Spirits of the Season: Eight Haunting Holiday Romances

by Amanda DeWees

  “Yes, you’ll be glad to know,” Roy said with forced cheeriness.

  Emma lowered her voice. “You greatly overestimate my affection for your testicles.”

  He ignored this. “I had to call and check on you after how we left things yesterday. You okay?”

  She hated the note of solicitousness in his voice. He probably thought she’d cried herself to sleep last night.

  “Fine and dandy.” That was, as long as a champagne bender and hallucinations squared with fine and dandy.

  “Look, honey, I know you were looking forward to the Savannah trip. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  “How?”

  “How?” he repeated dumbly.

  “Yeah. How? I mean, are you going to put some effort into planning a meaningful trip like I planned this one? Make the travel arrangements? Scout out some interesting activities for us?”

  This was met with silence. These things had always been her responsibility. During her long, dark night of the soul, flaws in their relationship that she’d never thought about before had sprung to the surface.

  “Well, sure,” he said. “I guess I could do that.”

  “What else?”

  “What else do you want?” Roy asked, defensiveness in his voice. “I’m risking my standing here just calling to check on you. You know that cell phones are against the rules in this kind of reenactment.”

  “Sorry I’m not sufficiently thankful for your call. Roy, don’t you think maybe there might be something missing in our relationship?”

  “Like what?”

  Nobody, but nobody, could be as dense as Roy was being, Emma thought. Whatever else he might be, he wasn’t stupid; he knew she was talking about commitment. This conversation was pointless, as she had already decided that he was not the man for her.

  “You know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter, because this is it for us. I wish you well, but I’m done. Goodbye, Roy.”

  Emma clicked the phone off and sighed. She eyed the pastry cart and thought about her options for the day. Option one—she could pack and drive home to an empty apartment and sulk until she had to go back to work. Option two—she could eat a couple more chocolate croissants and watch mid-morning cable TV upstairs in bed until she was bored into numbness by insipid happy talk and slipped into a carb-induced coma. Option three—she could enjoy her time in the city and partake of the many fun holiday activities that Savannah had to offer, alone.

  Option three for sure. Emma dabbed her mouth with her napkin, shouldered her bag, and left the inn. She decided to head for River Street for some shopping. The walk would clear her head, and retail therapy was always good for the soul.

  But what about Captain Elliot’s ghost? What if Daniel was real and came back tonight like he said he would? She simply couldn’t forget how his touch had flooded her senses. Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk in one of Savannah’s beautiful squares, she made the decision to believe her eyes, ears, and heart. Daniel was real. He was probably stuck in one of those loops that the parapsychologists wrote about. The thought hurt her heart a little, but he probably thought every woman he appeared to was his long-lost love. Maybe there was some way she could help him.

  As she walked, she saw where a small area on the north corner of the next square had been marked off for the use of one of the many ghost tour operators. Savannah, she had read, was considered one of the most haunted places in the country, maybe even on earth. The city had been in the thick of several wars in which unlucky combatants had been buried where they fell, sometimes in people’s back yards. The citizens had been plagued by a number of epidemics over the decades, most notably yellow fever, a disease that rendered its victims comatose before they succumbed. The bodies of the dead—and sometimes the not quite dead—were burned so as to quell the spread of infection. Their ashes, and perhaps their unquiet souls, drifted away on the wind. Privateers and cutthroats of all kinds had passed through Savannah since Colonial days, more than willing to kill for coin.

  For these and other reasons, Savannah was full of ghosts, so it was said, and a whole industry of ghost tours had sprung up to meet the demand of tourists who wanted to hear their stories. The operator she was approaching now must have been of the historical variety, because he conducted his tours by horse and buggy while wearing a good-quality mockup of a Confederate uniform. The rotund, middle-aged man had a shock of unruly white hair poking out from under an infantryman’s hat. His long white beard completed the period look. A sturdy white horse was hitched to the buggy, and the man was grooming him with a curry comb. If a man who lectured people about Savannah’s ghosts for several hours a day wasn’t a good source of information, she didn’t know who was.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions while you’re brushing your horse?” Emma asked.

