Post by Steve on Sept 30, 2014 17:27:40 GMT -5
I'll be reading this first chapter of a tale I call Jessica's Ghosts at a cemetery the night before Halloween. My friends in charge of the event want stories, poems and observations on the theme of mortality. I thought this ticked all the necessary boxes. Hope you like it.
If this little event shows up on Youtube, I'll post a link. In the meantime, as with all public speaking performances, I'll make sure my chest is thrust out so far you'd think my nipples were attached to a pair of charging elephants
.
CHAPTER ONE
Eight years after Jessica stood at St Jude's altar and took Patrick William Blake as her lawful wedded husband, she returned there to bury him. When the verger opened the doors, Patrick's legion of relatives swarmed into the church. Jessica found an empty pew, crossed herself and knelt. Her arrival didn't go unnoticed but, with eyes closed and head bowed, she could ignore any sly glances or whispered comments.
Father Crane wished his congregation the grace and peace of their Lord and assured them God was their refuge and strength. Jessica felt little hope of that, but the man behind the message sounded much as she remembered. While his hair had greyed and his waistline had spread, his manner hadn't changed.
With a slide show of photos to guide him, Richard Blake spoke for ten minutes about the older brother he would never equal and had always loved. The Patrick he described came across as more even-tempered and reasonable than the one Jessica married, but she opted not to correct him.
Richard stood down from the lectern and resumed his seat, where Andrew gave him a paternal clap on the shoulder and Susan made sure she was seen to hug him. She consoled one son and gave little indication of having lost the other, which didn't surprise Jessica at all. Stiff upper lips ran in the Blake family.
Father Crane took to the pulpit again and led his flock in the twenty third Psalm. Green pastures and still waters promised Jessica no sanctuary. Her walk through the darkest valley had just begun, and goodness and mercy were in very short supply.
After a chorus of Amazing Grace, St Paul spoke through Andrew to assure everyone that they, along with the risen Christ, would walk in newness of life. Father Crane followed him with John's reminder of the many dwelling places in the Father's house and a sermon that struck a fair balance between memories of the Patrick he'd known as a boy and reverence for the God who saw fit to reclaim his soul.
Reminiscences of a pre-teen Patrick drawing out confirmation classes with questions no-one cared to answer struck an all too resonant chord with his widow. Had he lived, Jessica doubted Patrick's argumentative streak would have mellowed with age. She had witnessed him in action, and borne the brunt of it, too often to think otherwise.
When the organist had played the last notes of Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer, Father Crane embarked on another round of prayers. Jessica flicked through the booklet to find her place and asked God to save her from the time of trial. That one line did more for her than any divine rod or staff. It seemed a sensible request.
*
A light rain accompanied the outdoor leg of Patrick's journey to his final resting place, and the drops that splashed Jessica's cheeks made up for the tears she hadn't cried earlier. Father Crane gave thanks for the sure and certain hope of a resurrection to eternal life, and Andrew, Susan and Richard each came forward to throw dirt on the coffin. This started a queue of mourners eager to do the same and, by the time Jessica reached the graveside, most of them had wandered off to start on the anecdotes and nibbles. She considered leaving them to it, then decided her presence would raise fewer eyebrows than her absence. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Jessica's resolve held until she reached the church hall. Someone had set the air conditioner to sauna level and turned it on full blast. The heat threatened to choke her and, as panic tightened its grip, she found the toilet and sat in there until the cubicle stopped spinning. When she felt close to human again, she got up and staggered over to the sink to splash some water on her face. Pull yourself together, woman.
The hall was no less stifling when Jessica returned. Through its haze she braced herself for an onslaught of sympathy. The platitudes came thick and fast. People whose phone numbers she'd never thought to dial urged her to ring if she needed anything, and a few of them meant it.
One of Jessica's well wishers proved harder to shake off than the others. Harriet Powers, with her surgeon sculpted nose and decade of amateur theatre, threw both arms around her and wept with enough force to ruin her makeup. The same shade had often stained Patrick's shirt collars.
'Darling,' she wailed. 'I'm so very sorry.'
Between Harriet's sobs, Jessica kept an eye open for Father Crane. She caught sight of him, wrestled free of her rival's embrace and went over to thank the priest for his morning's work.
'Glad to help. Despite the circumstances, it's good to see you.'
'You're the only one who'd say so.'
'You were an important part of Patrick's life. You've as much reason to be here as anybody.'
'Tell that to his nearest and dearest.'
'Have you talked to them today?'
'I wouldn't know what to say. The inquest was bad enough. They looked straight through me.'
