Sins of the Sisters

By Faith A. Keahey

One winters day during the Great War, two adorable little girls watched out the window of the landing between the first and second floors of the three-story brick Victorian home. From their perch, they could see the American soldiers struggle with a steel-gray metal box against the fierce Chicago wind. The children tried to be as invisible as possible as the men entered the house and deposited the military casket in the front parlor. They had overheard the servants and knew inside the coffin was the body of Uncle John. This day was the beginning of the end.

Albert Meyers had been quick to put his old life as Augie Steinmetz of Germany behind him. Ill-gotten money had gained him the education he lusted after as though it were a seductive woman. Before long, he was living his American dream in the stately home situated in the elite South Shore Drive neighborhood. With Attorney-at-Law tacked on the end of his name, he had married the frail Harriet, the most beautiful woman he had ever met. Soon two daughters, Molly and Sally, completed his perfect world. Unfortunately for his wife and the two darling little girls, Albert paid for his sins with his own life.

Over the next decade, it seemed the family was cursed. By the time the stock market crashed in 1929, only the daughters and two of their domestics had survived to tell the story. Even the stately brick home was reduced to rubble and ashes. Molly continued to step in one mud puddle after another as she struggled to fight off the wolves in sheeps clothing that hid around every corner and lurked behind every bush. She rationalized there must be gods and goddesses somewhere in the heavens playing games with peoples lives. Sometimes you won the trophy, and sometimes you were the prize.

Her enemies often made the mistake of assuming Molly was nave. She was young and inexperienced, but she was extremely intelligent and tenacious and would go to any length to protect the people and the things she loved. She had no equal when it came to dispersing justice and extracting revenge, that is to say, except, possibly her sisters.

When Molly looked for a quiet place to lick her wounds, she settled on the small mountain community of Brown Bear City. She quickly learned there were no walls strong enough to keep away pain and sorrow, but she had a valuable weaponshe was wealthy.

You will get caught up in Mollys colorful life and become endeared to the people she collects along lifes pathway. You may well agree with her assessment; some people just deserve to die.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546200048

Book preview

Prologue

December 1899

Augie Steinmetz carefully closed the deteriorating front door of the seedy boarding house where he rented a cell-like room at the back of the second floor. This morning, he stepped outside onto a snow-packed street as the frigid December air swirled around him. The handsome young man ran to the middle of the road to catch the horse-drawn rail car. His dark gray wool jacket did little to keep the biting cold from chilling him to the bone. He detested every second of his mundane life and his job at the Munich Bank. Two years of his life – wasted.

Voices echoed in the windowless counting room in spite of the wooden floors and heavily paneled walls. Here several dozen men around Augie’s age of twenty, or younger, counted stacks of currency and piles of coins while seated on hard chairs at long tables. Each considered himself fortunate to have their worthy position considering the depressed times and lack of available jobs. It was better than spending sixteen hours a day working for the city either digging graves or cleaning stables for the wagon master.

When they spoke, it was in whispers, all but the bald-headed manager who prodded. Gentlemen, let’s get this money counted. The report needs finished, it is the end of the year.

Augie restrained his tongue from telling the man they could get more done if he would shut the hell up. The room was stifling hot in the summer, but today was winter and the men could see their breath with only a handful of coals burning quietly in the fireplace. His desperation to leave this part of the world and his miserable existence had reached the boiling point. It was time to go. He craved a decent education, one that would earn him the title of Attorney-at-Law, but more than anything, he wanted to live in America.

Two things helped him survive; the first was his dream, the other was the luscious Dorthea Vreeland. She was charged with providing a fresh pail of water and small rags for the money handlers to wipe their fingers from time to time. The charming young lady bounced from room to room and man to man enjoying the attention and ogling. There was something special about Augie besides being the best looking with his lavender smelling, chestnut colored hair and his cat-green eyes. Perhaps it was because she was positive he entertained more than just naughty thoughts about her. She was a beauty with her golden hair modestly braided and wrapped around her head. Today she wore a dark blue nine-gored skirt of mirrored velvet that barely touched the top of her black boots. Her blouse was a popular shirt-waist of white cotton and over them she wore her long one-piece work apron to protect her clothing. The basque for her outfit hung in the coat room along with her woolen cape and her treasured fur hat; a gift from an uncle who tanned the hides of several rabbits. It wasn’t very stylish but it was warm.

Augie smiled and once he even winked at her, but there was a plan and the plan did not include Dorthea, or any other woman for that matter. He was going to America and nothing short of his own demise was going to stop him. Determination and dedication combined with his youth were his allies as he squirreled away as much of his meager salary as he could afford along with the coins he pilfered from the counting room whenever possible, often in the cuffs of his trousers. He didn’t have as much money as he wanted and knew he would need, but today had to be the day. Dorthea’s charms were starting to get to him and he was terrified he would give in to his lust and ruin his entire life.

