Talitha

by Rachael Rawlings

  But Claire knew there had been so much more to it. The question was, while she had been hearing the noises from above, had Edwards heard them too? Had he been the source? And why hadn’t he responded when she had called upstairs to John? And after that, when the noises fairly shook the house, where was he then? Obviously, he must have been close to the library in order to slip in there unseen while she was in the parlor. But the house was a maze of staircases and back entrances, not to mention any of the possible hidden tunnels or passageways that often characterized houses of this age. It made her feel a little sick. If someone wanted to fool her, they certainly had enough opportunities. But what reason was there for anyone to pretend, to orchestrate, a haunting in the house?

  Charles continued to look from one, then another, trying to read their expressions. John had paused from his search for food and was also watching them with interest.

  "When I dropped Mr. Edwards off the house was quiet, so I assumed you were all out for the afternoon. He said he was going straight up to his room, so I just left. He didn't look particularly well, so I guessed he was going to lie down." He paused and looked at Claire. "You haven't seen him?"

  "No," Noel interrupted. “Claire was resting. She had a little fall earlier today and bumped her head.”

  "We were out at my house,” Ben volunteered, referring to himself and Noel.

  “Well, if you happen to see him, can you let him know I’m here?” Charles turned away to leave the kitchen and then turned back, suddenly recalling his manners. “Oh, Claire, are you all right? It was rude of me not to ask.”

  “I’m fine. Really. And we’ll let Mr. Edwards know you’re here as soon as he shows up.”

  Charles looked like he might ask more questions, but seemed preoccupied. Claire guessed he was thinking of the upcoming meeting. He disappeared into the office, and Claire lowered her head to hide her expression. It seemed evident that if Cole Edwards wasn't the man in the library, he had to have seen or heard something. Perhaps he would even have an explanation for some of the noises from second floor. Claire only wished he had admitted that much to her friends. Instead, she felt like everyone was watching her, wondering. Well, she thought grimly, he’s going to admit what he knows to me even if he doesn’t say a word to another person. She was determined to find him, and to face him, even if she may put her job in jeopardy. It was ridiculous, cruel even, that he hadn’t spoken out to confirm her experience.

  While Noel was busy cleaning up after dinner, Ben reluctantly left for home. Charles was busy ensconced in his office to prepare some paperwork for Edwards, the sound of the computer keyboard like background music. John stayed on in the kitchen with Noel, snacking on leftovers and offering her an occasional helping hand.

  Seeing that everyone was occupied, Claire excused herself, unobtrusively slipping out the door. She quietly crossed the foyer by herself, feeling a cold queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach as she looked up the stairway. The parlor was empty and didn’t appear very different from how it had looked the first day she had seen it. A few faded soot stains marred the white sheets blanketing the furniture and the rug laid out on the floor. But the room was in poor condition anyway, so the marks could have been overlooked easily. Claire looked down at her shirt and pants. Streaks of gray and black traced down her front, ground in as though some invisible weight had been applied. Her hands still held traces of the stains even though she had scrubbed at them before dinner. She had been appalled at how dirty her skin was, her nails filthy. Dropping her hands in frustration, she retraced her steps and headed for the library.

  The door was open as before, but the floor showed signs of dust, but no, it was the gray black of ash. On the bookcases, several books were still shuffled out of place and more had been scattered on the desk. Whether this was the work of spectral hands or human, she wasn’t certain, but she was determined to find out.

  The fireplace remained sadly empty. She had a flashback of the inexplicable flames burning in the grate just before her world had exploded. It wasn’t cold in here now, but despite this, she was freezing still. Even her face felt frozen, as though the shock had set in to her very bones. Although she was eager to find the mysterious owner, she doubted she would be brave enough to seek him out in his room. She felt suddenly cowardly and decided if she didn’t find him in the next few rooms, she would wait to see if he would seek her out. She saw the door to the music room was again closed, and she knocked lightly. When she received no response, she opened the door quietly and stepped in. On the table was a briefcase and flung over a chair was a suit coat with a tie dropped carelessly on the floor. The far door to the greenhouse was ajar, letting out a warm draft of moist air. She opened the door wider and looked in, pausing when she spotted the figure at the far end of the room.

