Chapter 8

I turned north. The road followed the Connecticut River. Somewhere to the north was St. Johnsbury. I didn't want to go all the way to there. Without a map, I had to improvise. When the urge hit, I would take the next available road, and either cut back into Vermont or cross the border into New Hampshire.

Before I had gone many miles, I left my northerly route and turned left, heading for Chelsea. There, I could go north to Barre and on to who knew where, or head south to Bethel and then return to Woodstock, where I could drive west back to Rutland or east toward New Hampshire.

I made the loop and doubled back to Woodstock. By the time I arrived, it was evening. Finding a place to stay proved almost as difficult as the trip. Tourists packed all of the motels.

I drove from one motel to the next, checking one place after the other. Some had no vacancy signs lit, others didn't. When I found a room, I paid for several days. It would guarantee I had one if I chose to stay longer. My plan was to try to rest up before deciding my next move. In my room, I collapsed on the bed and was soon asleep.

No dreams interrupted my slumber. I awoke both refreshed and hungry. The restaurant I had stopped at the day before was open and I took the same booth. After ordering coffee and pancakes I settled back to watch the street.

There weren't many customers. It was close to two hours after the morning rush. My order arrived within a few minutes. Before I was very far into my meal, Jackie walked in. She saw me and took a seat across the table from me.

"You're back, or did you ever leave?"

"I left.” I spent a minute telling her what I had done.

"Well, at least it's a pretty drive."

"I didn't notice," I said, stopping to smile. "I was busy trying to keep my mind blank."

She stared. "Is that how she finds you? Can she read your mind?"

"I don't know. I spent last night here, and she hasn't shown up."

"Maybe you got away," she said.

I shook my head. "She'll find me. I can't not think."

"I wish you'd called when you got back."

"Well, I was pretty bushed."

"Stress is tiring," she agreed. "What's next?"

I dropped my eyes to my plate. "There it is. The million-dollar question. I go east or try to ricochet around New England for a while."

"You can't run forever."

"I know. But I can't stand up to her until I know how to beat her."

She ordered coffee and toyed with the cup, thinking. While she sat, silent, playing with her cup, I finished eating. She had been giving my situation some thought. It was also obvious the answer eluded her as much as it did me. Of course, we were both assuming an answer even existed.

I pushed my plate away and focused on my coffee.

"There's got to be a way," she said.

"There is. Find Danielsford and lure her back. Then, they can get her back in her coffin and—”

"Frank," Jackie said. "I know all that. Maybe the people in that town will help you."

"Maybe," I said, correcting myself.

"And maybe they won’t. You just don't know. Did they try to warn you when you were there?"

"No," I admitted. "The only one who did was the girl who told me the store was closed."

Jackie nodded. "I think she was being polite."

“Maybe. I'm not sure. She warned me, though, and warned me to leave."

Jackie studied me for a minute. "You can't base your hope on finding the town. Maybe they can't help you. Did you think of that?”

Their being unable to help had not occurred to me. I said nothing. Her thought made more sense than what I was thinking, which was nothing.

"You're right. No, I never thought of it," I said at last. "I still think the answer is in the town. I feel like I've got to find it."

"That might be impossible."

We sat in silence for a while, and she added. "I don't know what to tell you." She looked out the window. "She isn't around. I guess it worked."

"For now," I said, shooting a glance at the street.

"You're a pessimist."

"I've been living with the two of them for over a week."

"I'm starting not to like her."

"The other one is worse," I said.

She glanced out the window. "I haven't seen her yet. Listen, I have to get to work. Are you leaving right away?"

"It depends on her. I'd like to stick around for at least a few days."

"Come down to the shop. We can continue our discussion. Something might come up."

I mulled over her suggestion for a moment. "I don't think Jerry would appreciate my hanging around."

"Jerry was reminded yesterday that I sign the paychecks. He'll be good."

"Still, I don't want to make trouble."

Her eyes narrowed. "Jerry is my employee. That's all."

I glanced at the parking lot again. To me, the smart thing to do would be to put as much time and distance between Mary and me as I could. All I would do, however, was delay the inevitable. And I had three more days at the motel.

I drained the last of my coffee. "Let's go."

***

The shop was two blocks up the street. Jerry was at the cash register when we walked in.

He looked at me. "You're back."

"For now," I answered.

He grunted a reply, let his eyes rest on Jackie for a second, and walked away. I sensed there was more than Mary Bradbury involved in his attitude.

Jackie noticed. She whispered, "He's married to a lovely woman. He just wants to be the boss. I go through this occasionally."

I held my tongue. The last time I saw him he had ridiculed my story. It didn't bother me. If I were him, I'd probably have done the same thing. When Jackie sided with me, he changed. Jerry was either jealous or felt threatened, or both. The thought crossed my mind that, married or not, something else was going on between the two of them.

"Now," she said. "Where were we?"

"Wondering when the witches would find me."

I stood by the door and looked out the picture window. The small form of Mary Bradbury stood across the street.

"Oh my God," Jackie gasped.

