Chapter Twenty-Five Ashley
TWENTY-FIVE ASHLEY
Eighty-four Main Street was a handsome two-story New England–style house with the clapboards freshly painted white, black shutters, and tidy gardens.
“Holy shit,” Malcolm breathed as they stood on the sidewalk facing the house. “This is it, Ash! The house from my visions! The one I saw again and again when I was down in Peru, the place I still dream about.”
Ashley took in a breath. She considered telling her brother that there were millions of white houses that looked like this one, probably thousands in Vermont alone, but instead all she said was, “Wow.”
“I know you don’t believe me, but I swear this is it.
” He chewed his lip, and she watched his eyes seem to open wider and wider.
“This is a sign, Ash! Oh man, things are falling into place. This is where we’re supposed to open the bed-and-breakfast!
You can run the kitchen, do all the food.
We can have a big garden out back—something that would make Gram proud, and we’ll serve veggies we raise and grow right here.
” He was talking fast, the words all running together.
“Mal, I’m not really interested in running a kitchen. I’m still thinking about going back to school. And who’s going to be the clientele, exactly?”
He frowned. “But you were there, in my visions. Maybe—”
“There’s also the fact that there’s a woman living in the house and we can’t legally kick her out.”
“Maybe she’d love the idea of the bed-and-breakfast. Maybe she’d want to help!”
Ash ran her hand over her face. “Let’s just go meet her, okay? Check out the house. And absolutely no mention of the bed-and-breakfast. That might really freak her out, you know?”
Malcolm gave a reluctant nod, and they started down the brick path that led to the front door.
Ashley glanced off to the left, toward the center of town, just in time to see a figure step off the sidewalk, disappear behind a row of tall hedges.
Her skin went cold and the breath got stuck in her chest.
The dark hair, the long tan coat.
She was watching. Following them.
She’s not real, Ash reminded herself, turning away.
Malcolm pointed to the old, faded sign just beneath the house number: DR. THOMAS ENDICOTT, PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON. “Wow, look at that.” He was almost giddy.
He knocked; his knuckles had barely made contact with the door when it was whisked open, as if they were expected.
The smell of lily-of-the-valley perfume—sweet and cloying, but underneath it a bitter tang—wafted through the front door the old woman held open. The scent reminded Ash of something, a spice Gram had used from time to time. All at once, the smell brought a memory back:
Gram sewing her a little stuffed cat when she was a girl, made from red calico fabric with button eyes and stitched-on whiskers.
When Ash put the stuffed cat to her face to give it a kiss, she’d smelled bitter, pungent herbs and wrinkled her nose.
“She’s a magic cat,” Gram had told her. “She’s here to watch over you, to keep you safe.
” Ash blinked the memory away, wondering what had happened to that little cat, if it was packed away in a box somewhere.
“Yes?” the old woman asked now, pulling Ash back to the present, one wrinkled hand on the door as she eyed them suspiciously. Her eyes moved from Ash to Malcolm and stayed there. She took a step back as though frightened by this strange man who’d suddenly turned up at her door.
Ash would put her close to Gram’s age. She was a tiny woman, all sunken in.
She wore cat’s-eye glasses with heavy black frames and glittering rhinestones at the corners.
Draped over her tiny body was a heavy pea-green cardigan with tissues tucked into the sleeves (an old-lady habit Gram had too—just the sight of it made Ash’s throat tight).
“Hi there, I’m Ashley Flanders,” Ash began. “Charlotte Demer’s granddaughter,” she added, hoping the name would be the key that would let them inside. “This is my brother, Malcolm. We’re looking for Josephine Banks?”
This got a warm smile that showed a full, perfect set of pearly white dentures that looked far too big for her tiny face. “Oh my goodness, yes! I’m Josephine, of course! Did Charlie send you?”
Charlie? Ashley had never heard her grandmother called Charlie. Everyone back home called her Charlotte or Mrs. Demer. No one would dream of calling her Charlie. She and Malcolm shared a puzzled look.
“Not exactly,” Ashley said. “But we have some news. May we come in?”
“Of course, dear. Of course! Mind you, I wasn’t expecting visitors, so the place isn’t all that tidy.”
“We don’t mind at all,” Ashley assured her as she stepped inside.
To the right, an open door revealed a room full of furniture: a desk, a glass-fronted cabinet, some chairs, and what looked to be an old exam table.
Was it possible that some of their great-grandfather’s things were still in the house?
She looked back at Malcolm to see him peering into the room, eyes wide.
