There Was an Old Woman

Chapter Forty-three


Mrs. Yetner’s upstairs bedroom was long and narrow, stretching from the front of the house to the back, just like the bedroom where Evie and Ginger had slept as kids. Two simple iron twin beds were shoved under sloping ceilings at one end on either side of a window. The beds were covered with quilts, hand pieced from patches of soft 1930s cotton printed in distinctive period designs rich in creamy pastels. Hooked area rugs from the same period in gray, black, and pale green were scattered on the floor.

Evie stepped to the window that looked out over the water—the same view as from her mother’s—but this window and the one at the opposite end of the room felt grander than the windows in her mother’s upstairs. They were trimmed in oak carved in the Eastlake architectural style that predated the house by at least forty years. Evie ran her hand over the sill and its distinctive sawtooth trim. It wouldn’t have surprised her if the woodwork had come from the house where Mrs. Yetner’s father had found that marble mantel.

At the opposite end of the room were a pair of dark mahogany bureaus, one low and one high, 1940s vintage. She came closer. Among the perfume bottles on the lower bureau sat quite a large blown-glass paperweight with lovely millefiori flowers of red, white, and blue. A single framed picture was on the wall behind the bureau. It was a page from one of those massive old street atlases and was dated 1911.

Evie took the map down to get a better look. The neighborhood was rendered in detail typical of maps from that period. There was the Bronx River running into the East River with piers jutting out into the water. A few blocks inland was Snakapins Park, the amusement park Finn said his great-grandfather had owned. In the middle of the park was what looked like a black hole labeled INK WELL. Probably the park’s swimming pool. One of the bigger structures had to be what was now Sparkles Variety.

Apparently in 1911 Mrs. Yetner’s father hadn’t started building the houses in what was now Higgs Point. The crescent of land bounded by water—Evie estimated about a hundred acres—had no structures, but narrow lanes were indicated with parallel dashed lines running east-west, some of them extensions of streets farther in from the water. Over the area, in print so small that she could barely read it, the words Snakapins Park Bungalows were spelled out. Evie wondered if that was the waterfront where Finn’s great-grandfather’s family used to come summers and camp out. A pier marked Ferry Point, just south, must have been the landing point for the ferry from College Point in Queens, where there really had been a college once upon a time, in the early 1800s. So interesting how old maps like this one were historical snapshots.



Later, Evie went back to her mother’s house to get clothes and her toothbrush. When she came back to Mrs. Yetner’s, she washed out Ivory’s food bowl, added some fresh water, turned out the lights downstairs, and headed up to the bedroom.

She took the bed on the right, the same side that had been hers growing up. The bed had old-fashioned springs that squeaked when she got into it, and her instinct to duck her head so she didn’t hit the sloped ceiling was ingrained. Immediately the cat jumped up, circled, kneaded her claws into the quilt, and curled up. Evie hoped it was all right to let Ivory sleep with her. The cat’s back felt warm up against Evie’s.

Even with Ivory’s comforting presence, it took Evie what felt like hours to fall asleep. When she finally did, she dreamed she was trying to fall asleep in her own childhood bedroom. A cold breeze swept through the room, from front window to back window. The door to the room opened and her mother stood there.

But the mother wavering on the threshold of the room was the wraith mother Evie had left in the hospital. It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, Evie told herself. She knew that because the silk robe this mother had on had been thrown away years ago.

Her mother stepped into the room, pointed her finger at Evie, opened her mouth, and emitted an unearthly yowl.

Evie sat bolt upright in the bed, sweating and shaking. The bedroom really was cold, and outside the sky was dark. The room was familiar and not familiar. It took a moment for her to remember where she was.

And then the sound came again. A yowl. Definitely an animal. Then a thump. Then a hiss. The empty spot beside her on the bed was still warm, and the sounds were coming from downstairs.

Evie wrapped the quilt around her, stepped to the window, and looked out into the marsh. Far off, the lights of Manhattan barely glowed through a thin fog. Below, light poured out onto the backyard from the living room window. She was sure she’d turned out the lights downstairs.

Evie held very still and listened, her heart pounding in her chest. Those creaking footsteps didn’t belong to any house cat. Someone was in the house.

She looked for a phone in the room but there was none. Her cell phone was downstairs in her purse, though she couldn’t remember where she’d left it. She remembered there was a phone at the foot of the stairs.

Casting about for some kind of weapon, she grabbed the glass paperweight from the bureau and crept to the top of the stairs. In the gloom, she could make out the telephone sitting on the table by the front door. She started down the stairs, tiptoeing, holding the heavy paperweight like a baseball. She’d almost reached the table when she heard a man’s voice call quietly, “Here, kitty kitty kitty.”

