The Widow's Walk (13 page)

From here he could faintly hear the sounds of the ocean, crashing against the shoreline. Combined with the crackling sounds of the fire, they made for pleasant companions. He knew that once the restoration was complete he would love living here, and that nothing could stop him now. Nothing, he supposed, except perhaps Constance.

And what of her wild story? Part of him wanted to believe her, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was the butt of some huge practical joke. Hence his need to be with his father, and to ask those questions. There also remained the nagging mysteries of his increasing longing for Constance, and the sensation they both had felt when they touched hands.

He simply could not believe her, because there were too many reasons against it. First, of course, was that her story was so preposterous. And second, the idea of believing her scared him a little, because if what she said was true, then he seemed destined to become part of her mad existence. Or was he simply going crazy? he wondered. Was Constance nothing more than some woman he had dreamed up, a hallucination that—

“Garrett?” he heard Constance say from across the room.

Garrett immediately came to his feet. Constance was dressed the same as this morning, but tonight her hair lay down about her shoulders. She still carried the same dark circles under her eyes, reaffirming that she had had little sleep. She stood in the doorway tentatively, staring at him with questioning eyes.

“Constance . . .” he said. “You're here . . .”

She entered the room and went to him.

“Yes,” she said. “I knew that you would come.”

Garrett beckoned her to sit down with him. As he offered her some of the bourbon, she refused. When next she looked into his eyes, he saw desperation.

“Do you at last accept my word?” she asked simply. “Please say that you believe me . . . you simply must do so . . .”

Before he could answer, Garrett suddenly felt that unique sense of longing that always overcame him whenever she was near. It was becoming a familiar sensation by now, but no less potent. And he could tell by the look on Constance's face that the same feeling was overcoming her too.

Garrett sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands.

“I don't know what to believe anymore,” he said. “I can't help but think that this morning was just some sort of cruel joke, cooked up by you and Jay. But what I can't explain is why Trent was apparently taken in too. Had you ever seen him before today?”

“Only when he has been here with you,” she answered. “I do not know him.”

While staring at the fire, Garrett thought for a moment.

“And just why is it so important that I believe you?” he asked.

“Because since the night you first saw me in the kitchen, everything has been uprooted,” Constance answered. “You are now a part of all this, whether you wish it or not. And until we unravel it, neither of us will find any peace. Deep down, I believe you know that.”

Garrett shook his head.

“I'm sorry, Constance,” he said, “but this is just too crazy. Can you really blame me? Would you believe some stranger who came out of nowhere and tried to convince you of such a bizarre story?”

Constance felt her heart breaking. She had feared this reaction, even though she had done her level best to convince him. There was only one more card up her sleeve, but she was reticent to play it because it would give so much away. Then again, what if he banished her from this place? Where would she go? How would she live? Seaside was all she had known for the last 170 years, and the thought of having to leave here was causing her insurmountable worry. And so Constance made her choice. Even though it was something that could never be undone, it was her last, best chance of convincing Garrett.

“Will you allow me the pleasure of showing you something?” she asked.

“That depends,” Garrett answered. “Is it another parlor trick?”

Constance shook her head.

“No, Garrett,” she said. “This is no trick. But to fully comprehend both Seaside and me, you must see it.”

Constance stood and picked up the electric lantern.

“Please follow me,” she said.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To the barn.”

“But this barn is empty,” he protested. “There's nothing there to see.”

This time when Constance looked into his eyes, her gaze seemed to penetrate his very soul.

“Yes, there is,” she answered. “I can discern that you're a highly intelligent man, Garrett. But even for you, everything in this world is not always as it appears.”

As Constance left the room, Garrett followed her through the house and outside. The night was cool, the stars were bright, and dew lay heavy upon the grass.

Garrett had already inspected the barn, and he knew that it was empty, so he could not understand why Constance was taking them there. But he had decided to give this woman one last chance to convince him.

Constance slid one of the doors aside. Switching on the lights, she led him to the far right-hand corner. The barn floor was made of wooden planks, each one dark and dank from the passage of so many years.

“What are you looking for?” Garrett asked. “Can't you see that there's nothing here?”

Constance paused in her search and looked at him again.

“Oh, but there is,” she answered. “For example, did you know that there exists a cellar beneath this floor?”

“There isn't one.”

“Yes, there is,” she answered. “One needs to only find the trapdoor. It has been such a long time . . .”

After some more searching, she finally saw what she was looking for. In the far corner of the floor there lay a metal handle. The area beneath the handle had been carved out to match so that the handle itself lay flush and unnoticeable.

“Where did that come from?” he asked incredulously.

“It was always here,” Constance answered. “You see, Seaside was once a part of what you now call the Underground Railroad. My husband, Adam, was an abolitionist, and we helped many slaves pass safely through here on their way to Canada. The cellar was already here when we bought Seaside, but he and Eli expanded it greatly.”

“Eli . . . ?” Garrett asked.

“Eli Jackson,” Constance answered. “The head of the black family that once inhabited the guesthouse.”

Garrett was stunned. The cellar was so well hidden by both the barn floor and the surrounding foundation that even his expert eye had never suspected its existence. His curiosity rising hugely, he grabbed the large handle, and together they struggled to open the old trapdoor. Its rusted hinges creaked mightily, but they finally got it up and over.

Garrett took the lantern from Constance then lowered it near the opening, trying to peer into the gloom below. The door had been substantial, revealing a large square hole in the barn floor. A set of ancient steps led down into the darkness.

“And you want us to go down there?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“When was the last time you did this?” Garrett asked skeptically.

“Nearly one hundred and seventy years ago,” Constance answered. “I never visited after that, for fear of revealing it to any of Seaside's previous owners. As best I know, no one else has ventured there since.”

