Shadow by the Bridge Page 4

  “Now that you have Merle working almost every day, have you thought of working fewer hours?” my mother asked.

  “After the first of the year, I was going to start cutting back an hour or two in the afternoon after the 3:00 train rush,” Martha replied. “Merle can handle the store after 4:30.”

  “What about Gerry? Is he ready to slow down any?” my mother asked.

  “Not yet. I don’t know what he’d do with himself at home all day,” Martha replied.

  I heard the back door swing open as I continued to tumble the small piece of creamy, vanilla butterscotch candy around my mouth.

  A tall, thin figure leisurely walked toward us from the back of the dark store. “Hello ladies! And Fritzy,” Helen smiled as she strolled up to us. She stopped in the counter walkway.

  My mother turned her stool toward Helen.

  I looked over my shoulder and smiled. “Hallo,” I said and waved.

  “Hello, Helen, how’re you?” my mother asked.

  “I’m well, thank you. I just came back from visiting with Gracie Harlow,” she said.

  I bumped my mother’s shoe with my boot and glanced over at her. Her eyes met mine for a moment, and she gave me a slight nod. Just then, the copper kettle whistled on the back stove.

  “Would any of you like some tea?” Martha made her way past Helen toward the stove.

  “I would,” Helen turned and answered as she removed her long gray coat and set it over the counter.

  “No thank you, Martha,” my mother answered.

  Helen grabbed a teacup off the back shelf, the one with fancy flowers painted on it that she always drank out of. I watched her grab the tin can sitting next to the row of tea cups. She popped open the can, pulled out a tea bag, and then set it into the cup.

  “I have your coffee right here, Ella.” Martha held up the bag. “As soon as I saw you walk in, I knew I forgot to do something. I just need to grind it for you.” Martha poured the beans into the coffee grinder on the back counter and turned the crank at the top. The aroma of the coffee beans brushed my nose as she turned the handle.

  “Have either of you learned any more about the woman Frank found on his farm?” my mother asked.

  “Well, I can tell youall that I found out this morning,” Helen said. There was a bit of a flicker in her eyes, one that I’d seen before. I was sure that she liked being the flame-keeper, and she took pleasure in spreading the burning news to all the corners of Linden.

  I gave my mother a quick glance. Then I turned back to Helen, waiting to hear what she had to say.

  “Gracie told me that people have been traipsing through her field since Frank found that poor woman.” Helen stepped over to the back counter, pulled out the drawer for a spoon, and then placed it in her teacup and stirred. “Some of the woman’s belongings were found not far from where Frank found her body. Gracie told me that a gentleman found a few hairpins, a cameo, and a bloody handkerchief. The gentleman, kindly, turned them in to the sheriff’s department.” Helen shook her head, and she sipped her tea.

  I glanced over at my mother, but she didn’t look over at me.

  “The sheriff stopped by to see Gracie and Frank, and he told them to keep their eyes open for more of the woman’s personal items.” Helen set her teacup back on the counter.

  “They probably figure the more items that they have, the more likely someone will recognize them,” my mother said.

  “The sheriff told Gracie someone also found a bloody razor blade in the cornfield and turned it into the department,” Helen continued.

  My eyes widened as I bit down on the buttery vanilla candy, crushing the small, sugary piece with my back teeth. I wanted to ask Helen if anyone found a fox trap, but that question would surely lead to my name being printed in theBatavia Daily News.

  “Why would people go traipsing around in their field? A woman was killed there,” my mother said in a disturbed tone of voice as she shook her head. “It’s a place to set flowers, not a place to dig for treasure.” Her voice was filled with disgust. “I understand that people are curious, but they need to have some respect for the deceased.”

  “Gracie said that there were two sets of footprints in the field leading into the wooded area.”

  I gasped as a chill ran through my body, and then I looked down at my boots.Did they find my footprints too?My mother gave me a quick look, then she turned to Helen.

  “Gracie also told me that a woman who lived down the road reported that she saw the couple walk past their house. The man was walking a little ahead of the woman and she heard them shouting at each other.”

