Haunted Ground

by Irina Shapiro

  I barely noticed as Aidan drew a blanket over my shoulders and closed the blinds to keep the dreary afternoon light at bay so that I could sleep. I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow, dreaming of things that had nothing to do with the events that were crowding my mind. I suppose the mind has a way of protecting itself and distancing itself from things that are too much to bear, so I was able to sleep peacefully and find some solace in my dreams.

  By the time I woke up it was fully dark, and I could smell the appetizing aroma of roasting chicken and potatoes wafting from the kitchen. I smiled at Aidan as he came into the room and gathered me into his arms. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked, his voice full of concern. I did, and I lifted my face to his, my mouth finding his lips as I ran my tongue over them in invitation. My hands went to the buttons of his shirt, opening them one by one as the kiss deepened, and I felt a jolt of desire coursing through my body. At this moment, Aidan was the only person who could make me feel better and take me away from my turbulent thoughts, if only for a little while, because tomorrow I would have to re-evaluate the facts and proceed to step two.

  Chapter 56

  Aidan was surprised when I asked him to drive me home after dinner, but I needed time to think, time to process everything that had occurred in the past twenty-four hours. My life had imploded, but I still didn’t have all the answers, and the only person at this point who could answer my questions was the woman who’d taken me to New York and given me away all those years ago.

  Deep in my gut I felt a burning resentment toward Myra, but it wasn’t fair to judge her without hearing her side of the story. She was only a few years older than Kelly, so maybe she simply couldn’t take me on, especially since she didn’t have a family of her own, and would have had to completely change her lifestyle to accommodate a three-year-old.

  I needed to speak to Myra, but I had no idea how she would react to hearing from me after all these years. I suppose I could have found her phone number, but what I wanted to do was ambush her and talk to her face to face. It’s too easy to fob someone off over the phone, but it’s considerably harder to maintain an emotional distance when looking into someone’s eyes. I could think of one person who probably knew where to find Myra, but I would have to approach her in such a way that she didn’t suspect anything, or she just might withhold the information and blame it on some confidentiality clause.

  I walked over to the window and gazed over the dark stretch of lawn, the creek invisible, but the rushing of the water still audible over the sound of the falling rain. I watched the pinprick of light that was my ghost’s candle as he read, resting his back against the wall, his legs pulled up on the narrow cot. Tonight I knew just how he felt, for tonight I was a ghost myself, a person whose life had been turned upside down and whose soul couldn’t find peace until some kind of resolution presented itself.

  ***

  Last night’s rain had tapered off by morning, leaving a thin fog in its wake that swirled above the ground and softened all the edges until the trees and houses seemed to float directly out of the mist. It was cool for July so I pulled my denim jacket closer around me as I walked up the nearly deserted street. It was just before 10 a.m. and most places of business were still closed, their windows looking forlorn and slick with moisture as they floated out of the fog to meet me.

  I slowed my gait in the hope that Paula would be in the office by time I got there. Thankfully, the light was already on in the estate office, Paula’s face clearly visible through the window as she typed something, her fingers flying over her computer keyboard. I took a deep breath and entered, hoping that this would be easy rather than hard. At the moment, Paula was about the last person I really wanted to see.

  Despite her smile of welcome, there was a noticeable frostiness to Paula’s demeanor as she offered me a seat. Neither one of us made any allusion to Colin, who was awaiting a hearing, but what happened between us was like a two-thousand pound elephant in the room, ready to charge us at the slightest provocation. I could see wariness in Paula’s eyes as she waited for me to state my business. I was proving to be a nuisance, her gaze said, but she was a consummate businesswoman and would kill me with courtesy and kindness. I could see that Paula’s façade of civility was fragile at best, so I plunged in.

  “Paula, I wonder if you might help me out?” I began.

  “Is this about the ruin again?” she asked with a false smile as she took a sip of her coffee. “I swear to you, I don’t know any more than I did a few days ago.”

