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Secret Guilt

By Lynne Waite Chapman

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“Mom? Is that you?” I pushed down the lever and the hot water slammed against the shut off valve with a thump. Listening for a moment, I waited for a repeat of the noise from the foyer. Nothing.

I’d been cleaning the sink while lost in a daydream. Thinking I’d like to take a road trip. A mini-vacation. Maybe a trip to the ocean. A drive down to see the leaves change color in southern Indiana would be closer to fitting my budget. Before my thoughts were interrupted, I’d been balancing the feel of sand in my toes to the earthy scent of the woodland trails in Brown County State Park.
I turned my head so one ear was pointed toward the hallway, better to hear with. My mother, if it was her, was being unusually quiet. But who else would it be?
I tossed the rag into the sink and then gathered the leftovers from the counter to store in the refrigerator. I raised my voice a notch, and I called out once again. “Mom, I thought this was your day at the church food pantry.”
No answer. I stood still, slowed my breathing, listening.
Okay, pretty sure I hadn’t imagined the noise at the front door. It was most certainly my mother. Who else would walk into my house unannounced? Even my closest friends tapped on the door and called my name before barging in.
My mother, on the other hand, wouldn’t see the need for knocking. I’d learned not to expect privacy when it came to Katherine Cassell. After all, this used to be her house. I bought the comfortable Craftsman style bungalow when she relocated to Clairmont Retirement Village. With the swipe of a pen, the name on the mortgage changed from Katherine Baron Cassell to Liberty Breeze Cassell, sealing a bargain for both of us. I couldn’t turn down the deal on a house, and she was happy that the home where she’d raised her family wouldn’t be trampled on by strangers.
With carrots in my hand, ready to toss into the crisper, I glanced over my shoulder toward the hallway that led to the front door. Still no answer, save a slight creak of the old wooden floor. The aging house settling. All was quiet at the moment, but I couldn’t shake the certainty that I’d heard something. Though not the familiar clippity-clip of Mom’s size four pumps. Not to mention the running update on her morning activities. It was her habit to begin commentary the moment she stepped inside and continue it until well after she’d found me in whatever room I happened to be in.
I stood in the silent kitchen, waiting. And if I’m honest, growing impatient. There were chores to be done, a schedule to keep. I had a job to get to. My mother thought she was busy, but it was all volunteer work.
Maybe it wasn’t her after all. “Clair, is that you?” No, my friend Clair would have made herself known by now. She was seldom still. Always running to appointments to build her new real estate business. If not that, she would be helping her husband in his veterinary clinic.
It must be my mother. Knowing her, she’d been distracted by the dust on my entry table or maybe she’d stepped in and felt the need to rearrange the books on my shelf.
I took two steps and glanced down the hallway. I needed to finish cleaning the kitchen and get on my way to work, but this called for further investigation.
If it was my mother, and I was certain of that, she’d gotten sidetracked. Maybe admiring the vase of sunflowers I’d placed by the front door. I’d made an early trip to the farmers market and the huge blossoms created a splash of color on my entry table. If she was so enamored with it, I’d send it home with her.
I took a deep breath to stifle an angry outburst. On the whole, I’m a patient person, but was fast becoming frustrated. What was that woman doing? I stepped back into the kitchen and tossed the carrots into the refrigerator. With fists planted on my hips, I called again. “Katherine Cassell, answer me before I freak out and grab the shotgun.”
Okay, that was a joke. Ours was a peace-loving family. I’d never owned a firearm, shotgun or otherwise. My mother would grow faint if I even mentioned getting one. No taser or pepper spray either.
Still no answer. With a puff of breath, I started down the hall to where I assumed she would be standing. Then I heard something not at all familiar. Heavy treads retreating. Out through the entry and across the threshold and wooden porch. Then down the front steps to the sidewalk. By the time I’d reached the door and leaned out, there was nothing to see. A rustle in the thick forsythia bushes along the side of the house, but nothing my straining eyes could pick out.
