The House of Blue Lights: Voices in the Wind

By Lois Ruth Scott

Renee Rousseau, a young college girl, uncovers shocking secrets of her past in old Cliff High, a seacliff house where her ancestors have lived for 200 years. Secrets that would change her life and send her ordered world down a different path.

Sometimes the strong emotions of the past continue to live in the atmosphere where they are comfortable and the phantom listeners who watch silently will be heard from. People are not who they seem to be and even those that are closest sometimes harbor dark secrets.

She meets a young doctor and, together, they root out the secrets of Cliff High. Renee is shocked at some of the sins, murders and intrigues that come to light after all the passing years. As the shocking indiscretions emerge, she learns much about many people-including herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 22, 2004
• ISBN: 9781469750743

Lois Ruth Scott

Lois Scott was Book Review Editor for The Victoria Advocate for 23 years. She has had a non-fiction book published by Eakin Press, and two novels published by Author?s Choice Press. She is now retired and living in Victoria, Texas, with her husband of 53 years.

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The House of Blue Lights

Voices in the Wind

All Rights Reserved © 2004 by Lois Ruth Scott

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

Mystery and Suspense Press

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ISBN: 0-595-31356-6 (pbk)

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ISBN: 978-1-469-75074-3 (ebook)

Contents

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1

The small town of Bridgelane, Maine lay drowsing in early morning euphoria when the late-model Ford Taurus cruised to a stop alongside the sidewalk and Renee Rousseau opened the car door on the passenger side and stepped briskly out. Dressed in a pair faded jeans and oversized sweater with her college slogan emblazoned on the back, she moved with the lithe agility of young confidence. But she had underestimated the height of the old fashioned New England sidewalk and stumbled as she stepped upon the cool pavement. As she felt herself going down, she caught a flashing sight of a passers-by pausing with a look of alarm, and, a few moments later, a peripheral view of several people rushing to her aid. A car door slammed quickly and her Aunt Helen hurriedly rushed around from the driver’s side.

Are you hurt, Baby? Aunt Helen slid an arm around her shoulder and helped her ease into a sitting position.

I don’t think so, Renee examined her arms and climbed to her feet. A middle-aged woman who had rushed from a drugstore nearby began helping Renee brush the debris off her clothes, and she became aware of a young man who seemed to have taken control of the situation. Dressed in blue jeans and a knit pullover shirt, he was bareheaded but his damp chestnut hair and a fine line along his forehead, were mute evidence of a hat that he had apparently just removed. His smoky-blue eyes narrowed as they swept over her with a keen air of professionalism, and lingered on a small scrape on her cheek.

She was still gathering herself together and nodding her thanks to those around her when the young man who now seemed to be in charge, spoke with an air of concern.

I think we’d better get you to the clinic and have you checked out, he said with authority. There could be injuries that would show up later. That was a pretty nasty fall.

I’m fine, Renee gave him a strained smile.

But we need to make certain, he replied. Several people on their way to work had stopped curiously and now moved backward as Renee looked around into the ring of strange faces. For the first time, she realized the spectacle she must have been, lying on the sidewalk. She flushed a slight pink, and tried to assume an air of dignity and self assurance. How embarrassing, she muttered under her breath.

I’m a doctor, the young man turned to Aunt Helen. She probably IS fine, but a severe bruise or a sprain could manifest later—usually in the middle of the night.

Help her into the car and I’ll drive her to the clinic, Aunt Helen said in concern.

Several bystanders moved up to help her, but Renee opened the car door and got in by herself. I’m fine, she repeated with a touch of irritation. But, in spite of her protests, she was aware of being pressed against strong shoulders with a faint odor of after-shave, as the young doctor tucked her in and closed the car door.

He turned to Aunt Helen. Do you know where to go?

No, Aunt Helen admitted. We just got into town. We’re new here.

Go around this curve and that white building on the right is the clinic, he was saying.

I’m fine, and I see no reason to go to the clinic, Renee said angrily.

But the young man had left and was opening the door to a sturdy four-wheel-drive pickup, parked a little further along the street, and Aunt Helen was putting the Taurus in drive.

As the pickup swung around to head out toward the clinic, she noted that it was dusty, as if it had just come in from country roads.

What would a doctor want with a car like that. She was still irritated and now a small frown creased her forehead.

As the Ford Taurus pulled up into the emergency driveway, the rugged pickup pulled up behind them and the young doctor immerged and came around to open her door. A strong arm guided her out and toward the door of the clinic.

I’m alright, Renee shrugged away. I’m not hurt and I can walk. This is ridiculous," she said angrily.