As soon as Augie entered the building this morning, he sought out the bald-heded man, finding him already in the counting room admonishing a co-worker for counting too slow. There you are Mr. Snyder, Augie interrupted. I received the most horrid news this morning just as I was leaving for work. A cousin came with word that my poor, dear, sweet, mother may be dying as we speak. Tears worked their way into his eyes. I can barely speak of it, it’s just too much. I must hasten to her side.

You poor man, say no more. I’ll not have it. The small man placed his hand on the grieving lad’s shoulder. Take all the time you need.

I may have to stay on a bit, considering my father. I’m told it could well be the Mongolian Flu. Augie removed a hanky from his lapel pocket and wiped his brow and then his weeping eyes. The supervisor turned quite pale and scurried away positive the sweating lad was showing symptoms of the deadly flu, not knowing Augie was just extremely nervous.

It really is amazing how one small incident, a twist of fate if you will, can be life- altering or life-shattering. Today, as Augie’s head was filled with plans to take the train across France, find a seaport and work his passage to America on a freighter, a burning ember jumped out of the fireplace in the building next door. It landed on a straw broom leaning against the wall. The broom slid down the wall like a drunken sailor and toppled over a rather rickety free-standing coat rack over-loaded with heavy military overcoats. Before long the coats were ablaze and the desk they had fallen on, loaded with books, ledgers and papers.

While the chain of flames made its way around the room the black powder kegs in the adjacent room waited silently. The arsenal of ammo and munitions took only seconds to explode and blow down most of the armory and an enormous hole in the back of the bank. Daylight and freezing air flooded the vault-like room as the back wall crumbled. Black, acrid smoke rushed in with flying dust and debris. Several more horrendous blasts occurred before it was over. People ran around like chickens with their heads cut off not realizing what had happened and while they were frenzied, Augie reached down in the darkness of the smoke and scooped up several stacks of the money, stuffed them inside his jacket and hurried out the front door.

Outside he pulled up the collar on his overcoat and made an exceptionally quick trip to the boarding house, grabbed his bag waiting just inside his door and hurried back to the street. Augie was filled with excitement and anxious to board the train. His thoughts were on his father and much younger sister living about fifty miles away as he didn’t know if he would ever see them again.

Hold up there, a voice called. Frightened, he stopped short, his entire body ready to bolt when he pivoted and saw the policeman in a dark brown uniform with large black buttons.

Is something wrong? Sweat beaded on his forehead in spite of the freezing cold. He tried to be casual wiping his brow with his sleeve as though he was removing snow.

Did you drop a glove? The officer waved a gray glove.

Augie held up his hands as best he could shifting the weight of his bag. No, wearing mine. Thanks anyway. He hurried off towards the train station now close enough to hear the loud puffs of steam from the engines. The train yard was enormous, earsplitting noisy, dirty and smelly. He could hardly wait to get there.

She seemed to have jumped out from nowhere, but the truth was, she was on his tail the second he left the bank and was only able to catch up to him when the policeman stopped him. He shoved Dorthea against the recessed doorway of a vacant building. What the hell do you think you’re doing?

I’m going with you, she replied meekly.

No, you’re not. My mother’s ill. I’m going home. He pressed his body against hers trying to be as harsh and gruff as possible.

She threw her head back and laughed. Now that’s rich. Your mother’s dead. Snyder would have known that if he had looked at your papers. Besides, I saw you take that money. Dorthea was bolder now and nodded towards the policeman still carrying the lost glove now thirty yards away.

All right, all right. Augie relented grabbing her by the elbow and steering her towards the sound of the trains. He was furious. She was an intruder into his future, and unwelcome invader. I’ll take you as far as the port of Havre.

Where’s that?

France. Besides, what do you care?

By the time they were crossing somewhere in the middle of France, Augie was ready to stuff Dorthea’s mouth with cotton and gag her. He didn’t know another human being could talk so much, and couldn’t decide which was the most annoying, her, a yapping dog or a bawling calf. On the way back from the dining car as they passed outside on the metal platform above the drawbar to the next car, he raised his voice to be heard over the clicking of the wheels against the rails and the groaning of the cars. Don’t you ever shut up?

She immediately started crying. How can you be so mean to me?

Look, I never asked you to come along. You invited yourself.

Give me half the money and I’ll go away.

Before he could answer the train lurched throwing the woman back against the door of the car. He heard her jaw snap. She seemed to just sort of melt to the floor. A small amount of blood pooled on the platform. Damn, damn, first you had to get into my life, than you had to complicate it. He put both hands on the railing and with the side of his foot slid the woman’s body closer to the edge of the platform where the stairs were blocked only by a thick rope. The partial moon reflected on the surface of the wide river the train was quickly approaching. He didn’t know if it was the Seine or the Loire, he didn’t care. One easy shove and he was left standing alone in the dark of the night. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his pipe and tapped it against the railing.

It looked like the passage to America had a hefty price tag.

