2 Yule Be the Death of Me (15 page)

“Kathy.”
Vivienne called out.

The single
orange flame swelled with a whooshing sound as the oven came to life. Vivienne
quickly turned away and found Natalie standing behind her. Her hands shot out
in surprise and passed through Natalie as if she were made of smoke.

Vivienne felt
woozy for a moment. It was as if her power to jump into memory had been
activated, but once again it felt somewhat alien to her senses. She was
detached from the action, as if a ghostly observer. She watched in silent
horror as Natalie reached right through her chest and opened the oven door.

She was
dressed in a rather somber black dress that nearly went down to her ankles. Her
hair was pulled back into a conservative bun where a small white cap that an
old-fashioned maid would have worn was pinned into place. Her face was devoid
of emotion as she stared blankly ahead.

“Natalie?”
Vivienne asked with bewilderment.

Natalie didn’t
appear to notice her at all. She simply closed the oven door, pivoted on her
heels, and walked over a row of wooden shelves where several metal containers
were neatly arranged.

“Is it too
much to ask for supper to be served at the proper time, Miss Burdick?” A voice
called out from somewhere on the first floor. Seconds later, a woman dressed in
an old-fashioned burgundy dress with white pearl buttons sailed into the
kitchen. “The children are starting to fuss and you know how my nerves have
been lately.”

Natalie
quickly grabbed a dark green oval container from the shelf. “I apologize, Mrs.
Rothwell
. The
hurrier
I go, the
behinder
I seem to get.” Her voice was steeped with an
Irish accent that took Vivienne by surprise.

Vivienne
stepped carefully away from the stove and started to examine the kitchen which
matched her earlier vision inside Natalie’s head. “This can’t be right.” She
spoke aloud to herself. “This must be more than a century ago.”

Natalie pulled
the lid of a large pot and stared at the contents inside. “I only need a moment
to thicken the stew, Miss
Rothwell
.”

“Well for
heaven’s sake please hurry. You’ve been working here for four years now, Miss
Burdick. I think perhaps you’ve become complacent that your position here is
quite permanent.” The woman in the fancy dress put her hands on her hips as she
surveyed the kitchen. “My husband is not paying you to keep a filthy kitchen either.
I expect you will be up late this evening scrubbing it clean. If you can’t keep
up with the daily requirements of running this home, I shall not think twice
about replacing you.” She pushed the swing door and disappeared into the other
room.

“Yes, ma’am.”
Natalie replied meekly as she opened a wooden drawer and pulled out a small
wooden spoon. She dipped it into the container marked ‘flour’ and dropped
several heaping amounts into the stock pot which hissed and bubbled.

‘Could this be
her great-grandmother?” Vivienne wondered. It had to be some sort of relative.
She had never seen such a close match before except for twins. She then noticed
a newspaper opened up on the floor near the sink. There were several piles of
vegetable peels and a bucket on top of the pages, but she could make out the
date quite clearly, September 15th, 1872.

Natalie
returned to the stove and began to ladle out the portions of stew into some
large serving bowls. “Angels, please let Mrs.
Rothwell
like the stew and make the children behave.” She spoke softly as she positioned
them on a silver tray and hoisted it to waist level. “Amen.”

Vivienne
followed Natalie through the swinging door into the dining room. She caught a
glimpse of some people sitting at a formal table when suddenly the room swirled
into darkness and everyone disappeared. She rubbed her eyes and a moment later
the table was empty and a few sconces on the wall flickered with feeble
candlelight. Natalie was down on the floor, with a scrub brush and a bucket
cleaning the floorboards.

“Hazel and the
children are asleep.” The male voice she had heard in her earlier vision
returned. Only it was not Eddie Robertson, it was
  Edgar
Rothwell
. He was tall and quite thin, dressed in a
gray woolen suit that was well tailored to his trim figure.

Natalie did
not look up from the floorboards. She continued to scrub the wood in gentle,
even strokes. “I’m glad to hear that, Master
Rothwell
.”

He walked over
to her, his thick-soled shoes clopping loudly in the large room. “You don’t
need to be so formal now that everyone is upstairs.”

Natalie
plopped the brush into the bucket and looked up at him. “I’d prefer to keep
things formal.”

