The Hathaway

Union House

All three inspectors concurred. The house was in perfect condition and they couldn’t find the slightest hint of scorching, charring, or even smoke damage. They recommended that we call in an environmental company to clean up the soil that had been contaminated with gasoline, but in the end, their biggest concern seemed to be how on Earth they were going to end up reporting the incident. They gave me the go ahead to pursue an occupancy certificate, and we were allowed to enter at will and do whatever needed to be done with their assurance that the building was undamaged.

Shortly after work, Heather drove in to pick up Ben and I for our visit with Evelyn. Ben wasn’t sure if he should go, but I insisted. “After all, It was through you that the shadow was removed. You may have some insights into what happened, even if you don’t realize it.” He reluctantly packed up his current crochet project and followed me down the stairs to Heather’s car.

I had never had any real interactions with Evelyn outside of work, just the occasional after hours opening in the gallery, and running into her once or twice at the supermarket. We seemed to travel in totally different circles when it came to our private lives, and I really didn’t know where she lived. The house was old, probably dating from the early nineteenth century, and a number of the surrounding buildings looked like they could be even older. It was situated at the back of one of those collections of buildings that constituted a small cluster. Not really a sub-village, more like the epicenter of a family unit, perhaps being built up by multiple generations over time. While her home bore no title, the house beside hers had a sign above the door that identified it as ‘Union House’. Ben stopped in front of it and seemed to be distracted by something. I had to run back and grab him as the others approached Evelyn’s front door.

Evelyn’s son was on the porch before we even stepped on the first step. He greeted Heather with enthusiasm, clearly glad she had come, and extended his had warmly to us, “I’m so glad you could make it,” he said as he drew us inside. “Mom has told me so much about the two of you that I feel like I know you.”

“Really?” I was a bit taken aback. Until recently we had been very congenial co-workers, but I had never had a sense of any kind of special connection.

“Yes, she says that you have always treated her with a level of respect that few others could match.” He lowered his voice and continued, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, but older women are often taken for granted in the workplace, you know, devalued or pushed out. But she has loved working with you, she says you make her feel like her contributions are valuable. Amazing how something as little as a simple ‘thank you’ can have such a large impact.” He smiled and led us to the living room. “They’re here, Mom!”

She was sitting in a plain wooden rocking chair with a woven tape seat and back. She turned and made motions as if she were going to getup, but her son stopped her with a gentle hand on the shoulder. Heather immediately reinforced this by rushing to her side and saying, “Don’t. You still need to rest.”

“Fiddlesticks!” she insisted, but bowing to their will she remained seated. “So nice to see you sweetheart. Did you find everything I told you about?”

“I did,” Heather responded, signaling for me to join her. “I gave it to Joey this afternoon.”

When she caught sight of me she reached for my hands but stopped herself before she could take them. She silently looked me in the eyes for a long moment, then dropping her head she whispered, “I should think you would never want to see me again, let alone speak to me.”

I knelt by her side and took her hand. “Why would you think that?”

“Because…” she hesitated, not sure how to phrase her feelings. “Because the things I have done are unforgivable.”

“But I have already forgiven you. I told you last night. I don’t hold you responsible, it was the shadow.

“I know,” she mumbled. “But I could never...You can say it’s alright, but I can’t…”

“Evelyn,” I interrupted. “Can you make me a promise?” She looked up in surprise. “Can you promise me you will never try to take your own life again?” I held her gaze with all the intensity I could muster. “I don’t think you realize what it would do to me...What it would have done to Ben and I if you had succeeded. I don’t think I would have been able to live with myself if…” My breath caught and I allowed the thought to hang in the air as a tear escaped from my eye. “Promise me.”

She swallowed hard, fighting back her own tears, and slowly nodded. “I promise,” she whispered solemnly.

I squeezed her hand and smiled at her. “Thank you,” I stuttered as heather passed out tissues to all assembled. While we dried our eyes, I took a deep breath and playfully said, “Good! And you better believe I’m going to hold you to it. Don’t you make me chase you to Hell to punish you for breaking your promise. I will, you know!”

