Read Online A Sound Among the Trees by Susan Meissner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan Meissner
Ads: Link
mentioned the echoes again, and her grandmother and mother would not discuss it. But Adelaide began to sense the rippling effect of time crumpled in on itself—echoes perhaps—the year her father died, and again much later when her husband Charles died, and again when dementia swallowed up her mother, all amid the whispered consensus of local gossipers and rumormongers that Holly Oak’s women were cursed because of what happened in the war. Because of what Susannah Page did.
And didn’t do.
In her adult years Adelaide found a stack of her great-grandmother’s letters to her cousin Eleanor Towsley of Maine shoved to the back of Annabel’s escritoire, written in the early years of the Civil War and returned to Susannah by a family member upon Eleanor’s death in 1920. But Susannah’s letters portrayed her as merely a young woman in love with a man who happened to be a Union Army scout. Eliza Pembroke, Susannah’s aunt, was the one accused of Union loyalties. Adelaide didn’t know wherethe letters were now. She’d given them to Caroline when her daughter was sixteen. Likely as not, Caroline had carelessly tossed them in the trash or sold them for drug money. Caroline hadn’t believed that the house still echoed with reverberations from the past. Caroline hadn’t believed in much of anything.
Adelaide shared her great-grandmother’s stories of crippling echoes and Holly Oak’s strange fascination with its women with her good friend Pearl decades later, to her utter regret. It wasn’t long after that that Pearl, as a self-proclaimed favor to Adelaide, asked her so-called clairvoyant cousin Eldora Meeks to verify the existence of ghostly activity.
That had been a mistake. The woman knew nothing about houses. Eldora Meeks may or may not have the ability to talk to spirits, but she surely had no gift for talking to houses. Yet Pearl passed the story of her cousin’s unsubstantiated discovery of the ghost of Susannah Page to anyone with the slightest interest, despite Adelaide’s persistent requests that she shut up about it. Susannah Page didn’t haunt the halls.
Undeterred, Pearl had told Adelaide that sooner or later someone was going to have to make peace with Susannah’s ghost.
And Adelaide had said that was proof enough that Eldora hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about.
There was no peace to be made with Susannah. Susannah wasn’t the one at war.
Adelaide now set the cut pieces of the frock coat on a third chair and folded the wool. She spread out the green silk lining and reached for her pin cushion. She heard the kitchen door open and close again. Marielle had come back inside.
The doorbell rang, and Adelaide stood motionless for a moment. It was early, only a little after nine. Too early for even the Blue-Haired Old Ladies to make a social call. She listened as Marielle opened the door, heard a man’s voice say he had a package for a Mr. Carson Bishop, heard Marielle say that she could sign for it; she was his wife.
Adelaide went back to pinning the weightless length of silk, glad that Pearl or Maxine or Deloris hadn’t decided to stop in. The Blue-Haired Old Ladies were making stops at Holly Oak even after the other neighborly welcomes had ceased. Pearl had been by just the day before to visit for a spell in the kitchen and invite Marielle to lunch the following week.
And just as Adelaide had predicted, Pearl’s reaction to finding out Carson and Marielle were sleeping in Susannah Page’s bedroom had been swift and animated.
“Oh dearie, are you sure that’s wise?” Pearl had said to Marielle. “I mean, of all the bedrooms, that one?”
To which Marielle had replied, “But nothing happened in that room. Right?”
Adelaide had patted Marielle’s hand. “Nothing happened in that room.”
Pearl had leaned forward in her chair, vigorous concern multiplying the wrinkles around her eyes. “She slept in there, Marielle.”
“What difference does that make?”
And didn’t do.
In her adult years Adelaide found a stack of her great-grandmother’s letters to her cousin Eleanor Towsley of Maine shoved to the back of Annabel’s escritoire, written in the early years of the Civil War and returned to Susannah by a family member upon Eleanor’s death in 1920. But Susannah’s letters portrayed her as merely a young woman in love with a man who happened to be a Union Army scout. Eliza Pembroke, Susannah’s aunt, was the one accused of Union loyalties. Adelaide didn’t know wherethe letters were now. She’d given them to Caroline when her daughter was sixteen. Likely as not, Caroline had carelessly tossed them in the trash or sold them for drug money. Caroline hadn’t believed that the house still echoed with reverberations from the past. Caroline hadn’t believed in much of anything.
Adelaide shared her great-grandmother’s stories of crippling echoes and Holly Oak’s strange fascination with its women with her good friend Pearl decades later, to her utter regret. It wasn’t long after that that Pearl, as a self-proclaimed favor to Adelaide, asked her so-called clairvoyant cousin Eldora Meeks to verify the existence of ghostly activity.
That had been a mistake. The woman knew nothing about houses. Eldora Meeks may or may not have the ability to talk to spirits, but she surely had no gift for talking to houses. Yet Pearl passed the story of her cousin’s unsubstantiated discovery of the ghost of Susannah Page to anyone with the slightest interest, despite Adelaide’s persistent requests that she shut up about it. Susannah Page didn’t haunt the halls.
Undeterred, Pearl had told Adelaide that sooner or later someone was going to have to make peace with Susannah’s ghost.
And Adelaide had said that was proof enough that Eldora hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about.
There was no peace to be made with Susannah. Susannah wasn’t the one at war.
Adelaide now set the cut pieces of the frock coat on a third chair and folded the wool. She spread out the green silk lining and reached for her pin cushion. She heard the kitchen door open and close again. Marielle had come back inside.
The doorbell rang, and Adelaide stood motionless for a moment. It was early, only a little after nine. Too early for even the Blue-Haired Old Ladies to make a social call. She listened as Marielle opened the door, heard a man’s voice say he had a package for a Mr. Carson Bishop, heard Marielle say that she could sign for it; she was his wife.
Adelaide went back to pinning the weightless length of silk, glad that Pearl or Maxine or Deloris hadn’t decided to stop in. The Blue-Haired Old Ladies were making stops at Holly Oak even after the other neighborly welcomes had ceased. Pearl had been by just the day before to visit for a spell in the kitchen and invite Marielle to lunch the following week.
And just as Adelaide had predicted, Pearl’s reaction to finding out Carson and Marielle were sleeping in Susannah Page’s bedroom had been swift and animated.
“Oh dearie, are you sure that’s wise?” Pearl had said to Marielle. “I mean, of all the bedrooms, that one?”
To which Marielle had replied, “But nothing happened in that room. Right?”
Adelaide had patted Marielle’s hand. “Nothing happened in that room.”
Pearl had leaned forward in her chair, vigorous concern multiplying the wrinkles around her eyes. “She slept in there, Marielle.”
“What difference does that make?”
Similar Books
