Give Up the Ghost

by Cherie Claire

  “Aren’t you going to join us?” TB pats the empty space next to him where his jacket lies.

  I sit down, lean against my husband and try to forget about Dwayne, ghosts, and the dark history of this cove. The peacefulness of our new home warms me as much as the sun and I place a hand where two children are growing, thinking that it’s time TB and I start a new life. Maybe it’s also the perfect opportunity to stop chasing ghosts and demons, attempt to lead a normal existence. Once Dwayne is out of my life for good, we can become a real family, without the supernatural drama that’s been plaguing us since Hurricane Katrina.

  As soon as that thought flits through my mind and I smile thinking of the possibilities, I’m thrown back to a different time, sitting alone at the lake’s edge and staring into the face of Caroline Montclair.

  I sit up and gasp, feeling like I descended the peak of a roller coaster.

  “Where am I?”

  Caroline kneels in front of me, studying me as much as I’m studying her. She’s not dressed in lace and a long skirt this time, but rugged pants and a man’s shirt with a bandana tied around her head. I immediately think of Rosie the Riveter from the World War II posters.

  “You’re in Emma’s Cove.”

  Around me the woods are still sparse but thicker than my earlier vision at the museum; trees have returned. And there’s grass beneath my feet. But it’s the green eyes of the woman before me that captures my attention.

  “Are you in need?” she asks.

  “Always,” I say with a grin, but then regret my flippancy. “I mean, I’m pregnant.”

  I don’t know why that blurts out of my mouth.

  “The stones will help, but he’s coming.”

  That roller coaster plunges again.

  “Who?”

  “He won’t be alone. They always come in packs. They’re afraid, you know?”

  I sit up straighter. “Who?”

  Caroline stares off toward the lake. “Such a gorgeous day. But the storms will return. Trust your instinct and rely on what’s inside you. You’re stronger than you’ll ever imagine.”

  “Who?” I ask more intently.

  Caroline sighs. “Men. They fear our power.”

  I suddenly want to defend the two at my side, wherever they are. “Not all men.”

  She nods and smiles. “No, not all men. And that’s good to remember because they can help.”

  I lean in close, touch her arm and amazingly enough, it’s flesh and bone. “What men are coming?”

  She sighs. “Ask MB. She’ll know how to help.”

  This MB mystery is getting the best of me.

  “I keep hearing that but who is she?”

  Caroline keeps staring off into the distance as she slowly dissolves into air. “Ask MB.”

  At this point, I’m frustrated as all get-out and even though I sense this vision fading, I yell out, “Who the hell is MB?”

  I feel someone shaking my shoulder, hear TB call out my name. I look over and find TB and Sebastian staring at me with concern.

  “What the hell, Vi?” Sebastian asks. “Where did you go and who are you shouting at?”

  “What just happened?” I ask them.

  “You were screaming about someone named MB,” TB says.

  Sebastian straightens, looks over my shoulder and smiles. “Oh hi.”

  I turn and spot Maribelle not one hundred feet away with a basket filled with a teapot and cups and what looks like scones. Her hair’s still gray but combed out smooth with the sides pinned up with cute little barrettes. She’s changed into nice jeans and a mahogany peasant shirt. Despite her appearance and proximity to Sebastian, she’s not smiling, only has eyes for me.

  The knowledge hits me like a landslide.

  Maribelle. As in Mari-Belle.

  “Oh my God,” I think to myself. “Maribelle’s MB.”

  Chapter 8

  I stand up quickly but the vision has slammed my energy and I nearly fall back to the ground. TB catches me as I’m sliding, holds my shoulders and gives me that once-over again. I want to explain that I’m good, that I’m channeling this woman who used to live here, but I’m so flabbergasted that I finally found MB.

  Maribelle, on the other hand, rushes over to see if I’m okay.

  “What’s going on?” she asks.

