Ghosts on Tour: Wylie Westerhouse Book 1

by Nathan Roden

  “Father says that Baron Wellmore was stuffed full of horse apples,” Nora said, making them all giggle.

  “Some of his descendants are,” Holly said. “Though the current Lady of the House is delightful.”

  Holly saw Dallas McIntyre walk through the front door of the castle, staying close to the outer walls. After waiting for the girls to greet Holly, he approached them.

  “A good day to you, Miss McFadden,” Dallas said.

  Holly curtsied.

  “And a splendid good day to you, Baron McIntyre, sir,” Holly said.

  “If I might have a word with Miss McFadden, girls,” Dallas McIntyre said to his daughters.

  “Yes, Father,” the two sisters said, retreating toward the pasture behind the castle.

  “Holly,” Dallas began, “Lord Larrimore and yourself…have you removed yourselves from the castle? We have had…something is quite different of late, my Lady, and the future seems uncertain. I am sorry, but unrest fills our thoughts. If you would be so kind—”

  “I’m sorry, Baron McIntyre,” Holly said. “We have been advised to move off the premises to enable the property to be sold. This is the last thing in the world that Uncle Seth and I wanted, but we have little choice in the matter. The castle has always helped to pay for itself. Uncle Seth won’t let me speak of not going to university, and I’m afraid there is no other way.”

  Dallas McIntyre sighed and turned to look at his daughters. They held hands and stared across the billowing field of impossibly green pasture up to a grove of Scottish pines on the horizon.

  “Near five hundred years have I looked upon them like this. Do you remember why, Lass?” Dallas asked.

  “Of course, I do, sir. They loved the horses. The girls said that the meadow was full of horses for many years,” Holly said.

  “For most of a year, I sought a healthy chestnut broodmare with foal, to be born in time for Charlotte’s fifth birthday,” Baron McIntyre said. “The timing was as perfect as I could ask for. The little filly was as handsome as you could imagine and full of life. Her coat was the color of newly spun honey, with a perfect white star between her eyes.

  “Honey. That’s what Charlotte named her. While the filly was small, Charlotte played with her as if she was one of her dolls. She tied bonnets on Honey’s head and pretended to serve them tea and crumpets. Charlotte spoke to her like she was a little girl, just like herself! And once the filly was big enough to ride the two of them were scarcely ever apart. They were as fearless as the day is long,” Dallas continued to stare at the backs of his girls. His bottom lip quivered.

  “What happened, sir?” Holly asked.

  “I was standing there,” he said, pointing. “Just past the drawbridge. It was early autumn; there was a little chill in the early eve. I shaded my eyes against the setting sun—watching my baby girl and her Honey at full gallop across the front of the pines. Charlotte’s red-hooded cloak flew behind her like she was a tiny little warrior.

  “I could but laugh, child, for watching them was my purest joy.

  “But all of a sudden, the filly collapsed. Her front leg had plunged down inside of a rabbit’s hole. Charlotte was thrown clear. I ran toward them as fast as my legs would carry me. Charlotte picked herself up and ran to the horse, but the little filly’s leg was broken as badly as any I’d ever seen. The poor thing was making such an awful noise, and Charlotte was beside herself with grief. By the time I got to them, Charlotte had taken off her cloak and tied it around the filly’s leg—she tried to comfort her—tried to save her.

  “Elizabeth and Nora took Charlotte back to the castle while I did what had to be done. I never thought I would see such a sad day in my life. Aye, but if only that had been our last taste of tragedy,” Dallas said.

  “I’ve never asked, Sir. The girls have never spoken of… you know,” Holly said.

  Dallas nodded and turned to face Holly.

