The Book of James (5 page)

Germantown Avenue. Not anymore. It’s much quicker to take

the SEPTA train to Phil y.” He pointed to the station on his left.

We turned a few blocks later, and I glanced up at the street sign.

Chestnut Hill Avenue. The houses on this street were bigger, all

made of stone. Some sat closer to the road, some were set back.

We stopped at a sleepy intersection. Dylan glanced over at me.

“Ready? It’s not too far up here.”

He pulled over a few seconds later and stopped. “It’s back

there. Through the trees,” he said, motioning to my right.

I cupped my hand to the window and peered into the dark-

ness. All I could see was a fence, stone and wrought iron. Beyond that, just trees. My eyes were fixed on that fence line. Now that I had found the house, I wasn’t sure what to do.
Stone, set back from
the road. In the middle of woods. It has a big fence. You have to go
there.

Nick didn’t tell me what I was supposed to do once I got here.

Other than find James.

I got out of the car and walked to the gate. The entrance was

locked, preventing anyone from entering. Dylan followed behind

me. The word “Monroe” was carved into large stone posts on either side of the gate.

I turned slightly. “I’m not ready to ring the bel , but I want to see the house. Is there another way in?”

He shook his head. “The fence surrounds the whole property,

and the house is pretty well surrounded by trees. If you walk down to Crefeld and over, you can cut through to the back of the property, but stil , it’s fenced.”

“Give me a boost, then. I think I can make it over the top.” I’d

never done anything like this in my life, but I wasn’t leaving without getting a better look.

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ELLEN J. GREEN

“I never agreed to this. This is crazy.” He thrust his hands stiffly into his pockets. “Besides, how do you think you’re going to get

back over?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. Come on.” I took

hold of the iron bars and tried to hoist myself up.

On his face, disapproval warred with amusement—maybe

even excitement—and final y he said, “I’ll give you a boost, but I’m not coming with you. If you don’t come back in ten minutes, I’m

going home. Find your own way out of here.”

“Agreed,” I said. “Ten minutes.”

I hadn’t anticipated the sharpness of the spikes at the top of

the fence. Getting to the top with Dylan’s help wasn’t the problem.

Getting back down the other side was. I had worn the most inap-

propriate sandals in my closet for this venture. They were light, strappy, and flimsy, with a small heel. Perfect with my khaki pants, but not particularly good for climbing. I final y managed to grasp on long enough to drop myself to the ground. “See you in ten minutes. Don’t leave me.” I headed through the trees toward the house.

When I came to the clearing, I stopped and sucked in a breath.

The house was too big for me to gain any sense of proportion from my vantage point, but what I saw gave me goose bumps. The stone

structure was at least three stories high and seemed to go on forever. Ivy grew into every crevice, transforming the mansion into

a secret garden. There were no lights in any of the windows, no

signs of life anywhere. I wanted to dart across the front lawn to get a better look but was afraid to be seen. Instead, I headed around to the back, and in doing so, I moved myself away from any light that came from the road.

The house jutted out at irregular angles, casting shadows in

the moonlight. I stood transfixed and suddenly knew that I had

violated something sacred by coming here. This place was so quiet and serene—but it wasn’t serenity that I was feeling. It was fear.

THE BOOK
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JAMES

35

Fear seemed to fill the woods and the grounds around me.

It hung in the air like a thick mist, it clung to the stone, and it dangled from the trees. It was everywhere. Anxiety, depression,

helplessness, and pure pulsing rage were there too, hidden behind every bush, ground into the soil. It was like I was channeling the negative feelings of everyone who had ever walked this space, and honestly,
that
scared me. This house, where apparently my husband had spent the better part of his life, disturbed me. I wanted to get out of here as quickly as I had come, but I had only a general idea of the direction of the front gate.

The trees were thick, and I had no markings to lead me. I

thought I was going in the right direction, toward a flicker of light, but the light seemed to move, and instead I veered farther into the woods. My heart began to dance against my ribcage.

A loud thump sounded in the distance. Like a door shutting.

Someone else was out here. And maybe that light I’d been follow-

ing had been a flashlight and not a street lamp.

My legs, pumping in unison, moved me quickly through the

brush, but my sandals slowed me down. I was just thinking that I

had reached the height of my stupidity when I tripped. A big rock threw me off balance, and I ended up facedown in rocky dirt, the

wind sucked out of me. My knee and hand stung; my lungs felt as

if they’d col apsed in my chest. As I lay there, feeling damp soil against my face, all my angst and curiosity turned to anger. I hated Nick. I hated him for dying in the accident and leaving me. Hated him for lying to me about all this. Hated him for using me, for

drawing me here. I hated him.

The crackling of dead leaves somewhere nearby spurred me

back to my feet, though my injured knee slowed my progress. I

was beginning to think I was moving parallel to the road, instead of toward it, when I saw the steady stream of light from the street lamp through the trees.

36

ELLEN J. GREEN

Dylan’s car was on the other side of the gate, but he was

nowhere to be seen. Like a caged animal moving back and forth

along the fence line looking for a break, I tried to find some way out, but there was nothing. Tiny stones embedded in the palm of

my right hand made it impossible for me to grab the iron bars for long. I fell backward onto the ground, ready to cry in frustration, when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder.

“Need a boost?”

I looked up. “Dylan? Thank God.” I clutched my chest.

“I felt bad about making you go in all by yourself. I’ve been

looking for you. What happened to your hand and eye?”

I touched my cheek and realized it was bleeding too. “I fell

in the woods, and my hand hurts like hel . I don’t know how I’m

going to get back over the fence.”

He turned and looked over his shoulder. “I heard something

like the front door slamming a while ago. I think someone is out

here. You’re going to have to do the best you can. So get up.” He pulled at my arm.

