Deadly Traditions, page 19
“Watching the people I love decorating for Christmas really takes me back,” I said.
“Tell us about some of your traditions, Aunt Max,” Zoe said.
Clasping my hands together, I said, “Well, for one thing, we never decorated the tree until Christmas Eve.”
“Christmas Eve?” Amanda turned to me, her brows drawn together in dismay. “That’s terrible. You had hardly any time to enjoy it.”
I laughed. “We enjoyed it well enough, darling. We had more fun spending the evenings leading up to our tree-trimming party making ornaments–paper chains, string snowflakes, popcorn garlands. Mother insisted on upholding her grandmother’s tradition of telling ghost stories on Christmas Eve, so we did that as we worked–practicing up for the main event, I suppose.”
“Ghost stories on Christmas Eve?” Dave shook his head. “That’s a new one on me, and I thought I’d been around long enough to have heard of everything.”
Amanda grinned at him. “See? I told you you’re not as old as you think.”
“I remember the ghost stories,” Dwight said. “Mom kept it going with us kids. We had to do ours before Dad came home. He didn’t think ghost stories had any place in Christmas celebrations.”
“I kinda see his point,” Zoe said. “Telling scary stories on Christmas doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“Charles Dickens would beg to differ,” I said.
“That’s right.” Amanda turned to take some red ribbon from a cardboard box. “The ghost story tradition is English, isn’t it?”
“It is. Granny was born here, but she clung to her English heritage as if we were members of the royal family.” I laughed. “Granny was a hoot. You would’ve loved her.”
“Tell us one of your stories,” Zoe said.
“Well, that’s the thing, love,” I said. “We didn’t know very many and didn’t have a great deal of talent for making them up. So Daddy often told us stories from his childhood.”
“Do you think Granddad ever stretched the truth?” Dwight chuckled. “I used to think he was king of the tall tales.”
“As did I. Until one Christmas Eve.”
Chapter 2
Back In Time
“Dorothy! Maxine! You’re eating more popcorn than you’re putting on the string.” Mother clucked her tongue. “We’ll have the most pitiful-looking tree in the neighborhood if you two keep going at that rate.”
“But you’ll have the happiest girls,” I said, winking at my younger sister.
Dot giggled. “We can’t help that it’s so good.”
She and I were in our mid- to late-teens that year, but our exact ages escaped me upon telling this story. Suffice it to say that Dot and I were young, beautiful, and not lacking in mischief.
All of us brightened when Daddy came home–even Mother, who leaned more toward the serious side of life.
Daddy hugged Mother and kissed her cheek. “And what have my beauties been doing today?”
Shaking her head, Mother said, “This one has been trying to keep those two from eating all our Christmas tree decorations.”
“Aw, let them have at it.” He wedged himself between Dot and me on the burgundy sofa. “If they run out of decorations, they can eat the tree. There’ll be more dinner for us if they’re full.” Putting an arm around each of us, he gave us a squeeze.
“Have you had a good day, Daddy?” I asked.
“Every day is a good day, sweetheart. I’m the most blessed man in the world.”
“Tell us a story while Mother finishes dinner,” Dot said.
“Shouldn’t the two of you be helping with that?” he asked.
“We did our part. I peeled and diced potatoes while Dot pulled carrot duty.” I held up my hands. “Look. I’ve worked my fingers to the bone.”
“Me too.” Dot held her hands out for his examination.
“They’re spoiled,” Mother called from the kitchen. “But keep them in there–I don’t want them in here under my feet.”
“You heard her.” I snuggled against Daddy’s shoulder and inhaled the faint scent of woodsmoke that lingered on his clothes. “Now you can tell us that story.”
“Yes, Daddy. Tell about Freddy and the haunted house.”
“I was saving that one for Christmas Eve,” he said.
“You can tell it again, and it will be every bit as good,” I said. “We never get tired of hearing that one.”
He gave a low, growly-groan and then smiled. “All right then.”
