Cameraphobia
"What about a masquerade party?" Josiah Barnard, proprietor of the Sons of Liberty Tavern suggested at the monthly meeting of the Community Improvement Committee (one time unofficially referred to only as the Town Team).
"It wasn't that long ago that we dressed up in costumes for our annual Fourth of July celebration," Officer Shawn McMurtry responded. "Do we really want to do that again?"
"No," Rebecca Coffin, owner of The Quill and Dagger bookshop replied. "Let's do something different."
"Like what?" Josiah asked.
The committee members seemed to be at a loss for ideas.
"We could have a Fifties sock hop," proposed Ezra Graves, owner and editor of The Puritan Falls Gazette.
"Wouldn't that require wearing poodle skirts and letterman sweaters?" Rebecca laughed. "We'd all have to dress up like the cast of Grease."
"Why not an old-fashioned formal New Year's Eve party then?" emergency room physician Sarah Ryerson asked.
"That would still require dressing up," her fiancé, psychiatrist Lionel Penn, pointed out. "But instead of costumes, we'd have to don evening gowns and tuxedos."
"I think we ought to do something really different this year," Patience Scudder, the committee chairperson and town librarian, declared.
"I've got an idea," announced Martha Prescott, who in the guise of Belladonna Nightshade once hosted Thriller TV Network's Classic Horror Movies series. "Instead of the usual dinner buffet, why don't we have a tea party?"
"A tea party?" Lionel echoed with skepticism. "Are we all supposed to head over to Victoria's Old English Tea Shoppe and order teas and scones?"
"Her shop doesn't hold that many people," Shawn reasoned.
"I'm not talking about a traditional tea party," Martha explained. "I was thinking more along the lines of a Mad Hatter tea party."
"Like in Alice in Wonderland?" Patience asked.
"Kind of like that. Basically, we have a wacky party with tea, cakes and other goodies. But everyone has to wear a hat of some kind—the more unusual the better."
"Champagne will be served at midnight, won't it?" Josiah inquired. "I don't want to ring in the New Year with a cup of tea."
"Of course. It wouldn't be New Year's Eve without the toast at midnight."
The committee members took a few minutes to consider Martha's suggestion.
"I think it sounds like fun!" declared Abigail Cantwell, owner of the Bell, Book and Candle New Age shop.
"So do I," agreed the Green Man Pub proprietor, Shannon Devlin.
"Then let's vote on it," Chairwoman Scudder announced. "All in favor raise your hands."
The vote was unanimously in favor of holding a Mad Hatter tea party on New Year's Eve.
"We'll need volunteers to plan the party," Patience said. "Martha, since this was your idea, do you want to take the lead role?"
"I'm looking forward to it!"
* * *
Victoria's tea shop seemed to be the logical place to organize a tea party, so Martha met with volunteers Penny McMurtry, Rebecca Coffin, Shannon Devlin and Abigail Cantwell at ten o'clock on a Monday morning in early September. Since she hoped to enlist owner Victoria Broadbent's assistance, she deliberately chose a time when there would be few patrons there.
"I hope you're not too busy to join us," Shannon told the elderly British transplant who appeared at their table with a tray of freshly baked scones and a pot of tea.
"No. The breakfast crowd has already gone, and the lunch crowd won't start appearing until after eleven. Now, how can I help?" she asked, her cornflower blue eyes twinkling with merriment.
"I thought you would be the perfect person to select the teas we'll serve. You have so many varieties here," Martha replied.
"And I've tried every one of them," the shopkeeper boasted, "so I can attest that they are all delicious! How many different flavors were you thinking of serving at the party?"
"I don't know. I was hoping to get your input on that."
"I would suggest six. Darjeeling, English breakfast, Earl Grey, chamomile, hibiscus, apple spice and my personal favorite, Casablanca. Of course, you'll also need to serve coffee because not everyone likes tea."
"I have coffee covered," announced Rebecca, whose bookstore had a coffee bar. "I plan on serving regular black coffee, decaf, mocha latte, pumpkin spice and hot chocolate."
