A Thousand Yesteryears

by Mae Clair

  As a teen he used to get his jollies hanging out up here, drag racing or smoking weed. Then the damn creature had shown up, and suddenly there were carloads of people camped out waiting to spot “the bird.” UFO fanatics came, too. Spiritualists, hippies, all sorts of whackos, even reporters. People used to ride around with guns like vigilante hit squads, waiting to nail the monster that had put Point Pleasant under a microscope. He’d done his share, tossing down a six-pack as he rode point with a loaded .30-06, best damn gun he ever owned. No one wanted to be caught off guard by the Mothman—especially since cars often stalled on the deserted stretch of road for no reason. Sure kept the cops hopping in those days.

  Eventually, the crowds dwindled and the reporters went away. After the Silver Bridge fell, the Mothman disappeared, too. Now it was just birds, trees, grass, and abandoned ammunition igloos. A lot of the old WWII shells were still there, most in bad condition. Some of the bunkers had even exploded, causing temporary shutdowns. There’d been a few injuries, lots of bad press. People tended to stay away now. There was talk of contaminants and red water seepage, rumors the TNT was slated to become a government Superfund site. Local kids still hung out and curiosity-seekers went looking for the Mothman, but for the most part, the area was deserted.

  Which is why the man he thought of as Reaper insisted on meeting there. He’d never call the bastard that to his face, but the name fit. The guy was like a leech, sucking life from everything he encountered. Too bad some of his nastier habits were about to blow up in his face.

  Amos took another drag off his cigarette, then crushed it under his foot as a big car rolled in beside him. The mother never did anything small-scale.

  Reaper got out of the vehicle, straightened his shirt, and walked around the front of the sedan. “You screwed up.”

  He hadn’t expected an accusation, or the black look Reaper gave him. It wasn’t his fault the guy hadn’t given him enough information. Hell, Reaper hadn’t even paid him much now that he thought about it. A couple measly hundred to toss the place and search for a photo negative. Reaper hadn’t told him what it was, just said Amos would know when he saw it. Probably a shot of the guy getting his rocks off or balling someone’s old lady. Whatever it was, Rosalind Parrish had held it over his head, and he wanted the damn thing back.

  “I tore that cursed dark room apart.” Amos jutted his chin to emphasize the words. He’d done his part. The guy wasn’t getting no money back. “I trashed the house like you said to make it look like vandalism, but I couldn’t find no film negative. It woulda helped if I’d knowed what I was lookin’ for.”

  “Asshole.” Reaper cracked him across the face.

  Amos staggered, shocked by the abrupt violence. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Spittle flew from his mouth. Ain’t no way some puffed-up cretin was going to put their hands on him. Damn, it hurt. “No one takes a crack at me.”

  Before he could swing, Reaper hit him again. Open-palmed, as if he was slapping some worthless bitch. Amos gave a squawk when the third blow fell, driving him against his car. His ears rang, and his cheek burned with a powerful sting like bees had burrowed under the skin. He tried to catch his breath but Reaper hit him again. And again.

  Oh, hell. He was getting the shit beat out of him like Doreen Sue when he smacked her around. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him, not Amos Carter.

  He raised his arms to protect himself, crumpling to his knees as Reaper rained blow after blow on his head and shoulders, using his fists now instead of his palm. The pain was excruciating. He couldn’t even find the wherewithal to strike back.

  “Who did you tell?” Reaper demanded.

  “What?” Blood coated his tongue, making it hard to talk. A meager spark of hope sprouted in his gut. “What do you mean?”

  Reaper kicked him in the ribs, sending new agony barrel-rolling through his chest. He groaned and tried to curl into a ball. “Who did you tell?” Reaper snarled. “Damn, you, I’ll beat the shit out of you. Who did you tell?”

  “No one!” He screamed the words, though he wasn’t sure what he was screaming about. Reaper kicked him again and, for the first time, Amos started to think he might not come out of the beating alive.

