Pristine Condition
Clyde Wetmore was glad when his oldest son, Clyde, Jr., who went by the name of Buddy, turned seven, making him old enough to join his father in the mill. With five children to support, Clyde needed all the help he could get. Being a child, Buddy earned only a fraction of the pay his father did—not that the senior Wetmore was well paid; he wasn't. Having left school after the third grade to work in the mill with his own father, he could barely read and write. Like everyone else in the rural community, his opportunities were limited. It was either the mill or nothing.
"In another year, Katie will be old enough to join Buddy and me," he said as he looked down at the meager meal on his chipped dinner plate. "A third person working will help out a lot."
Lynell, his wife, would gladly have returned to the mill herself, but with three children under the age of five to care for, this was not an option. Like her mother and grandmother before her, she would simply have to make do. Thankfully, she was the youngest child in her family and, as such, was the recipient of all the hand-me-downs. From her firstborn down to the youngest, Linus, her children never wanted for clothing. True, most of what they wore was old and mended many times, but it served its purpose. She only hoped—and prayed—she would have no more children. The last thing the family needed was another mouth to feed!
Six months later, when the Wetmores were eagerly anticipating adding a third income to their coffers, fate dealt them not one but two blows. The first came one morning when Lynell woke feeling nauseous, the first sign the birth of another child loomed on the horizon.
Oh, well, she thought, resigned to the inevitable. It'll be seven or eight months until this one's born. And then by the time he or she is weaned, Kermit will be nearing his seventh birthday. We'll have six kids, but three of them will be working.
Unfortunately, in 1920, Margaret Sanger's ideas on birth control and family planning were as yet unknown in her rural community, so there was no guarantee there would not be a seventh, eighth or even more babies in the future. Lynell was one of ten children herself—albeit two of her siblings died in infancy—and Clyde had seven surviving brothers and sisters.
While cooking dinner—a simple stew heavy on the vegetables and broth but light on the meat—she debated when and how she would break the news to her husband. She had yet to make a decision when the front door opened and Clyde and Buddy shuffled inside.
The tears in the boy's eyes set off the first alarm.
"What happened?" his mother asked. "Did you hurt yourself?"
The grim look on her husband's face set off the second.
"What is it?"
"The mill is closing."
A simple enough statement, just four words long, but it had the effect of a bomb exploding. It caused devastation in the tiny, ramshackle house. Dozens of questions came to Lynell's mind, but one took priority.
"When?"
"Next week."
"So soon? Didn't they give you any advance warning?"
Clyde shook his head.
"What are we gonna do?"
"I don't know."
"How can we feed six kids with no money?" she cried, unaware that she had let her secret slip.
"Six?" her husband echoed. "Don't tell me ...."
Now it was Lynell's turn to answer with a gesture. When she nodded her head, she saw tears well up in her husband's eyes.
* * *
Over the next several weeks, the Wetmores' neighbors packed up and moved away. It was only a matter of time until they took to the road themselves.
"Where will we go, Daddy?" Buddy asked as he and his father were fishing in the river for the family's dinner.
"I don't know. Mr. Quackenbush has got a brother in Virginia that his family's gonna stay with, and the Wolmars are going home to Mrs. Wolmar's parents in Ohio. Unfortunately, both my family and your mother's live right here. All of us worked for the mill, so we're in the same boat now."
"Mom said that we have no money to buy meat and that the vegetables in the garden are almost gone. What will we eat then?"
"I don't rightly know, son. I suppose we'll need to continue to fish or hunt for our food. Thank the good lord your mom knows which mushrooms and berries aren't harmful."
"But what about when winter comes?"
"Let's not worry about that now. Hopefully, by then I'll find another job."
Clyde spoke with an optimism he did not feel. Since the mill closed, he had traveled far and wide across the state and had yet to find employment anywhere. The Wolmars and Quackenbushes both promised to let him know if there were any opportunities in Virginia and Ohio, but he had received no word from them yet.
When the sun went down, father and son returned home, having caught only two trout. The fish, cooked with a small bunch of carrots and served with half a loaf of bread would have to feed seven people.
"I'll be heading out early tomorrow," Clyde told his wife as the couple prepared for bed.
"When do you expect to come home?" Lynell asked.
"Most likely by the end of the week. It all depends on how far I can get before my money runs out."
