The Tree Goddess Page 5

  Mary continued, “Well, I'm sure you are aware of the legend of the Trivelli house. Supposedly my grandmother was tragically carried off by a hungry pack of wolves.”

  “Yes, uh-huh… I know all about the legend.”

  “Well, as of yesterday, the Mapleview Police closed the mystery with the recent discovery of my grandmother's skeletal hand that was found at the bottom of this vase.”

  “Good Heavens!”

  Mary continued, “This means that the original legend is not true. Apparently, she had been murdered in that house by my grandfather, who reported to police that she was carried off by wolves.”

  Mary did a fine job of captivating the owner of the museum with the recent news of the Trivelli house. But she hoped he would offer an equally captivating offer for the vase. It did, after all, originate from one of the greatest legends in the area. Mary and Shelly stood in silence, implying that the ball was now in the owner's court to make an offer.

  The owner of the shop closely examined the vase, “Well, antique-wise, the vase would be worth $675; but because of the discovery and legend, I'll offer you $700.”

  Mary could have sold the vase at an antique dealer which gave her the advantage to negotiate with the owner of the museum. He most likely desired the vase for his collection. But just how much profit did the museum make each year? The waters needed testing as Mary replied, “Oh, come on! This vase is at least 200 years old, maybe more! It came from a legendary, historical house and it had my grandmother's hand in it! I guess if doesn't mean much to you; there are other antique dealers back in Mapleview…” She turned to walk away.

  “Wait! 750! I'll give you $750 for the vase, and that's my final offer!”

  Seriously, how many visitors did the museum get each year? Were tourists really into this stuff? Why not demand more? Mary sharply replied back,“$800!”

  But the owner was persistent, “$775! Lady, I can't go much higher! This is a small museum in a small, unheard of town!”

  Apparently at his breaking point, Mary decided to give in at his final price; under one, small condition. “Okay, $775. But I want something else for that price.”

  The man was growing irate, “Well, what is then?”

  “My friend and I want free admission into your museum, just to see what this place is about.”

  The man placed his hand to his mouth and stroked his shadowy beard as if contemplating. “You want me to waive the $10 admission for both of you?”

  Mary nodded.

  “Well okay; it's a deal.”

  For such a small space and an odd business, the World's Strangest Collection of Antique Vases certainly had much to view. The entire gallery was a hallway that mazed from the entrance to the exit and contained numerous contributions and stories from around the country. Many of the contributors claimed their vases to be haunted. One of them contained a hand gun at the bottom that supposedly murdered the mayor of a small town in Nebraska.

  An ancient, Egyptian vase, donated by the Dobsmoore family in South Dakota, immediately captured Mary's attention. It contained a most unwanted artifact from an antique trunk that had sat in a basement for decades. On the placard it was described that Richard Dobsmoore accompanied his professor on an archaeological dig in Egypt. He was tragically killed during the visit and his belongings were sent home to family in South Dakota. Since his mother was uneasy with Egyptian decorating after the tragic death of her son, she put the vase in a trunk and kept it sealed up in the cellar until family members, generations later, went through the trunk.

  At the bottom of a vase was an Egyptian ankh wrapped up in several handkerchiefs. The family thought the finding to be really cool, until the letter from Richard Dobsmoore's professor was read. The professor apologized and said that his tent had been robbed when he was not there. He claimed the thieves had murdered Richard Dobsmoore and took an ankh that had been excavated during a dig. He felt responsible for Richard's death because of a curse that the ankh supposedly had, “Whoever wrongfully acquired the ancient item would certainly die a horrific death.” Unbeknown to the professor, Richard was the one who stole the artifact from the professor, and put it in the vase that he purchased from a shop. Apparently a very, real curse; the family wanted nothing to do with the vase or the hidden item that now both sit with the collection in the museum.

