The Waring Legacy
Unlike the other early settlers of New England, Cuthbert Waring was not a man who sought entrance to heaven through the path of hard work and self-denial. In fact, young Goodman Waring did not give a damn about his eternal soul; his only concern was for his comfort on earth. Not having been born to a family of means, he decided at an early age that the best way to obtain a comfortable life of leisure was to marry for money. Since he had been blessed with fair features and a strong, well-proportioned body, many a young maiden's heart fluttered in his presence.
It was Jerusha Ellsworth, however, who caught his eye. Not only was she beautiful, but she was also the widow of one of the wealthiest landowners in the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Had Jerusha accepted any of Cuthbert's proposals of marriage, the events in this narrative would never have taken place, but due to the perversity of the fates, the young woman in question had an intense dislike of her suitor.
Goodman Waring, who did not take rejection well, was determined to avenge his injured pride. When news of the arrest of suspected witches in nearby Salem reached the sparsely populated village of Charity, Cuthbert was one of the few who welcomed it, for in this fertile field of ignorance, Goodman Waring planted his seed of malice.
One rainy spring day in 1692, he went to the home of Magistrate Winslow and told him that Jerusha Ellsworth's spirit visited him in the night and confessed that she had killed her husband. The magistrate immediately ordered his sheriff to bring the widow to his home for questioning. As one would expect, Jerusha denied the charge.
"I loved my husband," she protested. "That is why I have not remarried even though he has been dead for more than three years."
"Goodman Waring claims your spirit came to him in the night and confessed your crime," the magistrate argued.
"He lies. He hoped to marry me and live off my husband's fortune, but I spurned his advances. I pray you, good sir, do not aid him in his vile quest for vengeance."
Magistrate Winslow found himself in the same difficult position as his peers in Salem. Goody Ellsworth's story seemed plausible and her cries of innocence appeared to be sincere, but that might mean she was a clever witch, capable of deceiving even an officer of the court. After searching his conscience, the magistrate arrived at a decision: Jerusha Ellsworth was indeed a witch and, as such, was sentenced to hang.
Barely a week after Bridget Bishop was executed in Salem, Jerusha Ellsworth was taken from the goal and led to a large tree from which a rope was suspended. The villagers gathered around, as it was a custom in those days that all colonists were to attend executions and thereby derive a valuable moral lesson. Jerusha had been well-liked, and there were tears in many eyes. On one face, however, there was a look of undisguised smugness. Not even the pitiable sobs of Jerusha's young son could move his hard heart.
As the rope was placed around the condemned woman's neck, her blue eyes sought out the owner of that face.
"I be no witch," she cried with a hate-filled glare, "but know this: as I stand on the precipice of eternity, with my last words I curse you, Cuthbert Waring. I am told that you have cleverly managed to gain possession of my late husband's land. Well, have it then, but you will not enjoy your good fortune for long, for you will die before the thirtieth anniversary of your birth. And any others of your blood who inherit your ill-gotten gains will also die before they reach the age of thirty."
The villagers, fearing a witch's wrath might touch them, bowed their heads in prayer as Jerusha's body dropped and her slender neck snapped. Only Goodman Waring, who did not believe in foolish curses, showed no fear. On the contrary, he smiled in satisfaction. Revenge, after all, is a heady brew.
* * *
What Samuel Waring remembered most about that dreadful April night in 1912 was being woken up and taken from his warm bed and carried up onto the main deck of the doomed ship. Half-asleep and at so young an age—he was only seven years old—he did not comprehend the panic around him. Although shivering from the cold, he felt safe, held tightly in his father's strong, protective arms. It was only when he saw his distraught mother's tear-stained countenance that the boy surmised something was amiss.
"Why is Mommy crying?" he inquired with a yawn.
"Don't be concerned, son," the father lovingly replied. "Just go back to sleep."
"I won't go without you!" Helen Waring cried.
"You mustn't even think of remaining onboard," her husband declared forcefully, yet gently.
"I can't leave you!"
"I'm entrusting you with our son. You must put him first, above all else."
"It's all her fault!" she sobbed. "Why must that damned woman make you pay for what your ancestor did to her?"
