Chapter 22

Thunder, wind and heavy rain woke me early on Tuesday morning. I slid from bed and shuffled to the window. After watching the sheets of rain batter the window glass for a few seconds I turned away and went downstairs to the kitchen. Surprised we still had power, I put on coffee and sagged into a kitchen chair. The roar of the wind and pelting of the rain was still there, muffled and sounding distant.

I wondered if George Masters would make it home. Driving in the downpour would be difficult. I assumed it would become easier the farther he got from the coast. As I thought, I watched the coffee slowly dribble into the carafe, teasing me with its aroma. Again, when the glass carafe was a third full I could wait no longer. I poured a cup, took a sip and walked into the living room to the front windows.

It was raining just as hard in front of my house as I had seen looking out back from my bedroom window. Nothing moved on the street. Above, tree limbs were lashing back and forth. Here and there on the ground lay the smaller branches ripped from the trees by the wind. None was big enough to be a threat.

I went into the den, turned on the TV and learned the storm was not yet at its peak. The wind, however, was expected to ease off later in the day, but rain would continue into Wednesday. A sunny and mild Thursday was forecast.

"And getting into Danielsford will be wet and soggy," I mumbled.

I turned off the television and returned to the kitchen for a coffee refill. Everything was on hold for a couple of days. It left me, all of us in fact, with nothing to do but wait.

While I tried to think of something to occupy my day, I sat at the kitchen table and stared into space. I longed for it all to be over, for my life to return to some semblance of normality. And, I thought about Woodstock, Vermont and the woman who was now a part of my life.

I realized I barely knew her. Yet from the moment we met a kind of chemistry existed between us. The chemistry developed during the time I was there, and it had escalated and seemed stronger now with me away. I saw no reason it shouldn't strengthen even more once we were together again.

I wanted to call her. The desire was strong, but I knew she was working. She would be too busy to talk. I topped off my coffee and thought again about what to do with myself for the rest of the day.

It wasn't a lack of something to do; it was more a case of my not wanting to do the things needing doing. Later in the day, I managed to get my clothes in the washer. Beyond that, I drank coffee, sat and watched TV, and thought about Thursday.

***

In the evening, I called Jackie. She was just closing up the shop.

"We had some customers come in right at closing," she explained. "They spent half an hour browsing and ended up spending ten dollars. It cost me more in utilities and Jerry's salary than what they purchased."

"All part of the job," I said.

"I know. It doesn't mean I have to like it," she said. "What are you up to? I know you've got bad weather."

I gave her a rundown of my day which, as usual, took all of about two or three minutes.

"Exciting," she said. "Is the storm bad?"

"Yes to both," I said. "The worst is over. It's backing off. We’re just getting hard rain now."

"That's good. You'll be able to get to the site?"

"I think so."

"Damn," she snapped. "I wish I could be there."

"So do I," I replied.

"Remember everything, so you can tell me about it. I have to get busy. I was delayed last night by some pervert and I'm tired."

***

A few minutes after we hung up, the phone rang. I grabbed it, thinking it was Jackie calling me back.

"Frank?" a familiar voice said.

"Mrs. Putnam. Marjorie," I replied, surprised to hear from her. "How are you?"

"My husband asked me to call. He's very interested in your situation."

"Okay." I began to fill her in.

She asked me to wait. In a moment, Reverend Putnam was on an extension. I began again and, over the course of several minutes with a couple of brief questions from the Reverend, I brought them up to date.

"My wife mentioned seeing the Bradbury woman when you visited," he said.

"I'm more concerned with the other one," I told him, "the one doing the killing."

He thought for a few seconds. "In truth, I do not recall seeing such a woman as you described. Nor did I see Mary Bradbury. The coffin was nailed shut. We left it that way."

"Yes," I said. “So did I. I still don't know how she was released, and I got selected.”

"May I ask a question?" he asked. "You found the town, or what's left of it."

