The Widow's Walk (31 page)

Epilogue

“Wawa!” Eddie toddled barefoot on the sand picking up shells.

Gulls screeched. A gentle breeze blew off the bay, tinged with salt, seaweed.

Cold water numbed Liz’s toes and mottled Eddie’s legs.

There was no trace of Edward. Elisabeth, too, was quiescent, appeased.

Liz packed the baby into the stroller and he fell asleep clutching his treasures: a shiny, triangular rock and a quahog shell, bleached bone white. She brushed the sand off her feet and slipped into sandals before heading up Paine’s Creek Road.

New life, new energy, suffused the air as Brewster prepared for the summer season. Painters gave Kate’s another coat. Road crews raked the shoulders, trimmed the overgrown grasses. She hurried across 6A, into the circular drive.

Birds twittered in the pines. Warm sunshine broke through the haze, bathed the yard, banished the chill, the despair, the desperation. The horses grazed quietly on tufts of new green grass rising out of the brown mat. The smell of damp earth, onion grass, of rain lingered.

Mae opened windows, slapped rugs on the wooden porch. Freshly washed curtains flapped like flags in the breeze. Soon, the lilt of a new batch of Irish chambermaids would join her, lending a festive, European air to the formal rooms and classic architecture.

Rumors of the master suite having visitations were out, and the Barrett Inn was booked for the entire summer. The dress was where it belonged, behind a glass enclosure in the closet, with all of Elisabeth’s other things. Ghost tours of Brewster, led by Sandra, would be stopping here once a week, and they’d be serving a formal tea, with readings, in the parlour to the attendees. More income–for both of them.

A hoe and rake beckoned like sentinels near the garden. Liz dug her gloves out of the barn, parked Eddie in the shade, and got started.

Kevin walked by her toiling in the patch. “Ya gonna put in the corn and pumpkins this year?”

“I want the fall harvest crops here so they can spread out. It will look pretty to have the colors in the garden for a festival at the Inn. Herbs in the window boxes. We’ll plant tomatoes and other veggies at our house.”

“Good idea.” He wandered toward the barn, pausing to pull out a patch of dead twigs and stalks against the fence.

Cape Cod Magazine
was already planning coverage of a holiday book release party at the Barrett Inn for
Victorian Art, Architecture and Textiles: A Primer
. The advance would just about cover the cost of the festivities, but the relief of finishing the project was worth more. Her agent was thrilled that Liz’s “novel” about Elisabeth’s life would piggy back on the publicity well into the following year. But she’d have to write it first.

Getting ready for high season, the challenge of chasing Eddie, and the occasional substitute gig didn’t leave much free time for that, but chronicling Elisabeth’s story helped make lemonade from life’s bitter fruit.

She dug faster. Once Eddie woke up she’d have to chase him around. Hoe, break up the clods, rake them out. Worms wiggled through the soil.

This ground is rich and fertile, Mrs. Barrett.
Jared always helped when Edward was away but still alive, and the world was going according to plan.

These recollections were far less troubling, though the melancholy over the past was something Liz still struggled to banish. Falling asleep every night in her husband’s arms, awakening well-rested, ready for another day of hard work, was one benefit of the new living arrangement. She’d return to the inn every morning to a more peaceful coexistence with the ghosts, but keeping up with the passage of time had proven a new challenge. Her back already ached, her elbow twinged.

Kevin and Mike had spent mud season painting the colonial, their house, their refuge. The damn shutters were gone, most of the old furniture replaced with new, comfortable things they could call their own. Sure the kitchen and bathrooms needed remodeling, but that could wait until they had the money.

Bethea worked her farm plot–the only way a widow with a young child could survive.
Liz wandered over to the pine tree she’d buried the crystals under. In her frenzy to discard them, she’d taken little notice of landmarks, but something, more likely someone, guided the blade of her shovel to the right spot. One thrust unearthed the muddied silk containing the key fob, matching necklace, and ankle bracelet.

Liz held them in her hands until the stones recharged, drawing renewed energy from their owner. She shoved them into her pocket and got back to work. Might they ease her body and mind? Why not be open to it?

Mike watched his wife working the soil. The horses stood behind her in the paddock. All that was missing to place this scene back in 1876 was a long black dress and a British accent. Jared rumbled.
I fell in love with Elisabeth in that very moment–before we were all swept into a vortex we never escaped.

Anguish, sadness congealed in Mike’s chest like melted wax. The pneumonia had left his lungs weaker. Most people would chalk it up to age. He knew better; the ravaged ghosts of everyone’s past lingered just below the surface. Some were just more aware of it than others. Less stamina, more breathlessness–but he wouldn’t surrender to it. The anger, the melancholy would not settle there, would not weigh him down, would not kill him this time.

He glanced up at the widow’s walk, newly repaired, ready for the always vigilant Elisabeth waiting for Captain Barrett to come home again. It had been there for over a century, and if he and Liz had anything to do with it, it would be there for another one.

“Let me help.” Mike picked up the hoe and started on another patch while Liz raked the first flat.

Jared and Elisabeth paused, acknowledged each other. A tickle of romance, of excitement ran through him. Liz’s bright eyes stared into his, but Mike knew–and he still wasn’t sure how–that she had sensed it, too.

“Do you remember? Liz leaned on the rake handle.

“Every stinking detail. Jared fell in love–and Elisabeth never realized what was happening.” He dropped the hoe.

His ghost vanished, appeased.

“And can you live with all this?” She rested the rake against the fence and swiped her sleeve across a sweaty, dirt stained forehead.

“I think we’ve both got the situation under control.” He grabbed Liz. “Always wanted to sweep you off your feet and sneak into the woods.”

Really?” Liz hung her arms around his neck.

“Yeah.” He swallowed her lips with his and headed south.

Liz giggled and escaped. “Was that you or Jared?”

“Not sure.” It didn’t matter.

“Look what I found.” She dangled his key fob.

The unexpected surprise brought a grin to his lips. “Where was it?”

“Being discharged, cleansed. We should go back to see Sandra. I have to get a new chain.”

“And those matching moonstone wedding bands.” He rustled the stones between his palms. They warmed to his touch. Contentment swirled around him like the spring breeze.

Eddie stirred and whimpered.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this project and have our tryst tomorrow.” Mike helped Liz over the garden fence and pushed the stroller through the pine grove to their house.