Hillhouse Revisited
Ian had never told Abigail that he had a Great Aunt Theodora. As a matter of fact, no one in the family ever had. She’d been caught completely off guard the day before Ian’s funeral when this Theodora woman had called to say she’d heard the news and wished she could make it to the funeral, but that she wasn’t going to be able to come. The call had barely registered, as Abigail had been so out of it at the time and had received so many similar calls, she hadn’t paid much attention. By the time the second call came, three months later, she had all but forgotten the first one. When she heard “Theodora,” she hung onto the phone trying to remember if her parents had a friend named Theodora, someone they’d be appalled to find she couldn’t remember. The jolt to her memory didn’t come until Theodora said, “Ian was my favorite nephew, you know.”
She then went on to say how sorry she was that they’d never met while Ian was still alive. She’d like them to get to know each other. Wouldn’t Abigail like to come visit her down in Winston-Salem? It was such an odd request, this relative stranger inviting Abigail to visit. Her curiosity was piqued. And it was piqued even further when the warm, elderly voice on the other end of the phone warned her not to mention the conversations to other members of Ian’s family. As she put it, she’d been “excommunicated” sometime back in the fifties or sixties.
That had been nearly a year ago, and they’d had a number of phone calls since then. Abigail could only think to describe them as having been “delightful,” making her sound as though she’d just stepped out of a nineteenth-century novel, she knew. Theodora seemed to inspire one to sound that way, though.
From what Janet had gathered from the tales told when she was a child, the young orphan had never really recovered from the death of her adoring and adored father. She was quite a handful for her adoptive parents, who were by no means old by today’s standards, but who had been considered to be getting older and slowing down by then. Everyone felt that what Theodora had needed were young, energetic parents with firm hands to keep her in line.
Not knowing what else to do with her, she’d been sent off to boarding schools, hoping they would instill some discipline, but the schools had seemed to bring out the worst, not the best, in her. The details were sketchy, though, and Janet had never really been able to get anyone to tell her what that had meant. Eventually, talking about Theodora had become taboo within the family, which had meant no one talked about her publicly, although plenty of whispering went on behind scenes, and Janet and her brother and sister had made up so many stories themselves about “Wild Aunt Theo” as they called her, that Janet found it hard these days to recollect what was true and what wasn’t.
She’d never had anything against Theodora herself. She and her siblings had all adored their wild, crazy, and flamboyant aunt, really more like a sister, since she was only seven years older. She’d taught Janet all the stylish dances and had convinced her that girls should wear their hair short, no matter what the fashion. Why waste time with all those hundred brush strokes required of long hair? And washing long hair was such a nuisance. Janet, at age twelve, had wanted to be just like her aunt, but, as any sensible child would, she'd eventually outgrown that silly notion.
When Theodora had moved in with her lover, she had been disowned by her parents, but Janet had always felt it really had nothing to do with her love affair and everything to do with her grandparents looking for an excuse to be rid of the child who’d always been a problem. She was never mentioned by them again, and that’s when the whispered discussions began. All Janet had known was that she’d moved to New Mexico at some point, but that was about it. She’d already begun to drift away from her aunt by then, having a family of her own and was really too busy to care too much about the details of the life of a family member who’d always been a misfit. Ian had been drawn to her, as all children had, but her children were always quick to catch on, and it hadn’t taken too long for him to stop asking for her at family gatherings. Janet was sure he’d eventually forgotten all about her.
****
Abigail and Theodora had spent many of their phone conversations discussing Theodora’s fascinating life. It seemed so interesting compared to Abigail’s predictable and now empty, often very lonely, one. Although originally from Wallingford, like the rest of her family, Theodora had chosen the South for her retirement. She’d been drawn to Winston-Salem during the seventies when they’d been there to investigate a house “way out in the boondocks in Kernersville,” a small community east of the city. She lived now in the heart of the city, on Academy St., within walking distance of Old Salem, her favorite section of town. She was full of tales of all the ghosts in Old Salem, most of whom no one else believed existed, except some of the researchers from Duke who’d come stay with her on occasion.
