by L C Kincaide
At two-years younger was John Ruskin, the Ruskins being friends of the Everdons for over a century. If Emma hadn’t been so distracted with Robert, she may have been interested in him, he had always been easy to be with and good looking once those freckles faded away, and funny. She wondered how he was, probably moving on with his life, maybe engaged, for all she knew.
Grace Langstone, the fashion model was two-years her senior, but at twenty-eight, her world-weary attitude was that of a much older woman. Often aloof, Emma didn’t know her very well except that she didn’t eat and hated wearing a wig over her bleached spikes and tugged at the Gibson pompadour hairpiece constantly. At least this year, she was free to go on a jaunt to exotic regions with a dreamy photographer or some such fellow. That left Carrie Ruskin, John’s little sister, a sweet, teenaged girl with serious musical talent. Emma wished them well. They too had endured their fill of the annual ritual. Even if it wasn’t over for her, she was happy that for them it was.
MONDAY
~*~
The recital only a week away, Carrie Ruskin was spending much of her time at her baby grand piano. She was just finishing her finger exercises, or doing a run, as she called it, her nimble fingers racing up and down the keyboard as if they had a will of their own. Stopping at middle C, she turned her head to the window thinking the slight vibration she felt was from outside, a low-flying plane or a helicopter. Her hands lifted from the keys when the merest whisper of disturbed air grazed her knuckles, and the keylid slammed over the keyboard.
Carrie jumped back with a yelp, her heart in her throat as she realized how close she came to having her fingers crushed. She held her most precious hands to her chest. Oh my God! How did that happen? She stared at the keylid. It hadn’t fallen down — they never fell closed, but not only did it fall, it slammed down forcefully. A second later, the piano vibrated, and to her disbelieving eyes, the lid prop gave way, and the large black wing of the piano’s lid crashed down with enough force to vibrate the strings. Carrie fled from the room.
~*~
“Look who’s here!” Elinor announced to Emma as she entered the living room.
John Ruskin rose from his seat on the couch and greeted her with a smile.
“John! What are you doing here?”
“Really, Emma. Is that any way to greet your lifelong friend?”
Emma suppressed a cringe at her mother’s tone and grinned at John.
“That didn’t come out right. Of course I’m glad to see you. It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of the Weekend.”
In fact, it surprised her how happy she was to see his smiling, familiar face. The warm brown eyes regarded her bemused.
“That may be true of the past, but now things can be different.” Elinor said cheerfully.
“How have you been?” Emma asked, making an effort to keep calm and casual.
“Good. Busy, back to normal, I guess. Actually, I’m in town on business, and I thought I’d pop in and see how everyone is doing.” He replied, the genial smile never leaving his face.
“Like you, back to normal. Are you staying long?”
“Only until tomorrow.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
“I was thinking if you’re free, we can have dinner together.”
Elinor rose to her feet. “Of course she is! What a marvellous idea! I believe you still have some clothes here…”
“What you have on is perfect.” He said. “I thought we’d go to The Wharf. It’s pretty laid back.”
“I’d like that.” Emma grinned, happy to have been rescued by an unlikely hero.
John secured a table at the window with overlooking harbor. One of many industrial chic restaurants that populated the waterfront of Boston Inner Harbor, The Wharf was an artful combination of brick walls, timber and brushed stainless steel that glinted in the low light. The floor to ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the water and Logan International. The pulsating lights of a plane taking off flickered to the far right.
“You look great.” John said.
Emma ruffled the fringe of her recent layered cut. “Thanks. I’ve kept my hair long just for the Weekends so I wouldn’t have to wear a wig.”
Visions of Grace tugging and scratching at hers came to mind, and she giggled. “Poor Grace. She really hated hers, always fussing with it. Half the time she had it on crooked.”
“What do you mean, poor Grace? Do you know how many years they made me wear short pants?”
“Hmmm… I don’t remember that.”
“Well, you were very young, but yes, short pants and knee socks. Thank God, my dad let me change before going home. If any of my friends saw me looking like that, I’d never live it down.” He laughed.
“I remember my mum curling my hair into ringlets.” She made a face. “Every morning she took the curling iron to my head, except on Mondays. Ugh.”
“I thought you looked adorable.”
“Sure, in a Little Bo Peep kind of way.” She laughed.
“I still say you did. I have the photos to prove it.”
“You don’t!” Her eyes were round with surprise.
“Dad’s been sneaking pictures for decades and stuffing photo albums. It’s all there, well documented.”
“Oh God. Talk about blackmail photos.”
“Don’t worry, you’re safe as long as those pictures of me exist.”
They laughed easily at a significant part of their lives that was now behind them.
“This is nice.” She said. “Why didn’t we do this before?”
