Secrets at Dillehay Crossing - Chapter 6-The Woman in the Tulip Skirt

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Lilly turned off her car’s engine; stepped outside into the stifling summer heat; and walked towards the Dillehay Crossing bridge. The creek below her was as flat as any mirror and lay without a ripple as if time itself had stopped. From the tall pines around the creek’s edge came not a sound, no movement of branches, no birds calling. No air stirred the grass or leaves. No clouds drifted by in the sea of blue above. No water dripped or flowed. Even Lilly’s own breath seemed to die as soon as it left her mouth. An eerie sort of tranquility enveloped Lilly, and she stood at the creek’s edge watching the reflection of the old farmhouse on the creek’s surface. A faint wind brushed against the creek’s glistening surface, ruffling the water’s stillness and shattering the reflection of the old abandoned farmhouse; but Lilly didn’t blink. She just kept her eyes on the creek pondering her dilemma. I promised Granddaddy Dave I wouldn’t go back inside the old farmhouse, and a promise is a promise. But what if I went inside the old house just one more time? What’s the harm in that, especially if I don’t stay long? Besides, Granddaddy will never even know.

Lilly jaunted across the bridge toward the deserted farmhouse, trampling through the long, unkempt grass that grew around it and placing her footfalls in the footpaths made by the people who once lived there. Lilly studied the old house as she contemplated her decision. It wore the color of unfinished wood, weathered for countless years by harsh elements and baked by the hot summer sun. It had collapsed inwardly on itself somewhat, like a loaf of bread taken out of the oven too soon. Its untouched doors were covered with a thick layer of dust, and its cracked windows seemed to stare at her like the eyes of an empty soul—a soul that begged her to come inside

Lilly tiptoed up the back porch steps, her echoing footsteps invading the silence that hung like a cloak around the house. I wish I could honor my promise to you, Granddaddy Dave. But this house beckons me inside, and I can’t ignore its summons. She twisted the brass doorknob in her hand, and the rotting door creaked open sending a shiver down Lilly’s spine. Cobwebs brushed across her face as she inched her way deeper into the house. As she moved through the house, dust billowed into clouds making it difficult for Lilly to breathe. The house felt unnaturally still, and the only sound she heard was her own breathing and the groaning floor under her feet. Lilly headed for the stairs and took a deep breath before placing even some of her weight on the lowest step.

The boards beneath her squeaked; the squeaking—immediate and loud—didn’t surprise her. But if anyone or anything was upstairs, they now knew she was there. Lilly paused before beginning her ascent. She crept up the stairs, stopping at the second floor landing. She came to a faded green door, its paint curling with age. Reaching out, Lilly opened it. On the other side of the door, Lilly saw her again—the transparent figure of a woman. This time, the ghost—dressed in a swooping but snug tulip bell skirt and pleated blouse—stood frozen in place. It stared at Lilly with wide eyes, its face passive and slack. After a moment of indecision, Lilly took a half step backward and turned to go. Then she heard a rending plea so piercing that Lilly clamped her hands over her ears. “Help John! Please help John! Heal the family! Only you can. Please!”

Lilly turned back around. “But…but I don’t know anyone named John.”

Without saying another word, the woman disappeared, fading into one of the bedroom walls. Lilly slumped to the ground; propped herself up against the wall; and gazed into the open door. “Who are you and what’s your name?” she pleaded in a low, pained voice. “Did you once live here? Come back! John? Who’s John? I don’t know anyone named John. Come back and talk to me! Please!” Time fell away while Lilly sat and waited for answers that never came. Eventually, Lilly gave up and made her way back down the stairs. She lingered outside peering into one of the second story windows. Suddenly, something caught Lilly’s eye. The curtain moved revealing the silhouette of a young woman standing at the window cradling a baby in her arms. Again, a chill crawled down Lilly’s spine. Did I really see a ghost or did I just imagine her? She shuffled back a step or two and scurried back to her car. I’ve got to get out of here. Relda’s expecting me. She flung open her car door and slid into the front seat, struggling to fasten her seatbelt.

A few minutes later Lilly pulled into the driveway adjacent to Granddaddy Dave and Relda’s place and saw Relda sitting outside on an old porch swing. Relda stood up and motioned Lilly to join her. “Come over here and sit with me. I’ve been expecting you.”

