Rosemary's Ghosts (Tess Schafer-Medium)

by Deborah J. Hughes

  Kade and I were perfectly suited. He wasn’t ashamed of my supernatural abilities. Mike, on the other hand, was never comfortable with it. In fact, Kade sometimes connected to the spirit world through his art! Aside from that, though, his drawings and paintings were getting rave reviews in the art world. Yeah, I was pretty proud of him and most honored to be his love.

  As I paddled along, skimming across the calm lake surface, I let thoughts filter through my mind that I usually shied away from. I didn’t mean any disrespect to Mike but I now wondered if he’d lived … how long would it have continued, that ideal life of ours? I could only have denied my interests, thus hiding my true self, for just so long. Mike and I only had three short years together. We didn’t have enough time for the problems between us to escalate into something we couldn’t ignore. That was mostly because of my sacrifices not his. It was me who had given in to his wishes and not, definitely not, the other way around. I was getting uncomfortable with that towards the end however. I have no doubt that some of my grief was remorse for feeling resentful toward him for not letting me be open about my ability. He didn’t want his family or his colleagues to know. Though annoyed, I honored his requests to keep that part of myself a secret. He was a gifted lawyer, very talented, his mind sharp and quick. I wanted to do nothing to hinder his climb up the career ladder. And look where it got him. He was dead. Killed by a drunk driver of all things. Life could be pretty cruel sometimes.

  A pair of ducks startled me as they suddenly took flight from my path and I pulled from my thoughts to look around. Truly, what I needed to do was stop mulling over the past and enjoy the day. It was such a magnificent one, after all. The water was so clear, it seemed like I was floating through the sky. In fact, it was so pretty I was thinking about pulling out my cell phone to take a picture when I noticed a small island up ahead. Although it wasn't very big, it was more than ample for the cabin nestled upon it.

  My curiosity pricked, I turned my kayak toward the island and paddled with a little more enthusiasm. How wonderful it must be to have an island to one's self. As I got a little closer, I noticed a short sagging wharf jutting out from a tiny sandy beach. There was a lawn of sorts (I say that because it looked like it could use a serious mowing) and the cabin stood on what was probably the flattest point of the island because the land behind it rose to a small hill. A good majority of the shoreline was littered with rocks and boulders of all shapes and sizes while trees and shrubs grew amongst them. In fact the trees leaned out over the water in some places.

  I turned my attention to the rustic one-story cabin built about 20 yards from the shore and wondered if anyone lived there. The thought no sooner flitted through my mind when a woman stepped out onto the porch.

  She lifted her hands to shield her eyes from the sun’s strong glare and looked toward me for a moment before stepping off the porch and hurrying across the lawn. I stopped paddling and watched her, wondering if she was upset that I was checking out her property. Then she stepped onto the wharf and ran to the end of it. The warped planks wobbled beneath her and I held my breath in concern that she’d fall into the water. Although she didn’t look all that old, maybe in her forties, she seemed fragile even from here. Feeling awkward at being caught staring, I started to turn my kayak when she began waving madly and started jumping up and down. The wharf wobbled even more and I mentally sent out an alarmed plea for her to stop.

  She obviously wanted me to come closer and although I had some serious flutters of alarm clanging through my body, I put my paddles in the water and headed her way.

  Once I was close enough to hear her, she waved her hand even more frantically. “Oh please, please come help me!”

  Help her? Trepidation zipped through me so fast that I broke out in goose bumps. What now? What was I letting myself in for? Despite my alarm, I couldn’t ignore a plea for help. “Are you okay?” I was now only a few feet from the wharf and she motioned for me to come to shore.

  “No, I’m not. I’m so glad you are here. I was so scared I didn’t know what to do and then I looked out the window and there you were.” The woman again waved me toward her small beach area. “Please.”

  I couldn’t refuse her and yet I knew as I felt the ground grate against my kayak that I was heading into something requiring caution on my part. I stepped out of the kayak and just as I pulled it onto the small patch of sand, a cloud blocked the sun. Suddenly the island was in shadow. A shiver ran up my spine and into my scalp. Once I was sure my kayak was all the way out of the water, I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer. It sure couldn’t hurt to ask for some protection and ensure my guardian angels stayed close at hand.