“I did not imagine it. Now I’m certain there was someone in here.” I spoke to the walls. Living alone, I often feel the need to reassure myself, out loud. Doesn’t everyone? Or was it the sneaky approach of middle age?
I mentally sorted through possible explanations for the intrusion until I came up with the elderly neighbor possibility. One of the aging residents on the block had mistakenly entered my house. They would have been really embarrassed at the gaffe. If it had been me, I would have sneaked out and taken off running, too.
I took one last peek outside. A beautiful morning. Sun shining and leaves just beginning to turn. The breeze brought in a whiff of smoke. Someone had already lit their fireplace or firepit.
I shuffled inside for a glance into the living room. “Helloooo. Anyone in here?” No answer. No one there. I returned to the kitchen and hustled to finish the morning cleanup.
I could write about this in my journal. Small town living at its best.
~~
The clock clicked past nine a.m. And I gathered my handbag and a sweater, pulling the door shut on my way out. Couldn’t have asked for a nicer day to walk to work. We wouldn’t be blessed with this beautiful fall weather forever. Sunshine warm on my face and cool breezes ruffling my hair, enough to put the weirdness of the morning out of my mind. But as I reached the sidewalk, I paused to check out the yard and shrubs around the house. Nothing suspicious. Everything as it should be.
Had I locked the door? I wasn’t always careful. It was so easy to be lax about security in a neighborhood where you knew all of the neighbors by name. First house on the right, Ron and Linda Charrigan, empty-nesters. Not much activity there since the twins left home. Next to them was a fairly new couple, Dale and Sharon something, busy most of the time. I only saw them when they returned from work and disappeared inside. The next was Mr. Larkin. I had no idea what his first name was. Maybe Oscar? He was old enough to warrant formality.
I quit trying to remember names for the rest of the block. There had been a few changes over the years. I guess I didn’t know every one as well as I’d thought. Though even without remembering their names, I recognized faces. I trusted my neighbors. If any of them walked into my house without invitation, it had been an accident.
I put the morning’s excitement behind me and continued the three-block trek to Bennett’s Hardware, where I served as bookkeeper, sometimes clerk, sometimes cleaning lady.
I took my time strolling down the block. Working for Stanley Bennett didn’t require a time clock. I was the only employee, except for Jimmy Conklin, a high school senior, who worked a few hours on weekends. The boss relied on my work ethic and I tried to maintain that trust. Keeping the books for the little store was easy—no stress. Didn’t take much of my time. It didn’t pay much either, but the paycheck covered expenses, which I managed to keep to a minimum. I wasn’t about to spend life working myself to death in order to buy a lot of things. Live simple, enjoy life. That was my motto.
I scanned the window display as I arrived. Maybe I’d suggest Mr. Bennett call the window washer. My cramped little office was located behind the sales counter. I loved the familiar scent. Leather, old wood, and used books. And dust, if I was honest. The room held a sense of history, and of stability. I took my place at the ancient wooden desk, easing into the equally ancient, worn leather chair.
Mr. Bennett appeared at the door and leaned in to say hello while I booted up the computer. “Did you see the game Friday night? This is going to be a good year for our team.”
“No. But I heard it was a good one, Mr. Bennett. I spent the afternoon trimming bushes and was too tired to go.” Everyone in town called him Stanley, but my mother had coached me to be formal since he was my elder and my boss. And he never objected.
“I noticed that you walked to work today. Car problems?”
“No. The car’s fine. I felt like walking.”
“I’ll give you a ride home. Just let me know when you’re finished.”
“Thanks Mr. Bennett, but there’s no need for a ride. I’m looking forward to the walk. It’s beautiful out there.”
“Might rain.”
Dear Mr. Bennett. He was a nice man and sounded just like my mother. I secretly thought the two would make a good couple. But I had no clue as to how to kick-start that relationship. They both seem happy being single. “I don’t believe there’s any precipitation in the forecast, but thanks for the offer.” My boss had already walked back into the sales floor.