  “We caught up with the warship that had taken on supplies at our port. We were exhausted and nearly frozen. The ship’s men took us below and gave us food and blankets. Two English vessels caught up to us, within the hour. Our crew was overtaken by crossbow arrows. When I made my way to the deck I could see land to the west. A remnant of our ship’s crew had taken to the lifeboats and forsaken the ship along with those of us that remained. The few ship’s mates that were left were huddled away from the fray, frightened out of their wits—they were only boys. There was no one manning the ship’s wheel. I took that over myself though I had never manned such a vessel.

  “My sister’s husband took two arrows in his chest, right at my side. I thought I might have a chance of reaching land; it seemed so very close. Aye, close it was, but I was ignorant of the rock beneath the surface. The rocks tore away at the hull and the ship began to break apart. Before I could make my way below, to Elizabeth and the girls—it was too late.”

  Holly stared at the ground for a few moments before looking into the eyes of Dallas McIntyre.

  “I’m so sorry, Baron. Your hardships have been more than anyone should have to bear.”

  “Thank you, dear child,” Dallas said. He turned slowly, looking around the grounds. “Many bleak years followed us on these grounds, and still we had no idea why we remained here. We still don’t, to this day. My sister and her family—we never saw them again. We’ve seen no others from the town, or from the ship. We remain here, accompanied only by two blithering idiots; David and Arabella. Of all the people we could have been confined with, why did it have to be my great, great aunt and uncle? Nobles, indeed,” Dallas McIntyre spat out the words, and then spat on the ground.

  “Have you any idea why they remain here?” Holly asked.

  “To torment the rest of us is all I can think. They were loved about as much during their own time as they are now. The first time the castle was overrun, it was by the people of this very village. Supply ships had been cut off for months, and the sickness was quickly killing off the livestock. A castle and a few guards are no match for the poor and hungry, My Lady,” Dallas said.

  “What happened to them?” Holly asked.

  Dallas looked around, made sure no one else was watching, and then drew his thumb across his neck.

  “Ouch,” Holly said. “How dreadful.”

  “Ahh,” Dallas McIntyre spat, “don’t go wastin’ any pity on those two. You’ve seen how much it did to humble their royal backsides.”

  “But my dear Miss McFadden,” Dallas said, lowering his voice, “It would not be fair to speak of only the sadness of the past. The years since your dear Mother and Father took over the Castle have been the happiest our family has known. Many years, we suffered through neglect and disrespect within our home. Only when Oliver and Gwendoline McFadden came to us and brought their love for each other; their respect for our family’s history, and their beautiful baby girl into our world, did it seem that there was any reason to look forward to yet another sunrise.”

  “That is very kind of you, Baron McIntyre,” Holly whispered.

  Dallas McIntyre chuckled and crossed his arms.

  “Nay, child. I speak no kindness. I speak as a man who owes a great debt.”

  He turned and pointed, up high, toward the round turret room at the front corner of the castle.

  “You see the turret room there, Holly?”

  “Yes, sir,” Holly said.

  “Always the girls’ favorite of all places inside those walls. There they play for hours on end— there they had many an adventure, both real and imagined.”

  Holly smiled.

  “This much I know, sir. I have spent many an hour there with them.”

  Dallas grew quiet, his face solemn.

  “Do you know of the painting upon that wall, Holly?” Dallas asked.

  “A picture, uh, a painting of a mare with her foal,” Holly said.

  “Aye, a chestnut mare with her foal,” Dallas said.

  “For five hundred years, we have been able to venture only so far from these castle gr
ounds,” Dallas said. “These boundaries are impassable, for reasons unknown to us. And we possess virtually no abilities to alter anything in this present world. You know of this?”

  Holly nodded.

  “Your mother knew about us,” Dallas said. “She did not have the sight the way that you do, dear child. But she knew. We never spoke, and I don’t believe that she could hear us. But there were times when her eyes met mine and she would say, “Hello” This happened with Elizabeth and the girls, as well.

  “Your mother had a small painting; a painting whose place was upon the wall of the main room. She discovered it missing, and found it—”

  “In the turret room,” Holly said.

  “Yes,” Dallas said. “Charlotte had taken it.”

