Songs of Love and Death

Startled, I turned, almost twisting my ankle. I found myself facing an elderly woman who might have been fifty, might have been eighty. Her hair shimmered white under the early streaks of sun, and she wore it in a tight chignon, held by a butterfly barrette. Her dress was a tidy periwinkle, with an apron tied at her waist. She smiled and I caught a glimpse of myself in her brilliant blue eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, her gaze flickering over me again. “But are you Laurel Rose?” She held out her hand, a smile creasing the ancient topography of her face.

Wary, I nodded and glanced around, wondering where she’d come from. I hadn’t heard her approach.

As if reading my mind, she said, “Out of the woods. Where else?”

For a moment, I stood disconcerted, uncertain what to say next. I had the feeling that she could see right through me, as if I were made of light, fractured by a prism. I gathered my wits enough to say hello.

“I’m May. May O’Conner.” With a gentle bob of her head, she added, “Jason’s aunt.”

I leaned against the newel post, a stab of pain knifing through my forehead. The headache that had been looming all morning suddenly hit full-force. Jason’s aunt was not who I needed right now. The man who almost murdered me had never been complimentary when he spoke of his family. But then again, he’d never said a good word about anybody but himself. I searched May’s face, scanning for a resemblance, but to my relief found nothing.

“How do you do?” I stammered.

“Oh, fit and tidy, fit and tidy.” May winked at me, then pointed to the door. “I’ve come to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

I fingered the key, surprised by her friendliness. I’d expected a stormy confrontation when I finally met her, accusations for defending myself, tearful threats, but not this welcoming matter-of-factness.

She motioned to the door. “Shall we go in? I’ll show you around.”

This was it, no more room for procrastination. Either I claimed Breakaway Farm or left defeated. And if I left here… I held my breath and inserted the key into the lock.

The door, carved with figures too weathered to discern, swung open with a faint creak. I stepped back, allowing May to enter first. Our eyes locked as she drew me in and flipped on the lights. I was relieved to see them flicker to life—the lawyer had said he’d take care of the utilities, but you never knew whether tasks would get done when you delegated them to other people.

“Breakaway Farm is a solid house, and will take you through the years.” May’s words echoed through the long hall. “She’s been empty for around nine years, since… since my Galen died. I’ve kept the house up, hoping that perhaps Jason might change his mind and want to return home. But I think I knew he never would. Then, when I found out that you were moving in, I came over and spiffed it up with a lick and a spit.” She turned to study my face and added, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Why would I mind?” I wanted to hug her in relief. No brewing storms, no callous remarks, just that unrelenting smile. “I’m just grateful that I won’t be facing corners filled with cobwebs and mold growing on old furniture. I’m glad someone took care of it all these years instead of letting it go to ruin.”

Then it hit me—how did she know I’d be moving in? The lawyer had promised he wouldn’t tell anyone. So much for confidentiality.

May stopped in the hallway, where photographs lined the walls. People I didn’t know, places I’d never been, but they were beautiful and melancholy and incredibly sad in a way I couldn’t define.

I raised a finger and hesitantly traced the frame of one that stood out among the rest. Protected by glass, a man and woman were curled together on an iron settee in the middle of a garden.

“They loved each other very much, didn’t they? Who were they?”

May gave me a gentle smile. “My brother, Daneen, and his wife, Ellen.”

Jason’s parents. My in-laws.

“You never got to meet them, did you?”

I gave her a sidelong glance, not sure of how much she knew. “I wanted to, but no… I never had the chance.”

May reached out and tipped up my chin. “You are far too pale for such a pretty young woman.” She dipped into one of the voluminous pockets on her apron and brought out an apple and tucked it in my hand. “You need some color in your cheeks to match that fiery hair of yours. This will help.”

She pointed to another photograph. Daneen and Ellen stood in front of a lush garden. Overflowing baskets filled with tomatoes and lettuce, carrots and cucumbers, surrounded them. “Breakaway has many treasures. Daneen and Ellen were its rarest. They loved this farm. They loved their son. They never looked at the flaws in anything. Or anyone.”

What she left unsaid hung between us like thick fog.

I wondered just how much I could tell her. “Jason seldom spoke of his parents.” It wasn’t totally true, but I felt a sudden desire to spare her feelings.

“That, I do not doubt.” She held my gaze. “Jason seldom divulged anything relating to his past. Come, let me show you the living room.”

We entered the living room, and once again, light flooded the room at the touch of a switch. A velveteen sofa and love seat looked new, but the rest of the furniture stood ponderous, weighty oak, solid and stern. A bay window glittered as May drew open the floor-length drapes. A window seat, upholstered in the same green velvet as the curtains, overlooked the side yard, facing the trunk of an oak that had seen far more years than I.

A dizzy feeling that we were being watched hit me, but it was swept away in the next moment when I realized that I’d fallen in love with the house. I spun around, clapping my hands. “I never dreamed it would be so lovely!”

The room took a deep breath as a splash of sunlight filtered in through the sparkling glass, and the light transformed every corner. Newly potted ferns and ivies draped down from shining brass hooks on the ceiling, and I realized that May had brought them for me. Then I stopped, rooted to the floor, as I spotted a picture hanging low on the north wall.

The man in the photo was young, but there was no mistaking the face. Jason’s eyes glittered at me with the same cruel assessment I’d known throughout my life with him. I pulled my sweater tighter, suddenly cold, and the scars on my throat began to itch again. I glanced over at May. She’d been watching me as I rubbed them gently. Flushing, I waited for her to comment.

“I’m sorry, Laurel,” she murmured. “I should have taken that down. I just wasn’t thinking. Please forgive me?”

Trembling, I reached out, stopping just short of touching the photograph. Would I ever be able to face his image without shaking? May silently stepped in front of me and turned the picture to face the wall. I slowly let out my breath. Breathe deep, calm the soul. A companion photo hung next to it, a man as fair as Jason had been dark, though somewhat older.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

May’s face lit up. “That was my son, Galen. Jason’s cousin.” Pride rang in her voice. “I miss him dreadfully.”

“Was he older?” I asked, examining the photograph. The man’s face was robust, but not red, and he had sandy blond hair gathered into a short braid that hung down his back. He sported a reddish beard and I found myself unable to look away. His eyes radiated the same gentle firmness as May’s. Beneath her wrinkles, I could tell that May possessed the same definite bone structure. Not nearly as angular as Jason’s.

May nodded. She fingered the portrait and her prints remained faintly on the glass. “Galen was six years older than Jason was.” Her eyes sparkled. “He was nothing like his cousin. They were the sun and the moon. He died in this house.” She glanced at her watch. “My word, I didn’t realize so much time has passed. I’ve got pies in the oven.” She edged towards the door. “I just wanted to meet you.”

“How did you know I was here?” I walked her to the door.

May smiled and I suddenly felt exposed. Jason had called her a “nosy old bitch,” and now I knew why, at least from his standpoint. She’d make keeping secrets as hard as keeping your hand out of the cookie jar, and Jason had kept a lot of skeletons locked in that dark closet that was his mind.

She laughed faintly. “I knew. I just knew. Galen and I never thought anyone in the family would ever live at Breakaway again. That’s why he moved in here. We never told Jason.” She gave me a keen look and added, “I’m pleased you’re giving it a try. This house belongs to you… and you belong to it.”