The Chronicles of Marr-nia (Short Stories Starring Barbara Marr) by Karen Cantwell Page A

seen the doctor.   These are just mild fainting spells due to . . . low nutrition, you see.   A cup of tea and an orange or pear will bring her around just beautifully.   Thank you.   And some space, I should think , if you please.”
    With the aid of Marjorie Baker, one of the other guests, Flora successfully moved Rosabelle to the parlor sofa where she found her voice to thank Marjorie for her help and kindness.
    “Of course, of course.   Let us adjourn to the library – we will continue our meeting there – and leave Rosabelle and Flora some air.”   Mrs. Franklin herded the dozen women and their voluptuous hooped shirts out of the room, closing the tall double doors behind her.
    Rosabelle had been rubbing her head more for the drama than for the purpose of relieving an ache, but once the doors closed, she grabbed Flora’s arm.
    “Sister!   You will not believe what I just witnessed.”
    Flora tugged her arm away and pressed her index fingers to her own temples.
    “ Rosa , these dreams of yours – they come too often!   They wear me down.   Can you not control them?”
    “No more than I can control the seasons.   Flora, I need you now.   Please, listen.”
    “Fine.   What did you see this time?”
    “It was the same recollection.”
    “The same as what?”
    “Eli Witherspoon.   When I touched Lucy’s hand, I witnessed the entire murder again.”
    “Lucy?   Who is Lucy?”
    “Mrs. Franklin’s maid.”
    “You mean the Negro girl?”
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Lucy must be one of the two men in my recollection.   Lucy and Eli Witherspoon.”
    “Well,” Flora sniffed.   “That seems very odd.”
    Rosabelle fell back on the sofa laughing.
    “What?” Flora asked.
    “Is not all of this to be classified as odd, sister?”
    Flora, who remained serious for just a moment, finally found the humor in it and laughed as well, which pleased Rosabelle .   She desperately needed her sister to accept her condition, as she was the only person in whom Rosabelle could confide completely.
    The two sisters sat smiling silently on the sofa for a moment, soaking in the absurdity of their new reality.
    “Do you suppose then,” Flora said finally, “that Lucy is going to murder Eli Witherspoon?”
    “Or is he to murder her?   That is precisely what I need to determine.   This recollection was different.   More detail, and I was acutely aware that I was a young girl.   Do not ask me how I know this, but the dark man – he was my father.   Also, I felt true fear when the other man rode up on his horse.   Feeling fear when Lucy touched me – does this mean that Lucy is the murderer and Mr. Witherspoon the victim?   I don’t know.   I just don’t know.
    “Do you suppose we should do something?” Flora asked.
    “At the very least, for the moment, I would like to put my eyes on Lucy.”
    A loud rapping at the front door, followed by a flurry of activity and female chattering, compelled Rosabelle and Flora to leave their temporary sanctuary.
    Opening the double doors of the parlor, they found that the women had not yet moved to the library.   Instead, they were huddling around Mrs. Franklin who read aloud from a note in her hand.
    “Miss Amelia Patton sends her regrets.   She is ill and thus will be unable to attend today’s meeting.”
    Mrs. Franklin put a hand to her heart.   “Poor dear.   She has not been looking well these last two days.”
    “I think she has worried herself sick,” piped in Marjorie Baker, who stood next to Flora.
    “Worried herself about what?” Rosabelle asked.
    “That cousin of hers, Eli Witherspoon.   Rumor has it he will be the next to die,” Marjorie responded more quietly for deeper effect.
    “It is true,” clucked Mrs. Franklin in her strong, superior tone.   “But I must say though, that the young man most likely brought it all upon himself with his questionable ways.”
    Rosabelle put two comforting hands on Flora’s