  “Thank you so much for coming in. I can see you aren’t very sure about it. I don’t blame you.”

  I smiled at the woman, hoping I was adequately hiding my apprehension. She was taller than me by a couple inches but much thinner. Her features were gaunt, her eyes shadowed and almost sunken in. Was she ill? “Is something wrong?”

  The woman nodded and turned to look toward the cabin. I did the same. It didn’t appear sinister and I didn’t get a feeling of evil but something wasn’t quite right. The whole island reeked of paranormal activity. Not that it had a particular smell really, but it was different here. The air was cooler and the earthly scents more pronounced.

  “I’m being haunted by ghosts. Most of the time I just ignore them but just before I looked out the window and saw you, they went crazy on me.” She turned back to look at me and her eyes were dark with fear. “My name is Rosemary.”

  “I’m Tess.” Since I wanted to put her at ease, I said quietly, “The ghosts might have been reacting to me. I’m a medium.”

  Rosemary’s eyes, a strange light hazel in color, widened in surprise. “Oh my.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or disturbed by my announcement but since she didn’t wave me back into the kayak, I assumed I was still welcome. Obviously she didn't think I was going to add to her problems so that was a good thing. “What do you mean the ghosts went crazy?” I shook off my life vest and dug out my cell phone, sticking it in my jeans pocket. When Rosemary didn't answer, I looked up to find her patiently waiting for me to join her.

  “Come on up to the cabin. I just made some tea. Do you drink tea?” She beckoned me to follow her and started across the overgrown lawn.

  A row of piled rocks separated the sandy shoreline from the overgrown lawn and just as I started to climb over them someone whispered directly into my ear.

  “Leave now!”

  It startled me so much I jumped and lost my footing. My arms flailing madly to regain balance, I heard Rosemary's shout of alarm as I went over backwards, landing on the rocks and smacking my head. A searing pain speared through my brain then everything went black.

  “Oh no, oh no, no, no!”

  Rosemary’s high pitched voice, babbling on with panic, pulled me back to my senses and I focused on it until I was conscious enough to take an inventory of my injuries. The back of my head hurt like hell and I knew my back was going to be feeling it later but near as I could tell, nothing was too seriously damaged. My biggest concern was being unconscious and vulnerable to the spirit who obviously resented my intrusion. It was that thought that made me open my eyes and blink up at Rosemary’s pale, worried face.

  “I’m okay. Hit my head pretty hard and saw stars for a second but I’m okay.” I lifted my hand to her and she grasped it in a surprisingly firm grip, helping me up with no trouble at all. Her fingers, I noted, were long and bony, her knuckles red and swollen. Even so, she had more strength than I would have given her credit for. This was a woman who lived a hard life. She might look fragile, but she was a fighter.

  “Oh my dear, I am so sorry.” Rosemary wrung her hands before moving them to worry the buttons on her pale blue sweater. As I took note of her fidgeting fingers, I could see the buttons were quite worn. This poor woman worried a lot. Not surprising if she had voices suddenly whispering in her ear! Even for
me it was startling.

  I gingerly felt around the back of my head and was quite relieved to not find any blood. Just a hard knock but boy did it hurt! Since Rosemary was watching me carefully, the worry in her eyes deepening, I waved a hand to dispel some of her concern. “No blood, just a bump. Maybe … do you have any ice?”

  Rosemary grabbed my hand and gently tugged. “Come with me up to the cabin. I have tea.”

  Okay, well, tea would work too. Rosemary dropped my hand once she realized I was going to take her up on her offer, a small excited smile flitting briefly across a face that didn't do much smiling. Though she moved in unhurried steps (she was wearing a pair of blue terrycloth slippers), she still made it to the porch well before I did for my poor backside was protesting movement. By tomorrow I was going to be black and blue. “How long have you lived here, Rosemary?”

