Fallen Stones (40 page)

Stephanie couldn't help but notice that Sammy seemed to be sleeping a lot lately during the day. It didn't cause her a concern as of yet, but she had made a mental note to watch his sleep patterns more closely for possible signs of trouble.
 

Upon examination of the box, Stephanie was surprised by how disorganized everything inside was. Absolutely nothing was in any proper arrangement whatsoever. She had naturally assumed a highly paid private investigator would have done a more systematic job of keeping things organized. Then she realized perhaps the investigator actually had done so. Maybe he had submitted all of his findings to Emerson Washburn in a nice, neat and orderly package. However, if Washburn had been as mentally unstable as she suspected he might have been near the end of his life, it was very possible he had actually been the one who and muddled up the files.

No matter what the cause, Stephanie knew she would have a big job ahead of her. But rather than become frustrated with the potentially daunting task, she found herself becoming excited over the challenge. As she thumbed through the top most layers of documents, she discovered a large stack of assorted photos, wrapped in a thick rubber band. Being an illustrator, she realized the importance of visual media and decided rather than submerge herself into a stack of textual documentation at this early stage, she would start with something more in her comfort zone.

She thought of the old adage of a picture being worth a thousand words. Stephanie decided she would study the pictures and learn what she could from them. If nothing else, they might give her a first look at some of her ancestors and help her to get a good feel for a past with which she was completely unfamiliar.

She also wondered if there would be any dates and identifiers written on the backs of the pictures, something to help her determine when the photos were taken and perhaps who was present in the shots. She recalled how when she was a little girl she would help her mother put pictures into their photo albums.  Her mother would always write the date and the names of the people in the photos on the backs of each picture. She assumed her mother must have learned that practice from her own mother and hoped the tradition had started even further back in her lineage. Or maybe the private investigator had made personal notations on the back of the pictures. If so, then it might go a long way to help her quickly get things reorganized.

Stephanie turned over the first picture on the top of the stack. It was a photo of two young boys perhaps ages four and two years old. She was amazed at how much the two boys not only looked alike but also bore a striking resemblance to her own little Sammy. She held the card up to the light to see if she could read the caption on the back, which was written in an elaborate, flowing cursive hand. The light was unfortunately too poor in the attic to allow her to see much but as best as she could discern the inscription read "Matthew James Livingston age 5, Charles Edward Livingston age 3", followed by the date, "July 20, 1921".

"Matthew and Charles Livingston" she said aloud, realizing they could very well be the sons of her great grandparents, and most likely were. These two might have grown up to become her unknown great uncles. Stephanie knew she was going to love this project because of how even this simple bit of previously unknown information thrilled her to no end. She knew the Livingstons had other children because if she was correct, her grandmother had been the sister of these two boys and had originally been from Schuylkill County. However, she didn't know how many other children, if any, the Livingstons may have had. She knew back in the early part of the twentieth century people tried to have big families because often illness or some other tragedy would result in an early death for young children. Plus, if the place were operated as a family farm, Livingston would have wanted many children to help with the chores, especially boys.

Stephanie felt a chill run down her spine, and she suddenly sensed she were being watched, observed from somewhere by someone. She slowly turned and looked about the attic but could see nothing out of the ordinary lurking in the dark shadows. She saw the portrait of Dwight and Marie standing along the back wall of the attic wrapped tightly in its protective tarp and tied securely. She suspected at some point in her research she might once again have to unwrap the portrait to study it in more detail.

Then, whether having been a trick of the poor lighting, or maybe a breeze entering the attic through a crack or simply her own overactive imagination, Stephanie thought for the briefest of moments, she had seen the surface of the canvas tarpaulin covering the portrait, rustle ever so slightly. When she looked at it more intently, the movement did not return, that is to say if it had ever been there in the first place. She would have sworn, however, she had actually seen it move.

She assumed by the strange feelings she was starting to experience, she may already have stayed too long in the eerie space. Stephanie decided to take the large stack of pictures from the attic and out to the loft where she could begin cataloging them in a better lighted and less gloomy setting. She wished she could take everything with her immediately and avoid another trip up to the dismal garret but realized the best thing to do was start small with the pictures and build from there. Besides, she was going to send Jason up for the box later, which meant she could avoid the spooky attic from then on.  

Stephanie reached down and closed the lid of the box, setting her stack of photos on top of it. She carefully stood up on legs, which had all but fallen asleep, and then bending over, she pushed the large box across the dusty attic floor, getting it as close to the door as possible, while leaving drag marks in the dust. This would make it easier for Jason to find it when she asked him to bring it to her studio that evening. Upon seeing the drag marks, she brushed off the seat of her jeans while still in a bent over position, seeing a light cloud of dust was billowing behind her.

She thought back to how uncharacteristically angry she had gotten with Jason, and she had been so grateful he was finally putting his family first, ahead of his job responsibilities. She recalled the long summer days and evenings she had spent alone with the kids while Jason worked long hours. Then she felt ashamed at how she had begun to suspect perhaps he had not been working but might have become involved with another woman. How could she have thought such a thing? Jason would never consider cheating on her, would he? No, she was certain he never would.

Standing up straighter, slightly out of breath she saw stars flashing in front of her eyes as often happened when she got up too fast from a bent position. Then surprisingly, she thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye; something moving along the shadowed back wall of the room. She knew there could be nothing back there except for the wrapped portrait of the Livingstons and a few pieces of furniture from Washburn's bedroom, including that century-old dressing mirror.

Assuming she had been mistaken or that the illusion had resulted from her standing up too quickly, Stephanie picked up the stack of photos, switched off the light, closed the attic door and went back to her loft studio.  