'You'll have to face them sooner or later. A part of you knows that, or you wouldn't have come.'
'You must get so bored.'
'With what?'
'Being right all the time.'
Father Crane smiled. 'Would you like me to have a word?'
'Thanks, I think.'
'Back in a tick. Don't go anywhere.'
Jessica munched on a canapé. She wasn't hungry, but food gave her something to do while Father Crane rounded up the Blakes and shepherded them over to the buffet table. He gave Jessica a discreet thumbs up and made himself scarce.
'Hello Mum, Dad.' The titles sounded no less uncomfortable than when Patrick first insisted she use them. 'Lovely service and a beautiful eulogy. Well done, Richard.'
'Too soon,' said Andrew.
Jessica couldn’t meet her father in law's gaze. 'I know.'
Susan raised her voice enough to turn heads. 'If you know so much, tell us what really happened to Patrick.'
'It was an accident.'
'That's what you want to believe so you can sleep at night.'
Richard stepped into the firing line. 'Mum, leave it. This isn't the time or place.'
'Then what is?'
'I should go,' said Jessica.
Susan looked ready to spit. 'You do that. Go home to the house we helped you buy and think about the damage you've done.'
*
As St Jude’s and its surrounds shrank in her rear vision mirror, Jessica hoped the reason for being there might weigh less on her heart and mind. Her yoke, however, was not easy. Like the atmosphere in the hall, the burden of memory pressed hard enough to suffocate. Jessica rolled down her window as far as it would go. Fresh air helped her remember how to breathe, but it couldn't take the sting out of Susan's words. Her accusations churned through Jessica's brain as she drove and she turned up the radio to drown them out. A boy band agonised in close harmony over broken hearts and stolen kisses, faded out on what seemed like their fourteenth refrain and gave way to a promo.
'Stay tuned at the top of the hour when we ask Jessica Blake the fifty thousand dollar question, how does it feel to be free?’
Jessica tried and failed to concentrate on the road. 'You're not real. I’m hearing things. It’s stress, that’s all.’
‘You keep telling yourself that, but you know what we’re asking and what the answer is. Truth or dare.’
'Get lost.'
'Right, like you were from the moment you walked down the aisle.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'You know as well as anyone. You heard the first track of that live Gospel hour this morning. “I once was lost but now am found.” That's you, Jess.'
'Leave me alone.'
'That's what you should have said to Patrick.'
'I've had just about enough of this.'
'That too.'
'Look-'
A wave of static returned the station to its normal programme. 'For your chance to win an exclusive meet and greet, be the first caller through when you hear their new single. Now it’s over to Ed with the latest weather and traffic.’
Jessica turned off the radio. Rather than put her at ease, silence brought her anxiety into sharp focus. She became hyper aware of every lane change or press of foot on pedal and drove the rest of the way home like a nervous teenager in the midst of her first lesson. Impatient fellow motorists did their worst to make her trip even harder with an ensemble of horn blasts, angry faces and middle digits. Relief washed over her as she turned from the main road into Birchmore Avenue and headed towards the last house on her right.
Her comfort lasted as long as it took to go up the drive. The front door was ajar and, even in her present state, she wouldn’t have been careless enough to leave it like that. Someone was, or had been, inside.
On legs she scarcely trusted to support her, Jessica got out of the car and locked it. Each footfall echoed as she walked across the front veranda and poked her head through the half open doorway.
‘Hello?’
No answer. Not that she expected one. What intruder worth their salt would stop rummaging through the jewellery drawer at the sound of such a feeble voice? Jessica cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Is anyone there?’
Nothing. She picked up a poker, ornamental rather than harmful, from the fireplace, crept from the lounge to the kitchen to Patrick’s study and expected to surprise a different burglar in every room. All were empty, which meant the cuckoo in her nest must have found somewhere to perch upstairs.
Jessica’s heels clicked and clacked on the staircase’s red oak surface. A carpet runner, which she and Patrick had often discussed but never done anything about, would have given her the element of surprise. She had no idea who she’d find at the top or what she’d do with them. A phone would have been a better choice of weapon than a poker, she couldn’t call for help with one of those, but she’d grabbed the first thing she found.
The trespasser, whoever he or she might be, would soon run out of places to hide on the top storey. With the en suite bathroom unoccupied and the spare room full of books, CDs and DVDs that had spilled out from the shelves downstairs, that left the master bedroom.
With a trembling hand, Jessica reached for the door. The handle slipped from her damp palm three times before she managed to open it. When she succeeded, all she wanted was to be on the other side. Of the country if possible.