Chapter One

ALBERT AUTOMATICALLY REACHED for his silver pocket watch when the doorbell of the three-story brick house chimed. His young daughters had saved for months to buy him the now-cherished time piece for Christmas, with the engraving that looked more like a horse with antlers than a majestic elk. He lovingly caressed the Old English flourishes of his initials engraved on the back of the case, and stared momentarily at the recent photo in the circular frame. The precious girls captured in time smiled back. He noted, The soldiers are punctual.

Yes, sir, the stately, silver-haired butler, Samuel, replied as he ambled towards the ornate door with its long oval window etched with lilies and hummingbirds. Albert slipped the orb back into the small vest pocket of his expensive pin-striped suit, and gave himself a once over in the mirror of the hall tree. He was a handsome man by anyone’s standards with his flashing green eyes and chestnut brown hair slicked back with sweet smelling lavender oil.

The older man paused with his hand on the glass doorknob and tossed his employer a wry look, knowing the last thing he wanted was for him to open that door. Albert breathed deeply; inhaling and exhaling slowly. Okay, Samuel, let’s be done with this. I’ve done all I can to change Harriet’s mind. She’s determined to have her brother’s wake in the parlor. Albert lowered his voice. It just doesn’t seem proper having a casket here in my house. I wouldn’t care if it wasn’t for the children.

Samuel looked down at the front of his dark suit and realized he was still wearing his long white bib apron. Unnerved he quickly removed it, opened the hall closet door and tossed it inside; planning on retrieving it as soon the soldiers were done and gone. I understand how you feel. Rose did her best to talk Miz Harriet into using the funeral home.

Albert nodded. He knew neither Samuel nor Rose thought it was horrific to have a wake in the home. I appreciate her efforts. Harriet hasn’t been the same since she received the cablegram. What’s it been, two weeks now? The young man, a boy really, had knocked on the door, so serious looking in his dark-brown, wool uniform. No doubt the lad knew the life-altering news the telegram contained. He had thrust the yellow piece of paper at Rose and scrambled off the porch not even waiting for a tip. The short, chubby cook hurried to the dining room with the missive in hand and nervously laid it on the table where Harriet was having her morning tea.

Albert didn’t look up from the newspaper until his wife screamed. He rushed to her side just as she swooned and rather melted towards the floor. Rose grabbed the cablegram as it floated down.

Oh, my heavens. Rose’s eyes filled with tears. Her brother’s done got himself kilt in that there war in Europe. What a crying shame, poor young fellow. The chubby cook sat down heavily on the dining room chair, picked up the bottom of her apron and dabbed her eyes. Stoic Samuel patted her shoulder gently looking rather embarrassed at her display of emotions. She quickly reined herself in and tore off for the kitchen, knowing her husband would have a long lecture in store for her for sitting down at the master’s table.

Harriet sobbed and wailed in such a manner Albert thought it best to carry her upstairs. She cried out over and over, Not my brother, not John, there must be a mistake. Once inside the privacy of their bedroom she insisted on having her brother’s body delivered to the house.

Damn it, Harriet, I really am sorry about your brother, but it is almost 1918 and the Dark Ages are over. We don’t live on a farm out in the middle of nowhere, not that it would matter if we did, he grumbled. I don’t want a dead body here in the house. The girls Harriet, think of the girls. Besides, in the thirteen years we’ve been married I’ve only met the fellow twice!

Harriet sat on the edge of the extra wide full size bed smoothing the invisible wrinkles in her ankle-length crème colored skirt. I don’t care what you say. He was all the family I had left! Her bottom lip dropped out as though she suddenly turned into a two-year old. Albert stood next to the bed with his hands on his hips wondering who stole his wife and who in the hell this woman was. By now she had thrown herself down on her stomach and was screaming so loud he caved in to her whims rather than listen to her wail for another second.

All right Harriet, a home wake it is. Just stop that inferno wailing before the children hear you and think someone is torturing you!

Samuel wore a grim expression as he opened the door and stepped back so Albert could come forward to shake the hand of the shivering officer who hurried inside to get out of the icy gusting wind. Sorry for your loss, the captain said sincerely, extending his hand. If you’re ready, I’ll have the men bring in Private Ragsdale.

Yes, we’re ready. Albert smiled stoically feeling like someone was about to force him to put his head in a guillotine while promising it was going to be fun. Inside he was furious. As far as he was concerned people of his stature no longer had caskets and corpses in their parlors. They could afford a funeral home; after all, this was Chicago! There certainly was no shortage of them.

Albert followed the captain out, but stopped at the door of the screened front porch. The mesh did nothing to slow the bitter winter wind. One could almost see the air being forced through the seams of the screens as it whistled and howled and wore the face of evil as though death was at his door, and indeed it was. He pulled his suit coat collar up against the frigidness swirling around him. The officer made his way down the sidewalk edged with frozen brown grass and approached six waiting men.

