Fallen Stones (45 page)

Dwight Livingston slowly made his way up the long dirt and gravel roadway, which led to his house from the main road. His model T Ford chugged and sputtered nosily up the frozen drive, occasionally slipping and sliding as plumes of smoke and steam billowed around it in the cold night air. Dwight was one of the first people in the area able to afford a motor vehicle and as such was probably prouder of this possession than just about anything else he owned. As he approached the house, he saw some activity out in the back of his property near the well. In the bright moonlight, he could see a woman in a white nightgown staring down into his well.

Marie turned hearing her husband's car approaching in the distance and decided she had better head back to the house. She glanced over and saw Dwight leaving his Model T and start walking across the meadow toward her. She hurried away, trampling Charles' stuffed toy into the slush and mud as she did. When she was about a third of the way to the house, Dwight had made it about half the distance to the well. He saw Marie storming back toward the house. At first, he was going to call out to her to let her know he was home, but suddenly he realized something felt very wrong.

Dwight got a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach and looking out at the direction from where Marie had come he noticed the top cover of the well was removed. Only he or Marie knew where the key for the well was kept. Then he looked back at Marie and saw she didn't have a bucket or any means of carrying water.  So why was she at the well if not to get water? As he approached the well, he saw something on the ground smashed into the wet snow covered soil. In an instant, he recognized the object as the stuffed bear he had recently brought home for little Charles.

"Oh my God, no!" he screamed silently in his mind and using his walking stick for support, began to hurry toward the well, hoping not to find what he somehow knew he would find.

When he got to the well, he bent down and picked up Charles' toy then headed straight for the opening. The boys knew not to play near the well; he had told them so and they knew they were forbidden to play there. The boys always obeyed their father's requests. There was absolutely no way they would have come this close to the well without either he or Marie bringing them here. And he was quite certain they would be terrified to come near. He had done a good job of making them fearful of the dangers.

With dread building deep in the pit of his stomach, Dwight peered unwillingly down over the side of the well where he saw his two beloved sons entwined in a last embrace of death, bobbing in the frigid, but not yet frozen water below. Without hesitation, he leaned as far as he could into the well and with his long arms was able to grab onto the water-soaked coats of both boys. Pulling with all of his might, he lifted their cold, still bodies from their icy tomb and laid them as gently as possible on the frozen meadow. Their ice glazed bodies seemed to glow iridescent light blue in the moonlight making them look like angels.
 

Dwight fell to his knees near his dead sons and began to scream and cry his heart out. Near the house, Marie turned upon hearing Dwight's wails and stood for a moment with pleasure, watching him fall to pieces over the bodies of his boys. She walked into the house, through the kitchen and along the way picked up a long butcher's knife. She would be ready. When Dwight came for her, she would be ready. Then she walked slowly up to the master bedroom.

 

Chapter 31

 

Stephanie continued to stare out into space in her hypnotic state, watching the events of that horrible night play out on the movie screen of her mind. She was now inside the mind of her great-grandfather, Dwight Livingston, seeing the scene from his perspective and reliving the thoughts and feelings he experienced.

Dwight slowly tried to stand up on wobbly legs, looking back toward the farmhouse. He saw Marie looking out at him for just a moment as she approached the kitchen door, just before she quickly turned to enter the house. He wanted to call to her, but his voice caught in his throat when he saw her face: that horrible expression. He would have sworn in the rising moonlight he had seen her smiling at him. But it was not her typical smile, not the one he known and had fallen in love with so many years ago. It appeared more like a hideously bizarre grin; one that radiated some twisted sort of rapture, which bordered the realm of insanity. What was wrong with his wife, and what in the name of God had happened to his boys tonight? Had she found the boys dead in the well and lost her mind with grief? God knew he was barely able to hold onto his on sanity over it. But why in the world had she been wearing such an unsettlingly hideous expression at such an unimaginable time?

Dwight had assumed at first some type of terrible yet innocent accident must have occurred. He had given Marie the benefit of the doubt because she was his wife and the mother of his children. He assumed she might have mistakenly left the top of the well open. He thought perhaps the boys had disobeyed his orders and had accidentally fallen into the opening. Perhaps Charles had fallen in and Matthew had climbed in to try to save him. Although it wasn't far down to the surface of the water, Dwight knew the sides were too steep and too slippery with ice for them to have had a chance to get out. The frigid water surly had taken them quickly. Although it was an unspeakable tragedy, he was certain it surely had to have been an accident. Perhaps Marie had heard their cries for help and had come to the well in a futile attempt to try to rescue them. He wanted to believe that was so; he needed to believe it. But he couldn't because deep down inside, he already knew the truth.

After seeing the insane look on his wife's face as she glared madly out at him from the kitchen doorway, he had no choice but to accept the truth. If she was innocent then why, when she had finally seen him, hadn't she come out to be with him? Why didn't she let him console her and she him in this time of devastating sorrow? Why instead would she look at him with that mad look then turn and quickly enter the house? None of it made any sense to him. He was bewildered, heartsick and confused.

But Dwight was also starting to comprehend. He realized this and began to accept his original assessment of a possible accident had likely been wrong. Maybe some other series of events had taken place; something beyond his previous imaginings; something unthinkable. Could it be that the unimaginable thoughts, which were now forming in his mind might actually have taken place? He couldn't believe such a thing possible. Could it really be that something so vile, born of unbridled evil had actually occurred? And could it be that his own wife; the boys' own mother had been deliberately responsible? He could scarcely allow the question formulate in his baffled mind. He tried to force the thought away but it continued to push its way to the forefront of his thoughts and he had no choice but to accept it.

Once he was able to acknowledge the idea, it went in an instant from a mere thought to a reality. Marie had actually murdered her own sons, his sons.  

