The Visitor by Monica Quill

© 1997 by Monica Quill


Veteran mystery writer Ralph McInerny usually reserves the pen name Monica Quill for novels and stories about his amateur detective Sister Mary Theresa; he employs it this month for a non-series story that involves a journey into the past. The author’s most recent novels are Half Past Nun and On This Rockne, both from St. Martin’s Press.



Wanda pulled the door open furiously, expecting to see Leonard there, back before he left for work for a final shot about the bill she had run up consulting psychic advisers.

“Do you meditate, madam?”

“Meditate!”

Prepared to give as good as she got from Leonard in what promised to be an epic quarrel, one of those that stretched over a week, Wanda was startled by the tall man with the shaven head whose eyes seemed to look inward as much as outward at her.

“So few people do. How old are you?”

“That’s none of your business.” Her hand gripped the door but she found herself unable to slam it in his face.

“You know your age, that’s what’s important. How many years do you suppose you have left?”

He lifted his face, as if expecting an answer from on high. He lowered his eyes to her once more.

“Madam, would you step outside, please?”

“I’m not dressed.”

“That is why you are reluctant to ask me in. We must talk.”

It was a challenge. Of course she would ask him in. It wasn’t as if she were indecent, for pete’s sake. She wore a wrapper over her nightgown, and on her feet were the silly pink slippers with toes the shape of bunny heads that Leonard had bought her during one of the lulls in their long-term argument.

“My name is Alexander,” he said. He wore a business suit, light grey, with a purple shirt buttoned at the neck. The chain with the odd pendant might have been his necktie. He drifted into the living room and looked mournfully around.

“What’s wrong?”

“There is no you here.”

“Are you selling something?”

“Whatever I have is not mine to own. It is yours as much as mine.”

He sat, but as one sits who may leave at any minute. Suddenly she wanted him to stay. She had the sense that this man, Alexander, was someone to whom she could talk, someone who would understand her. A bell sounded insistently from the back of the house and Wanda made an impatient noise.

“Ah,” Alexander said, holding it as if it were a note and he about to chant.

“That’s Mattie. My mother-in-law.”

“And she summons you.”

“Will you excuse me a minute?”

“I will come with you.”

And he did, down the hallway to the kitchen and through the breezeway to the apartment they had made for Mattie in what had once been the garage. The kitchen was a mess, but at this hour of the day what could you expect? Wanda wanted Alexander to see what her life was like, what she had to put up with.

Mattie was propped up in the La-Z-Boy chair she preferred to her bed, forever readjusting it in search of some angle of restfulness that would make life tolerable. Her hair stood on her scalp as if she had her finger in the light socket. She cocked her head and looked at Alexander.

“Who are you?”

“You are in the vestibule of the beyond, Martha. This is no time to ask childish questions. How is your soul?”

The old woman looked up at him pop-eyed and then, incredibly, burst into tears. Her scrawny veined hand reached for him, clawing at the air, until he took it, enveloping hers in his own two large hands. He turned to Wanda.

“Leave us alone.”

Wanda turned and went back through the breeze way to the kitchen, where she began to clean up. She felt excitement. Something very important was happening. For five years, Wanda had been little more than her mother-in-law’s keeper, waiting on her hand and foot, on edge all day, forever expecting that damned bell to ring. Whenever she hid the bell, the old woman would begin to whimper, a penetrating sound that crept through the house and found her no matter where she hid from it.

“Wanda, in a little while, it will all be ours.”

That was Leonard’s argument. They had moved in here with his mother, selling their house at a loss, but what the hell, they were through paying rent or mortgage installments. Wanda had calculated that they had sunk more money into Mattie’s house than they would have paid staying in their own over that five-year period. Leonard did not want to bill his mother for improvements — the new drive, fencing along the back of the yard, the roof, and the redesign of the garage that was meant to give them a little breathing space from Mattie.

“You’ll have your privacy this way, Mom.”

“Why don’t you just put me out with the trash?”

“Stop talking like that.”

“This is a garage.”

“Not anymore.”

Leonard actually suggested that they move into the remodeled garage and let the old woman have the rest of the house.

“Over my dead body.”

“You sound like her.”

“I’m going to look like her before...”

“Before what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You want her dead, don’t you? Well, say it: I wish Martha Bertie were dead.”

“Don’t your?”

That shut him up. Wasn’t he something, trying to make her feel guilty? This idea had been a conspiracy from the beginning. They would ingratiate themselves with Mattie. His sister in Seattle sent a Christmas card that wasn’t even signed, just Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Pringle, printed. Once the legend had been from Pringle Pharmacy. Laura obviously considered her mother already dead and gone. If Mattie could be made to realize that the only one who cared for her was Leonard, and Wanda, of course, well, then...