Still breathless and in shock, Lilly approached the old swing and seated herself next to Relda. “My, my, Lilly. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. You’re probably just a bit parched. How about a tall glass of some of my Texas lemonade? It’s the perfect drink on a hot summer day like today.”

“Oh, yes, Relda. Lemonade sounds refreshing.”

Relda poured Lilly a tall glass and added some extra ice. “I squeezed the lemons and made it fresh just this afternoon. You’re gonna love it.”

Lilly tipped her glass and took a big drink. “I had no idea how thirsty I was.” She took a few more sips. “Gee! Your lemonade has a bite to it and tastes nothing like my Grammy’s. I like it, though. What’s in it?”

“I make it special with just the right combination of squeezed lemons, sugar, vodka, and some other secret ingredients.”

“Ah, must be the vodka.” Lilly moistened her lips with her tongue. “My mouth is dryer than a sandbox in summer; I sure could use another glass of your lemonade—that is if you have some already made.”

“I do! During the summer I always keep a chilled pitcher handy! Grab your glass and let’s go inside. You’ll find a new pitcher in the icebox. The kitchen is just past the staircase. Make a right at the hallway; you can’t miss it.” Relda pointed Lilly in the right direction. “Make yourself at home while I go upstairs and grab some boots for you to try on.”

Lilly followed Relda’s instructions but stopped before ever making her way to the kitchen. A gallery of Mason family photographs and memorabilia lined the wall above the staircase and grabbed her attention. Much like her obsession with old houses, Lilly had a passion for old photographs. Unlike a casual observer, Lilly often stared into the old photographs, looking beyond their black and white images and seeing something in the photos that other people didn’t. Although she didn’t always know the people in the photograph or what happened before the picture was taken, occasionally Lilly sensed the secrets of the picture—the stuff hidden from the camera’s lens. Other times, she wondered about the invisible story that was just beyond the illusion of the photographer’s view and yearned to know the stories concealed within the photograph.

So naturally, the unspoken, frozen narrative scripted on Relda’s wall piqued Lilly’s curiosity. She placed her right hand on the banister; stepped forward a couple of steps; and caressed one of the frames—an antique oak and gesso floral frame that housed a yellowed and faded black and white wedding photo. How odd that even in pictures of their innocence and youth, young people look old and worn.

Next to the wedding photo was another frame cradling the picture of a younger Relda wearing an elegant Edwardian wedding gown. How stunning Relda looks! How innocent she seems draped in pure white satin. Perhaps she’s not innocent at all—just naïve about her future and unaware as to how the tapestry of her life will be woven. How peculiar. Here I am some years later looking at her picture with the knowledge of how her life unfolded—the hardships she endured and the heartache she survived. How paradoxical photos are.

Lilly inched her way up the staircase totally absorbed in the photographs and the people frozen within them, unaware that Relda was watching her from the top of the stairs. “You seem to be fascinated with my old photographs,” Relda said startling Lilly.

“Yes,” Lilly smiled in agreement. “I am. I cherish old photographs for the way they capture a moment that might have easily been forgotten and quietly freeze it.

“I’m glad you appreciate them, Lilly. Not many people share my fondness for old family photos. Call me crazy, but having the photographs and memorabilia here keeps me connected with those who’ve passed. Sometimes I feel their energy or even their presence here with me.”

“For what it’s worth, Relda, I don’t think you’re crazy at all. Personally, I believe that after death a person’s spirit lingers here with us. True, we can no longer see that person, but a portion of their energy remains here and is connected to us.”

“Finally!” Relda smiled a slow smile. “I’ve found a kindred spirit!” Tell you what. Why don’t we take a look at a few more of these old photographs.”

“Fantastic!” Lilly said in a thrilled voice. “I’d like to know more about the Masons and their past. I’ve got to be honest with you. I get so frustrated with Nick; he won’t tell me anything about the Masons at all. He seems hesitant, almost secretive, like he’s running away from his past. ‘Just let the past be,’ he says.”

