~ 'Til Death Do Us Part ~

by

Sue Thornton

Jayme stepped from the car and stared in fascination at the house. It was like magic. Finally, she’d come home. The closer she got to the house, the louder the words from yesterday became. All of these years she’d been searching for the place where she belonged. And right now, this glorious structure stood before her, beckoning her to enter, welcoming her home.

Slowly she walked toward the steps and gazed around the grounds. The formal herb garden over there and the weeping willow just beyond the lawn were just as she’d seen them so many times in her dreams. The cool waterfall of branches created a nice shady place to throw down a blanket and stretch out with a book on a hot July day.

A cool breeze brushed against her cheek when she stepped up on the wrap-around porch. The soft sound of someone weeping reached out and touched her heart. Her breath caught in her throat, and a momentary touch of loneliness came over her. In an instant, the sensation fled and the excitement of seeing the house once again greeted her. Everything would be as she remembered. Startled at the strange thought, she paused momentarily before putting the old-fashioned key in the lock.

The key turned easily, and the heavy oak and glass door opened without a sound. Jayme stepped inside and smiled. The wood floor gleamed with polish and the scent of lemon and beeswax hung heavily on the air. In the middle of the large foyer, fresh flowers from the garden were placed in a crystal vase on top of the round pedestal table Edgar built with his own hands. The white work tablecloth Cornelia labored over for months still covered the beautiful oak wood. A marble topped table stood inside the doorway with a large gold gilded mirror hanging above it. She glanced in the looking glass as she walked by, and froze.

The pale face of a woman dressed in a high-necked black bombazine dress stared back at her. Darkened with heavy velvet curtains, an aura of sadness enveloped the room.

Startled, Jayme gasped and took a step back. She stumbled and caught herself before she fell to the dusty floor.

She frowned and looked around. "What?" A slight tremor shook her hands when she rubbed her eyelids. What just happened? A moment earlier, she’d seen the furnished foyer, with a chandelier hanging over the table. Now only ugly bare wires dangled where the chandelier should be. Layers of dust covered every surface of the room. Where had all of these crazy ideas and thoughts originated? Why did she suddenly have the strange notion the house talked to her?

With a shrug of her shoulders and a shake of her head, she muttered, "You need to stop daydreaming so much, Bartlett. You could end up walking into a pond that you imagine is grass. Then what would you do?"

The elaborately curved staircase beckoned to her and she decided to start at the top of the house instead of the main floor. She needed to prove to herself she didn’t really know the layout like she thought. Her imagination had kicked in; inspired from too many of the gothic romances she’d grown up reading.

Lightly, she stroked the carved balustrade and came away with a thick coating of dirt on her hand. With a sigh, she brushed off the dust and ran up the stairs.

As she made her way along the hall, her throat tightened. The doors were exactly where she knew they were. And the rooms, now empty, fit her memories perfectly. How did she know this? Why did she know this? She’d never set foot in the state of Nebraska in her life. She paused before an empty expanse of wall. She couldn’t even explain why she’d taken the interstate leading this way. Those weren’t her plans, not that she had any real plans except to run. Yet she didn’t turn back or continue the journey. She decided to remain here, settle down... to do what? There couldn’t be many requests for a corporate attorney, or an interior designer in this small college and farm community.

Jayme reached out to the wall and ran her fingers along the beautiful wood paneling. Her heart skipped a beat when the wall gave and opened a tiny crack. Right where she remembered the hidden doorway should be.

She tucked the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth before she tugged at the panel. Steep steps led to the next level. Silently, she berated herself for not bringing a flashlight. Belatedly she remembered electricity hadn’t been available along this hallway, and she couldn’t guarantee anyone had ever found the staircase to wire the upstairs for lights. Maybe the candles were still in the little niche along the wall.

Slowly, her eyes became accustomed to the dusky light from the outer hallway and the grimy windows at the top of the stairs. She felt along the edges of the wall until she reached the tiny opening of the hollow. She cringed when her fingers brushed through the cobwebs. Just the thought of a spider caused her to shudder with fear. She took a deep breath and held it while she reached into the carved-out space. The candles were still there. Hopefully, she had a book of matches in her purse. The unladylike snort that came from her sounded like a canon in the narrow space. She always picked up matches whenever she went to a restaurant or candle shop. There would be a box of matches next to the candles, but she couldn’t take the chance they wouldn’t work.

As she struck a match and lit the wick, she wondered if her parents possibly brought her here as a small child. That would explain how she knew the house. If only one of them were still alive she could ask. Jayme sucked in a sharp breath--Grandma would know. Jayme decided she would call her as soon as she returned to Miss Brodie’s.

With the candle cradled in her hand, the flame flickered and wavered while she made her way up to the attic. The rooms weren’t originally used for storage, but for servant quarters. Olivia hated anyone else helping her take care of the beautiful home Claude purchased for her. But he insisted she have help once she gave birth to Isabella. Olivia would be much too busy caring for their beautiful daughter. The housekeeper, Virginia, lived in rooms off the kitchen, and the gardener slept above the garage.

