Page 55 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
“Thatis my wife!” He jabbed his finger at the picture.
She looked down at the photograph of a pretty woman with a kind smile, delicate features, and light-colored hair. Somehow the black-and-white tones had captured the silken beauty of the woman’s blond hair.
This was not the woman with the reddish-brown hair whom Mrs. Branson claimed to have seen with the child. This was not Isabelle Addington. Or was it? Bewildered, Effie lifted questioning eyes to Anderson.
He stared back, his mouth twisting, his face creasing in a desperate attempt to regain control, to steel himself. Anderson blew out a breath and sank onto the edge of his bed, burying his head in his hands.
Effie waited for a few long seconds before daring to approach him. She stood looking down at his bent form. He was silent, his shoulders hunched, his face hidden from her.
Finally, Effie said, “She is ... beautiful.” She studied the photograph of Anderson’s wife once more. A twinge of jealousy—she didn’t know why—touched her inside, and then Effie immediately squelched it. That Anderson loved this woman—the child—was more apparent now than it had ever been.
“Where is she?” Effie breathed, hesitating before moving around him and giving herself permission to sink onto the edge of the bed beside him. “Where is your wife?”
“I told you. She’s dead.” Anderson’s admission was familiar, but this time it was said so solemnly, muffled by his hands, that Effie knew they were no longer speaking about the woman at 322 Predicament Avenue. The pools of blood, the splatter on the mirror—those belonged to someone else. Someone who had written a letter, referring to a “songbird” and leading Anderson on a chase across the sea—not for her, but for his child.
Footsteps shuffled in the hallway, and Effie looked up to seeGus standing in the doorway. The old man looked as beaten down and defeated as Anderson now did.
Gus stepped into the room, his eyes filled with sadness. He ran a hand over his mustache, then cleared his throat. “Her name was Laura. She passed away eleven months ago—in childbirth. The child was their daughter, Cora.”
“And who’s Isabelle?”
Anderson raised his head from his hands, glaring down at the floorboards. “The woman who took my daughter from me.”
The weight of his declaration settled on Effie’s chest, stealing her breath. She met Gus’s eyes, beseeching him to confirm that all of this was the truth. His nod brought another moment of speechlessness.
Gus went on to explain. “We’ve called Isabelle his wife so it wouldn’t create suspicion. Or any trouble.”
“Trouble?” Effie questioned.
Anderson rubbed the back of his neck. “Two men following a woman? Who would you side with and try to protect? But a man asking questions and searching for his wife is far less threatening. And I’ve no idea who has my daughter or what they will do to her if I’m vocal about her. If I tell the police—anyone—whoever murdered Isabelle may do the same to my daughter.” He let out a groan. “If they haven’t already.”
The air in the room was suffocating. Effie, stunned by the revelation of Anderson’s daughter, scrambled to piece it all together, to identify the missing pieces. “So...”
“I’m not married. Not anymore.” Anderson locked eyes with her, and the pain Effie saw there pulled her in. She recollected his admission beneath the willow tree.
He was terrified of grief. Fearful of its repercussions. Yes, she could understand now. Anderson couldn’t afford to grieve. He couldn’t waste time or effort to face that his wife had died almost a year before and his baby girl had been taken from him. The child wouldn’t even recognize him were he to find her!
Effie noticed his hands, which were on his knees now. His fingers kneaded his trousers with a nervous type of energy as he worked to control his breathing and calm himself. Before he could disappear inside of his soul, convincing himself to shut out the world around him, Effie reached over and placed her hand over his.
Anderson stilled. He stared down at her hand, her palm pressing into the back of his hand. She ached to say something that would bring comfort, both to him and to Gus, who stood by in silent witness. But there were no words to be had when the reality of life’s horrors was splayed out for all to share in.
Effie’s terror of losing Polly was equaled only by the fact that Anderson had already gone before and walked that road with his wife, Laura. Perhaps one day, when and if this was all over, they could face the grief together. But for now, for today, they just needed to be together. For the sake of Polly, at the risk of whoever and whatever was hunting at Predicament Avenue. And for the sake of baby Cora, who wouldn’t know her father but whose existence was what gave Anderson his determination, and whose life hung in the balance and in the void of the unknown.
She had been wrong, Effie decided, even as Anderson continued to stare at their hands stacked together. Death wasn’t the worst monster. Not knowing was. Not knowing when Polly would die. Not knowing if Polly was even safe. Not knowing who and what had created such a heinous scene at 322 Predicament Avenue. And not knowing if Anderson’s baby girl was even still alive to save.
Her
DOESGODREPLAYyour sins for you after you die? These are the sort of thoughts I ponder as I stare down at the gravestones. The moon is absent tonight, the earth silent. “Silent as the grave,” they say. I shall soon find out.
I remember my sins. I remember many of the small ones, most of the bad ones, and all of the terrible ones. Sometimes I question why—why did I choose that path instead of a safer path?
But I am still good. I am not evil or wicked. The most important of the commandments I have kept, and sacredly.
God will take that into account once I am dead, won’t He?
I bend down to brush sticks from a stone. The name stares up at me with a hollow void. I try to imagine what this person was like in life. Their smiles, their joys, their dreams. So empty now. They took none of them with them into the afterlife. When a soul leaves its body, the corpse is left behind to decay. Loved ones sift through belongings and determine what to keep or discard. Property, if owned, is sold or handed down. Photographs may stay on display for a time, but in one, two, most certainlythree generations, they will be tucked into a trunk. No one will recognize the person’s name anymore. The family tree will have expanded, their name unmatched to their image.
What does a person take with them when they die? Nothing. They go before God with a naked soul.
