By the Lantern's Light
When the afternoon bell at Puritan Falls High School rang, Lynn Hillier watched her students race toward the door. It was the last day of school, and everyone was anxious to begin the summer vacation. While Lynn would enjoy the next two months off, she was disappointed that for the first time since becoming a teacher, she wouldn't have students to tutor during the summer. Given the state of the economy, she could have used the extra money.
After saying goodbye to the other faculty members, she headed out of school toward her car. In the parking lot, a strange man stopped her.
"Excuse me," he said. "I'm looking for an English teacher by the name of Lynn Hillier."
"That's me," she said, giving the stranger a closer examination.
The man was short and stocky, had a full head of tightly curling black hair and was in desperate need of a shave. His suit, although clean, needed pressing.
"My name's Applebee. Omar Applebee. I'm here to talk to you about a summer job."
"Tutoring?" Lynn asked hopefully.
"No. I recently met a man who needs someone to help him write his family history."
"I'm not a writer."
"But you are an English teacher. He's not looking for a novelist, just someone with good grammar skills."
"Yes. I suppose I could handle the job. Would it require much travelling?"
Applebee shook his head.
"He lives in Boston, but his family hails from right here in Puritan Falls. His name is Edmond Wardlow."
"The owner of Wardlow Manor on Old Bridge Road?"
"You've heard of the place?"
"Everyone in Puritan Falls knows about it. It's the source of many local legends. It has become a rite of passage for teenagers to sneak inside and explore the old place. Some people swear it's haunted."
"I don't know much about the house or its history. I'm just here to tell you about the job. Are you interested?"
Visions of her checking account balance came to Lynn's mind, prompting her to reply, "Yes, I am."
Omar reached into his jacket pocket, took out a piece of paper with a name and telephone number written on it and handed it to the teacher.
"This is Edmond's number. Why don't you give him a call and set up a meeting?"
"Thank you, Mr. Applebee. I'll do that."
* * *
"I'm glad you telephoned," Wardlow said when Lynn phoned him. "I'm in need of some assistance with my family's history. I'll be in Puritan Falls on Friday. If you're not busy, perhaps we can meet up for lunch and discuss the particulars of the job offer."
On Friday Lynn donned the suit she usually reserved for graduation ceremonies and back-to-school nights and drove to the Sons of Liberty Tavern to meet with the multimillionaire from Boston. When the teacher arrived, the hostess informed her that Mr. Wardlow was already seated at the table.
"I'm sorry I'm late," she immediately apologized after introducing herself.
"You're not late," the elderly man assured her. "I'm early."
After the waitress took their order, Edmond told Lynn about his plans to turn the old manor into a museum.
"I've hired an architect and an interior designer to restore the house to its eighteenth century state. They've made excellent progress, and I'm anticipating opening the place to the public in the fall."
"That's fantastic!" the teacher exclaimed. "I've always wondered what the manor must have looked like when it was new. I've only seen it after it was abandoned."
"You ought to see it now, then. I've had a construction crew working up there since March. But I don't want to bore you with talk about the house. I asked you here to discuss the job offer."
For the next forty minutes Edmond described the responsibilities of the position, his expectations of the completed project and the financial compensation he offered. It was far more than Lynn had ever made tutoring. In fact, it was more than she made at her teaching job.
* * *
The following day, after a brief tour of the first-floor restoration, Edmond Wardlow took a ring of keys out of his pocket and showed it to his new employee.
"This is for the front entrance," he instructed, indicating the first key on the ring. "Just remember that after you unlock the door, you have sixty seconds to punch in the security code on the alarm. Otherwise, the police will show up."
"Got it," Lynn replied.
"This is the key to the upstairs office, and, finally, this is the key to the storage cabinet. That's where all the old books and documents are kept. I would like you to keep it locked whenever you're not using it."
"Certainly."
