by BoJenn
“No, nothing. No tea, not anything.” Cat looked at Lovey. If she didn’t love him already, she would reject him. At this point, she was certainly involved in a plot, a scheme, some sort of trickery that Eleanor was using to woo her, for some unknown reason. But for what reason? Why would they choose her? “Because I’m isolated and an easy target? Why?”, she kept asking herself, knowing she was getting closer to some answers.
Eleanor said, “Drink it,” handing it to her in a commanding way.
Cat took the teacup and drank. “Bottom’s up! Hell. Why not? I have nothing to lose. No money, no friends, no children. Go ahead; drug me.” Cat was sarcastic, but at this moment she didn’t care. Cat drank enough of the tea—two full cups. It made her tired.
In the kitchen, while sitting at the dinette, the room started spinning around and around. She tried to stand. She started to stagger, but Eleanor caught her before she fell. Eleanor took Cat by arm and led her to the den and put her onto the plush, green velvet couch.
Tadhg poked the fire, his contribution remaining unseen, of course. Cat lay on the couch, her eyes closed.
“Why am I sleeping so much?”, she muttered. “Because, you can. I’m here, so you can rest,” Eleanor said to soothe her.
“You’re the one who was in the accident and hit your head; you’re the one who needs to rest—not me,” Cat protested, right before she fell sound asleep.
“We must communicate differently,” Tadhg said, worriedly.
“Yes, we must,” Eleanor agreed.
Cat slept with her head on Eleanor’s lap. Eleanor quietly sang Old English children’s songs, but, Cat heard them anyway. She knew them from somewhere. The gentle rubbing of her hair, and Eleanor’s singing, lulled her into a deeper sleep. She slept trustingly and innocently. She had not slept like tha in years. It felt as if her mother was there rubbing her head and stroking her hair. It went on for hours, it seemed. Eleanor never stopped; she diligently, without ceasing, mothered her.
Tadhg kept to himself, still unseen. He went from room to room exploring the historic artifacts. He moved some items with his mental vibrations, turning them to inspect their authenticities. He moved the chair out and sat down in front of the kneehole table. An inkwell was on the table with a quill. Next to it was parchment paper. It appeared old. Tadhg inspected the quality and fibers. It’s new— not so old. But there, in the table, tucked into a letter compartment, was a letter. It seemed relatively frayed, as well. He bent down to smell it and to run his fingers over it. It dated earlier than the newer paper. He looked at the writing in cursive. It read:
October 9th, 1983
Dear Daniel,
I hope this letter finds you, well, and I hope it finds you, period. How I miss you! Life here in Glory Town isn’t the same. Are you okay? Did you find a place in life worthy of you? Did you find love? Please, write me soon. I miss you my oldest, dearest friend.
Love forever,
Elizabeth Catherine Dubois ‘Cat’
The letter was out of the envelope and opened, as if it had just been read. The outside of the envelope was addressed to Daniel Darby Davis; Kingston, California, USA, and it had been returned. The return message stated, “Return to sender, recipient is deceased.”
A box of tissue paper sat near the letter and an old glass of brandy. Old red lipstick was on the side of the glass. Some tissues were beside the glass, still stained with lipstick; they hadn’t been discarded either; and, apparently, they had been there a long time—14 years had passed. The dust had been allowed to collect in that room, too, while the rest of the manor was tidy and dusted clean.
Tadhg wondered how he could find out what happened to Daniel. He felt finding out would help Catherine with her sadness. Perhaps if Daniel was deceased, then it would help her to communicate with him. She had the gift, he reminded himself. That was clearly apparent now.
He would have to leave Eleanor for a while and go back to the spirit world to investigate where Daniel’s final resting place was, if there was one. “Yes, yes, I should do this for her.”
He quickly drifted to Eleanor who still sat on the couch with Catherine. “I’m going to take care of some investigative work. It seems that Catherine’s friend Daniel died some time ago. There is a letter addressed to him on the kneehole table. There is a return-to-sender mark, with the words ‘deceased’ on it. I think finding Daniel’s spirit will be important. I’ll not be gone long.”