"Don't!" Franklin Waring, one of the richest men in America, shouted. "This is no time for such foolish talk. We must get you two to the lifeboats."
"No! I don't want to live without you. I can't! Give Samuel to the nanny. She'll take him back to Boston to be raised by my parents."
"I will not listen to another word. You are a Waring, and as such you have a responsibility to the family. You will take our boy and raise him to be a fine man. It's the one thing you can do for me now."
Helen threw her arms around her husband and, kissing his face, passionately proclaimed her undying love.
"If you love me, then promise me something," Franklin pleaded.
"What, my darling?" she asked uneasily.
"You must never discuss the curse with the boy," he whispered, so that the dozing child would not overhear him. "And you must forbid the servants and all family members and friends from doing the same. I will not have my son living under the fear of a death sentence from the next twenty-three years."
"I promise," she replied.
"Come along, Ma'am," an officer from the White Star Line instructed, as Helen neared the lifeboat.
After one more lingering kiss, the woman bid a final, tearful farewell to her husband. When his wife was finally seated in the lifeboat, Franklin handed his sleeping son to the officer who placed the child in his mother's arms. As the boat was lowered, Helen stared up at her husband's handsome face, a sight she would be deprived of for the remainder of her life. A credit to his family, the ill-fated victim of a centuries-old curse remained standing at the railing, stoically determined to go down to a watery grave as a gentleman.
Unlike the other passengers in the lifeboats, Helen did not watch the Titanic descend beneath the surface of the North Atlantic, preferring instead to stare in the opposite direction, at the darkness of the ocean and sky. Engrossed in her thoughts, she did not take notice of the weeping of those around her who were witnessing the end of so many innocent lives, nor did she listen to the screams of the unfortunate passengers and crew members who were thrust into the biting, frigid water. She heard only the mantra that was repeating inside her own head, over and over, for hours on end: You will not have my son, too.
By the time the Carpathia docked in New York, Helen Waring had accepted her status as a widow. Her husband was right; their son was all that mattered. With no hope of having happiness of her own, she would dedicate her life to Samuel. In seeing her child reach the age of thirty, as none of his predecessors had done since the seventeenth century, Helen would thwart the vindictive spirit of the dead woman who had taken her husband from her.
* * *
Despite losing his father at so young an age, Samuel Waring managed to have a fairly happy childhood, in no small part thanks to his doting mother. Although she grieved the loss of the man she loved, Helen never expressed her grief in front of her son. To him, she always maintained a cheery, warm and caring demeanor.
Keeping the promise she made to her husband as they parted on the deck of the Titanic had not been a difficult task. As a loving parent, she had no desire to burden her son with the macabre family history.
"I will not trouble him with talk of witches and dead ancestors," she swore to her herself.
And since few people outside the immediate family were familiar with the curse, it was easy to keep the child in the dark.
At the age of twenty-one, after graduating from Harvard, Samuel decided to take a grand tour of Europe before assuming the responsibilities as head of the Waring financial empire. His mother was pleased with his decision. Visiting the Old World would give him a dose of culture that was rapidly vanishing from America.
Honestly, she did not know what was wrong with young people anymore. In her day, a maiden acted like a lady. Nowadays, things were different: girls going about without chaperones, drinking bootleg whiskey, bobbing their hair, raising their hemlines, smoking, and God only knew what else! And her poor son—wealthy, handsome and unattached—was likely to fall prey to a pretty gold digger in America, whereas in London or Paris he might meet a gentile young lady from an old and respected family.
When Samuel returned from his year-long trip abroad, he did indeed return with a wife, but it was not one that his mother would have chosen for him. Although Bridie Flannery was no flapper, neither was she the daughter of an old, moneyed family. A studious girl with a love of history, Bridie had been sightseeing at the Tower of London when the handsome American tourist first laid eyes on her and immediately fell in love. (Ironically, the girl's father had been a laborer at Harland and Wolff shipyards in Belfast and had worked on the construction of the Titanic.)
At first, the Irish beauty rebuffed the American's advances. Although she found him quite attractive, she had no desire to enter into a relationship that was destined to be short-lived.
