Winds of terror

  This book made available by the Internet Archive.

  Chapter 1

  A CURVING DIRT ROAD, guarded on each side by billowing crepe myrtles, led up the sUght hill. In the shade of a cluster of magnolia trees, the two-story white plantation house, with its tall columnar porch, stood much as it had in its prime, fifty years earlier. But time had taken its toll on Beecher House. Once the pillars had been swathed in bright green ivy climbing skywards—^but now the ivy no longer grew, and its traces were evident in the ugly brown stains that scalded the cracked and chipped white paint.

  Tired pecan trees prohibited a thick carpet of grass, but, here and there, patches of a once well-cared-for lawn appeared. No vestige remained of the treasured rose bushes that Bartley Beecher had nourished with the love of a father for his child.

  Beecher House looked weary, as though its last bit of strength were being exhausted as it fought to hold itself together no matter what life had in store for it.

  The '49 Studebaker coughed to a stop at what was left of the picket fence. A balding man got out and went around to open the door for his passenger.

  "Sure is a shame," he said as he looked about briefly. "Place sure has run down since old Seth died. You know, people used to cut off the Birmingham highway, forty miles north of here, just to ride by and see this place. Seth took good care of Mr. Bartley's rose bushes and he saw to it that the yard was kept up."

  The young woman stepped out of the car, and shading her eyes with her hand, she followed his gaze. She was a pretty girl, with long brown hair that curled under in a pageboy style. Her figure looked shapely in the two-piece

  tan suit, the skirt falling just below her calves. Narrow, spiked-heel shoes added three inches to her slight five-foot-three frame.

  Jed Creech, who had driven her out from the bus station in Talladega, had known Melanie Bain from years before.

  He remembered the days when her mother had brought her out to visit Addie Beecher, the mistress of the mansion. The townsfolk had thought Melanie was a beautiful child, and she had grown into a lovely young woman, but her soft brown eyes no longer sparkled with happiness and a zest for life. Instead, her eyes mirrored the grief of her soul and she seemed forlorn and crushed, as though her heart had forgotten its reason for beating. Melanie Bain had lost her husband, Robert, in Korea, on a hill known as "Old Baldy."

  Jed hadn't asked her about her loss or made any comment. He had heard, as had everyone else, and he could tell just by looking at her that she was still griefJaden. Now he brought a suitcase from the back seat and set it on the ground. "Is this all your luggage. Miss Melanie?" he asked politely.

  She seemed to be thinking of something from yeara gone by, for she looked at Jed blankly before shaking her head and saying, "Oh, Jed, I'm sorry .. • No, I had a trunk shipped earlier. It's probably already here."

  She started walldng up the brick-covered path with its splotches of grass in between the cracks. Jed picked up the suitcase and followed her, shaking his head in pity. The girl had had enough trouble, he reasoned, having lost her husband and being so young and all, without coming here to expose herself to Addie Beecher's hatred and bitterness. The whole town knew about Addie*s having had that stroke and being sick, and they knew, too, that Hilda, her lifelong housekeeper, had just upped and quit. Still, it seemed to Jed that someone else could have been found to help out without calling on a young girl who was nursing a broken heart.

  Melanie gently lifted the darkened brass knocker and let it fall. She reached into her purse and turned to Jed.

  "No, ma'am," he said as he tipped his straw hat and backed off the porch. "It was my pleasure. I was glad to drive you out."

  She started to protest, but just then, as Jed was hurrying down the path, the door creaked open. When Melanie

  turned back, she found herself looking into the saddened eyes of her cousin, Mark Beecher. Instinctively, she reached to embrace him, blinking back tears. Mark's heart bore scars of grief, too, and, for a moment, they stood close, attempting to soothe and to heal.

  "It's been a long time, Melanie," Mark said, as he lifted her suitcase. "When was the last time you were here? I remember you were still in school •.."

  "Nineteen forty-six. The year before I graduated from high school," she answered. "Aunt Addie insisted I spend some time with her after my mother died. Then I went back to Nashville to finish school, and so many things happened that I never got back ..."