"Where will the party be held?" Victoria asked. "Do any of the local restaurants have the capacity to hold so many people?"
"Penny suggested the high school lunchroom," Martha answered. "It has those tables that fold up into the walls. School will be closed for the holidays, so we can set up everything and decorate the place without the students getting in the way. Also, we can use the cafeteria to heat things up."
"What about the food?" Victoria inquired.
"So far, we have quite a few volunteers. Rebecca will bring chocolate croissants. Pierre will supply us with a selection of French pastries. And Shannon is going to make tea sandwiches and mini quiches."
"Don't forget that Desiree LeFleur wants to create her scrumptious gourmet chocolates in the shape of hats for the occasion," Abigail reminded Martha.
"And for those party-goers with healthy appetites, Josiah will set up a buffet with a carving station." That leaves just the champagne, which will be donated by Mayor Lawson."
"At-a-boy, Ernie!" Abigail laughed. "It's a good thing he's not up for reelection this year. He might be accused of trying to buy people's votes with Moët & Chandon!"
"You can't have a proper tea without scones," Victoria insisted. "I'll make those and supply the jam and clotted cream."
Once the menu was decided upon, Martha announced the other villagers who would be volunteering.
"April will head the group in charge of decorations, including tablecloths, plates, cups, etc."
April Brower was a high school English teacher, so she was familiar with the layout of the building.
"She'll be joined by Jackie and Judy," the former TV host added.
Jackie was real estate agent Jacqueline Astor, and Judy Stanfield was administrative assistant to April's brother, psychiatrist Lionel Penn.
"I've had all my friends help me search the flea markets, garage sales and thrift stores for cheap teapots, cups and saucers," Penny told them. "We managed to get quite a few at reasonable prices."
"I can probably supply the rest," Victoria offered. "I've got dozens of pots and hundreds of cups and saucer sets."
"Lastly, Dylan"—Rebecca Coffin's husband, Dylan Osborne—"will entertain us with music he'll select for the occasion. That's all I have to say. Are there any questions?" Martha asked.
"Regarding the hats, are there any guidelines for what type to wear?" Victoria wondered.
"The more outrageous, the better! I don't want to see everyone showing up wearing Red Sox baseball caps."
With the business part of the meeting over, Victoria went back to her kitchen to fetch baked items to restock her display case. Martha bit into a scone and turned toward the window. Outside, a Subaru Ascent pulled into the parking lot, and a young woman got out of the driver's side. There was something oddly familiar about her.
"Who's that?" she said to no one in particular.
"Who's who?" Rebecca asked.
"That woman coming into the shop."
The door opened and the woman entered. She was young, possibly in her early to mid-twenties. Definitely no older than thirty. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled up off her shoulders and arranged in an old-fashioned French twist. The paleness of her complexion reminded Martha of a porcelain doll. Even the large, doe-like green eyes looked more like glass doll's eyes than human ones.
"I've never seen her before," Rebecca answered after she had the opportunity to get a good look at the woman's face. "She's probably just passing through."
"She looks familiar, though. What about you, Shannon? Has she ever gone into the Green Man Pub?"
"No."
Neither Penny nor Abigail recognized the woman either. After the stranger purchased a box of Eccles cakes and left the shop, Martha signaled for Victoria to stop by their table.
"Did you want more tea?" the white-haired proprietor asked.
"No. I was curious about that customer. Has she been in here before?"
"Once or twice."
"So, I assume she lives in Puritan Falls."
"Possibly. Although I have people regularly come to my shop from Copperwell and Essex Green."
"Do you know anything about her? Her name perhaps?"
"Sorry. The few times that she's been here, she's been very quiet. She tells me what she wants but says nothing else. Why?"
"I think I've seen her somewhere before."
"Maybe she went into the antique store while you were helping out there," Penny suggested.
"Yeah, maybe. Oh, well! I'm sure the answer will come to me when I least expect it. That's usually how my memory works."