  “Many years.” She took my hand again and helped me up the three steps to her front porch. Although the decking was weather worn, it looked quite sturdy. The railings surrounding it, however, were badly warped and the roof above sagged in the center. There were windows on either side of the door, both open to the great weather, and white lace curtains fluttered in the light breeze, blocking the view to the inside. “It used to belong to my grandfather. It was his little getaway for fishing. When my daughter ... well, it came to a point that I didn’t want to stay in town anymore so I came here.”

  I stepped into an open room that was rather charming in its own way. A large braided rug covered the floor in the living room portion of the L-shaped floor plan. A cute pot-bellied wood stove was against the left wall and set around it was a cozy looking rocking chair with green cushions, a small faded green sofa and a big stuffed chair. The right side of the room was the dining area. A pretty knotty-pine dining set took up most of the floor space there. An antique hurricane lamp sat center stage on the table, complimenting the scene quite nicely. Pictures hung on the walls, most all of them of a pretty blond girl at various stages of life.

  “That’s my daughter Grace. She comes every day to bring me groceries and whatever I need.”

  “She’s very pretty.” I turned from the pictures and caught a shadow flit across Rosemary's face. She met my gaze, smiled, and waved a hand for me to continue with my visual tour. Confident I’d get the full story of Rosemary’s situation later, I let it go and did as she wanted me to do.

  The kitchen looked old fashioned and charming. The stove was made of cast iron and parts of it were covered in white porcelain. Its cooking top was smooth like a griddle and it had a shelf above it where Rosemary stored her pots and pans. A sizable butcher block stood in the center of the floor space, serving as both a work station to prepare food and a place to store items for there were several shelves and drawers beneath it. The sink was similar to the stove … cast iron covered with white porcelain. The refrigerator was old, a classic for sure, but in good shape. I didn’t see any indication that there was electricity so I looked at Rosemary for explanation. “Is there power here?”

  Rosemary shook her head. “No. The stove and fridge work on propane. Grace installed a propane heater in here and my bedroom but I mostly use the wood stove and the kitchen stove to heat the cabin. It’s quite small so it doesn’t take much to warm it up.”

  Straight across from the front door was the entrance to Rosemary’s bedroom. The door stood open revealing a bed covered with a homemade quilt and another braided rug on the floor. There was a bookcase on the other side of the bed full of books and more shelves lined with them in the living room. Obviously Rosemary kept herself occupied by reading. Still, much as I loved to read myself, I couldn’t imagine not having anything else to do. No television? No computer? I could do that for a short period of time but Rosemary said she’d lived here for years. Why? Why isolate herself like this?

  “You have a charming home, Rosemary. But don’t you get lonely?”

  Rosemary crossed over to the wood stove and lifted a teakettle from its surface, using a hot pad to handle it. She carried it to the kitchen and pulled two ceramic mugs from the cupboard above the sink. “No. I came here to get away from people so I sure as heck don’t miss them.”

  Now I was definitely intrigued. She steeped our teabags in hot water and opened a tin containing sugar. “Do you take sugar and cream with your tea?”

  “Yes, please.” While Rosemary was busy with her task, I turned away and glanced around the room. Only this time I put out psychic feelers hoping to detect any unseen guests that might be lurking about. Whoever it was that startled me, causing my fall, he wasn’t friendly and did not want me here. Whether he intended for me to fall or not didn’t matter. Although the tender spot on the back of my head was easing up to just a mild annoyance, it still bothered me that I was hurt from the encounter. One thing was for certain, I needed to proceed with caution from this point on.

  “Here you go, my dear.” Rosemary handed me a steaming mug, motioning for me to follow her into the living room where she settled in the rocking chair.

  I chose the easy chair, finding the cushioning worn but comfortable and sank back against it with a sigh of relief. My aching backside needed a rest and this chair was perfect for my needs. We sipped our tea in silence and I took the time to covertly study Rosemary's profile. Perhaps I could detect her aura and thus acquire a sense of her emotional state. Though I couldn’t see auras, I was often aware of them, or could be if I concentrated enough. Rosemary looked tired, wore down with a heavy heart and certainly bitterness coated her emotions.