The austere-mannered captain spoke to a sober sergeant who saluted and pivoted in one swift movement to direct the small group of soldiers. They began the process of removing the flag-draped metal casket from the military hearse. Albert wondered how they would prevent the fierce Chicago wind from whipping the American flag across the state into Iowa. The soldiers methodically inched the coffin from the panel wagon, wrapping a white-gloved hand tightly onto the edge of the flag’s fabric and carefully tucking it around the handles of the casket. The flag stayed taut against the top and sides of the metal box. Albert forgot the Arctic cold for a moment, caught up in the ritual and watching them take baby side steps until they were clear of the vehicle. Once free it was gently placed on a gurney. All seven soldiers wore bright red ears from the stinging cold and rushed towards the house with their burden in hand faster than sanctioned by Army protocol.

Albert directed them to the white-painted double French doors of the parlor. Damn you Harriet. Damn you to hell! He couldn’t stem the regret he felt for not standing his ground. He stopped short at the parlor doors. I’ve been so weak and now there it is - a coffin right in my own house.

It’s such a terrible war over there in France, the captain said as he stood next to Albert proudly watching his men. He rocked slightly on his heels. Did you hear Missouri is talking about enacting a law against speaking German? The state’s overrun you know. Albert raised an eyebrow as the soldier spoke as though Missouri was overrun with vermin not Germans. Wish they would send me to Europe, the captain continued, I’m a good shot. I’d send a bunch of those damned Krauts to hell where they belong.

Krauts? A rather disheartened Albert rubbed the bottom of his chin. Yes, of course, Krauts. He’d given no thought to the war in Europe, or the patriotic aspect of John’s death, sacrificing for country and all. His mind was on his beautiful daughters. His little girls in the same house where there was a dead body. It was just too….macabre. Yes, that word would do.

The solemn-faced soldiers began to file out of the room after stopping to salute their fallen comrade. Each shook Albert’s hand and offered condolences. The last soldier, almost a boy, paused at the foot of the casket and carefully smoothed a corner of the flag with his hand while he blinked back tears.

But for the grace of God…., the captain almost whispered. That could be any of us.

Thank you, captain - and your men. You did a fine job returning my poor brother-in-law. Much appreciated. Albert hoped he sounded sincere. After all his reality was a hostile, fanatical wife upstairs in the dark acting like she had no idea who he was. Completely dismayed, he had finally packed his clothing and personal items and moved into an empty bedroom. I can’t live my life in the dark. She paid him no attention.

Now he closed the door behind the soldiers and leaned the back of his head against the cold window and closed his eyes. As the head of a prestigious law firm in downtown Chicago he was well known for his keen insight, gregarious nature and patience. Until these last few weeks, he believed he was living the American dream. He swallowed the tears that tried to fill his eyes as he crossed the room to the hall tree where he sat down heavily, completely frustrated at having the lifeless man in his parlor. A man he barely knew was ruining his life.

Realizing the parlor door was ajar, he placed his hands on his thighs, sighed again and stood up. He walked slowly to the room where John lay inside the metal box, reached for the door knob and gently closed it. Good night little brother, he said in fluent German.

He heard tittering on the landing between the first and second floors, and looked up to see the angelic faces of his daughters grinning down at him through the oak newels. He would have been hard pressed to pick a favorite; both so beautiful and loving. Sally, the oldest was the sensible one; Molly as stubborn as the day was long. What are you monkeys doing?

Was that Uncle John? Ten-year-old Sally wore her most serious face.

I’m afraid so sweetie. He moved to stand under the landing where the girls perched like hoot owls in their ankle length, light-pink cotton dresses. Both with a white sailor’s collar and a wide sash tied in a bow in the back. A hired maid did nothing but tend to the children’s vast wardrobe. Today an inexperienced Rose had patiently wound each girl’s hair into ringlets and struggled to make perfect bows since that particular maid had the day off. "I had hoped you weren’t aware your Uncle John was visiting."

I’m sorry, Papa, Sally replied seriously looking quite downcast. We couldn’t help but overhear the servants. The last thing she wanted in her life was for her father to be unhappy. Actually, that wasn’t quite right, she didn’t want to be responsible for causing him a second of sadness.

Is he really dead? Can we see him? Eight-year-old Molly’s blue eyes sparkled. I saw a dead cat once…. and a bird. They were stiff. She made her body rigid and stuck her arms straight out in front of her more like a zombie than a dead cat or bird. There was ants all over the bird. Does Uncle John have ants on him?

No ants my little love and he is definitely dead. I don’t think Mother will want you anywhere near that room. Albert realized now how foolish he was to think he could pull off having a body in the parlor without the girls being aware.

We don’t member him. Molly prepared to argue her case stubbornly wanting to see the dead man.

I haven’t seen him either, but I am certain he just looks like he’s sleeping. Albert knew how mulish Molly could be and tried to hide his smile by smoothing his pencil-thin mustache with his thumb and index finger. Promise me you will stay away from the parlor. Worried his tone was too soft he added sternly, Do you hear me?