* * *
Once Halloween was over, the villagers in Puritan Falls turned their attention to Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's—the trifecta of holidays. While many of the residents were planning their Thanksgiving menus and shopping for Christmas presents, they also searched for the perfect headwear to don on New Year's Eve. Some people tried their luck at the Second Time Around vintage clothing store on Essex Street. Many others went to the nearby costume store, often renting an entire outfit rather than just a hat. A few villagers visited the party store at Copperwell Crossings. Those who preferred to shop online got their headgear on Amazon or eBay.
In many cases, the hats people chose suited their personality or interests. Bride-to-be Sarah Ryerson chose an elaborate tulle wedding veil. Her fiancé, Lionel Penn, who loved all things nautical, selected a bicorne similar to those worn by eighteenth-century naval officers; and Josiah Barnard, a big history devotee, picked out a Colonial tricorne hat. Mayor Ernie Lawson chose to dress like Abraham Lincoln in a tall stovepipe hat. Owning a mystery-themed bookstore, Rebecca Coffin purchased a Sherlock Holmes deerstalker cap. The variety of hats chosen was incredible. In addition to the more commonplace straw beach hat, cowboy Stetson, beret, Homburg, boater, flathead cap, bowler, cloche and fedora, there were more unusual headpieces. These included a Mexican sombrero, pith helmet, steampunk top hat, Turkish fez, Chinese conical hat and Indian turban.
On the night of December 25, Martha sat at home in front of the fireplace with Dr. Noah Prestwick. All the presents had been opened, and the holiday feast had already been digested.
"All the weeks of preparation for Christmas," she mused, "and—poof!—it's over."
"Maybe people should spread it out," Noah laughed. "Like in the song 'The Twelve Days of Christmas.' We could start a tradition of opening one present each day for twelve days."
"That's a great idea! Just don't think of getting me a partridge in a pear tree."
"All kidding aside. I'm somewhat glad Christmas is finally over. I can go back to exercising and eating healthy. Ever since Thanksgiving, I've been eating too many snacks."
"Well, hold off on that thought. We still have to get through New Year's. Our Mad Hatter tea party promises to be quite the feast of sweets."
"Then from now until the thirty-first, I'll watch those calories."
Noah was true to his word. For the next week, he ate mostly proteins and vegetables, cutting out nearly all carbohydrates. When December 31 arrived, he felt no guilt when he entered Puritan Falls High School, intent on indulging his sweet tooth. Martha, who was already in the lunchroom, seeing to last-minute preparations, laughed when she saw him.
"You took the whole Mad Hatter thing seriously!"
The hat he wore looked as though it was a prop from an Alice in Wonderland production. It was an extra-tall top hat with a card reading "10/6" tucked in the ribbon.
"I like your snake hat," he said. "Is that supposed to be Medusa or is it a nod to Versace's logo?"
"Medusa. Oh, there's Doug and Michael."
Douglas Pemberly and his husband, Michael Whitby, owned Treasure Hunt Antiques. Whenever Michael was out of town interviewing someone in relation to the book he was writing on collectors and their collections, Martha often helped out at the store. Tonight, Doug wore a Native American headdress, and Michael wore a Union Army Civil War kepi.
"I hate to say it," Martha teased, "but you look like one of the Village People."
"I was planning on leading the dance when they play 'YMCA,'" he laughed.
"I don't think they'll be playing that tonight. Rebecca told me Dylan has made a special playlist for the occasion. He's only using songs that are about tea, hats, midnight or parties."
"Are there that many?" Michael asked.
"Apparently there are."
"People are coming in nonstop," Noah noted. "Maybe we ought to find a table before it gets too crowded."
"Good idea," Martha agreed. "We don't know for sure how many people are going to attend, but we're expecting a few hundred at least."
