by Ginny Lynn
Take this token for my poor choice in words this morning. I’m not used to guests, only Mr. Fenmore, so I should have minded my manners. I will be heading to town for a few more food items but not until after my morning chores are finished. I’ll stop by when I clean up and see if you have left a list of anything you may need for the next day or so. It will go on the account, so no money will be needed. If you can stomach my company, I would like to cook dinner for you tonight. If this is agreeable to you, please state what time would be acceptable.
Til then,
KG
The note took me a bit to digest. Not only had he apologized, but he was doing a few nice things to correct the situation. There were a couple of items I could use from the store but felt bad for the estate having to cover it. The small amount of cash I had in my bag was for gas and emergency purposes, as there was nothing in my bank account. I found the pen in the drawer by the silverware and wrote down a couple of items that shouldn’t be a problem. Did I want to have dinner with him? It seemed intimate after the near-kiss scene earlier. But not as sexually intimate as my dreaming that he made love to me last night. If that was what you could call it. Could I make it through an actual meal with my face burning like the fires of hell? Any nun would have my hide for even thinking some of these thoughts, let alone my dreams. Thank God, I wasn’t Catholic. I had grown up with one friend who had been and she’d turned tail and run at my first vision. She had said only children of the devil had such insight. My grandmother had been the only person in the family accepting of my curse. She said the little girl had been impressionable and had not understood the rules of the church. That may have been so, but it showed me I was an outsider at a very early age and that some blamed religion for their own fears.
If I could get through those moments, then I could have a civilized dinner with a man who was positioned as a partial host to me while I was on the property. He’d be the only person with an insight into the dealings around the estate, so I might as well take his olive branch. I replied that anywhere after five would be great, as I knew light would be limited if we made it any later. He could make his decision from there as to what he wanted to prepare. I also replied that I had no food allergies and knew it was one less thing he would have to consider.
I wasn’t going to dress up for dinner, as it would seem as if I was trying to attract his attention. I would just wear jeans and my nicest long-sleeved shirt. That would mean I would have to find the laundry room soon since I was out of fresh apparel. I’d already resorted to washing my underwear in the sink, so it was a bonus. Being out here, I needed a few pairs of corduroy and maybe a couple of wool items. I had been accustomed to wearing several thin layers of summer clothes as I had worked at the warehouse, but that may not be enough. One could imagine the wear and tear on a wardrobe when you worked in an old metal and brick building while refinishing and recovering all ages of furniture. I liked getting my hands on dingy old pieces and ripping them back to life. It was fulfilling, even if a lowly paid job. Most of my clothes were plain dark colors and made of cotton. No fancy fabrics for me and more affordable.
Eating my peace offering, I sipped at the last bit of tea while I scouted for a washing machine. Thankfully, there was an older set in a laundry room hidden away at the back of the house. In the shelf above it was enough cleaners for the laundry and the entire house. One less thing to worry over. There was also a small freezer in the room with several different sizes of frozen meat carefully labeled as to when they had been stored and what was in the meticulously wrapped packages. When you are in an area still being used for farming, it wasn’t a surprise that two of the ones up front were venison.
I would have liked to look on my old smartphone for a weather report but there was no internet connection in here. It would explain why I didn’t see any televisions in any of the rooms either. That library was looking better and better to me. A list would need to be made for the items I wanted to upgrade around the estate, like the internet, to see if it was allowed within the eccentric rules of my step-grandfather. If the internet company didn’t have to tear anything up, or leave it in a tacky mess, then I would hope it would be acceptable. Especially, if I was going to try to work from here in my own refurbishing business. T.V. Shows were overrated but I’d like to have at least a house line and enough internet to do basic research and emailing.
I ran upstairs to get my laundry, since I was alone and knew he wasn’t using it, and then set a load on. While the clothing was washing, I decided to check out a few other places in the house. Maybe I’d find a few more points of interest to use as small talk at dinner this evening. Running some of my inquiries for Mr. White by Kenrick could save me some time but it might also drive him back into being more sullen. Why was I even bothering? I had no idea but I actually wanted this to go well. I was stuck here and he was the only person I knew in this area unless you counted Mr. White, and I didn’t.
Meandering around the rooms that I had already glanced over, I decided to walk around the unexplored third floor. The halls were all dark, from the lack of sunshine peeping under the closed doorframes. My hesitancy at opening a private room reminded me there was no one else living here to take offense at my unwary entrance. There was no solid proof that Kenrick even slept in this house, so it was the closest I would get to anything personal. Hearing no noise on this floor, after holding back on the top of the stairs, I pushed my feet forward. If a door was unlocked, then I would enter. If it was locked, I could ask my dinner companion about it this evening.
There were seven doors down the silent hallway and none of them were open in invitation. This seemed to embody the feeling of the whole house in one slim walkway. Opening the first door, I was enveloped by the subtle shades of navy blue and deep gold in what looked to be a seldom used spare bedroom. A faint layer of dust was upon the heavy mahogany furniture. It was impersonal, with no items of distinction lying about or even a picture hung on the elaborate wallpaper but it was a room of cool comfort.