Jerry heard her and came from wherever he had been. He spotted Mary and retreated deeper into the store. He had suddenly become a believer. Behind the counter, Jackie stood frozen in place, gaping at the specter standing at the edge of the curb. I was rooted to the floor. My feet weighed a ton each. Try as I might, I could not lift them.

Mary Bradbury was just as immobile as ever. She was the same half a foot over five feet and, if her face, neck, and her arms were a sign, she was slender beneath the loose, ragged, dark brown dress or gown she wore.

She looked straight at me. While we watched, she began to fade into nothing. A cry from the street confirmed we had not imagined her. I forced myself to move and took a step toward the door.

"No, Frank," Jackie shouted.

I glanced at her and stopped.

"She might still be out there."

As she spoke, a teenage girl stepped into view on our side of the street. Her eyes were wide and fixed on the spot occupied by Mary Bradbury a minute before.

"Where…where did she go?" the girl asked. "Did I really see her?"

"She was there," Jackie said, coming up behind me.

The girl gave a quick shake of her head as if wanting to clear it of something. She made no effort to leave. Her eyes remained fixed on the spot Mary occupied, across the street, just moments before.

"What did she look like?" I asked. I wanted to know if she saw the same person.

The girl's brow furrowed. "You saw her. You had to. She was right over there."

"I wonder if we saw the same thing."

She described the woman. Her description was perfect. She saw the same woman as me.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"We aren't sure," Jackie said before I could speak.

The girl looked at us, then again across the street where Mary stood only moments before.

"This is so weird."

"I'll say." I glanced up and down the street. Mary was nowhere in sight.

"Nobody will believe this," the girl added. She continued to stare and look along the street for a full minute before going on, stopping several times to shoot glances back toward the spot.

“The girl is right," Jackie said. "Nobody will believe her." She stepped out the door and looked across at the curb. "Did the other woman dress like her? The one on the Green?"

I nodded. "The same. They could almost be twins except the other one is a little taller, and this one is younger." I thought about it for a moment. "Maybe it's the clothing and scraggly hair."

"Why does she dress like that?"

"I don't know. I know they hung her. Reverend Putnam found that out." I told her what I remembered from the journal.

"I'm no expert on the Puritans, but I don't think they ran around dressed like this woman."

"They didn't. What are you thinking?" I asked.

"Maybe they tortured her before they hanged her?" She looked at me. “Or maybe she was locked up a long time.”

“She had a business. I don't think she dressed that way in her shop,” I said. “The clothing didn’t occur to me.”

I felt a twinge of sadness. If she had to endure torture or a brutal imprisonment, I could understand her being angry.

Puritan era jails, even without torture, were horrible places. I had read about the Salem Witch Trials. Imprisonment, at least in Salem, back then was a form of torture. People died in the jail.

Still, I couldn't understand why she killed an innocent man, if she was the one who killed Walt. Nor did I understand her desire to kill me. Was it for disobeying the other woman? It made no sense.

"What if she doesn't want to kill you?" Jackie asked.

"Why else would she be after me?"

She shrugged and shook her head, then turned and went back into the store. I followed, thinking the teenage girl was right. It was weird and getting weirder.

"So," I drawled, "she could be after me for something else?"

Jackie turned. "Remember. I'm just tossing out ideas. I wouldn't suggest you go and walk up to her and ask."

"Next time, I might not have to. At the rate she's going, she'll be right beside me."

"Are you going to leave again?" she asked.

I thought about it for a moment. "There's no point. What time I gain, I spend driving. It has to stop."

"In one respect, I agree with you. You're spending all day on the road to gain a few hours of peace."

"This is as good a place as any to make a stand." The idea didn't excite me. In fact, it scared the hell out of me. At least on the road I was alive.

"I'm glad you're staying." She didn't sound glad. It was a tone of relief, tinged with concern. "How are you going to do it?"

"The ball is in her court. All I can do is play the game and hope for the best." I tried to sound brave or confident. I'm not sure my voice obeyed my wishes.

“That doesn't tell me anything.”

“That's because I don't have anything.”

I remained at the shop the rest of the day. Mary did not appear again. After closing, we went to the restaurant for dinner, and then I headed for my motel.

It wasn't yet dark, and the early evening was pleasant, though warmer than I preferred. Rather than hurry, I strolled the few blocks taking in the clean, fresh air.

I debated with myself whether to move to the area if I survived. My job was such that I could live almost anywhere I wanted, so long as I could get to Boston once or twice a week.

The benefit of living in the 21st Century was I could do my job anywhere. Computers could do what I did without my needing to leave home. Only a few places required my presence; however, I already did most of my work on the computer. I knew it and had discussed it with clients in the past. Most were agreeable. I had avoided taking the next step.

I enjoyed driving, not as much in recent years due to the increased amount of traffic. Still, I liked the solitude, but I could get the quiet and solitude at home without the wear and tear on my car, and myself. Then there is the expense involved with being on the road.

At the motel, I stood outside and watched the few remaining pedestrians for a few minutes. Most of those I saw I judged to be people who lived in the town. I guessed the tourists had gone to wherever tourists went when the shops closed. Now, in the evening, the locals were getting their turn.

Then I went in, flicked on the TV and flopped onto the bed. It was barely nine o'clock.