  “No, it’s not. Actually, I came for a completely different reason. You see, I’ve cleared out the house, but there are some family pictures and personal papers that I just don’t feel comfortable throwing away. I’d like to mail them to Myra Hughes and let her decide what she wants to do with them. Would you happen to know of a way I can get her address?” I asked innocently. Technically, the house had been sold by Roger Hughes, but it wasn’t him I was interested in. However, if that’s all I could get, I might approach him next.

  Paula was about to refuse, but seemed to waver for a moment, fully conscious of the harm her brother had tried to inflict on me. It wasn’t her fault, but I could see guilt lurking in her nervous gaze as she made up her mind to give me this little bit of assistance to appease her conscience. “I think I have it in the file somewhere. Myra lives in London now. I shouldn’t be giving it to you,” she said as she handed me the address written on a post-it, “but I would hate for someone to throw away a part of my history. She probably thought that Roger cleared out the house, but Roger is not one for sentimental clap-trap, never has been.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure she’ll be happy to have the albums returned to her.” I rose to leave, but Paula called out to me.

  “Have you given up on your ghost then?” she quipped as I turned around to face her, just in time to see the color drain from her face in alarm. I’d never said anything about a ghost; that I was sure of.

  “You do know something, don’t you?” I said, staring Paula down over the top of her computer monitor and nailing her with my relentless gaze. A telltale flush spread across Paula’s cheeks as she quickly averted her eyes and began to scan the contents of the file in front of her.

  “I’ve heard it said that old Mrs. Hughes was always ranting and raving about the man in the ruins, especially after Kelly died, but she’d had a breakdown. Dot Martin is not one for being discreet, so word got around that Mrs. Hughes was mad as a hatter. Personally, I thought she’d lost the plot long before that, but it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead.” Paula finally looked up, her cheeks flushed with shame.

  “No, it isn’t,” I replied and walked out of the office. It was encouraging to know that I hadn’t been the only one to see the ghost. Mad or not, my grandmother had seen him too, and it was quite possible that so had Myra.

  October 1650

  England

  Chapter 57

  Stephen Aldrich took off his hat and gazed up at the sun. It was wonderfully mild for late October, the sun riding high and the wispy clouds floating lazily across the startlingly blue sky. Ordinarily, he would be content and happy to be alive on a day such as this, but he’d felt unsettled since the night before, his sleep interrupted by disturbing dreams and frightening images of crows and dark forests. He was tired and in a foul mood, but there was work to be done, and in his opinion, that was usually the best remedy for whatever ailed a man.

  Stephen waved to Lizzie as she carefully walked across the field, bringing his midday meal. At ten, she was so like her mother in looks, but more like Stephen in temperament. Stephen loved watching her with Rowan as they sat side by side, Rowan showing Lizzie how to make the even, neat stitches in her sewing. Rowan was wonderful with five-year-old Tim, too. She managed to win over his children without saying a word, making them feel at ease and cared for in her presence. He was sure she’d make a wonderful mother to them, but something had shifted, and he couldn’t make out what.

  Rowan ha
d been in church on Sunday as usual, but as soon as the service was over, she hurried home, and Caleb apologetically informed Stephen that Rowan seemed unwell and wouldn’t walk out with him after dinner. Stephen decided to use the opportunity to go visit his brother. Eugene Aldrich was a few years younger, but they’d always been close, especially since Stephen’s wife died. Eugene’s wife Amy had helped with the children whenever she could and Lizzie and Tim loved spending time with their cousins, playing in the yard while the grown-ups sat over their meal and enjoyed a second mug of ale as they discussed the political situation in the country and the happenings in their own village. Stephen had always firmly remained on the side of the monarchy, but Eugene loved to play Devil’s Advocate, bringing up various opposing points just to get Stephen going. Eventually, Eugene would concede that Stephen had the right of it, and pour them both more ale as he winked at his wife. Secretly, Eugene sided with the politics of Cromwell, but he never told Stephen outright, for that would be the end of their relationship. Stephen could accept many things, but he was a man who believed in God, King, and country, in that order, and would entertain no other notion of government. Things were the way they were for a reason, and so they should remain, in Stephen’s opinion. He firmly believed that a monarch would be restored to the throne in due time, and all they had to do as Englishmen was do their duty and wait patiently until such a time came.