"Maybe you'll find something and be home sooner."
Clyde left before the sun rose on Monday morning. He covered a good deal of ground, both by bus and on foot, and had just enough cash on him to buy a ticket home. It was midafternoon on Friday when he trudged along the dirt road to the house he had called home for the past nine years. His wife was in the garden pulling the last of the radishes out of the ground. She straightened up at the sound of his footsteps.
"Welcome home," she said with a smile.
She did not ask if he had found work since she knew the answer from the downcast look on his face.
"Let me grab my fishing rod, and I'll try to catch us something for supper."
"You don't have to. Buddy's already brought back a nice-sized bass. You go inside and take it easy."
"I'll do just that. These old bones could sure use a rest."
Clyde walked into the house, kicked off his shoes and headed toward the bedroom. Moments after his head hit the pillow, he was asleep. Less than an hour later, he felt Katie shaking him awake.
"Get up, Daddy," the little girl cried. "Mommy said come outside—quick. We got company."
When he opened the door, Clyde saw a brand new 1920 Packard Roadster pulled up in front of the house. It was unusual to see any vehicle in the area, much less such a grand one.
"Mr. Wetmore," said a well-dressed elderly man, who, despite looking to be of great age, had a youthful glimmer in his eye. "My name is Llewellyn Mangrove."
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Mangrove. What can I do for you?"
"Why don't we all go inside and talk?" Lynell suggested. "I'd offer you something to drink, but ...."
"That's all right, Mrs. Wetmore," the caller assured her. "I quite understand your situation."
The refined and educated Mr. Mangrove seemed out of place in the humble dwelling, like a swan surrounded by a flock of crows. But he took a seat at the table nonetheless.
"I heard the mill here closed and that you are currently out of work," he announced.
"That's right."
"I'm looking for someone to keep watch over my house during the winter months. I travel quite a bit on business, and I don't like to leave the place unattended. I asked around town, and I was given your name."
"You want to hire me?" Clyde asked, amazed at the sudden and unexpected opportunity.
"If you're interested."
"Yeah. Sure. Where is your place?"
"About a three-hour drive north of here."
"You came this far to look for a caretaker?"
"No," Llewellyn laughed. "I was planning on looking for a local man at the end of October, but I was in the area and I heard about the mill closing. I thought I might be able to kill two birds with one stone: hire a good worker and help out someone in need."
"That's mighty Christian of you, Mr. Mangrove," Lynell said.
"I'm afraid I'm not much of a religious man, Mrs. Wetmore, but I am a philanthropist at heart. That said, why don't we discuss the details of your employment?"
For nearly an hour, the two men talked business. The job was to last five months, for which Clyde would be paid a generous salary. In addition to the money, free room and board would be available to the entire family. Llewellyn even agreed to cover their moving expenses.
"And come spring," the visitor continued, "I might be able to find more work for you. I could use a good handyman to take care of the lawn, do minor repairs and such."
"This is wonderful!" Clyde exclaimed. "I'll do a good job. I promise you won't regret hiring me."
"I'm sure I won't," Llewellyn said as he rose from the table.
As he was leaving, he reached into his pocket for his wallet. He took out several large bills and handed them to his new employee.
"Here. This ought to tide you over until you start work on the first of November."
Tired though he was from his trip, once Mr. Mangrove's car vanished from sight, Clyde announced, "I'll be back in a bit," and headed toward the road.
"Where are you going?" Lynell asked.
"Into town to buy us some food. It's high time we had meat for supper!"
* * *
The wagon that Llewellyn had arranged to pick up the Wetmores at the train station crested the hill, giving the passengers their first glimpse of Rosewood Manor.
"It's a castle!" Kermit cried, staring wide-eyed at the sprawling house.
"Do a king and queen live there?" three-year-old Betsy asked.
"No," their mother answered. "It's not a castle. It's just a large house. And for the next five months, we are going to live there. The owner is away, and Daddy is going to take care of the place for him."
"Why would anyone want to leave here?" Katie asked, seeing herself as Cinderella about to go to the ball, knowing that at midnight her fairy godmother's magic would come to an end.
"Mr. Mangrove is a businessman," her father explained. "He travels because he has to, not because he wants to."
