Mercy (5 page)

Haley's thumb brushed the touchpad and a new photo flashed on the screen.

Jake had just glanced up at the camera. His skin, tinted a warm gold by the lamplight, almost gave him a look of health. But he'd grown so thin you could see the lines of his skull where it made hollows at his temples and under his cheekbones. Even his nose looked skinny. On the side away from the light, the shadows of the room curled around his face. One eye disappeared into them. His short black hair seemed to be dissolving into the darkness.

Haley slapped at a key to turn the program off, and Jake's face vanished from the screen.

“W
hy don't you go ask your aunt?” Haley's dad suggested, looking over her shoulder.

Haley had brought her prints of Mercy's grave and the cemetery down to the kitchen and spread them out on the table. The photos were the easy part. But she also had to write a report, and that was going to be a pain. The Browns may have lived in Rhode Island for a hundred years, but they'd never been the kind of people who made it into the history books. Where was Haley going to come up with enough details about Mercy's life to get an A?

She picked up a tangerine from the pottery bowl in the center of the table and looked up at her father. “Aunt Brown? She's your aunt, not my aunt.” Digging her fingernails into the peel, she let loose a spray of sharp, sweet scent.

“Technically I think she may have been your grandfather's aunt. Except she was young enough to be his sister. Or something. I forget. The point is, she's got a bunch of family history stuff. Why don't you go out there and ask her? Maybe take Sunny with you. Elaine will have Eddie back from playgroup soon.”

“Can you drive me?”

“Sorry, no can do, hon.” Her father slathered peanut butter on a toasted bagel and took a bite, licking his fingers as he chewed. “Got a big order yesterday. Wedding present. Thank God people still get married.”

That had always bugged Haley's mother, that her dad was happy to live on sales to the tourists in the summer and the occasional big order for a wedding. With his talent, he should be in museums, she said. Art galleries. Charging hundreds, maybe even a thousand, for a single piece. But her dad liked the idea of people
using
the pottery he made—coffee in his mugs, soup in his bowls, milk in his graceful pitchers with the long, slender necks.

“Could you take me to Aunt Brown's this afternoon, maybe?” Haley asked hopefully.

“Doubt it. What's wrong, got a flat tire on your bike?”

“No, it's—”

I just want you to come with me
, Haley wanted to say.
Aunt Brown never acts like she likes me, and her house smells, you know it does . . 
.

“She's kind of . . .” It was difficult to admit that your own aunt, or great-aunt, or great-great-aunt—could she be that old, really? No, her dad probably got it wrong, he was never good on details—that your own relative creeped you out.

And anyway, it would just be kind of nice if her dad did it because she'd asked. Mel's dad drove her to the mall any time she wanted.

“She's just kind of . . . weird,” Haley finished lamely.

“She's hardly senile, Haley. I hope I'm in such good shape when I get to be her age.”

“Well, she never leaves that house.”

“She's eccentric. Every family should have an eccentric aunt. For atmosphere.” Her dad stuffed the rest of his bagel into his
mouth. “Good luck on the report. Home for lunch? I'll take a break from the studio and make us Reubens. Lots and lots of sauerkraut. How's that?”

He knew perfectly well that she hated sauerkraut. She threw the paper napkin at him. But she wasn't quick enough. The kitchen door closed behind him as he headed out to the studio he'd made of what had once been the garage.

Haley tried holding Sunny's leash in one hand and her bike's handlebars with the other. Sunny trotted happily alongside as Haley rode slowly away from town, out toward the country where there were fields with a few cows or maybe a horse.

Two more years and she'd have her license.

Aunt Brown lived at the top of a sloping hill, across the street from the cemetery Haley and Mel visited yesterday.
How's
that
for atmosphere?
Haley thought, leaning her bike against the mailbox.
Old farmhouse out in the country, graveyard right across the road
. All it needed was a thunderstorm and some ominous music.

Haley tugged at Sunny's leash and started up the long driveway, muddy and slippery, with only a few patches of gravel left. It would be scary to try to get a car up that, not to mention down. Of course, since Aunt Brown never went anywhere, getting a car in or out of her driveway wasn't really an issue.

The porch steps were worn and sagging. Paint had flaked off the walls of the house to show gray, weathered boards. Haley knew her dad had offered to come out and paint it one summer. But Aunt Brown liked it the way it was.

There was no doorbell. Haley knocked hard.

Sunny whined a little and pulled at her leash. “What, girl?” The dog was retreating away from the door, toward the porch steps.

“What? Is there a rabbit or something?” Sunny kept her eyes imploringly on Haley and dithered, her claws scrabbling at the floorboards.

“Why have you brought that animal here?”

Haley's heart jumped in her chest. She hadn't heard the door open.