When Dylan pushed me upward, my blood smeared against

the wrought iron, but I held on long enough to drop myself to

the ground on the other side. My injured knee slammed into the

ground, making me moan with pain.

He was at my side before I knew it, looking down at me with

disdain. “I could be disbarred for breaking the law. I’m an officer of the court, you know. I never would have come with you if I’d

known . . .”

The words were lost on me. As we climbed into his car, just

before we pulled away, I glanced backward over my shoulder.

Shadows danced with the trees, and maybe it was my imagination,

but I swore I saw a dark figure slip back into the woods on the

other side of the gate.

Other than the small tick-tick of the clock on the mantel, only

echoing silence filled the room.

Cora sat in the leather club chair, turned slightly so she could

look through the window. Evening had settled over the prop-

erty, but ground lighting il uminated part of a fountain near the entranceway. She could see a hint of the statue of the boy, water spilling from his jug into the pool. For a moment she imagined

someone running with the shadows, darting across the lawn as the

breeze rustled tree branches.

Nick?
She sat up, straining to see through the glass. But whatever might have been there was gone. Her son was dead. She closed her eyes and she was back in an earlier time.

Water poured from that same fountain. Cars filled the drive-

way around it, a valet parking them neatly in every available space.

People scattered across the property dressed in their finest. Cora scanned their faces but knew no one. Her father’s money and family name demanded a formal affair for his daughter’s wedding. But he held mostly disdain for those who’d accepted the invitation.

He was an ostracized aristocrat. The strangest of breeds. Money,

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ELLEN J. GREEN

power, prominent name, but barred from most social events

because of the past, rumor, gossip, and local lore.

A few months prior, in the midst of dinner one night, Edward

Monroe had looked up at his daughter and said, “The wedding

date will be July fourteenth.”

Cora’s breath left her. That was only four months away. “Is that

enough time, Father?”

He leaned back in his chair. “You’re lucky I even told you

the date. I might have just dragged you downstairs on the day

and shoved you in front of the minister.” He laughed. “If Joseph

Whitfield wasn’t my business partner, I’d do just that. Make a laughingstock of you in front of everyone. To get married in a stained cleaning dress, that’s what you deserve.” He slapped his knee and stood up. “No, there is no need to put this off any longer. If I have to jam a shotgun up your ass during the ceremony, you’re marrying Whitfield’s son. Get any other thoughts out of your head.”

“It’s just, so many plans have to be made.” She felt sick in her

stomach, and she feared that it showed on her face. Marrying

Bradford Whitfield meant giving in, giving up her hope that get-

ting off the property someday, having freedom, might bring her

happiness. She was doomed to the same fate as her mother years

before. Her life would never be her own.

“And they wil . Keep in mind what’s at stake.” He smiled.

“Don’t marry him and you’ll have no place in this family. Is that what you want? To be thrown out of the gates in the clothes you

were born in?”

She shook her head. “No.” But inside she was desperately try-

ing to figure a way out.

She’d met Bradford many times when he’d come to the prop-

erty with his father. An arrogant, confident boy, he’d never had

many words for her, though he understood, as did she, that they

would one day be married. He’d sit by his father, taking in the male chatter while she hung to the side. Occasional y he’d glance in her THE BOOK
of
JAMES

39

direction, looking her up and down as if trying to imagine her

transforming into something he might want to marry.

The days leading up to the wedding were a nightmare of events

for a girl who’d been isolated her entire life. With each dress fitting, each tent that went up, each caterer who came through the front

door, she felt they might as well be building a gallows.

That morning, her father had entered the dressing room just

as Bradford’s mother finished arranging Cora’s veil. The older

woman excused herself, and Cora’s father stepped close so no one

else would hear.

“Wipe that shitty expression off your face, Cora.” He squeezed

her arm hard enough to leave marks. “It’s not fitting for a Whitfield bride to be an unhappy shrew.”

Cora forced her expression blank. “I’m fine, Father.”

He released her. “If I see you moping today, there will be hell

later. Nothing in your life is going to change. After the ceremony you’re going back upstairs. And I’ll still be here. Understand?”

Cora nodded.

Just then William McBride walked past the open door. He was

of medium height, with a full head of dark, curly hair and a twisted smile. “Cora, it’s bad luck to be seen before the wedding—but you look beautiful.” He leaned in to give her the smallest of pecks on her cheek. “See you in ten minutes in front of the altar.” He held out his hand to Edward Monroe. “Sir. Very nice to see you.”

Cora’s father shook his hand and then stared after him as the

young man sauntered on toward the ballroom. Cora jumped in.

“Bradford’s best man. Another lawyer.”

“Bloodsuckers. All of them. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

The ceremony was a blur followed by noise, activity. A plate

full of food she could barely eat. People touching her. Laughter.

Photographs. She was pulled in all directions by strangers. Final y the newlyweds stood together to cut the cake. Cora’s insides

quaked. All eyes were on her. Her father was only a few feet away.

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ELLEN J. GREEN

Bradford cut a piece of the five-tiered masterpiece and fed it to her.

She managed to slide a slice onto the plate, but her hand shook,

and before she could fork a bite into his mouth, the fine bone-

china plate slipped to the ground, smashing against the bricks. The cake landed on Bradford’s shoe. He stared down in dismay.

All chatter stopped except for the strains of violin in the dis-

tance. Cora dropped to her knees to wipe the icing off. She heard whispers around her, muffled laughter, but kept her head down

and wiped more furiously. Bradford stayed silent.

His mother final y came to her side and pulled her up by her

arm. “Let the maid, dear. Come.” She wiped at Cora’s dress with a linen napkin. “Not the most dignified position for a bride during the ceremony. Hmmm? What were you thinking?”