Chapter 3
Daddy’s Story
Freddy and I weren’t the most well-behaved lads, but we weren’t all that bad. I suppose you might say the two of us were simply left to our own devices more often than we should have been.
When we were around the ages you girls are now, he and I loved playing hide-and-seek in the woods near the haunted house on summer evenings. In fact, on this particular moonless night with the occasional flicker of heat lightning splitting the sky, and a whiff of rain on the breezes, we decided to use the haunted house as home base.
We flipped a penny to see who’d hide first, and Freddy won. That suited me fine. I went to the big maple tree, hid my eyes, and began counting. We were supposed to count to a hundred, but I never counted past twenty, and I knew good and well Freddy didn’t either. He couldn’t have, given how quickly he always yelled, “Ready or not, here I come!”
So, I counted my measly amount, yelled “ready or not,” and moseyed on down toward the haunted house. My plan was to hide in the bushes and give Freddy a hearty scare when he approached the house.
You see, I’d heard the same stories everyone else had, but I thought it was all a lot of hooey. Just because what once had been a nice big house was now abandoned and dilapidated, and simply because it sat out in the middle of nowhere didn’t make it haunted. To me, the house was sad. I could imagine a family gathered around the fire telling stories like we are now…laughter, music, life filling its rooms. I wondered what had really happened to the family who’d once occupied and loved the old house.
I know, I know–you want to hear a ghost story. So, here is the one that was told about the house.
Just after the Civil War ended–because, as you know, most good Southern ghost stories have their roots in the Civil War–two brothers came home to Virginia. One had fought for the North and the other for the South, but they both believed they were returning home to marry the lovely Blue-Eyed Bess. Now, mind you, Bess wasn’t promised to either man; but they were both in love with her.
That fateful night, they met at Bess’s home–what was currently known as the haunted house–by chance. Each man intended to declare his love for Bess and ask for her hand in marriage. How furious the two men were to see each other! Instead of being happy that his brother was alive, instead of embracing his brother in the spirit of forgiveness and a willingness to put an end to their years of strife, each soldier drew his sword. Instead of asking Bess if she even wanted either of them, they began to fight for her.
Bess cared for both brothers, and the last thing she wanted was for either of them to shed a single drop of blood on her account. She ran down the front porch steps with her arms open wide, pleading for the brothers to put down their swords. But the men were focused on their hate rather than on their love.
Both expert swordsmen, neither could inflict a killing blow against the other. It wasn’t until Blue-Eyed Bess crumpled to the ground that the men realized one of their swords had dealt a fatal blow.
Legend had it that on moonless nights, such as the one on which I planned to scare the hair off Freddy’s head, you could hear Blue-Eyed Bess weeping. Some versions of the ghost story added that you could see Bess standing at the window or the brothers fighting on the lawn.
I knew the whole tale was a load of hooey. But I thought Freddy wasn’t so sure. I hid behind a holly bush and debated the various techniques I could use to spring out at my unsuspecting friend.
Turns out, the joke was on me. Not ten minutes after I squatted down behind that holly bush, I heard two men commence fighting. I took off like Snyder’s hound on a rabbit’s trail and never looked back.
As soon as I got home, I felt like an idiot. Either Freddy had pranked me, or there simply happened to be two men walking in the woods having an argument near where I’d been hiding.
Shamefaced, I went around to Freddy’s house the next morning. He wasn’t there. He hadn’t come home last night. Worse still? I never saw Freddy again.
Chapter 4
Christmas Eve
Well, I probably don’t need to tell you how we two emotional teens wept for poor Blue-Eyed Bess and for Freddy. We had so many questions for which there were no answers: Which brother would Bess have chosen, if either? What if she’d already married someone else by the time they came back from the war? Was it the pair of phantom brothers Daddy had heard arguing? Had they stabbed Freddy with their swords? Could they stab Freddy? Or had Freddy seen the apparitions and died of fright? What if the men Daddy had heard arguing weren’t ghosts at all but were bad men who’d kidnapped Freddy?