He knelt down
and put his hands on her shoulders. “It breaks my heart to see a lovely young
lass wasting her best years as a servant.”

“I’m quite
happy here, Master
Rothwell
.” Natalie looked quite
uncomfortable in his grip. “If you could be so kind as to talk to Mrs.
Rothwell
about how I’ve improved in my performance, I would
be most grateful.”

“Hazel doesn’t
pay the staff. Her opinion means nothing.” Edgar leaned closer and put his nose
against her dark hair. He inhaled deeply. “You smell like summer in the
gardens. Fresh and full of life.”

Natalie
squirmed out of his grip and picked up the pail in her right hand. “You’re too
kind, Master
Rothwell
.”

He reached out
and gently took the pail out of her hand. “It’s been so long, since I’ve
smelled that.”

“
’Tis
only the start of autumn. We’ve got some time before
the lilacs bloom again.” Natalie turned to leave but was held in place. “Spring
will return before you know it.”

“I love how
innocent you are.” He smiled. “Hazel is like winter. Dull and lifeless. She
only delights when things wither and die under her cold demeanor.”

“I wish you
wouldn’t speak ill of Mrs.
Rothwell
like that.”
Natalie pleaded. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

He pulled her
closer to him. “I need you, Natalie. I need you to bring me back to life
again.”

“No, Master
Rothwell
.” Natalie tried to pull away. “I am not one of
those kind of girls.”

“Ah, but you
are my dear and we both know it.” He paused for a moment and then lunged at
her, pressing his lips against hers.

She turned her
head to the side, facing Vivienne. Her eyes welled up with tears which started
to stream down her cheeks. “Please, Master
Rothwell
.
I beg of you to stop this.”

“I cannot.” He
dropped the bucket on the floor, splashing sudsy water across the floor. “I
need you Natalie. I must have you.”

She tried to
fight him off, but he easily forced her against the wall. “Please have mercy. I
cannot do this.”

He grabbed her
chin and forced her to look straight into his eyes. “How is it you could spread
your legs for some filthy
gandy
dancer laying track
with his calloused hands?”

“It was a
mistake.” Natalie admitted. “I was not in my right mind then.”

“Did I not
help you out when you were with child down at the factory?”

Natalie
nodded. “It was kind of you and Mrs.
Rothwell
to
adopt my son as your own.”

“Where would
you be as an unwed mother? No good Christian woman would have you working in
her home, soiled with the sin of pre-marital relations. You’d probably both be
dead and buried in the ground by now.”

Natalie’s
voice began to waver. “I will be forever grateful to you for giving my child
the life I never could.”

He smiled at
her. “Then, I expect you to be grateful. I expect you to do as I command.”

“Angels
protect me.” Natalie whispered as his hands began to undress her.

“Don’t worry
darling.” He cooed in her ear. “This is only going to hurt for a little bit.”

Vivienne
rushed forward and tried to grab him, but she passed right through his body and
fell forward. As she rolled across the floor the voices faded and the room
faded to black.

“Help me.” A
female voice called out from the entrance foyer.

Vivienne
groped her way through the darkened room and found the entrance foyer. The
light changed back to a bleak daylight that somehow made the scene even
more gloomy
.

“Please help
me.” The woman’s voice called from above.

Vivienne
walked over to the main staircase and looked up toward the second floor. Hazel
Rothwell
was dressed in a long white nightgown, her hair in
a single braid along her right shoulder. She stood at the edge of the
bannister, her hands gripping the wood.

“Can you hear
me?” Vivienne asked.

Hazel did not
respond. She began to cough violently and lurched over the edge. Spatters of
red dripped down her nightgown. “Lord, help me. Ease my suffering.”

“Be careful.”
Vivienne tried to warn the woman.

“I was a good
wife, taking in a bastard child as if he were my own.” She coughed again.
“Casting a blind eye while my husband ravished the help.”

Vivienne raced
up the staircase in a mad dash to help her. “If you can hear me, say my name.
Say Vivienne.”

Hazel coughed
once more and then collapsed, her arms and legs sliding through the wooden
posts. “Oh Lord, don’t let me suffer like this. What have I done to warrant
your wrath? Have I offended thee?”