As the doctor opened the door to the examining room, Renee was ushered in and directed to the examining table. The young doctor pulled on a white coat and reached for his stethoscope; his manner impersonal.

We need to make sure, and then I’ll release you.

Release me? Anger boiled inside Renee. I’m not a prisoner—nor a patient either.

A quick burst of anger flared momentarily in the eyes of the young doctor. I am, in no way, holding you prisoner, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re free to go. He turned toward the door and made it plain that the passageway was clear.

Please, Baby, Aunt Helen cajoled. Let him examine you—for my sake.

Renee relaxed with a look of rebellious submission and eased herself upon the examining table. The doctor said nothing as he put a stethoscope to her neck and back and tested her ankle for signs of a twist or a sprain. The examination was brief and impersonal as Aunt Helen looked on with concern. When the doctor finally stepped back with a nod, his gaze met Renee’s directly for the first time.

You’re alright. No fractures or severe bruises.

I told you that, Renee winced slightly as he swabbed disinfectant on the scrape on her cheek.

The doctor held out a hand to Aunt Helen and introduced himself.

I’m Doctor Jonas Marsh. This small clinic is the only medical facility we have in Bridgelane. For crucial cases they send a helicopter from Boston Med.

I’m Helen Oakes and this is my niece, Renee Rousseau. Aunt Helen introduced herself and her niece. Renee gave the doctor her hand with an attitude of reluctant truce, but she was studying him under lowered lids. He looked to be in his mid-twenties and was handsome in a rugged sort of way. She would never have guessed him to be a doctor. His tanned face and no-nonsense demeaner seemed to place him as more the outdoor type. Something about him seemed to mesh perfectly with that four-wheel-drive pickup he drove.

Are you staying in town or are you just passing through? Doctor Jonas Marsh asked.

We’ll be here for the summer, Aunt Helen answered. We’re going to be staying at Cliff High. We both have our reasons for being here. As for me, I’m a new widow struggling to reconstruct a life, and Renee wants to try to reconstruct something about her ancestry. She knows nothing about the McClellands and she feels she might be able to find out something about her mother and her mother’s people by spending time up there and talking to the people in Bridgelane.

Cliff High—the McClellands? Doctor Jonas had grown still, his intense gaze holding Renee’s in a vise.

The McClellands?—he repeated thoughtfully. Renee Rousseau, he added slowly. You have to be Mary’s baby."

Yes, Renee said; still with a slight expression of quiet resentment. Did you know my mother?

No. My father was the resident doctor here when the McClellends were living at Cliff High. I assumed his practice when he left. But the McClellands at Cliff High was all before my time. I never met any of them.

The full battery of the doctor’s intense gaze lingered upon her and Renee was aware of a strand of curly hair that had escaped and was inching toward his forehead, and firm character lines that seemed chiseled in his rugged young features. There was something strong and determined about Doctor Jonas but she felt a slight anger at herself for noticing him at all.

Renee gathered her dignity around her and slid off the examining table. She was a slender, willowy girl with startling green eyes that could pierce like an ice pick when disturbed or angry. But those eyes could, in turn, radiate warmth and tenderness. She wasn’t all that tall; lacking an inch of being as tall as Aunt Helen, with a thick mane of blonde hair that would lie in a sleek pageboy if given the chance. However, it rarely got that chance as Renee was a free spirit and usually just pulled it back in a pony tail and secured it with a rubber band. An oval face with a slightly uptilted nose gave her a look of impudence and independence that sometimes puzzled her Aunt Helen. The McClelland women had always been known for their quiet graciousness and discreet mannerisms. This one broke the mold.

Aunt Helen we should be going, she lifted her chin as she spoke in cool tones.

Yes, Aunt Helen smiled at the doctor. We’re on our way to Cliff High now. Renee was born there, but she left as a baby, so she has to get acquainted with the house. She’s inherited it, you know."

No, I didn’t know, Doctor Jonas said with a tinge of surprise.

As they prepared to leave, Doctor Jonas stood silently watching Renee. I’m glad you’re alright, he said quietly.

I told you from the first that I was, Renee felt the anger rising again. All this was unnecessary.

Aunt Helen thanked the doctor and waved as they drove away, but Renee assumed an air of detachment and did not look back.

