Page 29 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
Have you ever opened your eyes in the middle of the night and sensed that soon this world would not be powerful enough to hold your soul?
Have you ever wondered what happens to you after you die?
10
EFFIE
May 1901
Shepherd, Iowa
THERESIDENCEof 322 Predicament Avenue had become a carnival of sorts. It seemed nearly all of Shepherd had traversed through the house, touring the crime scene either in utter awe or complete horror.
“They may as well sell tickets.” Bethany tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
Effie held Bethany’s arm, looped through her elbow, close to her side. The stares from those who passed them made her shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the murder but rather with their curiosity about what Euphemia James’s relationship was to the enigmatic Englishman, who had yet to leave town on the claim that the blood of his wife stained the floor of the house on Predicament Avenue. That had been made clear asrecently as this morning, with the newspaper monopolizing on the continued saga by making it a front-page story:
Mr. Lewis Anderson from London, England, announces his intention to workalongside Shepherd’s constable in the investigation of the recent findings at 322 Predicament Avenue. If anyone has any informationregarding the presumed victim, one Isabelle Addington, it is requested that they be forthcoming in contacting the Shepherd police. Effortshave been made to reach out to the Opperman Trust, deed holder of the Predicament Avenue property. Meanwhile, Miss EuphemiaJames, linked to the initial declaration of misdeeds at the house, has not been seen in the company of Mr. Anderson. It is believed that her sister, Miss Polly James, is still suffering from a severe state of shock and therefore has been unable to answer any questions.
The two friends’ stroll downtown was their attempt at bringing a bit of calm and normality to a volatile situation, one that had the potential not only to ruin Effie’s future but also to tarnish the reputations of her siblings.
“It will all pass in time,” Bethany assured Effie with a bright smile. Her skin was porcelain pale, her lips a bright pink, and her effervescence was enough to almost make Effie believe her. “Just think of the adventure you can share with your children someday.”
“I hardly think someone’s murder should be considered ‘adventure.’” Effie’s gentle chiding went unnoticed by Bethany.
“Has Mr. Anderson been to visit you?” Bethany inquired, likely in an attempt to make conversation. Yet it only exacerbated the issue.
Effie flushed. She had begun to think of him as merelyAnderson. The direction of her unseemly thoughts made conquering the current circumstances all the more difficult. “He has no reason to, Bethany, you know this.”
“Do we know why Isabelle Addington was even here in Shepherd?It’s so far from England, and with no connection whatsoever? And why does she have a different last name than Mr. Anderson?” Bethany stopped to admire a display of hats in the millinery window, her sudden halt causing Effie to pause as well, their arms still linked. Bethany continued, “She must mean so much to Mr. Anderson for him to be so faithful to search for her. And why did she go missing in the first place?” Bethany sucked in a gasp. “What if sheran awayfrom him? What if she didn’t want to be with—?”
“Please stop,” Effie interrupted. She hadn’t the heart nor the stomach for such things. It would be ages before she would forget the blood congealing on the floor beneath the dresser. Months before she could look at a full-length mirror and not think of blood spattering its back as though someone had whipped a knife up through the air, only to bring it down in a vicious thrust, over and over again.
“I’m sorry, Effie.” Bethany turned, concern on her face. “It’s just all so confusing. There are so many questions that remain unanswered. And here you are wrapped up in the middle of it—you and Polly.”
Effie stared through the millinery window at the hats with their laces and ribbons and feathers, all of it holding little interest for her. She couldn’t blame Bethany for asking the questions she did. Effie had the same questions and more! But just this morning the gravity of what had happened replayed in her mind as she sat beside Polly. Her sister’s eyes were sunken, her cheeks growing hollow. Every now and then, a whimper would release from her dry lips. A frightened whimper as if in her unconscious state she, too, was replaying what she’d seen. Her frail body had refused to bear the shock of it, instead taking to her bed and finding safety in the recesses of her mind.
Bethany straightened as she studied Effie, and Effie could sense the well-meaning worry in her friend’s gaze.
“All will be well,” Bethany encouraged, yet her words sounded hollow to Effie’s ears.
It seemed as if a nightmare, and it acted like one too. Effie lay in her bed, sleep as elusive as the feeling of security. What her family—what Anderson—didn’t comprehend was the way the woman’s screams were as fresh in her mind as the night she’d heard them. The woman’s cries of “no” and the pleading for her life—it was nauseating. It was petrifying. One did not simply go about her normal life after hearing such a thing, let alone having it followed up with the discovery of the evidence that almost guaranteed there’d been a killing.
What had happened to the peaceful days she’d spent reading beneath the weeping willow? Or the sweet and tender anticipation of dinners and conversing with potential matches for a future of quiet wifely duties? She remembered the dinner party at the Charlemagnes’ just a few nights before. The stark difference between Patrick Charlemagne—whom she hadn’t even had the opportunity to speak with—and the darkness of Anderson was blatant. Effie longed for the predictability of a good Methodist man like Patrick, not Anderson and the way he had swooped in and brooded like a vampire from the novelDraculathat her mother swore Effie should never read, but she had anyway.
The floor outside Effie’s door creaked, bringing her wandering thoughts into the present with a jolt. She rose up on her elbows, staring at the crack beneath the door. If it was Father, there would be the flickering light from his lantern as he made his way to the lavatory. Only Father moved about the house at night, with the exception of her sixteen-year-old brother Ezekiel, whose penchant for sneaking out at night was somehow unquestioned and not concerning since he was a young man.
She held her breath to listen. Father often cleared his throatas if it were dry from sleeping. Effie heard nothing. There was no light.
The floor creaked again.
Ezekiel. That rascal brother of hers.
Effie swept off her blankets and swung her legs over the side of her bed, her nightdress falling around her ankles. This was not the time to add more trouble to the James household. She had no idea what Ezekiel did at night with his pals, but if he were caught—especially now—the James family might not recover from more scandal.
Tugging her door open, Effie looked both ways down the hall. Her parents’ doorway was a short jaunt from her own. The door was firmly closed, and while there wasn’t much light except that which came in through the window at the end of the passage, Effie could tell there was no movement from within. There were no shadows. Only stillness.
She took a few hurried steps to the top of the winding stairwell that traversed downward to the main floor. If Ezekiel were sneaking out, chances were he’d go the main route. The furniture pieces below were dark masses in the night, reminding Effie of monsters, crouching, ready to pounce. Teeth poised to sink into her neck, to drain the blood from... Oh, she should have listened to her mother and never read that awful bookDracula. She guessed that if she were married to Patrick Charlemagne, that would be a confession he’d find unseemly for a good Christian wife. If she were married to someone like Anderson, then maybe he’d merely be inspiration for the darkness.
