Night Journey (29 page)

Since my strength has returned and the pain has been mitigated, I now find myself restless. After my prayers on this Holy day, I spent the afternoon testing the walls, trying to find a breach of some sort. In the far corner behind the bed, I found a loose nail near the baseboards. I chipped at it with my soup-spoon until it came loose and discovered a small opening in the wall, just big enough to use as a hideaway for my treasures.
Thursday, October 6th
. More of the same. She is still feeding me twice a day and relieving my pain. But the monotony is wearing. There has been no more mention of the ring. My pencil is almost out of lead. I must cut this entry short.
Friday, October 7th
. Today I heard something gnawing inside the walls. I peeked into my hiding place and came face to face with a big brown rat. He’d been chewing on the corner of my tablet and I worried he would carry off the ring. I found an old velvet reticule in my valise and I will keep my tablet and ring inside it from now on. I hope the rat will leave it alone.
Saturday, October 8th
. I am losing ground. I am no longer sure what day it is. Solitary confinement is a terrifying experience. It takes all my strength now to bear down hard enough to make this pencil write. I keep hearing the rats inside the walls. They are all around me.
Sunday, October 9th
. I have been in this place for a week now. I know that it is Sunday, because nobody has been here all day to feed me or give me my injection. For some strange reason, Dr. Baker refuses to provide medical treatment to any of his patients on Sunday. But at least in the past we were fed. I am so hungry and the pain is unbearable. Writing this has completely exhausted me.
Monday, October 10th
. Miss Amiss has shown her hand. Today when she brought me breakfast, after going all day yesterday without anything to eat or drink, she asked me about the ring. I lied and told her I had lost it down the toilet. I could tell she didn’t believe me, but she let me eat.

When I glanced at her face, I noticed for the first time that the mole on her face, the blemish she once called her
beauty mark
, seems to be changing. Facing my own demise, I fear she may have melanoma and the awareness must have shown in my face. She grew furious and stomped away, without giving me any morphine. How I wish I had never looked at her.

Tuesday, October 11th
. I am back to gruel and water—once a day and no pain medication. My strength is all but gone. On her last visit, she didn’t even bother to change my soiled nightgown or bedclothes. What a sorry, wretched state I am in. I must conserve my strength to make certain I can hide this tablet away.

Wednesday, October 12th
. All I do now is lie in bed. I can’t believe I am still alive. My goal today is to get this notebook back into the wall before I am discovered. It is getting harder and harder to put the boards back in place. I am afraid if they clean this stinking cell, they will discover it.
Thursday, October 13th.
Today I heard a great flurry of squeaks from the rats in the wall, followed by a feisty feline growling. Then I heard a familiar “meow” and saw a furry gray paw poking through the hole in the wall.

I forced myself to my hiding place and found Bob, Theodora’s cat, inside the wall! He was licking his paws after feasting on the rat he’d caught, and I felt like I was greeting an old, dear friend. He noticed the tassel on my reticule and began to play with it, which gave me an idea.

This will be my last entry, because I am counting on the cat to carry away my reticule, with the tablet and ring inside. I know Bob roams throughout the walls of this building, so I hope he will carry it off someplace where Dr. Baker or Miss Amiss can never find the ring. Perhaps someday someone will find this journal and know that I was here. I look forward now to joining my beloved Manny in Heaven.

Emma finished reading the journal, stunned. Such a sad, brave story. She picked up the ring and stared at it. The last time she’d seen it, the ghost had thrown it into the space behind the wall of her Crescent Hotel room. And now here it was again, many years into the past.

But what was she going to do with it? After everything poor Anna had been through, she couldn’t allow Dr. Baker or Nurse Amiss to get their hands on it. She searched her memory to the night of the wedding rehearsal dinner. Jonathan had said one of his mother’s friends had given it to her, so she knew that she was supposed to give it to Ivy. But how should she approach her? They had just barely met, so Ivy wouldn’t understand if she just handed her the ring without explanation. She decided to guard it for the time being and wait for the proper moment.

Emma looked up, startled when she heard the hallway door creak open. Theodora entered with her arm around a pale and frightened Ivy.

“What’s the matter?” She gathered her strength to help Theodora lead Ivy to a nearby chair. Ivy buried her face in her hands and wept. Emma’s heart lurched, worried about the baby.

“There, there, dear.” Theodora patted Ivy and then turned to Emma. “Ivy tried to leave the hospital, but that despicable ex-sheriff’s deputy Dr. Baker has hired stopped her and brought her back.”

“Earl,” said Ivy, her pretty face contorted in anger. “I hate him.”

“Where were you trying to go?” asked Emma.

“I was going to see Madame Cordelia. She’s a medium.” Ivy sniffed and wiped her face with Theodora’s handkerchief. “Mama’s trying to contact me. She came to me while I was taking a nap, but I can’t understand what she’s trying to tell me.”