  “You can have the money back,” he blubbered, uncaring that he cried like a five-year-old. Tears streaked his cheeks as fresh agony knifed through his belly with another kick. “Please! You can have the money back. I’ll give it all back. I didn’t tell no one nuthin’. I swear.”

  “I don’t believe you, parasite.”

  Reaper withdrew. Oh, thank God, he withdrew! Amos was sure his ribs were broken, and several teeth had worked loose in his mouth. Maybe that’s all the man wanted, his money back. He had to have hope. Let him get the hell out of here, and he’d lay off smacking Doreen Sue around. He’d make her work extra hours at that salon of hers until she earned enough money for him to pay back Reaper.

  Sniffling, he wiped blood and snot from his nose. He could get up now, stand up like a man and face Reaper. They’d work it out. He looked up hopefully, trying to wedge his arms beneath him.

  That was when he saw Reaper slowly and methodically pull on a pair of black gloves.

  * * * *

  She owned the place. It was a sobering thought.

  Eve parked beside the Parrish Hotel. Behind her, the high flood walls that kept Point Pleasant safe from the waters of the Ohio River were broken by a wide gap. In the event of a potential flood, that gap could be filled with concrete inserts to hold the water at bay. An unlikely event given the last devastating flood had occurred in 1948, years before she was born. As a child, she’d often heard people talk about it, others going so far as to recall the colossal damage wrought by the floods of ’37 and ’13. Chief Cornstalk’s curse in play, according to the old-timers.

  By the time she was born, the Army Corp of Engineers had constructed flood walls around the city. Seventy-three hundred feet of concrete ranging from small obstructions to fifty feet in height. The grassy banks of the Ohio River lay behind that barrier, a place where she’d enjoyed many hours fishing, hiking, and bike riding. The waterway was now regulated by a lock and dam system that kept the once flood-prone city safe. Curse or no curse, her family’s hotel was secure from the threat of overflow.

  Her hotel.

  Eve drew a breath. Three stories high with single rooms, suites, a parlor, ballroom, and café, it had been a second home while growing up. Her parents had rarely lacked lodgers thanks to Point Pleasant’s location at the confluence of the Kanawha and Ohio Rivers, a junction commonly referred to as Tu-Endie-Wei in the Native American tongue of Wyandotte. She’d forgotten the rich history of the town, dating back to the time of George Washington and Daniel Boone. Chief Cornstalk was buried at Tu-Endie-Wei Park, his infamous curse blamed for everything from catastrophic floods to Mothman sightings and the Silver Bridge tragedy.

  As she sat in her car staring up at the hotel with its wide front porch and bright blue awnings, an icy sensation crawled over her skin. Her great grandfather Clarence had burned to death, along with her grandparents, in a fire that took place at the hotel four years after she was born. Her great grandmother Sadie had died in the Influenza Pandemic of 1919 when she was just twenty-eight years old. Eve’s own father had perished at thirty-four in the Silver Bridge collapse, and her aunt had died of cancer at forty-nine. Maybe there was something to the curse after all.

  She shook the thoughts away. No, it was just superstition and silliness. Whatever memories lingered in Point Pleasant, they were only that— memories of the past. She had come to face the present, and that included coming to terms with the Parrish Hotel.

  Eve entered through the front door into the lobby. The place looked much as she remembered with a large sitting area and a second floor balcony. An imposing staircase led to the second level, a wooden reception counter below. From the massive moldings to the thick brocade carpeting, Victorian furniture, gas lamps, and brick heart
h, everything reflected the trappings of another era. This was a grand hotel modeled after a faded time in history when opera houses, afternoon tea, and horse-drawn carriages were the norm.

  Eve approached the registration counter and offered a polite smile to the woman behind it. She seemed vaguely familiar with her straight blond hair secured in a ponytail and green eyes. Judging by her youthful appearance, they were likely close in age, which meant they might have gone to school together. Point Pleasant was only so big.

  She extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Eve Parrish.”

  The girl frowned slightly but shook her hand before closing a ledger book that lay open on the counter. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  “We?”