  Inside, nothing had changed. The curving stairway, with its hand-rubbed mahogany banister, still dominated the en-tranceway. The huge crystal chandelier that Uncle Bartley had had shipped from a famous nightclub in Paris hung from the high ceiling.

  "I would have come into town to pick you up, Melanie, but I didn't want to leave Auntie alone. Today has been one of her bad days," Mark said. He led her into the huge living room with its stone fireplace. Although it was early spring, in this big old high-ceilinged house the chill of winter remained. A fire, crackling in the fireplace, cast the only warmth the old house seemed to offer.

  The living room had not changed, but the fringed rug from India was more worn; and the satin-covered French-provincial sofas and chairs were frayed.

  Mark had disappeared and now returned with a silver tray, bearing a china teapot, two cups and saucers, and a plate of hastily made sandwiches. "I thought you might like a bite to eat before I take you up to see her," he said, as he pushed aside some dusty bric-a-brac on the coffee table to make room for the tea service. "I looked in on her a few moments before you arrived, and she was sleeping, thank goodness. She's done nothing all morning but complain."

  "I guess you think the place is a mess," he said with a note of apology. "When Hilda quit, I just couldn't find anyone to replace her, and I'm afraid I'm not much of a housekeeper. It's hard to get Auntie to spend a dime on repairs, too, and the place is getting run-down, I'm afraid."

  Melanie sat down and poured herself a cup of tea. The sandwiches looked unappetizing; she even spotted a piece

  of mold on a slice of bread. It was obvious that there was no woman about to shop for food and prepare it.

  She sipped at her tea and watched Mark starmg moodily into the fireplace. Once, she and her cousins had played all over the rich farmlands surrounding the plantation house. Christmas eves, they had gathered in front of this very fireplace to hang their stockings together and run oflf to bed to anxiously await the morning and what Santa had left them during the night. There were a lot of happy memories, but, as Melanie looked at Mark, she realized how much time changes people. He was a stranger to her now. It was almost as though they had never even met before this day, this hour.

  She said, making her voice as gentle as possible, "Tell me about it, Mark. Please tell me all of it."

  He raised his eyes from the crackling fire only long enough to glance at her. "All you know is what Dr. Ambrose wrote you?"

  "That's right. He wrote to me and said that Todd, your twin brother, had committed suicide. And that when Aunt Addie found him, she suffered a stroke. After Hilda quit, there was no one to care for her, and Aunt Addie had asked him to get in touch with me. I would have been here sooner, but I was working at the time, and I had to give notice."

  "You shouldn't have come," he said, speaking more from his own distracted thoughts than to her. "Aunt Addie always was a difficult person to be around, but she's been absolutely impossible since • . . the accident." His voice trailed off painfully.

  Melanie set her cup down. She folded her hands in her lap, and taking a deep breath, said bluntly, "I want to hear all about it, Mark. Exactly what happened? I can't believe that Todd would take his own life. He was always different from other people, so mischievous and rebellious, but it's hard to believe he would take hi
s own life."

  "Well, he did it," Mark replied. "Aunt Addie found him herself. I was out in the fields, overseeing the cotton planting, when someone heard her screaming and came and got me. She had already fainted when I got there. The doctor said later she'd suffered a stroke. She spent three weeks in the hospital. Dr. Ambrose says she has to take it easy from now on. At her age, another attack could be fatal."

  Mark shook his head slowly from side to side, as though

  he found it difficult to believe it was all real. 'Todd hung himself in the bam. He tied a rope around his neck and jumped oflE of one of the haylofts, I guess. Anyway, he was hanging from a rafter when I cut him down. Then I saw he was already dead, so I hurried to town with Aunt Ad-die."

  Melanie fought back the tears that scalded her eyes. But she had never liked Todd. As a child, he had deviled her and tormented her to tears. He hid her toys and once he even broke her favorite doll. But the worst thing of all happened when she was only ten. That summer, at Beecher House, she had brought along her dog, a white fluffy darling, named Snowball. As usual, Todd picked a fight with her, but, for once, his mother had punished him severely. Todd had screamed at Melanie, swearing that he would get even with her for tattling. The next morning, Snowball was foimd dead. No one ever openly blamed Todd, but Melanie knew it had been he. She knew from his insidious smile and his awful smirk, that Todd was responsible for the death of her beloved pet.