John shrugged, thinking the same thing. “I don’t know. Our families always went their separate ways and took us with them. The Weekends weren’t meant to be fun, more an obligation that’s been handed down the generations.”
“I guess so. Who’d want to be reminded of that during the rest of the year?” She sipped the wine. “It is strange though, we’ve known each other all our lives, yet we don’t know anything at all. In some ways it’s as if you’re not real.”
He grinned. “I’m real and so are you.”
“I realize that! But, for instance, I’ve never seen you in normal clothes until now.” She studied him over her glass in his open shirt collar under a subtle cable-knit sweater. “And?” “You have a very L.L. Bean style, preppy and outdoorsy.”
He laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Emma fought a rising blush, not so much at her remark, but at his throaty laugh and the broad smile, and how his eyes crinkled at the corners. From her childhood memories, she recalled a gangly, long-limbed teenager with a profusion of freckles scattered over pleasing boyish features under a mop of reddish brown hair. He was one of those men who will age well.
“It’s a nice look. Not every guy can carry it off.”
“I’m glad you’re not disappointed.”
Self-conscious again, Emma changed the subject. “Going through all that for a lifetime is enough to give anybody an identity crisis.”
“Not you.” He indicated her cobalt silk T-shirt and several silver chains glinting in the candlelight beneath a black leather jacket.
“No, but who knows for how much longer?” She said realizing that she meant it. “Mum had all the costumes mothballed and packed in storage. I hope she doesn’t expect me to dress up in them again.”
“If it’s any consolation, you pulled it off very well, yourself.” John raised his glass. “Here’s to no more ruffles and starched collars.”
“And hair pins and stays.”
“I wonder how they’re all faring. It is strange that we’re not getting together at the manor this year.”
“I guess the next time everybody meets up will be at Robert’s wedding.” “That’s bound to be a memorable even
t.” John agreed. “Sir Theo never does anything small.”
“You know, I’ve never seen him without muttonchops.” Emma giggled. “Mum can’t wait, she’s been looking at dresses. She’ll probably have a horrible gown picked out for me.” She rolled her eyes.
“But you’ve already got a dress, don’t you?”
Emma gave him an impish grin, and he laughed. “I’m sure we’ll have a good time, though it will feel odd the whole gang getting together on the other side of the ocean.”
“I wonder if they considered having the wedding reception at the original manor? Wouldn’t that be something?”
Emma shuddered. “That would be too much! It will be different enough just us being in one place without the creep factor.” Emma tried to make light of it, though having her dreams of a future with the dashing Sir Robert Langstone crushed forever still smarted, but a little less tonight.
“And we get to dress up all over again.”
“You made it look good. Very authentic.”
“Thanks.” He laughed. “I’m glad we’re in this century. Those collars aren’t exactly comfortable — like wearing a cardboard version of a neck brace.” “Ouch. If you think that’s bad, try on a corset. It’s pure torture — can’t eat, can’t breathe. I guess all you can do is drink.” Her smile faded.
John covered her hand with his giving it a light squeeze. “It’s okay. You need not feel embarrassed with me. I was there too.”
Her eyes met his with gratitude. “Thanks, John. I appreciate that. It was probably the worst night of my life. Two nights actually. Can you believe that storm? I thought it would tear the whole building apart. It still surprises me it’s been a year.”
“I remember it well.” He leaned toward her, lowering his voice. “I have a confession to make.”
“You do?” “I’ve actually wanted to see you.”
Her eyes widened. “Me?”
“You don’t have to look that surprised!” He laughed, then his expression became serious again. “Since the Weekend, I’ve been thinking about you. I would have come up sooner, but dad had me busy getting involved in all facets of the business.” He held her gaze. “I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy, Ivy being your friend.”
“It wasn’t. Still isn’t. Did you know a friend of hers filed a Missing Persons Report? The cops came by, interviewed the lot of us, even had Matthew meet them at the manor with a sniffing dog.”
“I had no idea.”
“They didn’t find anything.” She said with finality and picked up her fork again. “What do you suppose happened to her?”
“I think she’s trapped in the house.” She stopped. “Forget it. I don’t know why I said that.”
“But you did. Something must have given you the idea.” The fork came down again, and she reached for her wine glass. Another airplane was taxiing down the runway getting into position for takeoff. She wondered where it was heading. Then she met John’s warm brown eyes as they regarded her from across the table. His swept back butterscotch hair was sun streaked as it always was from spending every chance he had on his sailboat, at least she knew that much about him. He really was a great guy. A year ago she wanted to fix him up with Ivy. They would have gotten on well.
“I’ve been having dreams.”
“What kinds of dreams?”
“Bad ones, nightmares really. The kind you wake up from screaming.” “That sounds awful! Is there anything you can do about it?”
“As far as I can see, there is only one thing. I have to go back.”
“Back to Everdon Manor? You can’t be serious! I hope you’re not considering of going alone.”