  He was hunched over the plants as she came in, his long fingers black with soil. When he straightened and looked at her, she was struck again at his resemblance to the portrait. But up close, she could see differences as well. His hair was a shade lighter, his eyes almost green rather than blue, and he must have weighed thirty pounds less than the man depicted in the portrait because his skin appeared tightly stretched over bone.

  When he turned to face her directly, she had to tip her head back to look him fully in the eyes. He moved slowly and deliberately toward her, a slight limp in his step. Without preamble, and almost as though he was continuing a conversation they had begun earlier, he spoke.

  "I apologize for this evening's events. I had no idea you were in the house until I heard the noise upstairs." he halted, looking awkward. "Are you feeling better?"

  "Yes, thank you," she ran her fingers nervously through her hair, some of the long strands escaping the ponytail down her back. She had been determined to speak to him and to be frank. But seeing him face to face had an unexpected effect on her. She was at a loss for words, her anger drained. He didn’t look like he would manipulate anyone. He wasn’t the cocky spoiled snob she had expected. He was calm, steady, and sad.

  Abruptly she wondered what he might be thinking of her. The wild hair, the dirty face and hands, and the poorly fitting clothes, stained now with ashes and soot. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. She should have waited until she was cleaned up, until she had calmed down.

  Get a grip on yourself, she thought grimly. He wasn't exactly comfortable himself. Although his clothing was clean, it was rumpled and creased. A dusting of soil marked his sleeve, and his expensive shoes were covered with the stuff.

  "Mr. Edwards, right?"

  He moved closer, "Yes, sorry. And you're Claire. Noel made introductions." He appeared to be watching her curiously. "You're sure you feel better? I saw you fall and..."

  "I'm fine, a little headache is all." She touched the tender spot at the side of her head.

  "I'm sorry you got hurt. I tried to catch you before you hit the floor, but I couldn’t move fast enough.” He paused for a moment.

  “I’m fine. Really.” She replied quickly, feeling embarrassed and flustered in his presence.

  “I still don’t understand what was going on,” he said, turning and glancing behind him. “I’ve stayed in this house before. I’ve never had any problems like this.” He gestured toward the rear of the long room where a door stood slightly ajar. “I was out back bringing in some supplies. I thought I heard something when I was out there, but I just ignored it. It can be noisy out here.” He gestured toward a palate stacked with pots and seedlings. “When I heard the crashing sound, I dropped everything. I thought we had had a wall collapse. With all this construction, I worry about people getting hurt. Then I saw the soot on your clothes, so I went looking for a fire..." he paused to put a hand casually on the nearest shelf shifting his weight to his other foot. "After your friends get to us, I went through the other rooms, but didn't find anything out of the ordinary. This old house, well, you never know what surprises it has in store for you.”

  She noticed he was shifting uncomfortably. She could tell he was
in some pain, but did not remark on it.

  “So, you didn't see any signs of a fire?”

  “No, and I checked in every room. With that loud of a crash, I was sure something had fallen." He seemed to be eyeing her closely. "But that’s not what you were thinking of, is it?”

  She felt vulnerable under his scrutiny, as though he could see more than she wanted him to. His eyes were an even clearer green up close, the light catching reflections and giving them a strange glow. With his thin, prematurely lined face, he seemed to somehow match the house, the genteel deterioration.

  “I was just wondering, no, I need to know what you saw before my friends got here.” She kept her voice surprisingly even. “Did you hear the voices coming from upstairs? Did you hear me calling for John?”

  He looked confused for a moment, then his face seeming to tighten under the harsh lighting.

