Cursed (8 page)

Sarah pulled a chair out for her grandmother and settled in right next to her.
The aroma of turkey filled the house along with her mother’s famous stuffing with pecans and cranberries. Sarah realized she was starving.

Ben and Jack kept the table laughing with stories of their Thanksgivings growing up, their mother never being too comfortable in the kitchen.
Each year their mother would attempt a big Thanksgiving meal with one memorable year ending in peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

When the pies came out Sarah’s gray eyes lit up like a child’s.
Apple pie, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, and her grandmothers’ lemon meringue pie filled the center of the table with tantalizing choices. As the group settled in with their slices of pie and coffee, Sarah’s cousin Paul asked about Boston. As she talked about her new city, she realized how much she was enjoying it. Mentioning the North End brought a smile to her grandmothers’ face as she listened.

“The North End was always one of my favorite pa
rts of the city,” Rose started. “My mother would take me over there to pick up pastries for special occasions and there were stores that seemed like they had been there forever – probably still are there. It had almost a timeless quality to it. Is it still like that, Sarah?”

“It is.
The small bakeries and corner stores. The cobblestone streets and brick buildings. It’s charming really. We ate at a restaurant on Hanover Street that has obviously updated its first floor store fronts but I am dying to get back over there and try out some of the older restaurants.”

“I loved that city.” Rose has a wistful look on her face as she finished her apple pie.

“Why did you leave, grandma?”

Her mother interjected while pouring more coffee around the table, “My grandparents decided to move to
Connecticut back in the late 40’s. Partly to get your grandmother out of a seaport with all the navy men back from the war.

“Well it wasn’t as simple as that.
I might have caught a few eyes in my day, but there was something else going on with a neighbor who my mother swore was after my father and wouldn’t let up. Her husband had died in the war, which was unfortunately very common back then. At first they felt bad for her but then she would want my father to help with
everything
and my mother put her foot down and said enough was enough. We moved from Beacon Hill out to Brookline and she showed up there.”

Barbara laughed along with her mother. “Grandma Mary was a feisty one. Especially compared
to my father’s mother. Grandma Mary was always full of stories and she loved to tell them.”

Rose smiled, thinking of her mother. “Yes she did.
Well, my father got a job with his older brother Edward in Connecticut the summer I turned eighteen. My father went ahead to get settled and we gave up the apartment and moved in with my mother’s mother in the South End.”

She looked over at Sarah, the wisps of eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “I wish I could remember what street to tell you but it was a long time ago.”

“It’s ok, one of these days I will look it up.”

“The South End was different in those days; it was undergoing changes and many of those beautiful single families were being turned into apartments and tenements.
My grandmother had always lived there in a family home but our family was small and it had not made much sense to keep it a single family so she had converted it to apartments where the extended family could live easily under one roof.”

Jack spoke up, listening intently to Rose tell of her childhood city “Rose, I thought you grew up in
South Boston. Is it the same thing as the South End?”

“No, Jack, two separate neighborhoods.
The South End was marshland and back in the mid 1800’s they started to fill it, hauling dirt and rubble from the towns of Needham and Dedham by railroad cars. They filled the area and built out the streets, in a similar fashion to how they built out the Back Bay area by the Charles River. They covered these new areas with fashionable brick row houses and brownstones with small gardens. Quite lovely, especially the areas that had gardens.”

Rose took a sip of her coffee and her eyes took a faraway look.
She didn’t say anything until Barbara interrupted her thoughts. “Mom, you were telling us why your family came to Connecticut.”

Rose tittered at her momentary memory lapse.
“Oh don’t mind me. The mind gets old but it’s the old memories that I remember best. So, where was I? Oh yes, we moved to the South End for a summer." She paused again, sipping her coffee.

“The area was full of Canadians at that point, all coming down to
Boston to find work. But it was also filling with many single men. Many back from the war, living alone in these tenement houses that had sprung up on the busier streets. We didn’t know it at the time, but it was really the beginning of the gay community moving in. They couldn’t be as open back then you know, and the tenements offered a good way for them to blend into the community. There were jazz bars everywhere and on a summer evening we would go up to the rooftop to catch a breeze and listen to the jazz music from the bars with their doors propped open floating on the evening air. It was magical really.

“My grandmother
– Cate was her name – was living there with my grandfather Bill. He had just retired and was home with us all summer. My great grandmother was still living although she was quite old and they had her set up in the first floor apartment. She had a caretaker that lived there with them. And my aunt Margaret, who had never married, lived there, too. It made sense, I guess, for the apartments because they were all getting older and they figured they could eventually take in boarders. But for that summer they got us.”

Sarah had been mesmerized, thinking she must have heard this story before but had never felt as connected to it as she did now living in
Boston. The upcoming project will be exciting and will give her a chance to learn more about the city. Maybe her grandmother could even help?

“So Grandma, what happened to the woman that was bothering your father?”

“Oh, she disappeared finally. Probably because we moved. My grandmother didn’t want us to go, naturally, and I wanted to stay with them but couldn’t imagine not being with my parents so I was torn. My friends were all there, like Henry, Betty and Lucy but we all wrote endless letter to each other to stay in touch.”

“The time before mobile phones and Facebook,” Marissa chimed in and Sarah laughed.

“That’s right Marissa, but you young folk will never understand the joy of getting a letter in the post. Savoring it, reading the letter over and over again. We told each other our deepest thoughts and learned to express ourselves, not like the broken English and misspelled words your kids use as correspondences.” She chastised good naturedly.

