CHAPTER THREE DARK EYED PORTRAIT
A loud bang from upstairs silenced them all. Wiping the tears from her face, Emma turned to find Jim doing the same.
"It's a loose shutter.” Jim said, "The wind’s blowing."
Emma released a sigh of relief. At first, she thought the old lady had returned or worse, brought someone with her. Again, the crashing sound split the silence.
"I'd better find it and tie it down." Jim said, "Before it breaks the window" he added shooting up the staircase.
The girls looked puzzled at her, "its piece of wood that covers the windows, when the weather is bad." She gave them the explanation but halfway through her explanation, the lights went on in their heads, and they both shot up the steps to join Jim who was just disappearing at the top of the staircase. Not ready to be alone, she started after them but the second she grabbed the handrail, she didn't move an inch further.
The scene before her instantly changed, brightly colored floral wallpaper covered the dark paneling of the hall and even wrapped around the staircase. Although it was hard to tell with all the portraits, that covered the wall to her left.
As if a testament to the person within, a larger than life hand painted picture hung at the landing of a dark haired man, with a graying beard. He wore a black suit, white shirt with stiff collar and cuffs, and a tall stovepipe hat adorned his head. The picture was dark in general, but his eyes were especially intensive.
Her heart was racing, as she continued to stare at the portrait. The eyes were piercing. It was as if he knew everything good and bad about her; even though it was just a portrait, Emma felt as if this man knew her every thought … wish … her very soul.
She fought to look away but his eyes were hypnotic, she couldn't turn away, she couldn't even release her grip of the rail. Seconds ticked away like hours, minutes like days. Finally, she realized that a group of words were creeping in to the upper corner of the picture.
She concentrated on making sense of the backward letters. HOME that was it home. The spell was broken but not her hold on the arm rail. Quickly she turned to find the source of the words. The giant chandelier hung directly above her, but it wasn't the source. Above the door was an arched, fan shaped stain glass window. With the words, 'HOME SWEET HOME' enclosed. Light streamed through it like a rainbow, reflecting in the mirror and hat rack that hung next to the door.
The door was different from the one she knew too. It was a large solid wood door with shiny gate style hinges, instead of the French doors of her time.
Quickly looking about to see if anyone was present. She noted the same effect occurring in the living room. Brightly colored letters adorned the highly polished floor. At least part of it, the others letters were strung across a finely braided rug, in the middle of the floor. Emma recalled the difference in the texture of the floor. There lay the answer.
CH– ON– glistened up at her from the polished wood, ATT, was barely visible on the rug CHATTERTON, she exclaimed. Carelessly she allowed the word to slip past her lips. Chatterton Place? Why not House or Home. Why place? It made no sense to her.
The thought wasn’t held long before a voice rang through the empty home.
"EMMA” a man called, it had come from somewhere above her. Fear gripped her frozen body. She knew better than to look back towards the picture, but that was just what she was going to have to do. She could now hear footsteps, approaching the staircase.
From out of nowhere, a strong gust of wind struck her back. Forcing her forward, Breaking her hold on the arm rail. At that moment, she saw a wishful, girl, perhaps in her teens, standing at the top of the stairs. The thrust had been so strong, she soon found herself lying across the next four steps, with the girls voice ringing in her head.
"Coming Grandfather"
Franticly she grabbed for the rail, to stop her forward plunge. But again she was pushed down by the wind. Rolling to her back, she discovered the French doors had been blown open, and hailstones now pellet the wooden floor.
Swiftly Emma lunged for the doors, in a desperate effort to close them. Her feet flying in all directions, except that of the door. She couldn't get her tennis shoes to grip on anything, the marble-like pebbles beneath her rolled instead of crushing. She slipped and swirled about like a crazed puppet, finally coming to rest on her backside.
The thud was a finish to her frantic dance, she felt as if she’d lost the war. Righting herself to a sitting position though, she realized she could close the banging doors from where she sat. With the wind shut out, Emma assessed the puddle of ice and water she had come to rest in. Crawling to a dry spot, she stood up and attempted to smooth her already tight jeans.
