Cursed With a Twist (Grumpy Chicken Irish Pub Series Book 4)

by Constance Barker

  Blanche smiled. “You can say that. But have a look for yourself.” She moved over to the covered painting and pulled the the cloth off of the image.

  I gasped. “Holy moly that looks old.”

  Ida remarked, “It is old. But there is a beauty to it, even though the colors are too dark. Why are old painting so dark and void of color?”

  Cathy replied, “That was the style back then. Partly due to the paints that were available. You couldn’t get any color you wanted and bright colors were expensive, even if you could find them. And if you used a bright color, the quality was not good and faded out quickly over time.”

  Ginger added, “That’s interesting Cathy, but I’m more interested in what’s going on in the painting.”

  I looked closely. There were four black slaves, some wearing shackles, talking to a Caucasian woman who worked with some old contraption. They appeared to be in a field and there was a barn in the background. But the odd part was the angels circling in the sky.

  Blanche said, “The woman is churning butter. And the slaves are asking her for help. At least that is what we think is happening. And the angels indicate something important is happening. The title of the painting is “The Refusal. Cathy and I are still arguing about what that means, but you can see the slave woman are pleading with her, probably for help. So The Refusal makes sense in that context.”

  Ginger pointed. “So why the angels for that?”

  Cathy laughed. “That is what we are still arguing about. Well that and if she is in Potter’s Mill.”

  I studied the painting again. “Hey Ida, look at this. The bucket next the butter churner. It has writing on it. It says The Fickle Waterwheel.”

  Ida gasped, “Son of churn. You found something there Bones.”

  Blanche cut in, “We saw that, too, but did not know what The Fickle Waterwheel meant.”

  Ida smiled. “We do. Look at this.” She unfolded the old map with care and showed them the pub name on the old document.

  Ginger added, “So it’s Potter’s Mill, back when it was called Bear’s Paw Swamp.”

  I failed to keep it to myself any longer. “Who are these woman? Is there anyway to tell?”

  Blanche looked at me. “Bones, that is the same question I keep asking. There is emotion in this painting and I keep asking why it was important for someone to paint this moment with these five people. Who are they and why is this important enough to spend the time and money to document it as an image.”

  Ginger held her phone up. “You mind if I take a couple of pictures of this?”

  Blanche shook her head no. “Not at all. Just don’t touch the painting. The oils on your fingers will damage it.”

  Ginger snapped the pictures and Ida followed suit. “No insult, Ginger, but your phone is ancient. I am guessing my phone has better resolution.”

  Ginger scowled at Ida, “Well excuse me. I’m just a simple pub owner. I don’t own all the latest and greatest electronics”

  “I know. Like I said, no insult intended. I just want some good pictures for us to analyze if we need them.” Ida was actually blushing.

  Ginger grinned. “I hate it when you’re right at my expense.”

  I had one more question. “Who brought the painting in to you for work?”

  Ida popped back at me. “Hey, Bones, I was going to ask that, too.”

  Blanche’s eyes widened and she sighed. “That’s the weird part. The painting was found by Dorothy Miller in her barn. The Fluffy Pillow has been in her family forever and they saved all the old stuff every time they upgraded the place. Dottie told me an idea was kicking around in her head for a while, but something told her that this was finally the right time to do it. She was looking for old paintings to display in B&B to pay homage to the town’s past when she found it. It was in need of work when she found it, so she brought it to us.”

  Ginger asked, “When was that?”

  Cathy looked at the ground. “Hmm, about two days ago.”

  Ida gasped. “That’s the same day as when Digger found the locket.”

  Blanche asked, ‘What locket?”

  Ginger replied, “It’s a long story. I’ll have to tell you later. We need to get over to Star’s place. There’s a lot to talk to discuss with her.”

  We excused ourselves and crossed Main Street to make the short walk to Star’s New Age Shop. On entering, the big table in the center of the store with the crystal ball was hard to miss. Star came from her office in the back and her long dress flowed in the air as she walked. “Welcome. You brought a crowd. What can I do for you?”