What Jessica saw made her drop the poker and put a hand in front of her mouth as she began to retch. Patrick lay on his side of their marital bed, his body ripe with the stench of death.
If this little event shows up on Youtube, I'll post a link. In the meantime, as with all public speaking performances, I'll make sure my chest is thrust out so far you'd think my nipples were attached to a pair of charging elephants
.CHAPTER ONE
Eight years after Jessica stood at St Jude's altar and took Patrick William Blake as her lawful wedded husband, she returned there to bury him. When the verger opened the doors, Patrick's legion of relatives swarmed into the church. Jessica found an empty pew, crossed herself and knelt. Her arrival didn't go unnoticed but, with eyes closed and head bowed, she could ignore any sly glances or whispered comments.
Father Crane wished his congregation the grace and peace of their Lord and assured them God was their refuge and strength. Jessica felt little hope of that, but the man behind the message sounded much as she remembered. While his hair had greyed and his waistline had spread, his manner hadn't changed.
With a slide show of photos to guide him, Richard Blake spoke for ten minutes about the older brother he would never equal and had always loved. The Patrick he described came across as more even-tempered and reasonable than the one Jessica married, but she opted not to correct him.
Richard stood down from the lectern and resumed his seat, where Andrew gave him a paternal clap on the shoulder and Susan made sure she was seen to hug him. She consoled one son and gave little indication of having lost the other, which didn't surprise Jessica at all. Stiff upper lips ran in the Blake family.
Father Crane took to the pulpit again and led his flock in the twenty third Psalm. Green pastures and still waters promised Jessica no sanctuary. Her walk through the darkest valley had just begun, and goodness and mercy were in very short supply.
After a chorus of Amazing Grace, St Paul spoke through Andrew to assure everyone that they, along with the risen Christ, would walk in newness of life. Father Crane followed him with John's reminder of the many dwelling places in the Father's house and a sermon that struck a fair balance between memories of the Patrick he'd known as a boy and reverence for the God who saw fit to reclaim his soul.
Reminiscences of a pre-teen Patrick drawing out confirmation classes with questions no-one cared to answer struck an all too resonant chord with his widow. Had he lived, Jessica doubted Patrick's argumentative streak would have mellowed with age. She had witnessed him in action, and borne the brunt of it, too often to think otherwise.
When the organist had played the last notes of Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer, Father Crane embarked on another round of prayers. Jessica flicked through the booklet to find her place and asked God to save her from the time of trial. That one line did more for her than any divine rod or staff. It seemed a sensible request.
*
A light rain accompanied the outdoor leg of Patrick's journey to his final resting place, and the drops that splashed Jessica's cheeks made up for the tears she hadn't cried earlier. Father Crane gave thanks for the sure and certain hope of a resurrection to eternal life, and Andrew, Susan and Richard each came forward to throw dirt on the coffin. This started a queue of mourners eager to do the same and, by the time Jessica reached the graveside, most of them had wandered off to start on the anecdotes and nibbles. She considered leaving them to it, then decided her presence would raise fewer eyebrows than her absence. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Jessica's resolve held until she reached the church hall. Someone had set the air conditioner to sauna level and turned it on full blast. The heat threatened to choke her and, as panic tightened its grip, she found the toilet and sat in there until the cubicle stopped spinning. When she felt close to human again, she got up and staggered over to the sink to splash some water on her face. Pull yourself together, woman.
The hall was no less stifling when Jessica returned. Through its haze she braced herself for an onslaught of sympathy. The platitudes came thick and fast. People whose phone numbers she'd never thought to dial urged her to ring if she needed anything, and a few of them meant it.
One of Jessica's well wishers proved harder to shake off than the others. Harriet Powers, with her surgeon sculpted nose and decade of amateur theatre, threw both arms around her and wept with enough force to ruin her makeup. The same shade had often stained Patrick's shirt collars.
'Darling,' she wailed. 'I'm so very sorry.'
Between Harriet's sobs, Jessica kept an eye open for Father Crane. She caught sight of him, wrestled free of her rival's embrace and went over to thank the priest for his morning's work.
'Glad to help. Despite the circumstances, it's good to see you.'
'You're the only one who'd say so.'
'You were an important part of Patrick's life. You've as much reason to be here as anybody.'
'Tell that to his nearest and dearest.'
'Have you talked to them today?'
'I wouldn't know what to say. The inquest was bad enough. They looked straight through me.'
'You'll have to face them sooner or later. A part of you knows that, or you wouldn't have come.'
'You must get so bored.'
'With what?'
'Being right all the time.'