On the opposite side was a restroom and a small linen closet before another bedroom designed in a rose pattern with cherubs on the dainty wallpaper. It was purely feminine and almost doll-like in its charm. By the blue room was a broom closet with a water heater and a large spider web that had me shudder for the size of the spider that had to have made such a large design of vulnerable lace. The last two doors were at the very end of the hall with one on each side. I was more leery about opening these doors. I had no reason for the creeping along my spine but I had to acknowledge it was there. But what energy was I picking up and who had left a lingering piece of it in this part of the house?
The last door on the left swung open easily and the interior caught my breath. There were no dust or cobweb frames in this lovely room. What I found was a whitewashed room with an intricate canopy bed painted in unrelieved black. The detailing was a mass of pointed arches and mitered wood. It looked like someone had used the interior of a gothic cathedral to make a king-sized bed. The thick covers were a chocolate brown that begged to be touched. I never would have pictured the reversed color scheme to be so appealing but it was gorgeous. Both the ornate dresser and nightstand were in the same black but with more modern tan and black lamps.
That’s when I noticed the shirt lying over the back of a brown high back chair by the closet. It was the one Kenrick had been wearing yesterday. I had been clutching that shirt when I’d had the vision on the front landing. I was intruding in his private space and thank heavens he wasn’t here to witness my gawking. If he’d been in here, no matter the state of undress, then I would have probably raced for the security of my locked bedroom door. I even had to stop myself from looking in the closet as that was just crossing the line. Forcing myself back to the door, I prayed he wouldn’t see me sneaking out of his room.
Exhaling the breath I had been holding, I made my way across the hall and to the last door left unopened. It creaked with the age of the house and led to a choking space of age and dus
t. It was as if the combined years of the estate lay in the confines of this small room. This was the attic space from my vision. I hated it when the images were in full blooming color in front of me.
Chapter Eight
The attic must have been the whole floor at one time but renovations had it narrowed down to this extension of the house. It was exactly like I had pictured it. A dress form stood with a withered feather boa wrapped around it, like an antique store mannequin. The old wood flooring was lined with trunks, chairs in need of repair, and tables of all sizes. This room would make a refurbishing queen cry and I was such a woman.
So many exquisite pieces and all I could focus on was the trunk I had seen earlier in my vision. Was it really in here? Tiptoeing around the room of elder furniture, I used my growing night vision to see as much as possible. Thank goodness I hadn’t closed the door behind myself or I would have already tripped over a priceless piece of history. I would’ve cried if I’d done irreparable damage to one of these beauties.
Centering myself, I went back over the mental image of the trunk I had found. It was varnished a dark brown with leather straps that buckled it closed. There was no padlock on the one from my mind, so I hoped I had the same luck with the real one. Recalling the items around it, I swung about to see where those pieces were located. Sure enough, I was looking at the dresser that was right beside the trunk from my memory. Sometimes I hated how creepy this metaphysical stuff worked out.
I settled myself on my knees in front of this Pandora’s Box and prayed this wouldn’t make my life worse. Slowly pulling the lid wide, I noticed there were several items inside. Sifting through age riddled photos and yellowed linens, it took a few minutes before I found the sturdy leather item I was searching for. It was weighty and had an ageless aura about it. It seemed to vibrate with its own life source. This was no ordinary book. This contained a whiff of magic mixed with a taste of the otherworld. My skin crawled at the touch of energy which recognized my curse. Yes, anything that keeps a person from getting laid was not to be considered a blessing.
Thumbing the clasp open, I flipped open the cover to see the name Aster scrolled in bold calligraphy across the first page. Flipping through a few more pages, it seemed to be a diary from about a hundred years ago. Most intriguing. I decided to take this to my room for reading. I might be brave enough to roam around someone’s house but diaries were more personal. I needed to get out of here without being noticed. And as luck would have it, I heard steps on the staircase.
Quickly, I closed the attic door before standing silently behind it. I was holding myself as still as the grave when I heard the steady thump of his shoes on the long wood floor of the hallway. The air was quiet as if waiting for me to exhale and give my hiding place away. My lungs would burst if he didn’t move soon. Just when my body began to scream for air, he shuffled to his room and the door clicked shut. Drooping against the solid door, I caught my breath and paused as I waited for the best time to tiptoe away.
As this might be my home, I shouldn’t feel as if I had to lurk in the shadows. Damn it, I felt like a teenager who had been caught stealing booze. Straightening my shoulders, I stiffened my spine and took a step toward the stairs. A sigh of relief escaped me as I finally sat on the covers of my made bed with the book in a stiff grip. The leather was slightly faded and worn, as if used to being carried around for decades. Curious, I opened it to the first page and wondered who Aster was. On the back of the inside of the cover was a scrawled date, March 1907. It really was a hundred years old. It was the end of February now. What a coincidence? A small piece of me laughed hysterically at that thought. It must be from my slip of paranoia from being almost busted upstairs.