A short time later, Aunt Helen stopped the Ford Taurus on the winding road up to Cliff High and Renee sat quietly looking up at the solemn, two-story house silhouetted on a cliff above them. It’s gray, weather-beaten exterior told of severe storms and a pounding ocean below, but it’s sightless windows seemed alive as they reflected the early morning sunlight. There was something disturbing about the house that she couldn’t quite pin-point. She had known at first glance that it had held strong life within it’s confines and there seemed to be still a trailing echo of people long gone and voices long stilled. With a blue sky as a background and a cool, wrap-around porch, it seemed to be looking out at the world in distilled contemplation. Renee got a vague feeling that it was waiting for something—or someone—as she looked silently back. She was flooded with mixed emotions as Aunt Helen waved a delicate hand on which a small diamond ring sparkled and a modest gold wrist-watch gleamed in the warm sun.

You’re home, Baby. In that old oak house, here on this high, rocky coast, you were born. With the price of wood these days, it would cost a fortune to build that house today. It’s been there for generations and those heavy old wooden beams has kept it intact and the world out.

Cliff High, Renee breathed the word in awe. The McClelland stronghold. Here lay her roots—a hidden world that had eluded her all her life. She would be nineteen this year and she needed to know about her background—her lineage. She felt a surge of emotion as she realized that she was looking at the place where her life had began—where her mother, Mary, had lived—and died. A lump rose in her throat as she sat silently looking at the house on the high bluff. She felt her face flush with a rush of adrenalin as she tried to force a smile—without success. She had to gain control of herself and present a calm and collected front to the world. She would not fall to pieces.

You’ve heard about it all your life and now it’s yours, Aunt Helen said quietly.

Renee was still silent, but her aunt had caught the turmoil that had passed in quick succession over the face of her niece. And Aunt Helen had seen something akin to quiet shock—before it was hidden behind a mask of sophistication. I know it doesn’t look exactly like the pictures you were shown, but it’s so close to the salt spray of the ocean that it’s hard to keep fresh paint intact. Aunt Helen explained And, of course, the years have taken their toll. Aunt Helen suddenly fell into a hushed and pensive mood. Three generations of McLellands have lived here, Baby. It was built for your great great grandmother by her new husband. She loved this place!

I know, Aunt Helen, but she came here as a newlywed, and when you’re newlywed you love any place. Renee said quietly.

Times were different then, Aunt Helen said in that same low voice. Girls in great great grandmother’s day stayed where they were put. Their husbands called the shots and they obeyed. However, we were always told that she had loved living here—and sometimes her memory can be felt in the house.

Well people come in all denominations, Renee replied; her eyes still fastened on the house that might hold the secrets of her past. She could mask her emotions but she was not able to put a smile on her face yet.

Maybe she did love it. Renee continued in a low tone.

Honey, this house is over two hundred years old, Aunt Helen said with pride. Your great great grandfather is said to have told his family that he built it to last through the ages. He had those huge beams shipped in from the Belgian Congo and the foundation laid into the rock there on the cliff. Aunt Helen was quiet for a long moment as the two sat looking at the old house with mixed emotions.

They lived to a ripe old age here—then another generation of McLellands moved into the house, she said quietly; continuing her train of thought. We don’t know that much about those early generations, but it was the last one who made this place a legend. Your grandfather—and my father—Linus, added the porch. You’ll notice it doesn’t quite match the older part of the house. Linus tried. He could never stand imperfection. But it just never did work. He even tried painting the whole house to match the porch, but paint doesn’t last very long so close to the ocean.

Yes, you can tell the porch is of a later vintage, Renee said quietly, But it looks just as sturdy as the original house.

Yes, he meant it to be. When a McLelland builds something, it endures. Aunt Helen’s face fell into serious lines and her eyes had a faraway look as she continued in a low, thoughtful monotone, But nobody has lived here for over twenty years.

Suddenly she seemed to pull herself back to the present and turned to Renee with a small smile as she reached for her hand.

You know, Baby, your mother—Mary—and I were born here too, and spent our childhood here. The house used to be lit up like a Christmas tree on party nights. The McLellands had money. We still do. When it’s been in the family a long time it’s referred to as old money." My Daddy, Linus McLelland, entertained his political buddies up here. There were some very important people who attended these meetings and sometimes they played poker until dawn. But these meetings were strictly for men, and sometimes, before the night was over, your Grandfather Linus would telephone down to Bridgelane below and order more whiskey. Your Grandmother, Olive, would retire to her room.

Who would come up in the middle of the night to bring more whisky? Renee asked.

You’d be surprised, Aunt Helen said. There wasn’t much money in little Bridgelane. And there was scads of it up here on Cliff High. Any time whiskey was ordered in the middle of the night, the courier always knew that the party had mellowed and everyone was in an expansive mood—and there would be a large tip.

