by C W Lamb
“No, not at all. I had no idea you even existed until the day you appeared on my doorstep. This all started as concern over rumors of hauntings here,” he added, taking liberties with the truth in his explanation.
“What hauntings? I haven’t seen anything scary since I got here but you and your damn obsession with her,” she snapped, slamming the diary back down on the desk.
Unsure about how much to reveal and how sober Charlie really was, Robert paused in his reply. The delay was not interpreted well.
“So, you are obsessed with her!” she cried as she pushed past him and made her way downstairs.
“That’s not it at all,” Robert answered, pursuing her down the staircase and into the kitchen.
There, he watched her pour herself a glass of something clear from one of the booze bottles he had lined up, left over from the party. As she took a stiff drink, she flinched, spilling some of the contents on herself as another large boom rattled the house around them. Pouring again to restore what she was now wearing, she turned back to Robert.
“Well?” she asked, looking for more explanation.
“First, last night was just about you and me, no one else, just you and me,” he began.
“Next, there have been unexplained things happening here before you came and then there are the letters, and the diary left in the kitchen,” he explained.
“Finally, if those books are right, you are her and she is you. Two sides of the same coin, split apart and looking to become whole once more,” he said, knowing he was heading for dangerous territory if he explained more.
As if representative of the emotions inside the house, Robert could see the building storm as it began to rain outside. The howling wind was driving the raindrops hard against the glass of the windowpane in the kitchen wall.
Robert could see the look of concentration on Charlie’s face while he spoke. The glass in her hand was untouched as she considered his words.
“What are you looking for?” she finally asked, referencing all the books he had open upstairs.
“How to keep you safe,” he replied sincerely.
“Safe? From what?”
“The ghost of Charlotte, Victoria, yourself? I don’t know, but two of your ancestors died right here at the end of that pier, and I don’t want you to be the next one.”
“Why do you care?” she asked, staring into his eyes.
“Whether you believe this or not, I care about you. You came into my life, turned everything upside down, and now I can’t quite imagine a day without you.”
As he had been speaking, she dropped her eyes, looking into the glass in her hands. When he finished, she took a drink, as if she were bracing herself for what was to come, and then looked him in the eyes once more.
“I’m trying to protect you,” he finally added softly.
“What if I don’t want you to?” she replied as her tears started to flow.
Chapter 21
Foxworth House, 1870
Life at Foxworth House was what held Charlotte together. Her daily chores combined with whatever the day’s business required was what filled the empty void in her life left by the loss of her husband. The infrequent visits from family were constant reminders of the hollowness she felt with their absence. The visits by the children, nieces and nephews, things she would never have, added to the loneliness.
She did her best to hide her feelings on the outside, but in her diaries, she poured out the emotions she kept bottled so tight. In its pages, she rehashed the ‘what ifs’ and ‘what could have been.’ Many a night, those pages caught her tears as well.
“Today was a day like so many before it. Loneliness in the presence of others is a curse unlike any other to be endured. I dare not embrace these feelings for fear they will take me to a place from which I will never return. It is good that I keep others in the house, wrapped in its warm protective embrace. Even the hound, who has become my constant companion, relieves some of the weight on my heart with his unquestioning devotion.
Tomorrow shall be another day and with it I will endure.”
But it was the stern, focused Charlotte that people saw each and every morning, her diary tucked away where it would wait for the evening and her next entry. It was that cycle that kept her going, day after day.
She would see boarders come and go, a steady stream of war widows and their children, all working to recover from their losses, as was she. She made a special effort to reach out to these families, taking little or no payment in exchange for the free labor they were happy to provide as payment.
Little did they know it was not the labor that paid their bills, it was the companionship and shared pain that Charlotte valued the most. In return Charlotte would do her best to help the widows find families and loved ones to rebuild their lives.
She had taken to letting the hound sleep in her room at night. While not usually permitted, she felt a sense of security knowing he was there at the foot of the bed, watching over her as she slept.
Foxworth House, Present Day
Whatever Charlie was about to say next; Robert wasn’t given the opportunity to hear it. No sooner had she opened her mouth to speak, then Hunter went scrambling to the front door, barking his someone’s here bark once more. The look of frustration on his face must have been obvious as Charlie waved him away, unable to speak the words.
Rushing to the door, intending to usher whomever was on the other side away, his plan was completely sidetracked.
“Heather?” he blurted as he found his ex-wife standing before him.
“Can I come in,” she said more than asked, indicating the rainstorm beyond the shelter of the front porch.
“I‘m sorry, please,” he replied as he directed her inside.
“Why are you here?” he asked unceremoniously, anxious to get back to Charlie.
“Who is this?” Heather asked, as the object of Roberts’s concern entered the foyer through the kitchen door.
“Heather, this is Charlie. Charlie this is my ex-wife Heather,” he answered in a quick introduction.
