The Truth About Mallory Bain (5 page)

I saw Aunt Judith sitting on the veranda through the French doors, her head bent over a hardcover book. Mom leaned over the table beneath the umbrella opened wide. I stepped outside to join them.

Judith had become morbidly thin over the years, her face gaunt and her unhealthy color drearier than her drab clothes. The September day was warm enough that she'd removed her vest and laid it across the back of her chair. When she bent over to retrieve a fallen napkin, her ribs pressed against the satiny fabric of her blouse.

She once confessed that she fasted for cleansing purposes, almost always ate organic, and ate a vegan diet since her teens. Seeing ribs, I suspected fasting might happen more often than weekly. Tight finances or a pathological condition could be blamed for her thinness more than cleansing and low-calorie foods.

Mom busied herself straightening plates and arranging napkins. Judith remained focused on her book. Caleb sat cross-legged
on the veranda's stone floor. He lined up his cars, then vroomed a shiny silver one to make the first strike against the group of plastic dinosaurs standing a foot away.

Mother greeted me with a cheery hug, the kind of Mom hug I'd missed.

“We decided on a picnic,” she beamed. “Such a sunny day.”

“We'll have a white Thanksgiving this year.” Judith commented, her eyes glued to her book. “We've been saying how the leaves are already turning color here and there.”

Mom interrupted. “Judith thinks we'll have rain later on.”

I looked upward to the sunlight streaming through the tree canopy. “No clouds now. Minnesota does have an early fall and a short fall. I mean, compared to Tennessee.”

“Naturally, Mallory Anne,” grunted Judith. “Tennessee is south.”

So much for conversation.

I avoided those piercing brown eyes of hers and spoke to Caleb. “I should buy you a snowsuit and decent pair of snow boots. Your blue jacket is too lightweight.”

“Sure. A butterfly, Mom. Look!”

Aunt Judith put her book down. She beamed at the butterfly. I watched her animated facial expressions while she spoke with Caleb, who sat motionless and allowed the monarch to alight on his knee.

“He thinks you're a flower,” I chuckled and poured myself a lemonade.

Caleb giggled. “Am not.” Laying his forefinger beside the butterfly did not startle the insect away.

“He knows you're not a flower,” said Judith. “He stopped by to share a secret with you.”

I selected the chair closest to him and watched the delicate wings sway back and forth.

Caleb tilted his head. “I wanna keep him in a box.”

“You wouldn't like it if he kept you in a box. Let him fly with his friends, sweetie. He'll visit again next summer. I promise. Give him a name, then you can say hello when you see him again.”

Caleb groaned a little when he jiggled his knee and the butterfly flitted around the flowers growing in large pots placed around the veranda.

“I wanna call him Woody,” said Caleb.

“Woody is a good name.”

The butterfly flew a short distance and landed on the railing. It remained there minutes after Caleb joined us at the table. Despite my protests, he gobbled his lunch to play on the tire swing my brother had rehung with new heavy rope on the limb of the largest shade tree.

Aunt Judith trailed along and readied herself behind the swing to give him pushes. Her gesture seemed harmless enough that I brushed off the urge to run out into the yard and give him pushes instead.

“I'm glad Rick hung the tire far enough away from that wrought-iron bench. Caleb likes high pushes. Anybody sitting on the bench might get kicked.”

Mom chuckled. “I guess the paint is dry now. I had it repainted yesterday. When I came home from Rick's on Labor Day, the bench was covered with mud. The white paint was stained, as if somebody wearing filthy clothes had sat there all day and let the mud soak in.”

“A stray cat.”

Mom scowled. “Too big a stain for a cat.”

“I hope you're not thinking prowler.”

She shrugged.

I recalled the man on the motorcycle watching from the end of the driveway. “You need an alarm.”

“I have good locks.”

“Not good enough. You need an alarm system, Mom. I'm surprised you don't already have one.”

“I'll think about it. Would you look at Caleb? Adjusting already, and Judith loves him so. We're happy you're here.”

My aunt had been married only a few years before her husband, Steven, died. They never had children. She was a quiet person when I was little and she treated me better.