“No, Tadhg, I don’t like the idea of you leaving,” Eleanor sent telepathically. “Not right now. There is movement in the room. Daniel’s fate can wait. There is a young boy here in the room. He keeps peeking at us. He’s afraid to come out. Perhaps, he’s Daniel?”
Tadhg’s eyes darted to all the corners of the room and behind each door.
“Tadhg, you’ve frightened him, stop looking as if you’re stalking him for prey! Find him gently, dearest,” Eleanor insisted, attempting gentleness herself. “Listen! Footsteps! Little ones! Down the hall!”
Tadhg took off flying down the hall. He could out-fly a little boy who was running. Why can’t he fly if he’s a ghost, he wondered?
Tadhg hovered quietly in front of the old dusty maid’s quarters. It was unused and held junk, like old pictures, an old cot, stacks of books, papers, magazines and a few Christmas ornaments. On the dresser, an antique music box sat proudly. There was also an open locket on the desk. It was rusty but still held amber-stained pictures—one on each side of the locket. Tadhg examined the photographs. There were two children whose faces were browned from the stain. The doll the little girl held was visible—kind of—it looked like one from the 1950s. “I can’t make out the children,” Tadhg thought.
Just then, he heard a creak of the door. It opened slightly. Behind it were two ghostly eyes wavering, opaquely. “Stop. Don’t run. I won’t hurt you,” Tadhg said. They both stayed where they were without moving an inch. After a moment, Tadhg moved, slightly opening the door a little more. A boy of six or seven stood there before him. His chief expression was sadness. His hair was honey-blond, and he wore khaki English boy’s shorts and a solid white button-down collared shirt.
“Hello,” Tadhg said. The boy faded away without saying a word. “Come back. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” Pleading, Tadhg tried to follow any noise or energy movements. The boy vaguely resembled the boy in the picture, though Tadhg couldn’t be certain. He held out the photograph in the air hoping the lad saw it. “Is this you? Is this you in the picture? Are you Daniel?” Then, Tadhg realized, “This can’t be Daniel. The shorts are definitely European-style, and they were worn by wealthy English boys. So, who is the young fellow, and why is he here in Glory Town? This boy is from England.” Tadhg continued to muse, trying to puzzle it out. “Hello, young man, will you talk with me? Please. I promise, I won’t hurt you. I promise with God as my witness. Maybe I can help in some way?”
The door down the hall slammed. The slam was much too loud for a small ghostly boy, Tadhg assured himself. “Where is that coming from?”, he thought, gliding down the hall, slowly. He examined all the doors and the spaces behind each door. There was a smell of sulfur coming from the bathroom. “The fixtures—gas maybe?”, Tadhg wondered. He bent down and sniffed, recoiling at the scent. Putrid—like rotten eggs. “That can only mean one thing—we have company, and not such nice ones, at that.” Tadhg looked around the bathroom. He listened intently in a squatted position next to the toilet. He continued to talk to himself as he looked around the bath and behind the dingy shower curtain. The fixtures were once shiny brass, but, now, were waterstained. The lion’s claw upright tub was behind the curtain, and inside the tub Catherine had placed rocks, gems and stones of various types. He closed the door, took a breath, and manifested his body into a physical form. He had picked up a rock from inside the bathtub. It was black as coal and light as a feather. Cat had many of these stones and rocks. “Not from Earth,” Tadhg remarked.
“Put it back!”, someone said. Tadhg turned quickly to see w
ho spoke. “The boy!”, he said, elatedly. For there, he, the lad, stood—an apparition—just as before.
“Put it back now! It doesn’t belong to you,” the boy spoke with a formal English accent.
“I will. I won’t take it. I promise,” Tadhg addressed him. “Who are you?”, Tadhg gently asked the apparition. But the boy faded away and young feet could soon be heard running away down the hall, again.
Tadhg shimmered back into his spirit form. He left the bathroom and returned to the women in the den. Catherine was talking in her sleep while her head rested atop Eleanor’s lap.
“How long are you going to do that head rubbing?”, he asked.
“As long as it takes. I’m building trust. She’s been restless for a while, talking gibberish. Can’t make it out,” Eleanor remarked while looking at Catherine sleeping.
“You look like a natural. A mother of humans,” Tadhg noticed. There was a moment of silence as Cat started moving about. She flipped over to the other side.
