Classified

by Fern Michaels

  One of the girls, however, Elise Montague, had failed to follow the rules laid down by Madame Barteau. She would often slip away at night to meet her lover, a man of low social standing, who, it was said, worked for a wealthy rice planter. While still in school, the girl became pregnant and gave birth to a son, who died a few days after his birth. It was rumored that her secret lover wanted nothing to do with her after she became pregnant and she suffocated her son, hoping that she would be reunited with her lover. It didn’t happen, and the girl threw herself from the veranda, broke her neck, and was found by her lover the next morning. He was hanged, since it was believed that he was responsible for her death.

  After this tragedy, the wealthy plantation owners refused to send their daughters to Madame Barteau’s School for Young Ladies. The school was forced to close; and many years later, a newspaper tycoon purchased the home and restored it to its previous splendor, only to be driven away by the continuous cries of a baby who didn’t exist. All those who’d lived in the mansion since then have told of hearing an infant crying at night. Some even reported seeing a young girl flying off the veranda on the fourth floor.

  Wesley and Julianna Tarwick, who’d recently purchased the home, were experiencing things that were unexplainable to them. They’d called Sophie and Goebel, asking them to come to the house. They said they needed their help immediately.

  Goebel rang the doorbell.

  A tall, slender woman, with beady brown eyes and a sour expression on her face, answered the door. “Yes?” she asked, but she didn’t invite them inside.

  Sophie spoke up. “Are you Mrs. Tarwick?”

  “No. Are you the ghost people?” the woman asked, her distaste for the subject apparent.

  Goebel took over. “Mrs. Tarwick is expecting us. Can you tell her we’re here?” Goebel used his most commanding voice. The woman stood aside and motioned for them to enter.

  “I’ll bet she wins ‘Employee of the Month,’ ” Sophie mumbled.

  “Shhh, not now.”

  “Wait here,” the disagreeable woman ordered, then disappeared.

  Sophie raised her brow. “What a hag. Reminds me of a character out of those old gothic Victoria Holt novels I used to read. She probably needs to get laid.” She grinned. “It’s a definite mood fixer.”

  “I can’t disagree with that. Save those thoughts for later,” Goebel said.

  She teasingly elbowed his side. “I promise.”

  The older woman returned, followed by a much younger and prettier version of herself. Tall, rail thin, small brown eyes, which held a trace of sadness. She smiled, and her face lit up like candles on a birthday cake. If only her mother would smile like that, Sophie thought, it might take that sour expression off her face.

  The young woman held out her hand. “Thank you for coming. I really appreciate this.” She looked over her shoulder. “Mother, you can go now. I want to talk to these people. Alone.”

  “You’re a stupid girl, Julianna,” the mother said, sharing her opinion before leaving the main hall in which they were standing.

  “I’m sorry. Mother is very skeptical. She thinks Wesley and I are crazy, that we’re imagining all these . . . sounds we’ve been hearing.”

  “Most people are skeptical, which really translates to fear of the unknown. It’s quite common,” Sophie said as a way of easing Julianna’s embarrassment.

  She nodded. “Thank you for that. Mother can be difficult at times. Now if you want to get started, I have the room ready.” Julianna eyed their equipment.

  Looking at his watch, Goebel asked, “Just one room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get started. I want to get the cameras in place before dark.” He and Sophie grabbed their equipment, leaving two of the rolls of cable behind, since they would only need enough for one room.

  Julianna led them up a staircase, which was unlike any Sophie had ever seen. They followed Julianna up three stories; the staircase widened the farther up they climbed. It was solid oak, with carvings from the early eighteenth century. Sophie thought of Toots, who would croak if she saw the interior of this place.

  “Down here,” Julianna said when they reached the end of a narrow hallway, and she opened the door. “This is where”—she paused, as if afraid to speak of the sounds she heard in the actual room—“we hear what sounds like a baby crying. It starts out as a whimper, then gets louder, and suddenly stops.”