  Another antique vase from the late-1700s was boasted to sit on one of the shelves in the study of George Washington. Mary wasn't sure if she believed the story; but it was entertaining, leading her to wonder if some of the contributors fabricated the supposed facts.

  The art and texture of the vase was beautiful and must have been very expensive. But inside the vase was a strange letter from a woman by the name of Madam Sinclair Oveaut. The placard below the vase told the story of whispering gossip, barely heard by those close to George Washington, of how strange it was that he had tea with Madam Sinclair Oveaut every other Tuesday in his east garden. The visits lasted about 4 months. Was this a mistress of his? The east garden was isolated and hidden from most people. And the nature of Madam Sinclair Oveaut's visits was never understood until the letter was found 200 years later in George Washington's study at the bottom of a vase. The letter discussed a colony of witches that was soon to arrive in America, and the wishes that Madam Sinclair Oveaut had that they would be protected from the public.

  How about you? Do you believe the story?

  After the entertaining tour and $775 richer, Mary spent the remainder of the morning with her friend, browsing the shops and storefronts. Mary treated herself to some new summer wear, and purchased a few novels at one of the small book stores. And of course she treated herself and friend to a nice lunch at one of the upscale seafood houses. At some point through all the conversation and memories of younger days, Mary realized that the whole day was made possible by poor Grandma Trivelli. She was in a better place and probably resting easier, now that the truth was known.

  * * *

  “You know Shelly; I just remembered something that the detective said yesterday.” The two women were driving home in the early afternoon after their big lunch. They were stuffed from crab cakes, lobster, shrimp and fried calamari as an appetizer. As Mary's brain had finally relaxed after some seriously-needed idle-time, she began to recall small details of the past few days that were odd.

  Shelly replied, “What's that, Mary?”

  “The detective who suggested that I sell the vase at the museum, warned me about Route 4. He said something about not traveling at night. What did he mean by that?”

  “He did? Oh, he's talking about some incidents on the highway late at night. I guess motorists are chased by people flashing their high beam lights. No one's been raped or anything. It's just scary and the reports concern police.

  Chapter 4

  Being the forgiving woman that she is, Mary reconciled with her fiancé upon his release from rehab. A couple months and many talks of advice from family later, Mary experienced the day she had waited for her entire life. The two celebrated their honeymoon in Cancun, Mexico and settled into Mary's dream home in the beautiful town of Mapleview. The first few weeks of marital bliss were wonderful—as they are for everyone. And although the honeymoon ended, Mary felt she had a wonderful marriage with her husband, Daren.

  * * *

  It was a Sunday midmorning after church as Mary finished her homemade marinade for the meat to be barbequed. Such is the many joys of a marriage when a husband and wife can enjoy a private barbeque on a quiet Sunday. She gazed out the window and took notice of Daren doing some activity behind a row of bushes that edged the property's perimeter. It was difficult to see behind the bushes; but it appeared he had a collection of shovels, a sledge hammer, some wooden stakes and a tape measure in his hand while measuring the ground. What on Earth could he have been doing?

  She quietly approached her husband who was now actively engaged in driving a corner stake in the ground. “Hi!”

  “Hey…” From the tone of his voic
e, the man did not want to be interrupted.

  “What's up?” Mary remained friendly but deliberately showed curiosity.

  “Oh, not much; how about you?”

  This game of avoidance had gone far enough. Daren most-surely knew why she was there from the beginning. But incase it wasn't apparent, she sternly asked, “Daren? What are you doing?”

  Daren finally put the hammer down, “Oh, I was thinking we don't have a mausoleum on our property.”

  “Excuse me?” Mary thought she understood her husband, but just needed to confirm that Daren was, in fact, constructing a mausoleum in their backyard.

  “I'm building a mausoleum. We don't have one, and every historic house isn't complete without a mausoleum.”

  Mary was hoping there to be humor or some sort of punch line. “Daren, since when? What are you talking about? You can't be serious!”

  “Well sure I'm serious. Don't you want a family mausoleum?”