Large white shapes loomed in front of her when she stopped in the doorway of one of the small rooms. A horrendous ache bloomed in the right side of her head and her heart began to race. Immense fear overcame her until the room swirled, then went black.

~ * ~

When Jayme opened her eyes she found herself slouched in an old wood rocker, the pain in her head a dull throb and her mouth dry as cotton.

She glanced around the room and found herself in the back parlor. How did she manage to get down the stairs without help? She pressed her thumb and forefinger tightly against the bridge of her nose. Who were Olivia and Claude? And how did she know so much about the house? All of the questions she kept coming up with only frustrated her. She didn’t have any logical, reasonable answers. She just knew. And, in a court of law, just knowing wasn’t an acceptable answer.

After shaking off the troubling thoughts, she rose from the chair and hoped her unsteady legs would get her back to her car.

Hot, humid air slammed into her as she closed the front door. She gazed at the overgrown lawn and gardens. The hum of cicadas and bees filled the silence. She shook her head. Where had the gardens and the weeping willow tree gone? The wind whipped through the elm trees creating an eerie noise that sounded much like someone laughing. Goosebumps broke out on her arms and she hurried toward the waiting vehicle.

~ * ~

Carlita and Miss Brodie were gone when Jayme returned to her room at the boarding house. After kicking off her shoes, she lay back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. The more she thought about what happened out at the house, the more confused she became. None of the plausible, reasonable answers she came up with made any sense.

She snorted. Of course. She knew the layout of the house for a perfectly good reason. She’d been a design student in college. As far as she knew, Architecture was still a large part of the design curriculum requirement. Besides, being extremely partial to Victorian homes, she’d studied everything she could get her hands on pertaining to homes of that era. What were the chances the layouts would be the same? She’d taken a wild guess. After studying the outside of the house, she’d guessed at the floor plan.

But what about the black out? How did she get downstairs? Could she have fainted? Jayme sat straight up on the bed. She’d never fainted a day in her life, so why would she start now? The attic rooms were hot and stuffy. Without realizing it, she must have walked down to the back parlor. See, a perfectly reasonable explanation. Nothing to get worked up about.

She took a deep breath and pushed herself off the bed. After a nice cool shower she’d fix dinner for her fellow roommates. Then, she would place a call to her reluctant real estate agent to find out more about the house.

~ * ~

Open-mouthed, Angie stared at her. "You can’t be serious. Why would you want to own that place? It needs so much work, and it’s located out in the middle of nowhere."

Jayme narrowed her eyes. "It isn’t that far from town. There are neighbors within two or three miles. A couple of miles from human activity isn’t so bad. I know the house needs work, but I’m willing to do as much of it as I can. And what work I can’t do will provide the locals with jobs--at least for a while. Why are you so hell bent on me not buying the place?"

"Oh no, please don’t misunderstand," the agent rushed her words then blushed. "You seem like a very nice young lady. It’s just, well, the Piepher house doesn’t have a great reputation."

Jayme laughed. "How can a house have a reputation? Do you mean it used to be a brothel, or something along those lines?" The idea of living in what could once have been a brothel intrigued Jayme’s sense of humor.

The agent stared back at her, a mortified look plastered on her face. "Oh my, no, nothing as sordid as that. The house is wicked. All of those people disappearing without a trace... and the murders..." She leaned forward and spoke in a hushed tone. "They were never solved, you know. The current owners only came to work on the place during the weekends. After two months, they couldn’t deal with the crying and screaming they claimed to hear in the house. The house is evil, Jayme. Why don’t we keep looking? I’m certain the house on Broadmoor Street will serve your needs."

Fiercely stubborn, Jayme didn’t like being told she couldn’t have something she wanted. After shoving aside the memories of the house from the day before, she straightened in her seat and smiled politely at the woman. "I want to make a bid. Tell the owners I’ll give them what they’re asking, on the condition that anything they removed from the building is returned."

Fear filled Angie’s eyes. "Jayme, I really don’t think..."

"I’m very sorry, Angie, but I don’t care what you think. You sell me the house, you make money. Isn’t that the objective here? I’m not afraid of the creaks and groans of an old house. That’s what they’re supposed to do. Now either you call the owners, or you give me the information, and I’ll do it. I’m perfectly qualified to write my own contract, but, if I have to do the work, I’ll make certain you won’t see a dime from the sale."

Anger flashed in the woman’s eyes. "Have it your way, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. That house is evil, plain and simple. Don’t go crying to anybody when you lose everything. When you disappear, or you’re murdered..."

Jayme leaned forward and rested her hands on the edge of the desk. "I’m going to ignore the possibility you may have just threatened me, Angie. The excitement of making a nice commission carried you away."