"Why won't you have dinner with me?" Samuel pressed when she turned down yet another invitation. "It's just dinner; I'm not proposing we run off and elope. I'll even let you pick the restaurant, so that you'll feel perfectly safe."
"It's not that I don't trust you," she said. "It's just that ...."
Her voice trailed off.
"Just what?" he prompted. "Is it that you dislike Americans, in general? Or maybe you find my appearance not to your liking?"
"No, it's not that," she quickly reassured him. "In fact, I find your looks quite pleasing."
Bridie turned her head away so that Samuel could not see the blush on her cheek. Had she said too much? she wondered.
Encouraged by her admission, he continued to try to persuade her.
"A dinner. If you're not having a good time, I'll take you right home."
He noticed her hesitation and intensified his pursuit.
"Give me a chance. Please. Maybe you won't have such a terrible time."
"And if I have a good time, then what?" she blurted out. "You'll return to Boston, and where will that leave me? Pining away for a man I'll never see again and wondering what would have happened if only ...."
Samuel suddenly leaned forward and silenced her objections with a kiss. It was atrocious, ungentlemanly behavior, he knew. His mother would have been horrified at his audacity, but he could not help himself. He was in love. And to his amazement, so was Bridie Flannery.
* * *
Although Helen Waring was not exactly overjoyed at Samuel's choice of wife—especially given the growing number of poor Irish immigrants in Boston at that time—she was thankful that he had entered into a marriage with a woman he adored. And once she had the opportunity to get to know Bridie herself, the new mother-in-law had to admit to having a certain fondness for the girl.
With Samuel married, his mother vacated the grand family home and relocated to a brownstone on Beacon Hill.
"There's no need for you to leave," Bridie argued. "There are plenty of bedrooms in this house."
"I know," Helen explained. "But you two are newlyweds. You should enjoy this time alone."
"But this is your home."
"To be honest," Helen confessed, "I've been sleeping in the guest room ever since ... since I lost my husband. I couldn't face the memories. Even now, I never enter the room we once shared."
Tears came to the younger woman's eyes, and on impulse she leaned forward and hugged her mother-in-law. Although unaccustomed to such open displays of affection, Helen was touched by Bridie's heartfelt gesture of compassion.
"I'm actually looking forward to living on Beacon Hill. This place can be quite drafty in the cold months. And, besides, I'm only minutes away. It's not like I'm moving to another city or another state."
"Still," Bridie declared with a sigh, "I shall miss your company."
The bride's words were not empty ones meant only to flatter her mother-in-law. Samuel, as head of the Waring family, was forced to devote much of his time to overseeing the businesses that contributed to the family's vast fortune. As much as he longed to spend more time with his wife, he was not one to shirk his responsibilities.
Not long after his mother moved out, Samuel announced that he would have to travel to New York on business.
"I should be back before the end of the week."
Bridie, who wanted to be supportive of her husband, put up a good front.
"I'm sure I shall find something to occupy my time while you're gone."
"There are some excellent books in the upstairs library," Samuel suggested. "You'll find just about everything from Homer to Hawthorne up there."
"Good," his wife replied with a forced smile. "Maybe I'll finally have the opportunity to read The Scarlet Letter."
The following night, Bridie was alone in the huge house, except for the servants who were in their own rooms on the uppermost floor. To pass the time, she went to the library where she selected a first edition copy of Moby-Dick. Herman Melville's novel in hand, she then headed for the sitting room to relax in an overstuffed wing chair in front of the fireplace. She was up to the chapter where Ishmael encounters Queequeg in a church in New Bedford, when the light on the table beside her chair went out.
Suddenly, despite the warmth of the blazing fire, a numbing coldness enveloped the young woman. She turned quickly and saw a shadowy form hovering in the doorway.
"Sweet Jesus!" Bridie exclaimed, dropping the book and making the sign of the cross.
She was about to scream for help and pray that the servants were close enough to hear the sound of her voice when the light came back on and the "thing" in the doorway vanished.
"Saints preserve us! This place is haunted," she exclaimed, anxious to flee to the relative safety of her bedroom.
* * *
Early the following morning Bridie phoned her mother-in-law and invited her to lunch. Helen arrived precisely at eleven.