  “No Daren! I don't want a mausoleum in my backyard! The backyard looks fine without one!”

  Daren threw the sledge hammer down and kicked over the half-driven corner stake in a fit-of-rage. “Fine! That's just fine! Now I know how things are going to be! I need to ask you permission (emphasized facetiously with wide, open eyes) if I want to do something. You know, it's my house too!” And at that statement, he stormed back into the house and sat down in front of the TV, holding the remote control in a means to rule the world.

  Mary stood in disbelief, studying the aftermath of the bizarre behavior of her husband. Was she being unfair? Every means to consider the house a community possession was done on Mary's part. But realistically, it was her house. And the state she lived in legally saw the premarital acquisition of property as solely hers. Unfair-or-not, Mary wouldn't allow the construction of a mausoleum in her backyard, especially while trying to end the stigmatism and reputation that the Trivelli house had.

  She, once again, carefully approached her husband who sat at the couch, grasping the remote like a dog that protects a bone. Mary had no idea her husband had such a passion for watching fishing shows. “Daren, don't you think you're overreacting?”

  “Forget about it, Mary! It's done! I won't construct a family mausoleum.”

  “Don't you want to talk about it?”

  “What's there to talk about? You won't let me build something. I know where I stand, now.”

  At a loss of words, the only thing Mary could say, “Well, are you going to leave all your tools out there?” Daren sat motionless, staring at a fishing expert who taught the world the best means of catching a northern pike. From what Mary knew of her husband, Daren hadn't gone fishing a day in his life.

  And that's how the day remained on a Sunday that was supposed to be the happily married couple's private, little barbeque. Daren sat motionless in front of the TV, and Mary sat outside under her favorite tree, reading one of the novels she purchased in the touristy section of Sillmac.

  Later that afternoon, she fired up the grill; cooked the meat; had a couple margaritas while preparing the rest of dinner; and then summoned the angry man to eat. “If you want, dinner's ready.”

  The two sat at the table, Daren staring down at his plate while eating, and Mary wearing a shit-eating grin of disbelief at her husband. “Okay Daren, don't you think this has gone far enough? I mean you're having a major meltdown over something as stupid as a mausoleum in the backyard.”

  He looked up, sighed and then calmly explained the importance of his mausoleum dream. “Look, owning a mausoleum in the backyard shows dedication to the family and fidelity to a marriage. I don't know about you, but I love this house. I never want to move. And when I die, I want to stay here while the house is passed down in our family from generation to generation. I want our names to be engraved on the mausoleum.”

  Although beautifully stated, Mary wasn't convinced that his dream was such a good idea. “I'm very glad to hear that you love this house, Daren. I love this house too; I've wanted it since I was a little girl. But have you considered that our children may not want this house? And there's something else, Daren. Since I've moved in, I have worked very hard in trying to end the reputation of this house. I'm tired of people thinking it's haunted and cursed. A mausoleum will only add to the rumors. So no; your answer is no. You cannot build that in our backyard.”

  He sighed and went back to silently eating.

  “And Daren? You need to put those tools away. It's supposed to rain tonight, and I don't think you want your tape measure and shovels getting rusty.”

  * * *

  Gone for a week to demo new, medical equipment; Daren returned home, Saturday, in a much, better mood. It was as if the disagreement hadn't occurred 6 days earlier. And in Mary's belief, her husband's dream of a mausoleum was now behind him. Their post-honeymoon bliss resumed.

  But bliss was interrupted with a long-distant phone call that Saturday night. It was Mary's sister-in-law who lived in New York City with very, bad news that her husband (Mary's brother) had been involved in a serious car crash. He was floating in and out of consciousness, near a coma. Doctors were unsure if the man would recover. In apprehension that her brother was going to die, Mary immediately booked the next flight to New York City to possibly be with him in his last moments alive. Daren was unable to join his wife as he had a medical convention to attend in California the following week. He brought Mary to the airport early Sunday morning, and saw her off with a loving embrace and wishes that her brother's condition improved.

