Be Still, My Love

by Deborah J. Hughes

  Aah, as I suspected. I couldn’t help but wonder, though, why the owner of a fancy, expensive resort was manning the front desk herself? Up to this point, I hadn’t seen anyone else about. The quiet was rather deafening. Then I remembered there were several cars in the parking lot. I couldn’t be the only paying guest and there had to be more employees here somewhere. “I’m sorry to pry, Mrs. KcKeon …”

  “Please call me Nancy.”

  “Nancy, then. But you seem a bit upset. Is everything okay?”

  Nancy’s eyes went from startled to wary. She raised a hand to her curly ash-blond hair, cut in a short stylish fashion, and plucked at it nervously. “Everything is fine, Mrs. Schafer. One of my maids called in sick today as did one of the grounds keepers.” She lowered her voice as if to impart a confidence. “I believe they are together, which is great for them, but leaves me somewhat short-handed. Nothing to worry about though.”

  She was lying. At least in part. But why? If she didn’t want me to know, she needn’t say anything at all. After all, she owed me no explanations. “You must call me Tess.”

  Nancy smiled, looking relieved that I bought her story. Well, it would be my secret that I did not. Besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know any of her concerns right yet.

  “There is a guest book in your room that explains everything the resort has to offer. We have scheduled meals in the formal dining room for breakfast and dinner. Otherwise, you can have something sent to your cottage which, of course, has a kitchenette if you prefer to prepare meals yourself. There is a small snack area off the sitting room here in the main house where you will find baked goodies made fresh daily. Fruit and drinks are also offered.” Nancy came around the reception counter and joined me as I headed toward the door to get my suitcases. She was a couple inches taller than me; I was four inches above five feet and quite comfortable with that height. She was rail thin but in a healthy, athletic sort of way. I didn’t doubt that she played tennis regularly and used the pool often. Though still very attractive for someone in her forties, she must have been quite beautiful when she was younger. I wondered what her husband looked like. Did they have children? Why did I care?

  As soon as we started across the parking lot, I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle and turned toward the noise. A bright yellow golf cart was headed our way. Nancy waved at the young man driving it. He looked to be in his early twenties, was deeply tanned and gorgeous. “Ah, here comes Raymond. He will take your luggage to the cottage.” Raymond pulled to a stop next to my car and stood waiting for us to join him. He wore white shorts and a blue polo shirt embroidered with “Sea Willow Haven” near the right shoulder. The guy obviously worked out regularly; a body like that didn’t just happen. His longish brown hair blew about in the breeze. I stared at it for a moment and thought of Mike’s hair. It used to be that same color, only he kept his very short. Raymond flashed me a wide smile as he held out a large, long-fingered hand. “Hi, welcome to Sea Willow Haven.” I took his proffered hand with some reluctance and noticed how deathly pale my skin looked compared against his.

  “Thank you.” I met his deep blue eyes briefly. Mike had eyes like that. My heart suffered a little pierce of pain. I drew away from Raymond and concentrated on opening the trunk of my car. Once Raymond had my luggage loaded on the golf cart, he looked at me expectantly.

  “You want me to give you a ride to the cottage?”

  “I’d rather walk … take a look around. But thank you.” Raymond was to be avoided. I wasn’t up for potent male company. Although he was probably close to my age, I am twenty-five … widowed at twenty-three (how fair was that?), Raymond did not interest me. He would do better with a young female giggling over him, or maybe an older one who would appreciate him in a more mature sort of way.

  Raymond hopped in the golf cart and waved at us as he drove off. “See you around then.”

  Nancy smiled in fond exasperation as Raymond whipped the golf cart around what must be the resort’s private garage and disappeared from sight. Was he her son? She turned to me at that point and must have read the question in my eyes. “Raymond is my nephew. His mother was my sister. She and her husband died in a car crash when Ray was five.” Nancy gestured toward the direction Raymond had taken. “I’ll walk with you to the cottage, show you where it is. The closest cottage to you is rented for the whole summer … a painter, Kade Sinclair. Have you heard of him?”