  There’s so many questions but I’m afraid to blurt out that two non-humans are pushing me in her direction. I’m worried she will call me crazy and storm off yet again. Especially, since “MB” and Sebastian are sneaking gazes at each other. I haven’t seen my brother smile this much in ages.

  “I’m fine, just got up too fast.”

  She relaxes. “I brought tea.”

  What I really need is a stiff drink but I’ve a year at least between me and a bottle of bourbon.

  “Why don’t we head to a better place?” Sebastian suggests. “The ground here is pretty damp.”

  Maribelle’s smile fades as she gazes at the brown patch where we rested. “Why on earth did you choose this place?”

  “Pun intended?” I ask with a grin, but no one gets it.

  I gaze at my brother who usually picks up my weird humor but he’s frowning, pulling his jacket close over his chest.

  “Yes, we definitely should move away from here,” he says solemnly.

  It’s then I feel it. That darkness that surrounded me a couple of days ago when I walked down to the water’s edge. Something angry and mean. TB senses it too, catch him looking around nervously, his body tense.

  “What is it?” I ask him.

  Maribelle’s suspicions return. “What’s the matter?”

  TB attempts to shake it off but I know he’s worried. “Let’s go back to the houseboat.”

  “Yes, let’s,” Sebastian agrees.

  We walk up the bank in silence and each step away from the lake’s edge feels infinitesimally better. By the time we reach the back of the library and walk single file through the alley between the library and the diner, we’re back to our old selves. At least, I am. As we emerge on to the street, we all sigh as if we’ve walked up a steep flight of stairs.

  “Who owns those buildings?” Sebastian finally asks Maribelle.

  She laughs. “I do.”

  “What?” we three ask in unison.

  She slides the tea basket into the crook of her elbow, getting comfortable as she examines her property. “I thought one could be a lovely bed and breakfast and the other a shop for herbs and teas, maybe serve tea in the front.”

  I can definitely see that. “What happened?”

  She shrugs but a sadness sweeps over her face. “Nothing. Everything. Lack of funds. Lack of time.” Under her breath, she adds, “Touché.”

  Sebastian studies her intently and I would love to climb inside his brain right now. Finally, Maribelle lightens and moves the napkin from inside the basket, exposing several beautiful pastries. “Scones anyone?”

  We’re stuffed to the max after that big breakfast Sebastian made, but we all agree and walk back to the motel. The two motel buildings facing each other hug a pool and central patio with tables and umbrellas so we make ourselves comfortable there, choosing sunlit chairs and grabbing scones, still piping hot and smelling delicious. Maribelle pulls out cups and pours us some of her “magical blend.” The way she explains the ingredients I know she’s super proud of her creation.

  “Grew every one of the herbs,” she says, beaming.

  “Where?” Sebastian asks, looking around.

  Visitors access the motel off the main road and spot Maribelle’s place via a large retro sign that reminds me of motels my parents took me to along the Mississippi Gulf Coast when I was a child. It’s a short drive from the road to the two motel buildings Maribelle owns, one containing the office and Maribelle’s apartment, the other closer to piney woods that stretch toward Lightning Bug for miles. The two buildings offer long lines of identical accommodations, and allow visitors to park directly in front of their rooms, again a throwback
to the days when motels were popular. I’m suspecting only twenty rooms total as I gaze around and make a count.

  The view’s gorgeous from our patio oasis with motel rooms on either side and a lake view straight ahead with a dock stretching out into the water. Even now with winter still in full force, there’s greenery around a cast iron set of patio furniture, a self-contained swing, and a pergola overhead with dormant vines clinging all over.

  Maribelle touches some of the plants in a nearby planter as if she’s caressing her child’s hair. “Some are here, but I only bring them out when the weather’s good this time of year. The rest are in my house right now.”

  “I’d love to see them,” Sebastian says while sipping his tea. I notice a shy smile behind that cup. When I glance at Maribelle, she’s blushing. Holy shit.

  I turn away to give them privacy. “It’s so pretty here,” I mutter, looking around.

