Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.
—Ray Bradbury
“I SPENT TWO days perusing that awful man’s papers,” Violet revealed. “His many crimes aside, I found no evidence a physician ever declared Harriet unfit. It was her own brother who was responsible for Harriet’s reputation. A slander that persists to this day.”
Seymour looked stunned. “Why would her own brother do that?”
“The McClure siblings initially got along. Robert even encouraged her interest in art. The trouble began when Harriet refused to marry the man her brother chose for her.”
Seymour’s brow furrowed. “But it was the twentieth century, not the Middle Ages.”
“Robert considered it as the merging of two powerful Newport families. Harriet didn’t see it that way. The groom-to-be was twenty years her senior, a known womanizer, and diagnosed with the early stages of bad blood.”
“What the heck is bad blood?” Bud Napp asked.
“A polite euphemism for syphilis,” Brainert replied.
My aunt gasped. “Oh, that poor child!”
“For her refusal to do his bidding, Harriet was banished from the McClure’s Newport home, and her legal share of the family inheritance was co-opted by Robert. He made it known in their social circles that his sister was ‘unbalanced’ and that everyone should keep their distance.”
Seymour bristled. “What a stinking son of a—”
“It doesn’t end there, I’m afraid. Robert intended the Quindicott home to be Harriet’s prison and hired a local family to keep his sister in line. Harriet was lucky in that regard. Malachi Finch and his wife were generous, decent people.”
“Harriet left the house to the Finch family,” my aunt pointed out. “She was obviously grateful for their kindness.”
“She had a lot to be grateful for,” Violet agreed. “Harriet was given ownership of the house and property, but she arrived with nothing more than the clothes on her back, her jewel box, and a parsimonious annual stipend from her brother. It was Malachi who kept the property up and shielded her from Robert.”
“She needed protection from her own brother?” Sadie cried.
“Robert was a gangster, a bootlegger, and a social climber. He was a cruel and sometimes violent man. Malachi Finch, on the other hand, was an honest, hardworking soul who made no secret of the fact that he despised the McClure family. He never let Robert near his sister after she came to Quindicott. Not even once. Not even after Robert cut off Malachi’s meager salary. After Harriet died, her brother resented the fact that the Finch family inherited her grand house and property. He tried every legal means to grab it.”
“And my in-laws carry on the tradition,” I muttered into my glass.
“Robert coveted Harriet’s jewels, too—”
“Harriet had jewels?” I interrupted, surprised. “Are you sure? None of her paintings show her wearing any jewelry.”
But Violet was certain. “They’re mentioned in Robert’s lawsuit. He claimed they originally belonged to Harriet’s mother and were family heirlooms.”
“Did you discover what happened to them?” I asked.
“The Finch family claimed they were lost, but it’s more likely they were sold over time to keep Harriet’s household going.” Violet frowned. “In any case, after Robert lost his lawsuit, there was no further mention of the jewels.” She paused. “That’s about all I’ve uncovered thus far, other than what happened to so many of Harriet’s paintings after her death. Really, the only blight on Malachi Finch’s kindness to her was his destruction of so much of her art. I understand it was done out of desperation—a harsh winter, a lack of firewood, but still . . .”
Violet’s voice trailed off and the table got very quiet. Suddenly Seymour startled everyone by pounding his fist on the table.
“No!” he cried. “That can’t be the whole story. There’s more to Harriet’s life that we don’t know, a secret that she’s trying to tell the world, to tell me. Harriet wants the truth to be known!”
After that disconcerting slip into The Twilight Zone, the party broke up. Liam and Sally bid us good night, and accompanied by Violet Brooks, they strolled along the lovely lighted path that led back to the Finch Inn.
After they were gone, my aunt chided Seymour.
“What were you thinking? Telling our guests that a dead woman is trying to talk to you?”
“Sadie’s right,” Bud Napp chimed in. “You sounded . . . well, crazy.
“As a loon,” Brainert added.
When Seymour scowled, Sadie squeezed his hand. “I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m worried about you, that’s all. You’re letting your imagination run wild. This obsession with Harriet’s portrait is consuming your life.”
“Listen to the lady,” Bud advised. “You used to be a levelheaded guy. A little weird, but that’s what makes you a mailman.” Rising, he slapped Seymour on the back. “We just want to see our old pal again. The guy we know and love. Think it over, son.”
Sadie took Bud’s hand. “We’re going to stroll down to the Lighthouse.”
But Sadie and Bud weren’t gone more than five minutes when I heard my aunt’s scream through the open windows of the nearly deserted restaurant. I rose to my feet as she burst through the door and rushed to our table.
“We saw it . . . Her!” Sadie stammered. “Out there, in the woods!”
Bud Napp was so shaken he had to take a seat and a few deep breaths before he could speak.
“We were walking toward the Lighthouse,” he gasped. “That’s when the ghost appeared, plain as day—”
“It was Harriet!” Sadie squealed. “She was in the woods. We could only see the top half of her body as she glided by. She was floating—”
“The ghost was maybe twenty feet away,” Bud said. “Dressed all in white, with that long scarf-type shawl thing flowing behind her—”
“When I screamed, I swear Harriet’s stark white face stared right at me!” Sadie cried.
Seymour suddenly looked smug. Crossing his arms, he loudly cleared his throat. “So which is it? Are both of you mental? Did you let your imaginations run wild? Is the ghost of Harriet consuming your life? Or maybe you just sucked down enough vino to drown a fish?”