"Yes," I replied and told him about the refuge.

"I know where the wildlife refuge is," he said. "I've never gone into it."

We talked for a while about Danielsford. I told him what George and I found and about Mary Bradbury and how she died, and about the curse. I told him what she said.

"Interesting," he answered. "Things you don't know or have forgotten. Clearly we, as Christians, must reevaluate our views. Curses are viewed as superstitions. They work based on whether the victim believes in them. Or that's what we thought."

"I never believed in them before this."

"Neither did I," he admitted. "It certainly lends credence to her comment. We in this modern world have forgotten or dismissed much."

"Not only forgot," I said. "We chose to explain away many things."

"We forgot or cast them aside if those things failed to adhere to our modern attitudes."

"Maybe that's what she was saying," I replied.

"My wife says you don't think she's a ghost."

"She isn't a ghost; she's flesh and blood." I told him how close I was to her, and what she said about being the same as me.

He mumbled something. Aloud he said, "Unbelievable. My wife said the woman looked normal except for her clothing and generally scruffy appearance."

"If you saw her, you'd understand," I said. “She's a flesh and blood living human being.”

"She lay in a coffin for three centuries, yet still lives," he mused. "That's one of the things I find hard to comprehend. It's impossible but, I don't know, my wife swears she was seeing a living woman."

"I was barely a foot away from her," I pointed out again. "I knew she was real, flesh and blood I mean, before she told me.”

I waited while the Reverend digested my remark. I don't know what he was thinking. Believing Mary was a living person had to be as difficult as admitting a long dead town, with its inhabitants, had appeared.

"How will you handle the funeral?" he asked.

I explained our plans again.

"I don't know Father Maloney," he said. "You think the girl will be there?"

"She’ll be there. It's what she wants," I said.

"And the graveside service will relieve the spell."

"That's what I understand," I replied. "When she laid the curse on the town, in some way she got caught up in it. The funeral will remove what she did, and she can rest peacefully."

Of course, everything I said was supposition. I didn’t know whether I was right, but it made sense to me. Reverend Putnam seemed to accept it.

"I wish we could explore those powers she has," he said. "She cursed a town, and we can all vouch for the fact that it worked. What sort of power does doing such a thing take?"

"I haven't a clue and can't even imagine," I said. "You realize this wouldn't qualify as a 'B' movie, like they show in drive-ins."

"When we had drive-ins," he added with a laugh. "Seriously, Mr. Jackson, my wife and I have talked it to death. The thought of a curse never occurred to us, though I suppose it should have. I wish you the best of luck in helping the woman achieve her desire."

"Thank you, sir," I said.

"And please, let us know how it turns out," he finished. I had their phone number. He gave it to me again, maybe out of habit.

"I will," I said and quickly added, "Reverend. Mrs. Putnam, I have a tape of a short conversation with her."

I played the tape four times before they were both satisfied. We talked about it for another five minutes. They were intrigued.

"When we return to my congregation, would you allow me to make a copy of it?" the Reverend asked.

I told him I'd be happy to make one and we hung up.

***

At nine, I called Jackie. We spent an hour going over topics already discussed. I didn't mind and neither did she. We spoke for a few moments about her work, and she said the day wasn't a record breaker but was a welcome change. They managed to restock the shelves in between the thin stream of customers.

"Sometimes I look forward to a slow day," she said.

"I thought I did," I said. "But this waiting…"

"Your situation is a little different. You're anxious to get it over with."

"True," I replied.

"Then?"

"Then I've got to get back to work and try to rebuild my client list," I said. "It’s going to take some time."

"Have you thought more about coming here?"

"I have," I told her. "If you'll have me."

"You know I will."

We talked for a few more minutes before she had to call a halt.

"I've got to finish my work." She sounded disappointed.

When we hung up, I sat for a few minutes looking at nothing.

"One more day," I mumbled, hoping the weather, George, and the priest cooperated.