But who?

A restaurant and bar called The Sea Gull’s Nest. You’ll get acquainted with it after you’ve been here a short while."

And Cliff High was known all over the state, Renee said with a quiet gaze at the old house. I understand that Grandfather Linus ran for Governor."

Yes, he did. Aunt Helen looked over at Renee. He didn’t get it though. Daddy Linus always seemed to fall just a little bit short in most of his ambitions. To be truthful, I think he was a little weak. The McLelland money kept him propped up. However, he had that Midas touch. He made money when others failed, and, for him, I think it was a power play. He wanted everyone to know who he was. He enjoyed partying and being in the limelight.

Aunt Helen gave a heavy sigh. Oh, there were some great parties here. Sometimes they were camouflaged as political meetings, and, of course, your mother, Mary, and I were always banished to our rooms, but we knew what was going on. I remember watching the maid clean up after one of those meetings. Everything smelled like stale cigar smoke and whiskey.

Aunt Helen smiled slightly, a faint gleam of joyful conspiracy in her eyes. Then there were the other times when the wives came. Your Grandfather Linus was a social person and loved entertaining. And he would extend the same courtesy to his wife, Olive. However, the wives were expected to be very proper and well behaved.

Aunt Helen chuckled. It was the old double standard in full bloom.

And I suppose Grandmother Olive had charge of those times when the wives came, Renee said.

Yes, she was a gracious hostess. Mary and I were allowed to attend these hen parties, Aunt Helen laughed. You can’t imagine how much we looked forward to them."

Was Mary—sometimes it’s hard to realize she was my mother—ever disobedient or rebellious? Renee asked.

Oh never, Baby. Olive would have put down a child rebellion in a hurry. Both your mother and I obeyed Olive. She was a strong, determined woman.

Aunt Helen glanced over at Renee again. You know Baby, this car has a portable top Would you like to put it down? Get a taste of sun and surf?"

Renee nodded and Aunt Helen pushed a button. The top slowly began to fold—catching a balloon of wind for a moment, then coming to rest neatly within the confines of it’s framework. As the top lowered, the swirling gusts of wind suddenly buffered them. It seemed to Renee that it was alive and there were voices—hidden ones that were silent, but somehow known, in the strong bursts.

She was silent as she absorbed the sensations in the wind; her hair moving in rhythm with the coils of strength that the wind sent dancing around them. The house on the bluff sat ominously still, seemingly oblivious to the strong wind that buffeted it with gusts of power. Renee thought silently that it had withstood these onslaughts through the years without flinching or giving an inch, and it was likely to withstand them longer.

Aunt Helen sat motionless, as if listening for something. Her heart-shaped face was still; with only her hazel eyes seeming to glow with an inner secret as she continued to look at the house silhouetted against the sky. Her silvery brown hair, caught up in a French roll, that was now unraveling in the wind, seemed a perfect accompaniment to a tasteful pink slacks suit, with only a double string of pearls to relieve the severity of a simple white blouse. Small diamond earrings winked through the strands of hair that had loosened as she turned her head recklessly and embraced the rollicking wind.

Oh Baby! This brings back so many memories! she cried into the wind. There was such a look of pure joy on Aunt Helen’s face that Renee paused in wonder. Aunt Helen looked alive and vibrant. Renee would have liked to have been caught up in the same mood as Aunt Helen, but she was still studying the brooding house on the cliff.

Aunt Helen fell silent for a moment, her mind prowling back into some past arena. We can restore it and have small gatherings in the evenings and little impromptu parties at first. You know—start getting acquainted with people in Bridgelane. The quaintness of the house will add to it’s charm.

Aunt Helen, you aren’t dreaming of restoring it to it’s former glory?

That would be so absolutely wonderful! Aunt Helen’s eyes had taken on an extra brightness and her face seemed to glow. Like in Daddy Linus’ day.

Aunt Helen, let’s don’t get carried away—, Renee gave her a slow, uneasy look of caution. That was another time and another generation. We’re only visiting."

Aunt Helen was still again, with a faraway look in her eyes. Just wait until you see the sun come up over the ocean, Baby. It’s like the dawn of creation.

Hey—come back to the present, Renee patted her hand. it’s nice to dream, but don’t wallow in it.

Sorry, Baby. Let’s go on up and look it over.

