by Regan Forest
She pulled on jeans and a shirt, washed her face and went to join Jennifer’s late-night party in the living room. She was greeted enthusiastically by the four young people, two of whom she had met before. The air smelled of popcorn and cigarettes and Jennifer’s stale air-freshener.
“So...she emerges!”
Ellen helped herself to a handful of popcorn from a bowl on the table. “I needed a nap.”
Her roommate made introductions. A man named Dave asked what she wanted to drink, as if she were a guest and he the host, and proceeded to the kitchen to tap into the wine supply. In moments he was back, handing her a glass.
“Thank you,” she said, and sat down on the floor.
Dave sat beside her. “I saw you at the club with Jen. You left early. Don’t you like Errol’s Dock?”
“I like Errol’s fine,” she replied. “It’s just so different from anything I’m used to. I’m nursing a minor case of culture shock.”
“Jen says you’re from Colorado. Denver?” She shook her head. “No. A little town in the heart of the Rockies. And you? New York?”
“Vermont. But I’ve lived here six years. I work for an advertising agency.” He took a drink from his mug of beer. “I hope you won’t hold it against me, but I queried Jen about you when I found out you were her new roommate.”
Ellen gave him a sideways glance. “Oh? And what did she tell you?”
“That you two work together at the warehouse but you’re looking to get into fashion design. That you don’t talk about yourself much. She thinks you ran away from home.”
She laughed. “Ran away? At age twenty-four?”
Dave, a well-built young man in his early thirties, wore expensive slacks and a silk shirt and smelled of success. “Well, you know Jennifer. She thinks you came to New York to escape an arranged marriage.”
“Where on earth would she get that idea?”
He shrugged and waited for her to volunteer the truth, but instead, Ellen withdrew into silence, listening to the music. “You’re a woman of mystery,” Dave teased.
She shook her head and smiled, offering him a dish of peanuts from the cluttered coffee table. “You’re just trying to keep from talking about yourself.”
“Not a bit. Start me talking about myself and I don’t turn off.” He grabbed a handful of the peanuts. “Jennifer might be off the mark, but not too far, I don’t think. Why does a girl who obviously comes from wealth appear in New York City with only the clothes she can carry—clothes, incidentally, that Jen says cause her eyes to bulge?”
Ellen stared at him, stunned.
The man shifted his position and leaned closer so as not to be heard by the others, who were talking noisily all around them. “Uh-oh. I can see I’m getting too personal. Damn me. When I’m as curious about a woman as I am about you— Let me rephrase that. When I want to get to know someone as much as I would like to know you...I tend to jump in like a miser after leprechaun gold. I’m observant. I’m trained to be. You might not wear any jewelry, Miss Montrose, but one can’t hide breeding under jeans and a baggy shirt. I know an aristocrat when I meet one.”
A feeling of peace came over Ellen, like none she had felt in her life. She reveled in the reverberation of those words—I know an aristocrat when I see one. “So do I—know an aristocrat when I see one.”
This brought a grin. “All right. We’ve established we have something in common. My folks even talked about an arranged marriage once with the daughter of some business tycoon in England. So in my own fashion, I ran away, too, after college, to do my own thing. I won’t quiz you anymore. Not right now, anyhow. Maybe someday.” He looked up suddenly as if he had just thought of something. “It wasn’t an escape from a mean husband, was it?”
“Certainly not.” She sipped the wine, feeling giddy. A major victory had been won! She had tried so hard to shed the stigma of “low birth” that she had pulled it off even better than she could have imagined was possible. And done it here in the city without even trying. Can one wear a disguise all one’s life? she remembered asking herself. Could she?
It didn’t matter right now. An aristocrat believed she was one of his own, and that was the realization of a dream.
Curling her legs under her, Ellen said, “The past is over. Let’s not talk about the past.”