How do you know he doesn’t have ants if you haven’t looked at him? Molly’s powder blue eyes changed instantly to the color of the stormy afternoon sky. She was as different from her sister as the Moon and Mars were from each other. Molly had the fair-hair and pale skin of their mother while Sally was the image of the dark-haired, green-eyed father. Molly had an almost unshakable will. Her father couldn’t help but admire her strength and determination, and beamed at her in spite of her challenging him.

Promise me, Molly Meyers, you will stay out of that room.

I heard you! Molly’s lower lip trembled from frustration not fear.

The doorbell chimed again. Samuel appeared instantly almost as though he had stepped out of the coat closet. He opened the door without hesitation. The group of church ladies silently filed past each wearing a hat more outlandish than the other and each carrying a floral arrangement. They quickly vanished into the forbidden room. Suddenly Albert’s smile faded. He put his finger to his lips and signaled the girls to be quiet. Mother was coming. Sally pulled Molly into her lap as they listened to the foreboding footfalls of the mother’s steps making her way down the hallway. Her long black-satin skirt swished as she passed the huddled children. They were as invisible as the air she breathed. She looked so beautiful even with her swollen eyes and face like it was dusted with flour, and her flaxen hair pulled back into a strict bun.

Albert stood steadfast just below the children and watched as Harriet vanished into the parlor. The loud door-slamming warned the children to stay away. He shook his head in helplessness and said a quick prayer for the world to be normal after her brother was buried. Come on girls, I’ll race you to the ballroom.

The third floor of the house had rooms for the maids as well as the large ballroom with its highly-polished oak floor and an orchestra balcony. He shuffled through the 78 records to find his favorite The Blue Danube Waltz. Sally was already turning the crank on the Brunswick phonograph. He enjoyed teaching the girls to dance, but then, he loved being a father.

With the church ladies now long gone, Harriet sat alone in the flower-filled room with the corpse of her brother. Her heart filled with anger towards the God who allowed her brother to die; this same cruel God had taken her parents in a terrible wagon accident when she was a young teenager. She wrapped herself tightly in self pity and agonized how unfair life had been to her. Childhood memories washed over her, visions of John’s laughing sky blue eyes and his straw colored hair gleaming in the sunlight. Anger overflowed from within her heart; anger because there would be no new memories. She cried piteously although the salty tears burned her already tender skin. Surely God must hate her, but why, what had she done so wrong to have attracted his wrath. Albert was mystified as to how to help her, or even understand why she wasn’t appreciating the perfect life he had made for her. He saw their extraordinary home and wonderful children; so much to be thankful for.

At bedtime the girls piled on top of Molly’s twin bed with its headboard and footboard of gleaming brass in the room they still called the nursery. Albert retrieved Tom Sawyer from the nightstand and opened it where a slip of paper marked the last chapter he had read. The girls were enthralled with his dozen different reading voices. After several chapters the small group said their evening prayers with Albert feeling extremely aggravated that Harriet hadn’t bothered to join them.

Molly and Sally piled into their beds and pulled blankets up over their necks as soon as the prayers ended and their papa had kissed them each goodnight. Molly refused to let sleep overtake her. I want to see, she insisted.

Dearest, we promised Papa we’d stay out of the parlor, Sally argued.

I didn’t. I crossed my fingers. Molly’s lower lip went out as her eyes saddened. Sally knew instantly her little sister was going to make her life miserable if she didn’t give in and help her see the dead man in the parlor.

Okay, you win. But, listen to me; if the coffin is closed I am not going to open it. You understand?

Deal. Molly grinned widely showing a mouth full of baby teeth.

You are a spoiled brat, Molly Meyers. Sally couldn’t help but smile seeing Molly’s deep dimple appear in her left cheek.

They slipped out of bed and donned their thick white terry cloth robes over their flannel jammies. Sally put her finger to her mouth to indicate they needed to be quiet, then led the way creeping as silently as possible, avoiding all known squeaky spots on the stairs and slipping into the forbidden parlor. Hand-painted red roses decorated a hurricane lamp sitting on a small round rosewood veneered table. It sparsely lit the room casting eerie shadows from where it sat in a corner. The military casket seemed to fill the room. Sally sighed in relief. The coffin lid was open. She gasped at the sight of the dead uncle, and then smiled. No ants.

The opulent Victorian furniture had been rearranged to accommodate the box and looked as though the room was set for a sermon, meeting, or even a wedding with all the flowers. I can’t see him. Lift me up, Sal.

Sally stepped behind the smaller girl and reached down to pick her up by the waist. He looks like he’s just sleeping, like Papa said, Sally commented as she hoisted Molly up. A second later she practically dropped her on the ground. Someone’s coming! Hide! Sally scurried under the settee sitting against the wall obscured from view by the darkness. Molly dived underneath the red velvet draperies covering the large bay window and tried not to breath.

