Be Still, My Love

by Deborah J. Hughes

  I still found myself wanting to scoot across the seat and sit close to Kade. Talking about Carter made me uncomfortable. “I’m quite curious about that myself. Do you think he knows where Carter is?”

  “I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.” Kade flashed me a curious look. “So what sort of vibe are you getting about all this?”

  “I think Carter is an important piece of the puzzle. I feel it every time we say his name.” Even now my heart was racing. So what did it mean? Did Carter help Abigail sneak out of the house to be with Nathan? Did he know they were planning on running away together? Would he have done something to stop it? God, I felt like I was so close to the answer. So close it teased and nagged at my emotional frequencies.

  “I’ll do some more research on it tomorrow,” Kade said. “There is bound to be something on record at the town office. I’ll ask around, do a bit more sleuthing. Hopefully, by this time tomorrow, we’ll know what role Carter played in the Abigail/Nathan tragedy.”

  The remainder of the short ride back to the resort was done in a comfortable silence. I made plans to spend the evening in my new room meditating, and Kade, I was sure, was mapping out a strategy for tomorrow’s sleuthing spree. I liked this partnership we’d formed. We worked well together. I couldn’t help but wonder as we pulled into the resort’s parking lot, where this was going to lead the two of us? And as I stepped out of the car and felt a chill race along my spine, I wondered if maybe we were working too well together. I had a very distinct feeling that someone wasn’t going to like that very well. Be it a ghost or a physical being, either way, I wasn’t too sure the outcome would bode well for either of us. And that had me really worried.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Kade and I parted ways once we returned to the resort. He headed to the office to fill Nancy in on what we’d learned and I went to my new room and settled myself in. Most of my belongings remained at the cottage, for the plan was that I would just sleep in the main building until the haunting crisis was over. I think my presence here gave Nancy a sense of security although I was beginning to believe it was my presence that was creating some of the stir. In a way, Modesta had it right. Just not in the malicious way in which she meant.

  Once I put away my clothes and toiletries, I sat cross-legged on the thick gold carpeting and meditated for about half an hour. I had asked Nancy to put me in the room that used to be Abigail’s for I thought that might help me strengthen my connection to her. Other than the large mirrored dresser, though, none of the items in the room had been in the house when she lived here. Nancy had acquired most of the pieces from antique auctions and markets located all over the state. Maine, she told me, had a high concentration of antique dealers and lured many enthusiastic collectors to the state. The white wrought iron bed was a delightful piece sporting flowers, vines and fancy designs on both the head and foot boards. All the furniture in this room looked of high quality antique though I didn’t know much about such things. What I did know was that I felt comfortable here, relaxed. Abigail’s energy was faint and the atmosphere serene. Quiet. Just what I needed to keep my awareness at optimum levels.

  When I arrived in the dining room for dinner, the table was quite crowded. The Rosens had checked out early that morning and I surmised the new guests sitting next to Kade were the ones who had heard all the commotion in the turret room. They looked to be in their mid-forties. The woman was tall and slender, deeply tanned, and her short straight hair bleached a white blond. She was probably very pretty in her younger years but all the hours in the sun were taking their toll. She looked quite animated when I walked in and the people who had checked in the night before were hanging on her every word. Her husband looked to be quite tall as well. He was built in a solid, stocky way, very robust and in obvious good health. He had sandy blond hair that was beginning to turn gray and dark blue eyes heavily lined at their corners with crow’s feet. He probably squinted a lot in the sun. I would bet anything he was a sailor. They both turned in my direction when I walked in the room and their eyes followed me with interest as I made my way to the empty chair next to Nancy and across from them.

  The woman gave me a friendly smile and a welcome wave. “Hello! My name is Eve. This is my husband Harry. You must be Tess. We’ve heard a lot about you from Modesta.” Her pale brown eyes narrowed with anticipation as she waited for me to say something.

