The Hathaway

Pizza, Prayer, and a Song

By this point we were approaching the back of the property, and I could see the ruins ahead. “I think you’re going to like this,” I said, pointing to the stand of trees that surrounded the uneven clearing. “You might even recognize it.” Evelyn looked at me quizzically, but said nothing. I led her into the center of the clearing, where the little pool of water had formed and we stood in silence, as she looked around with curiosity.

“Most of these trees are younger than I am,” she observed. “I don’t know what you think I might recognize.” I could feel the vibrations through my feet, and soon I could hear the faint echo of singing rising from the ground below us. I just waited to see if she would notice it, and I was surprised at how long it took her to react. I couldn’t tell if she could actually hear it, but I could see the energy of the music effecting her demeanor. She grew calm and began to sway slightly as her eyes closed and she started to hum along.

“Can you hear it?” I asked quietly.

Her eyes opened suddenly and she seemed to awaken from some sort of altered state. “Hear what? I don’t…” At that point it appeared she finally heard something. She stood still and listened, then casting her eyes about she asked, "Where is that coming from? Are they playing a radio at the house or something?”

I smiled. “No, I believe this is the singing grove you told us about the other night.”

“Posh!” she laughed, “You’re just having fun with me. Trees can’t sing.”

“Maybe not, but ghosts can.” I gave her a moment to absorb what I had just said.

She turned to me and insisted. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“I don’t believe in hatred, but it exists whether I want it to or not. How do you explain that dark entity that possessed you and made you do all those awful things?”

“It was a demon, and it was driven out by the word of God.” It seemed she had an answer for everything and was not willing to hear anything outside of the neat little world her closed minded denomination had created for her.

“Perhaps,” I allowed, “Or perhaps it was a spirit, an evil spirit. And perhaps it was driven out by another spirit, a spirit of love. A spirit that resides in this very clearing. Do you know where we are?”

“The back yard of the Hathaway.”

“We are standing on the ruins of the first meeting house in this town. This is where the magicians who helped your ancestors build the first parts of Union House lived and worshiped. Only, they weren’t magicians, they were a separatist religious community.”

She looked at me in disbelief. “How can you know that?”

“You’ve seen what Heather found at the Indian archives, you’ve seen the old map at city hall. Sometimes history is a matter of piecing things together.”

“I know that, but why would you say that the ghosts of that community still haunt this clearing?”

“Well,” I offered, “I’ve heard them singing here more than once, and you know how Ben became the mouthpiece for one of them at your church. Realize that he has no training in the Bible, and has an almost morbid fear of speaking in public.” I could see her casting her mind back to that evening and trying to piece together her fragmentary memories. “Besides, I saw them unburn the fire you set, I’m sorry, the fire the evil spirit set.”

“I don’t know,” she stuttered. Clearly she had seen and experienced things that didn’t fit into that neat little world she had been living in, but she was hesitant to accept, or even acknowledge the evidence of her own senses.

“Can you still hear them?” I asked.  She listened and nodded. “I think they sympathize with you. I believe the spirit that possessed you was the same person who persecuted them. I think you've met him before, when you were a little girl. I know that Ben and Sabina both sensed him there the other night. He may not have control of you, but he is not far away.” She had closed her eyes again to listen to the music, which she obviously found soothing. But when I pointed out the shadow’s proximity to her home she opened her eyes and looked at me in fear.

“I’ve...I keep thinking I can see movement out of the corner of my eye,” she admitted. “Just since you all came and looked at Union House. Something changed that night. There have been some odd noises in the, night and my son says he feels creeped out, like he’s being watched.” She paused and thought, “I never allowed myself to remember the time I was trapped in the storage room, but now I’m sure I remember a man in the shadows. That’s why I was so afraid. And there’s something else.” She took a deep breath before telling me, “I saw him again when my sister died. I’ve never told another living soul, but when I found her I looked up at the hatch in the ceiling and caught a glimpse of him looking down at her. I always believed he must have pushed her or something, but I never dared say a thing.”

“I was afraid he might become active again, but we have yet to figure out how to make him leave forever.” I felt an odd sensation coming from the earth below us, and realized that the spirits needed to communicate with her. “I sense that the congregation wants to teach you a song, that they feel it will help protect you from his influence. All you have to do is agree and they will teach it to us.”