* * *
THIS TUXEDO WAS NOT imaginary. It was purchased from a firm in Denver. The ballroom wasn’t in a lonely, dusky mansion; it was on the top floor of the Shadow Valley Hotel. Cody could feel eyes turn his way as he entered. He could even hear a few gasps that confirmed what his mirror had told him—he looked damned fine in the first tux he’d ever owned. There were whispers, too, and he knew why. The town’s most eligible bachelor had arrived at the lavish autumn ball without a lady on his arm.
The truth was, he hadn’t wanted to come, but in his capacity as the newly appointed city manager, it was an unspoken requirement. Anyone who was anyone in the whole of the county made certain not to miss Shadow Valley’s social event of the year. Besides, he had some important contacting to do, business to discuss. Many major deals had often been made with the clink of champagne glasses.
He recognized Ellen’s three gowns at once. Even if he hadn’t known who had purchased them, he could have picked out those that eclipsed every other dress at the huge gathering. Ellen would swell with pride if she were here....
Women were trying to catch his eye, and being quite obvious about it. Because this was such a formal affair, they would be less inclined to take the initiative of asking him to dance, which was good. Ever since Ellen left he had been pursued by a dozen women, not all of whom were young or single. He wasn’t interested. It was too soon after Ellen. Maybe it would always be too soon after Ellen.
He made his way to the bar and ordered a drink just as he was approached by the honorable mayor and his wife. “Glad you could make the party,” Ben Engleson said, gripping Cody’s shoulder as a father would his son’s.
Cody greeted them both. Doreen stepped forward in Ellen’s magnificent lavender gown. “Congratulations, Cody! My word, after only three weeks with you as city manager, this whole town is changing. I can’t tell you how excited I am about your Pebble Street project! Absolutely brilliant—turning what has been Shadow Valley’s disgrace into what will be one of its greatest assets. Whatever gave you the idea?”
“I took a good look at the place,” Cody replied, accepting his drink from the bartender. “And saw its potential. The original brick street, the enormous trees, the quaintness of the miners’ houses—what’s left of them.”
The woman’s eyes shone. “It had never occurred to any of us that people might want to live in the restored—”
“I know the people to attract,” he interrupted.
The mayor grinned proudly. “Which is the amazing thing, Doreen. Cody knows where to find them.”
Doreen cooed, “Artists. Writers. Retired people who want the atmosphere. Your campaign has been brilliant.”
People talked of little else these days. Cody had managed to rally the entire town in his determination to restore Pebble Street with the quaint mining-village ambience it once had. Donations and city funding had already been put to use in cleaning up the area, tearing down what buildings couldn’t be saved, clearing out weeds, landscaping. Brick planters filled with fall flowers had been placed along the center of the street, which was closed to traffic. Three houses had already been purchased by outsiders and were being rebuilt according to new city requirements for authenticity.
“Who knows?” Ben Engleson said. “We might even go so far as to get a few local citizens to move down there.”
“Locals? I doubt it,” his wife blurted out.
Cody smiled. “I’ve decided to move there myself and work on a house restoration. I’m negotiating a deal before the properties get too expensive. I was interested in the Montrose house, but it was the first home to sell.”
Two or three other people standing nearby were openly e
avesdropping on the conversation. He had been the one to mention the name Montrose. “Where is Ellen?” Doreen asked.
“New York. Didn’t she tell you?”
“She mentioned it once. But such a sudden decision. Do you hear from her?”
“She’s been hired by a fashion firm. With her talent and her credentials, she had her choice of positions.”
“I can imagine!” Doreen glanced down at the gown she was wearing, smoothing the skirt with arrogance. It prompted him to invite her to dance.
This was a mistake, because once he had shown his willingness to get out on the dance floor, the jostling for his attention began, starting with Doreen’s daughter, Joanna, who had arrived just in time to see her mother dancing with the handsome man of the hour.
After a few obligatory dances, he made his way across the crowded room, and caught the sound of Ellen’s name at the same moment he was waylaid by Jeff Calhoun.