“We get this house?”

“That’s not the half of it.”

“How do you know?”

“You’ve seen the bankbook.”

“Where would I see her bankbook?”

“It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t trust banks. Except insofar as they rent safe-deposit boxes.”

“Does she have a safe-deposit box?”

Leonard adopted a sly smile and nodded slowly. It turned out he had never seen what was in it. He got angry when she suggested it was empty. That was the first quarrel that lasted more than two days. When the clouds cleared and the sun shone once more, Leonard said they had to get a look into that safety-deposit box.

After a month of discreet searching in the garage apartment, Wanda found the little envelope with the key to the safety-deposit box. Like a fool, she let Leonard talk her into going down to the bank and asking to open the box.

“Don’t let on you’re not the right Mrs. Bertie.”

So Wanda showed the young man the key and he asked her to sign a little slip. That was when she sensed this wasn’t going to work. He took the slip and riffled through a card index from which eventually he plucked a card. He laid her slip alongside the card. He frowned.

“You’re Mrs. Bertie?”

“That’s right.”

“The signatures don’t match.”

“That’s my mother-in-law’s.”

“This is her safety-deposit box?”

“She asked me to get something for her.” Wanda leaned forward. “She’s quite helpless now.”

This posed a problem. The young man rose and crossed the floor as if he had a gun in his back and consulted with a woman whose hair was an artful mess. Her head began to sway negatively as she listened. The two came to where Wanda was sitting.

The woman nodded to the young man, who narrated what had happened to this point in time.

“Our Mrs. Bertie is your mother-in-law, Mrs. Bertie?” the woman asked.

“Yes.”

“And you want to open her safety-deposit box?” She said this as if she were recounting an attempt at sacrilege. “The bank enters into the most solemn of arrangements with the holders of safety-deposit boxes, Mrs. Bertie.”

She preached on, unctuously. Wanda felt as if she were the blackest of sinners.

“You must obtain power of attorney. Then and only then can we let you see Mrs. Bertie’s box.”

This and the many other annoying, aggravating, infuriating, humiliating episodes that had characterized her life since she and Leonard had moved in with Mattie went past Wanda’s mind as she tidied up the kitchen. She realized that Alexander was standing in the doorway. When their eyes met she was certain he knew every secret of her life, that he had been inside her mind and memory while she had reviewed her dreadful life with Mattie.

“She will soon be dead,” Alexander said.

“Mattie?”

He nodded, his eyes reading her soul.

“But she’s strong as a horse.”

“You are going to speed her on her way.”

Trying to laugh it off did not work, not with his hypnotic eyes on her. He suggested that they return to the living room. There he spoke in a soft musical voice about the swiftness with which life passes, how the vast majority of human beings are so caught up in the trivia of everyday tasks that they never seriously ask themselves the only important question. He fell silent.

“What is the question?”

He nodded, as if they were already in agreement. “What does it all mean?”

He elaborated. Moments become minutes which become hours, and the hours turn into days, the earth spins clockwise round the sun, its orbit altering into seasons, and the years follow one another, but from a cosmic perspective earthly millennia are insignificant. Think of the light year.

Wanda realized she hadn’t thought of much of anything since she quit work to stay home with Mattie, and before that what she had thought about was her work at the bank. College? A four-year blur. Listening to Alexander, Wanda felt her mind stir from slumber and begin to operate in uncustomary but pleasant ways. The thought emerged that it was a very bad waste of the few winks of time she had on earth to be fretting over Mattie.

“She too longs for this to be over.”

“Did you talk with her about it?”

“Of course.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

It was laughably simple. Alexander knew of the sealed can in the basement containing the stuff Leonard put on his roses. She felt that Alexander knew everything. Bring the container upstairs, add a spoonful to the tea she made for Mattie, sit with her while she drank it, making her last moments pleasant. That was all there was to it.

“She doesn’t want to do it herself?”

“Of course she wants to. But when is the last time she made the tea?”

At any other time that question could have started her on a litany of complaints. There was no physical reason for Mattie to sit atrophying in her chair day and night. It was sheer stubborn meanness. But Alexander was right. She was too mean even to poison herself. She would want Wanda to do it.

“I’ll talk it over with Leonard tonight.”

Alexander shook his head. “No. She doesn’t want him to know. Besides, by tonight it will all be over.”

“She wants me to do it today?”

“She longs for it.”

