A Furnished Room
When Kit Newberry was accepted as a student at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville, she elected not to live in on-campus housing. As the only child of a professional couple who married late in life, she had been sheltered and protected throughout her early years. Now that she was in college, she wanted to live on her own and enjoy her first taste of freedom. She soon found out, however, that there were few available apartments in Charlottesville, and those were already rented. In fact, the only suitable lodging she could find was a furnished room in nearby Scottsville.
A week before classes were to begin, Kit drove up to the small Virginia town to see the room before making a decision. The house was easy to find. It was a large, well-maintained brick colonial located on Jefferson Mill Road, a quiet, tree-lined thoroughfare with very little noise and traffic.
When Kit knocked on the front door, a middle-aged woman answered.
"Hello. I called you about the furnished room you have for rent," the student said.
The older woman stared at Kit as though certain she knew her yet could not remember where or when they had met.
"The room is still available, isn't it?" the student asked when the woman failed to respond.
"Yes, it is. I'm sorry," the older woman finally replied. "Forgive my manners. Please come in. My name is Nellie Rathbone."
"I'm Kathleen Newberry, but everyone calls me Kit. I'm going to be attending the university in Charlottesville in another week, and I need to find a place to stay."
"I live here by myself," Nellie told her. "My son is away, and I decided to rent out his room—until he comes back, that is."
"Will that be any time soon?"
"I'm not sure. But if you do decide to take the room, have no fear. I won't put you out on the doorstep when Garth comes back."
Kit would have preferred a more secure arrangement, but her choices were limited.
"May I see the room?"
Nellie took her upstairs.
"This is my son's room," she announced as she opened the bedroom door. "That's the bathroom across the hall. I sleep in the downstairs bedroom, so you would have the floor all to yourself. There is also a den at the end of the hall. My son was quite a reader, and he kept most of his books in there. You're more than welcome to use it. It would be a good place for you to study."
Kit examined the large bedroom. Like the living room, the décor was colonial, and the Chippendale furniture was either antique or an excellent reproduction.
"This is beautiful," she said, instantly falling in love with the room.
After seeing the bathroom and den, the two women went downstairs and discussed the rental agreement. They quickly arrived at a price that was suitable for both of them. The next day, following a tearful goodbye to her doting parents, Kit Newberry rented a small U-Haul, drove to Scottsville and moved her clothing, books, personal items and laptop computer into the second-floor bedroom of the brick house on Jefferson Mill Road.
* * *
The first several weeks of college were busy ones for Kit. Not only did she have to adjust to a new environment and academic schedule, but there were also many social functions specifically designed for freshmen students to get to know one another. With so much time spent on and around the campus in Charlottesville, the student saw little of her landlady. It was not until Sunday, late in the morning that she had the opportunity to spend any time with the older woman. That was when Mrs. Rathbone made a late breakfast for her tenant.
"You really don't have to go through all this trouble," Kit protested when she saw the coffee, French toast and orange juice waiting for her in the dining room.
"It's no trouble at all, my dear," the landlady said with a grandmotherly smile. "I used to make Garth's breakfast every morning."
Mrs. Rathbone must be terribly lonely living in this big house all by herself, Kit thought. No wonder she misses her son so much.
Not only were there photographs of the young man everywhere she looked, but his bedroom had been left virtually untouched. Once Kit moved in, however, her landlady lovingly packed Garth's belongings into cardboard boxes and moved them to the attic for safekeeping.
"Just until he comes home," Nellie insisted, as though reminding herself that her son would be returning eventually.
From the outdated style of the clothing that was hanging in the closet, Kit assumed that the son had been gone for several years at least. Either that or he was not a fashion-conscious person.
* * *
September and October passed by quickly. As the days grew progressively shorter and the temperatures became cooler, Mrs. Rathbone sought the company of her tenant more frequently. She got into the habit of cooking for two and insisting the student eat dinner with her whenever she was home. Although the older woman obviously meant well, her over-attentiveness bothered Kit. More annoying, on those evenings when the young woman went out with friends, the landlady questioned her as to where she was going and when she would return. Then she would usually wait up until the tenant came home, regardless of the lateness of the hour.
"Honestly, I don't know what to do," Kit confided to her new friend, Brody Wright, as the two students were leaving the campus library together. "I finally have my independence from my parents, and now I find myself having to answer to my landlady."
