Chapter Twenty-­Four

They were both dressed in black, with black veils, as I had seen them the night Stephanie’s body was found. They were watching me, I thought, although I couldn’t be sure because of the veils. They didn’t approach or make any gesture at all, just stood there.

I don’t know whether anyone else noticed them or not. I turned to say something to Father Jackson, but he was listening to something Father Fogarty was telling him. When I looked back again, the two women were gone. It would have been easy enough for them to walk up the drive and out of my sight, considering the cars parked there and the trees, but they would have had to move very quickly. I couldn’t see Emil’s station wagon anywhere, but perhaps they had left it on the road.

Father Fogarty and his housekeeper got in the limousine now and the driver backed out. The gravediggers were preparing to lower Jack’s casket. Father Jackson took my arm.

“It’s locked and it will be covered by a cement vault that will be locked too,” he said softly. “Come away now.”

He ushered me into the house. Duff remained behind and continued to watch.

“Do you have anything to warm us here?” Father Jackson asked in the kitchen.

I poured us both healthy slugs of bourbon. He downed his, then reached into an inside pocket and took out a small color photo. It seemed to be of the head and upper torso of a sleeping woman. Then I noticed the casket lid.

“That’s Mrs. Scaravelli,” he said. “She was buried yesterday so I took that Polaroid shot before the funeral.”

“I think it’s the same woman,” I said, “but I can’t swear to it.”

“Anyway, you’ll be interested to know that Father Fogarty gave her a rousing send-­off. He even called her a saint. Incidentally, her autopsy didn’t reveal any sign of cancer. The cause of death was listed as a coronary occlusion, like Jack’s.”

“It could have been brought on by fright too, couldn’t it?”

“Any kind of excitement. She was an old woman, remember. Anyway, it’s over now and you have to do what’s best for yourself and your children. I think you should get away from here now and go back East.”

“My daughter happens to be in a hospital in Ashland.”

“Then you and Duff go to Ashland and stay in a motel. You can afford it, can’t you? And it shouldn’t take you long to arrange for Franny’s care back in New York.”

“We don’t have a house there, remember?”

“You have relatives somewhere, don’t you? Or you could rent another place. Anyway, I’ll bet your tenants will give up your house once they’re aware of the circumstances.”

“The circumstances being that this house is haunted.”

“That your husband has just died and your daughter needs the kind of medical care she can only get in the East. Listen, I’ll call the people for you. Maybe a clergyman’s voice will help convince them.”

“They’re Texans and probably anti-­Catholic.”

“I’ll say I’m a Baptist minister. For God’s sake, Maggie, you’ve got to get away from here!”

“You mean you’re beginning to believe my story now?”

He poured himself another drink. “I believe it would be dangerous for you to continue living in this place.”

“Still hedging,” I said. “Well, Duff won’t want to leave. Besides, there’s still his court appearance.”

“That can be moved up on the docket. Father Fogarty knows a lot of people around the courthouse and there’s a good lawyer in Cainesville, Dave Southworth, who handles all the parish legal affairs. Incidentally, you should have contacted a lawyer before this.”

“I should’ve done a lot of things.”

“Well, do something positive now. Take Duff with you and move to Ashland this afternoon.”

“And if he won’t go?”

“Then go without him. He’s been alone here for several days already and he seemed to get along all right.”

“You mean when I’m not here he doesn’t have problems?”

He looked at me steadily. “It’s possible, Maggie.”

I refused to get angry. I just wanted to get him out of the house.

“Let me wait a couple of more days. I have a lot of things to do here. Jack’s papers to go over, deciding how much of the junk here I want to take with me.”

“I’ll help you.”

“I appreciate that, Peter. I’ll let you know if you can.”

“Maggie, I don’t want you to spend another night in this house.”

“Don’t be silly. Nothing’s going to happen. I’ll call you if I need you. By the way,” I said as I moved him toward the door, “it was pretty nervy of Mrs. Reddy and her daughter to show up, wasn’t it.”