* * *
The New Year's Eve party kicked off at eight o'clock. Before people began heading toward the food and beverages, Mayor Ernie Lawson asked to say a few words. In his Abraham Lincoln-inspired stovetop hat, he humorously began his brief speech by saying, "Four score and seven years ago." Once the laughter died down, he thanked Patience Scudder, her fellow members of the Community Improvement Committee and the dedicated volunteers for all their hard work.
"I know it's four hours away yet, but let me be the first to say it. Happy New Year!" he cried.
Dylan, wearing a jester's hat complete with bells, hit the ENTER button on his laptop to start playing the music he had downloaded. The first song of the evening was aptly "New Year's Day" by U2. It was followed by Del Shannon's "Hats Off to Larry," "Tea in the Sahara" by the Police and Leslie Gore's "It's My Party."
Rather than use the long bench-style tables normally used by the students, round tables that seated six were rented for the night. Martha sat with Noah, Doug and Michael. Shannon and Liam Devlin, who wore a Cleopatra hat and an elaborate crown, respectively, took the remaining two seats.
"Nice asp," Noah joked, referring to the snake on Cleopatra's headpiece.
"And I like your crown," Doug told Liam. "It reminds me of the one Freddie Mercury wore."
"That's why I chose it. I'm a big Queen fan. I thought about wearing the red velvet cloak, too, but Shannon thought it would be a bit much."
"Shall we go get our food?" his wife asked. "I want to be sure to get one of Desiree's chocolates before they're all gone."
As the three couples headed toward the buffet area, Martha spotted the young woman she had seen at Victoria's tea shop. She tugged on Douglas's arm to get his attention.
"See that woman over there, the one in the Santa hat?"
"Yeah. What about her?"
"Have you ever seen her before?"
Douglas stared for several moments before answering.
"I think so. I believe she's the woman who bought a box of old photographs I picked up at an estate sale last month."
"That must be why she looks so familiar. Do you know her name?"
"No. She paid cash, so I didn't ask."
The three couples filled their plates with food and headed back to their table. As they ate and talked, Dylan's playlist continued. The Kink's "Afternoon Tea" was followed by Prince's "Raspberry Beret," Bing Crosby's "Let's Start the New Year Right" and Eddie Murphy's "Party All the Time."
Patience Scudder, a widow, who was wearing an old-fashioned nurse's cap, sat at a table with fellow widows Maureen McHugh (who wore a Tudor-era French hood similar to those worn by Anne Boleyn) and Glenda Wayman (in a Jackie Kennedy-inspired pillbox hat). Also seated at the table were the divorced Elaine Kearny (who had difficulty walking through the crowded room in her extravagant Edwardian picture hat) and Victoria Broadbent (decked out in a black beefeater's hat with red, white and blue trim). None of the five women had brought an escort, so there was an empty place setting.
"Is this seat taken?" asked the strawberry blonde who seemed so familiar to Martha Prescott.
"No," Elaine answered and invited her to sit down.
After Glenda introduced herself and the other four women at the table, the newcomer told them her name was Rowena Paulson.
"Do you live here in Puritan Falls?" Maureen inquired.
"I just moved in. I'm a freelance writer. Currently, I'm working on an article about women's suffrage."
"I'd love to hear more about your research," Patience declared, "but right now there's a lull in the buffet line. I'm going up to get something to eat."
By this time, most of the people in the room had filled their plates. Many would soon go back for seconds and thirds. As was the case with most parties, spirits were high. People were eating, drinking, talking, joking and laughing. Several couples took to the makeshift dance floor as Dylan's playlist continued. "Tea for Two" by Nat King Cole was followed by an instrumental version of "The Mexican Hat Dance," ABBA's "Happy New Year" and Miley Cyrus's "Party in the U.S.A."
* * *
By ten o'clock, most of the celebrants had eaten their fill of sweets and savories but were still drinking tea and coffee. Few people remained sitting in their seats. Most preferred walking around the room and socializing with their friends. Martha, still curious about the strawberry blond woman, headed toward Maureen, Elaine and Glenda, who humorously called themselves the Three C's Ladies Club since they met regularly for coffee, cake and conversation.