  Ginger said, “We unearthed some information today and now we have a few questions for you, if you have a minute.”

  Star motioned to the table. “Sure. Let’s take a seat.”

  As we sat Ginger asked, “You’ve received messages from the grumpy chicken before. Can you tell if it is a man or a woman? Or a slave or a confederate soldier?”

  Star smiled. “Sometimes I get those kind of details. But your chicken is odd. Very angry sometimes, and other times I sense she is very humble. But I am sure it is a she. Whether she is a slave or soldier, I don’t know.”

  “Did woman fight in the Civil War?” The questions just kept popping out of me today.

  Star looked at me with her pretty eyes. “I’m not sure, Bones, but I don’t think so. Why?”

  I may have blushed but tried to act casual. “Everything today points to the Civil War as the start of the chicken ghost. And Beth Givens said she thought it was a slave killed trying to escape.”

  “Ah, that makes sense. I ran into Beth about an hour ago and she was trying to tell me something, but I get bored with her gossip and only half listen. Now that I think of it, she may have mentioned escaped slaves.”

  Ida threw out, “Do you know who Erin Byrnes is? You didn’t seem to know yesterday, but did you sense or learn anything about her?”

  Star sighed. “No, it’s interesting you ask that. I did try to do some research on the internet and I consulted some tea leaves. But I found nothing.”

  Ginger responded. “Well we did. Her married name is Erin Walsh and they say she was psychic.”

  Star went white. “The Erin Walsh?”

  Ginger shrugged. “I don’t know who the Erin Walsh is, but Erin Byrnes married a Conner Walsh.”

  Star’s eyes were wide. “Erin Walsh was a legend in the south. It’s impossible to be a medium and not run into stories about her. She supposedly could predict the future and it drove her mad.”

  Ida moaned. “Well this mystery is driving me crazy. How can a tiny locket cause so much trouble.”

  Star chuckled. “It’s the littlest ripples that cause the biggest waves.”

  Ida pinched her eyebrows. “Why does everyone have to talk like Dumbledore today? Did someone put something in the water?” She took out her phone and opened the picture of the painting. “Star, does this mean anything to you?”

  Star studied the image for a moment. “Maybe. The angels circling in the sky may mean a spirit is passing to heaven. But that’s about it. It would help if I could see, or even touch, the original painting.”

  “Well, it’s just across the street at the art gallery. Why not go have a look?” Once again, the question just slipped out of me. But I must have been right. All three woman looked at me like it was a revelation and without further discussion we made for the exit.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Star

  The art gallery sits diagonally across the street from my New Age Store, but I somehow neglected to find a reason to visit. Today was different, I had a purpose so I flipped my sign to “Will Return Soon” and locked the front door. After which, Ginger led the way across Main Street to the recently opened gallery. As we entered, I sensed a presence.

  Blanche said, “Oh, back so soon and the group is growing. Welcome, again.”

  Ginger smiled. “Thanks. We’re as surprised as you, but Star wanted to see the painting in person.”

  Bla
nche smiled. “Of course. Can I get anyone something to drink? Water? And we do have some nice blackberry wine.”

  “No, I would like to see the painting. Is that it?” I pointed to a tripod near Blanche’s two sisters, Cathy and Janis, who worked on the large piece of art it held.

  Cathy bubbled, “Yes, we are restoring it for Dottie over at The Fluffy Pillow. This is your first time in the store, isn’t it Star?”

  “Yes, and it’s nice to see Y’all.” I approached the painting and the gleam was faint at first. With each step, though, the picture frame glowed brighter, lit by some unseen force. Stopping at arm's length from the canvas, light rays streamed in all directions. The colors morphed in a slow, seamless manner. This sight was stunning. Once, I encountered an object with a similar aura, but this was most impressive. I reached with my right hand to caress the frame, and as my fingertips grazed the old wood, the surge occurred.