"Thank you for coming, Mother," the young woman said, kissing Helen on the cheek.
"Is Samuel away?"
"He's in New York, and I miss him terribly. I was hoping you might stay here with me a few days."
"If you want me to."
"Maybe you can tell me all about the Waring family while you're here. I know so little about them."
Helen tensed.
"There's not much to tell."
"I'm sure there is. For instance, when did the Warings come to America? How did they make their fortune?"
"I don't see what difference any of that makes."
"I'm part of this family now," Bridie explained. "My children will bear the Waring name. I want to know about ...."
"Don't believe all the nonsense you hear!" Helen cried, interrupting the younger woman.
"I haven't heard anything," Bridie declared. "But apparently there is something. Gossip perhaps?"
"It's nothing."
"I still have a right to know. What is it? Is there another woman in Samuel's life? An illegitimate child?"
"Certainly not! I assure you my son's behavior has always been beyond reproach."
"Is it the ghost who haunts this house then?"
The older woman paled.
"There is no such thing as ghosts."
"Not only do ghosts exist, but there's one right under this roof. I'm not sure if it was a man or woman, but I saw some spirit in the sitting room last night. If you'll tell me the secret you've been keeping, perhaps we can find a way to set this spirit free."
"There's no secret," Helen firmly insisted.
Bridie did not press the matter. For one thing, she did not want to alienate her mother-in-law, and for another she did not think she would have much difficulty finding other sources of information about the Waring family.
After coming across one dead end after another, however, Bridie had to admit that she might never learn about the skeleton in the Waring family closet. Not only had Helen removed all records referring to the family history from the house, but she also had the financial resources and social connections to see that no family histories appeared in the Boston Public Library. Not even the city's newspapers were much help in learning about the family's darker past.
"Are you sure there's no information about my husband's family in your archives?" Bridie asked a clerk at The Boston Globe.
"Just the usual stuff," he replied. "Birth and wedding announcements, obituaries—that sort of thing."
"Nothing about the family fortune? Was it founded on railroads? Oil? Shipping? Trading?"
"Wait a minute," the clerk said, clearly trying to recall some fact he learned years earlier. "I vaguely remember hearing something. What was it? Something about an ancestor from a small village north of here. Was it Danvers? No. That wasn't it. Lynn? No."
His face suddenly brightened as a memory clicked.
"Charity. That's it! The first Warings in Boston came from Charity. Maybe that's where you ought to be looking."
* * *
Although Bridie could find no information on her husband's family at the Charity library, the young man behind the desk was able to point her in the right direction.
"You ought to speak to Ivy Brickers," the librarian suggested. "Her family has been in this village since the seventeenth century. In fact, she's writing a book about the early settlers."
The Waring chauffeur then drove his employer's wife to a saltbox on Atlantic Avenue.
"This must be the place," he said and pulled up in front of the house. "If you'll wait here, Madam, I'll ring the front bell."
"No need for that. I can do it myself."
She knew the people in her husband's circle would not have approved of her boldness, but she did not care. Besides, this was Charity, not Boston. Without the assistance of her chauffeur, Bridie got out of the car, walked up the front steps and rang the bell. A few moments later, an elderly woman answered the door.
"Ivy Brickers?" Bridie inquired.
"Yes?"
"The librarian in town told me you are the authority on the early history of this town."
"If I'm not, I'm as close as you're going to get," the retired schoolteacher replied with a laugh. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm interested in learning about my husband's family, and I was hoping you might help me."
"That depends. What's your husband's family name?"
"Waring."
The pleasant smile on Ivy's face instantly vanished.
"You've heard of them?" Bridie asked.
"Yes, indeed. What is it you want to know?"
"Anything you can tell me. All I know now is that my father-in-law died on the Titanic when my husband was a child."
"Why don't you come in? I'll make us some coffee or tea, and we can talk."
"I like your house," Bridie commented when she was shown into the kitchen and given a cup of tea.
It was the kind of quaint, comfortable home she would like to own herself, one preferable to the drafty, museum-like Waring mansion.
"Why did you come all the way from Boston to ask me about the family? Why not ask your husband or your mother-in-law?"