  “No. What kind of pictures does he paint?” The fact that she mentioned only one name told me the guy was alone. I hoped he would not feel encouraged to approach me because I too was alone and close by.

  “Mostly dramatic landscapes. He was in the military until he was injured a couple years back. He took up painting during his long recovery and has done quite well for himself. I told him that painting was his true calling, not military strategy.” Abruptly, as if realizing she was talking about a guest, Nancy changed the subject. “The pool house is there. It has an open kitchen and sitting area. The pool is heated. You are welcome to lounge around in there … use the facilities however you wish as long as you pick up after yourself when you are done. The barbecue area is also available for your use.”

  Well, I certainly wouldn’t be using that. I didn’t do barbecues anymore. But I made no comment as we continued our walk. Nancy pointed out the tennis courts, the boathouse, the Garden Cottage (located within an extensive flower garden and currently not rented). Another cozy looking building contained a small gym and a full service spa. “The spa also does business with people outside the resort so if you’d like to utilize their services, you need to make an appointment and the cost is extra though you get a discount for being a resort guest.”

  I thought a massage would be great. I hadn’t had one in years. Three in total to be exact. The last time I went to the spa, Mike paid for it as a birthday present. I told him it was the best present a woman could get. Pleased with my reaction and also challenged by the comment, he had taken it upon himself to try and top that by coming up with more and more elaborate gifts thereafter, much to my dismay. I wasn’t that hard to please and it used to bother me that he didn’t seem to get that.

  As we continued down a gravel path toward the shore and the two cottages located there, I couldn’t help but wonder who was manning the front desk? Nancy seemed quite content to wander at leisure with me and in no hurry to get back. She also looked more relaxed now as if whatever had bothered her earlier no longer concerned her. When Nancy went silent after pointing out everything she thought might interest me, I decided to ask her a few questions. “Have you owned Sea Willow Haven long?”

  “Almost three years.” Nancy was quiet for a moment, and then as if she’d made a decision about something, she took my hand and drew me along a short path to a vine-covered gazebo. She indicated for me to have a seat and I sat. Nancy settled next to me but did not speak right away. She looked out toward the ocean, though I suspect she saw nothing of the view for she seemed quite lost in thought. I turned and looked as well, loving the sound of the waves rolling to shore and the seagulls’ sharp cries as they circled and dipped. Finally she spoke. “You read the article so you know about the supposed haunting.”

  “Yes.” My heart started pounding as a faint brush of invisible cobwebs tickled my face. My body always knew when something significant was occurring. I needed to pay close attention to this conversation.

  “I’m curious, Tess, about why you decided to come stay with us after reading that article?” Nancy’s expression hardened slightly. “If you are a reporter, I have a right to know.”

  I couldn’t have been more surprised. “A reporter? Why would you think that?”

  Nancy didn’t answer right away; she was busy analyzing my expression. “My husband and I have worked hard to put a positive spin on this whole haunting thing. A careless article could destroy that.”

  I touched Nancy’s hand and leaned toward her to emphasize my sincerity. “I assure you, Nancy, I am no reporter. This is the first
vacation I have taken from my home since my husband’s death two years ago. I will be honest and tell you that I used to have the ability to talk to those on the other side … or as I refer to them … those in the Tri-State. Since Mike’s death, I have lost that ability. I am not here to get it back, but now that I am here, I feel I was drawn to come.” I paused for just a second and then said quietly so as not to alarm her, “Souls are trapped here … I can feel them.” I have to admit that a bit of a thrill went through me at this point. My abilities were stirring back to life, finally. “But I didn’t come here because of that. I’m looking for some peace. I assure you I mean no harm to your resort.” It was the longest speech I’d given in two years. I was quite proud of it because not only did it clarify things for Nancy but it helped clarify things for myself as well.

  Nancy looked a little nonplussed. Though she visibly relaxed, I could tell there was more going on with her than what she was willing to reveal. For now, however, her thoughts were somewhat sidetracked by my revelation. Inevitably, curiosity followed. “You used to be a medium and now you are not? Why would you lose an ability like that?”