“I saw the boy,” Tadhg said.
Eleanor looked up at him. “Who is he?’
“Not sure. He manifested after I picked up some funny looking stones back there in one of the bathtubs,” Tadhg explained.
“Really? Did he say anything?”, Eleanor responded in an energetic manner.
“Yes, he told me to put the stone down—that it was not mine.” So I did. I tried to tell him, I wouldn’t hurt him, but he dissipated. Tadhg sighed.
“Would you please, be quiet? I can’t sleep with all the talking,” Cat grumbled. She rolled over and opened her eyes. When she realized her head was rested on Eleanor’s lap, she sat up rather fast and looked around. “Who’s here?”
“Just you and I, dear,” Eleanor reassured Cat.
“No. There is a man here. I’ve been hearing him talk. Where is he?” Cat got up and looked around the room. A moment later, she opened the den door and looked down the hall. It was silent and it was almost dark outside. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Oh, a good portion of the day.” Eleanor was calm and implied that Catherine’s sleeping was of no problem or concern.
“And, you sat here with me? My head’s been on your lap this whole time? Didn’t you have to relieve yourself, or something? What about Lovey, did you let him out?”, Cat asked in her bold manner.
“My goodness—do you always awaken so stressed? We’ve managed to do what needs to be done. Now, are you hungry? The food is ready.”
Eleanor suggested food. Cat was in for food. “Sure. I guess.”
Cat was surprised that she had been so soundly asleep; and Eleanor, like usual, had cooked, cleaned and stayed awake while having her lying on her lap. “Oh, why do I keep asking, why? I can see that I’m not getting any answers any time soon!”
From the couch, Eleanor signaled Tadhg to do his magic and have the table prepared with a tasty meal ready. She gave him a nod and a wink when Cat wasn’t looking. They continued their mental conversations, but this time he chose to communicate in French.
“What’s that?”, Cat thought she heard, tilting her head. “The man is talking. In another language. It’s French. He’s speaking in French. I know I hear him.” But there was only quiet now as Cat listened.
“Utilisez votre baguette magique et mettre une fête sur un magnifique set table,” Eleanor begged.
“Puis-je manger avec vous?”, Tadhg asked.
“Bien sûr,” Eleanor agreed.
Eleanor waited to see if Catherine heard anything. It was a very basic conversation, mostly her request for Tadhg’s assistance, and his request as to whether he could dine with them. She had agreed.
Catherine arose, heading out of the room for a moment, “I want to tidy up. I feel as if I’ve been sleeping and sleeping and sleeping.”
“Just don’t let her know you’re eating with us,” Eleanor told Tadhg.
“Rather tricky task to eat with you, two, and not let her know it,” Tadhg responded.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Eleanor agreed.
They moved into the dining room. Tadhg floated above. “Tomorrow, I’m going golfing,” he said.
“Well, certainly, not too far from here! You can’t leave for long, you know,” Eleanor firmly requested.
“No, I’ll only be a thought away. Just think, Tadhg…Tadhg…Tadhg, and I’ll be here with wings on my wings.”
Cat had returned, tilting head again with the perplexed expression that meant she had heard their conversation…again. “I must be losing my mind or something,” Cat mused herself.
“The dining area is lovely,” she said, walking into the dining room. “Where did you find this china? It was my grandmother’s.” Cat picked up a plate to examine the old familiar pattern.
“You don’t mind do you? The china was so lovely and needed a good using,” Eleanor laughed.
“The food—my goodness! What are we having tonight—lobster?” Cat looked astonished.
“No, Cornish hens, wild rice, asparagus and blackberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream.” Eleanor looked like a typical grandmother leaning over a hot stove.
“And, you brought this in your tote, too? Clever…very clever.” Cat sighed, but was duly impressed.
“Sit, my dear. Enjoy.” Eleanor pointed to the end of the table where the hostess is to be seated. Eleanor sat at the other end. Eleanor had set the formal dinning table. The room was rarely enjoyed anymore. But, today, it sparkled with life. Dinner was interesting because Eleanor had to pretend that Tadhg was not there. He made funny clownish faces, and, at one point, Eleanor almost started laughing at him. “Oh, my, I’m getting tipsy, dear,” she said, in excuse for her unusual behavior.