Harriet entered the room, still wearing the long black skirt. She kissed her brother’s cold lips and sat down on the straight back chair nearest the casket, and wailed in such a heartbreaking moan that it was all Sally could do to stay put. Her kind and loving instinct was to crawl out from under her hiding place and comfort her grieving mother.

Molly managed to get twisted in the heavy draperies, and pulled the wooden rod just enough to loosen the end bracket screws away from the plaster wall. The rod and the draperies came down in one swift movement, ripping the expensive silk wallpaper off that section of the wall as they fell. The tiny girl underneath screamed. Sally froze.

Harriet jumped up first seeing her own reflection bouncing back from the now exposed window, and then the activity from under the pile of fabric on the floor. She threw back the draperies sending fine dust particles dancing in the air, and stood with her hands on her hips towering over the frightened child; her eyes as cold as the winter moon. Like a dragon swooping down from the sky to seize a defenseless sheep, Harriet grabbed Molly by the arm and dragged her out of the heap. I should have known it was you, her enraged mother screamed. Why do you always have to be such a troublemaker?

Molly yelped as her arm was jerked and the pain shot through her small back. She felt her neck snap. You’re hurting me! She cried out, but Harriet ignored the terror screams and proceeded to drag the youngster up the stairs with less effort than hauling a rag mop. I won’t go in there again, Mommy! I promise. Just let go of me! Harriet roughly shoved the child into the nursery and slammed the door without noticing Sally was not in her bed.

A shaken Sally slipped out of the parlor and hid in the darkness behind the stairwell until she heard her mother return to the forbidden room and shut the door. The frightened child ran as fast as she could up the stairs without making any noise until she stepped on the second stair from the top. It groaned under her weight. By then, Sally knew she could make it into the bedroom before her mother could reach the parlor door. She made it to safety just as her father entered the hall. Sally leaned against the closed door to catch her breath and listen.

Is everything all right, Harriet? Albert called out from one of the guest bedrooms.

Harriet surprised her husband when she called back in a completely normal voice, I thought I heard one of the children. I came to check.

His eyes sparkled as he smiled. Children, huh? Ours or someone else’s?

Harriet’s face remained expressionless. I heard the stairs squeak, she said tersely.

Perhaps we have mice, very large mice.

His wife coldly turned around and walked towards the bedroom he once shared with her; entering the room without giving him a thought. After he heard her close the door, he tapped on the girl’s door. Sally let him in. Instantly he saw Molly had been crying and Sally was quite upset. He crossed the room to sit on the bed and beckoned to his daughters to fill his arms. Neither child wanted to confess their sin, but their father’s love and warmth soon had them both babbling about their misdeed, the draperies tumbling down and Harriet’s furor at Molly.

I was too scared to come out. Sally burst into tears.

She wouldn’t have done anything to you. It’s me she hates. Molly spit the words out. Neither Sally nor Albert could argue with Molly. Sally reasoned Molly was the one that looked like the mother with the same golden blond hair and light blue eyes; and she was the youngest. One would think she would be the favorite.

I don’t think she hates you, Albert said in a soothing voice. I just don’t think she understands you. He might as well have been speaking in a foreign language since the girls failed to grasp what he was trying to say. In spite of Molly being the spitting image of her mother; their personalities were like night and day. The eight-year-old was extremely intelligent and had more common sense than most people, when she chose to use it. However, Molly was impulsive, unpredictable and often let her emotions rule her head. Harriet was constantly baffled as to why a child as smart as Molly could do such dumb things.

Albert was reluctant to leave the love and warmth of the two daughters. I’m sure things will return to normal soon. He made the remark hoping it wasn’t wishful thinking.

They won’t, Papa. Things will never be normal again, Molly said without batting an eye.

Why do you say that?

Rose said it this morning. You can’t un-ring a bell.

Chapter Two

MUCH TO THE chagrin of the Meyers’ household, months after John had been buried in the small cemetery behind the neighborhood church; Harriet continued to stay closeted away in the master bedroom suite. The family had thought she would at least make the short pilgrimage to the gravesite since she had insisted on the local burial, but she didn’t. Harriet was too far into her own existence to even appreciate her devoted servant’s care and concern.

Rose’s salt and pepper hair was braided then twisted around her head. She always wore a shirt-waist dress over her short plump body, and covered it with a long bibbed apron of plain white muslin with large pockets. Not knowing what kind of mood Harriet would be in with her moments of reality being few and far between she told her husband she was nobody’s fool and tucked Samuel’s Arc Magnetic straight razor down into the corner of one of the pockets. Rose considered a paring knife, but the razor folded into itself like a pocket knife. He didn’t mind sharing one of his treasured items, he didn’t trust Harriet either. The only problem with the razor was that it wasn’t called a magnetic razor for no reason. It tended to attract small nails, pins and anything else metal that was thrown into that pocket; including her thimble. The cook knew she would probably be too terrified and nervous to actually use the razor, but it still gave her considerable comfort to carry it.