  “Your mother could have just put the painting back from whence it came. But I believe she knew that it meant a great deal to…to someone. Perhaps, she even knew that it was my little Charlotte.

  “I’d swear on my own mother’s grave that your mother knew it was Charlotte that took that painting. Your blessed, sweet mother hung the painting on the wall in the turret room, and brought in a small table and chairs as if to provide for…for…”

  “Tea and crumpets,” Holly whispered.

  A tear ran down Dallas’s cheek.

  “Aye, tea and crumpets.”

  Five

  Wylie Westerhouse

  Branson, Missouri

  I’ve seen this guy before. He comes in about once a week, and he always buys something. He pays cash, and always tries to hide the fact that he has a serious amount of it in his wallet. He’s never handed me anything other than hundred dollar bills. He wears one ring that is large, but doesn’t look expensive, and he drives an Aston Martin. You know—the James Bond sports car that you almost never see in this part of the world. I should say he drives one of his Aston Martins—one at a time.

  He’s always alone, which has to be by choice. He’s an older guy but looks like he takes care of himself. I’ve noticed some women looking him over—some of them closer to my age. Must be the car. Or the clothes. Or the rings, or maybe the wallet. Or maybe the confidence worn by a guy that has life by the short hairs.

  Today, he’s carrying a couple of expensive CD box-sets; Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin.

  “You’ll really like these,” I said as I rung them up, “I hear these guys are pretty talented.”

  “Man, I hope so. I like to give these new bands a chance when I can,” the guy said.

  “So you, uh, don’t have these already? Somehow, I find that hard to believe,” I said.

  “I just picked up the new wheels, and I don’t care for moving the music collection around all the time, so…”

  “You just picked up another car? I didn’t see you drive up,” I said, rising up on my toes to look out the front window.

  “I parked between the tour buses. Come have a look,” he said.

  “No freaking way! Is this—?”

  “Yep. 1965 DB5, the Gold—”

  “The Goldfinger car! Oh my God!” I said, not sounding at all like an over-excited teenage boy. Really.

  “Here,” he said and tossed me the keys.

  I caught them, looked up at him, and said, “I’ll just sit in it for a second, I’ve got customers.”

  “Start it up. The motor sounds amazing.”

  Yes, it does.

  I sat for a few seconds, shut off the motor, stood up and handed the man his keys.

  “Thanks, that is one awesomely unbelievable car, Mister…” I said extending my hand.

  “Quentin Lynchburg. Just call me ‘Q’,” he said, shaking my hand.

  I laughed.

  “Oh, man. That’s perfect— a fleet of Aston Martins for James Bond’s main man, ‘Q’. My name’s Wy—“

  “Wylie Westerhouse—destined to become the famous Wylie Westerhouse, if my ears serve me correctly,” Q said, with a smile.

  “Well, yeah. Thanks. How do you—“

  “I’ve been to a couple of your sets, including last night—which might just turn out to be one of the biggest nights of my life,” Q said.

  “Really? Why is that?” I asked.

  “I met a lady who’s visiting from Georgia. I never believed in love at first sight, but…suddenly I’m not so sure.” Q was staring away at nothing.

  “We danced to your last three songs last night, and it was like I had known her…” Q’s voice trailed off. He blinked a few times and smiled again.

  “We’re meeting at the Mizzou again tonight,” he said. “She’s leaving in the morning with her niece and her niece’s husband for three weeks in Europe. They’re booked for three weeks’ worth of castle tours. I might just have a little surprise for her when she gets back.”

  “Easy there, Cowboy,” I said, with a laugh. “Aston Martins you can take back or sell if you change your mind in a couple of weeks.”

  “Sage advice from a wise, old man of the world,” Q laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “But you know what? The best decisions I’ve ever made, have been made,” Q snapped his fingers, “just like that.”

  I pointed at the car.

  “Yeah, can’t argue with you there.”

  Q laughed.