“Talk to me some more.”

“I have talked enough. Now you must meditate.”

And it was over. He rose, went to the door, and was outside before she could move. When she looked down the drive, there was no sign of him. On the other side of the street, a car moved off.

Wanda went back to the living room, sat, and shut her eyes, intent on meditating. But the image of the sealed can in the basement formed in her mind and wouldn’t go away. First she would bring it upstairs. She put it on the kitchen counter and sat on a stool. Her mind refused to concentrate on anything. She went back to see how Mattie was doing.

Her chair was upright, her hair brushed; she looked neat as a pin. “I liked him.”

“Alexander?”

“He understands the situation here.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve needed someone to talk with.”

“So have I.”

“You’re no good at it, talk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“This whole thing was a mistake, I knew that from the beginning.” Mattie sighed. “Well, it is time I got out of it.”

She put back her head and closed her eyes. How happy she looked, and expectant. Wanda felt almost holy at the thought that she would help Mattie go on to a better place. Alexander spoke of it as far out beyond the galaxies, a place toward which one moved with incredible swiftness, yet it required an eternity to get there.

“Where the big bang took place,” he whispered.

“Did he speak to you of the big bang?” Wanda asked the old woman.

But Mattie had drifted off, the sweetest smile on her dry thin lips.

Wanda thought of telephoning Leonard, to give him some indication of what his mother had decided, but Alexander’s warning that she not tell him kept her from the phone. It was Leonard who called her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, without preamble.

“Me too.”

“I know how hard it is on you to live the way we do.”

“It’s not forever.”

“That’s right. We have to remember that.”

“Your mother has been such an angel today.”

“Angel?”

And soon she would be among the angels, hair brushed, brighteyed, ready for that long long journey toward the place where the big bang had taken place. Leonard said he would be late and she urged him to come as soon as he could. What lay before her was vague but inevitable.

She took a sandwich in to Mattie at noon.

“I hate chicken salad.”

“That’s tuna.”

“Did you make tea?”

“We’ll have that later. The two of us.”

“I want it now.”

Well, she ought to have it when she wanted it. Wanda leaned toward the old woman, seeking in her expression some sign of the secret they shared, but Mattie turned away.

“You’re blocking the sun.”

How easy it was to tolerate the cranky old woman now. It would all be over soon. She made her a simple cup of tea to have with her sandwich. She and Mattie would have high tea at the usual time. It seemed wrong to break the routine on this last day.

Mattie sipped the tea suspiciously and wrinkled her nose. “It always tastes the same.”

It was the only hint she gave of what they were going to do. Had she expected her luncheon tea to contain the fatal dose? She napped again after Wanda took away her tray. Wanda lay down for her nap but she could not sleep. She went back in with Mattie and sat there, watching the old woman sleep, imagining that she had already made tea in the way Alexander had told her the old woman wanted and Mattie had already begun her long astral journey to the beginning of it all...

“What are you doing here?”

Wanda snapped awake at the angry sound of Mattie’s voice. It was nearly three o’clock.

“I fell asleep.”

“I could see that.”

Anger flared up in Wanda until she remembered. While she slept she had dreamed of Alexander, of his commanding presence, and of his soothing voice coming musically to her out of infinite space and time. She had read of people who claimed to have visions, heavenly visitations, who had been snatched up in alien spacecraft and taken on strange flights. Such stories no longer seemed incredible. If she had to describe Alexander, it would be difficult to make him sound like an earth person. Of course it was Mattie he had come for, not her. She was merely the instrument of the plan Alexander had drawn forth from deep inside Mattie’s soul. She was ready to go now and she wanted a little help to put her on her way.

“I’m hungry.”

“It hasn’t been two hours since we had lunch.”

“Let’s have our tea.”

“Be patient, Mattie. We’ll have it at four, as we always do.”

“I can’t wait till four.”

“Yes, you can.”

They both could. Wanda went solemnly into the main house, leaving Mattie alone with her thoughts. The bell jangled as it usually did, but Wanda ignored it, not out of anger, as she might have before, but wanting Mattie to think of what lay ahead. To meditate. They could talk when it came time for tea.

In the kitchen she took a measuring cup and put into it two tablespoonfuls of the stuff from the can she had brought up from the basement. The odor when she pried open the lid was the odor of earth, of death, of a tomb sealed for centuries but opened now. She put the measuring cup by the tea kettle and pressed the lid down tight on the can. She returned it to its place on the basement shelf. It was 3:45 when she came up to the kitchen again.