"It's no use." she uttered, "I look like a drowned rat."
“You sure do" Jim responded from the landing the picture had hung on.
"What in the world." Shelly exclaimed, joining him.
She wondered how long he’d been standing there. Had he seen her crazed attempt at closing the door?
"I was just about to ask, the same thing." He said, as he bound down the steps, three at a time.
They had no idea how glad she was to see them, but she attempted to control her enthusiasm.
"Where in the heck, did that storm come from?" She asked turning to the mirror, to straighten her hair. It wasn't there neither was the bench. What made her think they would be? Was she losing her mind?
“What are you looking for?" Shelly asked, descending the step at a much slower pace.
"Nothing" Emma responded abruptly, realizing she was scanning the area. "I just wanted to see what damage was done."
"None, I can see." Jim proclaimed, not once taking his eyes from her.
"Where's Crystal!" Emma demanded. Realizing her youngest daughter hadn't followed the others.
"Right—" Shelly's answer fell silent, as she twirled around.
Silent words flashed between the two of them. Instantly they both ran up the step, the same way Jim had descended. Emma was careful not to touch anything.
Shelly raced to the spot she’d last seen her sister, Emma but a step behind her but she wasn’t there. It wasn't like Crystal to be out of sight during a thunderstorm, she hated them.
“That was the shutter that was banging." Shelly whispered, too out of breath to speak any louder.
The room was very much like the ones on the main floor, with the exception of the window. A large fan shaped stained glass window topped it, causing the arched appearance she’d seen from the outside of the house. The room was empty.
"I've got her." Jim's voice filled the hallway,
“Where" Emma shouted back already on the move
"Here, at the bookcase." He answered.
"Bookcase" Emma uttered, entering the hall. Every room has a bookcase, she thought.
"I know." Shelly announced, racing past her.
Emma followed closely, past the next two doors, the steps, and then two additional doors. There she spied her youngest daughter. Curled up on a box seat, that was attached to an extremely large bookcase.
She just knew there had to be something wrong with the child. Jim stood over her, silent. Kneeling down, she gently touched Crystal's golden locks, instantly she popped up and began wiping the sleep from her half-opened eyes.
"What's wrong?" She asked, noticing the look on her mother’s face. "How'd you get all wet?"
Emma couldn't believe what she was seeing, Crystal asleep during a storm. She dropped her head to the cushioned box seat and drew a deep breath. Lifting her head, to look up at Jim and Shelly, she whispered, "She was just sleeping."
"Of course she was," he responded as he helped her to her feet. "What did you think?"
If he only knew what she’d been through, he wouldn't be asking. Not about to give it away, she simply answered. "Crystal doesn't like thunder."
"THUNDER…WHERE" Crystal shouted, jumping to her mother’s arms.
Indeed, it had stopped. An insulated hush now filled the house. "Are you sure," Emma addressed her fair skinned, blue-eyed child. "You’re okay?"
Pushing herself away from, her mother’s wet clothing, again she asked again “How did you get WET?"
"She's kept us waiting to hear that story, as well." Jim proclaimed before Emma could say a thing.
She proceeded to tell how she’d had a fight with the front doors and a windstorm, all the time eyeing the oversized bookcase. It's finely crafted hand carved wood panels, handsome fluted top crest, and beveled shelves, told of a master carpenter at work. She so wanted to touch its smooth surface but refrained due to current events.
"And the doors obviously won!" Jim added with a laugh.
How Emma wished she could laugh but right that minute the only thing she had on her mind was getting out of that house, which she nearly achieved, only to be turned back at the spot of the attack. The storm had grown worse, during their search for Crystal.
The penetrating hailstorm had turned into a blizzard – she couldn't even see her car anymore. Light was quickly being swept away by the hovering dark cloud that had descended the valley, blanketing all that stood still in a heavy coat of snow.
As they stood there, weighing their options, there was one thing Emma was positive of, she wasn't going to stay in that house another minute. Unfortunately, that decision lay in God's hands, and it appeared that was just what she was going to do.