“You need to understand,” Relda turned at an angle, “Nick has had an agonizing past that he’d just as soon keep locked away. And I’m afraid Dave has convinced Nick that ignoring the past somehow protects Nick from painful events from his past. Two peas in a pod those two are. And Dave certainly doesn’t understand why I hang old photographs and memorabilia on the wall. ‘Makes no sense to me,’ he says. Dave doesn’t grasp just how intertwined the past is with the present. At times,” Relda said, her voice sounding strained all of a sudden, “I wish Dave and Nick would face their pasts and the secrets that haunt them. I don’t like seeing them in pain.”

“Maybe the two of us can conspire against them,” Lilly said with a playful look in her eyes.

“You and me against Dave and Nick! They’ll never know what hit them! Yes!” Relda exclaimed, a corner of her mouth quirking in amusement. “Now, let’s take a look at some more of my photos.”

Lilly followed Relda to the base of the staircase. “This picture,” Relda pointed toward the black and white wedding photo Lilly had seen earlier, “is a picture of Dave’s parents, Mitch and Stella, on their wedding day back in Tennessee. One day while rummaging through our attic, I discovered her bridal bonnet—the one you see in the picture. The lace, flowers, and ribbons hadn’t deteriorated, but I knew I needed to preserve Stella’s bonnet. So, I had it mounted in a frame from that time period. I think Stella would’ve liked having this remembrance of her hanging on our wall.”

“Absolutely!” Lilly gently touched the scrolls and flowers on the frame. “I rather like it.”

Relda stood motionless for a few seconds and sighed a shallow sigh. “I wish you could’ve known Stella. You would’ve liked her. She was a kind and creative soul who always kept her hands busy with some type of needlepoint or embroidery. That needlepoint to the right of her framed bonnet is one of her many pieces. Stella designed and stitched that particular piece. Do you recognize it?”

Lilly stepped up on her tiptoes for a closer look. “It sort of looks like the gazebo I drove by earlier, but the gazebo in this needlepoint is different; and it’s gazebo surrounded by forget-me-nots with a weeping willow growing behind it. The words ‘Mason 1894’ are stitched across the bottom.”

“It’s actually a rendering of the original gazebo Mitch made for Stella shortly after they moved to Texas. Stella wanted a quiet, shady place to sketch and needlepoint while her children played. So Mitch built that gazebo for Stella underneath the shade of a large willow tree. Dave remembers him and his baby sister spending summer days playing inside the gazebo while Stella sketched, stitched her needlepoint, or groomed her forget-me-nots.

But after Stella’s passing, Mitch and Dave couldn’t bring themselves to visit the gazebo. So it slowly decayed and crumbled. But my son, James David, loved the weeping willow tree and wanted to pay homage to his grandmother. So he tore down the original gazebo and built a new one. He salvaged some of the original boards, though, and used them in making the bench inside. That gazebo is the same one you drove by as you came towards our house; it’s also where we have the annual Fourth of July shindig.”

“Stella just adored my James David.” Relda’s eyes brightened. “She spent countless hours playing checkers with him in that gazebo. James was born a year or so after her daughter, Francine, passed. I think he filled the whole in her heart.” Relda reached up, took down an antique button picture frame and handed it to Lilli. “This is a picture of Stella’s daughter, Francine, on her wedding day.”

Lilly gasped, did a double take, and stared at the picture in disbelief. She looks like the ghostly woman I saw back at the old farmhouse! “Who’d you say is in that picture?” Lilly asked anticipating Relda’s response.

“Francine, Dave’s baby sister. She and I were the same age,” Relda continued. “So even before Dave and I married, we became best friends. While we were shopping for my wedding dress, Francine told me, ‘Relda, I don’t want a traditional wedding dress. I have my mind set on a tulip skirt to go with the white pleated blouse you gave me for my birthday. You’re a better seamstress than I, so when I get married will you make the skirt for me?’ I wanted her to have the dress she wanted, so after her engagement I purchased some white taffeta fabric and made the skirt you see in this photograph.”

Lilly gazed into the photograph. “Are those forget-me-nots in Francine’s bridal bouquet?”

