Resurrected by Fran Shaff

Author:Fran Shaff
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: mystery, historical fiction, love story, historical romance, nebraska, 1890s, the west, tender mysteries

Chapter Ten

The veiled woman lived in a tiny house at the end of an alley seven blocks from the Longfellow home. Even in the pale light of the moon from thirty feet away it was easy to see the home was in dire need of white paint to replace what had chipped away over time.

As she moved closer to the structure Deborah noticed its porch floorboards were broken in several places. When, at last, she walked up the stairs and onto the porch, the sturdy-looking boards she treaded on squeaked softly with each step she took.

She made her way to the one and only window on the front of the house, squatted down and looked inside.

The parlor, lit by two ancient kerosene lamps, was about the same size as the smallest bedroom in the Longfellow home. Two doors could be seen from Deborah’s vantage point. Based on what she’d seen from the outside as she’d approached the house, she guessed one likely led to the kitchen and the other to a bedroom.

The yellow flowered wallpaper was pealing off the walls in half a dozen places. Furnishing the room were a large, dark-stained cedar chest which sat ahead of a well-used brown settee, a small table at one end of the settee, two pine rockers in the corners of the room, and a coal stove placed near the far wall.

The veiled woman was nowhere in sight, but Deborah had seen her go into the house. Since the lamps burned in the parlor she had no doubt the woman would return to the room momentarily.

Several minutes passed before one of the two doors opened and the woman, dressed in black from neck to ankle, came forward into the parlor carrying a blue china cup. Still wearing the veil, she went to the settee, set the cup on the table next to it and seated herself with a plop onto the couch.

She leaned forward, opened the chest and pulled from it a wad of white cloth. She placed the fabric in her lap and slid back on the sofa.

Suddenly a fit of coughing overtook her body. The violence of it continued at least a minute, maybe longer.

When relief came she leaned her head against the back of the sofa.

A few minutes later she reached for her cup, slipped it beneath the veil and put it to her lips. She engaged in a long drink before she returned the cup to the table.

She paused briefly before she unrolled the wad of white cloth, treating it as though it held the relics of an admired saint.

It wasn’t easy to see the contents of the fabric package from Deborah’s vantage point. She strained and stretched as much as possible to get a better look, but, still, she couldn’t see what the woman had inside the cloth.

Another fierce cough shook the woman, and it appeared she’d placed a hand over her mouth. When she settled down again, she moved her fingers back to the contents of the white cloth.

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