  Stephen missed the wink, but he saw the smile on Amy’s face as she gazed at her husband and put her arms around him, resting her chin on top of his curly head. Stephen jokingly said that he envied Eugene his marriage, since he’d never had the kind of bond with his wife that Amy and Eugene seemed to share. Their affection was obvious to anyone who cared to look, and there was a comforting sense of peace in their home that came from two people who were always working toward the same goal and were eager to be kind and helpful to each other. Stephen had never had that with Betty, but he’d hoped to have that kind of union with Rowan. He was beginning to have his doubts though, more so after the visit to his brother. Rowan seemed to be pulling away from him over the past few weeks, her attention clearly occupied by something or someone else. She seemed eager to part company, running off as if she had a pressing engagement somewhere else. What would a girl like her have to rush to?

  Stephen cast his mind over the young men of their village. There were a few eligible bachelors, but as far as he knew, none of them had ever shown the slightest interest in Rowan. She was truly beautiful, but the men were put off by her silence. Life was hard enough without having a wife you couldn’t talk to, one who couldn’t comfort you in your hour of need, or nurture and discipline the children. Stephen had never felt that he had to compete for Rowan’s affections, but then again, maybe she never felt any affection for him at all. Had she agreed to marry him for lack of a better prospect? He’d hate to think so since he genuinely believed that Rowan cared for him, but now all these doubts were gnawing at his insides, making him question everything he knew to be true.

  ***

  Stephen gratefully accepted the still-warm pot from Lizzie and sat down in a shady spot to enjoy his meal. Lizzie sat down next to him, her golden head on his shoulder, her eyes fixed on the clouds floating overhead. She was a dreamer, his Lizzie, and he didn’t like to discourage that in her. Life would take care of that soon enough, but for now, he just wanted her to be happy.

  “That one looks like a pony. Don’t you think so, Da?” she asked as she shielded her eyes from the sun to get a better look at the strangely-shaped cloud floating by.

  “Hmm, I’d have to say it looks more like a turnip, but maybe that’s because I’m hungry,” Stephen replied, smiling at his daughter. Whatever his inner feelings, he was happy to spend a few moments in her company. Her feelings and emotions were so pure that he often felt guilty for having uncharitable thoughts, especially about someone as guileless as Rowan.

  “Da! It doesn’t look like a turnip,” she squealed, enjoying the game. They played it often, her finding lovely images in the sky and Stephen comparing them to household items to make her laugh. Everything was either a pot, a broom, or a vegetable in his eyes, but to Lizzie it was all fancy carriages, candied apples, and castles. How wonderful it was to be young and full of confidence that life held nothing but beauty. Even her mother’s death did nothing to quell her spirit.

  “Da, will we see Rowan on Sunday?” Lizzie asked as she finally scrambled to her feet, ready to return to her chores and her little brother. She’d left him sleeping in his cot, but he’d be up soon, hungry and eager for Lizzie to play with him before she started on supper.

  “Yes, I’m sure we will. Why don’t you go over before supper and see if she’s feeling better? I wager she’ll be happy to see you,” Stephen suggested. Rowan always lit up at the sight of Lizzie, and having Lizzie check up on Rowan for him wouldn’t hurt.

  “I’ve already been,” Lizzie said matter-of-factly as she took the empty pot and spoon from her father. “Mistress Joan said that Rowan went off to Reverend Pole’s cottage. She must be feeling much improved.” Lizzie gave her father a brilliant smile as she set off for home. “See you later, Da,” she called over her shoulder, but Stephen barely heard her.

  Rowan seemed to be spending an awful lot of time at Reverend Pole’s lately. Stephen suddenly had a strange thought. What if Rowan had become interested in religious life? There were no monasteries left in England since the dissolution initiated by Henry VIII, but there were Anglican religious communities, where men and women took vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience, and dedicated their lives to prayer and hard work. Stephen had to concede that that kind of life would probably suit Rowan very well, but he’d be damned if he allowed her to just leave him for God. Stephen cast his eyes at the sky for a moment, a guilty smile passing over his face. So, he was in competition with the good Lord now, was he? Suddenly, he wished it was another man. At least he’d know how to wage that battle.