Janet knew she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that Abigail hadn’t adjusted well after Ian’s death. No one talked about it, though, and Janet found herself following suit, despite the fact she was worried about the constant dark circles under the young woman’s eyes. Abigail seemed to be under the impression that she should face life as a stalwart soldier. She closed herself off to the family. She’d shed maybe three required tears at the funeral, but that was the only time she’d cried in the company of others.
At times Janet wanted to shake her. It was almost unbearable to watch her marching efficiently through life, carrying on with all home and business tasks, not once letting down her guard. Janet wanted to tell her it was okay to break down and weep, necessary even. Abigail was worried about Thomas, but Janet told her Thomas would understand. It was better for a son to see his mother’s sorrow, evidence of how much she’d loved his father. Janet was uncomfortable, though, and she honestly didn’t really want to be the one to talk to Abigail (shouldn't her own mother do that?), so she did what they all did: pretended Abigail was doing so well and wondered how long they would all keep pretending, how much longer everyone was going to ignore the dark circles under the eyes, the quick temper that had begun to develop, the inability to concentrate during normal conversation.
****
Abigail’s mother had agreed to take Thomas for the five days she’d be gone. Thomas hadn’t been too happy about this. He much preferred to stay with her in-laws who spoiled him rotten, in a way her mother never did. However, she couldn’t tell anyone in Ian’s family she was visiting Theodora. Besides, her mother had begun to hint that she never got to see Ian, that Abigail seemed to spend all her time with Ian’s family. This wasn’t true. Abigail knew she wasn’t spending much time with any family members, but she was too drained these days to argue. She hoped an extended period with Ian would appease her mother for a while.
After dropping off Thomas, she realized she still had quite a bit of time before she needed to head to the airport. She decided to stop by Borders to pick up a copy of The Haunting of Hill House, the book that had made Aunt Theodora famous. Years before, she’d seen the movie based on the book but didn’t remember too much about it, having never been a huge fan of horror movies. Ghost stories had always seemed silly to her, even at age ten, sitting around Girl Scout campfires after dark. The book was short enough. She’d probably finish it on the plane, especially since she had a two-hour layover in Baltimore.
She was disappointed. Not in the book, which, surprisingly, spooked her quite a bit, but more in the fact that she was barely given any information about Theodora. Of the two young women, Theodora was obviously the more exciting. Eleanor, who received center stage, had so evidently been a real drip. The only exciting or brave thing she’d ever done in her life, it seemed, was steal a car that was half hers anyway. And her chanting of “journeys end in lovers’ meeting” was just plain embarrassing.
Dr. Montague was a pompous ass. Abigail couldn’t warm up to him, either. He and his dreadful wife deserved each other. Typically of someone of his sort, he arranged this whole little experiment and then so often wasn’t around when Eleanor and Theodora really needed him. Abigail couldn’t imagine what Theodora had seen in him to make her keep working with him for twenty five years.
By the time she’d picked up her rental car and was headed west on I-40, she’d had plenty of questions for Theodora. Mention had been made, of course, of the domestic arrangement that had estranged her from her family, but Abigail wasn’t the least bit satisfied due to the lack of details. She decided Shirley Jackson, the author, must not have been a big fan of details.
She stood up and gave Abigail an exuberant welcome, as if they’d been long-time friends, offering, despite her age, to take one of the two bags Abigail carrried. She was a woman who, in her seventies now, was still stunning. You could tell that in her youth she’d radiated sex and beauty, the kind of girl who so often bewitched the boys with whom Abigail was madly in unrequited love. Abigail had never really been able to blame the boys for being so bewitched, since she was usually half under these girls’ spells as well. Theodora moved sylph-like up the stairs and led Abigail into the second of two bedrooms that had obviously once been the attic.
