The Dust of Death

Chapter 6

Hollings breath caught in his throat.

"Isn't this wonderful?" Marion exclaimed. "It looks like old Alva emptied the coffers to furnish this room. In spite of all the grime, isn't it beautiful, Holly?"

Hollings had to admit, there was something special about this room that set it apart from all the others. Not only was it larger, but it was filled with dressers and sofas and cushions. There were shelves filled with books, rows and rows of them. There were two enormous fireplaces along opposite walls. There was a cozy bench seat nestled along the wall of a bay window.

This was Alva Peabody's room, Hollings thought. It had to be.

Three enormous six-paneled stained glass windows lined the exterior wall of the room. The colored glass patterns threw multi-colored shadows all around, but they did little to dispel the gloomy atmosphere that pervaded.

Like the rest of the house, the furniture was dark, heavy, and elaborately carved. Burgundy wallpaper hung in tattered shreds. Menacing water stains marked the ceilings. In a far corner of the room sat a small table and two chairs. The table was set for tea.

"Don't you feel just like the mad hatter, Holly?"

"Stop horsing around, Mare."

"Just look at this bed, Holly," Marion said. "The headboard must be ten feet high. And what's this?"

Marion moved warily toward the bed. It was a stunning piece of furniture with beautiful hand-carved fruit and vines decorating both ends.

"It reminds me of an altar," Hollings stated.

And it did.

"It's huge," Marion said, "but what's this?"

She edged closer.

"There's something under the covers, Holly."

"Oh, Marion!" Hollings cried. "You don't think it's Alva's skeleton!"

Under the thick layer of cobwebs and dust lay a dark ball, the size of a small melon.

"No, you fool. It's some kind of . . .," Marion said.

"What are you doing?" Hollings cried, as Marion grabbed the dusty covers and pulled them back to the foot of the bed.

"I don't believe this!" Marion said. "It's some kind of puppet!"

Underneath the covers was a full-sized cloth doll's body. Lying on a pillow was a life-sized carving of a man's head.

"Look at this, Holly! The crazy lady had a boyfriend!"

"Let's get out of here, Marion! I mean it! We shouldn't be here. This is . . . I don't know what this is, but we shouldn't be seeing this."

"Nonsense. Stop shaking in your shoes, you silly goose!"

Marion picked up the head to inspect closely.

"The detail on this is incredible. She's stitched his fingers and toes. And look, Holly, because the head's not attached, you can pick it up and take it with you to the market!"

"Stop joking, Marion. The old lady didn't leave this house. But we should," said Hollings. "Put that back! What are you doing?"

Marion coughed and sputtered. She had blown off the dust from the man's head, enveloping herself and Hollings in a foggy cloud.

"He's so handsome, Holly. Look at the detail! He looks real! Where on earth did she find someone who could do this? This is a masterpiece."

"I don't care if it was carved by the finger of God. Let's go, Marion," Hollings said.

Marion was circling the room in a pretend waltz with her newfound treasure.

"Cut it out, Marion. Come on. You've had your fun. Let's go! The others will be worried. They may have gone for help. Who knows what kind of trouble we'll get into if we're caught."

"Oh, Hollings. You are a boor! Look! Holly! Oh, look! One of these giant windows is actually a door. Why, look! It lets out onto a small balcony!"

"Don't do that, Marion! Are you crazy?"

Marion was trying the doorknob to see if it was locked. Reluctantly, it gave way, and she opened the door and stepped out on the balcony.

"Hey," she called to the group in the yard below. "Look at my new beau!"

Marion was laughing. She wickedly took the head between both hands and pressed her lips lovingly onto the carving's wooden ones.

"My lover is the silent type," she said, laughing, "but he is all the man I need!"

The others stood below, mouths agape.

Marion edged closer to the edge of the balcony. She wanted everyone to see her performance.

"Oh, my Romeo! Do not forsake me, dearest one! Let my kisses quench the fire that burns within your soul! I am yours! Kiss me, you wooden fool! I burn with passion for only youuuuuuuu!"

The balcony where Marion stood seemed to dissolve like powdered sugar from under her feet.There wasn't time to scream. Marion's body hit the tufted grass. She lay as still Romeo after drinking the dose of poison.

"Is she dead?" Wilson asked.

"No," Otillie said, "she's still breathing."

"Run and get help, Ebba! Hurry!"

"This is horrible!" cried Humility. "Oh, Marion, wake up! Wake up!"

Ebba ran as fast as he could to Marion's house. It was one of the few instances when her father was home. The doctor listened to Ebba's frantic story and grabbed his medical bag. His horse and buggy were made ready, and together with Ebba, the two raced to the old mansion. When they arrived, Marion was rousing.

She opened her eyes and saw her father's concerned face bending over her.

"Marion," he was saying gently, "can you move your limbs. Are you hurting, anywhere?"

"Oh, God! No!" Marion screamed, grabbing her abdomen as a sharp pain engulfed her.

A dark red stain blossomed between Marion's legs, and her summer dress looked as if it had taken a direct hit from an assassin's bullet. Marion had survived the fall, but her unborn fetus had not.

"Quickly!" Dr. Succoth ordered. "Go inside. Grab a rug or tablecloth or anything that you can find to wrap her."

Marion was swathed in a carpet and carried home.

The beautifully carved head lay forgotten in the grass nearby. Its lifelike eyes stared up longingly at the stone maiden whose face was hidden in despair.