"Well" Emma finally said after weighing all the odds "If we're going to stay here, we'd better find something to burn."
"For what" Jim asked, rather puzzled by her statement.
"So we don't freeze.”
"Wait here." As he turned and headed off down the darkened hallway, she’d no sooner heard him stop walking, and then the lights come on. "Better?" he asked, standing there with his arms up stretched as if he’d performed a miracle.
The doom that had fill the air only a moment earlier had been washed away with the light, that seemed to be coming from every nook and corner of the room, although there were no visible light fixtures.
"Recessed- lighting." He announced, starting back up the hallway.
"Why's it still on?" she puzzled as he swung past her, After all it had been three years, since anyone had been there, at least that was what she thought he’d said.
Turning to look back at them from the living room, he said.
"Well, you might say, it comes with its own supply."
"What?" the girls asked.
"I'll explain in a minute." he answered without looking back, but instead picked up the dusty sheets removed from the windows the day before, turning he tossed all but one on the floor, in front of the fire place.
"Here" he commanded, tossing the last one to her, "Get those wet clothes off." Annoyed, she knew he was right again. "I'll get some wood to dry them." he added, "I'll be back in a minute."
As soon as he disappeared through one of the doors in the old dining room, she quickly undressed and wrapped the large sheet around herself. She had the girls help tie a few knots, and before long, she was properly covered, without fear of the sheet slipping.
"All clear” He asked from the kitchen.
When she responded that it was, he came in carrying an arm full of logs, some appeared to be wet, but for the most part the rest were dry. Gently he rolled them from his arms in front of the fireplace.
"Not bad," he said with a grin, as he turned around "for a dust cover."
Emma felt the blood rush to her cheeks, but accepted the complement any way.
"We had to tie the knots, Mom couldn't reach." Crystal made sure they got their credit.
"Not bad girls, not bad at all." he continued on, turning around again to stack the wood, in the fireplace.
"Will that be enough?" Emma asked. Wondering where he got it and if it might be wise to bring in more before it was too covered with snow.
"To dry your clothes" he responded, "If you hadn't noticed the house is already warmer than outside."
She’d noticed but attributed it to sturdy construction. Once she said this, he said he’d turned up the heat.
"Heat” The word popped out before she realized she’d said it.
"Yes Emma, Heat." He answered, not looking up. The tone of his voice told her he was getting tired of her surprised reactions, but she couldn't help it. Everything about the place was a surprise and she didn't know any other way of expressing herself.
Once the flames were dancing, he settled into the half circle, the three of them had made in front of the fire.
"Oh" he said with the look of someone who had forgotten something. "You should call home, while the lines are still up."
"Sure Jim" she answered "How?"
"The phone in the kitchen" Shelly answered.
"I'll show you Mom." Crystal jumped to her feet ready to go. Jim just tossed her an “I TOLD YOU SO” look, with his eye brows raised.
"I've got It." she proclaimed as she stood up "The waters on too. AND if I just sprinkle it around the house the furniture will suddenly appear, Right"
He shook "No," then added, "That you'll have to move in for yourself. HOWEVER, the water's always on, around here. No water company, you know."
She didn't know what he was talking about, no water company. She repeated the words as she followed Crystal to the kitchen. Suddenly it hit her, its well water. She stopped at the sink, just to make sure, before proceeding on to the phone. Sure-enough, although rusty brown at first, it was running.
Kit, her oldest answered. It felt like years since she’d spoken to him on the phone, and she could hear the rest of the family in the background. After a brief conversation with him, she spoke to Beth. Who’d informed her of how bad the weather was there, while thankful that Emma wasn't in it. She reassured Emma that everything would be fine there.
"So just take care of yourself." Beth added. "And please don't try driving back tonight."
Emma took the opportunity to leave a message for Mike, when he finally was able to get home from work.
Returning to the front room, she felt more at ease, the thought of staying in the house that night didn't even scare her. The girls were stretched out on the floor, with the sleeping bags from the car, and a picnic box Emma had never seen before. It was apparent from his wet pants that Jim had made the trek to the car.