Vivienne
reached the top of the staircase just as Hazel disappeared and the light
changed from day to night. The wall sconces flickered to life with dim
candlelight once more.

“Is there
nothing you can do, Doctor?” The voice of Edgar
Rothwell
sounded from a doorway nearby.

Vivienne
followed the sound to a large double oak door that was half open. She peeked in
and gasped.

Edgar
Rothwell
was standing next to a large canopy bed with
another man dressed in a white coat whom she assumed was a physician. “Her
appetite has diminished with each passing day.” Edgar spoke softly. “She has
been delirious most of the time. It pains me to say so Doctor, but she has made
threats against her own life. She seems to think the good Lord is punishing her
for her sins.”

“Her mental
health has always been fragile. I think it would be best to keep her here in
the guest bedroom and away from the young children. She needs rest and quiet.”

Vivienne
stepped into the room and could now make out the form of Hazel reclined in the
bed. Her lips were drawn tight against her face, her hair a tangle mess.

“I will keep
her quiet and have the maid keep watch.” Edgar nodded.

Hazel’s eyes
twitched and she suddenly lurched upwards in bed with a start. “Vivienne.” She
screamed and then reached out with a blue-tinged hand. “She is the angel of
death come for my soul.”

Vivienne
stumbled backwards in shock. “You can see me?”

Hazel laughed
maniacally and then dropped back down into bed. “Take him first, feast on his
black soul to your heart’s content. Let him writhe in the flames of
hell.” 

“Hazel, who
are you talking to?” The Doctor asked.

Hazel closed
her eyes and said no more.

The Doctor
leaned forward, putting his ear to her nose. After a few moments, he stepped
away. “I’m sorry, Edgar. She’s gone.”

Edgar nodded
solemnly. “At last she is at peace.”

The room
slowly darkened and the figures of all three dissipated like smoke. Vivienne
stepped back out of the bedroom and found the light
 
slowly
changing back to daytime. From further down the hall she could
hear the voices of children. She followed the sound to a small playroom. A
young boy and girl, each with dark hair were playing with wooden toys.

Vivienne
stepped into the room and nearly screamed. It was Connor, except the little
boy’s skin was pale blue, looking similar to a weak winter sky. His lips were
drawn tight against his mouth, cracked and bloody.  He pulled a small
wagon around him, humming a merry little tune.

His sister,
was propped back against a large trunk with a rag doll in her hands. She wasn’t
as blue as the boy, but her eyes were sunken in and lined with dark circles.
She combed the doll’s hair with a little brush and coughed. A spatter of
crimson splashed across the doll’s face.

“Oh children,
what has happened to you?” Vivienne asked with a heavy heart.

The little
girl looked directly at her. “We’re sick.”

Vivienne’s
heart raced in her chest. “You can see me too?”

The little boy
stopped the wagon. His green eyes glowing like emeralds. “And hear you.”

Vivienne
stepped closer to them. “How did you know your mother could see me?”

“She told us.”
The little girl giggled. “She still comes to tuck us in at night.”

“Didn’t she
die?” Vivienne asked.

The little boy
nodded. “She said she’s waiting for us.”

“Jacob. Mother
said not to tell her about that part.” The little girl chided. “Now she’s going
to be angry.”

Jacob folded
his arms across his chest. “She’s going to be mad at you too, Constance.”

“No one is
going to be mad at anyone.” Vivienne corrected them. “How long have you both
been sick?”

“Since mommy
fell ill.” Constance replied.

“Where is
Natalie?” Vivienne asked them both.

Jacob looked
at Constance.

“Don’t tell
her.”

Jacob looked
back at Vivienne and shook his head. “I’m not supposed to say.”

Vivienne knelt
down in front of him. “Honey,
it’s
okay to tell me.”

“I can’t.” He
replied.

“I’ll tell
your mommy it was my fault if she wants to blame someone.”

Constance got
up from the floor and pressed her right ear to the wall. “We were too loud.
Daddy is coming.”

Vivienne could
hear the sound of heavy footfalls coming closer to the playroom. “Please
children, you need to tell me where Natalie is.”