“Why, yes, they are. Francine loved her mother’s gazebo and chose it as the place for her and Robert’s wedding. And given the setting, forget-me-nots were the perfect choice.” Relda’s blue-gray eyes misted with tears, and her lips trembled until she bit them. “Twelve months later, Francine died giving birth to John. I miss Stella and Francine. Lordy! I miss my James too!

Relda reached into her pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I recall that on the day of Francine’s funeral Stella said, ‘Outliving your children is just not natural; it’s not supposed to happen this way.’ My son, James David, was born about a year later. I’m glad that Stella passed before James and his wife, Helen, were killed in that tornado. Stella would’ve shattered in a million pieces if she’d had to experience losing her grandson.”

Lilly eased herself down onto one of the steps. “Who took care of Francine’s baby after she passed?”

“Robert tried.” Relda sat on the step next to Lilly. “But he was an unquiet, perturbed soul who convinced himself that John was to blame for Francine’s death. He distanced himself from John, abandoning him for days on end, and leaving him to his own devices. But a child needs his parents. Then there were those times when Robert beat the boy for no good reason always shouting, ‘You dumb no count; you’re nothin’ but trouble.’ The beatings and anger leeched away at John’s heart making him callous and afraid.

I offered to take John and raise him alongside James, but Robert wanted no part of me and my help. A course, John’s soul was like a hurricane—wild and full of fury, unruly, unpredictable, and wayward—destroying everyone and everything in his path. I swear! That boy grew wickeder by the day—always fighting monsters he couldn’t see and then became one himself.”

“How so?”

“Oh, no! Now, I’ve gone and said too much about that side of the family.” Relda stepped off the staircase, and Lilly followed her to the kitchen. “Dave don’t take too kindly to my talking about that side of the family. I best stop.”

“Oh please, Relda, don’t stop. I want to know more about the Mason family. Besides,” Lilly placed her empty glass on the table and traipsed around the kitchen weighing options in her mind. Can I trust Relda? If so, should I tell her I saw the tulip-skirted woman over at the old farmhouse? How will she react? But Relda said we’re kindred spirit. Surely she’ll understand. Surely. “I saw her!” Lilli blurted. “I saw her. The woman in . . .”

“Who?” Relda asked in a rushed tone. “Who’d you see?”

“The woman…the woman in the wedding photo wearing the tulip skirt.”

“Francine? You saw Francine? “That’s not possible!” Relda’s mouth slacked, her expression blanched, going pale. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I saw her earlier today while rummaging through the old farmhouse just beyond Dillehay Creek.”

Relda slumped down into one of the kitchen chairs; grabbed onto the side of the kitchen table; sighed; and reached for Lilly’s hand. “May I tell you a secret”

Lilly gave Relda an understanding nod.

“Sometimes Francine visits me in my dreams. Other times,” Relda stood up and looked out her kitchen window at the nearby crumbling structure, “I see her wandering through that old house, unaware of the passage of time. I hear the wind rushing through the broken window panes moaning mournfully. I hear the floors creaking and door hinges announcing her presence. That was Francine’s house—once a place of light and love, full of family and friends. She took delight in cooking in her kitchen, sketching in the gazebo, and dancing in the rain. She had a garden for picking her favorite vegetables and a nursery prepared for her child. All of that is nothing but ruins now, shrouded in cobwebs, drowning in dust, decorated with 50-year old memories and pain.

You know, she never saw the blow that sent her falling down the stairs to death’s calling.” Relda turned and faced Lilly. “With more frequency than ever before, I’ve seen Francine roaming through the house wailing, ‘John, John’ in long, haunting murmurs. I figure something must’ve happened recently to disturb her spirit. Tell me,” Relda struggled to speak then flopped into one of the nearby chairs, “did Francine talk to you? What did she say?”

Lilly stared at the old structure focusing on one of the second story windows. “When I opened one of the doors at the top of the stairs, she pleaded, ‘Help John! Please help John. Heal the family. Only you can.’ Then she disappeared into one of the bedroom walls.” Lilly turned around and sat down next Relda. “Of course, until now I didn’t know for sure who John was. Whatever happened to him?”

“It’s a long, complicated story, dear heart; and it’s difficult to explain,” Relda said, her voice wavering. “After he left Dillehay Crossing, I don’t rightly know exactly what happened to John. I assume he’s either dead or in jail somewhere.” Relda abruptly stopped talking and put a hand to her throat swallowing a hard, obvious swallow.