  “I don’t know why I lost it. I think because I lost my faith.” And I was angry. Anger forms a darkness so thick it obscures the truth. Oddly, though I couldn’t quite explain it, I could feel my anger dissipating. Maybe this was what I had needed all along, to get away from that house and the memories that reminded me every day what I no longer had. “I ask, Nancy, that you keep this information to yourself. Despite the fact I can no longer make contact with the Tri-State, people are always trying to get me to do so.”

  Nancy looked pleased that I had taken her into my confidence. I knew instinctively I could trust her. “I promise to keep your secret. I have only one request.” She leaned close to me, her expression more earnest than she perhaps realized. “If you happen to get your ability back while you are here and experience anything that has to do with my ghosts, I should like it very much if you’d let me know.”

  Oh yes, there was more. That article didn’t share everything. A rush of adrenalin rushed through my veins. I felt alive with excitement for the first time in two years. This vacation was going to be interesting. Very much so. I held out my hand and she took it. “Deal.”

  Looking relieved and quite pleased, Nancy stood. “Shall I take you to your cottage now?”

  “Yes, that sounds like a great idea.” As we walked the gravel path to my cottage, bypassing the short walkway to the one Mr. Sinclair rented, I couldn’t help but wonder just what the following month was going to bring. The brush of cobwebs and the invading coldness told me it was going to be vastly more interesting than the past two years.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  My cottage was small and cozy and designed with an open floor plan. The main room consisted of an efficiency kitchen, a small dining area and a sitting room. A pair of sliding glass doors in the sitting room opened to a stone paved patio facing the ocean. The dining area, separated from the kitchen by a granite-topped island counter, sported a large picture window that also faced the ocean. The bedroom was small but more than sufficient for my needs and had a tiny private bath that offered shower facilities but no tub. Nancy said garden tubs were available at the spa and my cottage key would allow me access if I was ever in the mood for a leisurely bath.

  Since satellite service was available, a small flat screen TV hung suspended in the corner of the bedroom and a larger one in the living room. I did not watch much TV but I did like to watch the morning news and catch the weather.

  After unpacking my things, I went into the kitchen and poured myself a big glass of ice water and added a flavor packet of lemonade (I loved the little flavor packets and carried a variety of them with me wherever I went) then headed out to the patio to enjoy the view and the cool ocean breeze. Patio furniture cushioned in bright yellow floral patterns beckoned. Thinking to lie back for a while and soak up some of the resort’s rather interesting atmosphere, I headed for the lounger. As I turned to sit down, I glanced over at the cottage next to mine and saw a man stretched out on his own lounger; an open book perched on his lap. He wore a pair of black shorts and a white, short-sleeved shirt that was unbuttoned and hanging open revealing a nice broad chest, lightly dusted with dark hair. His skin was tanned and toned. He was in great physical shape, though not in Raymond’s beefed up sort of way. It had to be Kade Sinclair. Curious despite myself (I didn’t really want to be checking out other men), I looked him over. Though he was very easy on the eyes, pleasing to them actually, I felt an over whelming sense of self-preservation kicking in. Kade Sinclair was to be avoided. I decided right then and there that I would not initiate a friendship with him. Even so, there was certainly no harm in covertly checking him out. His dark brown hair, longer at the top and blowing about in the breeze, was cut quite short elsewhere. Closer inspection would probably reveal it to be done in a style typical of military haircuts. He appeared to be quite tall as his feet hung slightly over the edge of the lounger. Long legs stretched before him looked tanned and muscled. The book resting on his lap made me curious. What was he reading? From the angle of his head, I could tell he wasn’t reading it at present. He was looking out at the ocean, lost in deep thought. There was something rather lonely about him. I shut off the feeling of compassion that started to rise, I was not going to involve myself with any of the people here at Sea Willow. Especially not with him. I had enough of my own concerns to keep me busy. I came here to be alone with myself and I was determined to stick to that intention.