  “I thought that the worst of the noises were coming from upstairs, but it’s hard to pinpoint sounds in here because of the water pipes. The spray can be quite noisy at full force.” He paused and turned away, his eyes seeking the tranquility of the plants around him. “When I went out into the library, I heard a ruckus upstairs, but thought it was John or you and your friend. Charles said you probably would be home soon. I just didn’t think much about it until the loudest sounds started. The crashing and breaking.”

  “But didn’t you see the lights blink? Or smell anything?”

  “The lights blink constantly around here. It’s the price of construction, I’m afraid. I wasn’t concerned.” His gaze sharpened, “Where were you when the lights acted up?”

  “I was in the library. I went into the foyer looking for John, thinking that maybe he had done something. Then I heard the noise. I guess it was several noises, actually. They came from the floors above and seemed to get louder and louder.” She felt her hands shake and clenched them in tight fists. She looked away from his curious gaze, wishing that he wasn’t so focused on her. She cleared her throat and swallowed, trying to search for words that wouldn’t make her look like a raving lunatic. “I admit I got pretty scared,” she said stiffly. “I didn’t see anything in there, except the chandelier. It was swinging.” She bit her lip in a nervous gesture and looked behind her where the door led into the library. “I didn’t know if it was going to fall, if the ceiling was going to come down, or what was happening, so I ran into the parlor." She knew her attempt at sounding factual and calm about the situation was failing miserably. She could see he wasn’t convinced, but he said nothing about her obvious discomfort.

  He nodded slowly. "I heard you earlier in the library but didn’t want to disturb you. I stayed in the music room until you had left.” She felt a stab of awkwardness. Despite what he had said, he had been avoiding her, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. He went on. “When I went into the library later, some of the books had been rearranged, dropped on the floor, so I assumed you were coming back." His look was purposefully blank, and she found herself looking intently at him to read the truth in his eyes.

  "I didn't rearrange all those books, and I certainly drop them on the floor. I only had two or three out, and I put them back just where I found them." Now she felt like she was defending herself.

  "I don't care if you borrow books..."

  "But I didn't. And I didn’t leave the mess in the room. I was gone for just a few minutes before you came in.” She paused, weighing her next words. “So, who did move the books?"

  "What are you implying?"

  "I just know when I went back to the library it looked different..."

  "That's when I scared you into a faint?" He interrupted wryly.

  She felt her face heat but shook her head. "No, you didn’t scare me at all. There was something in the parlor. Maybe it was someone, and it’s an awful joke they’re pulling..." her voice trailed off, unwilling to add any incriminating information.

  "A ghost?" He asked, his lips curving into a half smile.

  "I didn't say that!" She corrected him quickly.

  "You didn't have to. You looked so panicked when you came in, I thought you were being chased by the devil himself."

  Claire felt her temper rise, a familiar sensation this evening. She could tell he didn't believe her, and that was reasonable. But to mock her was not.

  "So, what was in your house making all that noise? You admitted you heard that yourself!" she asked, her tone angry and a little too loud.

  “I can’t say for sure but...”

  "Claire, God, I've been looking everywhere for you. I thought you were going to sleep or something. Charles said after his meeting we could go out for drinks..." Noel's eyes went from Claire's red face the Mr. Edwards' pale one. Her voice trailed off and she hesitantly put her hand on Claire's arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

  "You weren't," Claire said bluntly. "Our discussion was finished." At that moment, she didn’t care he was their employer. She didn’t care about anything except the fact that he was denying seeing anything. And he was the only other possible witness.

  Noel glanced back to Edwards, her indecision evident on her face. She could see the angry red abrasion on Claire’s temple and felt a sudden concern for her friend.

  “Claire?”

  Claire moved as though jerked by a string and turned to her friend.

  "I think I will go up and lie down for a while."

  Claire left the room silently, her face expressionless as Noel stared silently at her retreating figure.

  Noel came up to Claire's room an hour later. Darkness had blanketed the windows, and Claire had left her light on beside the bed. She was sleeping lightly and woke immediately with Noel's knock.