Emma was confused. “I thought your mother was dead.”

Ivy sighed and nodded. “She is.”

Theodora stared at Ivy, her eyes wide. “What did your mother say?”

“She said ‘
Death has opened my eyes
’.”

Caleb Turner grabbed the crystal highball glass and hurled it at the wall. He buried his face in his hands, desperately trying to banish the specter of his dead wife. He was going mad! She’d haunted him for weeks—staring—accusing. Why wouldn’t she leave him alone?

He lifted his head and gazed at the mess in the parlor through a drunken haze. The whiskey dripped down the wallpaper and puddled on the polished wooden floor. Shards of glass lay scattered across the Aubusson rug, mingling with an accumulation of empty liquor bottles, dirty glasses, and other debris that cluttered his once pristine home.

The ghost was gone now, but he didn’t feel any better. His week-old chin stubble disgusted him and the rancid taste of whiskey-sodden breath increased his self-loathing. He was alone. October would soon be gone, along with everybody in his life. He’d fired the housekeeper, Winifred was dead, and Ivy had been at the Baker Cancer Hospital for almost a month. The stillness was so complete that every little noise startled him.

God, how he wished he could take it all back! The guilt he felt for his actions was enough to kill any man. He had nothing left but unbearable memories. Maybe he deserved to be haunted.

The first time Winnie’s ghost had appeared, her accusing eyes had tortured him with unspoken guilt and recriminations. He’d never forget the terror of that first visitation. She’d awakened him two nights after her funeral and he hadn’t had a moment of peace since. He remembered how he’d felt her icy touch when she jerked the covers off his bed, appearing misty and incorporeal. But her identity was unmistakable.

Winifred had returned.

She stood next to his bed, stared sadly, and then faded away. After that, he’d been unable to sleep at all unless he was good and drunk.

Caleb groaned as he thought about that terrible night, three nights later—the night of October 1st— the night he had made the biggest mistake of his life. He’d just begun to think he’d imagined her visit when she came to him again. This time he’d been in the parlor, drinking and brooding over the mess he’d made of his life. He’d tried to ignore her, but she’d been insistent and agitated as she slammed books and flicked the lights on and off. When the ashtray, with a smoldering cigar resting on its edge, went sliding to the floor he knew she meant business.

He’d given in and followed her as she floated up the stairs toward her bedroom. More than a little drunk, he’d staggered slightly as he climbed. He continued on, however, bolstered by his Dutch courage as curiosity replaced fear. What the hell did she want from him?

He hadn’t been inside her bedroom since the night he’d found her dead. After they’d taken her body away, he’d locked the door himself and forbidden anyone to enter. To his amazement, however, Winnie’s ghost had simply extended her arm and the door creaked open.

He’d followed her toward the fireplace, where she turned, looked back with anguish in her eyes, pointed toward the hearth, and disappeared. Bewildered, he flipped on the light, grabbed a poker, and probed the ashes. He touched something solid and pulled it out.

Caleb had studied the twisted hunk of metal speared by the fireplace poker, wondering what it could be. Several seconds passed before he realized it was the diamond and sapphire necklace. It was barely recognizable. Its gold chain was hopelessly warped and the stones were cracked and charred.

Then someone had rapped at the door downstairs and Caleb glanced up, startled. Who would be calling at this hour? He stood still and waited, then realized that Yolanda was gone for the evening. He wrapped the charred necklace in his handkerchief, placed it in his pocket, and went downstairs.

“Is everything all right in here?” Jared and a heavy-set man stood on the darkened porch.

Caleb stared at the men, sobered by the cool night air. “I’m fine. Why’d ya ask?”

“May we come in?”

“Oh, sure, sure.” Caleb opened the door and motioned them into the parlor. “Sorry ‘bout the mess. Dropped my ashtray a little bit ago.”

Jared removed his topcoat and hat, and then settled onto a big leather chair. Caleb sat in his own chair, but the other man remained standing. The man looked familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen him. “Have a seat, Mr...”

“This is Earl Twitchell. He’s my new bodyguard,” said Jared. The big man stood behind Jared and nodded, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Body guard? What’cha need that for?”

“In this dangerous world, you can never be too careful.” Jared smiled and relaxed in his seat. He reached toward the whiskey decanter and poured himself a drink. “May I?”

Caleb grunted. “What’d ya mean a while ago? Why wouldn’t everything be all right?”

Jared ignored his question again. “Is Ivy here?”

“Of course she’s here,” replied Caleb. “She’s upstairs asleep. Where else would she be?”

Jared swirled the amber liquid in his glass before he took a drink, ignoring Caleb’s question for the third time. “Were you aware that my fiancée has been in contact with Margot Hollander?”

