Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island (8 page)

“What ?”

“DAR, Daughters of the American Revolution. My family is distantly related to the Andrewses; we’ve been neighbors since the seventeen hundreds. My family is Newfield. You know, as in Newfield Mall.”

“Newfield Mall?”

“My family owned that tract of land. It was farmland and my parents sold it to developers in the fifties. I live in the original gatekeeper’s cottage. Oh, these old homes, they do have tales to tell.” She was excited now.

“So, what do you know about Stillwell
Manor?”

“It was named for the wishing well in the rear
. Have you seen it? Squire Andrews was a Loyalist; in other words, he supported the king, as did my ancestors. This whole area supported King George. The squire had a daughter, whose name was Hannah. She was beautiful. I have a portrait of her in one of the books somewhere. I’ll find it for you. But I digress. She fell in love with a local boy by the name of John. John Wendover, of the Hicksville Wendovers. They were a rebel family.”

“Rebel family...you mean
‘patriot’? He was a patriot. This was during the American Revolution, not the Civil War,” Paul interrupted.

“Yes, I know
.” She smiled. “Depends on which side of the pond you sympathized with, dear boy. Anyone who went against the king was a rebel. They were revolting against their own country. You only become a patriot if the rebellion succeeds, otherwise you’re a traitor. John joined up with Washington. He was carrying information about troop movements. So they say...Well…” Her eyes got dreamy. “…her father wouldn’t have it. No, no, not at all, no rebel was going to marry his little princess.”

“What happened to them?” he asked even though he had most of the story from Molly. It sounded like the historical bodice rippers his mother read all the time.

“It was a tragedy. Terrible. Hannah disappeared, and they blamed the boy.” She leaned closer as if sharing gossip. “He was charged was treason, but they say he was framed by Hannah’s father who blamed him for his daughter’s disappearance. He was hanged at the corner of High and Bauer streets.”

“Here! In town!”

“Well, we are talking close to two hundred forty years ago. They didn’t lock children up in their rooms. She was very young, seventeen or eighteen. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Years later, they found her remains in the well on the estate. They say when he couldn’t have her, he threw her down the well,” she added with relish. “Wait here. I’ll bring you a picture of her portrait. The artist was pretty famous, studied under Lawrence.”

The old woman floated away, while Paul digested the information. His phone rang and he answered, much to the disgust of the locals
. An older man pointed to the “no cell phone” sign, while a woman shook her finger at him.

It was Molly. Before he could tell her he couldn’t talk now, she started, “You’re late
. I went to all that trouble of getting that young couple for you.” Her voice whined through the receiver.

“Crap
. I’ll be back in twenty. I had to make a stop. Can you keep them busy by filling out forms?”

“You owe me
, Paulie, big time...I had a nail appointment...Paul...”

The older woman returned, an enormous book open in both her arms
. He caught a glimpse of the subject of the painting. Absentmindedly, he dropped the phone onto the counter.

“I know, I kn...”

His gaze froze on the page of the open book.

“She was a beauty
.” She propped the book on her desk and moved away, her thin finger pointing to a woman that took his breath away. Paul pressed Allison’s wedding band close to his heart as if to stifle the ache there. Dressed in a billowy, white dress, hair loose and flowing, glinting blonde in the sun was his wife, Allison.

“Paul...Paul...” Molly continued on his discarded cell.

He swallowed thick. Staring at her beloved face, he read the caption: “Hannah Andrews circa 1775 Stillwell Manor by R.G. Fontaine. Late daughter of Squire Geoffrey Andrews, presumably murdered by her lover, John Wendover.”

“Can I take this?” he asked.

“No, it’s reference.” She looked at his tense face. “Why?”

“I am trying to sell the house. An uncle in the family wants to tear it down
. I want to create a cleaner history for it.”

She closed the book firmly
. “Here. Anything that preserves the old homes of Long Island is important to me. Don’t tell anyone I gave it to you.” She put her hand over his. “But please return it in the same shape.”

Paul did something unexpected
. Leaning over, he kissed her powdery cheek. “I will guard it with my life.”

====

Racing back to his office, he glanced at the dash and realized he was a half hour late. The couple sat beside an animated Molly who entertained them with local lore. “And here he is the man of the hour.”

“I apologize
. I got stuck at another house.” Molly raised her thin eyebrow at him. “Did you prepare those comps for me, Mol?”

“Does McDonald’s have golden arches
?” She handed him a sheaf of papers. “Simmons house first. It’s got everything they need. That’s the ticket.”

“Do you want to follow or go in my car?” he asked as he walked them out.

Though the shock of the portrait was on his mind, somehow he was able to get them to commit in record time. It was the Simmons house, just as Molly suggested. The buyers came up, the sellers came down, and a sale was in the works a scant two hours later.

“Man, you’re good,”
Molly admired. “What the heck happened to you today?”

“
Nothing.”

“What are you
, Jesse now? I can see something is on your mind.”

“Wait here
.” He ran out to the car to retrieve the book. He motioned for her to go into the privacy of his cubicle. “Take a look at this.”

He o
pened the page and spread the book on his desk and heard Molly’s gasp.

“Allison?”

“Nope. That’s Hannah Andrews. Weird, right?”

“I’ll say
. Melissa Andrews called here earlier to see if you’re OK. What happened over there?”

“I don’t know,” he said absently as he stared down at the picture
. “I was coming down the main staircase, and…I don’t know, it was nothing.”