  Sophie stepped inside the room. Immediately sensing a presence in the room, she set the equipment case down on the floor, raising her hand to indicate no one should speak. The room was small, maybe ten feet by twelve feet. A rocker and cradle were the only pieces of furniture in the room. A long, narrow window directly across from the bedroom door drew her in. As though she were led by unknown forces, Sophie crossed the room, stopping when she reached the window. She placed her hand on the glass and instantly jerked it away.

  “What?” Julianna asked, her voice high-pitched from fright.

  “Goebel, set up the infrared camera. Mrs. Tarwick, would you mind leaving us?” Sophie asked from her position by the window.

  “Is everything all right?” the young woman asked.

  “Please, I need you to leave the room,” Sophie said, her voice firm.

  “Of course,” the young woman said. “I’ll be downstairs.”

  Sophie nodded. As soon as the door closed, a gust of cold air rushed through the room. Goebel stopped what he was doing. “Soph?”

  “It’s fine. Let me have a moment alone.”

  Since this was their very first psychic investigation working together as a team, neither knew what to expect. Goebel stepped out of the room, but not before turning on the infrared camera. It was almost completely dark outside. If it were to pick up any images, now would be the time.

  Once Sophie was alone in the room, which she knew was the nursery where a little boy had briefly lived, she sat in the wooden rocker, its walnut wood dark and cracked with age. Next to the rocker was a small handcrafted hooded cradle made out of the same wood as the rocking chair. Sophie got up out of the chair and sat on the floor next to the cradle. She placed her hand on the smooth surface, amazed at the craftsmanship. All the joints were dovetailed, and the builder used square nails, quite common in the late eighteenth century. The two slats on top of the cradle were cracked, but otherwise, it was in excellent condition. Sophie gave the cradle a slight push. It rocked smoothly and without any creaks. As she was about to place her hand on the cradle to stop the rocking, she heard a very low whine, almost like a kitten’s mewing.

  Placing her hand in her lap, she closed her eyes and listened. The soft whimpering turned into what sounded like real-life cries. Sophie whispered, “Tell me, little guy, tell me what it is you want?” She knew from her research that the child was male.

  Again, she placed her hand on top of the cradle, letting herself go as she did when she was in a trance. She could see the dark images of three girls. Sophie blinked several times. When the bedroom came into focus, she realized she was having another clairsentience vision. It was the same room, yet what she saw was the room as it had been in another time period. Closing her eyes, then opening them again to make sure this wasn’t her imagination, she saw the three girls as they must have been in the late eighteenth century. A small cot placed by the window held a young girl writhing in pain. Two older girls were dressed in long, pale dresses, with the bodices forming a V that led to what must be an apron of sorts. Both wore white cotton bonnets with silk ribbons around them.

  The girl on the cot screamed; then she wrinkled her face in a contortion that Sophie knew was agonizing pain during childbirth. She felt her own stomach clench, knotting in a pain so sharp, she lost her breath.

  “Oh, my God!” she whispered, clutching her stomach.

  Fighting her way through the pain in order to see her surroundings, she suddenly felt an overpowering urge to push. Though Sophie had never given birth herself, she knew she was experiencing full-f
ledged labor pains within her vision. Somehow, she was experiencing what the young girl on the cot was going through.

  Sweat dotted her forehead, and she began to grind her hips against the hardwood floor. She grabbed her blouse and pulled on the material until it tore. Then the pain stopped as fast as it started. A warm feeling flooded over her—a happiness so momentous that she knew this was to be the highlight of her life. Limp with relief, she listened as the sounds from the newborn filled the room. The two women carried a bundle out of the room, and an older woman stepped inside.

  The girl on the cot, Elise, began to cry when the woman spoke to her. Shaking her head from side to side, she wept uncontrollably. The two women came back into the room, still carrying the bundle, and placed it next to the girl. Love like nothing she’d ever experienced filled her being. She opened her eyes to gaze at her son. She would call him Liam, after his father.

  Exhausted, Sophie’s head dropped to her chest.

