This time, Marsha’s grandmother made the tea while the rest of them gathered around the kitchen table. At her instruction, Derek found a first aid kit in the downstairs bathroom. Chris’s dad was busy using it to treat Marsha’s cuts and bruises. “I started for home as soon as I got your messages,” her grandmother said as she put the kettle on. “What I felt I needed to tell you wasn’t something I wanted to discuss over the phone.”
“You knew about them?” Marsha asked, a note of betrayal in her voice.
“I… suspected.” She seemed to choose her words carefully. “Living in this house all these long years, I’ve felt things. Seen and heard things. And, of course, the white lady was the stuff of family legend. But they’ve been so quiet for so long now, I thought… I hoped that they had moved on.” She came to the table and placed a hand on Marsha’s head, stroking her hair lovingly. “Of course, I never would have given you the house if I’d thought—” The kettle whistled, cutting her off. She gave a tight little shake of her head and went to pour the tea.
“Who are they?” asked Drew. “Who exactly are we talking about?”
“Her brother, Ezekiel,” Chris supplied when the old woman failed to answer. “And her mother.” She looked over at the woman. “Isn’t that right?”
She remained silent while she loaded the tea onto a tray and brought it to the table. As she set it down, she said, “My mother was not a well woman.”
“You can say that again.”
Chris turned in her chair to see Ron and Joe standing behind her. They both looked like… well, like a living, normal person would look if they’d seen a ghost. Which wasn’t a usual look for either of them. “Are you guys okay?”
Ignoring the question, Ron stared at the old woman. “Violet? That’s her name, right?”
Chris turned to the woman. “Are you Violet?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Call me Vi.” She sat down at the table and picked up a mug of tea. “Tell me, dear, did my granddaughter tell you my name, or did you hear it from your friend who joined us just now?” At the looks on all their faces, she winked. “A body doesn’t live in a house such as this one for as long as I have without developing certain sensitivities. Although my talents are nowhere near as developed as I suspect yours are, dear.”
“I guess a near-death experience as a small child might also do that to a body,” said Ron. At Chris’s questioning look, Ron explained what she’d seen. Chris felt queasy as she listened.
When Ron finished, Chris turned back to Vi. “Then it wasn’t an accident, what happened to the baby. Your mother murdered him. And she tried to murder you.”
Vi frowned. “Like I said, she wasn’t a well woman.”
Marsha stared at her in shock. “Granny, you never told me about any of this.”
“Of course not, dear. It was all so unseemly. We never spoke of it.” Chris detected an edge of bitterness in her voice. “Father liked to pretend that I was too young to remember what happened. And he did his best to drown his memories in gin and bourbon. As soon as I was old enough, he sent me away to boarding school, which gave him leeway to turn to more effective vices in order to forget. Which is why he was in his grave before my sixteenth birthday.”
“But what happened?” asked Marsha.
Vi sipped her tea. Then she set her mug down and leaned back in her chair. “My mother had a difficult pregnancy. She was put on bed rest for the final six weeks or so. I visited her every day and did my best to cheer her up, but she was growing despondent before the baby was even born. Everyone expected that the birth would cheer her up. Even she said so. But that’s not what happened.”
“She had postpartum depression,” said Chris.
Vi nodded. “Nowadays, everyone knows all about it. Celebrities write books about their battles with it. You even see commercials telling you which signs to look for and which drugs to take for it. But back then…” She shook her head. “In those days, they simply called it a nervous condition. All their ideas for how to treat it almost always made it worse. It could land a woman in an asylum. There was even talk of having my mother committed.” She seemed to think about this before adding, “Although, considering her actions, that might have been for the best.”
“She drowned herself,” said Marsha, her voice shaking with emotion. “She killed the baby, and then she drowned herself in the pond.”
Vi looked startled. “Yes, dear, but how did you know?”
“Because she tried to drown me. She took me over like a… like a puppet and forced me into the pond.”
“When did this happen?”
“This morning.” Marsha nodded toward Derek. “He saved me.”
“Oh, my darling.” Vi grabbed Marsha’s hand and held it in both of hers. “If I had known you were in such danger… but I had no idea. You have to believe me.”
“They’ve never been violent like this before?” asked Chris.
She shook her head. “No, never. I simply don’t understand it. Why would they do this to my sweet Marsha?”
