AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What’s wrong?” she asked as we sat parked at a stoplight.
I pointed to the rundown building. “There. That’s the building that the Butcher…that’s where he…” I turned away, dashing at the tears that threatened. I was grateful I’d worn waterproof mascara and done my eyes so the shadow wouldn’t bleed and run.
“Oh,” Grams said. She squinted at it. “What’s it called?”
“It was the old Armandine Hotel, but that went out of business about six years ago and nobody’s bought up the land. I wish somebody would just raze it, along with the memories it holds.” I pressed my hand to my stomach, then the car started moving and my queasiness slowly diminished.
My mother’s house was on the corner of Madison and Lawrence Streets. As we arrived, there were cars parked all the way down the block, and it was only ten-thirty. Had everyone shown up early? But that was when I realized that it was a big football game day, and there would be football parties going on at a lot of houses.
Port Townsend was a colorful town. Home to all sorts of quirky artists and small-goods artisans, the color of the town was like a veneer. Long ago, Port Townsend had hopes of becoming the port city for Washington State, but Seattle had taken the title, and the little peninsula town had gone ghost until the seventies when the hippie crowd discovered it and gave it a renewed sense of life.
They had come in with their arts and crafts and communes, and soon the town began to breathe again. Now, it was filled with Victorian houses that mimicked the painted ladies of San Francisco, and Fort Worden—a military base that had seen plenty of action—had been turned into a park.
First constructed during the years 1898 through 1920, Fort Warden sat on over four hundred acres and, although no one had ever fired the cannons during the war, the Fort and its soldiers kept a strict watch over Admiralty inlet. Eventually, the fort had been sold to the town, who then sold it to Washington State. Before being turned into an actual historical park, the fort had been used to house inmates being held in juvenile detention.
The Fort had several batteries, including the old Battery Kinzie, a mammoth structure in weathered metal that was covered with graffiti. The place scared the hell out of me. I always felt, when I walked anywhere near it, that something was lurking within. Each time I went to visit, I tried to steer clear of it, and that would include today.
As we got out of the car, I stared at my mother’s house. It seemed small, now, though when I was young it had felt huge. Two story, it wasn’t a Victorian, but it resembled the style, with a bay window that overlooked the front porch. It had a banquette for a window seat and when I was young, I’d spent many an afternoon curled up with a book, watching over the front yard. Upstairs, my old room had a similar window, directly above, and I’d watched the moon and the stars from that lookout, leaning against the glass as the leaves fell, leading into winter snowfall.
The wake was being held at my mother’s house, given my aunt’s house was too small. As Grams and I ascended the porch steps, the front door opened and there stood my mother.
Catharine was shorter than me—I’d inherited my father’s height—but her hair, like mine—carried the coppery red gene. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and she was wearing a pair of camel linen trousers, along with a matching blouse. Her face was too red, which meant she’d been drinking or crying—or both, and she wore oversized tinted glasses.
“Elphyra, Grams, welcome. Come in. Ciara will be here in a few minutes. I’ve been getting everything ready.” She shooed us inside. In the living room, I saw a big spread set out, along with a couple caterers. On the center table, surrounded by food, was an urn.
“Oh, you did not put Owen’s ashes in the center of the food table?” I broke away and immediately moved the urn to the mantel, sitting it centered over the cozy flames that were burning below. My mother had a gas fireplace—a good thing, given how careless she could be. “There, that’s better.”
“What’s wrong with where I had them? He’s the reason we’re here,” she said, clueless.
I thought about trying to make her understand how uncomfortable that would make people feel but then decided that it was a lost cause. “Just leave them where I put them.”
“Oh, all right. I’m busy, anyway. I need a smoke,” she added, heading over to her purse which was sitting on the desk in the corner.
“You’re still smoking?” I couldn’t help it—I judged. Smoking was a filthy habit and it made everything, including the smoker, reek of nicotine and smoke. I had to give her credit, though. She didn’t argue back. We’d both learned that any arguments in this department were a lose-lose outcome. Her smoking had led to numerous fights and recriminations, and with me refusing to stay under her roof because of the habit. For one thing, the smell made me queasy, and for another, I didn’t want second hand smoke in my lungs and my mother wasn’t polite about taking it outside.
When I was young, she had once told me—when I complained about her smoking at the dinner table—that if I didn’t want smoke in my face, I was the one who needed to move. I’d started eating my dinners early after that, leaving her alone at the dinner table.
I shook my head, glancing over at Grams. Grams gave me a rueful look, but just smiled. I thought she’d learned to pick and choose her battles, too. Or maybe she just took it in stride because it wasn’t her house.
“How long till Ciara gets here?”
“She’s on her way, I asked her five minutes ago.” As my mother returned to the kitchen and Grams followed her to help, I stopped by my cousin’s ashes and lightly stroked the urn with my fingers. It was so strange. The thought boggled my mind: this one little bottle held what had been an entire person.
“I hope you’re happy now,” I whispered. “I hope you’re free, and out of whatever pain you were in. Maybe one day, you’ll be able to tell me why. Until then, peace, my cousin. Peace be on your soul, your heart, and your mind. May you flow with the river, glow in the golden sun. May you frolic in the meadows, until the day is done.”
At that moment, people began to trickle in, and I turned off my emotions and turned on hostess-mode, and did my best to carry the day through for all of us.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
That night, after we got home, I texted Bran to let him know how the wake had gone, and we agreed to get together the next morning for breakfast at the local diner. I told Grams I’d be up and out early, and she nodded.
“Then I think I’ll sleep in and get some rest,” she said.
“Sounds good. I need to talk to Bran about everything that’s happened. He should know more about Gloria and what actually went down.” I kissed her goodnight. “Sleep well. I wish you lived here, with me.”
“That wouldn’t suit either of us at all, my dear. However, I’m going to go house-hunting tomorrow. May’s agreed to go with me, and I’m going to scour the town for a place of my own. Today made up my mind. While I do love your mother, and I like Ciara, I’m not comfortable around them the way I feel around you, so I’ll be moving down here. I’m selling the Port Townsend house.”
Before I could clap, she added, “I spoke to Diedre on the phone last night. She’s doing all right on her own, and as long as we’ve got my friend Muriel watching her, all is well. One of the clansmen is watching over the estate for me—he’s a friend from my younger days—and he’ll make sure that everything’s taken care of.”
