The Widow's Walk (15 page)

Sighing softly, he looked back out over the waves, thinking.

He knew he had to help her, of that much he had become certain. But how? he wondered. He had no real idea about what had happened here so many years ago, plus he knew nothing about mysticism, or any other forces of nature that might have caused Constance's situation. He would not tell her so, but it disheartened him whenever he tried to think of a way to unravel this terrible conundrum. He felt like a young lamb lost in the woods, with danger lurking at every turn of what would soon become a rudderless quest for answers. He had no idea what that first step would be, but he must do his best to find it.

And what of his ever-increasing feelings for her? he soon wondered. The more he came to know her, the more he cared for her. Was he falling in love with this beautiful and intelligent woman from the past? And what about his dream of her, so lifelike in its perfection, which had occurred shortly before he had first seen her in the flesh? How was something like that possible? Then there was also the wonderful feeling each of them always shared, whenever they touched. What would become of them, as together they tried to unravel everything that had happened here? And despite her continuing love for her lost husband, how would Constance eventually come to feel about him? Would she—

“Good morning,” he heard Constance say.

Garrett turned to see her standing in the doorway. Although she wore the same dingy clothes as last night, today she appeared freshly scrubbed and well rested.

“Good morning to you too,” he answered.

He gestured to the empty lawn chair.

“Come sit next to me and we'll have some breakfast. I went into town and got it while you were still sleeping. And by the looks of you this morning, the hot water and upstairs bathtub must be working fine, right?”

Constance nodded.

“It was wonderful,” she answered. “Over the course of so many years, I have oftentimes had to make do with much less. Even so, it sometimes remains difficult to accustom myself to these modern conveniences.”

Constance came and sat down next to him. When Garrett handed her a Styrofoam cup of coffee, she took it in her hands tentatively, as if unsure whether to drink it. Then she took a small sip and nodded her head.

“It's good,” Constance said. “But there are still countless things that went unsaid last night. And it will probably take many more nights of talking before you even begin to understand all that has happened to me, and the way that I have become.”

Garrett nodded solemnly.

“Go ahead,” he answered.

“Well,” Constance replied, “there is food, for example. Ever since my fall from the widow's walk I have never needed food, or anything to drink, either. I just don't require them to survive. It's strange, I admit, but there it is. Over the many years I have oftentimes tasted food, but mostly only to remind myself of it, or to discover the flavor of something new. And so I do eat from time to time, but usually only to satisfy my curiosity. And since my fall from the widow's walk, I haven't been ill for a single day.”

“What did you do in the wintertime?”

“What do you mean?”

“When it got cold out in the barn,” he answered. “You certainly couldn't have stayed there all winter long. So what did you do?”

“I had no choice but to come into the house,” she answered, “and to do my very best to avoid the people, and to not make any noise. I became good at it. I also spent a lot of time in the cellar, where they didn't often go.”

Yet more amazing revelations,
Garrett thought
. She's right. There does seem to be a great deal more for me to learn.

He reached into the McDonald's bag and produced an egg sandwich, which he handed to her.

“Have you ever had one of these?” he asked.

Constance shook her head.

“No,” she answered, “but I've seen them on television. I've always been curious about them.”

She removed the paper from the sandwich and took a tentative bite before swallowing some more coffee. Garrett watched with amused interest.

“It's a shame you don't eat more,” he said to her. “There are so many wonderful things in the world to try.”

Constance smiled at him then wiped her mouth with a paper napkin.

“Perhaps,” she said.

After taking another sip of coffee, Constance gave Garrett a small smile.

“I spent all of last night talking about myself,” she said. “But I know so little about you. Please tell me.”

Garrett smiled and shifted in his chair. After again casting his gaze out across the waves, he did his best to tell her about himself, his family, his education, his practice, and his passion for architecture.

“And there you have it,” he said to her, “my life in a nutshell.”

Moments later he shook his head and laughed a little bit.

“And then all of a sudden, along comes this beautiful woman who is sitting in my kitchen and crying her eyes out,” he added. “All the rest of it you already know.”

Constance sat there quietly for a time, thinking. When at last she finally spoke, what she had to say would prove intriguing.

“You know,” Constance said, “perhaps your buying this old house is part of whatever mystical plan is being carried out here.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You just told me that ever since you were a young boy, you have been oddly attracted to this house,” Constance said. “And that it always exerted some sort of ‘magical' pull on you, as if trying to draw you near. And then there is your fascination with my time's culture and architecture. You may not have thought about it this way before, but every time you rode by Seaside on your bicycle, or you drove past in your car, I was here, and I looked exactly the same then as I do now. It's almost as if it was arranged that I should be here, waiting all this time for you to come of age, to buy this house, and to then be the only person in the world with the ability to realize my presence. Do you not see? Whether we wish to admit it or not, all these things are just pieces of the larger puzzle. Even so, everything returns to the question of ‘why.' Why us, Garrett? And why here and now, after so much time has passed?”

Garrett was both intrigued and impressed by the way Constance had just phrased things. He had in fact never considered that even as a young boy coming out here to admire Seaside that she too was here, a fully grown woman who looked exactly the way she did now. Had she ever seen him as he rode by on his bicycle, or later in life as he enviously drove past the house in his car? Or didn't it matter, given that if she did see him, he would have appeared to be just a simple young man to her, with probably no importance in her life whatsoever?

After thinking about things again, Garrett realized that there was more to tell her and he decided to recount his dream. He then went on to tell Constance that the dream was an exact duplicate of his experience when he had heard her crying in the kitchen, and gone there to first see her.