Lilly scanned Relda’s face. “You’re not telling me anything else, are you?”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t. I just can’t. Talking about Francine and John is just too painful and too unnerving. Perhaps Dave is right. I should let the past be.”

“But, Relda, how can I disregard Francine’s pleas for help? How can you ignore her disturbed soul? She needs our help. Talk to me, Relda, so that I may help Francine. Please, Relda, please.”

“I don’t know, dear heart. I just don’t know. I need some time to think,” Relda said with a choked voice.

“Okay, Relda.” Lilly laid her hand lightly on Relda’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for having pushed you to the point that I made you uncomfortable.”

“That’s alright, dear, that’s all right. Dave will be home soon so maybe we best wrap things up.” Relda scoured through the boxes of boots and avoided making eye contact with Lilly. “Ah, here they are.” Relda’s eyes met Lilly’s. “The red alligator boots! I bet these will suit you fine!”

Using the boot straps, Lilly pushed each of her feet into the boots and stood up. “How do they look, Relda?”

“They’re an excellent match for your outfit.” Relda knelt down at Lilly’s feet and felt where Lilly’s big toe hit the tip of the boot. “The boots seem to be the right length for your foot, but how do they feel?”

“The heels make me feel like I’m walking on stilts,” Lilly turned the boot over and looked at the soles. They’re so slick on the bottom, and the boots themselves are pretty stiff making my feet feel cramped inside. Is that how they’re supposed to feel?”

“Cowboy boots do feel a bit rigid and tight, especially when they’re new. ‘Cause cowboy boots have no lacing, that snug-fitting leather shaft was designed to hold the boot in place. But after wearing the boots for a while, you won’t even notice that confined feeling; and you’ll be mighty grateful that they kept your ankles stable while you’re dancin’. And those slick soles. We’ll they’ll help you glide across the dance floor and make them splinters fly. Maybe you need to make sure you’ll be comfortable walking and dancing in them. Why don’t you take a stroll outside and give them a try.”

Lilly stood up and walked rather stiff-legged through the house making her way outside. In the meantime, Relda hurried upstairs to her bedroom and riffled through her jewelry box until she found two antique skeleton keys wrapped in white tissue paper. She clutched the keys in one hand and combed through her hanky drawer with the other. At the bottom of the drawer Relda found a vintage handkerchief embroidered with forget-me-nots. I want Lilly to have something that belonged to Stella, and this is perfect! Lilly will appreciate having it. Relda placed the keys inside the handkerchief; and before going downstairs, she penned a short note.

Relda folded the note; placed it and the keys in a small envelope; and returned to the kitchen where she laid the envelope inside the empty boot box. Lilly returned and found Relda sitting at the kitchen table sipping on some of her lemonade. “So, what do you think, Lilly?”

“These boots will be fine for this new cowgirl. Thanks for loaning them to me so I can get used to dancing in them before the shindig.”

“While you were gone, I was thinking that you otta have your own pair of boots. So, I’d like to give these boots to you.”

“Oh, Relda, no. I can’t accept these. Granddaddy Dave bought these boots especially for you.”

“Lilly, Dave doesn’t realize that red alligator boots are just a little too flashy for this old cowgirl. But they’re a great match for a young cowgirl like you. Besides, you look mighty spiffy in them. Please.” She handed Lilly the empty boot box. “Take ‘em and enjoy ‘em.”

“Well, okay,” Lilly lowered her head and stuttered out a response. “I’m overwhelmed and touched, Relda. Thank you.” Lilly lifted the lid off the boot box. “Here, let me put my regular shoes inside. I’d like to wear my new boots and get used to them.” Lilly peered inside the shoebox and found the sealed note with her name on it. “What’s this, Relda?”

“Oh, don’t bother looking inside the envelope right now.” Relda placed Lilly’s shoes inside the box and shut the lid. “Open it when you’re alone; promise me, though, that you’ll be careful. Secrets can be dark and dangerous, especially those hidden for a long time.”

“Be careful?” Lilly looked at Relda with slight surprise in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll understand in due time, my dear. In due time.”

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