With a growing anger, Dwight began to make his way through the meadow grass, which was wet with snow. He trudged back toward the farmhouse, stumbling clumsily along the uneven ground, using his walking stick for support. When he got closer to the house, he saw the dark upstairs bedroom, his and Marie's bedroom, begin to come alive with the bright glow from several lanterns. He saw Marie's shape passing behind the sheer curtains covering the windows as she moved about lighting one lantern after another. Under other circumstances, he might have found that image alluring and sensual, but now it seemed sinister and surreal.

By the time he reached the backdoor of the house, the bedroom appeared to be ablaze with light. He saw the silhouette of his wife standing at the window apparently looking down at him. He could not make out her facial features in the shadows but assumed she still wore that mad grin he had seen just a few minutes earlier.

Surprisingly, he began to recall other unusual events, which had taken place over the previous month or more. He remembered how strangely Marie had been acting, how distant and how cold she had been toward him. Now that he had taken the time to think further about it, he realized she must have been in the throes of some sort of mental decline brought on by something, but what that might be he had no idea. Or perhaps he was not being completely honest with himself. Perhaps he really did know exactly what would have driven her to such madness and that he was likely responsible.

He was uncertain if this idea was a real possibility or if it was simply the result of his own guilty conscience.  Might it be possible that she had somehow learned about his mistress, Agatha and his illegitimate daughter? He had always been concerned such a day might come, but he never thought finding out would have driven Marie to the point of insanity and murder. He mentally cursed the gossiping old biddies of Ashton, those who were likely responsible for Marie learning his secret.

But then again, he hadn't really been discrete, had he? In fact, he had been quite arrogant and flagrant about his indiscretions. He had allowed himself to be seen in public with the mother as well as his child. Now in hindsight he realized just how foolish he had been. At the time, he had felt so confident about what he was doing, almost as if it had been his right as a successful businessman to have a mistress and a second family; but he now felt the hard, cold truth. He was just a broken and sorrowful fool. Marie was always a strong and forthright woman. He should have realized she would never have tolerated his philandering.

Dwight was not necessarily proud of what he had done by any means, but it had made him feel special at the time. He did love the woman Agatha as well as their daughter, yet at the same time he believed he still loved Marie and was certain he loved his other children as well. He realized she might not be able to believe he did still love her, but it was the truth. Could that really be what had happened? But if he were being honest with himself, what else could have driven his wife past the brink of sanity?

Marie knew everything there was to know about Dwight, his strengths as well as his weaknesses. Therefore, she knew how to hurt him. She knew where to strike the blow that would bring him to his knees. She understood how much Dwight loved his two boys and how much they idolized him as well. But could she really have murdered her own flesh and blood as some sick attempt at seeking retribution against him?

Suddenly Dwight thought about their youngest child, their daughter little Sarah. "Oh my God!" he thought, stopping in his tracks. Where was Sarah? What had happened to Sarah? Had Marie killed her too? Surely, Marie couldn't have thrown Sarah into the well, could she? Sarah was so much like her mother that killing her would be like Marie killing herself. But then Dwight realized he was still thinking somewhat rationally, and that was not the way to think if he were trying to follow Marie's train of thought. Since, for Marie Livingston, the days of thinking rationally were gone forever.

He turned and looked back toward the well trying to decide if he had missed finding his daughter's body floating in the bottom because of his shock and confusion. Reflected in the moonlight, he could see the glistening wet bodies of his two dead sons, Matthew and Charles. For a moment, he almost forgot about Marie and considered returning to the well to look for Sarah, but he realized such a move would be futile. If Sarah were truly in the well, it was far too late for anyone to do anything to help her. She would likely have been the first to be thrown in. His heart broke with sorrow and his gut clenched with revolution.

Then he began to fill with a raging fury the likes of which he had never known before. He was going to get the truth from his wife. If was going to find out what had happened to his children if he had to beat her to death to get the answers he needed.

Dwight plowed through the kitchen door and as it flew open it slammed against the inside wall shattering several of the windowpanes. The broken shards tinkled to the floor, sounding like tiny musical instruments as they rained down on its surface. In the back of Dwight's mind, the sound reminded him of the high-pitched melodic laughter of children; his children; his now dead children. Marie would surely pay for what she had done. Dwight realized he was no longer just considering the possibility his wife had killed their children; he was now certain of it. He swore by all that was holy he would make her suffer while she was on earth and cursed her soul and prayed he might find some way to make her pay for her foul deeds in her own special hell.

Stephanie squirmed slightly in her seat, a disturbed expression forming on her face, as the scene played out in her mind. She knew what was coming next in the series of events, but was unable to do anything to stop the steady progression of the living movie flashing across her mind.

At first, she had seen all that Marie had seen. In fact, she had become Marie. Then things had changed and she had become Dwight. Now she seemed to have become separated from both of them and seeing things from the perspective of a spectator, watching the events unfold. And somehow, the situation seemed even more terrifying from this latest perspective. She understood the madness, which possessed Marie as well as the fury, which encompassed Dwight from sampling their emotions first hand. She understood bringing together two people who were operating under extreme emotions would be a recipe for disaster. And of course, she already knew what exactly the disaster was which would follow.

Stephanie found herself floating in the bedroom of her farmhouse. The room was as it appeared in the original house; much smaller than the present day master bedroom but she was still able to recognize it. The room was filled with many of the same antique furnishings, which she and Jason had sold at auction; the ones which Emerson Washburn had chosen to live with. But in the image she was watching, the furniture looked brand new. The room was bright with illumination with an amber glow from a mixture of candles and oil lanterns. Stephanie was surprised by how bright the space appeared.