Jeff thrust out his hand and began a conversation, but Cody was only half listening. His ears were tuned to voices behind him discussing Ellen. “That girl wouldn’t have left him,” a woman was saying. “He got in over his head before he realized she was Pebble Street. What’d he expect, picking up a waitress at a truck stop?”
Cody felt hot under the collar in the stiff tux, as anger began to rise.
“New in town...” another woman said. “Lucky for him he didn’t get stuck...reputation...Pebble Street...”
The words became muffled and hard to hear, but he had heard enough. This was the source of Ellen’s anguish over a town that meant to keep her under their boot soles. Even now, when she was gone, they kept it up. It was time to set the record straight.
He winked at Jeff, the only person in Shadow Valley who knew the truth of Cody’s origins, and turned around to the small cluster of women—the “in” group of socialites, the ones who had been competing with each other in clothes and trips and husbands’ incomes since high school.
“Did I hear somebody mention Ellen’s name?” he asked. The animosity did not show in his voice; he sounded as engagingly pleasant as ever.
The faces turned crimson in unison. No one spoke.
He persisted. “I heard somebody call her a Pebble Street kid. Exactly what does that mean?”
“Just that...she came from that part of town.”
“Is that significant?”
Another woman spoke up, encouraged by the fact that he seemed genuinely interested. “People actually live in those shabby houses—” She was interrupted by a nudge from a companion, meant to remind her of his “affair” with Ellen Montrose. She flushed, then recovered, determined to make the proper impression on the new city official.
Before Cody could respond, he felt pressure on his arm from Jeff Calhoun. “His Honor the Mayor asked you to make a little speech, right, Cody?”
He turned around to meet his friend’s amused gaze, and nodded. The timing couldn’t be better.
Jeff grinned. “They’re gathering at the platform to do the usual rituals of patting themselves on the back.”
Cody tugged at his uncomfortable, sweat-soaked collar, adjusted his bow tie, and made his way through the crowd to the platform where city officials were standing like penguins at feeding time. Although he hadn’t been through one of these ceremonies, it didn’t take much imagination to anticipate the procedure.
“Where’s Meredith?” he asked. “I wouldn’t want her to miss my performance.”
“She’s here somewhere. I’ll find her.”
Cody took his place beside the other officials and stood listening to their praises of the town and each other until he was called on. When his name with his new title was announced, the applause was overwhelming and lasted until he raised an arm to stop it.
“I thank you,” he said. “And I appreciate your support. Shadow Valley is on the way to fulfilling its great potential as a thriving, pace-setting town and I’m proud to be part of the force behind that.” He looked out over the adoring faces of the town’s high society. “There are good people here—the best! Your kind hearts and foresight are the backbone of the pride we share in our community. I left the town of my birth when I was only seventeen because I thought I wouldn’t be accepted. Thank you for proving me wrong. No one should underestimate the democratic ideology and American values of Shadow Valley.” He felt a curious tension moving through the crowd, saw eyebrows rise and mouths drop open. It was time.
He continued without a pause, “I’m pleased about your support of my efforts to restore Pebble Street to a place of pride. Your input and enthusiasm are exemplary, and brilliant not only from a commercial standpoint but from a historical one. It’s a project close to the heart of this kid who spent his childhood on Pebble Street.” He raised his glass and his voice. “So, a toast to the warm and gracious citizens of Shadow Valley. I thank you for welcoming me home.”
A profound hush moved over the ballroom. Cody went on with his charade of assuming they had known all along who he was, expecting them to fall into the role he had dictated. What choice had he given them, after all?
The silence waned after a time. Dr. Jeff Calhoun took his cue and rushed to shake Cody’s hand with gusto. Ben Engleson was right behind him, openly annoyed that the veterinarian had the gall to go first, before the mayor.
A bubble of gaiety bounced through the crowd. Cody watched with amusement. How shaken they were and how proud of themselves! His strategy had worked. Victory felt damn good.