They turned left into a crowded sitting room stuffed with old furniture—and dolls.
Hundreds of the little dolls she’d seen at Lorelei’s house and at the pub.
They covered shelves, tables, and even the arms of chairs.
Any available space had been taken over.
Ashley could feel all the tiny, unblinking eyes watching them.
She thought of Gulliver surrounded by Lilliputians.
Ash reflexively picked one up. Upon closer inspection, she realized that each doll was made from a wooden clothespin, the old-fashioned kind carved from one piece of wood with a round knob on top, no metal or springs.
The two wooden prongs at the bottom formed the dolls’ legs, their faces were painted onto the little knob, and their arms were made from bits of wire wrapped around their bodies.
Each wore a tiny cloth outfit. Some had yarn hair, some had hair painted on.
“Please sit,” Josephine said, looking down at the doll in Ash’s hand. “Can I get you anything? Lemonade? Tea?”
“No thank you,” Ashley said.
“Perhaps you’d like a bit of brandy?” the old woman said with a smile, looking at Malcolm.
“That’s very kind, but we’ve just come from the pub,” Mal told her.
Ashley and Malcolm sat together on a love seat while Josephine took a rocking chair across from them.
“Did you make all of these dolls?” Ashley asked, setting down the one she was holding to trade for another.
A woman with dark hair and eyes, a green felt coat with a tiny button.
The detail was impressive: round pink cheeks, tiny painted lips, blue eyes with delicate lashes.
Ash couldn’t believe Josephine had such good eyes and a steady hand.
“Oh yes,” she said proudly. “It’s my tribute to those who are gone.”
“Gone?” Mal asked.
“I’ve made a doll here after each person in town who has passed on.”
“You’re kidding.” Malcolm stood up, started inspecting the rows of dolls on the shelves.
“I’ve got figures going back for generations. They’re all grouped according to family. It’s sort of a town museum, in a way.”
“Very cool!” Malcolm said. “And these are the names and dates, here on the cards taped underneath the dolls?” He picked up a doll with a baseball cap and flannel shirt. The card under it read: Jules Benoit, 1959–2009.
“Yes, dear. To help me keep track.”
“Did the clothespins come from the factory in town?” Ashley asked.
“Why, yes, of course!” Josephine chirped.
“My husband, Leo, worked at the factory. He used to bring them to me. Ones with little flaws, the ones they weren’t supposed to sell.
At first I made Christmas ornaments with them: little angels with crepe paper wings.
Then I started making them as sympathy gifts.
I did them for friends and family, then I had the idea to create a doll for every Boone’s Ferry resident who has departed this world for the next.
The children love it! They come to look all the time.
Their favorite thing is always to try to find their grandparents, great-grandparents.
It’s a way to keep the past alive to them, to help them see where they come from.
“After my dear Leo passed, some of the men, they started putting clothespins aside for me. I get plenty. More than I can actually use these days.” She rubbed her hands.
“The arthritis bothers me, and I’ve already gone back several generations, back to the founding of the town.
And thankfully, we don’t have all that many deaths each year. ”
Mal smiled at her. “They’re exquisite,” he said. “A wonderful tribute.”
“I have ones of your great-grandfather and great-grandmother here somewhere,” she said. “I’ll show you before you leave.”
“We’d love that,” Ash said with a smile.
The old woman’s eyes went back to Malcolm. Then she leaned forward and patted him on the knee. “I can’t believe it. It’s so wonderful to meet you.”
“It’s good to meet you too,” Mal said.
“So what brings you out all this way to visit?” Josephine asked.
“Mrs. Banks, I’m afraid we have bad news,” Malcolm said.
“Is that so?”
He leaned toward her, said in a soft voice, “I’m so sorry to tell you, but our grandmother has passed away.”
The woman seemed to jolt a bit. “Oh no,” she said. “Oh dear.”
“I want to assure you that there won’t be any trouble with you staying on in the house as our grandmother arranged,” Ashley said quickly.
“The ownership has passed on to Malcolm and me, but everything else will stay just as it is.” She shot a warning look at her brother in case he was thinking of jumping in with any mention of a bed-and-breakfast.
“Poor Charlie. Was she ill?”
“No,” Ash said. “It was quite sudden. She died at home one night, after we’d had a nice family dinner.”
Josephine nodded. “The way we all want to go out in the end, isn’t it?”
“Were you two… were you close?” Ashley asked.
Josephine shook her head, looked away from them both.
“No, not really.” She was quiet a moment.