Evie froze. There was a hiss and, again, that preternatural howling. That had to be Ivory.

Evie used the sounds as cover to take the last few steps. She grabbed the phone and darted back up the stairs, as far as the cord would reach. She sat on a step and, by feel, she found the 9 hole and dialed, cringing at the sound as the dial ratcheted back.

“Shit.” The man’s voice again. She heard him grunt. Footsteps on the kitchen floor. A cabinet door opening, then closing. Then footsteps receding from the kitchen and onto the carpet. Another grunt.

She dialed 1 and was about to dial another 1 when she heard, “Come on out of there, Ivory.”

Ivory? A burglar who knew the cat’s name? How likely was that?

Evie hung up the phone and set it on the step. Still holding the paperweight, she crept down to the kitchen door and peered in. No one was there. Beyond the dining room, lights were on in the living room. A man dressed in dark clothing and a baseball cap was crouched in front of the couch, holding a broom. As Evie watched, he got down on his belly. “Shit,” he said again and turned his baseball cap to face the back. The brim was red, and the team insignia above it looked familiar. “Come on. Get out of the way, you stupid cat.” Now Evie recognized the voice. It was Mrs. Yetner’s nephew.

Ivory hissed and yowled as Brian poked the broom under the couch. He reached under, groped about, and then jerked back. “Ow. Damn you.” He reached in again, grunting. “Now I’ve got you. Just you—”

“Hey,” Evie cried.

Brian kept right on grunting and reaching and Ivory kept right on screeching and hissing.

Evie came up behind him. “Hey!”

Brian froze. He let go, sat up, and twisted around. “What are you doing here?”

“Your aunt asked me to stay over and take care of the cat. She didn’t tell you?”

“Obviously not,” Brian said. “I came over to take care of the cat, too.”

Evie folded her arms across her chest. “In the middle of the night? With a broom?”

He struggled to his feet and dropped the broom. “The cat got spooked. I was trying to coax her out from under there so I can take her home with me.”

Coax? Drag was more like it. And in what? Evie didn’t see a cat carrier sitting open.

“Well, you didn’t need to. Your aunt asked me to stay here with Ivory while she’s gone. So I am. And when your aunt comes home—”

Brian rocked back on his heels and squashed his chins into his neck. “Who said she’s coming home?”

“She did.” Evie pulled the quilt tighter around her as he narrowed his eyes.

“I’m sure you mean well,” he said, tugging on his lapels, “but you don’t even live here. I don’t want to see my aunt hurt. I don’t want her to start depending on you and then you disappear.” He took a breath. “Anyway, never mind about the cat. I can see Ivory doesn’t need me.” He started for the door, then paused and turned around. “Thank you.” He stomped off.

“No problem,” Evie murmured to his receding back.

Evie heard the front door open and shut. Moments later a car engine started. By the time she got to the kitchen and looked out the window, his car was gone.

She dropped the quilt and hurried back into the living room. She got down on her hands and knees and looked under the couch. Ivory was there, a shadowy lump glowering back at her.

“Hey, Ivory. It’s okay. You can come out now.” Evie made kissing sounds. “Come on. Come on out.” She reached under the couch, but the cat backed farther into the saggy underbelly of the sofa. Evie’s hand brushed against a piece of metal on the floor and she pulled it out instead of the cat. A small piece of shiny brass that fit in the palm of her hand. She turned it over, recognizing the fused tubes—it was the little whistle attachment that had been on Mrs. Yetner’s teakettle.

From under the sofa came the sound of rustling paper. Evie lay down on the floor and raised the sofa’s skirt to let in more light. It looked as if Ivory was backed up on top of some papers. Evie reached in, grabbed a corner of a page, and tugged it out.

She sat, legs crossed, to see what she’d found. It was a sheet from some kind of legal document. The header on the page read “Life Estate Deed.” There was a line for signature by a “Grantor,” and below that, a block of text that began:

Grantor makes no warranty, express or implied, concerning the property’s condition, need of repair, existence or absence of any defects, visible, hidden, latent, or otherwise.

As Evie went on reading, Ivory crept out from under the sofa. She stretched, yawned nonchalantly, rubbed her forehead against Evie’s knee, and curled up on the discarded quilt.

Evie had to move the sofa away from the wall to reach the rest of the papers, including a cover letter to Wilhelmina Yetner. These looked like the papers Evie had seen Mrs. Yetner shove under a sofa cushion when Brian had come to visit the last time—probably the legal document that he’d been pestering her about. A few words popped out at her. Life tenant. Remainderman.

As she was getting up from the floor, a small slip of blue paper fluttered from between the pages. She picked it up. What caught her immediate attention were the words, written in the same handwriting as on the calendar:

Tell Ginger. Don’t let him in until I’m gone.