  It’s the second time I’ve been on this side of her motel; from my houseboat all I see is the backside of the building containing Maribelle’s apartment and half of the accommodations. The first time I entered the full motel property was in January when we moved in and I brought her a basket of freshly made beignets. She merely thanked me for my kindness, took the basket, and shut the door. How lovely it would have been if Maribelle had befriended me then and we could have enjoyed tea out here on a regular basis, me getting to know her and this crazy town.

  I get the feeling Maribelle’s thinking about that day for she looks at me with what I suspect is regret. I’m right for she says, “Sorry about our first meeting.”

  I don’t get a chance to reply for Sebastian pipes up. “What happened on the first meeting?”

  I smile which puts Maribelle at ease. She takes a sip of her tea and gets comfortable. In fact, it’s the first time I’m seen her this relaxed.

  “I don’t know what Vi told you but Emma’s Cove has a history of being a sanctuary for women escaping one thing or another.” She darts a stern look at TB and TB’s eyebrows raise.

  I reach over and take his hand. “Abuse, bad marriages or families, that sort of thing,” I tell my husband.

  “That’s terrible,” he says, and I hope Maribelle believes the sincerity of those words.

  “The first woman to make her home here was Emma Harrington, an entrepreneur and an acclaimed artist.”

  “She did the quilt,” Sebastian inserts.

  I stop nibbling on my scone. “How’d you know that?”

  He shrugs. “My sister’s channeling a woman inside a quilt and you didn’t think I’d look at the art description.”

  Maribelle looks at me with that now all too familiar discerning gaze, but Sebastian thankfully keeps the conversation going. “Go on,” he says to Maribelle.

  “Other women came and Emma took them in. They had a co-op going, making textiles and other items to sell. They enlarged Emma’s cabin and built other buildings so it became a compound.”

  “They made a living doing this?” TB asks.

  She nods. “They did very well. Raised chickens and sold the eggs, grew their own food, sold their artwork at Chattanooga markets. Emma became famous with her art. They all rode through the Depression without a blip in their income.”

  Sebastian helps himself to another cup of tea which makes Maribelle happy. She’s practically lit up inside. “What happened?”

  “Let me guess,” I say, “people in Lightning Bug who did have a blip in their income weren’t happy watching women living well.”

  Maribelle turns solemn. “That and one of the husbands showed up.”

  That dark feeling I felt at the brown patch returns, can almost feel it howling through the trees. At the same time, TB squeezes my hand and when I gaze over at my husband see him watching the tree tops. Then, within a heartbeat, it’s gone.

  “One of the women at Emma’s compound left behind a prosperous family and the husband hired numerous people to track her down. Cost a small fortune. Finally, they found her here.”

  “And he wasn’t happy,” Sebastian adds.

  Maribelle smiles grimly. “Not at all. He enlisted the aid of the Lightning Bug sheriff’s department, riled up a bunch of the local men, and they came up to Emma’s Cove ready to bring Caroline home, no matter what.”

  A lightning bolt jolts through me. “Wait, who?”

  Maribelle doesn’t get why I stopped the conversation. “What?”

  “Caroline Montclair?”

  Maribelle shifts in her seat and her eyes narrow. “Something else you read?”

  It’s an appropriate question but I gather she suspect there’s more to me than I’m letting on. For not the first time I wonder if Maribelle suspects I have paranormal talents, especially after Sebastian’s remark.

  “I’ll explain later,” I say, because I don’t want to get into the MB thing just yet.

  Maribelle leans forward as if to impart some dark secret and we all do the same. The wind’s kicking up again and the massive oak trees around us appear as if they’re fighting it off. I wonder if we’re in for another storm. I shiver and pull my jacket back on.

  “The group of men carrying weapons and torches stormed up the mountain to Emma’s compound and demanded Emma release Caroline,” Maribelle starts. “Emma and the other women came outside and stood their ground, told the men to go home, but the men had been drinking and turned violent. One of them starting shooting out the windows.”