  Cold air flowed up from my feet until the chill engulfed my entire body. Then my muscles started to harden. As I resisted, my hands fell to my side but before long I froze like a statue. Time became irrelevant. However, while rigid, I experienced war. Not modern battle, but a montage displayed the brutality of muskets firing with old percussion caps, large deafening cannons, slaves scrambling to find freedom, wives and mothers wailing for lost husbands and sons, and buildings burning. Misery and suffering took up residence in every home in the land. Suddenly, the brutal war faded to white, followed by a serene scene that revealed a lone, beautiful woman sitting at a butter churn. She was dressed in a long brown hoop dress with a large white apron to protect the clothing. To protect her head, the woman wore a white bonnet. After sobbing for a while, she spoke to me, asking for compassion and understanding. I learned embarrassment brought her tears, but I failed to discern the cause.

  And suddenly, I warmed, returning to reality. Ginger asked, “Star, are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I think so.” If being honest, I was unsure, but nothing hurt too much.

  Bones grimaced at me and put his arm around my shoulders to console me. “That was freaky. You felt like a cold piece of steel when I tried to wake you up. I hugged and shook you to try and get you out of it. Here, have a seat.”

  Janis extended me a glass of wine but I shook my head no. “I would prefer water if you would be so kind.” She took the glass away and left to get some water.

  “Did you see anything. That was a trance if I ever saw one. You must have seen something.” Ida’s eyebrows raised more than usual.

  “Yeah. But it was mostly war. Like the Civil War. Brutal.” I still felt shock from the savage images observed. I forced my mind to think of the woman again. “But then it faded and I saw a beautiful woman. She sat with a butter churn.”

  Ginger snorted. “Like that?” She was pointing at the woman in the painting, who sat at a churn.

  “It was something like that but the woman was more beautiful. The woman in the painting doesn’t really look like the woman in my vision.” My jaw hung when the thought flashed. “Ida, do you have the pictures from inside the locket on your phone.”

  Ida chuckled. “Of course. I always leave locked and loaded.”

  Blanche quipped. “And you leave your humility at home I see.”

  Ida answered the art curator with laser beams from her eyes. “It is a thin line between being cocky and being good.”

  Ginger threw her hands in the air. “Just show Star the pictures of the two people from the locket.”

  “Jeez, no one has a sense of humor anymore.” Ida took a phone out, opened files, then handed the device to me.

  I gasped. “It’s her. This is the woman I saw in my vision.”

  Bones asked, “Is it the same woman in the painting though? Star, you said she looked different.”

  Blanche answered. “Sometimes a scene is painted depicting people after an event and the artist creates what he remembers the people to look like. It is not always a perfect recreation of how they look, so it could still be her.”

  Ginger sat next to me. “Star, is there anything else from this vision?”

  After running what I remembered through my mind, it hit me. “Her, I saw her. This slave was in my vision fleeing for her life.” I pointed to the figure in the painting.

  Ida responded. “This is confusing. The butter woman doesn’t match the vision, but this slave in the painting does. How can that be?”

  Ginger added, “That’s a new part of this mystery for us to figure out. But for now, I’m stumped. Does anyone else have theories?”

  Cathy returned with the water and overheard the conversation. “In art, there is an interesting explanation and it is common to find something like this. The people who commission a painting are often depicted more accurately because the artist can see them, even have them model. But others that have to be recreated from memory...they can be painted, well, imperfect.”

  Ida pinched her eyebrows. “So the slave had the painting made?”

  Cathy nodded. “Probably, if Star’s vision is correct.”

  “How could a slave afford this? A painting like this back then must have been expensive.” Ginger was thinking out loud.

  Blanche answered her. “Some slaves who made it to freedom became wealthy. So if this was a scene that occurred during this slave’s escape, she might have commissioned it years later and that is why the butter churner looks different. The butter churner would have been described to the artist by the slave. And the artist gave it his best shot.”

  Bones grunted. “Wow! Didn’t think of that, but it makes sense.”