  “Have you any family besides your daughter?” Was Grace the only person Rosemary had contact with? I knew there were people who lived a hermit-like existence but I never met one before. I was most curious about it. How did one go on so long with minimal human contact?

  “No.” Rosemary’s eyes clouded with pain and she shifted her gaze toward the window, staring blindly, her thoughts, no doubt, crowded with memories. She said nothing else for the longest time and I found that it was best sometimes not to push it when asking questions. Most people, even hermits, liked to talk. After all, Rosemary lured me here, she had to have wanted my company.

  After a few more quiet moments Rosemary heaved a sigh and pushed her long, mostly-gray hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ears. “I have not had the best of lives, Tess. It’s made me retreat from the world and really it’s best this way. I am much nicer to myself than what I’ve experienced from others.”

  “Tell me.” I spoke gently, sensing she needed to talk. It wasn’t healthy to bottle up so much emotion. Talking relieved the pressure. Rosemary was fairly bursting with the need to vent.

  “My parents were poor and really, looking back on it … I can’t figure why my mother married my father. He was an abusive man. He drank heavily and was mean when he did. He worked at the town dump, bulldozing garbage and whatever else needed done.” Rosemary waved a vague hand as if none of that was important. “Most everything in our tiny little house was salvaged from the dump.” She gave me a wry smile. “It’s amazing what people throw away.” After taking a sip of tea and savoring it for a moment, Rosemary went on with her story. “He often came home stinking like the garbage he worked with. I don’t know how my mother withstood it.” Rosemary gave a shiver and looked at me. “Can you imagine?”

  I shook my head. “No. But someone has to do those kinds of jobs.”

  Rosemary looked down into her cup and studied the surface of her tea as if scrying for her future. “Yes, you are so right but it is how you carry out your work that defines you as a person. Not what you do … but how you do it that matters. My father was a rude, crude and obnoxious man. He wore my mother down. She worked hard as a cleaning lady at the Tenney House when it was still a hotel. She worked long hard hours and then came home to do everything there as well. He expected her to wait on him hand and foot and he appreciated nothing she did.” Rosemary shook her head in sympathetic remembrance. “I sometimes think my mother died so young just to escape her lif
e.”

  “How did she die?”

  “I don’t know. I was only eight at the time and all I remember is that she got sick and withered away.” Rosemary’s eyes narrowed to slits as more unpleasant memories filled her head. “That left me alone with him.” She looked at me with bright, angry eyes. “I hated him. My own father and I hated him.”

  Tense and unsettled, I stared back at Rosemary, knowing the story was going to get even more unpleasant. “Did he abuse you, Rosemary?” I did not like hearing stories of abuse but I knew Rosemary needed to talk and the only way to relieve the pressure of the anger boiling within her was to let her do so.

  “He did. In ways I don’t even want to discuss.”

  I felt physically ill and set down my cup. No wonder Rosemary wanted to live out here on this isolated island all by herself. “I’m so sorry, Rosemary.”

  Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her pale cheeks. She brushed them away with annoyance. “I cry for the little girl that I was and not for the monster that was my father.” She too set down her tea. “There was no one to help me. No one to save me though I prayed for it night after night. I wanted to die too and be with my mama.”

  Rosemary yanked a handkerchief out of her sweater pocket, wiped at her eyes, blew her nose then twisted it into a knot, holding it so tight her knuckles turned white. “Death did not come but he always did.” She drew in a shaky breath then glanced my way, meeting my eyes for a brief moment before turning her gaze back to the window. It faced the side of the cabin offering a view of the woods thick with pine and fir trees.

  “When I was fourteen, I ran away from home and hid from him. Not long after that, he fell from his bulldozer at work … drunk as a skunk … and broke his fool head open. They said he died instantly and I always wished he’d lived a while in order to suffer the way he made me and my mama suffer.”

  “I’m so sorry, Rosemary.”