We guessed we’d never know what became of poor Freddy, but we were wrong. On that Christmas Eve, the very evening after Daddy had entertained us with Freddy’s sad story, there was a knock on the door. Expecting carolers, all four of us went to answer it. But rather than carolers, it was a short, thin man who had his fedora pulled way down over his eyes and his coat turned up at the collar. Beside him stood a platinum blonde woman wearing a full-length white fur coat. She had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.
When he saw Dot and me, the man tipped up the brim of his hat and said, “Hello, ladies. I’m an old friend of your daddy’s. You can call me Freddy.”
Dot gasped and looked at the woman. “Are you Blue-Eyed Bess?”
The woman grinned. “No, sugar. I’m Mavis. Who’s Blue-Eyed Bess?”
“A ghost,” Dot whispered.
Freddy threw back his head and laughed. “Been telling ‘em about our childhood, eh?”
I turned my attention to Daddy, who looked like he was about to be sick. I didn’t want Daddy to be upset. He had to know that whatever had happened to Freddy wasn’t his fault.
“Where have you been all this time?” I asked Freddy. “What happened to you that night in the woods?”
“Maxine! Shh!” Mother’s shh emerged as a hiss, but that poor woman never was able to rein me in.
“Are you all coming in or what?” I asked.
“Sassy. I like that.” Freddy doffed his hat. “We’d be much obliged.”
Dot and I moved aside, but Mother and Daddy seemed to have sprouted roots right there in the foyer.
I glanced at Mother as Freddy and Mavis handed me their coats. Although she was staring at me, she didn’t appear to be angry. She was frightened. That was my first inkling that the story about Freddy’s disappearance might not have occurred exactly as Daddy had told it. A lump formed in my throat as I took the coats and hung them in the hall closet.
“Freddy, I…I heard you’d moved up north,” Daddy was saying when I returned to the living room.
Mavis and Freddy were sitting on the burgundy sofa, Dot perched on the piano bench, and Mother and Daddy had remained standing..
“Did you now?” Freddy leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and steepled his fingers. “Beautiful family you’ve got here. You’ve done well for yourself.”
“Thanks.” Daddy’s voice was flat. I found it odd that he didn’t introduce any of us to Freddy. But I knew there had to be a good reason.
“Girls, go upstairs,” Mother said.
Dot was watching me to see what I’d do. I left the living room, and she got up and trailed after me. Halfway up the stairs, I stopped but stamped my feet as if I was still climbing the staircase. Grinning, Dot followed suit.
I was such a bad influence.
We crouched on the stairs and listened. The adults were talking quietly, so we only caught a phrase here and there.
“...be a pal,” Freddy was saying. “For old time’s sake.”
“I can’t keep that thing here,” Daddy said.
“You want me to…” Freddy’s next words were unintelligible. Then his voice rose. “Listen, you owe me. I’m not asking you to keep it forever. Just ‘til–”
“Until what?” Daddy asked. “Until the police come here and haul me away?”
Dot and I stared at each other open-mouthed.
“You think I’d let that happen? You think I’d set you up as a stool pigeon?”
I couldn’t hear Daddy's response to Freddy’s question, but I knew for sure I wouldn’t stand by and let Daddy be taken to jail.
“You owe me,” Freddy repeated.
“Forty-eight hours,” Daddy said. “After that, you come back here and get it.”
“It’s a deal,” Freddy said.
“I’ll get your coats,” Mother said.
Dot grabbed my arm.
I slipped off my shoes, and she followed suit. We crept on up the stairs.
In our room, Dot was wringing her hands. “What are we gonna do?”
“I don’t know yet. We don’t have all the facts.”
A few minutes after Freddy and Mavis left, Daddy called us back downstairs. Our guilt over eavesdropping was likely written all over our faces. I would like to think I could feign innocence slightly better than my baby sister, who at the moment was being more dramatic than Clara Bow.