“To be honest, I don’t know what I’m thinking. All I know is that I’m so tired and the dreams tell me Ivy is there and she wants out. Or something like it.” She tried to laugh, but it came out more like a snort. “I made the mistake of mentioning my feelings about it to mum, who suggested I go to a shrink, as long as I don’t get into anything specific, that is. Can you imagine me telling a therapist that I’ve been going to a haunted mansion all my life and now the ghosts are asking me back for a visit? How long do you think it would take before they had me doped up with antipsychotics and laced into a white jacket with extra long sleeves?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do. I just wish they’d stop, or maybe she really is calling me.” Emma took another sip. “Does that sound crazy?”
He looked at her levelly. “No. It means you care about your friend. I’d be having second thoughts too in your place.”
“I’m relieved I’m not the only one.”
“You’re not. Our history isn’t like anyone else’s. You, especially have had a lot to deal with.”
“Isn’t that the truth!”
“I’m glad you’re okay. That was a terrible night, and I didn’t even see you the next day. Everybody got up and left.”
“Like rats deserting a sinking ship.” Emma smiled ruefully. “It’s probably just as well we didn’t bump into each other after. I was pretty messed up.” Emma lowered her gaze to the table, a sudden weariness befalling her. “Can we get out of here?”
John signalled for the waiter and they left soon after.
The night had clouded over and they stood uncertainly in front of Emma’s apartment building in the fine drizzle.
“Thanks for tonight. It’s good to get together outside of the… usual. You’re a great listener.”
“You have my number now, and anytime you need an ear all you have to do is call. I’m not that far away.”
“Yeah, weird, isn’t it? Yet we never see each other. We share one of the most horrible secrets of all time, have gone through this insane annual ritual forever, I mean you are as close to me as my own brother in some ways.”
John smiled wanly at the last part of her observations. “Like I said, it’s only a three-hour drive.” He reached out and rubbed her arms. “Anyway, you should go in before you freeze to death out here.”
A car swished by along the wet pavement, and Emma shivered under his watchful gaze, a rare sense of acceptance washing over her. After a lifetime of shared experiences at Everdon Manor, he was a fixture of sorts in her life and until tonight, they had never spent time together in the real world. In fact, she had no idea what he was actually like as a person, apart from his involvement in the family business which he would one day inherit. He was cute, and he was smart. But she never knew he was compassionate and had a good shoulder to cry on, and she needed that. She had run out of friends and the prospect of another night on her own sickened her.
“I don’t want to be alone.” She blurted out. “Not yet. Can we go to your hotel and talk some more?” Her eyes pleaded.
“Sure.” He opened the door of the taxi.
He was staying in one of the Corporate Suites, fully equipped with all the necessary IT gadgets used in the business world, all well concealed behind recessed panels. Wall to wall plush carpeting, pleasing buff walls and modern yet comfortable furniture made up the main room.
Emma gazed out at the flickering lights reflecting in the onyx bay.
John brought two bottled waters and glasses and waited for her on the couch.
“What do you know about the family and the Everdon curse?” She asked sitting next to him.
“Well,” John replied, “probably the same as you. It started the night Amelia Everdon died.”
“It wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“No. Margaret Everdon, Mason’s grandmother pushed her down the stairs. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”
“Me too.” She furrowed her brow. “My mom used to say he was waiting for a replacement for Amelia to come along, and only then he’d lift the curse. That could be the reason why Ivy’s been calling out to me. Maybe it’s a one way relationship, and she doesn’t like h
im very much.”
“Is that what she told you?” He looked skeptical. “I think it’s more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
He grinned. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. I overheard my parents talking about it once, and my mom said that Mason was waiting for Amelia herself.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Really? I’d never peg her for a romantic.” She thought a bit more. “Ivy did look a lot like Amelia, enough for it to be spooky. She may be right. But I don’t understand why your family had to be there. The Langstones, yes, they’re related, but you, Ruskins aren’t.”
“Hmm. That’s true. They must have been at the manor the night she died. I can’t think of another reason. I should have asked, though it’s never been one of their favorite subjects, at least not mom’s.”
“Lucky you. Mum was always going on about it, but I wouldn’t listen. It just sounded like so much woo-woo. It isn’t though, is it?”
“No, but it’s over now. We don’t have to go back. There’s no need to.”
“I hope you’re right, John.” Emma said remembering the nightmares. “But why the nightmares? My mum never has any, and she was there. At least I tried to get Ivy out.”
John remembered how she drove off in her mother’s car with Ivy nearly driving into the river.
“You feel responsible for what happened to her, so it could be feelings of guilt. Aunt Elinor is not as sensitive as you are.” He grinned at her raised chin. “You put on this tough girl image, but underneath the leather, which by the way, looks great on you, you’re sweet.”