This became the life of the family, with Rose making the trek up the stairs a dozen times a day and Samuel trying to stay close by his wife, just in case. Albert went to work, the girls to school and Harriet stayed in her room. One morning as he prepared to leave for the office with attaché case in his left and his right on the doorknob, Molly stopped him.

Papa, we gots to tell you sumpin. Molly was almost nine and late loosing her baby teeth. It seemed like they all disappeared overnight and the child was having terrible problems with her speech.

I got to get to work, baby. Can’t it keep?

She reached up and pulled on his sleeve, indicating it really was important. Uncle John’s not dead.

Of course he is, don’t be silly. Now Albert knelt down nose to nose with the child. He set the briefcase down and pulled her to him. He would never raise his voice or hurt one of his little darlings. I’m listening, easily seeing the seriousness on her face, reinforced when Sally joined them wearing the same determined expression.

Papa, it’s true. We’re not really certain who else is in the room with her. We think her parents are there too.

Molly’s blue eyes widened listening to her older sister. Rose took to carrying Samuel’s razor in her apron pocket.

Rose says she’s scarit Mother will do sumpin crazy.

Albert hid his concern like talking to dead people wasn’t crazy enough. She hasn’t actually hurt anyone, has she? He didn’t think anyone would keep secrets from him.

Sally answered. Not yet, but she gets looks on her face like she’s not human.

She looks like Dr. Jekylls and Mr. Hydes. Molly tossed in her Frankenstein’s monster’s walk to accentuate the dilemma and demonstrate the mother’s behavior. Instead of bringing home the seriousness of the situation, both Albert and Sally started laughing at Molly. Her feelings were hurt at being not being taken seriously. Both father and sister hurried to hug her and reassure her they meant no harm.

Rose entered the foyer. She wasn’t a particularly religious person but her uneducated, southern Indiana speech was punctuated with phrases exalting the Lord or begging God’s help. Lord, have mercy, I believe Miss Harriet done got herself pixilated.

We were just discussing the problem. I don’t really see how there’s anything to fear if she just has a room full of ghosts. As long as she hasn’t actually attacked anyone. That’s what’s important here.

I supposes yer right, but she gets some mighty peculiar looks now and again. I don’t mind admitting, she scares the b-Jesus right outta me.

The girls and I will go visit with Doc Broome when I get home tonight. Perhaps there’s some medicine that would help.

Forgive me, Lord, hemlock would be nice, Rose said under her breath as she started up the stairs. Albert had heard her but said nothing. He had dearly loved his wife, but the woman in the bedroom had no resemblance to the woman he had cherished.

The Broome house was easily six times larger than the three-story brick Victorian house. It was also three-stories, made of brick, but painted white. The doctor decided to change the look and had already hired a company to stucco over the brick Their tools and ladders filled the yard. The front had long pillars like that of a southern mansion; complete with the wide veranda. The oversized city lot also had a large carriage house and a separate servant’s quarters. Emma Broome’s thin, prematurely gray hair was always pulled back in a tight bun. Instead of making her face severe, it enhanced her warm cow-brown eyes.

The short, pudgy and gentle doctor entered the back door each night after he finished with his patients, headed to the basement where he removed his clothes, tossed them into the washer, and scrubbed down in a hot shower before he dressed in fresh clothes and returned to his family waiting upstairs. Once he felt sanitized he gathered his loving wife into his arms.

Molly and Sally loved the fresh soapy smell of the doctor’s skin and giggled because his chubby hands were so pink.

This evening, Maynard the butler, ushered Albert into the Broome living room. Doc Broome entered the living room freshly scrubbed as always. His adoring wife came in only long enough to gather up the sisters and take them to the kitchen, leaving the men to talk. There the sixteen-year-old Frankie Broome sat at the table with a huge pile of toothpicks. He was stacking them into piles. Normally, he was downstairs in the basement in the enormous room he called his laboratory. It was filled with his experiments and inventions.

Through the months, since Uncle John’s funeral, Frank had done everything but hat tricks trying to keep the sisters’ minds off their troubles. He taught them how to play Mah-Jongg and tried to get them involved with his creations. Sally followed Frank around lapping up any crumbs of affection he threw her way, but Molly dismissed the whole invention process as stupid.

The camera has already been invented, Molly had said with a spiteful tone to her voice.

Yes, it has, Frank agreed, But not with my lens. Here let me show you what it does. He already had an impressive list of patents, all lost on Molly. While the girls were being entertained by the lad, Albert had the serious conversation with his father, the doctor. It seemed all John Broome could do was shake his head, a lot. He had no answers short of doing two things, dope her, or commit her.

Albert had aged twenty years. His once sparkling, laughing eyes now the color of a muddy slow-moving southern stream. Day after day, from school, church, visiting friends and even playing in the park, the sisters always knew when they returned to their home their mother would still be unattainable. There was not going to be any miracle no matter how many prayers were said. Their father’s love combined with the compassion of the two servants, Samuel and Rose, helped ease the pain they felt from their mother’s withdrawal from reality.

