Aunt Lillie's Hands

By: 
Nancy Reece, Writer's Bloc

Aunt Lillie was the perfect image of an elderly maiden aunt-short,plump, a head of gray permed hair.  She never drank except when she had a cold which was frequently.  She never smoked but was known to take a dip of snuff now and then.  She had loved only one man in her lifetime and he pretended not to know and thus she never married.  The most far away place she had ever traveled was to the big city of Louisville, sixty-five miles from her home.

Her home was a large room.  There was a door that connected the room to the rest of the house but had been bolted and locked to secure her privacy.  She had been given the room for as long as she wanted, rent free, in exchange for her many years of service as a housekeeper and cook for the local parish priests.

The room had all her worldly treasures.  An old dresser with a mirror whose reflective power had long ago faded and now only gave a smokey foggy image of your face.  A wood stove that served as her means of heat and cooking.  A brass bed which years later has become one of my treasures.  There were no electric lights and no running water. 

As a child, however, one of my greatest thrills was being able to spend the night with her.  She would entertain me for hours by playing cards, making doll clothes, and telling me about her past stories of family members that were valued memories to her and unknown people to me.  But my favorite stories were her ghost stories.  We would crawl into the brass bed and she would blow out the kerosene lantern.  The only light would be the faint glow of the fire that had been stoked up to warm us during the night. She would reach for my hand and I knew this was her signal for a special tale that she would swear she knew first hand. 

There is one story that stands out in my mind. One that she swore was true.

She was staying in a little country town called Loretta with the parish priest.  They had a hard time keeping a housekeeper after the old priest had suddenly died.  It didn’t take her long figure it out.  People were afraid to stay in the house.  There were handprints on the wall leading upstairs.  She had asked the new priest about them because no matter how hard she scrubbed the prints remained. 

The priest told her that right after coming there he heard footsteps every night on the staircase.  When he went out to check there was no one on the steps.  He told her he had nothing to fear so one night he sat at the top to see what was making all the noise.  Sure enough he saw someone walking.  As the figure came closer he noticed it was an old man placing his hands on the wall as if to brace himself.  The young priest sat still and the figure came closer and closer.  He realized that it was the old priest who had died suddenly a year ago.  The young priest came face to face with the old man.  The old priest  smiled and disappeared.

The young priest realized that there was something that the old soul must have left undone in his lifetime.  Souls that roam the earth are restless and walk the earth until they can find a way to take care of business.

The next morning the young priest started to explore the old records of the church.  He wanted to find out what needed to be done.  He knew there was a locked desk drawer but had never bothered to open it.  He finally found the key that fit and found what he was looking for.  It was an old cigar box filled with unsaid mass cards for the dead.  In the Catholic Church when people die you can have masses said for the repose of their soul.

Days followed and the young priest said the masses.  The footsteps continued until the last mass was said.

I asked my aunt if the handprints were still there.  I wanted to see them.  She laughed and told me the parish house had long ago burned down.  She swore that she saw them and told me they looked like a scorched hand. I often think about her and her stories.  She is kept alive in my heart with many fond memories.

Nancy is a retired teacher.  She is a member of the Salem writing group.  Nancy enjoys writing and working on her various craft activities.

 

 

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