"Tell her nicely but firmly to mind her own business. You're paying rent; that entitles you to your privacy."
"I don't want to hurt her feelings. She's really a very sweet woman."
"You can always move in with me," Brody said with a laugh.
To that suggestion, she replied sarcastically, "That would be a giant step toward independence."
Brody gave her a mischievous smile and a quick, affectionate kiss on the cheek.
"You can't blame a guy for trying."
In the following weeks, Kit attempted to politely extricate herself from her landlady's ever-tightening grasp. As Thanksgiving neared, she gave serious thought to flying home to Pennsylvania to spend the holiday with her mother and father, but then she learned that her parents were going to visit her grandparents in Florida.
"You two have a safe trip and a good time," Kit told her mother over the telephone. "Give my love to Grandma and Grandpa. I'll see you and Dad at Christmas."
Nellie Rathbone was more than happy to share her turkey dinner with her tenant. Kit's first instinct was to refuse her landlady's invitation. After all, she didn't want to encourage a close personal relationship after she had been trying to discourage it for weeks. Ultimately, compassion won out. Kit felt sorry for the older woman who must surely miss her son even more during the holidays.
The Wednesday night before Thanksgiving Kit baked a pumpkin pie. The following morning she stuffed the turkey and used her mother's favorite recipe to make candied yams while her landlady prepared the mashed potatoes, biscuits, peas and cranberry sauce.
"That's an awful lot of food for only two people," Kit declared.
"Really? It's what I used to make every year at Thanksgiving for Garth and me."
"What about your husband?"
Kit had seen several photographs around the house of a younger Nellie with an attractive man at her side and assumed it must be Mr. Rathbone.
"My husband died when Garth was only three years old."
"I'm sorry."
"My son became my whole life, my only reason for living. And then that woman destroyed everything we'd built."
Nellie suddenly realized she said more than she had intended, and an uncomfortable silence ensued. The student broke it by offering the older woman more cranberry sauce.
"That was Garth's favorite part of the meal: the cranberry sauce. And not just any cranberry sauce, mind you. It had to be Ocean Spray whole berry sauce, not jellied."
"My favorite part of the meal," Kit added, trying to take Nellie's mind off her dead husband and absent son, "was always the stuffing. My mother used to make sausage and bread stuffing with a pinch of thyme—mmm!"
"Garth never liked sausage, so I always made cornbread and celery stuffing."
"Would you like to try a drumstick?" the tenant offered as she reached for the turkey platter.
"Oh, no. White meat, please. Garth was the one who liked dark meat. Every time we had turkey he ate both drumsticks."
Kit was not succeeding in distracting her landlady, so she decided to let the woman reminisce while she finished her meal in silence. After they finished eating, she would help with the dishes and escape to her room where she would phone her parents in Florida, study awhile and then do a little online Christmas shopping before going to bed.
Nellie, however, had other plans.
"Let's have our dessert in the living room," she suggested. "I love to watch the old holiday movies on Thanksgiving afternoon."
"All right. But I have to study later, so I can't spend too much time watching television."
"Nonsense! You have plenty of time to study. There's a three-day weekend ahead. This is a holiday, so enjoy it!"
Kit spent the remainder of the afternoon and most of the evening watching old movies with her landlady. While she normally enjoyed such classics as It's a Wonderful Life, Holiday Inn and Miracle on 34th Street, she didn't appreciate Nellie's running commentary on what scenes Garth enjoyed most, which holiday movies and television specials he had liked best and what pre-Christmas traditions the mother and son had established. Finally, after the Grinch returned the Whos' presents in Dr. Seuss's animated classic, Kit could take it no longer.
"That was a nice day, Mrs. Rathbone," she said, standing up and stretching. "Thank you so much for everything."
"You're not going to bed already? It's only nine o'clock."
"I want to phone my parents and wish them a happy Thanksgiving."
"Come back down afterward. If you're tired of watching television, we can play a game of Scrabble. Garth was good with words—probably because he read so much—but he could never beat me at Scrabble."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Rathbone, but I'm exhausted. After I talk to my parents, I'm going to take a shower and go straight to bed."
Nellie's smile vanished, and her usual warm, grandmotherly attitude changed to sullenness.