  “The staff.” She tilted her head slightly. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  Eve racked her brain. “I’m sorry. Should I?”

  “We went to school together. I’m Katie Lynch.”

  “Oh!” The exclamation slipped from Eve’s tongue before she could stop it. The Katie she remembered was the product of a broken family who lived on the wrong side of the tracks. Or, at least, that’s what people had been fond of saying. Her mother had owned a hair salon and worked nights at a bar outside of town, which often ended up on police radar. Her older sister, Wendy, had a reputation for being “loose.” Wendy had vanished shortly before the Silver Bridge fell, a rumored runaway, and to the best of Eve’s knowledge, had never returned. Although she, Maggie, and Sarah had known Katie in school, they’d avoided her, often giggling behind her back.

  “I, uh…” Tongue-tied, she wasn’t certain how to respond. “It’s good to see you.”

  Katie didn’t roll her eyes, but the expression she gave Eve indicated she was tempted.

  “Do you work here?” Eve asked.

  Rather than answer, Katie motioned her behind the reception counter. “The office is this way. I assume you’ll want to see the books.”

  “I… Yes. That would be good.” Still flustered, Eve followed Katie into an office overlooking the rear parking lot. The view afforded little but a glimpse of river water tucked behind the flood walls. Despite the limited view, the room was bright and cheerful. Aunt Rosie had added personal touches since her parents had owned the hotel.

  A maple desk and three wooden file cabinets were complemented by white eyelet curtains and a paisley rug over a wide-plank hardwood floor. Two visitor chairs with a small table between them occupied the wall across from the desk, and a large potted ficus tree basked in the light from two windows.

  The tree brought a smile to her face, reminding her of the numerous plants she’d collected in her apartment at home. Hopefully, her mother was watering them as promised. A few more added to this office would make it feel more inviting.

  “This was Rosie’s office,” Katie said. “I left the keys for the files in the top drawer of her desk. Guest receipts are to the left, employee and payroll records to the right. The cabinet in the middle is for vendors and expenses. I’m sure Mr. Barnett’s firm would have gone over the figures with you, but should you like to review anything—”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about my aunt’s business dealings.” Eve found herself on the defensive. How did this girl she’d once viewed with contempt know so much about Aunt Rosie? “Mr. Barnett told me there was an interim manager. I’d like to meet her.”

  “That would be me.”

  Eve blinked. “You?”

  Katie’s lips curled in a tight smile. “Surprised? Do you think I’m not qualified?”

  “No, I…” She was turning into a stammering fool. This was ridiculous! She was the owner of the hotel. So what if she’d been caught off guard by a girl she’d once thought incapable of amounting to anything? It was time to reassert her position and the established pecking order from childhood. She’d never been one to hold herself above others, but Katie made her feel abruptly superficial. Gripping the strap of her shoulder bag tightly in her left hand, Eve pressed her lips together. “I simply wasn’t aware of the protocols Aunt Rosie had in place. Her death was unexpected.”

  “To some.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.” Momentarily flustered, Katie reclaimed her cool aloofness. “If you’d like a tour of the hotel, I can point out the changes your aunt made over the last fifteen years. I can also introduce you to the staff on site. I assume you’ll want to speak with them as a group eventually.”

  “Eventually.” She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do with the hotel, but saw no reason in broadcasting her indecisiveness. “Let’s go through the hotel. I’ll look at the books later.”

  Though she didn’t voice the thoughts to Katie, walking through the hotel resurrected a host of memories: running through the long hallways before guests checked in—her parents were always adamant she didn’t disturb visitors—eating a PBJ with a glass of cold milk at the café lunch counter, helping her mother decorate the big Christmas tree in the lobby each December. So many memories dredged from the dust of decades she’d buried in the past. One February her parents had held a Valentine’s Day dance in the ballroom, opening the hotel to the town. She remembered red hearts and streamers dangling from the ceiling, tables laden with finger hors d’oeuvres, and a giant ice sculpture in the shape of a swan. Her father had surprised her mother with a bouquet of pink roses and a diamond necklace that made her cry. She and Maggie had watched, hidden in a corner as her parents danced without music in the large ballroom before the guests arrived.

