Cradled by the Night (5 page)

The sensation of being watched came to her again as she took a break, stretching her aching back. She passed in front of the window and stopped. She could have sworn someone had just darted into the bushes.

Great. Now I'm seeing things, or it's the medication or the postpartum depression.

Amelia stifled a hysterical laugh. How could she even know which issue caused what anymore? It was all like a tangled mass in her brain, and her thoughts moved like molasses much of the time. While the medication made her feel a bit happier and less stressed out and stopped the frightening thoughts she had had about the baby's demise—until the woman in black brought them up again—it also made her draggy and docile.

She stood there a moment longer, studying the yard and driveway, but nothing but gently waving tree branches, birds, and cheerful flowers met her gaze.

Knock it off. That's enough.

She tried to use one of the tactics the doctor had suggested—stopping thoughts as soon as she became aware of them.

Amelia stepped forward to pick up a hanger she had dropped on the closet floor. Her shoe caught on a board at the entrance to the closet. The panel was loose.

She knelt down, puzzled. The other boards were in place. The one she had stumbled upon was definitely out of kilter, as if someone had pried it up. Amelia pulled the slat the rest of the way up. It only moved halfway.

“Someone nailed part of it down and left the other part up. How strange.”

Her hand brushed against something underneath—paper. She grasped it, expecting it to be a piece of trash that had been stuck there for years. A sheet of paper, yellowed with age met her gaze. It was rolled into a tube and tied with a thin, black ribbon.

“What in the world is this?” She whispered, as if the house were listening. A chill crept up her arms. Amelia wanted to read it, but she also dreaded to do so. Swallowing hard, she pulled the ribbon off and unrolled the delicate paper with care.

December 12, 1905

I must tell my story. Otherwise, it will be as if I never even lived. The Winthrops will make sure it is erased, along with me. The master of the house—James, as he told me to call him-- beguiled me with kisses and gifts. I was too young to understand his intentions until it was too late. I found myself carrying a child. When I told him—stupid! Stupid girl that I am!--what had happened, he ordered me to silence and told me all would be well. I trusted him. He was all kindness to me. The day of my delivery, he spirited me to a midwife in the woods who had been called just for this purpose and sworn to secrecy as well.

After the baby was born, I fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from the terrible labor that went on for many hours. When I awoke, the midwife told me the baby was dead and that I was to return to Stormcliffe in two days after I had rested. I begged her to please tell me the truth about my child. When I saw him, he was alive and of good color. She refused, but I wore her down with my crying , wailing, and begging.

She told me Master Winthrop crushed the baby's skull and was to bury him in an unmarked grave. I promised her I would never tell her that I knew, but I don't know if I can keep the secret any longer. The Master throws terrible glances my way. He agreed to bury my son, Erastus, as I named him, in the family graveyard, off to himself with no marker.; however, I fear for my life everyday. If his father finds out, he will be disinherited and kicked out of this house. I have sent word to his father that I must talk to him. He is a kindly man and I know he will believe me and do right by me and the child. I must end here. Someone is coming, and it is very late, much too late for any normal visitor. Fear fills my heart. ~LV

The letter ended. Amelia sat back on her haunches, horror flooding her veins. It seemed quite likely that Lucy Vincent hadn't hung herself at all. Winthrop had come to her in the night and killed her, staging her death to look like a suicide. Because of his position in the community, the death was likely unquestioned.

“Oh my God. The poor girl.” She knew what it was to be pregnant, alone, and afraid. Now, Lucy Vincent's words to her made sense. “I'm sorry I couldn't protect my baby from the horrors of this world and that you couldn't either. I wasn't strong enough. I didn't know what else to do.”  Amelia wept, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She wiped them away after a few moments.

Afternoon shadows filled the room. Amelia secured the letter back in its hiding place, unsure about what to do with it at the moment. She thought it deserved a place in the town's library and archives, but today wasn't going to be the day to worry with it. Amelia stood up to check on Lottie. The baby  slept peacefully on her play mat, her tiny mouth a perfect, round O. Amelia gently picked her up and lay her in the crib to finish her nap.

“I promise you, Lucy Vincent, I will protect this baby. Thank you for looking out for her. I found your letter. I hope you can be at peace now. I know your story, and I'll make sure the world can know it, too. You will be vindicated and understood.” She hoped the ghostly teenager could hear her—wherever she was now.

T
he feeling of foreboding that had been with her still hung over her spirit as Amelia left the nursery.

* * * *

“I wanted to call before it got too late.” Bard sighed. “I won't be home until after 9. Just leave something in the fridge for me. If you need to go to bed, that's fine. Don't feel like you have to wait up.”

“Okay, thanks for letting me know.” There was so much Amelia wanted to tell him—about the letter, the ghost, all of it, except for her own dark secret.

He never needs to know.

“Bard,” she paused. “Are we okay?”

“Of course we are.” But as usual, he sounded hurried and disinterested. “I just have to go now. I'll make it up to you this weekend. I swear it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Alright. Love you. I'll probably be in bed when you get home. I'm pretty tired.”

“Great. I'll see you later.”

Amelia dropped her cell phone on the table and put the roast into the oven. Dinner for one again, basically.

“How's my pretty girl?” She said, smiling at Lottie, who was swinging happily in her baby swing.

The baby made a burbling sound.

“Good. I'm glad someone is.” Amelia poured herself a vodka spritzer—her first drink in over a year. From what she had read, one wouldn't hurt, and she wouldn't be breastfeeding again for hours since she alternated with formula.

She turned on some music as she took the rolls out of the oven and finished other dinner preparations. The rest of the evening was spent cuddling with Lottie and with a book she had been meaning to read—a murder mystery that set her on edge. She had to put it down before the end, her anxiety rising.

