The Typewriter

Chapter 8 or Day 8 of NaNoWriMo 2012 (1,695 words)

Chapter 8: Lydia Applewhite reads Nancy Applewhite Lost in the Mist

"Miss Lydia," Jose said climbing the steps to the gazebo and setting a basket of bright red apples on the table next to her. "I thought you might like some apples. I know it's early in the season, but the trees by the reflecting pool are bearing early this year."

"My father all ways said," she smiled, "that the earlier the fruit on those trees ripened, the better the crops would be that year. Would you let me know if that true?"

"Yes, Miss Lydia." She sighed as he left. Lydia enjoyed talking to Jose because he was the only person in town who wasn't afraid of her; he was the only one in town who did not refer to Lydia as Her Royal Highness. She missed him on his days off and she knew she would miss him even more when he completed his parole time. Perhaps, she thought taking a bite of one of the apples, I'll ask Mary Anne Walton-Gray to make him my private gardener.

As she slowly chewed the apple, enjoying its sweet taste, she turned her head so that she could see the trees surround the reflecting pool. She had been so busy the past few week, that she had not taken time to just sit in the gazebo watching the trees as they burst into bloom. She noticed that the reflecting pool trees were in various stages of bloom and bearing, as if they did not know the difference between spring, summer, or fall. She had only seen this happen twice before, the first was the year that that she and Horace Clawson were married and the second time was when their daughter, Selma May, was born. I wonder, she thought, what good fortune will befall me this year.

A tear fell down her cheek, day that Horace and Selma May died was still fresh in her mind. She could still see their lifeless bodies lying beneath the stones of the wall intended to enclose the yard of their new home. What had happened? Attempted to remember, what she had witnessed, but all she could see was the crushed bodies of her husband and daughter. She had read the constables report, which had determined their deaths was an accident.

According to the report, Chester Wainwright had lost control of the car when the breaks failed. Her father, Luther Applewhite, had insisted that Wainwright had intended to kill them because he wanted his son K. C. to marry her, but she could not remember K. C. being in the area. She had been standing in front of the wall with Horace and Selma May they were discussing what color the wall should be painted. She had heard someone call her name from trees that boarded the other side of the yard. She left Horace, holding their daughter, while she went to see who was calling her. The next thing she remember was a crash and someone screaming. She turned around to see the only man she ever loved, still holding Selma May, laying beneath the ruins of the wall.

Lydia pulled her thoughts back to the present and reached for the manuscript laying in the center of the table. She placed the manuscript directly in front of her, but instead of opening it to the first page she picked up her coffee cup and sipped the cooling liquid. She could not bring herself to read Nancy Applewhite Lost in the Mist, she wanted to read it, but, like her father, she was afraid. The problem was that she did not know why she was afraid.

Her life had been a patchwork quilt of joy and sorrow, of light and darkness; since she was old enough to feel the power of the magic flowing through her she had been ruled by the emotions of fear and revenge. At fifteen, she had learned to use the typewriter Grandma Selma enchanted. She had sent those who wronged her, pissed her off, or that she feared into worlds created by the typewriter and her imagination. She had followed the example of her grandmother and her father; all though she did not sit on any of the town boards or run for any office, she ruled Dragonview through fear.

Almost everyone in town feared her because any who offended her disappear. They disappeared from their last know location whether it was inside a building or outside. They disappeared when no one was around to see what happened. They were simply gone and were never seen again. The only one in Dragonview who did not fear her was Jose, who always treated her as if she were his own grandmother. Jose was the only one in town who respected her without being afraid of her.

That's why I'm afraid to read my mother's story, she sighed placing her right hand on the manuscript. I'm guilty of treating others the way Grandma Selma treated my mother. She opened the manuscript and stared down at the first page. She inhaled deeply, clearing her mind of all thought and then slowly, she began to read about the world that imprisoned her mother.

It was late afternoon and Lucy May Applewhite walked alone through her family's private garden. As she read, Lydia let the words echo through her mind. As she walked, a mist began to form around her feet and slowly enveloped her entire body. Above her the sky began to darken transforming from blue to deep black velvet. Lucy looked up, hoping to see the first stars appear, but instead all she saw was a swirling mist that seemed to hold her body and mind in its cold embrace.

Engrossed in the novel, Lydia did not notice that the sun was setting. The mist swirling around Lucy became a thick charcoal gray fog that moved with her as she followed a cobblestone path she thought would take her back to her house. Instead, the path ended in a granite stair way descending into into a black green fog. Lucy stopped and turned around only to encounter another set of stair ascending into a reddish black fog.

Lucy opened her mouth to cry out, but her tongue and vocal chords were paralyzed. She could form the words in her mind, but they would not come out of her mouth. Silently she screamed. Her screams echoed through her mind and tears formed in her eyes and fell down her cheeks soaking her light summer dress. A bitter terror rose from her gut and she began to sweat. Lucy dropped to her knees, curled into a ball, and went to sleep.

Lucy awake shivering and wet, to find herself laying on soft green grass. She sat up and looked around, but the mist began to form around her again. The mist, now a pale greenish-blue, form a dense vial around her hiding everything outside of its embrace from her sight. She felt neither hunger nor thirst, but after several hours of walking weariness forced her the lye down and again go to sleep.

Lucy lost track of time, she did not know how long she had wondered though the mist. She did not know how many times she had sunk to the ground lonely and tired. She knew who she was, but she could not remember anything before she found herself lost in the mist. Her waking hours were spent wondering in an every changing colored mist and when she slept she did not dream.

Lydia looked up from the manuscript to find that night had descended on the garden and a reddish-orange fog moving through the garden. "Hello," a voice echoed from the fog. "Please help me find my way home." Lydia closed the manuscript and the fog disappeared. Once the fog dispersed the voice echoed into silence.

"A dream," Lydia said shaking her head, "I think I'd better go to bed." She got up, picked up the manuscript, the basket of apples, and went into the house. In the kitchen she found a note on the table.

Dear Miss Lydia,

I will be off the next two days. When I spoke to Morgan this morning, he said that Sam Long will be tending the garden, picking the apples, and trimming the hedge. When I return, I will weed the herb patch myself.

Sincerely,
Jose.

She was not as tired as she though, so instead of going to bed she decided to do the books. Taking the note with her, she went into her private office room, which was located across from the typewriter room. Her lawyer had suggested she hire a financial manager, but she refused. Lydia preferred to keep her own financial records. The truth was that, like her father, she did not trust anyone else to do it properly. Setting down at her desk, she opened the top right drawer, she removed the ledger containing the monthly accounts, and the receipt book.

An hour later she put everything away and went into the setting room. Going to the bookcase, she removed a photo album and took it to the couch. Turning to the last page, she stared at the photo of her father, her half-sister, and herself. After a few minutes she began looking carefully through the album. Odd, she thought, that Dad didn't have a picture of himself and Mom. Oh well, a tear fell down her cheek, I guess I'll never know what my mother looked like. With a sigh, Lydia closed the photo album and laid it on the coffee table.

She walked down the hall toward her bedroom, but instead of turning right and going in she turned left and went into her father's room. Turning on the light, she looked around. The room was exactly the same as the day he died. She sit down on the bed and opened the top drawer of the nightstand. Picking up the framed photo, she studied it carefully. It was the photo of a blond woman wearing the same dress she had on. "Mama," she took the photo with her to her room.