“What's down there that's so important?” he asked.

Constance shook her head.

“If I told you, you would never believe me. You simply must trust me, Garrett. What I have to show you has not been seen by anyone for a very long time.”

“All right,” Garrett said. “We'll do it. But you should go first, because you know the way. I'll follow you down.”

When Constance turned to look at him, he saw genuine gratitude in her eyes.

“Thank you,” said. “This means more to me that you could ever know.”

Holding the electric lantern before her, Constance started down the steps. When she reached the bottom she called to Garrett, telling him to come down. Garrett couldn't see much as he carefully navigated the creaky old steps, wondering the whole time whether they might give way and send him tumbling into oblivion. When at last he reached the bottom, he stopped and looked around. What he saw staggered him.

He had expected to see only one room, but instead there were several interconnecting chambers, each of them reinforced with wooden timbers. As Constance walked about with the lamp, she showed him several rows of ancient iron bunk beds, their linens torn and dirty from the passage of time, tables strewn with eating utensils, and timeworn lanterns mounted upon many of the timbers. It was impressive, to say the least.

“How did you and Adam get the slaves into the cellar without being seen?” Garrett asked.

“Tunnels,” Constance answered.

“Tunnels . . . ?”

“Yes,” she said. “Whenever Adam was between voyages, he and Eli worked tirelessly on the tunnels. When Adam was away, Eli and his son, James, continued the work. There are two main tunnels; one leads from here into the woods for further escape to the next station, and the other leads from here back to the house where it joins with the cellar.”

“Are the tunnels still passable?” Garrett asked.

Constance shook her head.

“I do not know,” she answered. “I was always afraid of trying to use them, for fear of a cave-in.”

“Was this what you wanted me to see?” he asked her. “I can easily believe that this was a station for the Underground Railroad, but that doesn't mean that your story is true, or that you had any hand in it. I'm afraid I'm going to need more than this, Constance.”

“No, Garrett, this is not all,” she said. “Nor is it even this room that I especially wanted you to see. That place lies farther on. So please follow me again. And mind your step, because there is no way of knowing whether it remains safe.”

Beckoning Garrett to follow her, Constance walked across the dirt floor and entered a tunnel carved into the right-hand wall of the first room. Holding the lantern high she treaded carefully, with Garrett following behind her. After a few moments they approached another room, this one several times larger than the first. The moment they entered, Constance broke down and began crying.

“It's all still here . . .” she said, her voice a near whisper. “I can hardly believe my eyes . . .”

But Garrett was stymied, for he saw nothing save for another room, its ceiling, walls, and floor also made of earth and heavily reinforced with old timbers. He couldn't possibly imagine why Constance had become relieved to the point of tears.

“Do you mean the room itself?” he asked her. “Is that why you're so happy—because you've discovered it hasn't collapsed?”

She turned and looked at him with tearful, but joyous, eyes. It was the first time he had ever seen her genuinely happy. Constance put down the lantern and wiped her tears away.

“This is but a part of it,” she said. “As I told you before, there is far more here than meets the eye.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Will you indulge me for a moment?” she asked.

“All right,” he answered. “What do you have in mind?”

A hint of a smile crossed Constance's lips.

“I'm going to hold the lantern high,” she said, “and when I do, I want you to pick up a handful of dirt and throw it against the far wall.”

Garrett looked at her quizzically.

“And just what is that going to accomplish?” he asked.

“You will see,” she said. “I'm asking you to do this because it will be more believable for you this way.”

After everything Constance had shown him, Garrett could hardly refuse. Even so, he felt foolish because he knew that it would accomplish nothing. But in for a penny, in for a pound, he decided.

After Constance lifted the lantern higher, Garrett obediently grabbed up a handful of dirt then vigorously tossed it toward the far wall. The totally unexpected effect was so mesmerizing that he would remember it all his life.

Instead of hitting the wall, the dirt seemed to strike something first, some sort of invisible barrier that stood between him and it, yet allowed him to look through it and see the wall some distance behind. When the dirt struck the transparent barrier it fell straight to the floor, but not before creating ripples that wavered gently toward its outer edges, much like when one drops a pebble into a still pond. Speechless, he simply stood there, gazing at it while the rippling effect slowed and then stopped altogether.

“My God . . .” he said, his voice cracking with incredulity. “What just happened there?”

Certain that he had been seeing things, he threw another handful of dirt, and to his sheer amazement, the same thing happened. The dirt struck the invisible barrier and fell straight to the floor while yet more ripples emanated outward in concentric circles, only to be absorbed by the sidewalls of the room.

Garrett turned toward Constance.

“What the hell
is
that?” he demanded.

Constance put down the lantern then she walked across the room to where the invisible barrier stood.

“Watch,” she said simply.

Reaching up, she opened her hands and then closed them again, as if she were grasping handfuls of pure nothingness. And yet as she did so he could see more ripples forming in the barrier. With a strong pull, Constance yanked the barrier down. When it fell to the floor the invisible barrier suddenly became an old tarpaulin, its age and existence betrayed by its mildewed surface, and its hundreds of wrinkles.

Yet again Garrett simply stood there, speechless. But it wasn't the sudden and impossible appearance of the old tarpaulin that was the most spellbinding. It was what it had been hiding behind it, on the floor of the cavernous room.

The chamber was filled with furniture. But not just any furniture, for everything he saw dated from the antebellum period. There were beds, desks, tables and chairs, wall hangings, a china cabinet, sofas, and many other items too numerous to name. And to his even greater surprise, every piece seemed to be in nearly brand-new condition. But what he could not understand were the “why” and the “how” of all this.