"You have the run of the house while you're here, so don't feel you have to remain cooped up in the office. I only ask you to remember that the furnishings are more than two hundred years old and to treat them accordingly, which I'm sure you will."
Lynn smiled and nodded.
"Good. Now, let's go up to the office, and I'll show you the collection of ledgers and journals you can use in your research."
Edmond led the young woman up the main staircase and down the second-floor hallway. He stopped at the last door on the right and unlocked it. Unlike the rest of the manor, the office was decorated for the twenty-first century. There was an exquisite mahogany desk in the center of the room and three matching bookcases. All the prerequisite electronics were in attendance: computer, flat-screen monitor, printer, fax and copier.
"What a lovely office!" Lynn exclaimed. "We have nothing like this at the high school."
"I'm not surprised," her employer laughed. "I don't think the taxpayers would want to foot the bill."
Edmond then unlocked the storage cabinet.
"Here is all that was written either by or about the early members of my family."
Lynn picked up a random volume. The pages were brittle, and the ink was beginning to fade. Although the penmanship was elaborate, according to the style of the time, she had little difficulty deciphering the writing.
"This is apparently a record of routine household expenditures."
"Back then, people felt the need to write everything down," Edmond commented as he reached for one of the journals. "Ah, this was written in 1810. Look here: Jonas Wardlow. That's the founder of the family fortune. His portrait hangs above the fireplace in the sitting room."
"I guess the first thing I'll do is put these books in chronological order."
"Good idea. I'll leave you to it then," Edmond said and handed the keys to Lynn. "If you have any questions or run into any problems, you have my cell phone number."
Once her employer left, Lynn quickly scanned each volume and separated them according to content and age. The earliest of the books dated back to 1780 and the latest to 1912. When she was done sorting, she took the oldest journal, sat at the desk and started reading.
Jonas Wardlow began his writing with a brief personal history. He had been born in England, but when he was a small child his parents immigrated to the New World in hopes of finding a better life. Jonas's father was able to provide for his family by becoming a fisherman. Still, the parents wanted more for their only son, so Mrs. Wardlow cleaned house for the village schoolmaster, in exchange for his teaching her boy how to read and write.
While Jonas was still attending his lessons, he began serving drinks in the evenings at the Pine Cone Ordinary. Not only was he able to put aside some money that he planned to use when he went off to Harvard, but the conversations he overheard at the tavern kept him apprised of what was going on in the colonies.
It was when he was thirteen that he first heard of the growing resentment of King George and his taxes. He learned that men like Samuel Adams from Boston believed that America ought to throw off the heavy yoke of British rule and become a self-governing nation. Such talk was treasonous, but Jonas, even though still a boy, saw the logic in these arguments. By the time he was sixteen, he, like the Pine Cone's proprietor, Titus Tremaine, and most of its patrons, considered himself a patriot.
At seventeen, Jonas began his studies at Harvard, but he never graduated. After fighting erupted at Concord and Lexington, he quit school and joined the militia.
In the midst of all the political upheaval in the Massachusetts Colony, young Jonas fell in love. Charity Spicer was the most beautiful woman in Puritan Falls—at least that's what her besotted suitor believed. Despite the uncertainty of the future, he proposed and she readily accepted. The wedding would have to be put off until after the war was over, but once peace returned to America, the two would be married.
Lynn yawned, stretched her neck and looked at her watch.
"I had no idea it was this late," she exclaimed.
Although she found the Wardlow history fascinating, she did have the entire summer to read her way through the volumes. She needn't do it all in one night.
After returning the book to the cabinet, she locked the door and headed downstairs. Before leaving, she walked into the sitting room and looked up at the portrait of Jonas Wardlow. It was hard to imagine the stern-looking, middle-aged man with the icy blue eyes as an idealistic young patriot and romantic suitor. Lynn wondered what had happened to disillusion him.
* * *
The following morning, after a quick breakfast of toast, coffee and orange juice, Lynn got dressed, made her bed and then drove to the manor. Two workmen were on the lower floor, spackling the walls in preparation for painting. She waved at them and then headed up the stairs to the office.