Caleb’s eyebrows rose. “That’s impossible. She’s been under my nose or her mother’s since late July. The only time she’s been out of this house was when she went to the funeral—and I can assure you she was with me the whole time.”

“Well, I don’t know how she did it, but that lawyer boyfriend of Miss Hollander’s is stirring up trouble over Harry Fuller’s case.”

“What? That can’t be. Fuller’s already been convicted and sent to prison.”

“Um hm.” Jared nodded. “But apparently Sydney Lowenstein entered his appearance as counsel for Fuller and has filed an appeal.”

“On what grounds?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen his brief. But I’m sure we don’t have anything to worry about. I’ve contributed to the campaigns of most of the judges on up the circuit. I just wanted to make sure you were aware the case had been reopened, in case you get a subpoena—although I doubt it will get that far.”

Caleb’s hand shook as he poured himself another drink. “Well technically, he
did
steal that car. It didn’t actually belong to my sister and she had no right to give it to him. I heard they almost acquitted him on the stolen money charge, citing reasonable doubt or some sort of foolishness.”

Jared chuckled. “People serving on juries need money just like everybody else. It wasn’t hard to bribe one of them into standing firm until the others just wanted to get it over with and go home.”

“Sure wish they coulda pinned the arson on him,” Caleb brooded. “Damned brother-in-law of mine let the fire insurance lapse on the store,” he said, looking up when the bodyguard cleared his throat. He felt a chill at the sardonic grin on the man’s face.

“Which brings us around to the reason for my visit,” said Jared.

“Been wonderin’ when you’d get to that.”

“Time is running out. It’s already the first of October. Do you believe that Ivy will be willing to marry me in December? Or is it time to give up and cut our losses?”

Caleb hung his head. “Jared, I just don’t know. She’s been through so much lately. The loss of her mother—and all the previous events…”

“Well, then.” Jared straightened in his seat. “How much would you take for the necklace?”

“Huh?” Caleb stared at Jared, startled. One moment he wanted to marry Ivy and the next he implied that he wanted to break the engagement and buy that cursed necklace. Was that what he really wanted all along? Suspicion, replaced by a premonition of dread shocked him into full sobriety. Perspiration dotted his forehead when he thought about the contents of his pocket. “Why do you want the necklace?”

“I have my reasons.” Jared’s dark eyes glittered and his lips thinned in derision.

“I don’t have it anymore.”

Jared’s eyes flashed. “Where
is
it, then?”

Caleb shrank from Jared’s anger. Something warned him not to be truthful. “I pawned it.”

“You
pawned
it?” Jared’s face became a glowering mask of rage. “For God’s sake, why?”

Caleb shrugged and continued his lie. “You know how hard up I’ve been, Jared. My wife just died, ya know. I had the choice of either payin’ the undertaker or makin’ payroll at the sawmill. What was I s’posed to do?”

Jared closed his eyes and composed himself. “Do you have the pawn ticket? I’ll get it out of hock in the morning.” His voice held a contemptuous note.

“Sure, Jared. I think it’s somewhere in here.” He rummaged through a cabinet drawer and found an old ticket that read
Schmidt’s Jewelry Store
. Caleb couldn’t remember what this particular receipt was for, but at least it might pacify Jared until he could collect his thoughts. “Does this mean the engagement is over?”

“That depends on your daughter,” Jared replied. He stood up and put on his outerwear. “I leave for Europe in early December, so I haven’t got time for much more of her foolishness.”

“I’ll have a talk with her in the morning.”

“Very well. I’ll let you know when I retrieve the necklace.”

Caleb poured himself another shot of whiskey when the door banged shut behind the two men. He searched his memory. Earl Twitchell? Wasn’t he the Arkansas deputy who’d testified in Fuller’s trial? What was he doing working for Jared?

Several drinks later his courage returned and he set his mind to solving the problem of what to do about Ivy. He feared his plans to marry her to Jared were now history, but he had to do something. His dead wife would never let him rest until he figured out what she wanted him to do.

Winnie’s suicide note had been very cryptic, saying something about Ivy having cancer. But Caleb knew that was a lot of claptrap. Anybody with eyes in his head could see the truth. He filled a whiskey glass and drank; then another; and another. He closed his eyes and let the alcohol carry him away—and then he had a thought.

In a drunken epiphany, he had seized upon the note as if it were from the Gospels and early the next day he’d whisked Ivy away to the Baker Cancer Hospital. Dr. Baker had been very obliging, agreeing with Winnie’s cancer diagnosis from beyond the grave. Ivy was immediately admitted for treatment and, Caleb hoped, Dr. Baker’s ministrations would soon rid her of the bastard growing in her belly.