  Noel had changed into more conservative jeans and a bright fuchsia sweater. She had three bracelets on one arm and two on the other. They clattered softly when she moved. Her hair had been combed sleekly back from her face, and huge hoop earrings dangled almost to her shoulders.

  "How are you feeling?"

  Claire sat up and rubbed her eyes, noting her hands were steady and warm.

  "Charles said Mr. Edwards has asked us all out for drinks and dessert since we already ate dinner. I guess they want to have a little meeting."

  Claire leaned back against the headboard. She recalled with vivid detail her confrontation with Mr. Edwards only a few hours before. She'd be lucky to keep her job, much less get a free cocktail from him.

  "Do we all have to go?"

  "Yeah, I think we should. Look, what's up with you and Edwards?” She dropped to the side of Claire’s bed and frowned. “You were pretty, um, heated, and that's not your style at all." Noel forced a smile, "That's usually my thing. You sure you didn't hit your head too hard?"

  "It's a long story.” Claire wanted to avoid the conversation. Any conversation really, but this one especially now she would be facing the man himself very soon. “I'll tell you later," Claire responded wearily and slid off the bed. "Help me find something to wear."

  They chose to go to the Bristol Bar and Grill, a nice restaurant in the Middletown area noted for its varied menu and some hometown favorites like the Hot Brown, a delicious Louisville recipe. Claire and Noel had ridden with Charles and John while Mr. Edwards had driven separately in a sleek, expensive sedan. Claire had been silent most of the ride, her mind tracing the events of the day, culminating in the argument with her employer. She knew now that confronting her employer on his own property had been a huge mistake. Of all the people she wanted to impress with her level head and responsible nature, he should have been at the top of the list, but no, she had to hysterically accuse him of seeing things that weren’t there and admit that ghosts were lighting fires in his ancestral home. Her distracted mind barely registered the passing scenery, but she was jerked to attention when Charles stopped the car at John’s insistence, still on the property.

  “There was someone on the bridge. Someone was just standing there, in the middle of the lane,” John said anxiously, peering out the
passenger window. “Didn’t you see him? He was almost on top of us!”

  “No, I didn’t see anyone.” Charles seemed a little short himself. “These damn trees are too close. They make it hard to see, even in broad daylight.” He blew out a breath. “I’m surprised this hasn’t been taken care of before now. I’ll have a word with Cole about it later.”

  “I saw, look, I still see him,” John’s voice was urgent. “Don’t you?” he asked, looking from Claire to Noel. They both turned around, seeing the glare of the oncoming headlights as Cole Edwards’ massive car tailed them in the darkness.

  “I don’t see,” Noel said softly, “no, I don’t see anyone.”

  Claire had turned as well and was watching closely as they moved away from the bridge. When the headlights turned to spear the darkness of the woods to the side of the drive as the big sedan took the curve, she silently caught her breath. In the momentary dim, it did indeed look like someone was standing in the center of the bridge. As she watched, wide eyed, the figure seemed to move, raising one arm in a casual salute as the expensive car glided across the bridge. But the car neither slowed nor stopped, and the figure melted away.

  Claire felt sick and turned back around, looking toward the front of the car, the dash’s lights dancing in the dark. She focused on that, on the numbers rising, the mileage, fuel, radio stations, all the flickering reminders of the world outside her head. She barely registered the conversation around her, the drone of the voices comforting as they sped away from the house.

  As they entered town, the traffic slowed to a crawl. Charles deftly pulled the sedan into a space between a late model Mercedes Benz and a Lexus. Claire looked nervously at the patterned fabric of her dress. She wasn’t dressed up; she had basically thrown on the clothes Noel had pulled from her wardrobe. She stepped out of the car and smoothed her skirt. It might not matter. She might not have to worry about impressing her employer if he decided to fire her here. She huffed out a sigh. Time to face the music.