Rather than begin reading where she'd left off the previous day, Lynn booted up the computer and opened a new Word file. Referring to the journal, when necessary, she drafted five pages of notes covering the information she'd already acquired. After a quick lunch, she returned to reading the journal.
The majority of what Jonas Wardlow had written in the second half of the volume was about his experiences in battle and the progress of the war. Because of his service in the militia, he saw very little of Charity Spicer during those years.
Lynn was so absorbed in reading Jonas's memoirs that she didn't hear the workmen leave at the end of their workday. It was only when she noticed that the sun was going down and the room was getting darker that she realized the lateness of the hour. She looked at the thickness of the pages remaining in the journal and estimated she could finish reading it in two hours. Never a procrastinator, she turned on the desk lamp and continued her research.
She was reading about Jonas's elation over the American victory at Yorktown when the desk lamp suddenly went out. Her heartbeat quickened. How was she going to get out of the house in the dark? She didn't know her way around well enough.
"Remain calm," she told herself. "Breathe deeply and think."
She suddenly recalled seeing an oil lamp on her credenza. It was probably an ornamental lamp and might not even have oil or a wick, but it was worth a chance. She opened her purse and found the pack of matches she'd picked up at the Sons of Liberty Tavern when she had lunch with Edmond Wardlow.
After feeling her way to the credenza, she found the lamp; thankfully it had a wick. Lynn struck a match and lit it. Relief poured over her when the flame cast a welcome glow. While it was not strong enough to light the entire room, it did provide enough illumination for her to find her way around.
Lynn made it downstairs to the foyer with no difficulty. She was about to cross the entranceway to the front door when she heard voices coming from the sitting room. Were the painters also in darkness?
"Hello?" she called softly.
As she walked in the direction of the voices, it occurred to her that the dimness of the lantern's light was creating an optical illusion. The blue carpet looked gray, so did the mahogany furniture. She looked down at her yellow dress, which looked like a shade of dingy white. She raised the lantern and examined her surroundings. Everything appeared to be in grayscale, like an old black-and-white photograph.
A woman's voice came from the sitting room, but it was too low in volume for Lynn to understand what was being said.
"Hello?" she called again.
When she reached the doorway and peered inside the room, she was stunned to see two people, a man and a woman, dressed in early nineteenth century clothing. Although he was much younger than the image Lynn had seen in the portrait, there was no doubt in her mind that the man was Jonas Wardlow.
"I don't see why you insist on making this voyage," the woman cried. "Especially now."
"Of what possible use could I be to you? When the time comes, the doctor will be called. You'll have the best of care; I promise you."
"Don't you want to be here for the birth of your first child?"
"I'll be home soon enough," he said with a sigh, as though the thought of returning from his voyage displeased him.
Tears fell from the woman's eyes, and Jonas turned away from her, offering no comfort.
"I've got to go into town and see to the final arrangements. I'll be back late, so don't wait up."
Jonas turned and quickly strode toward the door. Just as he was about to collide with Lynn, the lights in the manor came back on.
Like Dorothy stepping into Oz, Lynn went from the black-and-white world of the past into the Technicolor world of the present. It took her several moments to get accustomed to her surroundings and several moments more to realize she was alone in the house.
* * *
Only after Lynn had two glasses of wine and a hot bath did her rattled nerves begin to calm down. At first, she seriously considered not returning to Wardlow Manor for fear of encountering the ghost of its original owner again, but her curiosity, coupled with her reduced financial situation, made her reconsider.
Thus, the following day she sat at the mahogany desk, reading the remaining pages of Jonas Wardlow's first journal, which ended several months after the war for independence came to a close.