“Charlie? Cute… have you been crying, dear? What did he do?” she said in a condescending tone.
She was using the patronizing tone that was supposed to sound upbeat to those unfamiliar with her ways. Robert knew its meaning, all too well.
“It’s nothing,” she responded as she wiped at her face, passing unsure glances between Robert and his ex.
“And how do you know my Bobby?” she asked Charlie as she closed the open area between the two even more.
Until he met Heather, no one had called him Bobby since he was ten years old. In the beginning, it was kind of a pet name, but later in the relationship, Heather had added something to the tone; it was not complimentary.
“My family used to own this house,” Charlie answered in a confused tone.
“And you are still staying here?” Heather asked, turning to Robert as she said it.
“She has been staying for a few days. We just had a rededication party for the restoration. Why are you here?” he responded, his frustration and irritation getting the best of him.
“So, the restoration is finished? Oh Charlie, you must be happy with what Bobby has done to the place, he is the best you know. Why, we just sold our place in San Fran for over six million.”
“Heather!” Robert snapped at his ex.
“If you must know, I am here to talk a little business, but before we do, you must show me what you’ve done with this place,” she replied with a lighthearted smile and a pat on his arm.
Glancing between the two women, Robert was at a complete loss. With a sigh, he resigned himself to letting this play out at Heather’s pace.
“OK, this way.”
Turning, he led both women into the parlor where Heather was immediately taken with the portrait of Charlotte.
“Only here for a few days, Bobby, yet her picture is hanging on your wall?” Heather said in an accusatory tone.
“That is Charl
otte Foxworth. She is Charlie’s ancestor and she died in 1872,” Robert supplied flatly.
“My dear, you are the spitting image,” Heather said in the most genuine tone Robert had heard since her arrival.
“Yes, I’ve been told that before,” Charlie replied in a soft voice.
Moving quickly to prevent further conversation on the subject, Robert led the women into the living room and beyond, pausing in the kitchen.
“Bobby, this is beautiful. You know, dear, the kitchen he did for us won architectural awards in California,” Heather beamed at Charlie.
By now Robert had just about enough of Heather’s insinuations around their previous relationship. Whether by accident or intent, he could see her chipping away at Charlie. With that, he pushed on, walking her through the remaining rooms and then heading upstairs.
Going left at the head of the stairs, he indicated the main floor bath and spare bedrooms before entering the study.
“Oh Bobby, this room has you written all over it,” Heather commented as she wandered around the space.
Picking up one of the many books strewn about, she registered a look of surprise.
“Ghost stories, Bobby?” she asked as she waved the book at him.
“I’m doing research for a new project,” he replied noncommittally.
“As I recall you were never one to believe in the supernatural,” she added as she put the book back where she found it.
“He is trying to help me with a family rumor,” Charlie blurted, surprising both Robert and Heather.
“What kind of rumor might that be, dear?” she responded as she touched one of Charlotte’s diaries, but didn’t pick it up.
“It is said the ghost of my Great Aunt Charlotte drowns unwelcome female visitors in the river off the pier out back,” Charlie replied firmly.
Robert couldn’t help but smile as he winked at the now defiant Charlie.
“Does she now? Well, I will have to take care not to wander down to the river, then,” Heather replied as she made her way back out into the hall.
Crossing over to the other side of the house, she stuck her head into Roberts’s room before turning.
“Bobby, is this your room?” she asked innocently enough.
“Yes, that’s mine and the other is where Charlie is staying,” he quickly replied.
“I see. Funny, but those shoes look far too small for you.” She indicated Charlie’s shoes by the side of the bed.
At that point, Charlie pushed past the woman and retrieved her shoes. Making her way back out into the hall, she turned and headed directly into her own room, slamming the door behind her.
“Nice girl,” Heather stated as she turned her attention back to Robert.
“Heather, why are you here?” Robert demanded once more.
Rather than replying, she headed downstairs and entered the parlor once more. Taking a seat, she motioned that Robert should do the same.
“Robert, let me get to the point. You are sitting on a gold mine here. I have been contacted by a client who wants this place very badly. Between you and me, I think I can get them up to twelve or even thirteen million.”
“Are you kidding me? You came out here to try and convince me to sell the place? Besides making me money, what’s in it for you?” he replied in disbelief.
“Twenty percent.”
“You want me to give you twenty percent to sell this place?” Robert asked, not believing what he was hearing.
“No, silly. The buyer has offered to pay me twenty percent on top of what he pays you. Bobby, that’s twelve million to you and 2.4 million for me,” she said in awe.
“Heather, I know you can’t understand this, but I wouldn’t take one hundred million dollars for this place.”
“Is it because of Charlie?” she asked, making a whiney noise when pronouncing her name.
