Spirits of the Season: Eight Haunting Holiday Romances

by Amanda DeWees

  Ben pointed to a large sepia-toned photograph framed on the wall behind them. What Emma saw then took her breath. No wonder he’d been staring at her earlier. She tried to inhale but a bit of cider was still in her mouth. She coughed explosively and when she opened her eyes, she saw that she’d deposited a mixture of sticky cider and quiche onto Ben Lindsay’s shirt front and Christmas tie.

  She wanted to apologize, but she couldn’t speak. Daniel’s long-dead wife Belle looked exactly like her. “I—I’m so sorry about your tie… and shirt… and, uh, hair,” she finally said, barely able to take her eyes off the photo in which the couple looked back at her from a century and a half away. Unlike the solemn expressions in most early photos she had seen—and she’d seen thousands in the course of her studies—Daniel and Belle looked really happy, like a young couple in love.

  Ben ignored the food she’d spat on him. “You didn’t know?” Again, his expression said he didn’t believe her. “This is quite a coincidence. Why do you need to know more about Captain Elliot?”

  Emma dabbed at his tie with the damp cloth but only managed to smear it with melted makeup along with the food particles. Frosty looked as if he’d developed a tan. Not a good look for a snowman. “It’s a long story,” she said. She wished for all she was worth that she knew what she was supposed to do next now that she’d found the man with Daniel’s face. So she waited for something to happen.

  Ben gently took the cloth from her hand and slowly un-knotted the tie. He tugged the tie out from under his collar, slowly slid it out from around his neck, and tossed it and the cloth onto the arm of the settee. Then he casually unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, revealing a dusting of crisp, blond hair over well-developed chest muscles. “We’ve got all night,” he said in a silky baritone.

  Just when Emma was becoming worried that her ovaries were going to explode, she heard a grandfather clock striking the hour. She was afraid to count the chimes, because if she missed seeing Daniel tonight to learn what he might have remembered, she would never forgive herself. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and she had to know what do to next.

  She bolted from the settee and out the door.

  “Wait!” Ben called from behind her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you!”

  “Thanks for the quiche!” Emma shouted over her shoulder. She darted out the front door, down the steps, and toward the inn in a sprint Cinderella would have been proud of.

  * * *

  Emma burst through the front door of the bed and breakfast, causing the ever-present and overworked Maryann to jump and squeal in alarm.

  “Just a little night running,” Emma wheezed. “Nothing to see here.” She took the stairs two at a time, ran down the hallway to her room, tossed open the door, and collapsed onto the bed, begging the gods of fate not to have let Daniel be already come and gone. When she’d recovered from her run, she staggered to the bathroom. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she let out a yelp.

  She looked like a wild woman. Medusa had nothing on her. Her hair was such a mess, she was surprised that Ben hadn’t turned to stone. Her foundation was gone and her mascara had run, creating raccoon-like half-moons under her eyes, which were uncharacteristically puffy from lack of sleep. Her shirt had come untucked from her jeans, one earring was gone, and her clothes were a crumpled mess. “Ooooh,” she moaned.

  She splashed water onto her face at the sink and dabbed cold cream under her eyes. She couldn’t believe how awful she’d looked when she’d first met Ben.

  First met Ben. Why had she thought of it that way? She had no way of knowing if she’d ever see him again, depending on what Daniel wanted to do now that she’d found him. She wiped off the cold cream with a tissue and returned to the room. Afraid to lie on the bed in case she might drift off to sleep, Emma sat on the hearth and propped her elbows on her knees.

  She hadn’t had time to think for hours. Everything had happened so fast. She’d been so unprepared for the shock of seeing Belle’s photograph, she hadn’t even thought about the implications, but when those implications hit her, she sat bolt upright, her weariness forgotten.

  If she looked just like Belle, and if Ben looked just like Daniel….

  She and Ben were Belle and Daniel reincarnated. The lifetime of love that Daniel sought for himself and Belle was for Ben and her.