Aunt Brown was standing in the doorway, looking disapproving. Of course, Haley couldn't imagine her looking any other way. She wore the same outfit she had worn every time Haley had seen her: the long skirt that nearly brushed the ground, the white blouse (how many did she have in her closet?), the silver locket about the size of a quarter that hung just under her collar, the cardigan that was faded to no true color at all, something between gray and blue and beige.

“Oh, hi. You startled me,” she said a little weakly, petting Sunny, who pressed up close against her leg.

“Really? When I knock at a door, I generally expect somebody to open it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Haley wanted to squirm. “I just—” She had to clear her throat. “Can I ask you a favor, Aunt Brown?”

“Leave the dog outside.” Aunt Brown turned and walked inside, leaving the door open. Haley supposed that was meant as an invitation.

She looped Sunny's leash around the porch railing and rubbed the dog's ears reassuringly before she went in. Sunny let out a long yodeling yelp as Haley closed the door.

“Why did you bring that creature to my house?”

Haley's eyes were still adjusting to the change in light, and Aunt Brown's low, sharp voice seemed to come out of nowhere. “I didn't—” Haley blinked. She was standing in the hallway, the
living room to one side, the dining room to the other. All the blinds were down, the air dim and gray.
Like living underwater
, she thought. The house was chilly. No wonder Aunt Brown always wore that cardigan. Haley kept her jacket on.

And there was that smell, one she recognized from her father's studio. Clay. It must come up from the basement. But it seemed to soak into the whole house, walls and ceilings, carpets and curtains.

“I didn't think you'd mind. She's Jake's dog.” And that wasn't true, not anymore, but Haley knew she wouldn't stop saying it. “I'm just—keeping her.”

“Don't bring her out here again. I don't like animals in the house.” Now Haley could make Aunt Brown out, standing in the doorway to the dining room.

Sunny's not
in
the house
, Haley thought rebelliously. But she said meekly, “I won't. I'm sorry.”

Aunt Brown still looked displeased, as if an apology weren't enough. “Did you say you wanted something?”

To be gone was what Haley wanted now. Why didn't Aunt Brown ask Haley to come into the living room, or to sit down, or anything? Would it kill her to be friendly?

“I've just got this school project,” she said awkwardly. “History. We're supposed to research an ancestor, you know? And I wanted to—you know, Mercy? Mercy Brown?”

It was strange how Aunt Brown just stood there, with those small, cool gray eyes fixed on Haley. Her eyelashes were so pale that she didn't seem to have any, and Haley couldn't see her blink. It was like being stared at by a snake.

“So I thought, Dad said, you might have some stuff about her?” Haley hated the way her voice was making everything she said into a question. “Family history stuff? That I could borrow?”

“Wait here.”

Aunt Brown really didn't believe in wasting words. She just turned and left, her feet in their soft shoes silent on the old wooden floor.

Haley shivered a little. Didn't Aunt Brown notice how cold it was? She wandered into the dining room and twitched the curtains aside to look out the window. The sunlight that spilled into the room seemed faint and dishwater gray.

Restlessly, Haley moved around the room, brushing her hand over faded wallpaper, fingering carved wooden grapes and apples on a long sideboard. It was all slightly cold to the touch. Haley always had the feeling that everything in Aunt Brown's house should be covered with a light film of dust. She could almost see it, softening the carvings on the sideboard, dulling the shine of the pewter candlesticks on the table, clinging to the crystal of the chandelier. But there was no dust. Everything her fingers touched was perfectly clean. Haley imagined dust particles drifting in the air, too afraid of Aunt Brown to settle.

“Did you pull those curtains?”

For the second time in ten minutes, Haley jumped. Aunt Brown was just behind her.

Haley smiled nervously. She felt like an idiot. And it didn't help that Aunt Brown gave no answering smile, only stood looking sternly at her, as if Haley was expected to do something. In her hands was a bulky envelope, the brown paper soft with age and two of the corners split.

“The light will fade the furniture,” Aunt Brown said.

Haley was baffled for a moment, then remembered the curtains. She hurried across the room to close them again.

Aunt Brown had set the envelope on the table and was carefully taking something out of it. A sheaf of papers, clipped together. An old newspaper, bits flaking off even as Aunt Brown laid it down. A small, flat box of cardboard that had once been red, tied shut with a yellow cord.

Haley came to the table to look at what her aunt had brought. Aunt Brown seemed interested as well. Having the elderly woman peer over her shoulder made Haley uncomfortable. She couldn't even hear her aunt breathing. She just—hovered.

But the historical stuff could be really useful. Haley bent over the newspaper first. She hadn't quite pulled the curtains together, she realized. A thin line of sunlight ran over the faded newsprint and touched the little box, laying a stripe of brighter red across its faded surface.

She looked at the opening paragraph of the newspaper article.

To begin with, we will say that our neighbor, a good and respectable citizen, George T. Brown, has been bereft of his wife and two grown-up daughters by consumption . . 
.