"My husband is a very busy man, and he's often called away. I did ask my mother-in-law, but she insists there's nothing to tell. I know she's keeping something from me. I can feel it."
"She must have her reasons for not wanting you to know."
"There is something else," Bridie said hesitantly, afraid that the woman would not believe what she was about to reveal. "The house is haunted. I've seen the spirit with my own eyes."
Surprisingly, Miss Brickers did not immediately scoff at the idea.
"Is the spirit that of a man or a woman?"
"I don't know. It's a shapeless, black shadow, and it appeared to me for only a few moments. Why do you ask?"
"Because my guess is that it might be the spirit of either one of two people who lived here in the late seventeenth century."
"Who were they?" Bridie asked eagerly.
Ivy hesitated a moment, deciding just how much information she was willing to share.
"If you believe in ghosts, I suppose you're likely to believe in curses as well." she said, finally making up her mind to reveal the entire story.
For the next few hours, Ivy shared with Bridie the information she had compiled on Jerusha Ellsworth and Cuthbert Waring and his descendants over the years.
"So Samuel's ancestor not only falsely accused this Jerusha of witchcraft, but he also stole her land?"
"Apparently so. All my research confirms the story, and I have yet to discover anything to refute it."
"How terrible! A young widow—a mother—was hanged because of his false testimony."
"And he brought the curse down upon himself and his family," Ivy added.
Bridie looked at the list Miss Brickers had created with the names of the Waring heirs in one column and their ages at the time of their deaths in the other.
"No one has yet to live past the age of twenty-nine! Not even my own father-in-law."
The full implications of the curse suddenly hit her.
"If this curse is real—and it certainly appears so from your research—then Samuel ...."
She shook her in denial. It couldn't be true!
* * *
By the time Bridie returned to Boston, she had already made up her mind not to discuss her trip with either her husband or mother-in-law. She suspected the former was blissfully unaware of the curse and the latter would refuse to talk about it.
Bridie's dread for her husband's safety intensified as time passed. She felt as though an unseen hourglass was keeping track of his remaining hours on earth.
How many grains of sand are left? she wondered morosely as the days and weeks went past.
Meanwhile, the ghostly shadow continued to haunt the house, but only Bridie seemed to take notice of it. Her husband, if he did see it, never mentioned it.
Six months into Samuel's twenty-ninth year, Helen informed her daughter-in-law that she was planning a grand celebration for her son's thirtieth birthday.
Should I mention the curse and the very real possibility that Samuel might not live to see that day? Bridie wondered.
After much consideration, she decided against it.
"I think a party is a wonderful idea!" she lied.
"I do, too. He has been so despondent since the stock market crashed, even though it hasn't adversely affected our family. I think he needs something to cheer him up."
"I'm sure we'll all be happy when Samuel celebrates his thirtieth birthday."
Does Bridie suspect something? Helen wondered. How could she? I've gone to great lengths and great expense to quash all mention of the curse.
"I suppose I'll buy a new dress for the occasion," her daughter-in-law said, feigning cheerfulness she did not feel. "Although I could wear my Chanel."
"No. By all means, you must have a new dress. We can go to New York and shop. Won't that be fun?"
"Yes. It will."
In truth, Bridie did not want to leave her husband, even for a few days, but she had to continue the pretense that nothing was wrong. She had to act as though she and Samuel had a lifetime ahead of them, even though she knew the sands of that invisible hourglass were rapidly running out.
* * *
To Bridie Waring's great surprise and even greater joy, she awoke on the morning of Samuel's thirtieth birthday to find her husband sleeping peacefully beside her. She watched with relief as his chest rose and fell with each intake of breath.
"Thank God!" she whispered.
For the first time in years, the weight of fear did not crush her spirit. She jumped out of bed, quickly dressed and went down to breakfast. She had a busy day ahead of her, helping her mother-in-law see to all the last minute details of the birthday party.
Late in the afternoon, with her work done, Bridie returned to the house to dress. Although a humble Irish girl, she looked like royalty in her Elsa Schiaparelli gown and her elegantly styled coiffure. As a final touch, she put on the sapphire and diamond pendant Samuel had given her for their fifth anniversary.