“What
? What?”

“I think I was pushed.”

She slapped his shoulder, and he winced. “Get out of here. Did you hurt yourself?”

He shrugged.
“Only my pride. I may just have tripped on the carpet. It’s old.”

“You’re still taking the house
?”

“I feel like I have to. I don’t have a choice
. I need the money.” He closed the book and headed home, ready to tackle dinner for his three kids.

“
Get normal. Get normal.” He repeated this mantra to himself in the car. He was afraid to turn on his radio. This was crazy. Seeing crime scenes, being pushed by ghosts, a demon who chose to visit him nightly—was this the new normal Allison spoke of? He breathed deeply, slowing his racing heart. I have to be normal for the kids, he thought wildly. Just my imagination, he convinced himself and then said out loud, “I am having a nervous breakdown.”

====

He came home to a packed house. His parents and in-laws sat in the brightly lit kitchen, the table groaning with trays of home-cooked food. His mother got up when he entered and grabbed his face.

“You
OK, Paulie?” She kissed both his cheeks, looking at the shadows under his eyes. Her thumbs caressed his tender skin. Feeling his throat clog, he stifled the urge to throw himself on her deep chest and cry. He felt his face heat.

“Ma!”
He pulled away. “Albert, June, Pop.” He nodded to each of them. Albert was short with a thick head of silver hair and Allison and the twins shared his eyes. June was as spare as his mother was fat. They were old friends, acting like sisters. His father, a little more stooped than before, was tall for his age. His hair was thinning but still there, and Paul hoped he would have the stamina his father still possessed when he reached his age.

“I made gravy
.” His mother started ladling pasta and sauce into a plate.

“Ma, stop
. I’m not that hungry.”

“You don’t eat enough
,” she complained.

“I brought you pot roast
.” June started making him another plate. “It’s your favorite.” She had gotten old while her daughter was sick. He noticed her hand was shaking.

“I’ll eat when the kids get here
. What’s going on?”

“Junie and Al are leaving tomorrow
. They wanted to see you and the kids.” His mother was pulling out yet another casserole from the oven.

“I’ll stay if you need us
.” His mother-in-law added, eyeing him. He liked them, really liked them; they were sweet. It was just too much to have them around. He didn’t have the strength to take care of them. His reserves were tapped and running on empty.

“Thanks, Junie,” he called her by
her childhood nickname and she smiled sweetly. “I have to get things going here.”

“I know
, sweetie.” Her voice cracked. Al rubbed her back. The room got silent.

“It’s hard
. It’s so hard.” She cried and that did it for everybody. After they all wiped their tears, the silence became more comfortable than conversation.

The screen door opened and Stella ran in, a wealth of people who adored her in the room
. She didn’t know where to start.

“Grandmothers first then the grandpas,” Paul told her and smiled as she launched herself into his mother’s arms
. She gave each grandparent her or his due, brightening the atmosphere. She threw her backpack in the corner. Paul made a mental note to check it later.

The twins followed shortly after
, and the table became greasy with comfort foods. He was happy to see all his children eating their meal heartily, which differed greatly in color. They even scarfed down the vegetables. He had to remember to find out what his mom did to make them taste good. Jesse grabbed more eggplant with his fork, caught Paul’s eye, and picked up the serving fork. Paul smiled, winking to his son, who winked right back, his silver eyes sparkling. He was a rare devil, his son.

“Nonni,
” Stella asked his mother in between mouthfuls of meatballs, “wasn’t Daddy always Mommy’s hero?”

“Oh
, your Daddy was quite a knight in shining armor, right, June?” His mother beamed.

“Of course
. I remember once we had a freak snowfall and he carried Allison home from the bus on his back. They went out in spring clothes; you know they didn’t report weather as thoroughly back then. I think Ally was wearing knee socks—oh her legs were so red with the cold. They were frozen stiff, but he wouldn’t let her walk in the snow drifts,” June recalled, smiling at him.

Paul ducked his head.

“They would have swallowed her. She was such a petite little thing. How about that time when that kid, what was his name, the Lloyd boy, you remember. He kept stealing Ally’s lunch.” This was from Paul’s father.

“He deck
ed him,” his mom said with pride.

“He
what
?” Jesse asked, his mouth filled with food.

“Ma!” Paul shouted then turned to Jesse, “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Yeah, but Ally had her moments too. Remember the pool?” June asked his mother.

“Oh my God, how could I forget it
.” His mother sighed.

“What? What pool?” Paul asked, starting to clear the table
, wondering where he was going to store all this food.

“
You drowned,” his father said and the table became silent. “We almost lost you.”

“When
? I don’t remember.”

“You were six or seven, so Allison was just over five
. We had a little kiddie pool in the yard. You were splashing and slipped. I didn’t see it. I was cutting some basil in the garden,” his mother added. “I should have been watching you.”

“You were right there, Arlene
. It was just a second,” his father assured her.

“Allison saved you
. You banged your head, landing in the water. You were out cold. She grabbed you and pulled your head out all while shouting for me. She was so smart,” Nonni added, “such a good girl.”

“I don’t remember
.” Paul cleared his throat, his voice almost inaudible.

“You saw a white light, you told us
.”

I
t seems my father is a wealth of information today, Paul thought.

“One, two, three...
Here it comes,” Paul counted to himself.

“A white light
!” Jesse shouted, his face beaming. “You saw
the
white light?”