"The welcome Wagon came and you didn't call me." Emma asked, announcing her return.
"Jim got them." Shelly said bouncing to her feet. "He got you some clothes too, Mom." he was pushing a pair of jeans and shirt towards her.
"What is this?" Emma questioned, flashing a look of disappointment in his direction “Got tired of my duster?"
He only smiled warmly back at her, “I don't know if they'll fit." He said eyeing her again. "But you'll probably feel better, with clothes on. By the way, how's the family?"
Emma told them all about the storm in Salt Lake, before she slipped through the old dining room and into the door just across the hall. It was the first bedroom off the kitchen. Inside the door, she could still see the other three sitting on the front room floor.
She used the minute alone to ponder the events of the day, Emma had experienced many strange things in her life, but these were different. Her Grandmother had said they were a blessing, and at times, they were, but it was beginning to scare her. Beth always, referred to it as her sixth sense. Of course Beth always, tried not to let anyone know she had it, she even went so far as to do just what her senses told her not to do.
After her first marriage broke up, she’d confided in Emma that she’d been warned not to marry him. It had been a tough life for her, but she was more fearful of believing the warning. If she believed them to be correct, then she’d have to admit she had the ability she wanted to deny.
When Emma had asked how she handled the events, she’d answered that she stopped asking questions. The answer had confused Emma at first, but suddenly she realized what Beth had meant. She had been asking questions since finding the dishes and she had only received the impressions after she asked a question that no one on earth could answer.
"That's it." She said opening the door, to step in to the hall. "I've been asking the questions."
"What questions?" It was Jim directly behind her but she had screamed, before she realized it. Her heart had jumped into her throat, and she felt her feet leave the floor momentarily before his strong arms were around her waist. "I didn't mean to scare you,” he uttered breathless.
She thought she might just pass out with fright, but his strong, grip about her waist, made everything right.
"I thought you were talking to me." He continued, when she pulled away to look directly at him. "Or is there someone in there I didn't see." he finished, sticking his head into the room she stepped out of.
Talking to herself was one of her biggest problems, and she hated to admit it, but when he popped his head back out of the room with a knowing look, she had to say something.
"I was just thinking out loud." She announced, trying to rub the flush from her face.
"So what was the question?" he went on walking towards where the girls were still lying, as if they hadn't heard her scream.
"Oh, I was just reminding myself, I’d already asked you how many bedrooms there are, but I can't remember what you said." she was bluffing, and remarkable it was working.
"I think there's twenty one or two" he answered Then went on to add "And twenty five, baths."
"Why so many?" she thought about the number in terms of a single family this time and not a small hotel.
"There used to be only half that number before Mrs. Haager got a hold of it, but she knew if she was going to turn it into a bed and breakfast, she'd have to give every room a private facility."
She was pleased to know she wouldn't have to convert them, however, that wasn't the answer she was looking for.
"No" she decided to phrase it differently "Why was there so many bedrooms?"
"Oh, I see what you meant. Old Johnny must have felt they were a bit of a necessity, with forty of so kids running about the place."
"FORTY!" The number was over whelming to her. She’d spent the better part of the last year with eight children running around and thought she was losing her mind most of the time. Of course, they weren't all hers, but just the same, they were still all there. Jim only nodded his head as he started to push the embers about in the fireplace.
"Mom, just think how crazy you'd be with that group." Shelly added.
"I wouldn't be crazy, I'd be dead." Emma responded. Then they all laughed, as she crossed the room to look at the progress of the storm.
"Old Johnny loved kids. Besides you have to remember he had four wives." Jim added, standing up.
Emma wondered if that picture was old' Johnny, if so, he didn't look like he loved anything, least of all Kid's. Just the thought of the picture sent a chill up her spine.
Crystal rummaged through her purse and pulled out a pick to hand to her. Shelly was asking Jim why he kept referring to him as Old Johnny. The girls had been unusually quiet up until then. She worried they might have been as afraid of the place, as she was. But she needn't have worried. They had just been busy feeding their faces.