“In part. At least she appreciates this place for what it is and not how much it’s worth. I could never get you to understand the value of a home for the joy it brings, and for that I am sorry. I hope someday to remarry and have children who will play in the yard and fish off that dock in the back. I want a family, Heather, and not just a bank account.”
“Are you really telling me that you would rather be poor and live here, instead of rich and live anywhere in the world you wanted,” she replied, the disbelief clear on her face.
“I am hardly poor, Heather, and I want to live here, with someone I love and who loves me,” he said simply.
“And what about Charlie? Does she want to stay here with you, or would she rather be in Hawaii or the Caymans?” Heather asked, trying a different tack.
“We haven’t discussed it,” he answered honestly.
“Well, maybe you should.”
Heather pulled a card from her purse and began writing on the back.
“I’m staying at this hotel until the day after tomorrow. Talk to her and see what she thinks. Maybe you will find that the feelings you have for this place aren’t mutual,” she said as she handed him the card.
With that, she got up and headed to the front door. Before opening it, she turned back to him.
“Robert, you are a wonderful man and an amazing restoration architect, but you are a hopeless romantic when it comes to relationships. Sometimes I think you were born 100 years too late,” she said as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
She then opened the door, and rushed out into the wind and rain, heading to her rented car.
“Actually about 150 years too late,” he replied in a voice too low for anyone to hear.
----*----
“Has the witch left?” Charlie asked, entering the parlor.
Robert could see she was now wearing the telltale shoes she had scooped up earlier from his room.
“Yeah, she’s gone,” Robert replied as he sipped the drink he had poured himself, after she had gone.
“That’s new. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before,” Charlie commented.
“Heather brings that out in me. Feel free,” he commented while tipping his glass at the wet bar along the back wall left from the party.
Charlie paused for a moment before nodding and heading to the wet bar. Pouring herself a highball glass of something clear, she turned and took a seat opposite Robert.
“I heard a bit of the conversation.”
“Which part?” Robert asked before taking another sip.
“The twelve million dollars part. Is this place really worth that much?” she asked.
Robert looked at her for a moment, assessing the question.
“We are sitting on twelve acres of prime riverfront property. Besides the value of the restored house, which I dare say is now worth several million to the right buyer, the property could be subdivided and developed for twice that,” he replied without enthusiasm.
“And?” Charlie asked, sensing that Robert wasn’t finished.
“And it would rip the heart out of the place. Don’t you feel it, Charlie?” he asked as he set his glass down and stared at the woman before him.
“Can’t you feel the love and devotion that went into making this house a home? Charlotte put her heart and soul into this place. The love that radiates from these walls was meant for someone like you and me to build a family. An anchor for generations to enjoy in safety and security.”
Robert realized his outburst was throwing caution to the wind. Charlie had a history of reacting badly to comparisons to her ancestor. Now, however, he could see the emotion in her face. A different kind of pain was emerging, one that he had not seen from her before.
“Do you know why I hate my name?”
“No, I had assumed that you resented the family reference… like some boys feel about being a junior,” Robert answered.
“It’s because I have always known the truth, deep inside. I have always felt incomplete. It was Aunt Victoria that did that to me. She was the one that taught me about Charlotte and the others,” Charlie explained before taking another drink.<
br />
“So that’s why you don’t like her?”
“Yes. I was so young, and she was searching for her own answers. She came to visit while I was in my teens. One look at me and she was sure I was destined to follow the others to a watery grave.”
“She didn’t tell me that,” Robert replied.
“No, she has never told anyone how she corrupted my youth and put a scare in me so bad that as soon as I could, I ran from everyone. She told me then she was trying to save me, prevent me from repeating the mistakes of the others.”
“She thought that by warning you, you would never come here?” Robert asked, confused by the conversation.
“Yes, she said I should stay away if I wanted to live past my thirties. If I married it would end in failure. That’s why I bounced from place to place, never settling down. Never falling in love. I knew I was marking time until now.”
“Then why did you come?” he said, asking the obvious question.
“Something inside me made me come. I tried to resist, but I couldn’t,” she said on the verge of tears.
“That’s why I was so bad, hoping to make you so angry you would make me leave. But you didn’t.”
The two sat in silence as each absorbed the other’s words.
“Robert, we should take the money. Please, let’s sell this place and you can take me far away where I can be safe,” she finally blurted.
“I can’t,” he replied softly.
“Can’t or won’t!” she screamed.
Chapter 22
Foxworth House, 1872
The sun was setting as Charlotte desperately tried to get the last of the crates on board the riverboat. It was one of those late summer storms that had the river in such turmoil, the wind and rain complicating the loading. By the time the encroaching darkness reached her, she had hoped to have the riverboat loaded and on her way.
She pushed hard to finish before the storm hit in full, but the rain had slowed their progress to a crawl. The wind and the water made torches all but useless and the few lanterns they had were no more than dim glows. She had to constantly brush the rain from her eyes to see what she was doing.