  It was Sunday evening while Daren sat in the living room, watching the local news. The anchor woman wore a confounded look, “A Mapleview man will be receiving heavy fines, and is being ordered to tear down a 600 foot radio tower that he installed in his backyard while his wife was out of town. Beverly Noidlar was shocked to discover the tower had been constructed in her backyard. Her husband, Fred, claims he had it built for recreation and sport, saying he only wanted to have a beer at 600 feet while overlooking the forests and wildlife of Mapleview. Officials say that if anything, a permit had not been acquired for the addition to the property; and even more, a commercialized tower is a violation of zoning ordinance in the residential area. It's unclear if the man will receive fines from the FAA as well.”

  That's when Daren realized that his wife's absence was the perfect opportunity to construct his mausoleum in the backyard. Although he needed to be in California for the week, Daren could easily hire a contractor for top dollar to build the mausoleum. Such a project could take time if done in the standard way. But since Daren had money, a highly generous incentive would ensure the completion before Mary came home.

  Chapter 5

  It was Wednesday afternoon while Daren sat alone in his hotel room. The medical convention in California had ended, and Daren rewarded himself with his 4th beer in the past half hour. Back at home, Mary wouldn't allow more than two beers as it would be considered a violation of his promise to cut back drinking. Fortunately for Daren, he traveled in his job which enabled him to drink as he pleased. At least he was only drinking beer!

  The contractor who worked feverishly on the mausoleum back in Mapleview provided an update, reporting that it would soon be complete the following day. And Daren lay back in bed in a sudden guilt of reasoning. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to have the building constructed. But it was behind the bushes, near the perimeter of the property and out of view. About the size of two ordinary tool sheds, the roof allowed only enough room to stand up which, as Daren imagined, would be just below the top line of the bushes. Still, perhaps Mary would be angry.

  Just then, his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

  It was Mary. “Hi Sweetie! Whacha doin'?”

  “Hey babe! I just came back to my room. The convention is over and I'm flying back home tomorrow.”

  “Oh good! I miss you and can't wait to see you!” Now at this point, it would be worth mentioning that Mary's, brother's condition had stabilized and he was now fully conscious. Although
the incident gave the family quite a fright, Mary and her two siblings were now enjoying each other's company while catching up on events since Mary's wedding with Daren.

  Mary had a younger cousin named Kelly, whose mother died from cancer when Kelly was only 10. Since Kelly was without a father, Mary's sister was so kind as to foster the young girl who obviously became an integral member of the family. Although not a problem child, Kelly always had and continued to appear “misguided and misunderstood”. She had no consistent man in her life; but Kelly was a beautifully attractive, 22-year-old woman with the perfect figure to turn many a head. She worked at a gentlemen's club as an exotic, non-nude dancer. Although the money was nice, Kelly felt that she was rated as average and not destined to last in the business.

  It was a yearning she had to get out and experience something other than the life she'd known since entering adulthood. Per Mary's suggestion, Kelly developed in recent days a desire to move to Mapleview and explore a different life. Although not a favorite establishment for Mary, Mapleview had the Hotlicks Sports bar and Grill that featured young waitresses who wore tight shorts and sleeveless halter tops. Aware of her cousin's livelihood, Mary suggested that in the small town environment, Kelly might become a star and earn decent tips since Hotlicks girls are very popular in Mapleview. Within a few days, the brief suggestion planted a seed in Kelly's mind that quickly grew into a strong desire to live in Mapleview. But how could she land a job at Hotlicks and establish a residence in a small town hundreds of miles away?

  It was the phone call to Daren on Wednesday afternoon that Mary intended to find a means for her cousin. “Hey, do you remember my younger cousin, Kelly, who stood up in our wedding?”

  “Kelly? Yeah; why?”