  The man, as if suddenly aware of my scrutiny, turned his head and looked at me. I was mortified that he caught me staring. My heart pounding, I did the only thing a person in my situation could do … I waved. He waved back and suddenly I found myself under the same scrutiny to which he was just subjected. Embarrassed, I busied myself with repositioning my lounge chair. When I finally plopped myself down upon it, I was facing away from him. That should send a pretty good message. I lay back and closed my eyes against the glare of the sun and enjoyed the sea breeze across a face still hot from embarrassment. Was he still watching me? Annoyed that I was thinking about him, I took a sip of the cold lemonade and tried to relax.

  A few minutes of quiet and a story began to rattle around in my head. Though I used to write articles for several magazines and a column for newspapers concerning my clairvoyant abilities, I had never ventured into the area of fiction so it surprised me that I was thinking of one now. I used to tell Mike that I would one day write a book about my experiences but was concerned about the fact that there were so many stories of that type on the market already. Mike said there were a lot on the market because there was a demand for them and that mine would be just as interesting as those already offered. Maybe so but I never did write a book because Mike … left me … and I lost my ability. Though I highly suspected that was changing by the minute.

  The story began to form in earnest and my fingers fairly itched to write it all down. Feeling suddenly motivated, I got up and went into the cottage to fetch my laptop. Thankfully, the battery was fully charged. After setting it up on the patio table, it didn’t take long for the words to start tumbling out onto the keyboard.

  “Sarah’s first glimpse of him was from the window on the third floor turret room. Situated as she was, he looked like a small bobbing speck in a tiny boat. But he came closer into view when his boat cleared the point and entered the open waters in front of her house. An island a short distance from her private shoreline made the narrow passage difficult for large boats to pass through. His small dingy had no problem navigating through the huge boulders scattered between the island and the shoreline that edged her property. He steered the boat toward a small sandy patch on the island’s shore. She watched him land, hop out and secure the boat to a tree.

  Who was he? She had been here for almost a month and this was the first time she’d seen him. He had to be close to her age, maybe a bit older … nineteen? Twenty? How lucky for him to have
the freedom to ride alone in a boat and visit that island. She longed to explore it, as he must be doing now. More than that, she longed to have the freedom to move about as she pleased. Instead, she endured hours of loneliness during frequent banishments to locked rooms. Her father would not allow her to run free in the house when guests were visiting. He trusted no one, least of all his potential investors.

  Sarah pressed her face to the window pane and stared at the boat as it bobbed gently with the waves. The boy had disappeared into the crop of trees and though she waited and waited, he did not return. What was he doing over there? Sarah gave a forlorn sigh and wondered for the millionth time why it was she had been born to a life such as this? The worst was having no mother. Hers having died when she was five. Sarah’s memories of her were the best of her eighteen years. When her mother died, her very rich father became overly protective and possessive, going so far as to pull her out of school and hire a private tutor. She was not allowed to go anywhere without her father and when he traveled, he left her home with servants who understood she was not to leave the premises. Her every move was watched. She knew her father purchased this place here at the edge of a peninsula on the coast of Maine because it provided security and solitude.

  The boy finally came back into view. He grabbed a satchel from the boat and disappeared again into the thicket of trees. Though she sat in front of the window for the rest of the day, he did not emerge again. What was he doing over there? Was he as lonely as she was? At least he wasn’t locked in a room with nothing to do but stare out a window. How sad life was sometimes. How terribly lonely. And how utterly unfair.

  I sat back and read over what I had written then looked out at the water and the small island not far from the shoreline. It could be the very one I just wrote about in my story. I turned around and looked at the house. One of the turrets had a window on the third floor. It had a direct view of the island. I turned back to the island and inspected the shoreline. There was no small patch of sand to be seen. Trees and brush grew right up to the edges of land. Relieved at that for some reason, I saved my story and closed the laptop. Here only a few hours and I am inspired to write a book. This could be a productive visit for me after all.