Now here he was almost a month later, back in St. Louis, scared and confused. He’d wandered around in Arkansas and southern Missouri for awhile after he’d left her, dreading his return to a lonely, empty house. He’d spent practically his last dime making sure Ivy would be well cared for at the hospital and he’d felt good about his choice—until he got back in town and learned about the mysterious fire at Schmidt’s Jewelry Store.

Miserable, he looked up from his musings and groaned when he saw Winnie again. What the hell did she want now? She didn’t speak. Perhaps she couldn’t. But whatever it was, she was relentless.

He slung back another drink and watched the spectral woman glide toward the window. She glanced back over her shoulder, wrote with her finger in the condensation on the glass, and disappeared.

Caleb stood and walked toward the window. He read the words with astonishment. Now everything was clear. He knew what he had to do.

HELP HARRY.

His purpose now clear, he pulled out the telephone directory and turned to the L’s. He ran his finger down the page until he found the residential number for Sydney Lowenstein, Esquire. With trembling hands he dialed the number and waited.

“Hello, Sydney Lowenstein here.”

“Mr. Lowenstein? This is Caleb Turner. Sorry to bother you at home so late at night, but I have some information for you that can’t wait…”
Emma paced and intermittently stared out the window, chilled by the bleak landscape below and the realization of her own impotence. Days of constant rain soaked the gardens and a blustering north wind howled outside, but armed guards continued to patrol the hospital grounds despite the miserable conditions. What was she going to do? She was beginning to despair.

Almost a week had gone by since she’d awakened in a stranger’s body in the distant past, yet in her own time, it had been more like a month. She supposed time and space must be vastly different when a person is hovering between life and death. How long had she been out there floating in la-la land?

Ivy and Theodora huddled around an iron steam register for warmth. They both had their knitting or embroidery to occupy their minds, but Emma had never learned to do either. Having grown up in a different era, she wasn’t sure she possessed the patience for such an activity. How did people fill their time without going stir crazy before the invention of television, the Internet, or DVD players?

Of course, there was a radio. Theodora’s was lovely. Made of wood, it had a curving, cathedral-style top and ornamental speaker openings. She’d proudly tell anyone that it was a Philco Model 60B—the latest technology available when she’d bought it in 1935.

And, Emma must admit, in the past week she’d found the radio shows to be quite entertaining. Who would have thought she could become as interested in Charlie McCarthy, Jack Benny, or Radio Orphan Annie as in her weekly television favorites—
Desperate Housewives
and
Glee
?

“Are they still parading around out there in the rain?” asked Theodora.

“Like little wooden soldiers,” replied Emma. “Very wet and miserable soldiers.”

“I’ll bet Earl’s not out there,” Ivy remarked. Her lip curled disdainfully and she stabbed at the cloth with her needle. “I wonder what happened to his job with the sheriff?”

“I haven’t noticed him for a few days,” remarked Theodora. “But Jennie told me the sheriff fired him. Something about him being accused of causing the death of a local doctor and setting fire to a local dry goods store last summer.”

Ivy stopped her needlework and stared in horror. “Do you mean Doc Pruitt?”

Theodora shrugged. “I’m not familiar with the locals. Jennie just said there’d been an inquest. Apparently there hadn’t been enough evidence to charge him, but he was dismissed from his duties anyhow. She said the sheriff and the mayor had a falling out with Dr. Baker after he hired Earl. Looks like the town officials are finally waking up to the fact that Baker’s no good.”

“So what does that say about us? Why are we still here?” Emma put her hands on her hips and felt a sudden stab in her belly. She staggered to the bed and lay down, holding her side.

“I think you just answered your own question, dear.” Theodora slowly rose and followed a quicker, more nimble Ivy to Emma’s bed. “Do you need another shot?”

Emma gazed at her friends as they ministered to her needs. Such a pathetic trio. She knew Anna’s body was giving out and Theodora’s breathing seemed to have grown more labored during the past few days. An ominous rattle emanated from the old woman’s chest every time she coughed, which seemed to be growing more and more frequent. How much longer would they be able to protect Ivy?

Together they’d formed a conspiracy to thwart Dr. Baker and Miss Amiss from their attempts to feed the herbal concoction to Ivy. With sly and cunning, they’d managed to trade their meals with Ivy, just in case Miss Amiss tried to lace her food with the medicine. So far it seemed to have worked, but who knew how long it would be before they would catch on?

A sudden rap at the door startled them and they all glanced up, frozen with dread. At five forty-five in the afternoon, supper had already been served. Today was Sunday, so nobody was going to get any medical care today. Theodora rose and slowly walked to the door, stopping every few steps to catch her breath.

She hesitated. “Who is it?” More raps answered her. “All right, all right. Hold on.” Theodora undid the lock and pulled the door open. A short, plump woman wearing a shawl over her black hair stood at the door, her eyes darting furtively back and forth. “Yes, may I help you?”