“Have your friends left already, Daddy?” she asked.
“You know very well they have,” Mother said. “You and your sister were spying from the staircase.”
“How did you know?” Dot huffed. “We pretended to go all the way up the stairs and everything.”
I merely pinched the bridge of my nose and looked down at the floor. There was still much I needed to teach that child–mainly to keep her mouth shut when she was guilty.
“It doesn’t matter,” Daddy said.
Good old Daddy.
“I owe you girls an explanation,” he continued.
“Talk while we trim the tree,” Mother said. “It is Christmas Eve, after all.”
Mother always had to be busy when she was nervous. Her being nervous made me nervous, but I was too intrigued by whatever Daddy was about to say to show it.
Picking up a popcorn garland, I said. “See, Mother? Dot and I didn’t eat all of it. Go on, Daddy.”
“As you guessed right away, that was Freddy from the story I’ve told you for as long as I can remember,” he said.
“Yeah, but I’m awfully disappointed that the dame with him wasn’t Blue-Eyed Bess,” Dot said.
“Young woman, not dame.” Mother rolled her eyes heavenward.
“Do you think we’re in the midst of a Dickens’ tale, being visited by the ghost of Christmas past or something?” I gave a little laugh.
“You’ll never know if you don’t hush and let your daddy speak.” Mother snatched up a paper chain and wound it through the branches of the tree.
Daddy lit a pipe before telling us about Freddy. He seldom smoked, so I knew he was as uneasy as Mother–maybe more so.
I’ll never forget the smell of the living room that evening. It was perfect. Pine, popcorn, cherry tobacco, and a hint of vanilla because Mother had been baking all afternoon. I almost didn’t want Daddy to tell us the truth about Freddy or why he’d been here or what Daddy had agreed to keep for him for forty-eight hours. If he didn’t tell us, maybe we could pretend it had never happened; and tonight could still be wonderful.
“I didn’t lie.” Daddy puffed on his pipe as he walked around the room. “I embellished. I didn’t see Freddy again after that night of hide-and-seek, but I heard what had happened to him. The men I’d heard arguing were two flesh-and-blood brothers, not phantoms.”
“Did they kidnap Freddy?” Dot asked.
Mother glared at her for interrupting, and she returned to tying ornaments on the tree.
“He wasn’t kidnapped, but one of the men had seen Freddy around–knew Freddy’s dad or some such. Anyway, he put Freddy to work that very night.”
Dot opened her mouth to speak again, caught Mother’s scowl, and wisely clamped her lips together.
“The men were criminals. I heard they used Freddy as their lookout at first; but he worked his way up through the ranks, I suppose. He did appear to be enjoying a measure of success.”
“He looked like a rat caught in a maze to me.” Mother hung a crocheted cross on the tree.
“Freddy came here tonight to ask me for help,” Daddy said. “He’s found himself in a bit of trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Dot asked.
“Never you mind,” Mother told her. “Your daddy agreed to help him just this once. He’ll be back day after tomorrow, and I’d better not catch hide nor hair of either of you while he’s here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dot looked at me, and I gave her a little shrug.
“Let’s not dwell on unpleasantness.” Daddy took the angel ornament from Mother’s hand. “Play us some Christmas carols, won’t you, love? The girls and I can finish the tree.”
Mother went to the piano, and soon we were all singing and laughing and enjoying ourselves. We put Freddy and Mavis out of our minds. In fact, I didn’t give either of them another thought until I saw the morning newspaper on December 26. Freddy and Mavis had been shot to death on Christmas Eve hours after leaving our home.
Chapter 5
The Smoking Gun
“Daddy, have you seen this?”
He and I were alone in the kitchen, and the newspaper was lying between us. Mother and Dot were still sleeping.
I stared at the headline slackjawed while Daddy peered into the coffee mug between his hands.