“Were they here? I didn’t see them, although I don’t think there’s anything unusual about it. After all, Mrs. Reddy was close to your husband’s aunt, wasn’t she, and Stephanie was here for quite a while. It might be more odd if they hadn’t come to pay their respects.”

He went away, assuring me he’d phone later. I watched as he backed out of the drive. The gravediggers were putting their ropes and tools in the truck, then they drove away too.

The graveyard was at least a hundred yards from the house, and the view was blocked by trees, but I could see Duff—standing, it seemed to me, not by his father’s grave but farther away by the back fence where General Caine was supposed to be buried.

After about five minutes he walked toward the house. I moved away from the window and busied myself at the sink. Apparently he hadn’t washed any dishes all the while I was in the hospital.

When he came in, I fixed ham and cheese sandwiches for both of us. Surprisingly I was hungry. Duff had a good appetite too.

“I’ve never really thought of that place out there as a ceme­tery,” I said, “but now with Dad there it makes it different, doesn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“Do you think that means we have an obligation to stay here?”

“What do you think, Mom?”

“Well, let’s not worry about it for a while. We can’t leave anyway until Franny is better.”

He was silent for a while and then he said, “Mom, do you think you might ever get married again?”

“Come on, Duff.”

“Why not? You’re attractive and young looking.”

“Thank you. Would you like me to get married again?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Well, then, I won’t.” Then I said, “It was nice of Mrs. Reddy and Mrs. Weber to come today, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t see them,” he said.

I was sure he was lying, but I didn’t pursue it. He helped me with the dishes and then we drove to Ashland to see Franny. She was as unresponsive as ever, so after a while we drew our chairs away from her bed and conversed in low tones about a lot of unrelated things—vacations, holidays, funny experiences we had had. I said “low tones,” but after a while we were giggling so much a nurse came and looked in at us.

Then we said good-­bye to Franny and went to a supermarket where we bought enough food for a dozen people, enough to last us a month or more. In fact, much of what we bought that day is still in the refrigerator or on the kitchen shelves. I also bought a box of cake mix and managed to hide it from Duff. His birthday was coming up very shortly.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened that night. After a good dinner we went to bed early and I had a wonderful ten hours sleep with no dreams I could remember. Father Jackson called twice before we went upstairs, wondering if he ought to drive out to see us. I told him positively not and the third time the phone rang I refused to answer it.

On Monday Duff went back to school. I let him take the car and he brought it back on time without incident. The General was evidently leaving him alone, as Margaret Dorn seemed to be leaving me alone. Duff brought several textbooks with him and spent a couple of hours that night at the dining room table doing his homework.

I had spent that day writing neglected letters, including one to our lawyer in Scarsdale. Although there was quite a lot of money coming from Jack’s insurance, I said I wanted to sell the Scarsdale house as soon as possible, since Franny’s care would be a continuing expense.

I was contented—I don’t know how else to put it—and I grew more contented as the days went by. Father Jackson called every day and I was civil to him, but I kept telling him that I wasn’t ready to leave yet, that I had many more things to do.

I did ask one favor of him. I lied and said I was having trouble sleeping and asked if he could get something to help me. Despite the period of calm, suicide was still in the back of my mind. I felt I would have to go through with it if things turned for the worse again. For the moment however, I would just keep the medicine on hand.

“You should go to a doctor and get a prescription,” Father Jackson said.

“Call your brother and ask him to write one.”

“He won’t do it. You’re not his patient.”

“Please, Peter, isn’t there someone you know? I just need a few, just until we get back East. I’ll go to our family doctor then, if I’m still having trouble sleeping.”

“There’s a pharmacist in town who might give me something.”

“Oh, Peter, ask him. Just a dozen or so tablets, or a few more if you can manage it.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But I don’t like it.”

I determined that if and when I did use the pills, I’d leave a note stating that I had brought them from Scarsdale. I certainly didn’t want to get Father Jackson and his pharmacist friend into trouble.