Since the Wetmores had little in the way of personal belongings, it did not take them long to cart the boxes and bags of clothes, toys and family keepsakes into the house and up to their third-floor quarters. Having been built to accommodate a full staff of servants, the house had half a dozen rooms on the third floor. The four oldest children would experience the unaccustomed luxury of having their own bedrooms, while the baby would sleep in a crib in his parents' room.
"I want to see the kitchen," Lynell said as her children were settling in to their new living space.
"I'll be down in a few minutes," her husband announced, "after I make sure everything's all right up here and on the second floor."
The kitchen, she was happy to see, was fully stocked. Meats and poultry were in the freezer, dry goods were in the pantry and there was a large supply of vegetables in the root cellar. Mr. Mangrove left a note on the table, giving the name of a grocer in town who could provide anything else she needed.
Inspired by the bounty that was set before her eyes, she decided to bake a cake for dessert. It had been two years since she made one. With Linus sitting on the floor, drumming out a beat with a cooking spoon on a metal pan, Lynell prepared what to her was a feast rather than a simple meal. It was extravagant, but she felt her family deserved a celebration.
"What is this, an early Thanksgiving?" Clyde laughed when he saw all the food spread out on the kitchen table.
"In a way, yes," his wife replied. "We ought to be thankful for Mr. Mangrove. We were on the brink of destitution and possibly starvation when he came along and saved us."
"November 1?" her husband mused as he watched his son playing with the cookware. "Isn't that some Catholic holiday? My grandmother's sister married an Irishman and attended St. Timothy's. She used to go to mass on the first of November."
"I think it's All Saints Day, but there's also an All Souls Day. I'm really not sure when that is. Thank God our church only celebrates Christmas and Easter."
When the cooking was done, Lynell called to the children to come and eat. Their joy upon seeing the impromptu banquet was well worth all the effort she put into preparing it. Following the dinner, the family remained sitting around the table for an evening of games, stories and songs. The Wetmores enjoyed themselves so much that they were loath to call it a night and go to bed. However, even the most active of children will eventually grow tired. Linus was the first to fall asleep, curled up on his mother's lap. Kermit was next, soon followed by Katie.
"I think it's time we all go up to bed," Clyde announced. "Katie, take the baby from your mother. Lynell, you take Betsy upstairs and I'll bring Kermit. Buddy, you run on ahead and turn on the lights."
As the family made their way to the third-floor bedrooms, those who were still awake carried with them the warm glow of the evening. Their first day at Rosewood Manor had been one of the happiest of their lives. Little could they imagine what the following days held in store for them.
* * *
When Lynell's eyes opened on the morning of November 2, she felt an ache in her stomach. Her initial reaction to the discomfort was that something she had eaten did not agree with her. Once she was fully awake, however, she realized the sensation was more of a cramp than an ache.
Something's wrong, she thought.
The blood on the bedsheet confirmed her fears. She had miscarried the baby. The sense of loss was made worse by a feeling of guilt. Because of their prior financial situation, she had dreaded having another child, had seen it not as a blessing but as a burden. Now things were different. Her husband currently had a good job and a promise of more work to come.
"You mustn't blame yourself," Clyde said, trying to comfort her. "It's not your fault. My mother had two miscarriages before she had me."
"Two of my sisters had miscarriages as well," Lynell said, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"And you know what they say: things happen for a reason."
Although neither of them knew that this philosophic notion went all the way back to Aristotle, it was an adage that always gave them comfort and saw them through the hard times. If there was a reason behind what happened, then there was an intelligence greater than theirs in control of things.
At her husband's insistence, Lynell kept off her feet that day. Buddy and Katie watched over their younger siblings while Clyde attended to his chores. Used to putting in a long, hard day at the mill, he found taking care of Rosewood Manor much more to his liking. Stoking the furnace, running water through the pipes, splitting wood for the fireplace and setting traps for rodents who invaded the cellar and attic could hardly be seen as backbreaking labor.
I could get to like this work, he thought as he walked along the second-floor hallway, peering through the doorways at what might look like ghosts to an overactive imagination but, in reality, were nothing more than pieces of furniture beneath white dust covers.
