body.
Sarah looked back with an even gaze, refusing to let her eyes drop from his sea blue stare.
“I would like to accept your invitation to stay for dinner, if the invitation is still open.”
Sarah felt relieved that she would not be alone. She tilted her head, “Of course, Mason. But the cat . . .?”
“I have a feeling the cat will be back.” He hobbled back towards Sarah, and she led the way back to the living room, thinking how odd this cat incident was and surprised by how it had allowed Mason to drop his defenses and not fear the gaze of another person.
“Sit.” He instructed, “You are shivering. I will get your soup.”
Sarah sat on the couch, covering her legs with the blanket and pulling the table closer.
“Cat’s don’t act like that. I think we should call someone, maybe animal control? It may be rabid.”
“She is not rabid
– she was just startled by our appearance.”
“She?”
“Ah, the cat. I think of felines as being feminine.”
“Oh.”
He leaned over stiffly, setting the soup down on the coffee table with a spoon and napkin, and placing her noodle dish beside it closed to retain the heat. He quickly pulled back his hands but not before she noticed the scarring across the back of his hand and lumps on his wrist.