Standing before the window, she tugged all the snarl's from her hair and allowed it to fall softly across her shoulders. As she turned to hear Jim's reasoning behind the name, she found them up on their knee's listening intensely to his explanation – they never listen to her that way. Oh sure, they listened to what she had to say, but never with both ears perked.
Usually it was through a blaring radio, or with a phone attached to the other ear. The quiet time they used to have at dinner to talk, was lost with the joining of the other families. Now it seemed the only place they can have a private conversation, was in the car.
She watched their eyes twinkle as Jim simply explained, his father had been known throughout the area as little John, or in other word, it was used to distinguish, which John they were talking about.
"Why didn't they simply call him, Jonathan?" Crystal asked, "That's what my Mom does."
Jim looked over to her standing next to the window, "Yah, I'll bet she has a streak of respect running through her, Ha?" The girls didn't know what he was talking about and looked confused. "You know, she probably calls every one by their full first names, right?" he asked scratching under his chin.
"Yah" Crystal responded, "She does. Like she told us we should call you Mr. Mason, not Jim."
"Well, I'm telling you to call me Jim. Mr. Mason was my father's name."
Emma laughed aloud. She always felt people were referring to Mike's Mom, when they called her Mrs. Chase. She knew she’d just given herself away, so quickly she turned her gaze, out the window but not before she’d caught the smile exploding on Jim's face.
He went on to tell them some cock-in-bull story, about him working with Robin Hood little John that was. She’d taken him for a storyteller, right from the very first. He just reminded her of a few people she’d met as a child, often much older adults like her Grandfather, Her real Grandfather that was.
He’d popped back up, after her father was married. She guessed he tried to make trouble, about her father taking the Reed name; at least that was the story she got. How he’d thought he could erase a twenty-year absence, she couldn’t fathom.
Anyway, as she was growing up, her father had come to acknowledge, him as being his father more and more. After her grandfather Reed died. Her father had gotten to know his real father better. Later, after her Grandmother's death, he’d even started to visit him in southern Utah. That's where she’d gotten to hear his stories. At night as the kid's would curl up on the floor to go to bed; He would tell her father of how it used to be back in the good old days; when he was a teenager. He talked about riding with the rowdy boy's, later she found out that was the name of the sun-dance kid's gang. Later in his life, he told of how he’d sat down with Bonnie and Clyde for dinner. The stories had filled her head with visions of famous people she had seen movies made about. However, when she found out he’d been in prison, he scared her. In her teens she started to research the people he’d spoken of, and sure enough he could’ve done all he said, and that thought frightened her even more.
But what she’d learned about the man was very different though, he was gentle, loving, and not at all the way he said he’d been. Besides, he told other stories too. Some even kept her wondering, to that day how true they were. For the most part though, she’d labeled him a storyteller. Yet she still didn't know why he spent time in prison, or even how long he was there.
During that time she had learned to only half listen to storytellers, and that was what she was doing. She was much more content, to gaze at the blanketed valley of snow. It reminded her of a Christmas card, one with the shimmering stuff on it. The more she watched the peaceful seen before her, the more she forgot about the picture on the landing.
"It's funny." She said when she noted a low in the conversation.
Turning to address the three of them, she found the girls were nearly asleep and Jim was propped up against the mantle with his pipe in the corner of his mouth. The picture would’ve been complete had there been two high backed chairs, in front of him.
"What's funny?" he responded, removing the pipe. But she had nearly forgot what she was going to say.
"Oh" she uttered being taken back "The only thing, I wanted to do with this house a few hours ago, was get out of it."
"My God Girl, does this house scare you that much?" His voice showed his concern bringing the girls back to their knees.
"What scares you Mom." Shelly looked about the room.
"NO, it’s nothing Hun. Please lay back down." she could only throw him a dirty look, for waking them back up. "I'm not afraid of anything."
"But you were?" Crystal asked.
"Yeah, I was." She joined them on the floor "But I'm not now."
They both settled down, but remained sitting, waiting for an explanation. Jim was fussing with the fire again. She figured he’d gotten the impression.
"Well, you got to remember a few hours ago I’d just lost a fight with the front doors." It appeared they were buying her excuse.