“Welcome to my guest suite,” she announced, as she placed Abigail’s small carry-on bag on the floor. “The bathroom is through that door,” she pointed to a door on the other side of the four-poster bed, which stood inbetween it and the door through which they’d entered. “It connects to the other bedroom, but I have no other guests this week, so you’ve got all three rooms to yourself. Feel free to spread out. The other room is bigger and has a desk and sofa in it, but this one has the more comfortable and queen-sized bed, so I thought you’d prefer it.” She left Abigail to “freshen up.”
It was a cute little room, basically just big enough for the bed, the dresser, and a couple of bedside tables, thoughtfully laid out with vases of flowers and magazines that might be of interest to a visitor. The closet was completely empty, as were the dresser drawers. Abigail unpacked her suitcase and stored her things in them, made a quick trip to the bathroom, and joined Theodora back downstairs for the gin and tonic she’d been offered by her hostess.
She then went on to say how sorry she was that they’d never met while Ian was still alive. She’d like them to get to know each other. Wouldn’t Abigail like to come visit her down in Winston-Salem? It was such an odd request, this relative stranger inviting Abigail to visit. Her curiosity was piqued. And it was piqued even further when the warm, elderly voice on the other end of the phone warned her not to mention the conversations to other members of Ian’s family. As she put it, she’d been “excommunicated” sometime back in the fifties or sixties.
That had been nearly a year ago, and they’d had a number of phone calls since then. Abigail could only think to describe them as having been “delightful,” making her sound as though she’d just stepped out of a nineteenth-century novel, she knew. Theodora seemed to inspire one to sound that way, though.
She was an extremely interesting person, full of life and living, despite her age, the sort of person Abigail hoped to be one day, the woman who shunned the notion of sitting in a rocker and knitting all day as soon as she hit age sixty. Almost every family has a Theodora, someone who doesn’t quite live life “by the rules,” but Abigail couldn’t understand why Ian’s family, usually so accepting of anyone and everyone, would have hidden her away. They were the sorts to take great pride in having such a character as a member of their own clan, especially one, who as far as she could tell, was somewhat famous. Theodora should have been a great topic of conversation for them at parties.
It made some sense that Theodora’s parents, being of their generation, had disowned her when she’d gone off to live with her lover in the 1950s, something that just wasn’t done, not if you were from a proper New England family such as theirs. Still, why would anyone care now? Why wouldn’t they have accepted her back in the fold, especially since her parents were long since dead and gone? But then Abigail had to acknowledge that the whole ghost hunting thing might be a bit much for any family, let alone a proper New England one.
The relationship that had cost Theodora her parents hadn’t even lasted. She and her lover had split up, due to one of those arguments in which irreparable damage is done, just before Theodora had gone off on her first investigation with Dr. Montague. Some within the family speculated that the investigation with Dr. Montague was what had caused the real rift in the family, not the live-in lover, since the two events had seemed to overlap. The twenty-five-year-long association she’d shared with the doctor as two often-sought experts on hauntings and the paranormal offered a far better explanation for cutting her out of the family than did a misguided, less-than-two-year-long indiscreet love affair that could have been easily forgotten.
****
Janet hadn’t thought about Aunt Theodora in years. Her father’s sister had been the youngest member of the family, an adopted child, as a matter of fact. Theodora’s parents, good friends of Janet’s grandparents, had died in an accident, and Janet’s grandparents, whose children were all grown or nearly grown by then, had been given custody of the little six-year-old.
****
Janet hadn’t thought about Aunt Theodora in years. Her father’s sister had been the youngest member of the family, an adopted child, as a matter of fact. Theodora’s parents, good friends of Janet’s grandparents, had died in an accident, and Janet’s grandparents, whose children were all grown or nearly grown by then, had been given custody of the little six-year-old.
From what Janet had gathered from the tales told when she was a child, the young orphan had never really recovered from the death of her adoring and adored father. She was quite a handful for her adoptive parents, who were by no means old by today’s standards, but who had been considered to be getting older and slowing down by then. Everyone felt that what Theodora had needed were young, energetic parents with firm hands to keep her in line.