  The man looked up, a bit startled, and gave her a sunny smile. “I never pass up a chance to talk to a pretty young lady. Ask me whatever you want.”

  “What do you know about the ghost of Captain Daniel Elliot?”

  The man stopped brushing the horse and peered at Emma over the top of his round, wire-rimmed spectacles. “Seen him, have you?”

  Emma smiled sheepishly. “I have.”

  “I hear he asks people to help him figure out what he has to do in order to get back to his wife.”

  “That’s right,” Emma said, a little jealous that he had appeared to so many people with the same story. “He says he can’t remember, but whatever he has to do, it has to be done by Christmas Eve.”

  “Hmmm,” the man said, scratching his chin through the beard. “I haven’t heard about a time limit. I’m glad you told me that. Information like that is very important. I do have a theory about his mission if you’d like to hear it.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Few people except scholars know about his role in the surrender. He evidently convinced the powers that be to ride out to Sherman and give up the city to keep it from being destroyed. It was a rare exhibition of common sense on the Southern side. But I think it was more than a realization that the jig was up for the Rebs. As a family man, I’m sure he was motivated by wanting to ensure the safety of his wife and children.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Emma said. “Do you think he’s reliving that time because of the intensity of the situation?”

  The tour guide pointed his index finger to the sky. “Bingo!” he said. “I think he was so intent on his goal of protecting his family that the whole incident took on an urgency that resonates through time. So much so that he feels the need to perform this act of diplomacy over and over again. The thing he can’t remember is that his mission is accomplished.”

  Emma nodded with resolve. “If he appears to me again, I’m going to tell him his work is done, and he can go on to whatever dimension he belongs in.”

  “So he can be with his wife—Belle, I think her name was—in heaven,” the man said with a sweet smile.

  “Yes,” Emma agreed. “Thank you so much for your insight.” She started to go on her way before she remembered one more thing that he might be able to shed some light on. “Speaking of his wife, I’m guessing that whenever he appears to a woman, he mistakes her for Belle.”

  The tour guide looked surprised. “Why, no, I’ve never heard of that,” he said. “Oh, look at the time. I’ve got to go now. Good luck helping Captain Elliot. I have a feeling if anyone can give him what he needs, it’s you.”

  “Thanks,” Emma said and walked away in the direction in which she’d been heading. She started into the next intersection and waited for a car before she crossed to the next square. She’d forgotten to make a mental note of the name of the tour company. Maybe she could take the tour before she had to go back home. But when she turned around, the tour guide and his horse and buggy were already gone.

  * * *

  Emma had a great day shopping, eating lunch at the famous Mrs. Wilkes’s Boardinghouse, and walking on the beach at Tybee Island. The walk and the lap
of the gentle waves of the Atlantic soothed her soul. She was actually looking forward to starting her life over—romantically speaking—without Roy. What a difference a day made.

  After a light dinner, she settled in her room to see if Daniel had been a figment of her drunken imagination. Now that she was stone cold sober, she vowed to remember each and every detail about the apparition if he showed up again. Her breath quickened and shivers traveled up and down her spine as she watched and waited.

  Sure enough, at roughly the same time as the night before, Daniel materialized.

  Excited, Emma hurried to his side. “I know what you’re looking for!” she said. “I think I can help you.”

  “Wonderful! I remembered something helpful as well. Ladies first, though.”

  “I think what you’ve been seeking is a way to save Savannah from the Yankees. But you’ve already done that. Sherman never put the torch to Savannah the way he did Atlanta and the other places because of you and the people who helped. You did it! You won!”

  Daniel blinked, confused. “I know. I remember all that. What I have to do has nothing to do with the war.”