The girls settled down after that to go to sleep. Before they had though, she reminded Jim, he had some explaining to do. He had now taken up a position on his side with his head being propped up by his left hand and his feet near the fireplace.
"Yeah" Crystal exclaimed, "Tell us about the house. Do you think it's haunted?"
"NO." he exclaimed loudly "Of course it's not haunted,” He then went on to tell all he knew about the house but first he asked if she knew where her G.G.Grandfather was from. She responded with what she'd been told “ England.” To which he responded, “Correct, at least that was where he came to America from."
Emma explained that was all she’d been able to find out at the genealogy library about him. "My Grandma, Lizzy, was always doing research but no one seems to know where it all went when she died."
"They lost it." Shelly proclaimed, with an air of disappointment.
"Probably not," Jim answered. "I doubt she was able to find much." Noticing Emma's intense look he added, "At least we haven't been able to."
She’d forgotten they shared the same G.G. Grandfather, but as he continued to talk, he gave no reason for the question either. Instead, he rolled over on to his back and stared up at the ceiling. Soon she got so entrenched in his descriptive recital of the history of the house she forgot all about it. At one point, she feared he’d fallen asleep, because he’d just simply stopped talking.
"James!" she prodded.
Instantly he sat up and stared directly into her eyes demanding, "Why'd you call me that?"
Obviously, she’d struck a raw nerve, "I didn't mean to." She blurted out, "Really I thought you had gone to sleep."
Even though she was stumbling over her words, he’d gotten the meaning, and his temper returned to normal. "I'm sorry," he said “My – Wife used to call me that." he finally answered resting his head in hands.
"I didn't mean to." She said again, "I have an uncle named that." She tried to explain but it didn't seem to be helping. “Perhaps, if you tell me about her," Emma tried to make him feel better.
"I can't." he finally said, looking up at her.
"Is she dead?" she still tried.
"For hell sakes, NO" he blurted out standing to his feet and crossing the floor to the window. "She left me." he shouted turning around to look right at her, "There, is that what you wanted to know."
"NO," she shouted as well. "I thought you were morning her, I Just wanted to help you."
His expression changed to sorrow, and when he said how sorry he was, she knew he meant it.
"I have no right intruding in to your life" she went on "and that's not what I meant to do, at all."
"I know, Emma." He whispered as he looked back out the window. "I don't think you could deliberately hurt anyone."
She thought it a strange statement coming from a man she’d only known a day and half. Nevertheless, he was right. She would never hurt anyone, even if it meant her life.
She left him alone for a moment and went to find a bathroom, when she returned he was once again stirring the fire. As she took a seat next to where the girls lay, He started to talk about the house again. She wished she’d had a tape recorder to catch everything he said, but no such luck. She'd just have to remember it.
For the next four hours, he wove a story so in depth, she wondered the next morning if she’d dreamt the whole thing. He’d gone back to the start and filled in with such detail she could see, the valley unfold before her eyes.
The valley had always been a prosperous place, filled with deer, fish, and all sorts of other edible things. "Like the wild berry patches that cover the hills behind the house." He said.
Word by word, step by step, he painted the valley floor.
The size of the land title was so large she’d trouble even imagining it. He included what was planted and where, and spoke a little about the three houses and hunting lodge.
He told her about the natural springs, hot and cold, and her ingenious G.G. Grandfather, who had discovered uses for them. He added, in color the way Mrs. Haager had improved the place, by adding electricity, to the method Old Johnny, had used.
Suddenly she understood the phrase "its own supply". Her G.G. Grandfather had run water from the hot water springs, into the house for heat. Later Mrs. Haager had come along and updated his method, by adding a conversion plant that produced electricity, how she’d been worried the old pipes would leak, and finally he closed with the decay the place had under gone in the last few years.
Although he spoke about the different family members, And when they all went their separate ways, he never talked about her Grandmother. When she’d asked him about her, he said he only knew what he’d heard.
"She was driven off, by old Johnny, himself. They said he was very disappointed in her and it crushed his spirit when he had to