  Just what had Modesta told them? I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be very pleased with the answer. Beside me, I felt Nancy tense and when I glanced at her, I saw that she was not happy with her front-desk employee. Modesta’s dark eyes challenged me to say something when I looked over at her and I sighed silently. Best to just deal with this situation as best I could and not worry about confronting the woman. It would only make her more hostile and I would rather not feed the fire. “Yes, I am Tess. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Eve regarded me with open fascination and leaned forward in her seat. “So do you really talk to ghosts?”

  Harry elbowed his wife as he shot me an apologetic glance. “She might not want to discuss it at the dinner table, dearest.”

  I met Kade’s sympathetic gaze and smiled to let him know that it was okay. The proverbial cat would have been let loose from the bag eventually anyway. Raymond entered the room at that point momentarily diverting Eve’s attention when she turned to eye him appreciatively. He gave a friendly nod to everyone and sat down on the other side of Nancy and to Jack’s right.

  Eve, finished with her close examination of Raymond’s body, pulled her gaze away and met my watchful eyes. She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows to let me know that she approved of what she saw and didn’t mind in the least that I had noticed her looking. Being married, it seemed, didn’t matter when it came to admiring the opposite sex. Harry had to have noticed his wife’s admiring glance in Raymond’s direction but he didn’t seem to mind. They must have a pretty solid relationship, or a very open one.

  Eve’s smile widened and she leaned toward me in a show of complete interest. To the exclusion, even, of Raymond. Her smile was quite friendly and somewhat infectious and I found myself returning it. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Tess. But I am fascinated with the supernatural.” She glanced around the table. “Did anyone else hear all the ghost activity up in that tower room?”

  “It’s not a tower, dearest, it’s a turret. I told you that this morning.” With an amused chuckle, Harry affectionately rubbed his wife’s back.

  Eve patted his arm. “Whatever.” She was not going to let the subject drop, her gaze remained fixed on me. “So have you talked to the ghosts yet?”

  The table went very quiet. I took a sip of my water and wished that George would hurry up and send in the first course. “Not really.”

  Eve’s excited gaze fell a little in disappointment. “Oh. Well, you should keep trying. They are quite noisy.”

  “So how was your trip to Bucksport?” Nancy asked them in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

  Harry was just about to take a sip of his wine but lowered his glass and answered the question before Eve did. “Great. Your directions were spot on. We found that gravestone. Took some pictures of it.”

  Eve nodded enthusiastically. “Have you gone there yet, Tess? Maybe you would be able to make contact with that witch.”

  I looked at Nancy to see if she would explain what they were talking about. “What is this Bucksport place?”

  It was Modesta who answered my question. “Bucksport is a small town located on the Penobscot River. It was founded by a man named Jonathan Buck who was cursed by a witch. When he died, her foot appeared on his gravestone.”

  Eve waved a hand as if to indicate that Modesta didn’t have it all right. “I talked to one of the locals about the gravestone and they told me that Jonathan Buck was having an affair with a witch and when she threatened to expose their relationship, he had her burned for witchcraft. At her death, she cursed his family saying she would stomp
on his grave. She said his heart would always belong to her.” She looked at me to explain further. “There is also a heart marked on the stone.”

  Modesta rolled her eyes and pressed her lips together. Luckily, the only ones to witness her disdain were Kade and I.

  Nancy frowned in response to Eve’s explanation. “I don’t recall that being the story at all. From what I understand, no witches were ever burned in this state. One was hanged, I think. I’m pretty sure that’s what I was told by someone well versed in Maine history.”

  Raymond decided to join in the conversation at this point. “From what I heard, he had this witch put to death and she cursed him but I never heard anything about him having an affair with her. I think people like to embellish the story to make it more interesting.”

  Jack nodded in agreement. “I don’t think anyone really knows the true story. It is probably just coincidental that a mark appeared on his gravestone that sort of resembled a boot or a heart.”