  “Now, what day was it that she saw the couple?” Martha asked as she poured the kettle of hot water over the tea bag sitting in her cup.

  “Monday the twelfth,” Helen replied. “Gracie said that the district attorney does know that couple was seen at the New York Station around 11:00 that Monday morning. And no one seems to have any idea who they were.” Helen shook her head and sipped more of her tea.

  “The viewing didn’t help much, then?” Martha asked.

  “No, the first one didn’t. Maybe the next one will,” Helen replied as she set her cup down on the counter.

  “Next one? Are you telling us that they are going to hold another one?” My mother’s eyes widened along with her mouth.

  “Yes, and it starts tomorrow. The sheriff told Frank that the district attorney hired an artist to reconstruct the woman’s face out of plaster,” Helen said.

  “Out of plaster?” My mother tilted her head slightly, and she gave Helen a puzzled stare. “You mean the same plaster that walls are made of?”

  “That’s the only plaster I know of,” Martha said as she opened the coffee grinder and began to pour the coffee into the small sack.

  Helen shrugged her shoulders slightly. “Me, too.”

  “It’s hard to believe that it’ll resemble her face,” Martha said as she set the sack of coffee on the counter along with a sack of sugar and a sack of flour. Martha pressed the cash register keys and totaled my mother’s order.

  “I agree with you, Martha. I think it’s going to be difficult, maybe even impossible, to mold plaster into a smooth face,” Mom said as she opened her handbag.

  “No one can blame the district attorney for trying. If no one recognizes her after this second viewing, I think they’ll have to bury her without a stone,” Helen said.

  I turned to my mother. “Mom, I want to go to the viewing tomorrow.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could catch them.

  “You what?” My mother’s deep-blue eyes widened. “What for?” She stared at me with her hand on her hip. Her mouth hung slightly open as if she wanted to say more but didn’t.

  I replied with the same answer she gave me for going to the viewing. “Maybe I saw her at the depot.”

  Helen gestured with her finger. “He has a point, Ella,” Helen nodded her head in agreement with me and finished her tea.

  I read the expression on my mother’s face like a newspaper headline. She wanted to tell Helen to mind her own concerns, but she was too nice.

  “Helen, it’s up to Ella,” Martha interrupted, breaking the tension that was suddenly pulsing between my mother, myself, and Helen. Martha then placed my mother’s money into the cash register drawer and set our grocery items into a basket.

  “Ella, really, what’s it going to hurt?” Helen glanced at me as I placed another piece of candy into my mouth and began to tumble it around with my tongue. “What’s it going to hurt if Fritzy goes to the showing? All the damage that was done to her face will be covered. Maybe Fritzy did see her before. A lot of people exit the train here.”

  “Helen!” Martha snapped.

  “Thank you, Helen. I’ll talk it over with my brother tonight and see what he thinks. But I can’t see it doing much good.” The heat from my mother’s eyes flushed my skin. She picked up her basket, moved the stool way from the counter, and tugged my arm to leave.

  “Are you all
set, Ella?” Martha asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” my mother replied with a smile that held discomfort. Then she rose from her stool. By the look on her face, I thought I better do the same.

  “Are you two leaving already?” Helen asked with a tinge of surprise in her voice.

  Mom nodded. “Yes, I have to start supper. John’s coming over after he’s done working.”

  Martha looked at my mother and rolled her eyes. “You two have a good night.” She smiled.

  “Thanks, Martha,” my mother said as we headed toward the door.

  “I’m sorry that you have to be on your way so soon, Ella,” Helen said. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

  “Thank you, Helen, you too,” my mother said with a half-hearted smile.

  My mother held the door for me. I looked up at her. Her eyes were locked on mine, and she had a scowl on her face. I knew that I had a load of trouble coming my way. I took a deep breath, stared straight ahead, and clenched my teeth as we walked down the porch steps, hoping she’d forget whatever was going on in her head. When we were far enough away from the store and over the railroad tracks, she stopped and turned to me. “Do not put me in a situation like that again!” she scolded.