Father Crane smiled. 'Would you like me to have a word?'
'Thanks, I think.'
'Back in a tick. Don't go anywhere.'
Jessica munched on a canapé. She wasn't hungry, but food gave her something to do while Father Crane rounded up the Blakes and shepherded them over to the buffet table. He gave Jessica a discreet thumbs up and made himself scarce.
'Hello Mum, Dad.' The titles sounded no less uncomfortable than when Patrick first insisted she use them. 'Lovely service and a beautiful eulogy. Well done, Richard.'
'Too soon,' said Andrew.
Jessica couldn’t meet her father in law's gaze. 'I know.'
Susan raised her voice enough to turn heads. 'If you know so much, tell us what really happened to Patrick.'
'It was an accident.'
'That's what you want to believe so you can sleep at night.'
Richard stepped into the firing line. 'Mum, leave it. This isn't the time or place.'
'Then what is?'
'I should go,' said Jessica.
Susan looked ready to spit. 'You do that. Go home to the house we helped you buy and think about the damage you've done.'
*
As St Jude’s and its surrounds shrank in her rear vision mirror, Jessica hoped the reason for being there might weigh less on her heart and mind. Her yoke, however, was not easy. Like the atmosphere in the hall, the burden of memory pressed hard enough to suffocate. Jessica rolled down her window as far as it would go. Fresh air helped her remember how to breathe, but it couldn't take the sting out of Susan's words. Her accusations churned through Jessica's brain as she drove and she turned up the radio to drown them out. A boy band agonised in close harmony over broken hearts and stolen kisses, faded out on what seemed like their fourteenth refrain and gave way to a promo.
'Stay tuned at the top of the hour when we ask Jessica Blake the fifty thousand dollar question, how does it feel to be free?’
Jessica tried and failed to concentrate on the road. 'You're not real. I’m hearing things. It’s stress, that’s all.’
‘You keep telling yourself that, but you know what we’re asking and what the answer is. Truth or dare.’
'Get lost.'
'Right, like you were from the moment you walked down the aisle.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'You know as well as anyone. You heard the first track of that live Gospel hour this morning. “I once was lost but now am found.” That's you, Jess.'
'Leave me alone.'
'That's what you should have said to Patrick.'
'I've had just about enough of this.'
'That too.'
'Look-'
A wave of static returned the station to its normal programme. 'For your chance to win an exclusive meet and greet, be the first caller through when you hear their new single. Now it’s over to Ed with the latest weather and traffic.’
Jessica turned off the radio. Rather than put her at ease, silence brought her anxiety into sharp focus. She became hyper aware of every lane change or press of foot on pedal and drove the rest of the way home like a nervous teenager in the midst of her first lesson. Impatient fellow motorists did their worst to make her trip even harder with an ensemble of horn blasts, angry faces and middle digits. Relief washed over her as she turned from the main road into Birchmore Avenue and headed towards the last house on her right.
Her comfort lasted as long as it took to go up the drive. The front door was ajar and, even in her present state, she wouldn’t have been careless enough to leave it like that. Someone was, or had been, inside.
On legs she scarcely trusted to support her, Jessica got out of the car and locked it. Each footfall echoed as she walked across the front veranda and poked her head through the half open doorway.
‘Hello?’
No answer. Not that she expected one. What intruder worth their salt would stop rummaging through the jewellery drawer at the sound of such a feeble voice? Jessica cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Is anyone there?’
Nothing. She picked up a poker, ornamental rather than harmful, from the fireplace, crept from the lounge to the kitchen to Patrick’s study and expected to surprise a different burglar in every room. All were empty, which meant the cuckoo in her nest must have found somewhere to perch upstairs.
Jessica’s heels clicked and clacked on the staircase’s red oak surface. A carpet runner, which she and Patrick had often discussed but never done anything about, would have given her the element of surprise. She had no idea who she’d find at the top or what she’d do with them. A phone would have been a better choice of weapon than a poker, she couldn’t call for help with one of those, but she’d grabbed the first thing she found.
The trespasser, whoever he or she might be, would soon run out of places to hide on the top storey. With the en suite bathroom unoccupied and the spare room full of books, CDs and DVDs that had spilled out from the shelves downstairs, that left the master bedroom.
With a trembling hand, Jessica reached for the door. The handle slipped from her damp palm three times before she managed to open it. When she succeeded, all she wanted was to be on the other side. Of the country if possible.
What Jessica saw made her drop the poker and put a hand in front of her mouth as she began to retch. Patrick lay on his side of their marital bed, his body ripe with the stench of death.