"If you don't want to spend time with me, I won't beg you," she snapped.
Without another word, she turned her back on her tenant and focused her concentration on the television once again.
* * *
A week later, after a day of Christmas shopping at the Barracks Road Shopping Center, Kit met Brody Wright at the Tavern On The James for dinner.
"So how's everything going with your landlady?" Brody asked after a waitress had taken the couple's order.
"Worse than before," she replied with frustration. "Ever since Thanksgiving, she's been behaving like a petulant child. When I try to talk to her, all I get are monosyllabic responses. The rest of the time she ignores me. I feel so uncomfortable in that house now."
"Then move out. If you can't find a place of your own now, move in with one of your friends until you can find one."
"I hate to leave on bad terms. After all, Mrs. Rathbone was a nice, thoughtful landlady until this silly misunderstanding occurred."
"Have you tried apologizing?"
"Yes, but it didn't do any good. Obviously, she's a person who believes in holding a grudge."
"Then just leave. You don't owe her anything. You know, there may be a good reason why her son left and stayed away. She sounds to me like a possessive, grasping woman. The longer you stay, the worse she's likely to become."
"I said I'd think about it, okay?"
Brody threw his arms up into the air in a gesture of surrender.
"All right. I'm justly trying to help a friend out here."
"I know, and I appreciate your concern. Just having you to talk to has helped a great deal."
"I'm always here if you need me," he said, staring meaningfully into Kit's blue eyes.
The young woman's heart suddenly fluttered with excitement.
"I'll remember that," she said shyly and then boldly added, "and if things on the home front don't improve soon, I just may take you up on your offer of a place to stay."
* * *
The relationship between landlady and tenant eventually did get better—somewhat. As Christmas neared, Nellie's frosty attitude managed to thaw a little. Then one night, as Kit was wrapping presents on the kitchen table, Mrs. Rathbone offered her a cup of eggnog.
"It's only from a carton, made at the local dairy, but it's not too bad," the older woman said.
Kit tasted it, and pronounced, "It's quite good, nice and creamy."
"Not anything at all like homemade eggnog, though. I always make my own at Christmastime. I use a dozen eggs, heavy cream, milk and real rum, not extract."
"Sounds fattening but delicious. I'd like to try it sometime."
"You'll have some on Christmas Eve."
"But I'll be leaving on the twenty-third, after my last class."
"Leaving?"
"Yes. I'll be returning to Pennsylvania to spend the holidays with my parents."
"You can't do that!" Mrs. Rathbone cried. "I bought a whole ham, and I planned on the two of us putting up the tree together on Christmas Eve, just like Garth and I always did."
"I'm flattered that you would want to spend the holiday with me, but I have a family of my own, and I want to spend Christmas with them."
Nellie's eyes blazed with anger.
"That's all the gratitude I get after what I've done for you?"
"I don't know why you're so upset, but you've no reason to be. I'm not your child. I rent a room from you; that's all. And I'm entitled to come and go as I please."
"You're right," the landlady conceded, trying to regain her composure. "Forgive me. I get very emotional during the holiday season, ever since Garth left."
"I'm really sorry you seem to have lost your son, but ...."
"Lost him? I didn't lose him. That whore took him away from me, but don't worry. He'll come to his senses. He'll see her for what she really is, and he'll come back home."
The landlady laughed, and a touch of hysteria crept into her voice.
"He'll be back any day now. You just wait and see. Why, I'll bet he'll be home by Christmas. He and I will put up the tree on Christmas Eve, and I'll make eggnog and strawberry trifle. Everything will be just like it was before. You'll see."
Clutching her cup of eggnog, Nellie walked back to the living room, turned on the television and tuned in to a Martha Stewart holiday special.
As Kit finished wrapping her present, she vowed to find another place to live at the beginning of the New Year.
I'll start searching as soon as I get back from Pennsylvania, she thought. If I don't find something by the end of January, I'll temporarily move in with Brody.
* * *
On December 23, the first snow of the season fell on central Virginia. After her last class ended, Kit hurried across the parking lot, anxious to be on her way. Her baggage and Christmas presents were already in the trunk of her car, and she planned on heading straight for Pennsylvania. As she merged onto I-65, she heard her cell phone ring. It was her landlady.