Lynn had anticipated the second journal would begin with his marriage to Charity Spicer, but such was not the case. Three years had elapsed from the end of the first volume to the beginning of the second, during which time the former patriot and war hero married the daughter and only surviving child of a wealthy shipbuilder and trader. As a wedding present to the couple, the father made his son-in-law partner in one of his merchant ships. It took only one voyage for the new husband to develop a love of the sea. In two years' time, he was captaining the ship himself and increasing his father-in-law's profits threefold.
The pages of Jonas's second journal described the wondrous, far-off lands to which he travelled, the dangers he encountered at sea and the success of his commercial ventures. Hardly a word was written about his personal life.
What happened to Charity Spicer, the woman he once claimed to love so dearly?
As she read further into the diary, Lynn believed she found the answer to her question. The pursuit of wealth, not love, drove her employer's ancestor. And what of Prudence, Jonas's wife? Had she been happy married to such a man?
I wouldn't be! she thought, feeling sympathy for the two women whose hearts Wardlow had broken.
As on the previous night, Lynn became so immersed in the accounts of the past that she failed to notice the lateness of the hour. And once again the power in the manor went out, leaving the teacher in darkness. There was no hesitation this time; she reached for the lantern on the desk with one hand and the pack of matches in the drawer with the other. The lantern's light once more revealed the eerie black-and-white world of the past. Lynn was torn between the urge to flee from the house and the desire to explore the unknown, to hopefully glimpse the spirit of Jonas Wardlow again.
The sound of voices coming from the first floor proved an irresistible magnet. With the lantern's beam leading the way, she returned to the downstairs sitting room. This time there were two men in the room; one was Jonas Wardlow and the other she discovered was a physician. The doctor's expression reflected the solemn occasion. Prudence's health had steadily declined since giving birth, he informed the husband. It was doubtful she would live much longer.
The look on Jonas's face was grim. Whether or not he truly loved his wife Lynn could not discern, but it was evident he felt grief at her imminent death and guilt at not being with her for the birth of their son.
After delivering his grave prognosis, the doctor left the room to return to his dying patient.
Despite her dislike of the man, as Lynn stared at the lines of grief on Jonas's handsome face, her heart was moved to compassion.
* * *
From that point on, Lynn made sure she left Wardlow Manor before nightfall. While she didn't believe the strange visions of the past represented any danger to her, she did find them disconcerting. She wasn't fond of the role of voyeur, peeping into someone else's private, intimate moments uninvited. Paradoxically, she did not have any compunctions over reading the journals. She reasoned that if Jonas put his thoughts on paper, he intended that someone should read them. Besides, she was instructed by the legal owner of the volumes to study and summarize the contents.
By the time she began reading the fourth of Jonas's diaries, Lynn noticed a distinct change in the tone of his writing. The young idealist who penned the first volume had long since disappeared. What remained was a man driven by the pursuit of more worldly goals. During the War of 1812, the former patriot turned to privateering. By the end of the conflict, he was one of the wealthiest men in the country.
"And one of the unhappiest," Lynn concluded.
His wife's death must have left an emptiness in his heart that no other woman could fill because he preferred remaining a widower to remarrying. As for his relationship with his son, Jonas gave all indications of being a good father, although not an affectionate one. He was stern, but not cruel.
It wasn't until the fifth volume, the last one written by Jonas Wardlow, that she caught glimpses into the man's soul. The former patriot and privateer was in the twilight of his years. His son had taken over the family shipping business, and Jonas had retired to live his remaining years in his Puritan Falls home.
For the first time in more than two weeks, Lynn became engrossed in the old journals. With no thought to the lateness of the hour, she turned on her desk lamp and continued to read.
The elderly Jonas's recollections of his younger days fascinated her. It was through the eyes of a man who had no more dreams to dream that he looked back on his youth. He wrote of his wife, Prudence, who had died from complications due to childbirth and confessed that although he had felt a genuine fondness for the girl, the marriage had been one of convenience, not love. It was also the first time since the initial volume that he wrote of Charity Spicer.