“Our mothers knew each other. My mother took care of the house when Margaret and Charlotte were in Boston. I grew up here. Then, after Leo and I were married, we kept on living here. We raised our family here.”
Ashley nodded. Gram’s arrangement made a little more sense now. She wouldn’t want the house left empty, and letting someone who knew the place, who had grown up there, the daughter of her mother’s close friend, stay and take care of the house seemed a reasonable solution.
There was so much she wanted to know, so much she wanted to understand. She imagined Josephine must know things about Thomas and Margaret Endicott if her mother had been a close friend of Margaret’s. But one question moved to the forefront, shadowing all the others.
“Mrs. Banks,” Ashley said. “Did our mother ever come visit you?”
The old woman squinted at Ashley. “Your mother?”
“Charlotte’s daughter, Louise.” Ashley pulled the photo out of her purse and showed it to Josephine.
“No. I’m afraid not. I heard Charlie had had a daughter, but I never had the chance to meet her.”
“You’re sure?”
“Quite sure, dear.” She smiled. “My memory isn’t that bad!”
Surely if their mother had come to Boone’s Ferry in search of family history, a visit to the old family homestead would’ve been her first stop. Ashley’s head was pounding. She needed to get some air and think. To leave this stuffy room with the strange bitter, medicinal smell.
What was that smell?
“Well, we’ve had a long day of traveling and I’m done in,” Ash said, standing. “It was so nice to meet you, Mrs. Banks. Thank you for letting us visit.”
Malcolm gave her a puzzled we’re leaving already? look, but rose from his seat as well.
“How long are you two in town?” Josephine asked.
“Just a couple of days,” Ashley said.
Josephine turned to Malcolm, put a hand on his arm.
“I hate to ask, dear, but I wonder if you would mind helping me with a few things around the house while you’re here?
The storm windows need to be put up. And there’s a loose shutter in the back.
A sink that won’t stop dripping. It’s an old house, and I’m just not able to keep up with it like I once was.
There are men and boys from town who offer to help, but I hate to be a pest. I’m happy to pay you a fair wage for any work you do, of course. ”
“He’d love to help,” Ashley answered. “And you don’t need to pay him. As the new owners, we’re responsible for the upkeep of the place. Isn’t that right, Malcolm?”
Her brother flashed the old woman a warm smile. “Of course. I’m happy to help.”
“You come back tomorrow morning, then. I’ll make blueberry muffins. Can’t have you working on an empty stomach, can we?”
“I’ll be here. Ten o’clock okay?”
“Perfect,” she said. “I can’t thank you enough.”
They started moving out of the room.
“One more thing,” Ashley said. “Do you happen to know who Frankie O’Massey was? I saw his name on some papers Gram had.”
Josephine smiled. “Frankie was an orphan girl, a distant relative, a second or third cousin of Margaret’s, I believe? Anyway, Margaret and Thomas took her in. This was back before Charlie was born. Your great-grandfather was teaching her medicine. She became his assistant.”
“Do you know what happened to her?”
Josephine frowned. “I do believe she died with the others when the flu hit.”
Ashley nodded. “Maybe her headstone is in the cemetery. We’ll look.”
“Frances O’Massey. That was her given name. My older brothers told me stories about her—she was kind of what you’d call an odd duck. Wore her uncle’s cast-off clothing. Smoked a pipe and drank brandy with the men.”
Ashley smiled, wishing she could have met Frankie. “Sounds like she was ahead of her time.”
“I suppose you’re right, dear.”
Malcolm had started moving toward the front door, and was studying the clothespin dolls on an end table.
“Mrs. Banks,” he called, “what’s this?” He was holding one of the figures in his hand.
But this one was different. It was taller than the others, as if the little wooden prongs had been extended, and wore a long patchwork coat.
Instead of the round top of the clothespin representing the doll’s head, white clay had been sculpted into the shape of a skull.
The skull (Ash hoped she was mistaken here) of a horse, with red pits for eyes and large teeth.
“That?” Josephine said with an embarrassed, girlish giggle. “That’s the knackerman.”
“Knackerman?” Ashley asked, not sure if she’d heard correctly.
“Oh, it’s just an old story. Something the children tell each other. They say”—she lowered her voice—“that he lives in the woods outside of town. That he was to blame for the great flu, for any hardship the town has undergone since.”
Malcolm turned the doll in his hand.
“But it’s just a story,” Josephine said, smiling a huge, tooth-baring smile. “Pure horsefeathers.”
And she sounded so much like Gram then that Ashley’s legs felt weak and she reached for her brother to steady herself.