She didn’t say anything, but closed her eyes and nodded. The distant echo of vague singing slowly grew in intensity, and specific words began to be recognizable. It was a very simple song, four lines in length, but they sang it over and over again. “So bright is the home where the loving heart dwelleth, the soul that doth hope, and in peace doth abide, So joyful and happy it all the day telleth, of light so consuming no shadow may hide.” I seemed to be able to hear them more easily than she could, and started singing along with them first. As she joined in in fits and starts I helped her find the words, and we repeated it over and over until we both had it memorized.

This calmed her and seemed to overcome her objections enough that she could again relax. “What a lovely song,” she admitted as we walked back to the house. “At least I have that to take away with me. I’ll have to teach it to everyone on Sunday night.

Before we reached the kitchen I stopped her and said, “I just want to let you know that we had a slight indecent here with some of the kids this afternoon. We had to give a couple of them a talking to, so they may be a little less exuberant than they usually are.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. One of the boys was doing a bit of eavesdropping and found out some personal information about Ben. Apologies have been given and everyone is reconciled, but Ben may be a little subdued as well. I just wanted you to know in case you sensed that something was wrong.”

“Ah yes, the joys of bringing up children.” she smiled and added, “But not to worry, I have something that should help Ben cheer up.” She opened her bag and pulled out a ball of bright red yarn with a couple of knitting needles stuck in it. “Maybe after dinner?”

I laughed and gave her a quick hug. “You’re a treasure.” Then offering her my arm once again, I led her into the kitchen.

Despite the drama of the last hour, the mood inside was happy and harmonious. The place was abuzz with activity and the kids were giving each other a hard time as if nothing had happened. Sabina was the first to greet Evelyn, holding a handful of silverware that was obviously destined for the table. “So nice to see you again,” she offered as she walked past us.

Ben was next, giving her a big hug and ushering her into the rec room. “I brought a couple of the things I’ve made down in case you would like to see them.”

“Ooo, I’d love to,” she gushed. “What do you make? Granny squares? Afghans? Sweaters?”

“Doilies mostly,” he demurred, “I like the intricacy…”

As they left, I quietly asked Sylvia, “How’s everyone doing?”

“Surprisingly well,” she confided. “I think Kevin is feeling particularly bad, like he betrayed you both. I don’t think we’ll have this problem with him again, but now I’m worried that it might do some damage to the self esteem he’s been building since he arrived.”

I thought for a moment and suggested, “I know he’s not the most...sensitive person, but might we send Helmut to give him some encouragement? The two of them seem to have a special bond, and I think if he’ll listen to anyone it will be Helmut.’

She smiled. “It’s like you read my mind. I was thinking the same thing. I’ll speak to him after dinner.”

I had to drag Evelyn and Ben out of the rec room once the table was set. He looked up and said, “I’ve never worked with real wool before. It’s so different from thread. It goes so much faster.” She had clearly already shown him how to cast on and he had already knit about two or three inches in the short time they had been together.

“He’s a natural,” Evelyn glowed. “I’ve got him making a scarf just to learn the basic stitch. He’s to come see me when the ball is almost gone and I’ll show him how to bind off. In the mean time…” she looked at Ben with a laugh in her eyes and he joined her as she said, “..Practice, practice, practice!”

Sylvia and Ben had clearly had a conversation with the kids about who our guest was, because instead of diving into the food as they normally did, they sat quietly and waited. Sylvia gave Ben a significant look and he took a deep breath. He gestured that we should all join hands then bowed his head and said, “For the food we are about to receive…” The kids joined him in saying, “...We are grateful.” Again alone he said, “For the hands that have prepared it…” All joined in, “We are grateful.” and finally, “For the love that surrounds us at this table…” All, “We are grateful.” Ben ended with a quiet “Amen.”

I was astonished, but it was clear that Ben was trying to be thoughtful of a tradition our guest would find meaningful, while trying not to use overtly religious or God-based language. It was perfect. I could see that Evelyn was touched by the gesture and was feeling right at home.

After everyone had filled their plates and the meal was well underway, a knock came at the front door and Sylvia excused herself to see who it was. She returned carrying a pizza box with a puzzled look on her face. “It seems someone sent us a pizza, all paid for and everything. I couldn’t even give the guy a tip.”

The kids were jubilant, but Sylvia set it on the counter and insisted they finish their plates before they were allowed to have this unexpected treat. Needless to say, all conversation stopped and they began shoveling food into their mouths. I stole a glance at Evelyn, who had said nothing and was doing her best to look innocent, but I could see the pleasure she took from seeing their excitement. When she noticed me looking at her, she flashed a wicked grin and asked, “Well, I wonder who could have done that?”

“Hmm, yes,” I replied, trying not to laugh, “Who indeed?”