Mom leaned forward in her chair. “You're staring.”

“The flagstone under the bench. It's lopsided.”

“Rick calls it upheaving from the freeze-thaw cycles.”

“Have the landscaper fix it before somebody trips.”

“They've tried. The stones keep lifting up.” Mom shrugged. “We step around them. I want the stone taken out and sod put down. Maybe in the spring.”

“It is a nice place to sit.”

“Your dad loved that patio. Remember how he put in before you left for Tennessee?”

Remembering well, I nodded.

“He hoped we would read out there, and sometimes I do, except the ground isn't suitable for flagstone.”

“Upheaving makes little sense when the flagstone on the larger patio below the veranda is level. It's the same yard. These stones lay flat.”

Mother stood up and peered over the veranda railing with me. “Maybe the difference is because the smaller patio is round and this one is rectangular.” She amused herself at the silly deduction, while gesturing to the butterfly, settling on the veranda railing across from her. “Woody wants to stay.”

“He might be hurt.” I moved closer and inspected the wings. They appeared intact. I stuck out my finger to touch its front leg, but the butterfly fluttered into the yard, pausing atop the back of the white bench.

Aunt Judith strolled over and sat down. She made it appear as though she was engaging the butterfly in conversation.

I returned to the table and sat back down. “She's mad, you know. Acting like that.”

“Pshaw!” Mom gestured toward Judith. “You should hear what she says about them.” She spooned a portion of fruit into her bowl.

I burst out laughing. “Ohmygosh, your sister is actually talking to a bug.”

“Keep your voice down.” Mom shook her head in disagreement. “She's keeping Caleb entertained.”

Caleb focused on swinging, not Judith. “All right. I'm interested. Tell me what she says about butterflies.”

Mom leaned closer, not that Judith would have heard from that distance. “She says butterfly sightings occur after a person's passing or on the anniversary of a loved one's death. Even a deceased person's birthday holds significant meaning. Or the spirit wishes to impart a message.”

“Fascinating how she believes such nonsense.”

“It's not nonsense to her. She's a spiritualist, Mallory.”

“Spirits. Dead people. It's all coming back.” Gunpowder and Tony. Recalling what she'd once said about my oldest brother, who had been in the Army and died, I kept those thoughts to myself.

“She'll tell you someone's spirit is trying to contact us.”

“Seriously, Mom.”

“One of us knows the spirit, babygirl. Of course, it's not me saying so, it's Judith.”

I paused, compelled to contemplate the concept further. Ben died seven years ago in May and his birthday was in late October. My father died the January after Ben's death. Dad's birthday was also January. Tony was born in April like me and died in November. There were three of my grandparents, none connected in any way to September that I recalled. I saw no reason for any of those people to make an appearance, because they had never tried contacting me before, especially Ben.

“Daddy called her spiritualism a bunch of hooey,” I said.

“Hooey or not, maybe your father has dropped in to say hello to you on his way up to the Iron Range and now we've got ourselves a lingering butterfly.” Mom smiled reminiscently. “Judith held another séance last week.”

“A summoning dead people séance?”

“Of course dead people, Mallory.”

I strangled a laugh. “Imagine who or what sort of wickedness she conjures up.”

Mother squinted at me and frowned.

My jaw dropped. “Please say you don't buy into séances and ghosts now.”

Mom glanced downward. “I do find parts of what she says happens interesting. A daily phone call from your father would be nice. See, honey, Judith and I know so many who are gone.”

“Sad. True.” I pushed my plate away. “Who has she séanced?”

Mom grimaced. “George Harrison, for all I know. Ask her. She loves talking about it. She might contact Ben for you.”

“I miss him, but not enough to conjure him back from the dead. Do not,
please
do not call Aunt Judith over here to sell me on the wonders of spiritualism.”

“Fine. I was going to suggest you talk with Ben. Put your mind at ease. You never said goodbye.”

“We didn't know we had to.” I took a slow sip of lemonade. “I think I dreamt about him last night.”

“This is what I mean. You need closure, Mallory. Let her help.”