"Hi, ladies," she said. "I noticed there was a stranger at your table."
"Yes. Rowena Paulson. She's new to the area," Glenda explained.
"I'm curious. What can you tell me about her?"
"She's single and lives alone in a house on Hawthorne Boulevard."
"She's a freelance writer, working on a magazine article about women's suffrage," Maureen added.
"I like her," Elaine announced. "She's a nice girl. Why don't you go introduce yourself?"
"I think I will," Martha replied.
She craned her neck to see above the crowd, looking for the strawberry blonde in the Santa hat but was unable to spot her.
I doubt she left already, Martha mused. The evening is only half over.
Intent on locating the woman, she made her way through the room, stopping to speak to friends and neighbors along the way.
Meanwhile, the music continued with Led Zepplin's "Tea for One," Joe Cocker's "You Can Leave Your Hat On," Bon Jovi's "New Year's Day" and Rick Nelson's "Garden Party."
Martha was talking to Penny and Shawn McMurtry when she glimpsed the young woman sipping a cup of Casablanca tea and chatting with Desiree LeFleur, the chocolatier, who appropriately wore a silver Hershey Kiss hat. She quickly headed in their direction.
"Desiree, I love your New Year's chocolates!" she cried. "Especially the truffles with the eggnog fillings."
She then turned her attention to the woman to Desiree's right.
"Hi, I don't think we've met. My name is Martha Prescott."
"I'm Rowena Paulson."
"I think I saw you at the antique shop. I sometimes help out there when Doug is busy. You bought a box full of old photographs."
"That's right. I was hoping to find some pictures of women from the 1920s to use in my article."
"Aren't there thousands of them online?"
"Yes, but I prefer actual photos to digital ones. I'm a bit old-fashioned. I don't own a computer or a cell phone."
Both Desiree and Martha were surprised by the woman's admission.
"How do you not own a cell phone!" the chocolatier exclaimed.
"Honestly, I don't like to talk on the phone much. When it's absolutely necessary, I use a landline."
"You're a writer, and you don't use the internet or a word processing program? That's amazing!" Martha exclaimed. "Do you use a typewriter?"
"No. I write everything out using a pen and paper."
Martha wanted to learn more about the mysterious young woman, but Noah suddenly appeared.
"There you are! I've been looking all over for you. Sarah and Lionel want us to join them on the dancefloor.
"Nice meeting you, Rowena," she managed to say before Noah swept her away.
It wasn't until the Mad Hatter tea party was nearing an end that Martha saw Rowena again. Dylan's playlist was coming to an end. Only four songs remained: "Pennyroyal Tea" by Nirvana, "Wear My Hat" by Phil Collins, "Rock and Roll All Nite" (and party every day) by Kiss and lastly Guy Lombardo's iconic "Auld Lang Syne."
"Hold on a second," Martha told Noah. "There's someone I want to talk to."
She made her way over to Rowena, who was speaking to Liam and Shannon.
"I don't want to interrupt," she apologized. "I just wanted to invite you to lunch one day this week. If you're free, that is."
"Sure. What day?"
"Is Friday all right with you?"
"I don't think I have anything planned."
"Good! Maybe we can go to the Green Man Pub."
"Excuse me, everyone," Ezra Graves shouted, temporarily interrupting the music. "May I have your attention, please? I'd like to get some photographs for the Gazette. Could everyone separate into four groups? Elaine Kearny will come around and take your pictures. Thank you."
Rowena was standing between Lionel and Liam when Elaine approached them with her Nikon Z9 camera.
"Everybody, squeeze together," she instructed. "Tall people in the back. Shorter people in front. Some of you crouch down so we can fit everyone in the frame. That's it. Now, on the count of three, say 'cheesecake.' One, two, three."
No sooner did the flash go off than Rowena began screaming like a banshee.
"What's wrong?" Shannon asked, coming to her aid.
