her pregnancy went on and the apartment began to feel smaller and smaller, Ruth grew even more serious.
Which is why, seven months pregnant and with her little boy in tow, Ruth Thomas-Wishnell drove her father’s truck all the way up the Ellis Road one afternoon in June of 1982, finally seeking a meeting with Mr. Lanford Ellis.
Lanford Ellis had turned a century old that year. His health was hardly robust. He was all alone in Ellis House, that massive structure of black granite, fit for a mausoleum. He hadn’t left Fort Niles in six years. He spent his days by the fireplace in his bedroom, with a blanket around his legs, sitting in the chair that had belonged to his father, Dr. Jules Ellis.
Every morning, Cal Cooley set up a card table near Mr. Ellis’s chair and brought over his stamp albums, a strong lamp, and a powerful magnifying lens. Some of the stamps in the albums were old and valuable and had been collected by Dr. Jules Ellis. Every morning, Cal would make a fire in the fireplace, no matter the season, because Mr. Ellis was always cold. So that was where he was sitting the day Cal Cooley ushered in Ruth.
“Hello, Mr. Ellis,” she said. “It’s nice to see you.”
Cal directed Ruth to a plush chair, stirred up the fire, left the room. Ruth lifted her little boy onto her lap, which was not easy, because she didn’t have much of a lap these days. She looked at the old man. She could hardly believe he was alive. He looked dead. His eyes were shut. His hands were blue.
“Granddaughter!” Mr. Ellis said. His eyes snapped open, grotesquely magnified behind enormous, insectoid glasses.
Ruth’s son, who was not a coward, flinched. Ruth took a lollipop from her bag, unwrapped it, and put it in David’s mouth. Sugar pacifier. She wondered why she’d brought her son to see this specter. That may have been a mistake, but she was used to taking David with her everywhere. He was such a good kid, so uncomplaining. She should have thought this out better. Too late now.
“You were supposed to come to dinner on Thursday, Ruth,” said the old man.
“Thursday?”
“A Thursday in July of 1976.” He cracked a sly grin.
“I was busy,” Ruth said, and smiled winningly, or so she hoped.
“You’ve cut your hair, girl.”
“I have.”
“You’ve put on weight.” His head bobbed faintly all the time.
“Well, I have a pretty good excuse. I’m expecting another child.”
“I’ve not yet met your first.”
“This is David, Mr. Ellis. This is David Thomas Wishnell.”
“Nice to meet you, young man.” Mr. Ellis stretched out a trembling arm toward Ruth’s boy, offering to shake hands. David scrunched against his mother in terror. The lollipop fell out of his shocked mouth. Ruth picked it up and popped it back in. Mr. Ellis’s arm retreated.
“I want to talk to you about buying some land,” Ruth said. What she really wanted was to get this meeting behind her as quickly as possible. “My husband and I would like to build a house here on Ellis Hill, right near here. I have a reasonable sum to offer . . .”
Ruth trailed off because she was alarmed. Mr. Ellis was suddenly coughing with a strangling sound. He was choking, and his face was turning purple. She didn’t know what to do. Should she get Cal Cooley? She had a quick and calculating thought: she didn’t want Lanford Ellis to die before the land deal was settled.
“Mr. Ellis?” she said, and started to get up.
The trembling arm stretched out again, waving her away. “Sit down,” he said. He took a deep breath, and the coughing started again. No, Ruth realized, he wasn’t coughing. He was laughing. How perfectly horrible.
He stopped, at last, and wiped his eyes. He shook his old turtle head. He said, “You certainly aren’t afraid of me any longer, Ruth.”
“I never was afraid.”
“Nonsense. You were petrified.” A small, white spit-dot flew from his lips and landed on one of his stamp albums. “But no longer. And good for you. I must say, Ruth, I am pleased with you. I am proud of all you’ve accomplished here on Fort Niles. I have been watching your progress with great interest.”
He pronounced the last word in three exquisite syllables.
“Um, thank you,” Ruth said. This was a strange turn. “I know it was never your intent that I stay here on Fort Niles . . .”