Chapter 16 #2
I turned away from the hidden evidence and scooped up my letter to Ammon, straightening my hair in the vanity mirror. I’d leave this letter on Jacob’s desk for his next trip into town and surely, it would receive a reply. My ever-dutiful brother would write back to me.
“Or maybe, he’ll ask me to come back for an extended stay,” I said aloud. “I could get away from here.”
The thought made my heart flutter. Even a week away from the weight of this suffocating house would be a heaven.
I imagined myself walking arm in arm with Ammon down the street without a word of complaint for his company, sitting with Mother in the parlor at the piano, even cooking with Aunt Emma.
Why was it humanity didn’t know the joys they had until they were torn away?
A ripple moved across the vanity mirror, distorting my image. I gasped, dropping the letter to the floor. But in a blink, the mirage was gone.
Cautiously, I bent over to retrieve the letter. As my fingers brushed the floor, the boards shivered against them. I tugged the letter tight to my chest.
“Are you mad at me?” I spoke in a low voice, my eyes darting around. “Does this house hate me?”
Behind me, the door of the armoire groaned open. I spun around on my heel.
“Are you upset I dream of leaving you?”
The only response was the wild thrashing of my own heart.
I crept backward to the door, not daring to take my eyes off the room. My hand found the doorknob without looking and I shoved myself into the hall, slamming the door like it could close off the frenzy in my mind.
The hallway greeted me with empty silence. I took the stairs two at a time, each step bounced with the erratic rhythm of my pulse.
A shadow shifted across the wall too quickly to catch its origin. I pulsed on the balls of my feet, glued to the floorboards.
A crackle whispered above me.
Dropping my head back, I followed the sound. It only hissed louder. The ceiling fissured in jagged lines away from the chandelier in the center. It spread at a supernatural speed as if invisible fingernails scratched the cracks into the surface.
I jumped back, my heart racing.
“Are you dancing, little Hazel?”
My attention snapped to the stairway. Abby, still dressed in her nightgown, gripped the banister as she peered down at me.
“No, I …” I pointed upward. “It’s the ceiling. Just … just look!”
She tilted her head up, shifting it shoulder to shoulder as she took in the broken ceiling.
“The house is old,” she said.
“But that can’t be safe.”
“And is that such a bad thing?” she asked.
The letter crunched in my hands. Did Abby mean to suggest harm?
Flora crept up behind her, half hidden in the darkness of the hallway. “What have you done now, Sister Hazel? Why is it you’re always causing trouble? Wives are to be helpmeets, not difficulties—”
Abby cut her off. “Oh, shut up, Flora. You’re insufferable.”
Anxious voices shouted in my head, hating me. I caused this—all of this—somehow. The contention, the broken ceiling, the undeniable tug of the Devil on my chest. I was trouble. Difficult. Wrong.
And only minutes earlier I’d carried on a conversation with the house as if it could hear me. Sense me. This peculiar house. This unsettlingly silent, decaying house.
Every shudder of the walls, creak of the floor, flutter of the air. When I swore the room breathed with me or the armoire heard my mutterings. Walls slithered. Floorboards rattled. Windows leered.
What did any of it mean?
“I’m sorry,” I squeaked, panic overtaking me. I couldn’t breathe and I stumbled back.
“Hazel, are you all right?” Abby asked.
I couldn’t respond, only gasped.
“Hazel!”
Footsteps echoed down the stairs, though they were somehow also far away. I felt two hands clasp me from behind. Abby held me against her chest. My body went boneless and I let her tug me as a ragdoll. She directed me into the parlor, where she forced me into a chair.
“What is happening?” she asked, tracing me up and down.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
She clicked her tongue. “You’re obviously not. You’re acting as if you can’t breathe.”
“Do you—Sister Abby, do you—” I struggled for words. “Do you think the house is trying to harm me?”
“What do you mean? It’s only a cracked ceiling.”
“This house it’s … it’s wild. Unnatural. And I think it’s after me. I think it wants—something.”
“It’s a house,” Abby said.
“But I’ve upset the balance somehow. Ruined it with my presence. That must be it. Flora was right. I did something wrong. I always do. I’m broken and wicked and the house knows it and I deserve to be punished.”
Everyone—every thing—wanted me gone.
“What makes you think that would solve anything in this damn place?” Abby said.
“Perhaps it’s like an atonement. Someone must be sacrificed to appease the balance of God’s nature.”
I didn’t know why I thought of that teaching of Brother Brigham—that some sins were so heinous they could only be forgiven through shedding one’s blood unto death and pouring it onto the earth. The house seemed to bring out all the darkest pieces of my lifelong fears.
The Devil grasped my chest with his claws. I needed to force more air into my lungs, but even as I gulped, I couldn’t catch my breath. Part of me wished to curl up on the spot and sob, while another pumped adrenaline through my legs begging me to run as far as I could.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Abby said, her face creasing with fear.
My fit was surely terrifying her, but I couldn’t stop it.
“Hazel!” Prudence called as she waddled into the parlor. “Flora told me something was wrong. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
Tears cascaded down my face. “The house is—it—”
“It’s falling apart is what it is,” Jacob interjected as he strode through the door with Flora on his heels. “It’s simply an old ceiling. No need to overreact.”
His face reflected disgust as he surveyed me. I couldn’t breathe. Hadn’t he said my struggles endeared me to him? I must be imagining it. My vision was blurry.
Prudence leaned in, stealing my frantic attention. “You’re perfectly safe, Hazel.” She tugged me against her chest, gripping me tight.
I sank into her embrace with hiccups of sobs. Prudence didn’t say a word, only gently stroked my back. Her touch was warm and soothing. She didn’t chide me for my panic, for losing my sensibilities.
I lost track of time in our awkward, trembling embrace, but as my breathing once again slowed, the strange thoughts that seemed so solid only minutes ago melted away.
Jacob squatted down, blocking out Prudence. “At last,” he said only in a whisper. “I thought you’d be cured of this sin by now, Hazel. Has my love not been enough for you?” His expression sagged with hurt.
I’d hurt him. Guilt replaced my temporary calm.
“And as I said before,” he continued loudly, “there’s nothing to fear in this house.”
Abby stifled a laugh. “Of all your lies, that might be the most egregious, husband.”
Jacob stood slowly. “Abby—”
“I’m sorry, Jacob. Family,” I said, hoping to interrupt whatever dispute brewed between them.
Prudence squeezed my hand, redirecting my attention. “Not every little thing we do is an offense, Sister Hazel. We’re here to help you.”
I looked up at the four faces before me. Prudence with her patient smile. Flora with her not-so-patient raised brow. Jacob with the pain I’d caused him. And Abby with her unreadable expression, appearing as if she couldn’t decide if she should laugh or scold.
Not one brought me the reassurance I longed for deep within.