  She forgot to breathe. Her senses seemed to stop working as blood rushed to her brain. Was the big, beautiful, generous, kind man she’d met this afternoon meant for her? Was she fated to find the kind of enduring love she was looking for with Ben? How could that be when he clearly thought she was insane? She’d never made a worse first impression on another human being in her life. She’d never win his love after what had happened earlier in the evening. He wouldn’t want anything to do with her, much less let her close enough to fall in love with her. What was she going to do? March up to him and say, Hey, dude. You don’t know it yet, but you’re destined to fall madly in love with me and live happily ever after. A ghost said so, so it must be true.

  Distraught and confused, she cried, “Daniel, where are you?!”

  She felt a presence. Bit by bit, as if it were a struggle, Daniel materialized.

  “I found the man with your face!” Emma said.

  Daniel looked relieved. “Tell me all about him.”

  Speaking quickly since Daniel couldn’t manifest for long, she told him everything she could think of about Ben. Daniel nodded in approval when she told him about how Ben welcomed the homeless man. He was greatly pleased about Ben’s interest in him and Belle.

  “So, what do I do now? Did you remember the rest?”

  Daniel beamed. “I remember everything.”

  “Tell me quickly, before you have to go.”

  Daniel smiled and gently gripped her shoulders. “At the stroke of midnight tomorrow night—Christmas Eve—you must kiss him here, in this room, where Belle and I shared our marital bed and conceived our four children.”

  Emma gaped at him. “How in the hell am I gonna get him up here?”

  Daniel released her shoulders with an embarrassed look. “I know that you are a lady, and he is a gentleman, and I’m sorry to put you both in a compromising position.”

  “It’s not that,” Emma moaned. “It took me all day to find him, and when I finally did, I was in a—a state. A bad state.” Emma struggled to use the vernacular that Daniel would find familiar. “He thinks I’m mad. I don’t think he’d go with me to a goat roping.”

  Daniel looked sympathetic but determined. “Of course he will. Think about it, my dear. If you’re too modest to use your feminine wiles, you have the perfect alternative bait.”

  “What?”

  “Why, the ghost of Captain Daniel Elliot, of course.”

  And with that, he faded away, his smile lingering past the rest of him, like the fabled Cheshire cat.

  Chapter 4

  Shortly after opening time, Emma sneaked into Ben’s store. She’d carefully applied her makeup and done up her hair in a French braid. She wore a short corduroy skirt with coordinating sweater, leggings and boots. No homeless raggedy raccoon look today. Her plan was to invite Ben to come to the inn for a late, candlelight dinner. She’d already made the arrangements. From there, she’d coax him to her room—that was, if she remembered how to be alluring after all those years with boring, predictable Roy.

  The store was divided into several rooms, obviously a former private home converted into a retail establishment. She pretended to browse through the books until she heard his voice coming from the next room. She sneaked toward the opening to the other room and peeked around a rack of calendars.

  Ben was at the cash register talking to a boy who was carefully counting out his money—mostly coins—on the counter. “Oh, no,” he said when his pockets were empty. “I thought I had enough. I was going to get that book for my dad’s Christmas present.”

  “I can’t have your dad’s empty stocking on my conscience,” Ben said. “Go ahead and take
it.”

  “But that’d be charity,” the child said.

  “Not at all. Think of it as my Christmas gift to you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure, I’m sure. You’re one of my best customers, not to mention my favorite.”

  “Thanks, Ben,” the boy grinned and tucked the book under his arm. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Same to you. Enjoy the rest of your Christmas break,” Ben called after him as the boy left.

  Emma stepped out from around the calendar rack before any of the other milling customers could start a conversation with Ben. “That was really nice what you did just then.”

  Ben ignored the compliment. “Well, if it isn’t my Cinderella of last evening.”

  “At least I didn’t leave a shoe behind.” Emma came closer. She could from tell Ben’s appreciative head-to-toe glance that he’d noticed the improvement in her appearance.