  Eve shook her head in adamant disagreement. “The stone was replaced a couple of times. The family even tried to chisel the markings off. But they always reappeared. That has nothing to do with coincidence.” She glanced at me for support. “There must be some truth to it wouldn’t you say? Stories like that don’t just happen. Something had to have occurred to spur the story in the first place.”

  Eve was not just a tourist enthralled with a town legend. She appeared to be taking the whole thing somewhat seriously and she did make a fine point. Legends started from something. I was curious, though, about this grave and felt a compelling urge to go see it myself. Maybe after I left Sea Willow, I would make a stopover in this Bucksport town and check it out. After all, I had no reason to be rushing home. No animals, no plants. My friends would understand.

  I could feel Kade’s eyes boring into me and met his gaze in inquiry. He shook his head as if to say I was crazy to go getting mixed up in anything else. I merely smiled at him in response. Unable to look away, we continued to stare at each other for several long moments. Then someone coughed and realizing that others were watching us curiously, I raised my glass to my lips and held it there a little longer than necessary hoping it would cover the embarrassed heat I could feel flooding my face. Luckily, the two women who helped serve meals entered the dining room just then with our salads. Momentarily distracted, everyone accepted their salads, gave their choice of dressing and then reached for the fresh dinner rolls that had also been set on the table.

  The conversation, though, was eventually picked back up again by Eve. “So what do you think about this witch legend in Bucksport, Tess? Do you think it is just a story or do you think it has some substance to it?”

  “As you say, Eve, every story started from something. It could have been something as simple as a mark appearing on a stone. From that a story was created.”

  “But what about the fact that the stone has been replaced twice?” Eve argued. “It was even chiseled clean, but the marks have always reappeared?”

  She was annoyingly persistent. “Maybe that part of the story is made up?”

  Raymond had just stuffed part of a roll into his mouth and had to quickly swallow it to contribute to the conversation. “No, I’m pretty sure that part is true. In every variation of the story, that aspect is always consistent.”

  It was an intriguing story and worth looking into. Making a snap decision, I decided I would make plans to stay in Bucksport for a few days after leaving Sea Willow Haven. Who knows, maybe I’d solve another mystery. Not that I’d solved any at this point. But that was going to change. I was pretty sure of it.

  Jack spoke up just then and managed to steer the conversation into safer topics that included the weather and local cuisine. We even had a friendly discussion about the state of the economy, which I found quite an unusual occurrence. Discussions of that sort usually became unpleasant. At least, that was my experience. As for me, I always made it a point not to get sucked into talking about politics. I especially didn’t discuss religion. Opinions on either subject were too close to a person’s emotional body and could easily spark heated reactions. I found it best more often than not to keep mum about my take on those particular subjects. Voicing my opinions made them susceptible to argument and I hated to argue.

  The lasagna was delicious as was everything that George made and then dessert was brought out. Hot apple pie. As soon as I saw it, my heart started pounding. Hadn’t the menu said blueberry pie?

  “George’s specialty is apple pie,” Nancy said as our dessert was placed before us. She then turned toward me, saw my face and went still. Giving a covert glance around the table to be sure no one was paying us any attention she leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “What’s wrong?”

  I didn’t want to go into a lengthy discussion about the importance of symbols and how the universe used such things to help us along. Apples were symbolic for something, and once I knew what they represented, I was going to be in a better position to help Abigail and Nathan. I was sure of it. “I don’t know. I guess I’m still thinking about that jar of apples that broke down in the basement.” My brain was screaming that nothing was coincidental. I was being served apple pie after dreaming about it. It wasn’t a premonition, it was a warning.

  * * *

  As soon as I could reasonably do so, I excused myself from the table and headed for my room. I needed to be alone for a while so I could figure a few things out. The apple pie clues had me stumped, stymied in ambiguity, and that really bothered me. I felt clueless and stupid. Why didn’t I get it? Surely the answer would come to me if I just gave it a little time? Hence, my escape from the dining room before giving Kade or Nancy a chance to waylay me.