I sorted the previous day’s receipts and stacked them in a neat pile on my desk. Before continuing, I made a trip to the coffee pot. Mr. Bennett had the same idea. He poured a second cup and handed it to me.
I knew he liked hearing comments on the business. “Sales picked up last month, Mr. Bennett. There was a nice uptick in activity over the last couple weeks. More than enough to pay for the new shelving.”
This produced a wide grin and a nod. “I thought I noticed an increase in business, Libby. Good to know the books confirm it.”
Mr. Bennett carried his coffee to the counter to study his clipboard. I returned to the office to finish recording sales.
I noticed he stood, coffee in hand, for an unusual amount of time. He seemed fixated on the front window. I expected to hear a customer arrive, but Mr. Bennett whirled around to face me. “By the way, I haven’t seen your mother lately. How is she?”
Recent concerns about my mother’s wellbeing confirmed my thinking the man might have a crush on her. He simply hadn’t worked up the courage to pursue it. With further consideration, I wavered between wanting to encourage the relationship and the desire to run for cover. They could both use the companionship. But then, he was my boss. How often did I really want to see him? Holidays? Sunday dinners?
I guessed Stanley Bennett to be a little younger than my mother. Possibly sixty-five or so, although he never spoke of retiring. Hair thinning enough to see scalp shining through. Glasses with frames old enough to have gone out of style and back in again. He was a dependable man, and predictable. Always wore gray slacks and a white shirt. Short or long sleeved, depending on the season. He never wore jeans and never sneakers. Very much the gentleman pictured in the old movies my mother watched.
“She’s well. You know Mom. She keeps busy taking care of the community. The food pantry and clothing drives. Last week she volunteered to take a turn at delivering meals to the home-bound.”
Stanley’s eyes sparkled. “Katherine’s a gem. What would Twin Fawn do without her?” He paused for a moment. “I suppose the volunteer work helps since she’s alone. Does she have, um, a gentleman friend?”
I clamped my mouth shut to stifle the laugh. A gentleman friend? Not that my mother wasn’t attractive enough to have a boyfriend. She dressed nice, and wasn’t any more overweight than most women in their late sixties. Mr. Bennett’s question might have come from a nervous schoolboy. “I haven’t noticed anyone vying for her attention if that’s what you’re asking. She’s so focused on her charities a man would have to be particularly determined to spend time with her.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Bennett picked up his clipboard and returned to checking in new deliveries.
I dropped the stack of receipts and picked up my coffee. I’d have to mull this one over. He was nice enough, but Stanley Bennett as a step-father? I reminded myself to slow down. What was I thinking? They were old. If they dated, it would mean companionship. That’s all.
I re-stacked the papers, and focused on my work.
Later, when I pulled out my lunch bag, earlier events of the morning came to mind. I called my mother. “Did you stop by the house this morning?”
“No. Was I supposed to?”
“No, I thought I heard you at the door. You know, like you might have stopped in and then changed your mind. Turned around and left before coming in.”
“I spent the morning at the food pantry. You know it’s my morning to serve. And if I’d been to the house, I certainly wouldn’t have left without talking to you.”
“It does sound silly, now that I put it into words. But I heard someone come in. I didn’t get an answer when I called out. Then I heard them leave.”
“That’s strange. Are you positive you heard it?”
“Yes, Mother. I’m sure.” Sort of sure.
“Didn’t you go to the door to see who it was?”
“Of course, I did. Not right away because I was getting ready to go to work. And I thought it was you. When I decided to investigate, whoever it was must have heard me and left.”
I couldn’t help myself. I felt the need to ask again. “Think back. Are you certain you didn’t stop in this morning?”
“I just told you I wasn’t there. Do I make a habit of sneaking into your house and then running away? That’s a child’s stunt.”
“Of course, you don’t. Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. Just covering all the bases.” A child’s stunt or my aging mother’s forgetfulness?