  “What do you mean?” I replied, innocently.

  “I don’t appreciate you putting me in the position to make a decision like that in front of Martha and Helen.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said with remorse. “The words just came out of my mouth before I could stop them.” I stared at the ground for a moment.

  My mother placed her finger below my chin and lifted it until my eyes met hers. “That’s all right, honey. I understand. Sometimes our thoughts slip out before we have a chance to think,” she said in a soft voice. “And I think it happens to Helenall the time,” she added.

  “That’s what happened!” I assured her as we began to walk.

  “I’m more upset with Helen. I love her dearly, but sometimes she goes a little too far.”

  I nodded. “She does that sometimes.”

  “Your uncle should be here in another hour or so,” my mother said as we headed toward the bridge. Then she glanced up at the sky. “It looks like the rain passed us by.”

  When we reached the bridge I looked over at her. “I still want to know,” I said with trepidation. “Can I go to the viewing tomorrow?”

  “After supper, I’ll talk it over with Uncle John. Honestly, I really don’t want to go back to the funeral parlor. It was a hard day for me. No one should ever see a face in that type of shape. And just seeing the casket reminded me of your father lying there. I had a hard time sleeping. Why are you so interested in going to the viewing, anyway?” she asked, looking at me out of the corner of her eye, and her lips pressed into a lopsided line.

  “I told you, maybe I saw her at the depot,” I replied, feeling the guilt slither around inside my head.

  “Well, there’s a chance you did, but I don’t think that’s the real reason that you want to go,” my mother said as we stepped onto our porch, and she placed the key into the lock.

  I felt a chill shoot through my body, and it landed in my stomach. “Why do you think I want to go then?” I asked in an unsteady voice.

  She looked directly into my eyes. “I think you’re curious. Since the woman was found, everyone here has been talking about it, and most everyone in Linden has traveled into Batavia for the viewing. And I think you feel left out.” She turned, and she pushed the door open.

  “Maybe,” I shrugged my shoulders, and we stepped into the house. I placed my coat on the hook and shook off my boots.

  Left out? If you only knew… If you only knew.

  Six

  The wax from the burning candles dripped down the tarnished brass sconces. One of the golden-yellow tapers was slightly tilted, dripping spots of wax onto the hardwood floor.

  In the dimly lit room, there was a woman standing by a black and white marble-topped table. She was clutching a handkerchief in her hand. Our eyes locked for a moment. Then she dabbed the tear running down her cheek. A tall man with white hair wearing a dark suit was standing in the doorway to another room. He motioned me toward him.

  I turned back to find my mother and Uncle John, but I didn’t see them. Suddenly, I was standing at the side of the wooden casket. My eyes crept like a spider up the lady’s tattered black boots with broken laces, over her dark blue skirt, above her crossed arms, and hands. One hand had a rosary woven through her fingers.

  My eyes continued to creep up to her shattered face. Her body began to twitch. I gasped. Slowly, her fingers began to move. The rosary slipped out of her hand. Her arms began to loosen and uncross. Her head turned toward me. Her bottom jaw seemed to unhinge and her mouth fell open. A pool of dark blood filled her mouth. The blood began to trickle out, and it dripped down her neck. Swiftly, I felt a sharp clenching pain on my arm. Unable to move my arm, I looked down and saw her bloody nails digging into my skin. I shook loose from her grip. I turned to run out of the room and therehe was, again.

  Gasping for breath, I opened my eyes. I saw my bedroom’s dusty blue walls. My bed sheet was wound tightly around my arm where I felt the lady’s nails. The gloom of the morning sky leaked through the crack in the drapes, letting me know the day was new again. The sound of rain hitting my window whispered relief. I lay there gathering my thoughts as a gust of wind slammed the rain against the window like a bucket of nails.

  “It was only a dream,” I whispered. I unraveled my sheet and looked closer at my aching arm. There were no nail marks or blood. I reached back under my head and felt my pillow. It was damp, and my forehead was sweaty. I sat up and rubbed my face. Then I threw my covers to the side.

