Magic and Shadows: A Collection of YA Fantasy and Paranormal Romances

by T. M. Franklin

  Glancing away from the dress, she found Etta watching her expectantly.

  “Etta go.”

  “But yo’ dress…”

  “I can dress myself just fine, thanks. You deal with the coffee. I’ll be right down.”

  Etta flew from the room, pulling the door closed once she was through it. As soon as the latch snicked into place, Ariel threw back the cotton sheet and rolled out of bed. She’d come to enjoy the freedom sleeping in the buff provided. She didn’t wake up a half dozen times during the night suffocating or fighting with her twisted nightshirt. Now she only fought with the sheet.

  Pulling on the calico dress, she didn’t bother with underclothes or deodorant. She’d come back and dress properly once she dealt with whoever was at the door. Stuffing her feet into the matching blue slippers, she hurried down the stairs and across the foyer. All at once she’d remembered Etta was dressed as a Civil War era house slave. The girl wasn’t used to dealing with modern American males, either. Would she know what to say to keep the house’s secrets safe?

  The front door was closed. Etta stood just inside, the refilled coffee cup in her hand. Ariel accepted the cup at the same time she reached for the doorknob. She pulled both toward her, amazed her reflexes responded so early in the day.

  The sun blinded her as she stepped onto the porch. Turning her head, she blinked away sun spots as she pulled the door closed. Once her vision cleared, she turned back, searching for the visitor who’d upset Etta so.

  She found him lounging on the top step, surveying the yard as he drank a tall glass of water. As she moved across the porch, he rose, turning to face her. “Miss Ariel, I’m Woody Reynolds. Mr. Gaines asked me to come by and see about your yard?”

  “Yes. I didn’t expect you to come so early.” She crossed the porch and glided down the steps to join him.

  “Well, I figure if the yard’s in as bad a shape as it looked from the street last night after Mr. Gaines called me, I’d better get here early so we can get started as soon as possible.” The man shook Ariel’s hand, his palm rough from years of hard work and neglect.

  The next hour they covered every inch of the front yard. Woody Reynolds scuffed the grass, tasted the dirt and generally checked the lay of the land. As they walked, Ariel described her vision for the yard; flowerbeds, a new walkway here, rose bushes and a gazebo over there. Mr. Reynolds nodded at the appropriate places, but clearly didn’t put much value in what she was saying. Finally, he led her back to the front porch where they settled on the steps.

  “To tell you the truth, Miss Ariel, this yard is a long way from rose bushes and pretty plants. The soil is practically dead. It’s as if something has leeched all the life out of it. Before we do anything else, the soil needs to be reconditioned, brought back to life. Maybe in a year or two we can think about rose bushes and pretties.”

  “That sounds expensive,” Ariel said. She wasn’t sure how much money Miss Josephine would be willing to spend to return the yard to life.

  “Could be, but I’d cut you a break if I could document the work we do. You know, videotape it. I think I could get the local television station to help underwrite the cost if we could do a series of shows about restoring this old lady back to her former glory.”

  “Umm, that sounds like a great idea, but I’ll have to check with my boss. She’s kind of particular about how things are done.”

  “Sure, fine, no problem. Here’s my card. Talk to your boss and let me know. If I’m not there, the answering machine will pick up. But if we’re gonna do this, we need to get on it before too much longer. In fact, it may be better just to scrape off the top soil and bring in new.” Handing over his card, the landscaper pushed to his feet. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  “Yes. Thanks for coming by.”

  Ariel’s head swirled with the possibilities the man had hinted at. By allowing him to do a little publicity, the house could be famous, at least locally. Over breakfast, she explained the unusual offer to Miss Josephine.

  “Absolutely not. I will not have the house and grounds defiled by such nonsense. This is a stately old home and deserves to be treated with respect.”

  With that discourse, Ariel knew there would be no further discussion on the subject, so she decided to change tactics. “When the landscaper comes, would you like him to go into the fenced area behind the house and work on the back yard as well?”