“Because of Cassidy,” she said.
“But that… what happened to your Cassidy was a senseless tragedy, but it was hardly the same thing.”
“No,” Chris agreed. “But that didn’t stop Marsha from carrying guilt over her loss all these years. We think the spirits of your mother and brother could sense that guilt, and that’s what triggered them.”
Vi looked devastated by the news. Marsha patted her hands. “It’s okay, Granny. You couldn’t have known.”
“Well,” she said. “I suppose you won’t be wanting to stay in this house. It’s yours to sell, of course. You and your new husband can use the proceeds to get a home that’s more… peaceful.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” said Chris. “Your mother might be confined to the house and its grounds, but your brother’s not. He’s been following Marsha, attacking her wherever she goes.”
“But… but he was only a baby—”
“His spirit’s not. It’s old, and feral, and angry. And it keeps taking all of that anger out on Marsha.”
Vi pulled her hands away from Marsha. She placed her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. Once she’d composed herself, she leveled her gaze at Chris. “Well, then. How do we stop him?”
“I was kind of hoping you could tell us that.”
“Short of performing an exorcism?” Vi shook her head, clearly at a loss. “Would that harm him? What will happen to him, to his spirit?”
“I don’t know. But Marsha’s safety is the priority.”
Vi closed her eyes and sighed. “Of course it is.” She opened her eyes again and nodded to Marsha. “We’ll do whatever is necessary to stop this.”
“Whatever that may be,” said Drew. He rubbed his face wearily. “Look, we’re all exhausted. We’ve been through a lot today. The… spirits,” he said, waving his hand and looking uncomfortable with the entire concept, “seem to have calmed down for the time being. So I say we take advantage of that fact and stick with Plan A.”
“Plan A?” asked Derek. “What was that again?”
“We all get some rest. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got new information now. So we can figure out a real plan and come back tomorrow.”
Derek looked at Chris. “That doesn’t sound like the worst idea.”
Chris couldn’t argue with her dad’s reasoning. She was as tired as the rest of them, and Vi’s presence seemed to have a calming effect on Ezekiel’s spirit. Maybe, if they all stayed together, they could actually all get some sleep and come at this fresh. She opened her mouth to say so, but Marsha cut her off.
“No.”
Drew looked at her, clearly surprised. “Honey, come on. You need rest more than any of us.”
“What I need is for this to be over. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Chris felt a nudge against her shoulder and looked up to see her sister. “Can I talk to you?” she asked.
“What is it?”
Ron jerked her head toward the other end of the kitchen and headed that way. Frowning, Chris got up and followed. When they reached the other side, Ron glanced back at the group and, keeping her voice low, said, “I think I have an idea.”
“Okay, but why are you whispering? None of them can hear you.”
“What about Vi? She said she’s sensitive. She could sense Joe and I were here.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think that means she can actually hear you.”
“Well, whatever.” She waved a hand as if none of it mattered and continued in her normal voice. “I think your theory is only half right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think this is more about helping Rowena than Ezekiel.”
“Rowena? Who—”
“Vi’s mother. She was adamant that I witness everything she did, and she wanted me to know what drove her to do it.”
“Didn’t you say she tried to drown you?”
“I’m not saying she’s rational. But I don’t get the sense that she’s evil. I think she’s sorry, and she wants us all to know it.”
“She’s sure got a funny way of showing it.”
“Yeah, well, she was already in a bad place when she died, and I think seventy years of being in that state cracked her so badly that she’s no longer capable of asking for help like a rational person.” Ron sighed. “I don’t know. It’s only a feeling. But it’s a strong one. I think she’s the one we need to focus on.”
Chris rubbed her eyes. She was so tired she could barely think. “How do we help a ghost who isn’t capable of telling us what she wants? What does she need so that she can move on? And can she, even? She’s a suicide, like Joe.”
“I don’t know. She was mentally ill when she did what she did, probably psychotic. So maybe the powers that be won’t hold it against her. Either way, I think what she wants is forgiveness.” She looked over at the table.
Chris followed her gaze. “From Vi, you mean?”
Ron shrugged. “That would be a start.”
“All right, then.” Chris gazed longingly at the mug of tea that sat cooling where she’d left it and wondered if there was anything more strongly caffeinated in this house. They were going to need it. She turned back to Ron. “I think I know what we need to do.”