“Not from someone who hates me.”

“Hate is such a negative word and simply not true. She disliked your marrying Chad because she wanted better for you.”

I guffawed. “Right. Remain single because Ben died.”

“She warned you Chad would never make a good husband. You snapped at her, Mallory.” Mother frowned. “She loves you. One day you will appreciate how much.”

Time could never undo the animosity between Judith and me. Mother didn't understand. I gazed across the yard, watching my aunt rise from the white bench. She strolled back to the swing. Her sour face told me she'd caught the scowl I'd sent her.

Mom spoke barely loud enough for me to hear. “I admit Judith is eccentric. She loves her animals but her heart is with Steven. She's tired of waiting to join him.”

“She's suicidal.”

“Of course not. But when life imploded, she embraced death.” Mom paused and shrugged. “She misses him terribly. And no, she definitely is not suicidal. She misses Steven's love.”

“She needs a hobby.”

“She has hobbies. Learn a lesson from her grief. We know how much you loved Ben. Careful how you regard him thirty years from now.”

“You women are morbid. You're saying she talks to Uncle Steven?”

“Either she does or imagines she does. Assuming there is validity to her beliefs, it can't hurt if you contact Ben. Say goodbye instead of ending up like her, grieving all your life over love cut short.”

“Mom. I don't care—”

“Oh, apparently you do. You make quite a fuss over Judith. I'm guessing you think perhaps she's stumbled onto the truth about the spirit world and you're embarrassed to admit it.” Mom gathered plates and tableware. She went into the house, leaving me to sit by myself.

My feelings for my aunt were more pragmatic. I thought about her as my father had. Those two bickered like badgers.

During Thanksgiving dinner, the year Ben died, Judith took everyone by surprise when she remarked, “Old houses in old neighborhoods bury a multitude of sins.”

We waited for her to cite examples supporting her claim but she studied the green beans on her plate instead. She pushed them one by one away from the heaping mound of stuffing plopped smack-dab in the center, like Kilimanjaro towering above the Tanzanian plains.

Not every guest that Thanksgiving seven years ago had been family. My friends barely knew her. Mom's friend Ginny Hughes politely tagged Judith “unconventional.”

In their early twenties at the time, Dana and Erik's shocked expressions worried me. I'd already lost too many friends. I feared losing them, too, because I was related to a strange, little woman who made odd remarks.

I picked up my laptop and paused near the stone steps to watch Caleb a moment before going in to shower. I felt drawn to skim the recessed places beneath where the tallest trees grew in the farthest reaches of the backyard. I gasped when Judith appeared out of nowhere and stood two steps down.

“Why, first thing this morning a skein of honking Canadian geese flew over my house in perfect V formation,” she remarked nonchalantly. “And now, the katydids are buzzing and the crickets are chirping. You hear them, Mallory Anne.” She paused and smiled. “Listen. You can hear more. What you sense makes you nervous. You hear buried voices, don't you?”

Nothing was amiss except for the unsettling expression on her face. This was clearly a manifestation of insanity.

The unseen man's voice whispered again in my ear,
“Judith Johnston is the least of your worries.”

“A presence resides close by, over there near the pines. I've sensed its presence for years, a few months past seven, to be precise. Listen with your mind. You will know when the presence draws near. It yearns for your attention, Mallory Anne. It brings you a warning.”

She slipped around me, and after she ascended the last of the stone steps, she stopped and said, “Never leave your boy unattended out here. Your child rouses the spirit's curiosity.”

My blood flowed cold. I rubbed away the goosebumps raising on my arms.

The French doors closed with a sharp click. Her gray form disappeared into the house.

I scanned the yard. Caleb stood on the tire swing, spinning round and round without a care.

I saw no spirit with him.

I needed to keep her away from my son.

I never should have let her push him on the swing.

I needed a job to afford our own place.

“Caleb! Come on. Time to play inside.”

He slid off the tire and ran toward me.

When we walked into the kitchen, Judith was already lingering over a china teacup at the breakfast counter. Mom started speaking to me the instant I walked in as if I'd been there all along and engaged in their conversation.