  “No one, except those of the house, are allowed within the fenced area. Outsiders wouldn’t understand and explanations would be too difficult.” Miss Josephine’s voice echoed through the room before she stood and disappeared up the stairs to her room.

  Grinding her teeth in frustration, Ariel turned her attention to the envelope that lay beside her plate. The return address was Emily Robbins. Opening the envelope, Ariel skimmed the letter.

  It was a demand to see a current deed containing the name of a living, breathing Bradley descent. If possible, she’d like to meet the descendent in person. If this letter was not responded to promptly, the historical society would file the necessary paperwork to transfer ownership of the Bradley House and grounds to them.

  “They can’t do that!” Ariel declared. She folded the letter and jammed it back into its envelope. She would fight them. Certainly between them, she and Jeffrey Gaines would be able to quash such an attempt at outright thievery. They would discuss it at their meeting that afternoon.

  6

  Clutching the letter from the historical society in one hand and the plastic grocery bag of clothes in the other, Ariel paused in front of the solid wooden door with the gold plated nameplate that read Jeffrey Gaines, Attorney at Law.

  She was dripping wet from the high temperature and humidity after walking six blocks from the Bradley House. Hopefully, Attorney Gaines was running late so she could take a few minutes to cool down. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, wiping another drop of sweat from her temple with the back of one hand.

  As usual, luck wasn’t with her.

  Jeffrey Gaines stood beside his assistant’s desk just to the left of the doorway. He turned to face her as she stepped into the office.

  “Ariel? Are you all right?” Crossing to her side, he took her elbow, guiding her into his office. “Chris, get some water, will you?” He threw the order over his shoulder as they entered his private domain.

  “I’m all right. It’s just a very warm walk and there’s no phone at the house,” Ariel explained.

  “I’ve been after Miss Josephine for quite a while to put in a phone, but she won’t discuss it. Says it will tamper with the purity of the house. I’ll see about getting you a cell phone. That way it won’t be a bother to her, but you’ll have the convenience.” Jeffrey rounded his desk and settled in as his assistant entered with a large bottle of water and two glasses.

  “Thank you,” Ariel said. She accepted the glass and drank it down without a breath. The water's coolness race through her parched body.

  “Better?” Jeffrey asked after she wiped perspiration from her face and neck, then poured a second glass of water.

  “Yes, thank you. Before we begin, could I use your phone? I need to call Woody Reynolds about the lawn.”

  “Sure, use this phone. I’ll wait for you in the conference room next door.” Jeffrey picked up several thick folders and left her alone. He pulled the door closed as he left.

  Ariel called the number on the tattered business card Reynolds had given her. She was surprised when he answered the phone.

  “Reynolds Lawn Care.”

  “Mr. Reynolds? This is Ariel. I’m calling about the Bradley House. I spoke with my employer and I’m sorry, but she refuses to allow you to document the restoration in any way. She will be happy to give you working capital in advance if need be.” Ariel made the offer, hoping Jeffrey would agree to the expense. She had a feeling that for the betterment of the Bradley estate, he’d agree to just about anything.

  “Since it’s such a bi
g job, I’ll have to hire on some extra help. That shouldn’t take more than a couple of days. I wish I could get into that fenced area and recondition it as well. I’d hate for the front lawn to flourish and the back to continue to wither.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but I don’t expect Miss Josephine will allow that.”

  They confirmed what would be accomplished, trimming the hedge and getting the lawn back into shape. Reynolds promised to drop a contract and estimate for the advance payment by later that afternoon.

  Pushing away from the desk, she left Jeffrey’s office and joined him in the small conference room next door. She carried her water with her as well as the letter from the historical society.

  "All set? Then let's get this out of the way. Miss Josephine requested I draw up new papers in connection with the Bradley trust. She said you were to have full access to the accounts. I also wanted to make sure you were getting along all right. She can be rather difficult to work for at times."