  “What happened then?” TB asks.

  “The women grew frightened, naturally, and one of them was injured when a window shattered next to her. They moved inside and started discussing plans to either surrender or flee into the woods, even though Emma begged them not to, said they had to face their fears or they would be running for the rest of their lives.”

  “Or get killed,” Sebastian says. “I suppose they didn’t have phones to call the police?”

  Maribelle nodded. “They did. And they called. But no one came.”

  “Did they run?” I ask, thinking of how proud Caroline appeared in that quilt.

  “Caroline came out on to the porch, said she refused to give in to the men’s demands and reiterated what Emma had said. She told the men she would rather die than return to her husband, who had beaten her on a regular basis, she told the men. Her husband called her names, said her dying was fine with him.”

  TB’s eyes enlarge and turn moist at this story and I hope Maribelle finally realizes my husband’s a puppy.

  “Did they back off?” Sebastian asks.

  “Her husband argued with some of the men who thought women shouldn’t have to die, or be abused for that matter, but he grabbed their torches and set the house on fire. It went up fast and spread. Some of the other men joined in and the compound was done for.”

  I wonder if that was the end to Emma’s haven but she lived to be one hundred and one on the Cove.

  “Caroline?” I ask.

  “The women came out of the house and tried to put out the fire, but the men grabbed them and held them back.” Maribelle takes a sip of her tea and swallows hard. “Caroline never did. She never left her position on the porch, stared at those men as the fire burned around her.”

  At this point, TB’s eyes are glistening. “How awful.” I squeeze his hand.

  “What happened to the men?” Sebastian asks.

  “Some went home, disgusted by the whole affair, but most of them were drunk, oblivious to the fact that they killed a woman or just didn’t care. It had been storming that week so they were full of mud and soot so they made their way down to the lake to clean off.”

  The wind’s really picking up now and TB looks up at the treetops with concern.

  “What is it?” I ask but he doesn’t answer.

  “There was one man who stayed on shore,” Maribelle continues. “The rest of the men were in the water when another storm arrived. A lightning bolt hit the water and shocked them all.”

  “Wow,” Sebastian says. “Killed them?”

  Mari
belle shakes her head. “No one knows. The man who survived told authorities that they were knocked unconscious, that he called to the women to help him get the men out of the water and no one did.”

  “Understandable, considering,” Sebastian says.

  Maribelle looks down into her cup. “From what I’ve heard in the Cove, the women did help but it was too late.”

  “And the surviving man said otherwise.”

  Maribelle leans back and the wind calms down. I feel the sun on my face, as if the trees took control and all is well. Weird.

  “Lightning Bug residents came and gathered the bodies, told authorities the men were killed with witchcraft. Emma was arrested but never tried due to a lack of evidence and the fact that the rest of the women were telling authorities how Caroline was killed. And there was the burnt compound to prove it.”

  “And the men who left?”

  “Those men disputed that the fire was started by Caroline’s husband. One even said lightning caused the fire and that the women made the whole thing up.”

  “So, that was that?” TB asks incredulously.

  “They dropped the case and that was that,” Maribelle says. “And the people of Lightning Bug never trusted the women of Emma’s Cove again.”

  “Even today?” Sebastian asks.

  Maribelle sighs. “Even today.”

  I place my cup on the table. “But you forgot one thing. The women of Emma’s Cove don’t trust anyone.”

  Maribelle runs a hand through her hair, disrupting one of the barrettes. “True. But we have our reasons.”

  “Well, I hope you trust us,” Sebastian says, showing a toothy grin.

  Maribelle smiles back but I know the jury’s out on that one. The comment also leaves behind a pregnant pause and Sebastian looks at me as if silently asking what he said wrong.

  I wipe the crumbs off my lap and try to lighten the mood. “How about we tour those buildings you own on Main? I’d love to see what’s inside.”

  Maribelle isn’t expecting this. She gazes at me unsure of what to do next. “Oh, okay. If you want.”