Marissa and Paul were laughing but Sarah was nodding, “You’re right grandma, we have a whole generation missing out.
I still like writing letters although I don’t do it as much as I would like, but I still handwrite thank you notes.”

Rose looked at her granddaughter with a gentle smile and love in her eyes, “That’s because you are my old soul.
I always told you that.” She patted Sarah’s hand with her papery soft, wrinkled one. She looked back at the others around the table and took a deep breath to continue.

“Anyway, about the dragon lady as mother called her.
There was one day the woman was walking down our street and after happening across my mother on the front steps, tried to be nice. My mother started yelling and told her to go away once and for all and my grandmother hearing the ruckus came outside." Again, she paused, taking a sip of the coffee, her eyes still clouded and faraway.

"I had been walking up the street with friends and it was the first time I saw her.
The woman was all dressed up in a charcoal gray suit with a smart, stylish hat. She looked like a starlet. My grandmother came out the front door, standing at the top of the stairs she took one look at the woman and called her a witch.”

Rose laughed at the memory.
Marisa and Sarah looked at each other across the table, grinning at the old story and wondering if Grandma Rose might have gotten it wrong and her nice old fashioned grandmother actually swore.

“Well, we left a short time later. I had finished school and when I arrived in
Connecticut I went on to secretarial school and got a job in Hartford where I met your grandfather George. I love it here, but I do have happy memories of Boston.”

“And you stayed in touch with Henry even after you met Grandpa and were living in
Connecticut?” Sarah had been wondering how they stayed so friendly over the years when she lived here and he lived in Boston. Maybe it was through letters? But she was surprised her grandmother would write letters to a man for all those years. Maybe she was in love with him and they were parted by the move? She shook her head at her own romantic notions.

“Has Henry not mentioned Betty?
She passed away . . . oh about fifteen years ago now from cancer, but she was my best friend. We always stayed in touch over the years. I was even in their wedding and would go visit them with Grandpa George when we were younger. Yes, Henry is a good man, and made my best friend a happy woman for almost fifty years.”

“He is a good guy, thank you for connecting us.
I am so glad I made the move to Boston, I feel right at home.”

The first snowfall of the season came on the second Wednesday in December. It was heavy even for Boston standards. Sarah made her way back home along sidewalks that were not plowed or shoveled. Uggs kept her feet warm as she trudged up her street. She was thankful the snow had stopped before the accumulation got any deeper or else her short boots wouldn’t be doing the job. She arrived at her brownstone after six o’clock and found Mason outside, having just finished clearing the front walk and stairs.

Sarah opened the gate, swinging it easily and without sound.
Mason quickly stood to the side, out of the glow from the front door light spilling down the stairs, in the mound of shoveled snow.

“This is a nice surprise to come home to!” Sarah exclaimed.

“Good evening, Miss Carter”

“Sarah.” She instructed with a smile.

Mason nodded his head. “Sarah.”

“We got a lot more than forecasted!”

“That we did.” He said in agreement but offered no more.

Sarah looked around at the neighborhood, “It’s so pretty when it’s all clean and white like this especially with the moon tonight illuminating the street.”

Mason looked around at the snow, trying to see what she saw and nodded his head in agreement. “Yes, it is pretty.” He seemed surprised by his own statement.

“I almost feel like painting it,” Sarah spoke almost to herself as she continued to look around.
She didn’t see the flinch on Mason’s face or the way his gloved hand leaning on the shovel started to tremble. “But I don’t paint anymore. I always thought I could as a child but somehow what I saw in my brain never made it down to my hands.” Laughing a little at herself she added, “This scene, however, is inspiring.” Sarah tilted her head considering and drinking in the beauty around her while Mason’s shrunken form seemed to stoop and twist a little more.

“Well, I should be getting in.”

At first he just seemed relieved for her to walk away, up the cleared walkway, but remembered, “Excuse me, before you go, is the cat still coming around?”

Sarah stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned
–the light from above creating a blonde halo and he wished he hadn’t stopped her.

“No, as a matter of fact she stopped visiting a few weeks ago.
I think the cat lives across the street.” She pointed towards the brownstone directly across the street. “I’ve seen the cat over there some mornings on the front steps when I leave for work. Maybe they are keeping it in at night now?”

Mason glared across the street, watching for any movement in the peaceful darkness that had fallen over the neighborhood along with the snow.

“Good night, Mr. Brown.”

“Mason.”

“Good night, Mason.”
Perhaps I'm making progress with him
, she thought, pulling the door closed behind her .

Sarah entered her apartment dropping her wet boots by the door and hanging her coat and scarf.
She went into her bedroom and changed into her warmest pajamas before starting dinner which consisted of heating up leftovers. Sitting down at the counter with her laptop and microwaved plate, her goal was to catch up on her personal emails.

When done, the screen beckoned for more and she thought about what to do next.
She started to research Mason Brown, feeling a touch of guilt, but curiosity won out. She was met with dead ends and shut down the screen in frustration. Cleaning up her dinner plate, she decided she would watch a little television before calling it a night.

Friday brought more snow and Sarah offered to help Kerry with picking up the bagels.
Sarah stood at the receptionist desk as Kerry wrote down the last orders for the list. Sarah watched as Kerry pulled her hat on, leaving just a few curls peeking through. Sarah envied the cute look but was always hesitant to cut her long hair.