  Something was off and I said. “But why would a woman churning butter be the moment you want to capture during your flight to freedom?”

  Ida looked at me like I just ripped off a large Band-Aid. “That...that’s a good question.”

  Ginger locked onto my eyes. “Was there anything else in your vision to help answer that?”

  I began sensing the paranormal when I was a little girl. The strange events disturbed me at first, but over time, I learned this was a gift and appreciated the secrets revealed by the supernatural. However, a downside existed. It concerned most people, including my parents, and resulted in an eccentric childhood. I was an outcast, an outsider...different. A few years ago, when I rented the space next to The Grumpy Chicken, for the first time I perceived a sense of belonging. Recent events proved me right; I ended up here for a reason. But my gifts still have the power to agitate me, and this recent trance shook my emotions. With some effort, I cleared my mind and forced calm. “Not really, Ginger. But maybe after I rest a little. It was pretty intense.”

  Ginger added, “Hey, have you eaten today? Maybe we can head over to the pub and get something for you to eat.”

  I shook my head no. “That’s not necessary. I really should get back to work.”

  Ida said, “It’s better for you to tell everyone. If we try to do it, it will be described wrong for sure. And with this crowd, that will just start some argument about something silly, like whether the butter she’s churning tastes good or not.”

  Bones chuckled. “I saw it happen and I want to hear Star describe it. This was sooo weird.”

  I replied, “I should return to my shop.”

  Ginger smiled at me. “I understand, it’s getting late anyway. Bones has to help Dad with the dinner crowd and I’m sure the kitchen is a wreck. But, the gang agreed to meet tomorrow for lunch. Piper and Digger will be back from Atlanta and we plan on sharing what we have all learned. Seems to me, you might want to be part of that, Star.”

  I smiled. “You’re right. I will see ya at lunch tomorrow then.”

  Ginger spun to Blanche. “Do you know who painted this?” She pointed at the tripod as she spoke.

  “No, not yet. But I suspect we will after we get the frame off.” Blanche glanced at her two sisters to see if they agreed, and they nodded affirmatively. “I’ll let you know what we find. Thanks for coming by.”

  Ginger waved. “Thanks. See ya
for now.”

  We all waved goodbye and made for the exit to cross Main Street once again. The events of the day provided much to ponder and sleep would be difficult tonight. It also dawned on me, witnessing a trance was likely as dramatic as being in the trance. No one would get much shut-eye this night.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Guardrail

  Yesterday, Dog Breath and I worked late to finish a big custom motorcycle job so we would be the first ones in the pub today. Our business comes first, but it was time to join the fun.

  Ida greeted us. “You’re early. Did you miss being part of the flatfoot crowd?”

  Dog muttered. “To be honest, yeah. Why should they get to have all the fun?”

  “We can’t ignore our customers. But it’s a little unsettling to be left out of the sleuthing. So we figured we would get here early and grab a bite to eat. Be ready.” I waved to Bones through the order window.

  “Hey Guardrail, you should’ve been there yesterday. Star had a humdinger of a trance. And it was loaded with info.” Bones had to yell so we could hear him.

  Dog barked back, “Well, we’re here now. Ready to rumble.”

  I smacked my partners arm. “Rumble? What are you talking about.”

  Dog smacked me back. “I can talk hip if I want.”

  Star sat at the bar talking to Dixie. She laughed and turned to Dog. “If that’s your hip talk, I would just talk regular from now on.” Her remark made me laugh.

  Ginger came out of the kitchen. “Gentlemen, good to see you. What are you laughing at?”

  I waved her off. “Nothing. You had to be here.”

  Ginger continued, “Well, you missed lots yesterday, glad you boys could make it today.”

  “We heard that you were poking around. And Beth Givens has been making the rounds, too. She knows something weird is going on but is going nuts not knowing the whole story.” I took a seat on my stool.

  Dog sat next to me and said, “So, what’s going on? What did you found out?”