Renee said nothing. The sun felt good and she was glad to be out on summer break and away from classes for awhile. She was a Sophmore this year at New York State and had definitely decided to major in journalism. She knew where she was going and had a roadmap to get there. But before moving forward, she had to get a handle on her past. She’d always known there was money in the family as her childhood had not been without material advantages, but Aunt Helen had never seemed interested in travel, nor broadening her horizons. She had married Michael Oakes, who had a small farm in Pennsylvania, and life had been simple, but good, during those childhood years. The farm had grown and prospered, and, as she grew older, Renee realized that it was the McLelland money that had supported this growth and prosperity. Aunt Helen had seemed content to just be a wife and mother and maintain a low-key role in life. Renee’s school days had been spent in a small rural school with childhood friends and birthday parties: picnics in summer and ice skating in winter. It had been a good childhood and Aunt Helen had always participated in school functions and

P.T.A. She remembered the day Aunt Helen had helped a kitchen-full of little girls make a cake for the end-of-school-term party.

But there had been one restriction in the family, and this Aunt Helen was adamant about. Nobody disciplined her niece, Renee, except herself. Uncle Mike had learned early to back off. He was always kind and considerate with Renee, but there was a buffer zone and each knew it. She had realized as she grew older that she really didn’t know Uncle Mike. He was always just there.

She was Aunt Helen’s baby.

And there was another factor in Aunt Helen’s life that was always respected and never talked about. And that was a private room adjoining her bedroom where she kept her business files. In this room was a computer with Internet connections, a private telephone line, and several cabinets of files. Renee had never been allowed to enter this room and Uncle Mike avoided it like a plague. When she had been still a little girl and afraid of monsters under her bed, she would sleep with Aunt Helen and would sometimes wonder why this room was so special, but as she had grown older, she had realized that this room ran the farm—it ran their very lives—and below the dreamy exterior of Aunt Helen’s enigmatic memories lay a steel trap mind. Sometimes Aunt Helen spent hours in her special room with the door closed, working at her computer beside a wide window, framed with Priscilla curtains that moved slightly in the evening breeze.

Renee’s thick blond hair, caught up in the inevitable pony tail, moved with the wind as Aunt Helen put the car in drive and they moved upward. A thousand questions brushed against each other in the capricious melee of salt wind, and tugged at her imagination, as Aunt Helen maneuvered the car skillfully along the narrow, winding road. The higher they went, the stronger the wind became.

I wonder why they chose the highest spot on the coast to build their nest, Renee said thoughtfully, as they wound around hairpin curves dotted with porous rocks and scraggly weeds with an occasional wildflower scattered among the roadside boulders. The early morning sunshine glinted on some of the more colorful rocks and gave them an aura of delicate beauty, as they climbed upward.

One could hold off an army up here, Renee said, looking below.

Aunt Helen simply smiled as the car hugged the narrow road that wound upward, and into, the driveway of the empty, waiting house. As the car motor died, the house itself cut off the wind and a heavy, brooding silence seemed to engulf everything. The barren rocks on the grounds lay like silent sentries, broken only by the sound of the pounding surf below and the impatient sea wind that moaned around the corners.

It has a personality, Renee said nervously.

"A house is a lot like a person, Baby. It lives if someone gives it life. I’ve always thought of this house as female. Sometimes—in my dreams—I know of a girl standing on a rocky ledge overlooking the ocean, with her arms raised and long hair blowing in the wind. I think the girl is me. When we lived here, Mary and I used to lie in our bed at night and listen to the wind prowling outside. It was somehow comforting. Then you were born and Mary would hold you close and—I know that—sometimes in the deep night, she cried for your father. For her, the wind became a lonely sound and—maybe it was too much for her.

Aunt Helen was silent for a long moment. Your father, Robert Rousseau, was a handsome man with dark hair and eyes. You know you were named after his mother, Renee. That’s all we ever knew about his family.

I think the name is French, Renee said helpfully.

Yes, Aunt Helen said. He was French—Lots of times I have seen his face when I looked at you. She suddenly smiled and Renee knew she would reveal no more. That curtain that she had come to know so well had closed, and she had shut the door.

Nobody has been here for a long time, Renee mused as her gaze swept the house and surrounding grounds."

Aunt Helen was silent for a long moment. Renee got the distinct impression that her aunt hadn’t heard her. Helen’s mind prowled down a distant road of the past.

As Renee stepped out of the car and stood on the crusty, barren ground, she looked down at the town of Bridgelane below. It seemed so far down there. From up here, she could see every building and establishment and there wasn’t all that much to it. The little town looked old, as did most of New England.—but the weather-beaten buildings wore their history with pride. Numerous large maples dotted yards and formed an umbrella along lined streets, giving the town a shady, tranquil air. Several of the more prestigious establishments stood out. The Catholic