She put on the water and went into the breezeway and strained her ear. Mattie was talking to herself. It seemed almost as good as meditation.

She put tea in the pot and then poured the contents of the measuring cup in as well. The whistle on the kettle began its shrill sound and she took it from the fire. The sound of Mattie’s voice died away. She would know that tea was on its way.

Wanda added the boiling water to the pot, replaced the top, and slipped a cozy over it. She would let it steep a few minutes before taking it in. The tea cart was one Mattie had had for years and it meant much to her to have her tea rolled in to her on it. Wanda made little sandwiches and petits fours and then put the teapot on the cart.

“Tea time,” she sang out, and started toward the garage apartment.

She rolled the cart up next to Mattie’s chair, in case she wanted to pour. But the old woman sat with folded hands, an expectant look on her face as she surveyed the goodies on the cart. Wanda poured a cup and handed it to her mother-in-law. It was a solemn moment. Mattie waited while she added milk and sugar, she liked lots of sugar, then stirred vigorously. How eager she looked.

Wanda poured another cup and took a chair. Mattie sipped, pursed her lips against the heat, then sipped again. She took a sandwich from the cart and nibbled delicately on it, then drank more tea.

“Mmmmmm,” she said.

She drank it down and held out her cup for more. Wanda poured again. Mattie would want a third cup, she always did, and usually Wanda discouraged it since it meant several trips to the bathroom, but today she gladly poured the third cup.

And waited. She brought her own cup to her lips, then stopped. Dear God, she was not ready for any trip through the stars, not yet, not when finally her long agony was coming to an end. She and Leonard would be alone, the cause of their quarrels would be gone, the future would lie bright ahead of them again.

Mattie’s grip on her cup loosened and it rolled down her lap and onto the floor. The old woman’s head had snapped back and she was gasping for air. Wanda had not been prepared for this. She had expected Mattie simply to drift into sleep. But instead the old woman fought against going, scratching at her throat, fixing Wanda with her bright angry eyes until her eyelids fluttered, her eyes rolled upward, and she slumped forward.

Wanda straightened the old woman in her chair and tried to smooth away the awful expression on her face. The doorbell rang.

She stood, feeling panic at first, and then, remembering Alexander’s visit earlier, hurried through the house to the front door, pulling it open with a great smile.

“Nine-one-one,” a man said, pushing past her. He was followed by another. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“The woman who’s been poisoned.”

She managed to point and they sped through the house. She followed. They reached the breezeway and went right on, as if they knew now where they were going. Wanda couldn’t watch while they worked over Mattie. Before she left, she saw one of the paramedics shrug at the other. She was seated at the kitchen table when they came in.

“She’s dead.”

“I know.”

“We came as quickly as we could.”

“Who called you? Alexander?”

“I think it was your husband.”

“My husband.”

They checked and it was true, Leonard had phoned 911 to report that his mother had just been given poison and would they get over there as quickly as they could.

Given poison. That phrase was the beginning of her realization that something was wrong. She tried to tell the paramedics about Alexander and how he had talked to Mattie, but their eyes kept moving away. More police arrived. She asked them to call Leonard and the phone was pushed toward her. Leonard was not in his office.

He had said he would be late tonight. He was not yet home when a detective advised her to call a lawyer. “My husband is my lawyer.”

“You’ll want someone else, ma’am. After all, he made the call.”

Leonard had not come home when she was taken downtown and he did not come to see her. The lawyer she eventually got was named Sawyer. He just looked at her when she told him about Alexander but later, as the trial approached, he wanted to hear all about it.

“That’s our only defense,” he said.

“Nobody will believe it.”

“That’s the idea.”

Leonard still had not come to see her. How could she complain? After all, she was accused of killing his mother. In the end, she pleaded guilty by reason of insanity. She had never been so humiliated in her life. When she stood for sentencing, she turned and looked at the few curious people in the courtroom. Leonard was there. He was talking to the man beside him, a tall man with a crew cut. And then Leonard looked toward her and their eyes met. But it was the face of the man beside him Wanda saw, the great staring eyes, the look of serenity.

“Alexander!” she screamed. “There he is.”

She was wrestled into her chair by the matron but she continued to call out. They had to listen. The man who was responsible was there in the courtroom with her husband. Two more matrons were required to remove her from the courtroom. Sawyer came to tell her what her sentence was.

“As soon as the doctors say you’re okay, you go free.”

She nodded. In the interim since being removed from the courtroom, she had begun to understand.

“A piece of advice,” Sawyer said. “Forget about Alexander. As long as you talk about him, they’re going to keep you locked up.”

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