"When are you coming home?" Nellie asked, assuming her tenant was still on campus. "It's getting late."
"I'm on the interstate right now."
"But I haven't given you your Christmas present," the landlady protested.
"I'll get after New Year's."
"Oh, no. It can't wait. I have a little something for your parents, too. I got them a tray of Christmas cookies, and I was hoping you would take it to them. Can't you please stop by here first?"
"I'm sorry, but with the snow, I want to allow myself extra time."
Mrs. Rathbone started to cry, and Kit could hear her sobs over the telephone. She looked at the clock on her dashboard. There just might be enough time for her to stop at the house, get the landlady's gifts and still make her flight.
"All right," she said, "but I can't stay long. I'll have to run in and right out again."
Ten minutes later, Kit's Subaru pulled into the driveway. The young woman didn't even bother to take her keys out of the ignition. She ran through the front door, not aware that someone stood behind it, waiting.
"Mrs. Rathbone," she called out. "Where are you? I ...."
A sudden blow on the back of her head brought Kit to her knees. An involuntary scream escaped her lips before the second blow knocked her unconscious. When she eventually came to, she was lying on her bed. She noticed her personal belongings were gone, and Garth's things were in their place.
Mrs. Rathbone must have been very busy while I was at school today, she thought groggily.
The student slowly got to her feet, fighting off a wave of nausea. She raised her hand and gingerly touched the bump on the back of her head.
How did I manage to do that? she wondered.
She crossed the room and tried to open the door. It was locked. Confused, she turned and stared at her surroundings for several minutes. Something was different. When her eyes fell on the window, she knew what it was: the view. Her room was on the second floor, but judging by the distance to the ground below, Kit correctly assumed she was now in the third-floor attic.
"Mrs. Rathbone!" she cried as she pounded on the door. "What am I doing up here? And why is this door locked?"
There was no answer. She looked for her handbag, hoping to use her cell phone to call 911, but she had left her purse on the front seat of her car. Kit then went to the window and tried to open it. If she screamed for help, perhaps one of the neighbors would hear her and call the police. The window, however, would not budge. Someone—most likely Mrs. Rathbone—had nailed it shut.
There must be some way out of here. Maybe I can break the window.
Kit looked around the room for something heavy to shatter the thick glass. She tried the lamp on the dresser but only succeeded in shattering the light bulb and bending the base.
Perhaps there is something in the closet I can use, she thought hopefully.
When Kit opened the closet door, she screamed in horror. Hanging from the pole amidst Garth's out-of-date clothing was a human skeleton in a woman's dress.
Suddenly, she heard a key turn in the lock. Fear overwhelmed her. Was Nellie going to let her out or was she going to kill her as she had killed the poor woman whose bones were concealed in the attic closet? The door slowly opened, but it was not Mrs. Rathbone who entered the room.
The young man was exceptionally pale as though he had not seen the sun in many years. Still, there was no mistaking his features: he was Nellie Rathbone's long-lost son.
Kit then heard his mother's voice calling from the stairway.
"Garth? What are you doing up there? Why don't you come downstairs and have some of my homemade eggnog?"
The young man ignored his mother's questions. He was interested only in the beautiful woman who stood before him. As Garth walked toward her, Kit backed away. Among other reasons for not wanting to be physically close to him, there was a strong odor about Garth that she found most unpleasant. Her eyes darted toward the open door. Could she make it if she ran?
"What's wrong, Dixie?" the young man asked.
Dixie, Kit assumed, was most likely the woman whose skeleton was in the closet, but who had put her there: Mrs. Rathbone, Garth or both of them?
"What's the matter? You're not still mad at me, are you, sweetheart?"
"No," Kit stammered, hoping to humor him so that she might catch him off guard and hopefully make her escape.
"Good because I don't like it when you're angry with me, honey. I know my mother can be a bit demanding sometimes, but she's all alone except for me. Won't you even make an attempt to get along with her?"
Garth tried to take hold of Kit's arm, but his hands were icy cold, and the frightened student immediately pulled away.
"Sorry," he apologized, "but it's freezing outside, and I wasn't wearing my gloves."
"Why don't we go downstairs now?" she asked, trying to dissuade the landlady's son from making any further attempts at physical contact. "Your mother is going to wonder what became of us."