  I ambled over to the window to see if there was any sign in the sky that the rain would stop, but all I saw was gloom. It had to be well past 7:00. I grabbed my pocket watch out of the front pocket of my trousers, which were lying on my small deep red velvet chair that once sat in the corner of my grandparents’ bedroom. 7:40. Uncle John planned on picking me up early. He was probably waiting for me in the kitchen.

  After my dream, I wasn’t sure if I should go to the viewing. My own private viewing was probably enough. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, my mother was probably right. I just wanted to see what everyone was talking about, especially now that they fixed her face.

  And with her face fixed, there was hope that someone might recognize her.

  Uncle John, his other farm hands, and I finished the first milking by 11:00, leaving John plenty of time to drive back to my house, pick up my mother, and drive us to the funeral parlor. John made me take off my wet, soiled clothes in the kitchen entryway. I grabbed my clean clothes off the kitchen chair and placed my work clothes in a sack by the door. My hands were a little dirty, so I walked over to the sink, pumped the water, and washed my hands. The house felt cold and damp, so I placed another piece of wood into the fiery ashes and stood close to the woodstove to warm my bones for a couple of minutes and began to dress.

  “Fritzy,” Uncle John yelled from upstairs.

  “What?”

  The stairs creaked as John took each step. He entered the kitchen as he adjusted his dark brown suspenders, and then he looked up at me. “I thought you were going to come upstairs and wash up before you changed your clothes.”

  “Nah, I just washed my hands.”

  My uncle checked my face and brushed his hand through my hair. “I guess you look presentable.”

  I nodded as I finished buttoning my shirt and placed my tweed cap on my head.

  “Are you sure you want to go to the funeral parlor today?” John rubbed his beard as he looked over at me.

  I hesitated for a moment.I wanted to see her face all fixed. I thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yeah, I want to go,” I replied as John held the door open. “Maybe I saw her get off the train,” I replied with the best excuse I had. “And I want to see what all the fuss is about,” I added, even though I was pretty clear on what al
l the fuss was about.

  Through the kitchen door window, I saw my mother sitting at the kitchen table, drinking her tea as she waited for us to arrive back from Uncle John’s farm. I swung the door open; a gust of wind snatched the doorknob from my hand, causing it to hit the wall.

  “Fritzy, how many times have I told you to hold the door when you open it?” my mother scolded.

  “Sorry, Mom, I’ll try to remember next time.”

  “Try to remember next time, please. I don’t want the glass to break.” She shook her head with displeasure. Then she sipped more of her tea from her favorite cup, the white one with a painted red rose on each side. “You’re back sooner than I thought you’d be.”

  “I know.” I looked at my mother, removed my boots outside the door, and left them on the porch.

  “Throw the sack downstairs and go wash up good. You smell like a barn,” my mother insisted.

  “Ugh! I already washed up.” I groaned and glanced over at John.

  “I thought I looked presentable!”

  Uncle John gave me a slight nod. His focused eyes said to do as I was told.

  “You maylookpresentable, but you don’tsmell it. Now run up there and go wash up.” My mother pointed to the stairs as she stood up. Then she placed her cup into the sink.

  I tossed the sack of soiled clothes down the basement stairs, and I watched it tumble to the landing at the bottom. Then I ran upstairs while unbuttoning my shirt. As I finished washing up in the tub, the lady’s shattered bloody face flashed in my head over and over again.

  My heart began to pound harder.

  My chest tightened.

  It was hard to take a breath.

  Sweat beaded on my forehead and neck.

  I splashed myself with water. I could taste the bile that burned my throat. I spit the yellowish wad into the tub and drained the water. Slowly, I stepped out and grabbed my towel off the sink, then made my way to my room and lay down on my bed. I covered up with the towel, but I was still shivering, so I pulled up the blue afghan sitting at the end of my bed and threw it over me for a few minutes until I could breathe again. It was over ten minutes before I felt well enough to dress.