Looking at the clock, I had spent two hours rambling around the third floor. I still had lunch to deal with and about four more hours before I headed down for my dinner appointment. This girl wasn’t going to casually pine away in her room as she waited for her gentleman caller to show up. It wasn’t that kind of evening and I certainly wasn’t that type of girl. Sadly, I realized a romantic date would be wonderful for my morale. My decision was to read a few pages before grabbing something light for my lunch then I’d take another walk around the property. Maybe in a year I would know the property better, if I kept it.
Kicking off my shoes, I tucked my legs under myself and flipped the page. It was indeed a diary. There was a date of birth, October 31, 1886, below the name Aster Edwards but under it was the date January 1907. That meant she was twenty-one when she had written in this diary. Back then, they had Harry Houdini and Teddy Roosevelt in the headlines. I liked historicals, even if not from such a recent time, so maybe it was something romantic. Yes, I was romance deficient. I could at least admit it to myself.
She was home from her chores and discussing a young man who she was enamored with. She described him as lovely, which I giggled at. Few men could be called that unless they were more feminine in looks and presence. Modern women would be more likely to use the term attractive metrosexual. Aster went on about how much of a gentleman he was but that she wanted to see him in a more aggressive fashion. Maybe she wanted him to make a move on her or she thought he was too sedate for her. That last one would account for the term of lovely. It went further to where she was so infatuated with him I surmised she wanted to be seduced by this man.
My sensibilities shouldn’t be shocked as ladies my age were walking around with condoms in their purses. But somehow the age of the diary had me thinking of chastity belts and men being run out of town on horses. It was wrong of me and I had to let go of these images as I continued to read her story. It went on with her devising a plan to make the guy show more interest in her. Sad to say that women still did this over a hundred years later and I was not immune to this problem. Aster stated she had the looks to gain his attention but all of her subtle hints were being ignored. It seemed to have her irritated since she couldn’t understand how he hadn’t fallen for her charms already.
Well, she sounded a bit conceited to me. As I was far from beautiful, I became used to being ignored after the initial look over. Yes, it hurt my feminine pride but I knew there were better-looking people everywhere I went, especially as even the pre-teens were getting nose jobs and breast implants. I’d love to have luscious full breasts but I hadn’t been graced in puberty or in my bank account. I shrugged it off and knew I was just the right size to wear a push-up bra or to go without, depending on the garment. It was a blessing and a curse, just like my visions.
Aster went on about other guys who found her tempting but this particular one, nicknamed “G”, was going to notice her one way or the other. Did all young women sound this way? I hoped to God I never did, but then again, I couldn’t get laid without seeing the man in a sex stopping vision. I thanked my stars I couldn’t read minds too. That would just have me in the sanitarium for the rest of my old cat lady days. I was beginning to wonder if this girl was just playing out a drama in her head as I found her harder and harder to believe. She wasn’t giving the name of the guy, where she’d met him, what he did, or even what he looked like. Weren’t we females notorious for oversharing info on guys we were crushing on? In school, I was a babbler when my first crush had even met eyes with me across the gymnasium. This small detail told me she was hiding information, a piece of herself, away from the world at large.
After another thirty minutes of her ranting and plotting, I set the book down and slipped back into my discarded shoes. Aster was so full of herself she didn’t need a man to show her any more attention than what she got out of her own mirror. Her thoughts were grating on my nerves and I didn’t need that, so I headed outside. The air was brisk, with an icy edge to it that told a tale of the upcoming winter season. In the south, it came to us around this time of year and even into the first week or two of March. I bet it was beautiful here when covered in a layer of snow like vanilla icing on the estate grounds. Its own winter wonderland, especially as I didn’t know my way around it yet.
; Walking mindlessly over the brown tipped grass, I encountered a water fountain that was graceful in its architecture but more like the dessert as it hadn’t seen a fresh flow of water in many moons. Looking more closely at the dug-out area, I could see where stones had been set in a semicircle around the fountain. Most of the stones were tumbled or broken but you got a glimpse of a delicate sitting area that had been here around the same time the house had been built. An even closer look showed some of the stones were, in fact, some of the same decorated ones as the ones by the front entrance to the house. This would be a great restoration that I could do when the weather was a bit warmer. Wait, I was already making plans and hadn’t even signed the papers.
Shaking my head, I kept wandering on and there seemed to be a path from several years back. The outline of it was there against the dying weeds that had once been fluffy dandelions. Bending over to grasp a handful of the limp shoots, a stiff wind came from nowhere and I lost my balance in the surprising gust. The air around this place seemed to just shove you aside and was the most rude piece of nature I had witnessed since being here. If it was solid, then I would ask the presence what I had done to offend it so strongly. But the wind was not for long discussions. It was one of whispers and tickles in the briefest of moments.
That’s when I viewed the headstones. Focusing my eyes on the number of them, it was a cemetery with a huge weeping willow guarding it against the normal view of anyone coming around this side of the yard. In the summer, this area would be hidden from anyone unknowing of this family resting place. Another breeze came through and brushed over the tangles of the tree limbs. It made a sound like muted bamboo chimes as they beat against each other in the unexpected onslaught. Dusting off my butt, I made my curious way over to the stone circled area. A finger of awareness crept down my spine as I crossed the threshold of the holy section of ground.