  Ariel took a breath. Did he know there were ghosts and a young girl working as the maid? Did he know that the historical society wanted the house? So many things to ask in the next few minutes while they were filling out and signing official documents.

  "Jeffrey, I love the job and Miss Josephine, but I'm not sure I want control of anything. I'm very new to the job and haven't quite figured Miss Josephine out. If you'll continue to manage the trust, I'll be happy to work with you to keep Miss Josephine happy and safe. How can the house be part of a trust when Miss Josephine has to be eighty years old?"

  "All I can tell you is two years ago I received a letter begging me to visit Bradley house. I refused until a friend told me about the mystery surrounding the house. I received a second letter and curiosity got the better of me."

  "When I did finally show up, Miss Josephine openly admitted there were ghosts in the house and some legal challenges that would need to be worked out in the future. Since then I've taken care of all the bills surrounding the house, taxes and so forth. Once a year I meet with her to review the paperwork and renew the trust agreement. There’s enough money to take care of the needs of the house and anyone connected with it. Yesterday was only the fifth time I've ever met with her. Mostly she talked about you and the changes she wanted made in the trust."

  During the next hour, Jeffrey reviewed papers, explained their use and necessity and Ariel signed where he indicated in triplicate. Though she caught him staring at her a time or two, Ariel remained focused on the paperwork before her. The Major's demand that she not give Jeffrey ideas made her wonder how he knew there might be an attraction between them.

  Though she didn't understand the paperwork, she signed when and where he told her. If anyone came back to sue her, they wouldn't get much. She didn't own anything but the skimpy wardrobe hanging in her room.

  When the last form had been signed and separated into three piles for his assistant's convenience, they relaxed back in their chairs. "Well, you are now the principle trustee for the Bradley Family Trust. Congratulations."

  "Thank you, I think. Now I have a question. Did you know the historical society is trying to force transfer of ownership of the house? Something about a lack of a current deed. Here," she said, sliding the letter across the table.

  Jeffrey read it slowly, a glint of unholy delight came into his eyes. "I'll look into this, but she doesn't have a toe to stand on. Emily is a radical. I doubt anyone else in the society knows she's even written this letter."

  "I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't want to meet with her without knowing where I stood."

  “How about I call her? If there’s still trouble, I’ll let you know.”

  “That would be great. Thank you,” Ariel relaxed.

  "Since it's so late, how about dinner? There's a great Italian place up on Center Street. Then I'll see you home," Jeffrey rounded the table.

  "Umm, thanks, but I think I'd better just go on home. Miss Josephine will be expecting me." Ariel pushed out of her seat, suddenly wanting only to be out of the beige on beige office.

  She needed to return to the Bradley House. Back to the Major who was too autocratic and Miss Josephine who was too sweet and motherly. She needed to unravel the mysteries surrounding the house. She needed to go home.

  Jeffrey drove her in his oversized SUV. "I'm thirty years old and I'm not married, engaged or gay," he stated candidly after parking in the street right in front of the house.

  "Excuse me?" Ariel turned to stare at him, meeting warm, full of life, mud brown eyes.

  "I just wanted you to know. In case you're ever interested in getting out of here for an evening," he waved toward the house. "I don't smoke, swear and only occasionally indulge in a beer or two. The invitation to dinner will remain open. Anytime you’re interested, just give me a call."

  Ariel smiled, touched that he had laid his cards on the table. Reaching out, she touched the hand resting on the steering wheel. “I might just do that.” But he was so much older. What would they have in common?

  "Soon, I hope."

  "Soon," she said, "thanks for the ride home."

  She climbed from his truck and crossed the yard, listening as he backed out and drove away. So, "that lawyer fella" was interested, just as the Major had predicted.

  Stepping onto the porch, she took a deep breath to strengthen her backbone. She had to push Miss Josephine for the answers.