  Ben reached into his pocket and held up her lost earring. “No, but you did leave this. I’m glad I didn’t have to go all over Savannah trying it on all the women.”

  Emma laughed and reached out for the bauble. Their fingers touched, and Emma felt the same jolt of familiarity she had when she’d touched Daniel. She searched Ben’s face, which had gone completely still while his eyes locked onto hers.

  He’d felt it too. She knew it. Last night when he’d picked her up, he’d touched her only through her clothing. Had the touch of her skin brought with it the same emotions that she felt? If so, had the feelings intrigued him enough to accept an invitation to her room?

  He allowed his hand to drop to his side and looked away. “Have you come to do some Christmas shopping?” he said, filling the uncomfortable silence.

  “Actually, I came to thank you for taking care of me last night.”

  “Think nothing of it. Women faint on my doorstep all the time.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  Ben laughed. The sound was like music to her, touching her somewhere down deep. “Anyway,” she continued, “I wanted to ask you to come to the Magnolia House bed and breakfast tonight and be my guest for dinner, both to thank you and to pick your brain a little. I have so much more to ask you about Captain Elliot for my research. You know how it is with us academics. You have to publish, publish, publish to get tenure.” She gave him her brightest smile.

  He hesitated long enough to make her heart drop to her stomach. Did he have another party to attend? A family get-together? A wife or girlfriend, God forbid?

  After what seemed like an eternity, he said, “Sure, why not? Sounds like fun.”

  Emma breathed deeply. “Great! Why don’t you come over around ten.”

  “Why so late?”

  “Um, there’s a private Christmas party taking place beforehand, and the staff won’t have the place cleared out and set up for us until then. I hope that’s not a problem.” The part about the party was a lie, of course, but he wouldn’t know that. She batted her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at him.

  “No, that’s fine,” he said with a dismissive wave. “I keep the store open late for last-minute Christmas shoppers anyway.”

  Emma sighed, hoping her relief didn’t show too much. “Good,” she said. “I’ll see you at ten.”

  She felt like doing a victory dance for sealing the deal, but that would be counterproductive at this stage. Instead, with no small amount of effort, she turned and walked out of the store when she really wanted to remain there gazing at the man she fervently hoped would prove to be her future soul mate.

  She looked at the earring Ben had placed in her hand. He was her Prince Charming.

  * * *

  Seated at the candlelit table, Emma checked her watch for the hundredth time and tried to calm herself. It was only 9:51. He’d be here. She’d come downstairs early to make sure everything was perfect. The table had been set beautifully with vintage crystal and bone china. Maryann would usher Ben to the dining room as soon as he arrived, serve them, and scram. Then Emma would turn on the charm, and at just the right moment—the timing had to be perfect—she’d invite Ben to her room to see the ghost.

  She’d spent the day shopping for just the right outfit and mentally rehearsing various lines to get Ben to her room. She’d dismissed every come-on she could think of as incredibly lame. She’d have to do as Daniel had suggested and use him as the attraction.

  After all, who could pass up the opportunity to see their own ghostly doppelganger?

  Emma raised a silver spoon in front of her and checked her lipstick in its polished finish. She’d arranged her hair like Belle had worn hers in the photograph—sides pulled back and secured with tortoiseshell combs and loose in the back. The effect was not bad if she did say so herself. She smoothed down the skirt of her black velvet cocktail dress and adjusted the fitted bodice.

  The French doors parted, and she didn’t have to wonder for long if Ben approved of her appearance. He grinned broadly but then looked sheepish as he approached the table. “You look terrific,” he said. “And I’m underdressed.”

  Emma gave a wave of dismissal. “Not at all. I just felt festive and decided to indulge myself.” It was a good thing tradition dictated that a man stand up when a lady entered a room and not the other way around. Emma’s knees were shaking so badly she didn’t think she could stand if the building caught fire.

  Ben was wearing a white dress shirt and sport coat over jeans. He sat opposite Emma, and Maryann commenced serving them from a nearby cart. “I hope you like prime rib,” Emma said.