  “We have a birthday party scheduled to take place the end of the month,” Katie told her as they stepped into the ballroom. “Rosie rented out the ballroom for special events. We have a contract in place and can’t cancel it, but—”

  “That isn’t an issue.” Eve followed into the large room, conscious of the echo of her heels against the hardwood floor. It gleamed with several coats of wax, reflecting the glimmer of three chandeliers suspended overhead. A dozen circular tables draped in white linen surrounded the dance floor, a raised dais at the front of the room. In its heyday, the Parrish Hotel had hosted wedding receptions and banquets. “I don’t want to change anything Aunt Rosie had planned.” That much was true. “I’ll need the details—time, vendors, planned events, employees who are scheduled to work.”

  “I can get you a list. Would you like to see the café now?”

  She nodded, then followed Katie back to the street level. Presently closed, the River Café opened at 11:00 AM for the lunch crowd, followed later by dinner. According to Katie, it was mostly locals who came for lunch, the limited business rarely enough to warrant extended hours, but Rosie hadn’t wanted to close her doors to the regulars. Dinner tended to be a larger draw, but far from the steady stream of patronage before the Silver Bridge collapsed. The smaller crowd aside, it was still the hotspot in downtown Point Pleasant on any given night.

  Cozy and intimate, the café sported several large booths on one side of the room banked by a series of tables and an ornate wooden bar on the far right. The décor was an eclectic mix of antiques, hand-blown glass, and riverboat memorabilia. She remembered some of the pieces, like the large ship’s wheel suspended above the bar, from childhood.

  Katie introduced her to several of the employees who were present, then allowed her to wander on her own. Eventually, she wound her way back to the office and settled in her aunt’s desk chair, thankful to be alone with her thoughts.

  Adam Barnett had indicated if she wanted to sell the hotel, he might be able to connect her with a buyer. Her mother wanted her to settle matters quickly and return to Harrisburg. How easy it would be to leave everything in Barnett’s capable hands and head home and wait for the arrival of a settlement check. She didn’t need to be here, but her parents had once owned this hotel in partnership with Aunt Rosie. Her father had loved it, and her aunt had kept it solvent after the bridge collapse. Given everything she knew about Point Pleasant, that hadn’t been an easy task.


  She spent the next several hours sorting through ledgers, files and books. Katie returned once or twice to see if she needed anything, but basically left her on her own. When lunchtime rolled around, Eve abandoned the office, found Katie at the front desk, and suggested they have lunch in the café.

  “You want to have lunch with me?” There was no mistaking Katie’s look of surprise.

  “I think we should talk. Is there someone who covers the desk when you go to lunch?”

  “No, I usually close the lobby. Give me five minutes, and I’ll meet you in the café.”

  She didn’t seem overly pleased by the idea, but showed up as promised. They settled into a booth, ordered sandwiches off the menu, and quickly dispensed with small talk. Thankful to have the forced niceties behind them, Eve got down to business.

  “How long have you worked for my aunt?”

  “Since I was sixteen.” Katie fiddled with the paper wrapper for her straw, smoothing it between her fingers. “I started part-time as a waitress after school, then went full-time after my son was born.”

  “Your son?” The revelation struck her like a thunderbolt.

  “Sam is seven. The bus drops him off outside after school, and he stays for an hour in the lobby doing homework until my shift ends. Rosie didn’t have a problem with that, but I’ll understand if you want it to stop. School ends for the summer in a few days anyway, so I’ll be making other arrangements for him.”

  It was hard wrapping her head around the idea of Katie with a child. She was tempted to ask about the father but feared the information might be awkward. What if Katie was an unwed mother? “Let’s see how things go.” She took a sip of the iced tea the waitress had left. “So you eventually made the switch from the café to the front desk?”