Not knowing what else to do with her, she’d been sent off to boarding schools, hoping they would instill some discipline, but the schools had seemed to bring out the worst, not the best, in her. The details were sketchy, though, and Janet had never really been able to get anyone to tell her what that had meant. Eventually, talking about Theodora had become taboo within the family, which had meant no one talked about her publicly, although plenty of whispering went on behind scenes, and Janet and her brother and sister had made up so many stories themselves about “Wild Aunt Theo” as they called her, that Janet found it hard these days to recollect what was true and what wasn’t.
She’d never had anything against Theodora herself. She and her siblings had all adored their wild, crazy, and flamboyant aunt, really more like a sister, since she was only seven years older. She’d taught Janet all the stylish dances and had convinced her that girls should wear their hair short, no matter what the fashion. Why waste time with all those hundred brush strokes required of long hair? And washing long hair was such a nuisance. Janet, at age twelve, had wanted to be just like her aunt, but, as any sensible child would, she'd eventually outgrown that silly notion.
When Theodora had moved in with her lover, she had been disowned by her parents, but Janet had always felt it really had nothing to do with her love affair and everything to do with her grandparents looking for an excuse to be rid of the child who’d always been a problem. She was never mentioned by them again, and that’s when the whispered discussions began. All Janet had known was that she’d moved to New Mexico at some point, but that was about it. She’d already begun to drift away from her aunt by then, having a family of her own and was really too busy to care too much about the details of the life of a family member who’d always been a misfit. Ian had been drawn to her, as all children had, but her children were always quick to catch on, and it hadn’t taken too long for him to stop asking for her at family gatherings. Janet was sure he’d eventually forgotten all about her.
****
Abigail and Theodora had spent many of their phone conversations discussing Theodora’s fascinating life. It seemed so interesting compared to Abigail’s predictable and now empty, often very lonely, one. Although originally from Wallingford, like the rest of her family, Theodora had chosen the South for her retirement. She’d been drawn to Winston-Salem during the seventies when they’d been there to investigate a house “way out in the boondocks in Kernersville,” a small community east of the city. She lived now in the heart of the city, on Academy St., within walking distance of Old Salem, her favorite section of town. She was full of tales of all the ghosts in Old Salem, most of whom no one else believed existed, except some of the researchers from Duke who’d come stay with her on occasion.
These conversations were more than intriguing to Abigail. She so badly needed a vacation, so it wasn’t so surprising that just shy of a year after their first conversation, she decided to take Theodora up on the offer to visit a place she probably never would have known existed if R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Co. hadn’t named their cigarettes after the town. A trip to North Carolina would be cheaper than her longed-for trip to Bermuda, which, living on a shoe string as she currently was, she’d probably never make. She’d always loved Ian’s family – honestly, preferring them to most of her own family members – so it was nice to discover a member she’d never met, and she was sure they’d have a wonderful time getting better acquainted in person.
****
****
Janet knew she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that Abigail hadn’t adjusted well after Ian’s death. No one talked about it, though, and Janet found herself following suit, despite the fact she was worried about the constant dark circles under the young woman’s eyes. Abigail seemed to be under the impression that she should face life as a stalwart soldier. She closed herself off to the family. She’d shed maybe three required tears at the funeral, but that was the only time she’d cried in the company of others.
At times Janet wanted to shake her. It was almost unbearable to watch her marching efficiently through life, carrying on with all home and business tasks, not once letting down her guard. Janet wanted to tell her it was okay to break down and weep, necessary even. Abigail was worried about Thomas, but Janet told her Thomas would understand. It was better for a son to see his mother’s sorrow, evidence of how much she’d loved his father. Janet was uncomfortable, though, and she honestly didn’t really want to be the one to talk to Abigail (shouldn't her own mother do that?), so she did what they all did: pretended Abigail was doing so well and wondered how long they would all keep pretending, how much longer everyone was going to ignore the dark circles under the eyes, the quick temper that had begun to develop, the inability to concentrate during normal conversation.