"Okay. But don't you try to get away," he warned, with a frightening intensity in his eyes. "I don't want to have to hurt you again."
Garth led Kit downstairs and into the kitchen where Nellie handed the young woman a cup of eggnog.
"You're just in time, Dixie. Garth and I are going to put up the Christmas tree now, and you can help us."
"I thought you put the tree up on the night before Christmas."
"That's tonight. Poor dear, you slept for more than twenty-six hours."
"I'll string up the lights," Garth eagerly offered. "Then you two ladies can put the ornaments and tinsel on the tree."
"I told you he'd come back," Nellie whispered when her son was out of earshot.
"Mrs. Rathbone, you know who I am, don't you? My name isn't Dixie; it's Kit Newberry. I'm your tenant."
"No, my dear, you're whoever my son wants you to be."
Kit's eyes went to the butcher block knife holder on the counter.
"Don't even think about it," Nellie threatened with a menacing voice that sent a chill down Kit's spine. "You don't want to wind up like poor Dixie, do you? That little tramp thought she'd run away with another man. She didn't get far, though."
"What you're doing is illegal. You and your son could both go to jail for a very long time."
"Jail?" the landlady laughed. "I don't think so. He didn't go to jail when he killed Dixie. You see, Garth, poor boy, isn't well. So when Dixie's body was found, Garth was declared not guilty by reason of insanity. And after a short stay in Eastern State Hospital in Williamsburg, he was released."
"But should anything happen to me, they'll put him away again. Is that what you want? Because if they do, they might not release him this time."
Nellie laughed again.
"They won't because no one will ever find you, just like they didn't find the other two."
"What other two?"
"The other two girls I used as a lure to get my son to come home. First, there was the hitchhiker who is upstairs in the attic closet, and then there was the prostitute from Richmond who is buried beneath the coal bin in the cellar."
"But I'm not some stranger you picked up off the street. People know I live here. When I don't show up at my parents' house, the police will come here to look for me."
"And I'll tell them that you left for home right after your last class. They'll find your abandoned car in a rest area parking lot with your luggage and presents still in the trunk. Police will assume you were abducted by some sex offender. It's so dangerous for a young woman to travel all alone. Don't you agree?"
"You're crazy!"
"You shouldn't speak to me like that. Didn't your mother and father ever teach you to respect your elders? Now, finish your eggnog, and we'll go decorate the tree. If you behave yourself, I'll let you open your gift tonight instead of making you wait until tomorrow morning."
Kit moved quickly. She grabbed a carving knife and turned on the older woman.
"You sick bitch!" she spat. "I'm going to spend Christmas with my parents in Pennsylvania, and you and your son are going to be opening presents in the county jail."
Kit took a step toward the back door and freedom, but a wave of dizziness made her stop short and put her hand on the kitchen table for support. Nellie stepped forward and easily disarmed the young woman.
"You're not going anywhere, dear."
The room began to spin. Kit had to lean on Nellie as the two women walked into the living room.
"Are you all right, Dixie?" Garth asked.
"She's fine," his mother answered. "I think she just had a little too much eggnog. Funny, she never could hold her liquor."
Mother and son proceeded to decorate their Christmas tree. Afterward, Garth sat beside Kit, who still felt the effects of the drug Mrs. Rathbone had put in her eggnog.
"You're so pretty, Dixie," the madman said, running his cold fingers through Kit's long red hair.
His mother, happy to once again have her beloved child at home, walked to the doorway, turned and said goodnight.
"Thanks for the Christmas present, Mom," Garth said with a smile.
"You're welcome, son," Nellie replied, knowing that shortly after the holiday she would have to find a place to hide Kit Newberry's body, for by then Garth will have murdered her as he'd killed his wife, Dixie, and the other two women.
Afterward, Garth would leave again. He would return to his grave in Christ Church Cemetery. For, you see, Nellie Rathbone's beloved son, Garth, had died ten years earlier in Eastern State Hospital, a suicide just like his father before him.
* * *
On the second of January, Nellie Rathbone took her son's things out of the attic and put them back in his second-floor bedroom. These mementos of her child would comfort her in the months and possibly years ahead until such time as she found another attractive young woman who would please Garth, and tempt his restless spirit to come home again.
I often think about renting out one of the bedrooms in my saltbox: Salem's!
