Chapter 25

When I unlocked my door and walked in, my home felt light and airy. The sense of any threat was gone. I noticed it immediately. The ominous feeling hanging over the house and me for weeks no longer existed. It was confirmation to me it was all over.

I pulled off my boots. Small bits of dried mud and muck fell to the floor. I eyed the mess for a moment and shrugged. It would be there next day, or the day after that. Eventually, I would clean it up. At that moment, I had other things to do.

The first job on my list was to call the Putnams. I was sure they were anxious to hear about the funeral. I went into the kitchen, grabbed the telephone and punched in the phone number. On the third ring, Mrs. Putnam answered.

"Frank. Please wait while I find the Reverend," she said. She called her husband.

A second later, I heard the soft click as he picked up the extension.

"I'm here," he said.

"How did it go?" she asked.

They listened as I gave them a complete blow-by-blow description, including mention of the headboard I made and placed at the site.

"I think marking her grave was a very nice thing to do," Mrs. Putnam said.

"I agree," said Reverend Putnam. "I also like your plan to return and keep the marker fresh."

"And you feel that it's now over?" Mrs. Putnam asked.

"Yes. Even my house has a different sensation. There's no dark cloud hanging over it, or me, anymore."

"You still have no idea who the other woman was?" Reverend Putnam asked.

"None at all," I replied. "I wonder if I'll ever find out."

"Considering there seems to be no record of the town or the people in it, which I find strange, I think you may be right," the Reverend said. “That in itself is also sad.”

"And she is a lost soul," Mrs. Putnam added.

"It’s possible," I said.

“I believe so,” the Reverend agreed.

"It had to be awful for her," said Mrs. Putnam.

"You mean knowing she couldn't kill me," I said.

"Of course not. I mean, she saw eternity and where she would spend it," she added. "It would be a terrible thing to know and to know you could do nothing about it."

For an instant, I my mind returned to the site of Danielsford. I remembered the woman grasping at tree branches and flailing against the wind, and I heard her chilling screams that faded to nothing as she disappeared. Thinking about it, her anguished cries actually did seem more screams of horror than hate.

Maybe Marjorie Putnam and Father Maloney were right. Perhaps the woman knew what was happening and knew, or could see, her eternity.

"I find the entire event extremely disconcerting," Reverend Putnam said. "It brings into question so many of our teachings."

"How do you mean?" Marjorie asked.

"We see Heaven and Hell as distinct places, widely separated," he began. "I haven't thought this out, understand. We spoke about it before."

"What if both are other dimensions? Is that what you're wondering?" I asked.

"Something along those lines," he said. "Rather than be distant ethereal realms, what if they're both here, with us every day of our lives, only separate?"

"Like at Halloween," I replied. "Some say the veil between us thins and the departed can return."

"I have heard that," Marjorie Putnam said. "It might be closer to the truth than we realize."

“One last thing puzzles me,” I said.

The Reverend and Mrs. Putnam waited.

“I went into the church and found the coffin,” I began. “Then the dreams started later. In them, the woman demanded that I release the one in the coffin.”

“Right,” he replied. “I recall you telling me.”

“Why? I mean, why release her, or set her free?”

“So she could be given a proper burial. If not, she would have lain there until the end of the world.”

“But she was released,” I said. “Who did it? And why kill us for not doing it? She demanded I release Mary and then she hunted me.”

Reverend Putnam was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke, his words were slow and measured.

“Didn't Mary say you were chosen?” he began.

“Something like that. Or it’s what I understood her to mean.”

“I'm coming to believe you were the one they waited for all through the centuries,” he said. “I suggest it’s possible the entire town knew it was you. Maybe you have ancestors who lived in Danielsford. Or maybe you were the one person of right mind that they needed. You admit being drawn to the church.”

“I think so,” I said. “I felt like I had to go in.”

“So even not opening the coffin, you gave Mary Bradbury freedom and ultimately her Christian burial.”

“And the other one?” I asked. “Why was she after me? She wanted Mary released, which was done.”

“That,” he said, “is the thing we will probably never know. We may never know who she was, or why she did any of what she did.”

“It doesn't make sense,” I said.

“Take comfort in this, Frank,” Marjorie said. “You gave a good and kind soul her reward. I think it is something to be joyful about.”