  Still, in spite of her great dislike for her cousin, Melanie felt sorry that something had driven him to take his own life, especially at the young, hopeful age of twenty-three.

  "Why, Mark? Why did Todd do itr' she whispered.

  Mark glanced at her briefly, once again, as he took a deep breath. He was handsome, with soft, curling dark hair and blue eyes that crinkled at the comers.

  'Todd always had a way with the girls. Aimt Addie kept hoping he would find a nice one and settle down, but he was only interested in good times. He was running around with one of the Prather girls. Well, when Aunt Addie heard about that she had a fit. She tried to break it up, but, of course, no one could ever control Todd. Then one night Mr. Prather came and said that his daughter was pregnant and that Todd was the father, and that he wanted Todd to marry her. Even though Aunt Addie didn't like the idea, she said it was only right that he marry her, and she told Todd that if he didn't, she would disinherit him. That really shook Todd up. You know he flunked out of college, and he couldn't have made a living on his own if he'd had to. He was living strictly on what Axmt Addie gave him, because he sure didn't do any work around here. I did it aU. I stm do.**

  Mark got up and faced Melanie squarely for the first

  time. *Todd got Aunt Addie to give him some money to get married on. But he lied. He forced the girl to have an abortion, and she died on the abortion table. The scandal was pretty rough, and it cost Auntie deariy to pay oflE the Prathers to quiet them down. Auntie rewrote her will and cut Todd out completely and ordered him to get oflE the plantation. He wouldn't leave, and they started having fights all the time—^terrible fights.'*

  He sighed and turned his back to her once more, holding his hands over the warmth radiating from the fireplace. "As best as I can figure out, the morning Todd killed himself, Aunt Addie had threatened to call the sheriff to have him thrown off the place. Todd wrote a note blaming her for driving him to it Then he went out to the bam and hanged himself."

  Melanie shuddered. "Mark, that's awful! Poor Todd—• and poor Aunt Addie, feeling as though she drove him to it."

  •1 know Todd had his faults," Mark said, his voice bitter, "but I also know our dear aunt and how she can drive you crazy with her nagging. The people in town hate her. That's why no one could be found to come out here and help. Even the tenants* wives threatened to up and move if I ordered them to come work here. I don't know how Hilda took it as long as she did, except that she was fond of the rest of the family."

  Melanie was not about to judge who was right or wrong. She had come to take care of her aunt as she had been asked to do, and she would keep her opinions to herself.

  Mark suddenly whirled arcimd. "Why did you come, Melanie? I know you just lost your husband a few months ago. You've got to start a whole new life now, not lose yourself in this moldy old place. You're young. You can find happiness again. Why did you come here to expose yourself to a hate-filled, bitter old woman and her wrath?*

  There was much Melanie could have told her cousin, but how could she open her soul and impress upon him that her life had come to a standstill? When she had been told of Robert's death, a part of her had died with him. Someday, she would live a full life, but for now, life would have to pass her by until she found herself again.

  There was another reason for her coming, and it was this reason that she hastened to explain to Mark. "You remember that Aunt Addie was very good to my mother,"

  she said, her hands in her lap. "And my mother was very good to me, Mark. She adopted me and gave me a home, and I grew up very grateful to her. Mom was sick a lot; she had a bad heart, and she couldn't hold down a steady job, and, as you know, Dad died while I was just a child. If it hadn't been for Aunt Addie's helping out financially, I don't know what we would have done during Mom's last illness. There was no one else for us to turn to. Aunt Addie never said a word—^she just sent us money and kept welcoming us here into her home whenever we could come."

  She paused, remembering with pain the loss of yet another loved one. "When Mom was dying, she asked me to do whatever I could for Aunt Addie, should she ever need me, since she had been so good to us. I promised that I would. Mom didn't live to repay her and it's my job now. I can fulfill my promise to my mother, and maybe, somehow, Mom will know, and she'll see just how much I appreciate everything she did for me. She was a wonderful mother, Mark. I was adopted, but^ she always made me feel very special."