  After dinner that evening, the strict confinements placed on her position as caretaker shredded the last of her dwindling patience when Miss Josephine refused to show her the locked rooms. “How am I supposed to do my job properly when I am only allowed access to half the house? When will I be allowed into the rooms across the back of the house and into the back yard?”

  "Child, you seem to be the one we've been looking for, but the secrets might challenge even a broad-minded young person such as yourself. I know we've asked a lot of you, but we need to be absolutely sure. The grounds inside the fence and the rooms across the back of the house must remain a mystery for a while longer." Miss Josephine's voice trailed off into silence as it always did just before she retired to her room.

  Ariel silently cursed as Miss Josephine toddled up the stairs. She had to be as crazy as the old lady. Not because she believed in the ghosts, but because she was trying to be patient in order to allow Miss Josephine to grow comfortable with her. She needed to bring out the picture from the jewelry box and ask the old woman about it. She might know the story behind the necklace as well.

  She was so frustrated she could scream. Instead of following Miss Josephine and demanding her curiosity be satisfied, Ariel picked up the book she'd found on the table in the hall. It was about the Revolutionary War, written by a patriot who'd survived it.

  Once she’d finished her chores the next day, Ariel settled on the veranda with a glass of mint tea and another book that appeared on the table. This one was a period romance written and published in 1848. Perhaps one of Miss Anna's favorites?

  Three days later Woody Reynolds showed up with two men in his truck. The temperature rose into the 90s by late morning and every time Ariel looked outside, someone was drinking from the five gallon cooler strapped to the back of the truck in which they'd arrived.

  She half expected Reynolds himself to knock on the front door and ask to refill the water cooler. When the knock came, she was surprised to find John Robards standing on the porch.

  His T-shirt and jeans were plastered to him and his hair was matted to his head, wet with sweat. Dust covered him from head to toe, caked to his clothes and skin. He held the large water cooler in one blister-covered hand as he studied the work damage to his other palm.

  His appearance shocked her. He'd always claimed he was too smart, too polished, and too well bred to be a common laborer. But here he was working for a landscaper. Meeting her startled gaze, his own eyes narrowed.

  Without a word, he pushed past her, stepping into the foyer. Dust and mud-balls fell to the carpet in his wake. He glanced around
the room, taking in antiques and well preserved knick-knacks. Was he planning to come back to rob the place? He wouldn’t see the historical value of the house or its contents, just the money the antiques would bring in when they were sold off.

  "So, this is where you're hanging out. Quite a place." He sneered, turning to face her.

  Looking her up and down, he was surprised by the long yellow dress and matching ballet-like slippers she wore. The outfit was cool and comfortable. It was becoming one of her favorites even though it was more than a century and a half out of date.

  "What do you want, John?" She followed him as he made a circuit through the living room, the dining room and back to the main hallway.

  "What I want we can find upstairs, but I suppose that's out of the question since you’re dressed like a prim Victorian maid."

  "I live here. I work here. Your job is outside." She wanted to scream for help, but there was no one to answer her. She couldn't expect Miss Josephine to come to her rescue. As usual, the old woman had retired right after breakfast. Etta had also disappeared after waking her when the men had arrived. The Major was a ghost. He was of no use at all, or was he?

  "I've heard stories about this being a haunted house. Is it?" John leaned forward, staring up the stairs as if he expected a phantom to appear.

  "Yes, there are ghosts here," she admitted, knowing he wouldn't believe her.

  "Right, babe. If you’ll fill this up, I'll leave you to your ghosts and get back to work. Anytime you need a real man, or you're ready to leave and go back to Asheville, let me know. I'll be around." He handed over the water jug and leaned too casually against the banister.

  Ariel carried the large plastic cooler through the dining room. As she approached the kitchen door, she wondered whether or not the door would open to let her enter the kitchen. How would she explain that she wasn’t allowed past the door?