We talked for a few more minutes. We were getting into areas far beyond my lowly capacity to discuss. I had called to tell about my adventure. Reverend Putnam had turned it to a discussion on theology. Then we had wandered afield from there.

The one single point I needed to know was why the other woman wanted me dead, and no one could answer the question. It would doubtless remain a mystery until the end.

“Does it matter now?” Reverend Putnam asked.

“I guess not,” I replied. “It's all over. But it's a loose end, and I hate loose ends.”

“There are always loose ends. Perhaps someday it will be revealed to you.”

He asked me to write out the details of the funeral. He said that they would contact me when they returned to Massachusetts. I reminded him that I planned to relocate.

"Woodstock isn't that far," he said. "I want to talk more with you about this. I'm speaking from my theories as a minister, trained and immersed in Biblical teachings and theology. This is something utterly different."

"With all due respect, Reverend," I said. “I’m not sure religion can answer the question. What we’ve experienced is something else.”

“You could be right, Mr. Jackon,” he said. “I must, however, look at it from the perspective of religion first. I cannot fathom it any other way.”

We hung up a minute or so later and I put on a pot of coffee. I decided to write my experience while it was still fresh in my memory. I had a couple of hours before I called Jackie. I felt certain I could get most of it done in that time. It would not be a Pulitzer Prize winner, but everything would be there, and I could always redo it later.

While I waited for the coffee, I went into my office and turned on the computer. I brought up my word processor and sat staring at it, wondering where to begin. I remembered Mary appearing in my garage, and her comment about the grave marker.

As I sat, staring at the screen, the entire weight of the past days came crashing down on me. Suddenly, I was exhausted and empty. All the energy drained from me.

Then her voice suddenly came to me, seeming to be from everywhere. I jerked upright and looked around. I was alone, but I knew I wasn't.

"Do not weep for me, Frank Jackson," she said. "I am happy. It is beautiful here. It is so beautiful."

"I knew you would be happy," I said aloud.

"We will be together when your time comes. For you it is distant, for me not even a moment."

"What about the other one?" I asked.

"She shall never know peace. Think no more of her."

"There are so many things I want to ask."

"In time. Go to your woman, Frank Jackson," Mary said. As usual, her voice was soft and soothing. "There lies your earthly future. At your end, I will be there for you."

Before I could reply, something soft and gentle seemed to lift and she was gone. I had the feeling I would not hear from her again in my lifetime.

Despite her words, I could not help weeping softly, sitting in front of my computer. They were as much tears of relief as they were for the strange loss I suddenly felt. The few minutes sitting, with tears rolling down my cheeks, helped to cleanse me. When it was over, I felt better.

When I finally began typing, telling of the last two days as completely and quickly as I could, the words flowed easily. I included the final meeting with Mary which just occurred. By the time I picked up the phone to call Jackie, I had finished the story as fully and truthfully as I could write it.

***

Jackie listened as I related the entire event. Now and then, she whispered something I didn’t catch. Mostly, she was silent. I knew she had questions, but she wanted to hear the entire story first, as if interrupting me would cause me to forget a point.

"She told you to come up here?" Jackie asked.

"I quoted her exact words."

"I guess I was wrong to be jealous," she said. "Still, there’s something about her. Anyway, it's all over?"

"So it seems," I said. I wondered what there was about Mary that bothered Jackie but decided to let her tell me in her own time.

"You said you have it all typed up."

"I mean the last couple of days. Going to find Danielsford, what happened, and all that.”

"Bring it with you. When are you coming up?"

Closing up a house takes time. I would shoot for a week. I had things to pack. Giving away or donating most of the contents seemed to be the smartest way to solve the problem.

Then, once settled I told her I had to rebuild my client list and get back to earning a living. Getting some of them back might be more difficult than the move. It would mean time on the road, at least for awhile.

"Oh no you won't," she said, voice firm. "I'm not going to let you go wandering off for days at a time once you're here."

"It's my job," I said. "I've got to."

"You have a computer. Every business worth its salt has computers these days. You can do it that way. That's how I order my stock."

"I'll still need to go out occasionally," I replied.

"Occasionally. Not all the time."

And that was that. I would enter the modern age, doing my work via computer as much as possible. I didn't tell her I had already considered and was looking into it. We said goodbye an hour and a half later.