  “The money and the toys are the easy part,” he said.

  He looked up and touched a finger to his chin.

  “What’s that, sir? You’d like to test for the possibility that there might be large deposits of sweet crude oil underneath these thousand acres of scrub brush? Why no, I don’t suppose I mind at all. I’ll be right here on the porch with a tall glass of sweet tea. Let me know how it turns out. And the rest is history. I’ll see you tonight, Wylie.”

  I shook my head, smiled, and snapped off a salute as Q climbed into his new car. He gunned the motor and fishtailed from the parking lot into the street.

  The Majestic Mizzou was packed, even for a Saturday night. It was Labor Day weekend, and the heat had backed off enough to leave the tourist crowd with ample energy to burn off.

  The band was really on, too. It was one of those serendipitous nights when we were hitting on all cylinders. Nate even lowered his cymbal stands. He recognized that we were in “The Zone”.

  To open up our middle set, I set up the props for our fun little choreographed opener. This one goes over pretty well here in Branson. As you might guess, there is a fiercely loyal community of St. Louis Cardinal baseball fans around here. The closest thing I had to a hit song while I was in Boston was this silly little song that I wrote on a bar napkin one night in the middle of a Samuel Adams fog.

  We start by playing back a recording of the last stanza of The National Anthem, which grabs the crowd’s attention and brings them to their feet. They cheer loudly as the last line is sung.

  I then walk to the center of the stage, where there are spotlights on two separate coat racks. On one hangs a jersey and cap of the (mostly) locally despised Chicago Cubs. I slowly begin to reach toward this coat rack, to a growing chorus of boos. I lower my hand, turn and look into the crowd and shrug my shoulders. And then, from the other coat rack, I take a jersey and cap of the St. Louis Cardinals. I put them on, and we launch into our tribute to futility—

  So This is What it’s Like to be a Cubs Fan.

  I think it’s a darn good sing-along if I do say so, myself.

  *So this is what it’s like to be a Cubs fan*

  *It’s only May, but there’s no way, we’re climbing out of this cellar, Man!*

  *The season’s just beginning, but it’s the bottom of the ninth inning*

  *It’s just a game and we’re doing the best we can*

  *So this is what it’s like to be a Cubs fan*

  Our second set came to an end and we took our last break of the night. There were enough warm bodies in the building that the air conditioning couldn’t quite keep up. As I made my way toward the end of the bar I saw Quentin Lynchburg sitting at a tiny table next to the wall. The table held several empty glasses and bottles.

 
“Hey, Quentin, how’s it going?” I said, mopping my face.

  Q looked up at me; his eyes red and wet.

  “Hey, Wylie. Great show tonight,” he said.

  “Great crowd, that always helps. Where’s your friend?” I said, looking around.

  “She’s not here, Wylie.”

  Oh, crap. I had no idea what to say next.

  Q made a little laugh.

  “I thought…I mean, we only talked for about an hour, but I was sure she would be here tonight. I don’t even know her last name. Her first name is Blair,” he said. He continued in an alcohol-soaked sing-song fashion,

  “Her name was Blair with the long auburn hair, but I’ve turned around and she’s…not there.”

  “Aw, man. Do you think…?” I said, “Something unexpected must have come up—flight change, something like that, maybe. Do you know where they were staying? Did you get her phone number?”

  “No idea, none of the above, my inquisitive friend,” Q said “I was sure that she would be here tonight. I didn’t want to come across as, you know. Clingy. Or desperate. I wanted to look cool. So how cool do I look now?”

  “Man, that sucks, Q. But you know what? They’re away from home—with lots of connections to make. I’m sure something just came up. You know, people’s lives can get complicated.”

  “What are you, Wylie? Twenty-three? Twenty-four? You sound older than me,” Q said.

  “I’ve seen too much. I wish…I wish I was still just a kid.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m too drunk to be talking to anybody.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m really sorry about your lady friend. I believe you’ll find each other,” I said.