“You were in the barn when he died?” Sophia asked, having heard the story from Jude, she knew they believed their father was alone, somehow, he fell - end of story. “Jude told me they didn’t find him until that evening, Frank found him. You left him there to die?” Now Sophia was angry, her heart pounded against her ribs and her throat filled with rising sobs.
“He was already dead,” Ruth shrieked, and she turned back to the bureau picking up a silver pitcher. She reached back with her hand and threw it.
Sophia stepped to the side, and the pitcher crashed to the floor skidding across the slippery marble.
Ruth’s bosom, splotched and red, heaved. Her eyes were two angry slits in the fleshy puddle of her face.
Sophia turned and without another word walked from the house. She drove down the long driveway, a fleeting memory of her and Jack kissing beneath the warped oak tree near the entrance. As she watched the Porter Estate fade in the rear-view mirror, she knew she would never see Ruth again.
October 1965
Jude
“You’re healing up nice,” Detective Bell said, gesturing at Jude’s face where the bruises and scrapes had all but disappeared.
“Another month in this,” she touched her sling. “And I’ll be good as new.”
She spoke the words but thought of the nightmares that ripped her from sleep night and after night. In each one she returned to that dank little cabin in the woods and somewhere in the shadows a man waited with a knife.
“I wanted you to know that Dale plead guilty to Rosemary’s murder and your attempted murder. There won’t be a trial.”
Jude sighed, one-part relieved, another part frustrated that she wouldn’t get to stare him down in court.
“Good. I hated the thought of my mom having to testify,” she admitted.
“We found the bloody hat,” Bell said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of gum. He offered her a piece, but she shook her head. “Dale stuffed it in a trunk in the attic. The proof was right above our heads for thirty years.” Kurt shook his head. “I feel like a real ape.”
Jude studied his eyes, green orbs of remorse, that watched everything. As they stood near the courthouse, he scanned the streets, the sidewalks, back to her, then off again flitting over the people and the cars passing by.
“The whole thing is way out,” she murmured, imaging her parents’ farm where, at that moment, her mother was baking an apple pie and Hattie was hanging paper pumpkins in the window for Halloween. “My whole life is different. I’m trying to catch up.”
Kurt nodded.
“Since you’re trying new things, maybe you‘d want to have dinner with me?” He smiled and cocked an eyebrow.
Jude stared at him, surprised.
“Really?”
He nodded, pushed a hand through his dark tousled hair, and shrugged.“I understand if it’s too weird. Family history and all, but…”
“Yes,” she blurted. “In six months.”
“In six months?” he exclaimed.
“I’m catching up on a lost decade right now.” She shrugged. “Call me in six months.”
Christmas Eve 1965
Hattie
Hattie sat cross-legged on a rug by the fire. Her mother wove a needle and thread through popcorn for the Christmas tree, and Jude lounged on the sofa sipping scotch and watching snow fall beyond the window. It had been snowing for two days and they’d rarely left the farm, spending their days sifting through ornaments and crafts from their childhood and watching Christmas specials on television.
Hattie slid her finger beneath the edge of the sealed envelope in her lap and pulled out a sheet of stationary, opening it to Damien’s hand-writing. He wrote her every two weeks detailing his thesis progress, describing the new Dalmatian puppy he’d taken in, and ending, always, with a paragraph of apologies and hopes that someday Hattie might give him another chance.
She never wrote back, but instead sent him small paintings on the backs index cards. She glanced at her most recent painting, a man’s hand with a tiny Hattie nestled inside. Damien would not know it, but it was his hand she painted, remembering the creases and lines in vivid detail, remembering the way his hands cupped her face as he kissed her, and remembering finally, Jude’s face at the hospital the following morning.
She set his letter aside and turned to stare into the crackling fire, looking up when someone knocked on the door.
Sophia
“I’ll get it,” Sophia announced, gazing at her two beautiful girls before hurrying to the front door.
She no longer lived with the fear of opening her door. Kaiser, once a doctor, had become a patient at the Northern Michigan Asylum. Damien had written Hattie and told of her of the doctor’s hysteria in the days following Hattie’s abduction. The man screamed that his dead mother was coming back to take her revenge, and she brought the land of the dead with her.
The knock sounded a second time and when she pulled open the door, a gust of snow blew across the threshold. She looked into the searching eyes of her son, Peter.
“Mom,” he whispered, his brown uniform dusted in white, his once shaggy auburn hair cropped close to his head.
Sophia reached forward clutching her son and feeling a sob slip from her throat. Peter stepped into the house and hugged her, lifting his mother from the ground.
“Jude wrote to me. I’ve been so anxious for my leave, I could hardily stand it. I wanted to surprise you,” he whispered. “I can’t believe it’s you, Mom.”
Jude and Hattie hurried from the living room, wrapping their arms around Peter and Sophia. Hattie’s tears were quiet while Jude’s sobs burst in giant hiccups.
Sophia felt the warmth of her children pressing around her and from the corner of the house, she heard Jack, his voice a whisper in the blowing wind.
“Sophia,” he said.
And then she felt him, the spirit of her beloved, as he stepped into their embrace.
About Me
I love characters. For me that’s the heart of writing and reading. I would love to hear about your experience with my characters and what other fictional characters you love. Reading has truly shaped my life, and there’s nothing more amazing than connecting with other readers who share passions similar to my own.
I live in beautiful Traverse City, Michigan with my young son and my husband. When I’m not writing, you can find me and my son stalking our kitties: Beast and Mamoo, wandering in the woods or hiking the sand dunes.
Author’s Note
Thanks so much for picking up a copy of Some Can See. I want to offer a disclaimer before you dive into the story. This is an entirely fictional novel. Although there was once a real place known as The Northern Michigan Asylum - which inspired me to write these books - it is in no way depicted within them. Although my story takes place there, the characters in this story are not based on any real people who worked at this asylum or were patients; any resemblance to individuals, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Likewise, the events which take place in the novel are not based on real events, and any resemblance to real events is also coincidental.
In truth, nearly every book I read about the asylum, later known as the Traverse City State Hospital, was positive. This holds true for the stories of many of the staff who worked there as well. I live in the Traverse City area and regularly visit the grounds of the former asylum. It’s now known as The Village at Grand Traverse Commons. It was purchased in 2000 by Ray Minervini and the Minervini Group who have been restoring it since that time. Today, it’s a mixed-use space of boutiques, restaurants and condominiums. If you ever visit the area, I encourage you to visit the The Village at Grand Traverse Commons. You can experience first hand the asylums - both old and new - and walk the sprawling grounds.