She laughed at the absurdity of the statement and responded, “You’re such a card!” Then placing her hand on mine she smiled and assured me, “Don’t worry. The last thing I would want to do is hurt either of you.” She glanced at Ben, who had settled onto the sofa to crochet, and let out a gasp of surprise. “My dear! I didn’t know you could crochet. Do you knit?”

“No,” he grinned, “Never had anyone to teach me, but my Gran showed me how to do this.”

“Oh, it’s so easy,” she continued, picking up the knitting that had been sitting on her lap throughout our conversation. “I’d be happy to show you sometime, if you want.”

“That’d be great!” he enthused. “I always wanted to learn, but…”

“Well now you have no excuse not to,”she insisted.

“What are you making?” he asked. “It looks complicated.”

“Just some socks,” she said looking down at her work. The knitting was on a number of small needles that were pointed at both ends. Not only did it look complicated, it looked downright dangerous, but her hands manipulated the small weapons deftly, with precision and confidence. “They’re actually easier than they look.” She suddenly looked up. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I wanted to tell you about what happened after you left the service on Sunday night.”

She set her work down so she could engage me with her full attention. “Needless to say, I was not quite myself, but I did see that when you left a group of the protesters was bearing down on you. The ladies who were helping me wanted to take me to a quiet room in the Christian Ed building, but I wouldn’t let them. I wanted to know what was happening. I saw that the ushers prevented them from following you, and when their leader tried to take the pulpit again, our pastor stopped him as well.” She turned to Ben and said, I can’t really remember much of what you said, but whatever it was, you got to a lot of people, including the pastor. He wouldn’t let them speak, but called the deacons to the front and convened a congregational meeting. I believe when he saw you force the shadow out of me he believed you were casting out a demon. He came by the hospital late this morning to see how I was doing. And he admitted that he had been worried about me for the last two or three weeks, that he thought I was behaving funny, and he was glad to see me back to my old self again. So when he saw you do that and challenge the protesters with scripture, he took it as a sign from God that we should no longer support them. He told them that they were no longer welcome to lead in worship and called those of us who were acting as hosts to expel them from our properties as if they were servants of the devil.”

She looked down as she said, “I’m afraid I was hosting three of them.” Then looking up apologetically, she added, “I’ve always hosted visitors, you know, missionaries or traveling preachers, so I didn’t think this would be any different. I guess I was wrong.”

Her son interjected, “It’s true. Even when I was a kid and the house was full, she would welcome visitors. If there wasn’t room here they would stay with Aunt Mattie, next door.”

“At Union House?” Ben asked, suddenly curious.

“Yes,” she mused nostalgically. “When Mattie was alive it was quite a lively house. Once she even hosted a traveling choir, all teenagers at some private school. My, they were a lively bunch.”

“Did any of the protesters stay at Union house?” Ben pursued.

“It only seemed proper,” she explained. “I usually host the women, being a widow and living alone, but they needed one more room for a man, so I put him in there. The two ladies stayed here. He would join us for meals and might come over to socialize in the evening, but only when all three of us were here, never one on one.”

I smiled at her traditional morals and wondered if she had ever questioned them. I was brought up in a very different world, and knew at an early age that such mores and taboos were never going to work for me, but she was from another time. It seemed she had had no reason to look beyond the strict but comfortable rules that gave her a clear and unambiguous part to play within her tiny world.

“Does anyone live there now?” Ben asked. He seemed to know something that I didn’t and I looked at him quizzically as he continued. “Would it be possible for us to go inside and take a look?” he gave me a quick glance before adding, “It looks like a beautiful old building. How old is it?”

She brightened, clearly glad that someone was showing interest in her favorite topic, history. “Of course. It’s been empty for about fifteen years now, but we keep it up as best we can. It’s the oldest house in the group, going all the way back to the 1790’s, at least part of it. It was renovated and added to many times, but the core is eighteenth century. When would you like to see it?”

“I have a couple of friends who would also be interested, can I check in with them and get back to you? Maybe tomorrow after work sometime?”

“That would be perfect,” she began, but her son cut her off.

“You’re staying home tomorrow, Mom,” he said sternly. “Remember, we discussed this. You need to regain your strength.”

“No, you discussed this. I had no say in the matter.” She turned to me and chuckled, “But I’ll have no peace unless I do as he asks. Could you give my apologies to the director?”