I took a minute to chew a carrot stick. “I know it wasn’t you. It was weird, though. Maybe it was a mistake. Do you know if any of the older people in the neighborhood have been getting confused? You know, wandering?”
“No Dear, I’m sure I don’t know of anyone.” She paused. “But that is a worry. There are a few who are getting along in years. Willow Ottenweller is only in her seventies but aging, if you know what I mean. And there’s Lorin Sanderson who lives on the next block. He seems to be doing okay, but must be ninety by now.”
I heard a couple of deep breaths come through the line and she hummed a note before continuing. “I think I’ll call a few of the people in the neighborhood, just to check on them. Someone could have had a stroke that affected their memory. So dangerous. I’d hate to think they might wander away and not be able to find their way home. I’m going to start calling right now. I won’t be able to rest until I know.”
Oh shoot. My mother was busy enough, and now I’d given her another mission. When would I learn to be careful what I shared with her? “Please don’t stew over this. You take care of enough people. There’s no need to go looking for more. It could have been anyone. Even Roy from across the street. Could have had his mind on something and walked up the wrong sidewalk.”
“Maybe.” I hoped I detected a touch of relief in her voice. “You know, I’ve done that myself. Last week I tried to get in the wrong car. It was almost the same color as mine. I’d started to climb in before I noticed there were bags in the back seat and they didn’t belong to me.” She chuckled. “Okay. I’ll check around. But I won’t lose sleep over it.
“Good. I’ll let you go. Have to get back to work.” As I thought about it, I was pretty sure she would lose sleep over it. I crushed the brown paper bag and tossed it in the waste can.
Five minutes later, the phone rang. “Will I see you at church on Sunday?”
“Of course. I’ll be there, Mom. When have you not seen me at church on Sunday morning?” I sat with her every week, front row, same place. Center aisle. Fourth seat from the left.”
“Yes, Liberty. You are always faithful. I don’t want you to think I take it for granted. I appreciate you. Have a nice day.”
“Bye, Mom.” I sat and mulled over the name my parents gave me. Liberty. At least she hadn’t used my middle name as well. Breeze. What kind of name was that? It gave the impression I’d been brought up in a commune. People might think that my parents were a couple of hippies. Nothing could be farther from the truth. There had never been any bohemian tendencies in my family.
My father served at the Twin Fawn post office for twenty-five years, before suffering a massive heart attack. My mother couldn’t have been any more conservative. Who or what had convinced my parents to name me Liberty Breeze, I couldn’t figure. They grew up in the sixties but certainly never would have been caught protesting the establishment. Not a rebellious bone in either of them.
I grew up following behind her, telling everyone to call me Libby, or maybe Lib. Whenever anyone asked me what Libby was short for, I’d tell them Elisabeth, unless of course my parents were within earshot. My mother insisted on calling me Liberty and sometimes Liberty Breeze.
Other than exhibiting strange taste in naming her only daughter, my mother was perfect. A saint. She would never utter a cuss word or even raise her voice in anger. Kindest and sweetest woman who ever lived. If she had any flaw, it might be that she never thought of herself, always too busy helping others. She jumped in to work every charity project. People loved her. Everyone in town knew they could depend on Katherine Cassell. She would supply meals, clean a house, sit with the elderly. She should be given an award.
Later in the afternoon I answered the phone. My mother on the line, again. “Liberty, I did some checking on the neighbors. No one admitted to walking into the house. I think they would have told me if they had. You know the people in the neighborhood are very honest. I bet what you heard was noise from the television. Was it on in the other room? That was probably it. I know as well as anyone how living alone can cause a person to imagine things. Well dear, I have to run.”
“I didn’t imagine it.” Too late to protest my sanity. She had already clicked off.
If not an elderly neighbor, then who? And, it was not just television noise. The set had been off. One thing was certain. I’d heard footsteps. And that meant only one thing.
Whether by accident of on purpose someone had been in my house.

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