****
Abigail’s mother had agreed to take Thomas for the five days she’d be gone. Thomas hadn’t been too happy about this. He much preferred to stay with her in-laws who spoiled him rotten, in a way her mother never did. However, she couldn’t tell anyone in Ian’s family she was visiting Theodora. Besides, her mother had begun to hint that she never got to see Ian, that Abigail seemed to spend all her time with Ian’s family. This wasn’t true. Abigail knew she wasn’t spending much time with any family members, but she was too drained these days to argue. She hoped an extended period with Ian would appease her mother for a while.
After dropping off Thomas, she realized she still had quite a bit of time before she needed to head to the airport. She decided to stop by Borders to pick up a copy of The Haunting of Hill House, the book that had made Aunt Theodora famous. Years before, she’d seen the movie based on the book but didn’t remember too much about it, having never been a huge fan of horror movies. Ghost stories had always seemed silly to her, even at age ten, sitting around Girl Scout campfires after dark. The book was short enough. She’d probably finish it on the plane, especially since she had a two-hour layover in Baltimore.
She was disappointed. Not in the book, which, surprisingly, spooked her quite a bit, but more in the fact that she was barely given any information about Theodora. Of the two young women, Theodora was obviously the more exciting. Eleanor, who received center stage, had so evidently been a real drip. The only exciting or brave thing she’d ever done in her life, it seemed, was steal a car that was half hers anyway. And her chanting of “journeys end in lovers’ meeting” was just plain embarrassing.
Dr. Montague was a pompous ass. Abigail couldn’t warm up to him, either. He and his dreadful wife deserved each other. Typically of someone of his sort, he arranged this whole little experiment and then so often wasn’t around when Eleanor and Theodora really needed him. Abigail couldn’t imagine what Theodora had seen in him to make her keep working with him for twenty five years.
By the time she’d picked up her rental car and was headed west on I-40, she’d had plenty of questions for Theodora. Mention had been made, of course, of the domestic arrangement that had estranged her from her family, but Abigail wasn’t the least bit satisfied due to the lack of details. She decided Shirley Jackson, the author, must not have been a big fan of details.
Theodora, on the other hand, boded to be an extremely detail-oriented person. Her directions were excellent, and Abigail found her cute little yellow house with its front porch (obviously de rigueur in this part of the world) with no trouble. It being a beautiful fall evening, she found Theodora waiting for her, sitting out on one of the porch’s gliders, the porch light shining brightly.
She stood up and gave Abigail an exuberant welcome, as if they’d been long-time friends, offering, despite her age, to take one of the two bags Abigail carrried. She was a woman who, in her seventies now, was still stunning. You could tell that in her youth she’d radiated sex and beauty, the kind of girl who so often bewitched the boys with whom Abigail was madly in unrequited love. Abigail had never really been able to blame the boys for being so bewitched, since she was usually half under these girls’ spells as well. Theodora moved sylph-like up the stairs and led Abigail into the second of two bedrooms that had obviously once been the attic.
“Welcome to my guest suite,” she announced, as she placed Abigail’s small carry-on bag on the floor. “The bathroom is through that door,” she pointed to a door on the other side of the four-poster bed, which stood inbetween it and the door through which they’d entered. “It connects to the other bedroom, but I have no other guests this week, so you’ve got all three rooms to yourself. Feel free to spread out. The other room is bigger and has a desk and sofa in it, but this one has the more comfortable and queen-sized bed, so I thought you’d prefer it.” She left Abigail to “freshen up.”
It was a cute little room, basically just big enough for the bed, the dresser, and a couple of bedside tables, thoughtfully laid out with vases of flowers and magazines that might be of interest to a visitor. The closet was completely empty, as were the dresser drawers. Abigail unpacked her suitcase and stored her things in them, made a quick trip to the bathroom, and joined Theodora back downstairs for the gin and tonic she’d been offered by her hostess.
(To be continued...)
posted by Emily Barton at 3:31 PM
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