  “It doesn’t?” Emma’s spirits fell. “It must have been a difficult thing to do—to go against so many people here.”

  “Not really,” he said. “I was an abolitionist even before the war. So were Belle and her family. We only had free men working for us, always. I joined the army because I had to. Every able-bodied man had to, and most of the boys. Since I was from a prominent family, I was made an officer right away, and I did everything I could to bring the war to a close as soon as possible. If I had been able to get the whole Confederacy to surrender, I would have. Alas, only more bloodshed could do that.”

  “Oh,” Emma said. That left her back at square one as far as helping him was concerned. “I’m glad to hear all that. So, if what you have to do has nothing to do with the war—”

  “What I have to do has to take place in the here and now.”

  “By Christmas Eve, you said.”

  “Not by Christmas Eve. On Christmas Eve. That’s part of what I remembered.”

  “What else? What else did you remember? Oh, no! You’re fading.” Emma reached out and tried to touch Daniel’s hand before he went away, but she was too late. His touch was like a whisper.

  “Look for the man with my face,” he said. “By tomorrow night maybe I’ll be able to remember why.”

  And like an outgoing wave, he was gone.

  Chapter 3

  For most of the next day, Emma researched Captain Daniel Elliot on her tablet computer. The tour guide had been correct. He and his role in the surrender of Savannah were not widely known. At breakfast Emma asked Maryann if she knew of any photographs of Daniel, but the proprietress had never seen any.

  The standard research web sites had no photos of him. The serious academic sites knew little about him either. Finally she came across an obscure site with his photograph. “That’s him,” she murmured. Not knowing what else to do, she went in search of the ghost tour guide. She broke into a run when she saw him and his horse in the same spot as the day before.

  “Hello,” she greeted him, and paused to catch her breath. “It’s me again. I’m Emma, by the way.” She presented her hand and the guide shook it.

  “I’m Nick. Did you see the captain again last night? Did my suggestion work?”

  “He came, but his new mission has nothing to do with what happened in the past. It has to do with the present. Look, I found his picture. Do you know anyone who looks like him?” Emma held out her tablet to the guide.

  Nick squinted at the photo. “I sure do. It looks just like Ben Lindsay. He owns the antique book and map store on Bull Street.”

  “Great! Do you think it’s open this late?” Emma looked at her watch. It was almost seven.

  “He stays open until eight, I think.”

  “How exactly do I get there?”

  Nick gave Emma directions to the store, and she thanked him. She jammed her computer back into her bag, but before she sped away, she remembered to tell Nick the other detail that Daniel had recalled.

  The older man’s eyes widened. “This—whatever it is—has to take place on Christmas Eve, does it? I’m glad you told me. Very glad indeed.”

  Emma ran the whole way to the store, only to find it dark and empty. As she panted for breath, she read the sign on the front door: “Olde Savannah Antique Books and Maps will close at four p.m. today. The proprietor is hosting the Savannah Civil War Society’s annual Christmas party at the Effingham mansion on Houghton square. Festivities start at seven p.m. The public is cordially invited.”

  She’d just passed Houghton square on her way to the store. She took off again in the direction she had come from.

  By the time she got to the site of the party, her chest was heaving. She didn’t even want to think about what a mess she must look after her mad dash. It never got too chilly in Savannah even in winter, so she was sweaty and tired. Plus, with the clock ticking on her crazy mission, she just realized she’d forgotten to eat all day. Her blood sugar must have been crashing, because she felt herself wobbling as she climbed the front steps of the mansion.

  She paused to rest halfway up, still breathless from her extended run. A man was greeting visitors as they came to the door. From several feet below him, she couldn’t see his face at first even though he was very tall. Two couples disappeared through the entrance and she finally saw him speak to what looked like a homeless man on the top step.

  Oh. My. God.