Clyde could not understand why Mr. Mangrove bothered. Soon after his arrival at Rosewood Manor, he had checked under the covers for possible rodent or insect nests. Expecting to see valuable antiques beneath the cloth, he was disappointed to find old furniture badly in need of restoration. There were drawers without handles and dressers with cracked mirrors. All the wood surfaces were scratched, gouged or chipped. The upholstery was not much better. It was worn or ripped and, in many cases, stained.
Maybe my employer can't afford to get new furniture or maybe he just hasn't gotten around to it yet. He is a busy man. Still, it's my job to look after the place and everything inside it, junk or not.
There were five rooms on the second floor: the master bedroom, two smaller bedrooms, a sitting room and a nursery. Once he was sure those rooms were free of unwanted pests, he went down the stairs to the first floor and continued his rounds. Kitchen, formal dining room, parlor. Everything was in order. His rounds took him at last to the library where, when he pushed open the door, he was taken by surprise.
What happened here? he wondered.
Not only were the dust covers removed, but the furniture—the writing desk, the Chippendale wing chairs, the claw-footed end tables, all dating back to the eighteenth century—looked new. The mahogany gleamed as if it was just varnished; and the fabrics, including the Persian carpet on the floor and the Flemish tapestry hanging on the wall, looked as though they had just been woven.
Damn! he thought with astonishment. Even the books look new.
He could not for the life of him explain how such a miracle had occurred. Only yesterday, the library was in as sorry a state as the other rooms. Lynell did not clean the place; she spent most of the day cooking in the kitchen. Could it have been Buddy or Katie? Surely, it wasn't one of the younger children.
My oldest girl always did have a leaning toward book-learning. She probably came in here to get something to read and then cleaned the place up.
It was the best explanation he could come up with, even though Katie did not have either the skill or the time to bring about such a drastic renovation. Still, he did not question his daughter to prove or disprove his hypothesis; he simply accepted it as fact. Clyde was not a man to stray into the realm of the unknown. However, there are times when the unknown invades our world, uninvited and unwanted.
* * *
Despite having remained in bed all day, Lynell slept little. Burdened by guilt, her mind would not rest. Finally, long after midnight, she drifted off to sleep. When she woke the next day, Clyde's half of the bed was empty. She was pleased that he was such a diligent worker.
If he does a good job this winter, Mr. Mangrove is sure to keep him on.
She threw off the blankets, rose to a sitting position and put her feet on the floor. In the sunlight that streamed through the window, she could see that the baby's crib was empty. Either her husband or one of the older children must have taken Linus downstairs and fed him.
I hope they changed his diaper first.
After putting on her bathrobe and slippers, she went down to the first-floor kitchen to make breakfast.
"Where is everybody?" she asked when she saw that the room was empty.
Lynell heard laughter coming from outside and went to the window. Her four oldest children were making the best of what might be the last warm day before the cold weather set in by jumping into piles of leaves.
Clyde must have the baby with him.
When the pancakes—another unaccustomed treat—were ready, she went to the door and called her children. She did not summon her husband since she knew he would be drawn to the kitchen by the scent of fresh coffee and maple syrup.
"Something smells good," he announced once the children were all seated at the table, eager to dig in.
"I made ...," Lynell began and then noticed her husband was empty-handed. "Where's Linus?"
"In his crib, I imagine."
"Did you just put him back in it?"
"I didn't take him out."
"He wasn't there when I woke up. Have any of you seen him?" she asked her other children.
When they replied in the negative, she raced up the stairs to the third floor to search for her missing child.
"He must have gotten out somehow," Clyde declared, stating the obvious. "You check under the bed. I'll look in the other rooms."
"God! I hope he doesn't go near those stairs!" the worried mother cried.
Since the baby was not immediately located, the other four Wetmore children helped in the search. The family scoured every square inch of the third floor, but there was no sign of Linus anywhere.
"There's no way he could have crawled down to the second floor!" Lynell insisted.
That did not stop her and the others from going from room to room, opening closet doors, looking under beds and checking beneath the dust covers. Again, the little boy was nowhere to be found.
"I'm going upstairs again," Lynell said. "We might have missed something."
"All right. The kids and I will go down to the first floor and look there."
"How the hell could a baby, barely able to crawl, manage to get down two flights of stairs?"
"I don't know, but we've got to look everywhere until we find him."
While Katie and Betsy searched the kitchen and Buddy and Kermit headed to the dining room, their father looked into the library before moving on to the parlor.