It was a series of three questions he wrote that seemed to put Jonas Wardlow's later life into perspective for Lynn: Is my beloved still alive? If so, does she ever think of me? And, most importantly, did she ever regret not waiting for me?
"So it was Charity who ended their romance," Lynn concluded.
Sympathy swelled in her heart, and she felt unshed tears burn her eyes.
"This is ridiculous!" she told herself. "I'm getting emotional over a man who died nearly three hundred years ...."
Suddenly, as on two previous occasions, the desk lamp went out, and she was thrust into darkness. This time, however, it was with a growing excitement that she lit the lantern on her desk and headed toward the main staircase. As Lynn approached the sitting room, she listened for voices. There were none.
Is he somewhere else in the house, or am I alone in the black-and-white world of the past?
When she peeked around the threshold and saw Jonas Wardlow sitting quietly beside the fireplace, her disappointment gave way to joy. Even though his hair was white and his face bore the ravages of time, he was still a handsome man.
Could he see me if I stepped out of the shadows? she wondered.
Jonas's attention was on the ornate frame he held in his left hand. With his right he lovingly touched what appeared to be a miniature portrait.
"My dearest," he whispered. "Not a day passes that I don't long to see your face, to hear your voice."
His lower lip trembled, and Lynn felt a stab of pity pierce her heart. She wished she could cross through the years into the past and comfort him.
When Jonas raised his head, there were tears in his eyes.
"At least my suffering will soon be over," he said with weary resignation.
Then he stood up and walked toward the fireplace. Lynn thought he would put the frame on the mantel and she would at last see what Charity Spicer looked like, but such was not the case. Instead, Jonas ran his hand down the molding on the side of the fireplace, and a wooden panel opened, revealing a secret compartment. With one last look at the face of the woman he adored, Jonas placed the painting in the compartment and closed the panel.
A moment later, Lynn found herself back in the present. When her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room's electric lighting, she noticed the fireplace looked much the same as it had in her vision of the past.
"Could the secret compartment still be there?" she wondered, assuming that she hadn't imagined the incident, that is.
She ran her fingers along the same molding. The button was so small, she nearly missed it.
"Here it is!" she said triumphantly.
Lynn pressed the button; however, several layers of paint prevented the wooden panel from opening. Determined to see if the portrait was still inside, she ran upstairs to the office and retrieved a silver letter opener.
It took several minutes to cut through the dried paint, but eventually the wooden panel swung open.
"Yes!" she exclaimed when she saw the tarnished silver frame.
Her excitement mounting, Lynn reached into the compartment, took out the miniature portrait and turned it over. Immediately, her free hand went to her mouth to stifle a scream. Despite Charity Spicer's antiquated hairstyle and clothing, Lynn might be looking into a mirror rather than at a painting.
* * *
The following morning Edmond Wardlow was waiting for Lynn when she arrived at the manor. One look at the young woman's face, told him something was wrong.
"Thank you for coming," she said.
"You said it was urgent. What is it?"
"I need to know what happened to Charity Spicer, the woman your ancestor planned to marry."
"There hasn't been much written about her in the family records," Edmond explained. "All I know for certain is that when Jonas returned to Puritan Falls after the British surrendered, she was gone, ran off with another man people claimed."
"You don't know where she went or with whom?"
"No, does it matter?"
"I think Charity might be my ancestor," she said, handing him the miniature portrait she'd found in the secret compartment.
Edmond's eyes went from the portrait to Lynn's face and back again.
"Where did you find this?"
"You're probably not going to believe me," she warned and then proceeded to tell him about her strange visits to the past.
Wardlow remained quiet until her tale was finished.
"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure that I do believe you," he said at last. "Maybe you really saw something or maybe you just imagined it."
"But how do you account for the miniature portrait?"
"It's obviously an antique, most likely from that time period. But what proof is there that this is actually Charity Spicer's likeness? If you did imagine seeing my ancestor's spirit, then this could be a portrait of anyone."
Lynn turned toward the window in frustration.