Chapter 27

 

The cold November winds howled outside as Stephanie intently scrutinized the ever-increasing mountains of documents and photos, making annotations in the margins of the typed pages of certain items she felt were of significance. She would occasionally stop and enter some information on her laptop computer. Then she would return to the pile of documents, which had spread to cover the entire area that had once been her desktop. Likewise, her drawing board, once used to create beautiful illustrations now was covered with a large piece of butcher paper containing what appeared to be a hand-scribbled version of a family tree, with long, thick lines resembling a flow chart and script which was erratic and barely legible.

The children's book she had set down over a month earlier, lay somewhere under the pile of documents completely forgotten. Stephanie's goal had been to put it out of her mind for a short while then get back to finalize it. But she had no idea when she put the book down that she would become so obsessed with her new project. The previous week had been the time she had originally designated to revisit the book for a final proofing before sending it on to her publisher. But last week had come and gone as did this week and she never even thought about the book. Nor would she look at it any time soon. The fact was she could scarcely even remember writing the book in the first place. That was how absorbed she had become in her latest endeavor.

She was currently dressed in a pair of baggy gray sweat pants, which were stained with paint, coffee, food and God only knew what else. Her shirt was an oversized pink sweatshirt sporting similar stains to those on the pants, and on her feet were a tattered pair of threadbare bedroom slippers. This had been her standard work outfit for the past week or more and even she was starting to notice its pungent aroma, as it was beginning to get a bit ripe and was in desperate need of spending some quality time in the washing machine. But even so, her condition didn't seem to matter to her. Stephanie's hair looked as if it hadn't been combed since she got up that morning, or even the previous morning. That was because it hadn't been. And if asked, she would not have been able to tell anyone the last time she had bathed or showered either. She likewise hadn't worn makeup or cosmetics of any kind in weeks. Her eyes, which were sunken behind dark circles, had the wild gaze of intensity bordering on mania; the types of looks one might see in the eyes of a homeless woman, muttering to herself while pushing a shopping cart full of worthless trash down the street.

Over the past month or so, since beginning her research, Stephanie had become so incredibly obsessed with her work that it had reached a level approaching psychosis. The family history was all she thought about morning noon and night, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. And what was worse, it was all she cared to think about.

On those rare occasions when she left her loft long enough to speak with family members, it had been in short, clipped and often barely intelligible half-sentences, and the topic always seemed to contain names or snippets of information about one of her recently discovered ancestors. She spoke of them as if she knew them personally, as if they were friends or acquaintances she had known all of her life. She also discussed them as if everyone else in the family should know these former strangers as well. Each week she seemed to decline steadily becoming further absorbed into the world of her family's past.

Stephanie spent almost every available waking moment in her loft, which had been transformed from its original neat and efficient workspace to something resembling a disaster area after a hurricane. She not only spent all of her available time on the project but also used most of the time she should have been spending with her family, buried deep in her work.

She seemed to be driven by some strange force, one far beyond her ability to control. And she was likewise too frenzied to eat, since it was apparent to all; in addition to her strange behavior, she had lost well over fifteen or more pounds during the past six weeks.

To say her family was concerned about Stephanie was an understatement. However, Jason was at a loss to determine how best to deal with it. The family was still new to the area, and Jason was unfamiliar with most people outside of his immediate work environment. He also didn't feel close enough to any of them to share such intimate concerns about his wife.

Over the summer, the couple had taken the kids to a local pediatrician for colds, as well as for their school registration requirements, but they had not found a doctor for their own needs. Neither had they joined any of the many local churches, so as of yet there was no spiritual advisor Jason could turn to. He sensed he was putting off the inevitable by not calling for some type of professional help, but he so wanted to find a solution to this problem on his own without seeking outside intervention.

He had called Stephanie's brother Chuck the previous week, and briefly explained about his concerns. Both Jason and Stephanie had been so busy over the past several months they had unfortunately not kept in touch with Chuck and his family. Jason was surprised by the cold vibe he sensed coming over the phone line from his traditionally jovial brother-in-law's uncharacteristically icy voice. Whether his hostile attitude was the result of their unplanned lack of contact or if it came from Chuck's feeling slighted by Stephanie receiving Washburn's inheritance, Jason didn't know. But the bottom line was Chuck provided no support for Jason, and as a result, their call was short and abrupt. Jason knew sometime in the future he would have to work on mending that particular broken paling in the family fence but for the moment, he had too many other more important problems to solve. Jason hoped perhaps someday soon Chuck would come around of his own accord.

With Stephanie as indisposed as she had become, the majority of the house cleaning was now being handled exclusively by Mrs. Franks. Jason had changed the woman's work status from one or two days a week to five days. She even occasionally stopped by on Saturdays as well. Connie was responsible for cleaning the entire house except for the loft area, which was a place Stephanie now insisted everyone including all of the family members avoid. The only exception to this rule was Sammy, and that was simply because he took his naps regularly in the loft bedroom while Stephanie worked and the rest of the time he just sat quietly staring at the television in an almost catatonic state.

Stephanie had thought by now Sammy would have outgrown the need for a nap, but for some unknown reason his time asleep seemed to have actually increased, rather than decreased. Had she been more aware and in a normal, more focused frame of mind, Stephanie would have become much more concerned by this change in his daily routine and would have found it to be at best, a bit peculiar. However, she was not thinking properly. She was simply thankful the boy was quiet and not bothering her. If she had taken the time to find out why Sammy was behaving as he was, she would have been both ashamed by her lack of concern and horrified by the reason for his lethargy.