  “Who doesn’t?” he asked. “Except if you’re a vegetarian I suppose. Which I’m not.”

  “Me neither,” Emma said, a little too gaily.

  “So we’re both carnivores.”

  “Yay, red meat!” She had to get her giddiness under control or she was going to go right back into the “crazy” column in Ben’s estimation.

  Maryann showed Ben a bottle of red wine and when he nodded, she poured a glass for them both. Emma raised her goblet. “To history,” she said.

  “Hear. Hear.” Ben clinked glasses with her and took a sip.

  They chatted companionably for over an hour. They discovered they both liked tennis, riding bicycles, reading suspense novels, and watching fantasy television shows and superhero movies. Neither had much talent for music, but they liked the same musicians and singers.

  When Emma asked him what he did for fun, he told her about his volunteer work with local food banks and shelters. He coached Little League baseball, loved kids, and hoped to be a father one day. Score!

  He asked her about her life and work, in turn, and listened attentively. He smiled warmly and laughed often. Emma felt herself falling for him even more.

  After a while, Emma asked, “So, was last night’s party a success?”

  “I think everyone had a nice time. And the entertainment was certainly out of the ordinary.” He grinned and winked.

  Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m glad I could oblige. So do you always use that big mansion for your Civil War Society get-togethers? I imagine it’s pretty pricey to rent.”

  “That’s my house,” Ben said.

  “Come again?” Emma had just begun to wish that she’d spent the day researching Ben rather than shopping for the killer cocktail dress.

  “The Effingham House has been in the family since Savannah was built,” Ben said. “I grew up there.”

  “Wow,” Emma said. She took a long drink of wine. “That’s a house and a half.”

  “My mother and father gave it and the business to me when they retired to Sea Island.”

  “That’s lovely,” Emma said, impressed. Sea Island was the most exclusive, expensive address in Georgia. Not only had Ben had cause to question her stability when she’d first met him, but he now could be suspicious of her intentions. He probably had to fight off gold diggers all the time. “No wonder you admire Captain Elliot so much. He saved your family home,” she said.

  “He did indeed.” Ben took
a bite of the chocolate mousse Maryann had served for dessert before continuing. “You never told me why you’re interested in him as the subject of your research.”

  “I began to think about how fortunate it was that Savannah was spared from the torch. So I decided I would research the people who saved it.” Emma had begun to feel so comfortable with Ben that she’d started to relax. With a glance at the clock, though, she realized it was time for her to make her pitch to get him upstairs. She’d have to seize a promising conversational opening soon, or her spiel would sound false.

  “Hmm. It seemed last night that you were surprised by your resemblance to Belle. Did you really not know how much you look like her?”

  “Uh, actually, somebody did tell me how much I resemble her. In fact, someone mistook me for her.”

  Ben laughed. “That’s impossible. She’s been dead for decades. Who could have possibly mistaken you for Belle?”

  Emma smiled sheepishly. “Daniel. That is, Daniel’s ghost.”

  Ben’s face went slack. “Excuse me?”

  Emma let her shoulders rise and fall. “You heard me right. The first night I was here he came to me and called me Belle. I thought he probably said that to all the girls.” Emma let out a hysterical-sounding peal of nervous laughter and clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Hold it in the road, girl. Your whole future depends on what happens in the next few minutes. And of course, giving herself that command didn’t make her more nervous at all.

  “Umm,” Ben said. “You know there are no such things as talking ghosts, right?” The I’m talking to a madwoman look was coming back into his eyes.

  “Think about it,” Emma began beseechingly. “Haven’t you ever wondered why you were so drawn to Civil War history in the first place—even before you knew you looked just like a long-dead cavalry officer? I’ve often wondered myself why that period in history comes alive for me—so much so that I’ve made it my life’s work. I’m beginning to think that I was there at that time and place. Do you ever get the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’re passionate about Civil War history because on some level you were there? That you lived it?”