Linus has got to be in here, he thought, despite the fact that the door was closed and he had to turn the knob to enter it.
He stood on the threshold and stared, open-mouthed, into the room. Like the library, everything inside appeared newly minted. Even the old fireplace whose bricks were previously stained by more than two centuries of smoke and fire were now immaculate.
Katie didn't do this! his mind screamed, but he quickly silenced it.
"Have you found him?" his wife cried anxiously when he encountered her in the foyer moments later.
"No. He's not in any of the first-floor rooms."
"The kids were outside playing earlier. Maybe he somehow ...."
Clyde did not wait for her to finish. He ran to the front door and hurried outside.
By midafternoon, they had thoroughly searched each room twice and combed the yard. Finally, Clyde got into the wagon and went to town for the police.
"It's safe to say he's too young to have run away from home," declared Detective Elwood Tyson, who was sent to the house to investigate the child's disappearance.
"Someone must have come into the house and taken him out of his crib," the baby's father theorized.
"You locked the doors last night, didn't you?" his wife asked.
"Yes, but he must have found another way inside."
"You're suggesting an unknown person broke into your house in the middle of the night and kidnapped your baby right out of your bedroom?"
"What other explanation is there?"
Elwood recalled reading about the disappearance of a four-year-old British lad who, back in 1860, went missing from his home. The boy's body was later found in the privy, and eventually his sixteen-year-old half-sister was found guilty of his murder. Linus Wetmore was not quite a year old. Buddy, Katie and possibly even Kermit could have been responsible for their brother's death, either deliberately or by accident. Then, of course, there were the parents themselves.
You mustn't jump to conclusions, he warned himself. It's your job to keep an open mind and investigate.
As the sheriff formed a search party to look for the child, Elwood questioned the family members.
"Did you hear any strange noises during the night? Have you seen any suspicious-looking characters in the area? Has someone shown a particular interest in your boy? Did the children leave the door open when they went outside to play?"
To all his queries, the answer was no.
"Has there been any sign of disturbance inside the house?"
Clyde hesitated before answering this question.
"Well? Has there been any sign that someone else might have been in the house?"
The father could well imagine how the detective would react to his account of the miraculously rejuvenated library and parlor. Police officers were notorious for their skepticism.
"No. I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary," he lied.
* * *
As volunteers throughout the county combed the countryside for the missing child, the Wetmores tried to maintain the semblance of normal family life. Clyde still carried out his caretaking duties faithfully. Lynell cooked the meals, washed the laundry and schooled her older children. Always foremost on their minds, though, was the unknown fate of the youngest child.
On a cold, drizzly morning during the second week in November, as her husband went in and out of the house, filling the fireplaces with fresh logs and kindling, Lynell sat at the kitchen table with her children. Buddy and Katie were studying their times tables and practicing multiplication problems, and Betsy, who was too young for even kindergarten, was learning her colors.
"Today," she told Kermit, the middle child, who had just begun attending school when the mill closed, "we're going to work on the alphabet."
Lynell was showing him how to print capital and small letters on a slate board when Katie announced that she had completed her math work.
"Good. Now do some reading."
"I already finished the three books we brought with us."
"There's a library down the hall. It might have an easy book you can read."
"I don't like going in that room," the girl said with a grimace. "It's spooky."
"Don't be silly. There's nothing in there but books."
"Maybe I'll just reread one of my own books."
"It won't be much of a challenge if you've already read them."
Seeing that her daughter would not budge, Lynell announced, "Very well. I'll go get you a book," and rose from the table.
After what could not have been more than ten minutes, she returned with a copy of Grimm's fairy tales.
"You ought to be able to understand most of the words ...."
She stopped speaking when she noticed the empty seat at the table.
"Where's Kermit?"
"He was just here a minute ago," Buddy replied.
"Kermit?" the mother called out to the hallway.
There was no answer. With the search still going on for the missing baby, a second Wetmore child disappeared.
When Clyde came into the house, his arms full of logs, he found his wife frantically opening the doors of the kitchen cabinets, looking for the five-year-old. He dropped the logs on the floor and joined in the search. The formal dining room, which earlier that morning looked like a down-on-his-luck hobo, now resembled a dapper bridegroom on his wedding day.