  Chapter 18

  Bernice stood in the kitchen doorway, her heart racing ninety miles a minute. For a split second, she thought it would explode in her chest. She took a deep breath, not believing what she saw.

  In the flesh. At the kitchen table talking to Phil. Daniel Alan, the son she hadn’t seen in twenty years. She watched him another minute before practically galloping across the oak floor.

  “Mom,” Daniel said; then he walked across the kitchen to meet her. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly. He lifted her off the floor in a giant bear hug. “Damn, but you’re a tiny thing.” His cobalt blue eyes glistened with tears, and he didn’t try to hide them. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

  Bernice wiggled out of his arms. “Daniel Alan, if I wasn’t your mother, I would say you’re about the best-looking man I’ve seen. Ever.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and she didn’t care. For the first time in twenty years, she was staring at her son. In the flesh.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Daniel told her.

  “You don’t have to say a word. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters. I just can’t believe how much weight you’ve lost. I want to ask how, but I don’t really care. You are really here.” Bernice started sobbing like a baby, not caring. This was another great moment in her life. Her son, here, alive, and looking damn good. Anything else was in the past. He was truly here, in the flesh.

  Toots crashed through the back door, her heels dangling from her hand. Phil was sitting at the table, drinking a glass of tea.

  “So, are you two going to just sit there making goo-goo eyes at each other? I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you?” Toots directed her gaze to Phil. “Call the restaurant and add Bernice and Daniel to our reservations. I’m starving.”

  “No, Tootsie, really. I’m fine. I just want to sit here and catch up with Mom. It’s been too long, and I have too many stories to tell her. You two, go on,” Daniel said. “Unless Mom wants to go.” He let the statement hang in the air.

  Bernice finally came to her senses for a few seconds. “No, no, I want to stay here. I can fix Daniel’s dinner. It’s been so long! It will be a thrill to cook for my son again.” Bernice smiled at him. “That is, if you’re willing to eat my cooking. I don’t do too much country-style cooking anymore, not since my heart attack, but I can tell by looking at you that’s not going to be a problem.”

  She still couldn’t believe her eyes. Daniel was not the same man he was when he took to the road all those years ago in hopes of finding himself.

  He’d left for the hundredth time right before she and Toots moved to Charleston. In his early thirties, he’d been at least 150 pounds overweight, had an attitude the size of the moon, and, to top it all off, he’d suffered from an acute case of adult acne. He’d finished college, receiving a degree in elementary education. He taught fourth grade for a while, but his heart hadn’t been in it. As soon as something went wrong in his life, he would pack up and travel to parts unknown in search of happiness, staying away for months at a time. Each time he returned, Bernice prayed he would have a new outlook on life, but it hadn’t been so. If anything, he was more angry. They would fight, and he would leave again. This became their normal.

  When Toots asked her to move to Charleston, twenty years ago, Bernice knew it was time for Daniel to do what he needed to do. She’d spent her entire adult life caring for him, and he’d been a good son until he became a nominal adult. Having grown up without a father had left a bit of a chip on his shoulder. Bernice felt as though he blamed her for his lack of a dad. She knew it wasn’t her fault that he’d deserted them when Daniel was five years old and was killed in a gangland slaying two years later. However, Daniel seemed to blame her for some incomprehensible reason.

  But now, here he was. Alive, handsome, and fit as a fiddle.

  “I can see you’re surprised,” Daniel said. “I’m not that self-centered jerk I used to be. I decided I needed a change, and the only one who could make it happen was me. I went to work as a second-grade teacher and started working out at night. I learned to cook, and the rest just kind of happened. I did have those acne scars lasered off, though.” He laughed.

  Bernice giggled. “I didn’t want to ask. It doesn’t matter, Daniel Alan. Now, why don’t you get cleaned up, while I fix you something to eat.”

  “Tootsie?” he asked. “You okay with my being here for a while?”

  Toots had kept quiet, letting Bernice have her moment with Daniel; but now that he’d asked, she wanted to set some ground rules. “Daniel Alan, you are welcome to stay here as long as you want. My only condition is, respect your mother.” Toots spoke kindly, but her words were firm.