The young woman continued to shriek as though she were terrified of something. Dr. Sarah Ryerson, standing on the other side of Lionel, offered her assistance.
"Are you in pain?"
Rowena's eyes suddenly rolled in her head, and she collapsed on the floor.
* * *
"How is she?" Noah Prestwick asked Sarah Ryerson when he walked past Rowena's room while making his rounds.
"As you can see, she's still unconscious. We ran all the usual tests on her, but they all came back negative."
"I saw her earlier in the evening. She seemed quite healthy. Anything unusual in her medical history?"
"I don't know. The nurse checked her wallet for an insurance card, and there wasn't one," Sarah said with a puzzled look on her face.
"Maybe she doesn't have insurance," Noah suggested.
"It's strange. There was no ID, driver's license, credit cards or social security card. There weren't even any pictures in her wallet. Just a five-dollar bill and some change. I searched the internet but couldn't find anything there either, so I asked Shawn if he could help find her relatives. He took her fingerprints and did a swab for DNA. I'm waiting for him to get back to me. Until then, all I can do is keep an eye on her condition. Hopefully, she'll wake up soon."
It was on the morning of January 2 that Shawn phoned Sarah.
"Any luck?" she asked.
"None. There are no fingerprints on record. Of course, she may never have had her prints taken. I ran her DNA through CODIS and NDIS. Nothing there either. I even tried those genealogy places, hoping I might find a relative, but there were no matches."
"Well, thanks, Shawn. I ...."
Sarah saw the woman in the bed open her eyes.
"Oh, good! She's awake."
After thanking Shawn for his help, the doctor pocketed her phone and went to her patient's bedside.
"Good morning," she said cheerfully.
"Photograph," Rowena muttered, taking no notice of the physician.
"Excuse me. I didn't get that. What did you say?"
"Photograph."
The patient's eyes were glazed over as though she were in a hypnotic trance.
"Rowena, can you hear me?"
"Photograph."
"Is this a bad time?" Martha Prescott asked from the doorway. "I wanted to see how she was doing."
"She's conscious but not lucid. Why don't you try speaking to her? Maybe she'll respond to you."
"Rowena, it's me, Martha. We met at the Mad Hatter tea party. We were going to have lunch together."
"Photograph."
"She's speaking," Martha announced optimistically.
"But she keeps saying the same word over and over," Sarah declared.
"Photograph."
"Doug told me she came into the antique store and bought a box of old photographs. She wants to use them in an article she's writing. Maybe those are the photos she's talking about."
"Your guess is as good as mine."
The cardiac event monitor showed the patient's heartbeat rise.
"Camera!" she cried.
"Camera?" Sarah echoed.
"At least she didn't say 'photograph' again."
* * *
As often happened when she was faced with an inexplicable medical condition, Sarah shared her concerns with Lionel.
"I can't get through to her," she explained, putting containers of Chinese takeout on the kitchen table. "She's oblivious to everything around her. Just keeps saying two words over and over again."
"What two words?"
"Photograph and camera." "Do you notice any change in her condition when she does speak?"
"Yes. Her heart rate, blood pressure and respiration all go up."
"Which can all be caused by fear and anxiety," the psychiatrist pointed out.
"What could she be afraid of?" Sarah wondered.
"Offhand, I'd say either photographs or cameras."
"Let me guess," the emergency room physician laughed. "There's a phobia like that."
"It's called cameraphobia. People who suffer from it feel intense fear and anxiety when they are being photographed," Lionel explained.
Sarah's eyes widened when she remembered the events that preceded Rowena Paulson's collapse.
"She fainted just as Elaine took the photograph of our group!" she exclaimed.
Lionel shook his head and argued, "People were taking photos all night. It didn't seem to bother her."
"But they were taking them with their phones. Elaine was the only one who used an actual camera."
"You're right," her fiancé agreed. "It does sound like cameraphobia. Of course, I'll have to talk to her to confirm the diagnosis."
"If only she would come out of her trance."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let's eat. I'm hungry."
