The Shawl

As Michael went about, searching for signs of Constance, he heard the front entry door opening. A woman's voice called out. He went to the foyer and was greeted by an elderly woman.

"Ah, you must be Michael O'Rourke! I am Nancy Callas, the real estate agent you spoke with. I am sorry I wasn't in the office yesterday to give you the key and talk with you about this property. Have you had time to look around?"

Michael looked at her for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally he replied, "Yes, I have walked through the house. I do have some questions though. How long has the house been empty?"

The real estate agent answered him, "It has not been lived in for nearly 60 years." Lowering her voice she continued, "It is rumored that a young woman lived here with her dying father. After he passed away, she traveled a bit, but returned home, unmarried and without prospect. It seems that when her father was alive, gentlemen would come by the house asking to court her and a couple of them even asked to marry her, but the father did not want her to neglect his duty to him, so he sent them off with the notion that she was "afflicted" with some disease that touched her with madness. So, supposedly she died years later a spinster who all the children in the neighborhood thought was crazy. Anyway, the house has been sitting here for a long time until a distant relative finally stepped forward to claim the estate and is now selling it."

Michael thought on this for a moment. He didn't want to think that the enchanting home he looked at yesterday was the same one he stood in now. Where was the woman he saw yesterday? And who was she? Michael turned to Nancy and asked her, "What was the woman's name who lived here?"

She looked at him, and thought for a moment. With a shrug of her shoulders, she answered, "I believe her name was Constance. She was a Barringer."

He looked away, and as he glanced through the doorway, caught a whiff of lilac. He shuddered at the thoughts that came to him. With as courteous a goodbye as he could muster, he left the confused agent standing in the foyer as he walked out. Looking to the side, he thought he saw movement. But it was only the overgrown bushes near the corner of the veranda. Michael quickly left the porch and getting into the car, drove off. He looked one last time at the house through the rearview mirror, and as he returned his gaze forward, his eye caught the edge of a brightly embroidered shawl laying in the backseat of the car.