“Well, have more. Let’s live up life. Shall we?”, Cat said.
“Why not? Pour me a little of the Cabernet. Perfect night for it, and then some Scottish brandy.” Eleanor held the wine goblet up and waited for Catherine to pour both wine and brandy into the two appropriate glasses.
“It’s so beautiful in this room. I don’t think I ever remember it looking so inviting, bright and elegant.” Cat clicked her wine glass against Eleanor’s. “Cheers, Eleanor!”, Cat said.
“Alright. Here you go—Cheers! And, a Happy Thanksgiving!”, Eleanor robustly exclaimed.
“Thanksgiving?” Cat sat down. She forgot it was a traditional family holiday that she usually spent alone. Sadness came over her.
“Why the look? I’m here with you. No loneliness this year,” Eleanor said. “Cheers to you and me on this very American holiday!” “Clink!” went her glass as she toasted, “Happy Thanksgiving to you! Cheers!”
This time Cat had the upper hand. She did not get drunk this time. She got up from the table each time she poured a drink for them, and emptied her glass by pouring it into a decanter on the breakfront, when Eleanor wasn’t looking.
“She’s a true detective. She’s pouring out her drinks as you get snockered,” Tadhg observed.
“Should we tell her? There’s no reason to hide you, from her,” Eleanor suggested.
“No. Absolutely not. Not now. The other’s must not know,” Tadhg frankly spoke. “Keep your wits about you. Stop drinking. You’re being controlled by the Earth.” He smiled. “Just a gentle reminder,” just like you say.
Cat watched Eleanor, trying not to be obvious when she chatted with the mysterious man. “Who are you communicating with? I see you talking. You can’t hide it. I know something is up. I see and I hear.”
“My goodness. You are paranoid and suspicious,” Eleanor said. “Are you always this way?”
“You would be too, if you were me.” She stared straight into Eleanor’s eyes. This time Eleanor was intimidated. She realized that Catherine could not be fooled. “My, you are power-filled for a…well, never mind…I’ve lost my train of thought.” Eleanor giggled.
“Not funny. You lost your train of thought? I doubt it. Finish your sentence. “‘You are powerful for a’ what…?’” Silence reigned between the two women after
Cat started confronting Eleanor again.
“Dear, I apologize. I don’t understand you.” Eleanor rose and began to play the victim. She manipulated Cat’s emotions by doing so. This should stop her, she thought, faking sobs as if she had been rudely treated. “I’ve never been accused of mischief or nefarious acts before,” Eleanor sniffled in order to twist the conversation back to Catherine’s dilemma.
“What? Nefarious acts or mischievousness? Oh, you’re good. Come on. This whole charade is a game of some sort, isn’t it?”, Cat asked bluntly, putting Eleanor on the spot.
“A game?”, Eleanor said with a serious, deepened voice which was frightening and threatening.
“Of course it is. Why don’t you tell me the reason for all of this—your strange arrival, the dog, food suddenly appearing out of an endless burlap sack that has to be a 100 years old? Come on; I’m not stupid. I wasn’t born yesterday. Now, tell me everything, or else!” Cat did her own threatening.
Eleanor, now sober, took a deep breath. “Everything has a time and a season, my dear. The timing is not now, but it will be very soon.” She offered a half-smile. “Let’s finish this wonderful meal, shall we?” Eleanor picked up her fork. “Eat. The food is good. Don’t waste it.” She no longer paid attention to Catherine, finishing her meal in silence.
Cat reluctantly followed suit, taking the cue from Eleanor. She sees that Eleanor is shut and closed; pushing and demanding wouldn’t go far. At the end of the meal, the candle flickered and, then, went out. A gentle rush of cold wind blew through the manor. Next, the lights went out throughout the house, and Cat scrambled to find matches, moving towards the candelabras on the dilapidated old baby grand piano in the dance room. It sat alone. This was the room where Cat danced at night with the seducers. She lit them both. Then, she carried them both back to the dining room.
“I’ll check out the power source,” Tadhg said.
“Shall we go back into the den?”, Eleanor requested. The dining room was drafty. Windows surrounded the table, and the cold air was seeping through the old frames.