What the hell is going on here? he wondered, beginning to wonder whether or not a human hand had taken part in the disappearance of his children.
Once again, the police were called. With a second child missing, the volunteers went over previously searched territory. Neither Linus nor Kermit was found, however.
"What are you suggesting?" Lynell cried, when her husband later showed her what had transpired in the dining room.
"I'm not suggesting anything. That's just it. I can't explain what's going on. All I know is we've lost three children, if you count the miscarriage, and three of these rooms have completely changed."
"Did you mention that to the police?"
"No. They'd never believe me. I find it hard to believe myself. If I hadn't seen the change with my own eyes ...."
"Well, I see it, and I still don't believe it. And what has the condition of the rooms to do with our children?"
"I don't know. But it's such a strange coincidence."
When Detective Tyson learned of Kermit's disappearance, his suspicions honed in on the parents. Buddy and Katie—ages eight and six, respectively—might have been old enough to kill a five-year-old, but he doubted either had the strength to get rid of the body. Of course, there was always the possibility they acted in tandem, but he considered the adults more likely suspects.
While questioning Clyde, the investigator came out and asked him point-blank, "Are you covering up for your wife, or did you kill your sons yourself?"
The father was stunned by the question.
"You think I ...? I'm their father! And Lynell is their mother. We love our children. We would never hurt them. Besides, you don't know yet what's happened to them. Do you?"
"No. But I assure you we will."
Elwood's words were not meant to put the father's mind at ease. They were intended as a threat. It was a promise that when the bodies were found one or more of the Wetmores would be brought to justice.
* * *
With the two boys still missing, no one felt like celebrating Thanksgiving. In an effort to keep her family's spirits up, Lynell decided to make a turkey anyway.
"We have to eat," she told her husband. "We can't all just starve to death. And, besides, cooking all that food will give me and the kids something to do."
That morning she ran her kitchen like a sea captain would helm his vessel. She had just assigned her two oldest children the task of peeling potatoes when little Betsy walked into room carrying a doll.
"Where did you get that?" her mother asked.
"Upstairs."
"We found it in the nursery," her sister explained. "When we were looking for .... I didn't think it belonged to anyone. It's in pretty bad shape."
Katie's description was an understatement. The doll's hair had been cropped short, and one of the glass eyes and three fingers of the right hand were missing. As for the outfit, what was left of it was torn and filthy.
"That thing looks like it's been through the war!" Lynell exclaimed. "After dinner, I'll try fixing it up a bit. I'll give it a good washing and maybe sew a new dress for it."
What she needed was to keep busy. It was the only way she remained sane.
"You've outdone yourself this year, my dear!" Clyde exclaimed when he sat down at the table to a full Thanksgiving feast.
"I had help," she said, managing a smile for her remaining children.
As usual, a prayer was said before the turkey was carved. Rather than one expressing thanks, however, it was an urgent plea for the safe return of Linus and Kermit.
"Will someone please pass me the mashed potatoes?" Buddy asked moments after the final amen ceased to echo in the room.
Despite the melancholic gloom that had pervaded the house since the baby went missing, the family did justice to their holiday meal. Once the apple pie was finished, Lynell and Katie cleared the table and washed the dishes. Afterward, they sat beside the fireplace, and Buddy told a story as they roasted chestnuts and drank apple cider. Before he reached the end of his tale, Betsy's head nodded in sleep.
"I think we could all use a nap," Clyde said, with a yawn. "Turkey always makes me sleepy."
"I'm going to put her up on her bed. She'll be more comfortable there," Lynell announced.
When she returned, she noticed the others, all full from their Thanksgiving dinner, had dozed off. The only sounds in the room were soft snoring, the crackling of the burning logs in the fireplace and the howling of the wind outside.
By nine o'clock, the fire had just about died out. Buddy and Katie were asleep in their rooms, and Clyde was making his nightly rounds, checking to make sure all the doors and windows were secure on the ground floor of Rosewood Manor. Lynell did not know whether to put another log on the fire or go up to bed. She was not physically tired, but she was restless. She needed something to do. Then she remembered the doll the girls had found in the second-floor nursery.
Where did it go? Betsy didn't have it with her when I took her up ....
Then she realized that her daughter had never come downstairs after her nap. Had she been asleep all that time? A sense of foreboding came over the young mother, and she ran up the stairs to the third floor.