  He nodded slowly. "I guess I understand. This is your way of thanking your mother, Aunt Ruth, for giving you a home and loving you as though you were her own child."

  "Exactly," Melanie said. "And I appreciate your choice of words in expressing your understanding, Mark, I always thought so much of you."

  For the first time, he smiled. 'Thank you, cousin. But for your sake, I hope Aunt Addie doesn't live much longer, so you won't be imprisoned here like the rest of us."

  "Imprisoned?" she asked, startled. "Do you have to stay, Mark?"

  'To be blunt about it, yes," he said with a wave of his hand. "All of this, or the major portion of it, will be mine when she's gone. I've held the farms together ever since Dad passed away some years ago. I guess I have more right to it than anyone else. Oh, she left you a token inheritance, and she left a trust fund for Cale so that he will be looked after. But I will inherit the greater portion— and justifiably so."

  Melanie nodded, but Mark soimded very cold and calcu-latmg about it all. Well, that was his business, not hers. Anything her aunt left her would be appreciated, but she did not feel entitled to anything. She was only a foster niece.

  Then she thought of Cale, her exciting, dashing cousin, and her aunt's only grandchild. "How is Cale?" she asked.

  Just then a distant bell began clanging, and Mark gave her a wry smile. "Sony, cousin, but your dear aunt is now awake and demands your presence. Take a deep breath and follow me to her web; the black widow spider herself awaits your entrance."

  A cold chill passed through Melanie as she rose to follow Mark. She was grateful to her aunt, but she knew how imkind Aimt Addie could be. She had a feeling that her debt to her mother was going to be repaid with a good deal of interest

  Chapter 2

  There was a small landing where the stairs curved upwards for the second time, and it was here that Melanie paused to look out the cathedral window at the slope behind the house. In the distance, she could make out the workers in the cotton fields. Scattered about in the woods, like large balls of crispy white popcorn, the dogwood trees proudly displayed.their first blossoms.

  I
t was a beautiful scene, and it was with a sigh that Melanie turned to follow Mark up the remaining steps. It was dark, but she could see that the double doors directly in front of them, which led to the sun room, were closed. It had been here, in the room with the large glass windows overlooking the veranda, that the children had played when they were small.

  Melanie glanced to the right. There were four bedrooms down that way—two empty, two occupied. The first on one side had belonged to her Uncle Seth and his wife, Mark and Todd's parents; the second had been Todd's. Directly across from Todd's old room were the quarters Mark occupied now, and next to that was Cale's bedroom.

  Mark turned to the left, and, as they walked down the hall, Melanie stifled the impulse to ask Mark if the first door they passed, on her right, was still locked and sealed. She could not stop from shivering. She had been only a child, but she could clearly remember accompanying her mother on the long, urgent, nighttime bus trip that had ended at Uncle Hartley's bedside.

  They had arrived by midmorning. Her mother and Aunt Addie stayed in the room all day, while the children were made to play downstairs and be very quiet. People came

  and went, and there was a hushed atmosphere of gloom and apprehension hanging over the house.

  Towards evening, Dr. Ambrose took off his coat as though he were preparing to stay for awhile. He went upstairs, carrying his worn black leather bag, and Hilda shooed the children from the downstairs haUway into the living room, where a big fire was roaring. Even the children were quiet and subdued.

  At last, she was put into one of the bedrooms. It must have been about eleven o'clock, Melanie remembered, when her mother had come to that room to tell her that her uncle had died. Melanie heard weeping and wailing throughout the house, and she buried her face in her pillow, sobbing brokenly.

  Her mother had sat beside her, patting her gently, but after awhile, she had returned to Addie. Melanie had lain silently for a few moments; then she had gotten up, put on her robe and slippers, and padded from the bedroom out into the darkened hall. She had stood in the shadows as old Luke Walker arrived with his long, handwoven basket, and she had watched him come out of the room, a few moments later, carrying a sheet-draped mound in the same basket.