  However, as I entered the upstairs hall, I noticed the door to the turret room stairwell stood open. Unable to resist the pull, I headed for it. Muffled noises came from the room above and before I could think about it, I started cautiously up the winding stairs. Though I didn’t really expect to see ghostly activity in full swing, I did feel a heightened sense of alert, so was rather surprised to discover the noises were none other than Hank cleaning up the mess.

  He glanced up when I appeared at the top of the stairs and shook his head as he indicated the destruction around him. “Can’t imagine who could have done this.”

  So, he obviously didn’t believe the ghosts were responsible. “You don’t think it was Abigail or Nathan?”

  Hank paused from cramming the sofa stuffing scattered everywhere into a big green plastic bag and looked at me in surprise. “Do you really think a ghost did this?” He waved a hand at the mess around him, his expression one of incredulity.

  “I don’t know what to believe, Hank.”

  He nodded as if he understood and continued with his clean up. “I don’t buy into all that craziness myself. No, whoever did this is just carrying on scare tactics.”

  Curious, I stepped further into the room. “Why would someone want to do that?”

  Hank shrugged. “Heck if I know, little lady. I wouldn’t worry your pretty head about it, though. No harm was really done other than to the furniture.”

  I knelt next to him and helped gather all the bits of stuffing pieces torn from the sofa cushions. “The door was locked. No one could have gotten up here.”

  Hank gave a thoughtful nod and stood up, watching as I finished the task of cleaning up the sofa debris. “Maybe they have a key.” He walked over to the rocking chair lying on its side in the middle of the room and knelt before it. Shaking his head as if sorry to see the damage he glanced over and met my eyes. “What do you think? Should we save it or should I toss it?”

  It was Abigail’s chair. There were so few items left that had belonged to her. “Save it.”

  Hank’s pale blue eyes met mine in understanding. “I’ll have to tighten the screws and maybe apply some wood glue but reckon it can be fixed well enough.” He straightened and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll have to get my tools and see what I can do.”

&nbs
p; I started to walk over to where he stood so I could look at the chair myself but went completely still when a cold shiver surged along my spine. Though I hadn’t noticed it at first, I was now quite aware that the room temperature was cold. Hank didn’t seem to notice. But then, he wasn’t sensitive to this sort of thing. Should I tell him something was about? Would he believe me? I doubted it.

  “How was dinner? George makes a wicked good lasagna.” He grabbed a broom and swept up the shattered glass from the broken picture frames.

  “The lasagna was delicious.” I watched him for a moment, distracted by the undercurrents beginning to overtake the room. “We had apple pie for dessert.”

  Hank glanced up, his bushy brows raised in surprise. “Really? Well, how about that. Apple pie is my absolute favorite. George makes a wicked good apple pie, that he does.” Hank dumped the broken glass into the garbage bag.

  “Hank, did you know that George used to work here when Abigail was alive?”

  Hank tied the garbage bag, set it aside then turned to look at me, his eyes squinting as if trying to pull a distant memory to mind. “I think I do recall that, yes.”

  “Didn’t you live here in Poke Harbor at the time as well, Hank?”

  Hank’s expression became guarded and that had me curious. “I arrived in town the same time as he did … think I was about seventeen. He didn’t work here long, though.”

  “He got fired and went to work somewhere in Bar Harbor.”

  Hank propped the broom against the wall, set the dustpan beside it and then bowed his head as if thinking hard. “That’s right, now I think of it. Mr. Quartermaine didn’t like George. He had a thing for Abigail as I remember. But then, most of us did.”

  “Us?”

  Hank grinned and pushed his Red Sox ball cap further up his forehead. “She was really pretty.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “Sure. Most everyone knows everyone around here.”

  “Did you work here too, Hank?” Should I be pursuing this conversation without Kade? After all, we were in this together. A team.