  Unable to believe her eyes, Emma resumed her climb up the steps. She was now close enough to hear the conversation that Daniel, er, Ben, was having with the unfortunate looking man on the landing.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Ben was saying. “Come on in and help yourself to some food and punch. We’ve got coffee too, and eggnog. Get a plate and a drink and make yourself at home.”

  The disheveled man thanked him and went through the entrance. By that time, Emma had made it to the landing, but she wasn’t feeling very well. Those darned spots were swimming before her eyes again, but they couldn’t obscure the beauty of the same flame-blue eyes as Daniel’s. She felt herself crumple toward the landing like a puppet whose strings had been let go. Before she hit the marble beneath her feet, a strong arm went around her back as another went behind her knees.

  * * *

  The next thing Emma knew, she was sprawled on a settee surrounded by strangers. A nice woman thrust a cup of warm cider into her hand. “Thank you,” Emma murmured. “I’m fine now, honest.” Relieved, the partygoers went about their mingling.

  Ben appeared at her side and handed her a cool, damp cloth. “Are you okay? You had us worried there for a minute or two.”

  “Yes, I’m okay. It’s just that my blood sugar got low I think.” She dabbed at her forehead with the cloth, to clear away the cold sweat as much as anything. Her makeup must have melted away completely by now.

  “I’m Ben Lindsay,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He sat down beside her, but didn’t shake her hand as both of hers were full, one with the cloth and the other with the mug of cider.

  “I’m Emma Williams.”

  The nice lady who’d given her the cider was now offering her a plate of mini quiches. “Oh, thanks,” Emma said, taking the plate. “I’m starving.” Emma tucked her mug between her elbow and her side, sloshing a bit of the cider over the rim. As she used her free hand to stuff one of the goodies into her mouth whole, she saw a quick exchange of amused looks between the lady and Ben before the lady turned to go. Too late she realized that the woman had been offering her one of the quiches, not the whole plate. Emma ate another and daintily set her cider mug onto the plate where the empty space now was as if nothing was amiss.

  He stared at her intently as she ate. And why not? He’d surely never seen such a quiche-eating fool before in his life. Besides, what a sight she must be. She could feel her sweaty hair tightening up into tha
t frizzy ball it formed whenever it stayed wet for too long.

  What unnerved her more than Ben’s unblinking stare was realizing that after finding the man with Daniel’s face she had absolutely no idea what to do next. So she dumbly stared back. His hair was longish and brushed an inch or two past the collar of his blue chambray shirt. Neatly creased jeans hugged his muscular legs. A gaudy Christmas tie with a goofy snowman on the front was his only nod to holiday attire.

  “Are you a history buff, Emma Williams?” he asked.

  “Uh, yes. A history professor actually. At Emory.”

  “That’s fantastic,” he said evenly. “Emory is a highly prestigious university.”

  Why did she get the feeling that he didn’t believe her? “Uh-huh.”

  “How did you hear about us?”

  Emma blinked. “Oh, you mean the Society. I just saw the sign on your door, that is the door to the store, and I ran over.” She was intensely aware that she was beginning to sound like a mentally ill street person attracted by the prospect of free food and drink. Ben probably assumed she’d parked her shopping cart around the corner.

  “If you ran all the way from the store, it’s no wonder you fainted,” he said with a smile so dazzling she nearly fainted again. “Is there any particular area of study you specialize in?”

  “The Civil War. In fact, I came to you because I need to know more about Daniel Elliot.”

  Ben nodded knowingly. “Someone in town told you about the resemblance, I’ll bet. I was a huge Civil War buff even when I was a kid, but after I was grown and realized that I was a dead ringer for Captain Elliot, I must admit he became a favorite research subject of mine. I’m guessing that’s why you became interested in him.”

  “I don’t understand,” Emma said and took at long sip of cider. Her head was beginning to clear.

  Ben’s eyes narrowed and he gave her a quizzical look, and she again felt as if he didn’t quite believe her. “You’re the spitting image of Captain Elliot’s wife, Belle.”