After dinner, she took her meds and tucked Lottie in to bed. The baby had started sleeping well for several hours at a clip and went down easily as long as her stomach was full. “Goodnight, beautiful girl.”

She stole one last look at the baby's milky white skin and pale tuft of hair and left the nursery. The sense of unease she had had returned.

Everything's fine. It's just your mind playing tricks on you.

Amelia decided to dig Lark's number out and give her a call.
The m
oms group was coming around again in a couple of days, and she hoped the other woman would be there. She hadn't reached out until now, but she found she wanted to. She desperately needed a friend here.

“Hello, is this Lark?”

“Of course. Amelia! Right?”

The other woman's voice put a smile on her face.
This was a good idea. It's so nice to hear a friendly voice.

“Yes, right. Sorry to bother you.”

“You're no bother! What's up? I'm bored. The kids are with their grandparents for a week right now, but I'm not complaining.” Lark laughed.

“Oh, that's cool. I hope you're enjoying it.”

“I am.”

Amelia paused.

What was that?

A soft thud had come from overhead. She shook her head. It was probably just the house settling.

“You still there? Can I come over to your house, or is your hubby home from work?”

Amelia laughed. “Of course he's not. Long hours. It sucks. Sure. Come on over. I know you wanted to see the place. We can have some wine and munchies, and I'll stay up past my bedtime. I doubt Bard will be home for at least a couple more hours.”

“Great. I'll be there in
15
minutes. Thanks for the invite or for letting me invite myself anyway!”

“Of course.”

Amelia grinned. Lark was a character, but she liked her—more than she had anyone else she
’d met
in a long time.

She thought again of the thud she had heard upstairs.

I should probably just go check on Lottie.

The monitor was silent, but she couldn't let it go. Her stomach flipped, the feeling of something not being right returning.

Damn it. There's nothing the matter. Even the ghost won't hurt me. She means well.

Amelia mounted the stairs slowly, her chest clenching. She tried taking deep breaths to ease the anxiety. When she reached the top step, the baby's door was closed.

“Not again. Lucy, I know you're in there.”

Her heart thudding in her hears, Amelia opened the door. A shadow stood beside the crib, and she
shrieked
in terror.

“Hello, Amelia. My, my. You sure have been busy.”

Chapter 7: Ghosts of the Past

              Amelia wanted to run, but she stood rooted in fear. The baby was only feet away from this monster. “Randy, what are you doing here?” She tried to sound as normal as possible, but there was nothing normal about the situation.

Randy's hair was long and shaggy, his clothing unkempt.

“I've been here for a while, darlin'. Ever since I found out your were moving in.” He grinned. “We have some unfinished business. I was in love with you, and you left me and did worse than that.” His voice shook with rage.

“No, I never loved you. You took advantage of me. I was only
15
!” Amelia held on to the doorjamb, feeling faint.

How can this be happening?
She thought of Lark, on the way. The height of the window prevented car lights from shining in. Hopefully, Randy wouldn't see the car or hear it, and Lark could help her—if Randy didn't kill them both, along with Lottie.

No. I won't let that happen. Please hurry.

“Once I found out who you had married, it got easier to keep up with you. I've been watching you, Amelia. You're prettier now than you were then.” He whistled low, and she flinched.

“Please leave, or I'll have to call the police.”

Her cell phone was downstairs.

“No, you won't do that. I also know about the abortion, Amelia. You killed our baby. How could you do that?” He screamed the words at her.

Under his words, she heard gravel crunching. He didn't act like he heard it at all.

Please God. Help me figure out what to do. Don't let him hurt me or Lark.

“What was I supposed to do? I had no one to help me—no one who would have believed me.”

“I loved you.” Randy advanced toward her. “
N
ow, we're going to settle the score. I don't want you anymore. You're a dirty whore!” He spat on the floor. “But I do want your baby. I've always wanted a baby. I've never had a wife or a woman who loved me since you.” His voice went soft.

Suddenly, before Amelia could move, he charged at her and grabbed her. Randy dragged her to the window and pressed her against it.

“You're going to die for what you did—know what it feels like to suffer like our child did!” He clenched her forearms, hurting her as he struggled to hold onto her and push the window up.

“No. Please!”

This is it. Lucy Vincent was right. I can't take care of my baby—of any of my babies.

Her eyes filled with tears even as she kicked out at him, trying to get away. “Please! I have money.”

He slapped her then, so hard, she saw stars. She heard the window screech upward, felt cool night air against her back. Behind Randy, she saw Lucy Vincent watching her with sorrow.

This is it. I'm so sorry, Lottie, Bard, and Lucy.

She felt herself pulled forward, heard a groan as Randy fell on the floor, writhing in pain and cursing.

Bard stood over him, a knife in his hand. “Who the hell is this?” He kicked Randy, and the man howled. Bard took Amelia into his arms. “Are you alright?”

She collapsed into tears, just as Lottie began to cry softly.

* * * *

“I didn't think I could tell you. I didn't want you to think I was a monster or incapable of loving a child. I was so torn and hurt, even back then. I'll never forget—the first baby. I named him Alexander, in fact.” Amelia sighed and started sobbing again. It was the second time in the last few minutes.

Bard hugged her more tightly as they sat on the front porch. The house was surrounded by police cars and an ambulance. “Of course you could have. None of that was your fault. You were a kid, Amelia. He raped you over and over and threatened you. You had no one. What could you have done?” He wiped her tears away, gently. “I'm so sorry I haven't been home like I should have been. I can't even think about what might have happened if I hadn't decided I wasn't staying until 10 tonight.” He sighed.