Only one thing was missing. Ellen ought to be here. This was her victory, too. Without her at his side, he felt a poignant emptiness in his triumph.
* * *
IRIS WHITFIELD WAS maddeningly tenacious. She appeared repeatedly in Ellen’s dreams, always in the front parlor of the mansion. Sometimes Cody was in the dream and sometimes he wasn’t. Did it mean he was forgetting her? It was unnerving to know that he was likely dreaming the same dream at the same moment. But it was worse to think that at some point in time he would stop dreaming about her.
“What the devil do you want?” she asked the ghost. “It’s too late for anyone to do anything—I did try.” Iris would hate to have her house transformed into a hotel; she must be extremely distraught.
One evening a letter from Cody was in the mailbox when she came home from work. Heart jumping at the sight of his large handwriting, she ripped it open eagerly.
Dear Ellen,
I’ve been thinking of you, as always. Wanted to tell you the buyer of your mansion pulled out six weeks ago. Seems the house is so haunted, no workers would stay. I spoke with three of them personally. Stories were that some rooms were ice cold and there were strange smells and unpleasant noises and even things falling and breaking....
Ellen gasped. Accounts just like this were spread by Carolyn Meullar years ago. It had to be why the house had stood empty for so long. Iris had been angry when the Meullars lived there and she was angry now.
I’ve been appointed city manager. The project to restore Pebble Street went into high gear right after your house sold. Artists and retirees are already living there. Meredith finally spoke to me long enough to say she’d like to plead with you to have a Tarot reading in N.Y. for the sake of your long friendship. Saw her at the Ball and your dresses, too, which stole the show until my speech when I told them I came from Pebble Street. Quite a sensation. I wish you had been at my side. I love you and always will.
The words blurred on the page. A postscript mentioned a radio conference coming up in Denver. Cody’s anger had dissolved and so had hers. When she fell into bed exhausted from the long day his words rang in her head. The mansion hasn’t sold after all.... It’s too haunted....
On Saturday she came home in a daze from an appointment with a Tarot reader. Four of the ten cards had been identical, including the Lovers and the Tower and the Fool—an almost-impossible phenomenon. The reading had been astoundingly like Meredith’s, even to the point when the reader—a psychic in Hell’s Kitchen—told her she was now in
a location where she didn’t belong.
Meredith hadn’t lied to her. She had tried to say so and Ellen had been too hurt to listen. Shaking, she dialed Meredith’s number but there was no answer.
Ellen couldn’t hold back the tears. What have I done? I was so defensive about my plans...so determined to be respected...so blinded by the snobbery of the town....
That night, Iris appeared in her dream not as a filmy apparition but as a young woman wearing her wedding dress. When she moved, a ghostlike mist rose up around her. Iris was beckoning. In a glow like moonlight, tears were gleaming on her cheeks.
Behind Iris, Cody appeared, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, his arms reaching out to her. “Ellen, come back to me. I love you.”
17
WAKING WITH A START, Ellen missed him desperately. The cold, dark room closed in around her like a cave. “Cody!” she cried aloud, knowing it was his dream, too. He wouldn’t plead for her to return except in his sleep when his love reached across two thousand miles of darkness.
And Iris! She was pleading. How lovely she had been in her wedding gown—the gown that now lay on the shelf in Ellen’s closet, still in its box tied with blue ribbon.
It was nearly six o’clock. Four in the morning in Colorado. Cody had just wakened from a dream of her. Ellen buried her face in her hands.
Morning sunlight, golden beams,
Show me riches, show me dreams.
Sunlight, shine a path for me
Toward the place I’m meant to be.
Carolyn would never be able to sell that haunted house, she thought. Iris would see to that. It served the family right for stealing it. It could be bought dirt cheap by anyone who wasn’t afraid of the ghost—the person who was meant to live there! This was Iris’s message! She, Ellen Montrose, was wanted by the house and its ghost. And by the man who loved her. And a dear friend who loved her and hadn’t betrayed her, after all.