"Betsy?" she called when she saw the child's bed was empty. "Betsy!"
No, the bed was not entirely empty. A doll was on it. It couldn't be the same one; however. This one looked brand new as though it had just been taken down from a toy store shelf. But Lynell had no time to worry about dolls. Her little girl was missing.
Clyde raced up the stairs when he heard his wife's screams.
"I can't find Betsy!" she cried.
"Oh, God! Not again!"
* * *
"You were both downstairs by the fire, and yet neither of you heard or saw someone come down the stairs with your child?" Elwood Tyson asked, clearly not believing a word the parents said.
"That's right," Lynell insisted. "My husband dozed off for a few minutes, but I was wide awake."
Clyde remained silent throughout the interview, distracted by his own thoughts. During the search for Betsy, he had walked into the nursery and found it, like the rooms on the first floor, in pristine condition. It could not be a coincidence. He did not know what was going on, but the disappearances of his children and his wife's miscarriage coincided with the unexplained transformation of the rooms.
"You're being awfully quiet, Mr. Wetmore," the detective noted. "Anything you want to add to your wife's story?"
"No. It happened exactly as she said it did."
"All right, then," he said, getting up from his chair. "The sheriff and I will organize another search party. Meanwhile, I'm going to see the judge on Monday to ask about having your last two children removed from the house and temporarily put in a foster home."
"What?" Lynell cried out in objection. "You can't take our children away from us!"
"I should think you'd want them to be safe."
"We do, but ... they belong here with us. We're their parents."
"Three children are missing. I don't want what happened to them to happen to the remaining ones."
"We won't allow you to take them," Lynell argued. "We'll get a lawyer, if necessary. We ...."
"That's enough," Clyde gently told his wife. "Maybe it would be for the best. And it would only be for a few months. Once winter is over and Mr. Mangrove returns, we can find a new place to live, one where the children will be safe."
"No. I can't bear to have them taken away," she said and ran from the room in tears.
"Your wife seems to get upset easily, but then a woman with so many children must be under a good deal of stress."
"I know what you're getting at, Detective," Clyde said. "But my wife didn't harm our children."
"Just the same, Monday I'm going to see the judge."
Tyson's threat came to naught. On Friday night, the forecast of snow made on Wednesday morning finally came true. With a record-setting nor'easter wreaking havoc on the community, the search for the missing children was called off. It was still snowing heavily on Saturday morning when Buddy went missing.
"He has to be in the house somewhere!" his distraught mother insisted. "There are no footprints in the snow."
"But it's been coming down so hard, they would have been covered over in no time."
Although he claimed to agree with his wife that the children had been taken by a person or persons unknown, secretly he believed there was a supernatural force at work. With Buddy gone, the second-floor sitting room had received a facelift.
"Who cares about furniture?" Lynell screamed, refusing to consider that the bizarre improvement in the décor might have something to do with her missing children. "I don't know why everything looks new, and frankly I don't care! I just want my babies back!"
Given the severity of the storm, Clyde was unable to contact Detective Tyson and report his son's disappearance.
"Once it stops snowing, I'll find a way to go into town and get him, even if I have to walk all the way."
The storm was still raging at midnight when the Wetmores went to bed. Fearful for the safety of their last surviving child, the couple would not let Katie out of their sight.
"You'll sleep in our room from now on," Lynell told her.
Sadly, the precautions they took were not enough to save their daughter. Mother and father both fell asleep during the night, and when they work on Sunday morning, their last child was nowhere to be found.
* * *
"Now what's going to happen?" Clyde wondered, standing alone in one of the second-floor bedrooms, the latest room to be refurbished. "There are still two bedrooms that need work, but there are no children left."
If Lynell noticed her husband was in the room talking to himself, she did not seem to care. She was beyond feeling anything. She was completely devastated by her losses. Bereft, she sat in front of an unlit fireplace, in a near-catatonic state, holding on to the doll that briefly belonged to her youngest daughter.
"It's still snowing," Clyde announced when he finally came downstairs.
His wife seemed not to hear him.
"Do you want something to eat?" he asked.
There was no answer. He might as well have been talking to the doll for all the response he got.
"I'll heat up some leftovers for us."