As Bridie was descending the main staircase of the Waring mansion, the butler called to her.
"Excuse me, Madam. Mrs. Waring would like to have a word with you, in private. She's waiting in the sitting room."
Bridie felt her legs turn to rubber. Had her happiness been premature? Had something happened to Samuel after all? She opened the sitting room door, fearing the worst.
"You look lovely, my dear!" her mother-in-law exclaimed. "Samuel will be dazzled when he sees you!"
"Thank you," Bridie muttered, relief washing over her. "You wanted to talk to me?"
"Yes. I suppose it could have waited, but ... well, I've held my tongue long enough. As far as I'm concerned, I've kept my promise to my husband."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you? I guess I was wrong then. I thought, despite my best efforts, you had learned about the curse that has plagued this family for generations."
"Oh, that!" Bridie said, no longer fearing its power. "Yes, I did hear about that, but it was all nonsense."
"No, my dear, it wasn't. That curse claimed my husband's life."
"Perhaps, or perhaps it was just a coincidence. Either way, the fact that Samuel is alive and celebrating his birthday today proves that the Waring legacy is not a death sentence."
"Samuel did not die because he is not a Waring."
In making her confession, Helen felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
"I loved my husband with all my heart," she continued, "so much so that I married him believing he would die at an early age. But although I was resigned to losing the man I loved, I would not put any child of mine at such a risk. However, like all important men, my husband wanted an heir, so I gave him one. I was determined that this damned curse would come to an end, so I went to Charity and sought out a living descendant of Jerusha Ellsworth. Samuel is his son, not my husband's."
Bridie was stunned by the older woman's revelation.
"You deceived your husband by presenting another man's child to him as his own?"
"Yes. I'm not proud of what I did, and most likely I will pay for my sin in the next life. But what I did, I did out of love, not for any personal gain."
"Does Samuel know?"
Helen shook her head.
"No one knows but you and me. Not even Samuel's biological father ...."
Helen's hand suddenly went up to her mouth to stifle a scream. Bridie swung around and saw the shadowy figure that terrified her mother-in-law.
"It's the ghost," she explained. "I'm not sure if it's Cuthbert Waring or Jerusha Ellsworth, but I'm pretty sure it's one of the two."
As the two women stared in a mixture of horror and fascination, the vaporous being assumed a more opaque form. Helen nearly fainted when the spirit took on the features of her late husband.
"Franklin!" she cried, feeling a wave of shame and contrition descend upon her. "I ... I didn't mean to hurt you. I never wanted to ...."
"I have not come to accuse or condemn you," an unearthly voice echoed through the room. "I have come to say I understand what you did and why you did it and to tell you that I hold no grudge against you."
The spirit then raised a dark arm in his widow's direction.
Tears fell down Helen's face.
"My darling!" she cried, and placed her white hand in his black one.
For a brief moment, the creatures of heaven and earth were united as one. Then the two souls ascended, leaving a single dead body behind.
* * *
"I don't understand," Samuel said when he came home from his office to find the doctor at his house and his mother lying dead on the sitting room sofa. "I just saw her yesterday, and she seemed in perfect health."
"Of course, we won't know until an autopsy is performed, but I suspect she suffered a coronary thrombosis."
"If it's any comfort," Bridie said, placing her hand on her husband's arm, "she went quickly, and there was no pain at all."
"Yes," he sighed. "At least she didn't suffer from some long, lingering illness. And she's with my father again." He turned to his wife for confirmation. "You believe that don't you? That people are reunited with their loved ones after death?"
"Oh, yes. I'm sure that's the case."
Bridie never told anyone of the events surrounding her mother-in-law's last moments, nor did she reveal to her husband the truth about his parentage. She felt justified in keeping Helen's secret since the Waring fortune, she reasoned, rightfully belonged to Jerusha Ellsworth's descendants anyway.
Bridie and Samuel lived to celebrate their sixtieth wedding anniversary, and during their long and happy marriage, they had three children, all of whom acquired an equal share of the Waring legacy when Samuel passed away. And—with the blessing of Jerusha Ellsworth's spirit—they are still alive today.
Believe me! I know what it's like to live under the shadow of a curse!