Although Constance said nothing at first, the expression on her face said that she was stunned. A few moments later she finally found her voice.

“But that's . . . impossible . . .” she said softly, her tone a near whisper. “Unless you want to characterize it as a premonition of some kind, I suppose . . . But you must realize that I know nothing of metaphysical things, Garrett, despite that my existence seems to be so entangled in such matters. Even so, this business of your dream may be a clue toward helping us unravel all this.”

Garrett nodded.

“Yes,” he answered. “I've considered that too. But like you, I haven't the faintest notion of how to try to start.”

“It is interesting . . .” Constance said quietly.

“What is?” Garrett asked.

“Your dream of me was a premonition about what would happen in the future,” Constance answered. “And two days ago I had a similar experience, but mine was a remembrance of something that had actually happened in my past. It seems that I went back in time to share an afternoon with Adam on his sailboat. But it wasn't a dream. It was real, I just know it; as real as my time here and now, talking with you.”

Constance went on to describe her flashback to Garrett. She too left nothing out. Because each of their tales had included intimate specifics, it was as if they both already knew that they must be completely honest with each other, if they were to ever solve this labyrinthine riddle.

“What do you think it all means?” Garrett asked.

Constance shook her head.

“I have no idea,” she answered. “But I do believe that if either of us experiences such an occurrence again, we must be certain to tell the other.”

“Yes,” Garrett answered simply. “And you know,” he said, “I would love to hear about Adam. I'm already aware that he was a whaling captain who was lost at sea. But I don't really know any more than that.”

With the mention of her late husband, Constance felt her eyes begin to well up with tears. After brushing them away, she removed the locket from around her neck, opened it, and handed it to Garrett. Garrett regarded Adam's portrait with interest before returning it to her.

“He was a handsome man,” Garrett said.

“And the love of my life,” Constance answered.

“I'm sorry for your loss, Constance,” Garrett said. “I can only assume that when you love someone that much, the passage of time doesn't really change things.”

“Although I have never heard it phrased quite that way, you are correct,” Constance answered. “To understand Adam, you first need to understand a bit of what those times were truly like. Whale oil was king, and whalebone was used to make many things. Adam was a sailor, heart and soul. And he was also an abolitionist—something that he told me before we were married—and I also took up the cause. In truth, I believe he came to hate his seagoing profession. Sometimes the stories he told me about killing and harvesting the whales were enough to make me literally ill. But it was a living, and I suppose his love for the sea helped to ameliorate some of his revulsion. In any event, when I learned of his death I was devastated, and I have been ever since. I fear that in this life I was meant to truly love only one man. And that man has already come and gone.”

Garrett's heart went out to her. Soon after, he realized something else. Now that he had heard Constance's story about Adam, he realized just how much Constance must have loved him. Then he saw her gaze become a bit more pensive.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Garrett said.

“To tell you the honest truth,” she answered, “I much preferred 1840 to today.”

“But women have come so far since then,” he said. “Things are very different now, than when you were a woman in 1840.”

“Yes,” Constance answered. “In some ways women have come far, and that is a good thing. But in other ways, they have lost much too.”

“What you mean?”

Before answering, Constance took a deep breath, remembering.

“Back then, Garrett,” she said, “there was an understood gentility about things. I know that this will sound contradictory, but despite our relative lack of rights, men took care of their women. I of course cannot speak for every woman from that time, but in my experience, most women were treated with true respect. Men opened doors for them, bowed to them, and kissed the backs of their hands, and spoke in far more loving and respectful ways than they now do. Forgive me for seeming old-fashioned, but it's as if all of the rights and privileges that women have fought for and won throughout the years have been paid for with a contradictory increase in crassness and crudity. Sometimes, I must admit, I find myself unsure of whether the trade was a fair one.”

Garrett had to admit that he found her comments interesting. Despite all her accumulated knowledge, he realized that she remained a product of her time, and he would respect that.

“I'm sorry, but I must leave here soon,” he said to her. “I've got to get back to my condo and get some sleep. Will you be all right on your own tonight?”

Without answering, Constance left her chair and walked to the rail of the veranda. She stood like that for several minutes, her back to him and her long blond hair flowing lightly in the onshore breeze. The sun had come up, and it shone on her face, highlighting her lovely features. As the sea wind passed her by, it absconded with the scent of her perfume, bringing it to him. At that moment he was sure that he had never seen a more beautiful woman as she simply stood there, serenely looking out over the ocean. Finally she turned and looked at him.

“I've been surviving here on my own for one hundred and seventy-some years, Garrett,” she said. “Even so, I would be lying if I said that I won't miss you, because I will. But I do hope that I will see you again soon, for there remains so much unsaid between us.”

She walked back over to him then she bent down and gave him a light kiss on one cheek. Even with slightest brush of her lips against his skin, he felt his physical desire for her increase massively, and if left unheeded, might soon go beyond his control. As if she had sensed it also, she then backed off a little bit and stood looking at him.

“Until later, then,” she said.

Without further ado Constance walked back into the house, leaving him alone on the veranda. After sitting there for a time and staring out at the ocean, Garrett gathered up his things, got into his Jeep, and drove away.

Chapter 14

Once he got to his condo, Garrett checked his voice mail. One from Jay, with an update about a slight change in materials he wanted for the new roof. The second was from Trent, just to rattle his cage. After deleting them, he went out onto the balcony.

Whenever he sat here these days, he couldn't help but think how disappointing this view was when compared to that at Seaside. But it didn't matter, because in about two more weeks he would be staying at the house full-time. What would that be like, he wondered, with Constance also there?