He went to the kitchen and looked through the icebox. There was still turkey, peas and carrots left from Thursday. He combined the peas and carrots in a pot and reheated them and cut slices of cold turkey off the carcass. When the vegetables were hot and the table was set, he called to his wife.
"Time to eat."
He waited five minutes. When she did not appear, he went to get her. However, her seat in front of the fireplace was empty, except for the doll.
"No! Not Lynell!" he yelled, suddenly fearful that the house might have claimed another victim.
Clyde took the stairs two at a time and raced down the hall. He opened the first door, which led to the master bedroom, and was relieved to see that the furniture was still covered and the rug and drapes were shabby. However, the other bedroom was recently altered. The smell of fresh paint still lingered in the air.
Knowing he was the lone survivor of his family, he collapsed on the floor, crying like a baby. Eventually, his tears stopped. He returned to the master bedroom, removed the dust covers from the furniture, walked to the bed and sat on the torn quilt, once a treasured family heirloom, now fit only for rags. Drained of all emotion, he reclined and lay his head on the pillow. And waited. He was resigned to his fate; in fact, he welcomed it.
It was nearly dawn when his vision began to blur. It was not from lack of sleep, however. With his failing eyesight, he saw the mahogany dresser begin to gleam as though an unseen hand had polished it.
It's starting, he thought, knowing he would not live to see the finished restoration.
Before the changes to the master bedroom were complete and Rosewood Manor was fully restored to its former glory, Clyde Wetmore faded away. When Detective Tyson arrived at the house on Monday morning, he found the place empty and assumed the guilty parents had fled the area to escape arrest and prosecution for murdering their children.
* * *
Alfonso Girardi wore a false smile on his face as he walked through his front door. His pregnant wife, Antonia, was sitting in the living room helping their children with their history lessons. Since the pandemic had closed the schools, necessitating distance learning, the three oldest children were doing schoolwork on their computers. Meanwhile, the two youngest were playing with a Fisher-Price Little People farm.
Antonia saw through her husband's cheerful façade, and her heart went out to him.
"We'll get through this," she told him when they were alone together in the kitchen.
The Italian restaurant they had worked so hard to establish was forced to close its doors due to COVID-19 restrictions. They had tried to hold on, offering curbside pickup and home delivery, but the operating expenses were greater than their income, and eventually they went bankrupt. What bothered Alfonso most now was that the mortgage on their house was past due and he did not have the funds to pay it.
With five kids and one on the way, money was tight. The government stimulus check had helped, but it only bought them a little time. It would not stop the inevitable.
"Once the pandemic is past, maybe we can open up another restaurant," Antonia said, her face glowing with optimism.
Her husband took her hand in his and affectionately squeezed it.
"As long as I have you and the kids, I'll be happy. But I think I ought to get a job until then."
"Doing what? You're a chef, and all of the restaurants are closed down."
"The grocery stores are looking for help."
"And most of them barely pay above minimum wage. You make more on unemployment."
"I've got to find something. Look, I'm an atheist, but you're a believer. Why don't you put in a good word for me the next time you pray?"
"That's not funny! Besides, ever since March, I've been overworking my rosary beads."
Whether it was divine intervention, fate or just dumb luck, Alphonso received a job offer just when he thought he would lose his house.
"Mr. Girardi?" the distinguished-looking, white-haired gentlemen asked when he got out from behind the wheel of a brand-new Mercedes. "My name is Llewellyn Mangrove. I understand you're looking for work. I've come here with an offer of employment."
"Why don't you come inside?" Alfonso said, eager to discuss the matter.
"I'm looking for someone to keep watch over my house during the winter. I travel quite a bit on business, and I don't like to leave the place empty and unattended. I found your name on LinkedIn, and I think you're an excellent candidate." After discussing the job requirements, benefits and salary, he asked, "So, are you interested?"
"Definitely."
"Good. Then I expect you and your family to move into Rosewood Manor on November 1."
"We'll be there."
And so, the cycle that began back in England, long before the Romans invaded its shores, continued. Llewellyn Mangrove, having survived wars, plagues, famines and all manner of natural disasters, still prevailed. Even after arriving in the New World in 1620, bringing with him his old religion, he prospered. And he would ensure his existence for another century with the sacrifice of eight more innocent lives.
Maybe I should trade in some of Salem's nine lives to have my saltbox renovated.