"It is her. I know it. I feel it. It's a portrait of Charity. She gave it to Jonas to take into battle with him."
"How do you know that?"
Although the voice sounded familiar, it was not Edmond Wardlow's. She turned quickly and saw Omar Applebee standing where her employer had just stood moments earlier.
"You!" she exclaimed, recognizing the short, stocky man with the tightly curling black hair. "Where is Mr. Wardlow?"
"There is no Edmond Wardlow. The last of the Wardlow line died out around the time of the first World War."
"That's not possible. I work for Edmond. I'm helping him with his family history. You, yourself, got me the job."
"I do apologize," Applebee said sheepishly. "I wasn't entirely truthful, but I had to get you to read Jonas's journals, and that was the best plan I could think of at the time."
Unable to comprehend what was happening, Lynn reverted to anger.
"Just who the hell are you?" she demanded to know.
"The question you should be asking is who are you, and why are you so certain that's a portrait of Charity Spicer?"
"I saw Jonas place it behind the wooden panel in the fireplace."
"How do you know the man you saw was Jonas Wardlow? He died back in 1842."
"I noticed the resemblance to his portrait in the sitting room."
"There is no portrait. The manor is empty. It's been empty for decades."
"No. It has recently been restored and ...."
Lynn noticed that the green walls behind Mr. Applebee had lost their color.
"Did you see that?" she asked, as the brightly colored carpet turned to grayscale. "That means we're about to travel to the past. You'll see for yourself."
When all the color was drained from the room, Lynn looked for Jonas Wardlow in the flickering of the candlelight.
"Where are you?" she whispered.
Omar Applebee, whose colorful face and clothing stood out against the black-and-white world of the eighteenth century, felt pity for the frightened woman.
"He's not here," he told her. "He's on the other side, waiting for you."
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
"I'm trying to help you remember. Try to look past your fear at what happened. Charity Spicer never ran off. She was murdered by a British sailor who had stopped in Puritan Falls for provisions. He threw her body ...."
"No! I read Jonas Wardlow's journal. He said she left him for another man."
"He didn't know what happened, so he believed the rumors. Don't you think he deserves to know the truth?"
Omar Applebee raised his hand, and Lynn found herself standing in the foyer, lantern in hand, just as she had the previous evening. She walked to the sitting room doorway and peeked inside.
An elderly Jonas Wardlow was sitting quietly beside the fireplace. His attention was on the ornate frame he held in his left hand. With his right he lovingly touched what appeared to be a miniature portrait.
"My dearest," he whispered. "Not a day passes when I don't long to see your face, to hear your voice."
His lower lip trembled, and Lynn felt a stab of pity pierce her heart. She wished she could cross through the years into the past and comfort him.
When Jonas raised his head, there were tears in his eyes.
"At least my suffering will soon be over," he said with weary resignation.
Then he stood up and walked toward the fireplace. He ran his hand along the molding down the side, and a wooden panel opened, revealing a secret compartment. With one last look at the face of the woman he adored, Jonas placed the painting in the compartment.
Unlike the previous night, this time Lynn found the courage to step out of the shadows. With that one courageous step, all Mr. Applebee's efforts paid off, and Charity Spicer's memories came flooding back.
"My dearest love," she said.
Jonas turned in her direction and stared.
"My God!" he exclaimed. "Is it you? No. It can't possibly be. You haven't aged since I last saw you on the Common."
Charity took Jonas's hand in hers and smiled. For a moment, the light of the lantern glowed brightly, and everything in the room was awash with vibrant colors. When the two lovers' lips met, the colors melted into one as the two star-crossed lovers faded away.
With the matter of Lynn Hillier/Charity Spicer resolved to his satisfaction, Omar Applebee stood alone in the ruins of Wardlow Manor, wistfully wondering what it would be like to be human and to experience a love that transcended time.
I might not be able to glimpse the past with this lantern, but I have no difficulty finding Salem's food dish with it.