  Stephen picked up his tools and headed back to the fence he’d been mending, but stopped dead in his tracks after a few steps. He’d never be able to rest until he found out what was really going on with Rowan, and there was no time like the present. Stephen carefully gathered up his tools and slung the leather satchel over his shoulder. It was a long walk to Reverend Pole’s house, but he didn’t mind. His decision made him feel better, and he felt renewed optimism that he was simply imagining things and was about to be disabused of his notion that Rowan was anything but a little under the weather. Stephen began to whistle a merry tune as he walked briskly toward the reverend’s cottage.

  As Stephen approached the cottage, he suddenly felt foolish. What would he say to Rowan once he got there? That he didn’t believe her, didn’t trust her? That he suddenly had an urgent desire to see her and assure himself that she was well? He stopped for a moment and looked around. Once he stepped from behind the cover of the trees, he’d be out in the open and Rowan might see him from the window of the cottage. She might be frightened, or worse, angry with him for spying on her. If she were doing household work, as Caleb intimated, then she’d have to come out sooner or later, and he might watch her unobserved from his vantage point. Stephen set down his bag of tools and crouched beneath a tree, his eyes glued to the cottage. Smoke curled from the chimney and immediately dispersed among the clouds, but that was the only sign of any life in the house. Reverend Pole preferred to spend his time at the church where he was closer to his parishioners, so Rowan would be alone, going about her chores with no inkling that she was being stalked. Stephen felt ashamed of even allowing stalking to come to mind. He wasn’t hunting her, just putting his mind at rest that all was well and he was imagining things that weren’t there.

  The sun began its descent toward the horizon, lengthening shadows casting the scrim of trees into near darkness and hiding Stephen from sight. He leaned against a trunk of a tree, his eyes never leaving the cottage. What was she doing in there? He was tired of sitting there, and soon he’d have to return
home. Lizzie would be worried if he didn’t come home in time for supper, and he had no desire to alarm the children. He was just being a silly fool,he admonished himself— an old fool in love.

  Stephen nearly jumped out of his skin as the door of the cottage finally opened and Rowan stepped over the threshold. The glowing rays of the setting sun illuminated her face, and Stephen’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the blissful expression that stole over her features. He couldn’t see the man clearly until he stepped into the doorway, but then the fading sunlight painted him in stark relief. He was tall, lean, and dark-haired; his linen shirt untucked, and his feet bare as he leaned in for a final kiss before Rowan spun around and raced for home. Stephen felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he angrily wiped them away. He hadn’t been a fool after all, and Rowan was secretly meeting her lover at the reverend’s cottage. Did Reverend Pole know and sanction this scandalous behavior? Stephen grabbed his satchel off the ground and made for home, making sure to give Rowan a healthy lead. He didn’t want her to see him, partly because he felt foolish and betrayed, and partly because he couldn’t be responsible for his actions. He’d never felt such thirst for vengeance as he did at this moment, against both Rowan and her lover.

  Chapter 58

  Meg continued to sit by her mother’s bedside long after she closed her mother’s eyes for the last time. Strange that she should finally give up the fight against her illness on the day of Jasper’s wedding. It’s as if she couldn’t bear the thought of Mary coming to live in the house and treating Meg as her unpaid servant. Meg thought she’d be heartbroken when her mother finally breathed her last, but she felt strangely calm, grateful to the good Lord for finally releasing her mother from her pain. But he’d also released Meg in a way. Her mother was the last tether to the family they once had, the family that was like a steady ship surrounded by the roiling waters of turmoil that swept England years ago. Meg thought then that nothing would change, that they would weather the storm and come out stronger, but she couldn’t have been more wrong. Her parents were dead, as was her husband. And Brendan was in mortal danger, not from fighting on a battlefield, but from his own brother, who wanted him dead and gone.