  “I’m fifty-three years old, Tootsie. Those days of my smart-ass mouth and running away when things didn’t go my way are gone.”

  “Then it’s settled. You can stay here until the cows come home. Now, Phil and I are going to celebrate his retirement—that is, if we haven’t missed our dinner reservation.”

  “When you ran off after Bernice, I called the restaurant and bumped them up an hour. We’re fine,” Phil told her. “You still want to go?”

  “Damn straight I do. I am hungry as hell. I want a steak, rare, with all the extra fattening stuff that people like you tell people like me to stop eating.”

  “Then let’s get out of here,” Phil said, and glanced at her feet. “After you wash your feet.”

  Toots looked at her grass-stained, dirt-covered feet and burst out laughing. “I’ll be right back.”

  She hustled upstairs, cleaned her feet in the bathroom sink, found another pair of heels, and was back downstairs in less than five minutes.

  “Let’s blow this joint,” she said, feeling as light as a feather. Happy, giddy. Shit, she was downright ecstatic.

  Today had been a good day. She decided right then and there that tonight was Phil’s night to celebrate his milestone. She was not going to ruin it by dumping him.

  Chapter 19

  “Of course, we can take them,” Abby said into the phone. Chris was standing next to her, listening to her side of the conversation. “You can bring them whenever you’re able. Doesn’t matter what time of the day or night. I can’t wait. Yes, we have one of the top vets in the country on our team. You bet.” She hung up the phone and did a little happy dance.

  “I take it that was good news?” Chris teased, knowing it was.

  “Five dogs and three cats. They’re left over from the fires in Colorado. They’re flying them in first thing tomorrow. Two of the dogs are dachshunds with back troubles. I’m going to ask Phil if he can send for Dr. Carnes tomorrow. I know she isn’t supposed to be here until our official grand opening, but the word is out now, and we’re ready for the animals, so . . .”

  “So, nothing,” Chris said. He picked Abby up, swinging her around like a child. She was so petite; it was like lifting a small doll.

  “Chris, put me down.” She was laughing as he swung her around; then in the next minute, she started yelling. “Chris! Sto
p it! Seriously, I’m going to be sick.”

  He stopped spinning her around and set her down on the sofa in the formal living room.

  “Move,” she said. Shoving him aside, she raced to the bathroom off the kitchen, barely making it. On her knees, she threw up everything she’d had for dinner. Her eyes filled with tears because she was so sick of being sick. She knew something was very, very wrong with her. Right when life was perfect, she had to go and get sick. She heaved for another ten minutes.

  Chris hovered by the door. “Abby, are you okay?” he asked, concern in his voice.

  Weak and barely able to stand, she splashed cold water on her face and rinsed her mouth. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. “Total shit, Abby. You’re screwed.” Tears fell, and she wiped at them with her knuckles.

  “Abby?”

  She sniffed, grabbed a tissue, and blew her nose. “I’m good. Be out in a minute.”

  Tomorrow she’d make that dreaded appointment with Dr. Pauley, which she’d been putting off. If she was terminally ill, she wanted to spend whatever time she had left with her family and her husband. She was tough, like her mother. She’d get through this crisis, one way or another. She needed to talk to someone, but she didn’t want to upset Chris. She’d call her mother first thing tomorrow morning. After she called Dr. Pauley. After the animals arrived and after she called Phil, asking him to call Dr. Carnes.

  Chris tapped on the door. “Abby Clay, I am not going to ask you again. Are you all right?”

  Taking a deep breath, she tossed the tissue in the wastebasket ; then she opened the door. She knew she looked like hell, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now. “I must have a bug again, or else that nasty dinner I made poisoned me.”

  Chris wrapped her in his arms, careful not to shake or jostle her around. “It must be a bug. I ate the same thing, and I’m fine. Make sure you call the doctor and schedule an appointment tomorrow. Come on, I want you to lie down.”