Sarah had just finished her egg roll when her cell phone rang.
"I hope it's not the hospital," Lionel said, looking forward to an evening at home with Sarah.
"It's Martha," she replied, looking at the caller ID.
Ten minutes later, the call came to an end.
"What did she want?" the psychiatrist asked.
"To tell me she went to Rowena Paulson's house with Shawn."
"Why are the police involved?"
"Shawn is looking for her family and hoped to find an address or phone number there. Martha went with him to retrieve the photographs."
"What photographs?"
"The ones Rowena bought at the antique store. Martha thinks she's been asking for them, so she dropped them off at the hospital."
"And did the patient respond in any way when she showed up with them?"
"Martha said Rowena was sleeping, so she left the box beside the bed."
* * *
Sarah and Lionel were both sound asleep when the call from the night nurse woke them at three in the morning.
"It's the hospital," Sarah announced sleepily.
Lionel thought—not for the first time—that he was glad he chose to go into psychiatry since he rarely got emergency calls in the middle of the night.
"Are you sure?" Sarah cried. "I'll be right there."
"What is it?"
"It's Rowena Paulson. She's gone."
"What do you mean gone?"
"She's not in her room. They can't find her anywhere."
"Shouldn't they call the police? What are you going to do?"
"I don't know, but I've got to go to the hospital and see what's going on."
When Sarah walked into the patient's room, she saw an empty bed and over a hundred photographs strewn across the floor.
What happened here? she wondered. Did Rowena wake up, panic and run, knocking over the box of photos as she did?
She bent and began to gather the scattered photographs.
"I'll do that, Doctor," the night nurse said when she saw Sarah putting pictures back in the box.
"Have they found her yet?" the physician asked.
"No. They're still looking. The police have been notified, so we should find her soon."
"What about her clothes? Did she change into them or is she out there in nothing but a hospital gown?"
"I'm not sure. I didn't look in the closet."
Sarah opened the closet door and found the outfit the patient wore to the New Year's Eve party, including the Santa Claus hat.
"If she left the building in a flimsy cotton gown, she won't ...."
The doctor's attention was drawn to a single photograph that was placed on the patient's pillow.
"What is this?"
She picked up the picture and examined it. From the outfit the woman wore, she surmised the black-and-white photograph had been taken in the mid to late nineteenth century. It was the face of the woman in the photo, not her clothing, that sent a chill down the doctor's spine.
"It can't be," she whimpered.
"What is it, Doctor?" the nurse asked. She leaned over Sarah's shoulder and said, "That's her. That's your patient."
"But this isn't an ordinary photograph."
"No. It's one of those old-time photos they take in amusement parks. My husband and I had a tintype taken of us in Civil War-era clothes when we went to King's Dominion a few years ago."
"This isn't the same thing. And this can't be Rowena Paulson. I've seen these types of photographs before. They were popular in the Victorian era. It's a postmortem photo."
"What's that?"
"It's a picture taken of a dead person."
It was the same photograph Martha had seen when Douglas Pemberly returned with the box of photos after attending the estate sale. After that brief glimpse, the face of the young woman remained in the back of her mind even though she could not recall it when she came face to face with Rowena Paulson.
* * *
Although the Puritan Falls police enlisted the aid of the Massachusetts state troopers and a national organization dedicated to finding missing children and adults, Rowena Paulson was never found. As the weeks turned into months, law enforcement officers ran out of places to search. Eventually, the MISSING posters faded as did the memory of the strawberry blonde who wore a Santa Claus hat to the Mad Hatter tea party.
No one thought to look in Boston's Granary Burying Ground where a headstone marked the burial of a woman named Rowena Paulson in 1871. Even if they had, they would not have connected the once wandering spirit who now rested in peace among the graves of Samuel Adams, John Hancock, Paul Revere and the victims of the Boston Massacre with the young freelance writer who temporarily called Puritan Falls home.
Nice hat, Salem! But you weren't invited to the tea party.