With millions had dying world wide from the Spanish Flu, Albert asked God to forgive him when he secretly wished Harriet could have been one of them. He believed his life had been altered forever because her one brother had died and she was not strong enough to overcome her grief. God should take her to be with him.

Time seemed to whip by in spite of Harriet and her crowd of ghosts. Molly found a refuge underneath the graceful branches of the old weeping willow tree in the side yard of the three-story, brick Victorian house. The dense yellow-green boughs formed the perfect inner sanctum for the child, perfect because Sally’s fear of spiders kept her from invading the safe place. Instead, Sally spread out a blanket in the shade and opened a favorite book to read aloud to Molly while they waited for their father to come home from work.

Albert would park his car in the driveway and race across the yard to gather the girls up in his arms. He waved his hands in the air and said the magic words guarantying Sally complete protection from spiders. Every insect hear me now – abba abba dabba stay away from Sally, and what’s her face – you know – the little blond one. Sally was old enough to know the magical phrase didn’t really chase away the insects, but she would have walked on fiery coals to be next to him. His magic words made Molly giggle every time.

Papa, I’m Molly.

Oh my goodness, so it is, you hear that bugs, stay away from Molly too.

I’m not scared of bugs!

The three would gather together under the shelter of the old willow to discuss the day’s events. Sometimes he brought them each a piece of paper with his own office letterhead printed right on the paper, or pencils and bits of candy. Just yesterday they each got a paperclip and both were excited as the humble gifts reassured them they were in his thoughts throughout each day.

Every now and then hope stuck its head into the light when the sisters visited their mother. Occasionally Harriet would pick up a brush and cheerfully do their hair. Molly had no logical explanation as to why her mother would gently brush Sally’s long brunette locks and make over her pretty face and brilliant green eyes, but when it came to her own golden tresses, she would yank and tug as though her head held a nest of rats.

The sweltering August sun wilted flowers and turned lawns as brown as the city’s polluted waterways. Those who could escape found refuge in the coolness of the nearby waters of Lake Michigan. It was 1920. Radio was in its infancy, silent movies were the rage and women gained the right to vote.

On the boiling afternoon of the third day of the month, Molly sat with her back against the trunk of the willow tree. Sally sprawled out on her blanket in the shade of the old tree reading out loud poems by Robert Lewis Stevenson. She stopped short in the middle of one about the sea shore. "That’s really strange dearest. Mother just left the house with Samuel and is climbing into his car."

Molly crawled out from under the tree just far enough to be able to see the driveway. I wonder where they’re off to. It looks like Mother is crying. Can you tell?

No, I can’t tell. Let’s find Rose.

Just then Rose rounded the house dabbing at her eyes with her apron. Girls, I need to speak to you. The plump cook waddled to the blanket and plopped down on the ground next to Sally as Molly started helping her sister gather up the books. Oh dear Jesus, It’s so terrible. I kin hardly speak of it. George Day called from the hospital. I’m feared it’s your Papa. He’s been hurt.

Sally gathered her strength to ask the questions. How bad is it? Do you know?

Stabbed in the back, he was. Right there in the men’s restroom on the sixth floor! Rose seemed unable to talk, leaving the girls without answers for the moment. She was lost in her worry over the children, knowing Harriet was incapable of taking care of the children and equally as certain the government would step in, put their mother in a nut house and the poor girls in an orphanage. She wondered if they would take the house and all of the Meyers’ possessions as well. It was just too unthinkable. Perhaps she and Samuel could keep the outside world from learning just how ill Harriet was and take care of the girls, but then, what would they do for money? The Broome’s would help some, she reasoned, they just had to. Her mind felt like scrambled eggs. Albert just had to be all right. This was just too much. She remembered someone saying once that God never gave them more than what they could handle. Harriet hardly recognized Albert as it was. Rose decided then and there if he died, his death would probably have little, if any, effect on his wife. She wasn’t going to think about that right now; all that mattered was the children. Her mind continued to search for a solution.

Why would anyone want to hurt Papa? Sally sobbed. They sat in silence with tears flowing. Rose wiped her forehead with the bottom of her apron then opened her arms for the two girls to sit beside her. There was nothing she could do but hold the distraught children and pray.

Mother says there is no such thing as God, Molly said not certain if it would do any good to pray or not.

She blames God for those she done lost, her parents, brother an’ I heard tell she lost some sisters many years ago, but I don’t know the details. Rose struggled to think of the right words. She don’t know God don’t go round hurtin’ folks. He’s a good God.

Are there bad gods? Molly’s eyes were as big as saucers.

Help me up girls. Rose was anxious to change the subject. Let’s have milk and cookies whilst we wait. She smiled sheepishly when she realized she was unable to maneuver her body into a workable position to