by Nathan Roden
“Ha! Baywatch, now that there’s a good show.”
“Sure is—even in Spanish.”
Holly and the McIntyre family stopped laughing and looked at one another before realizing that those voices had come from above them.
Two rotund gentlemen were sitting side-by-side on a tree branch. They were barefoot and wearing overalls with no shirts underneath.
“Good sirs, perhaps you could provide an explanation as to why you have chosen to eavesdrop—” Dallas said. His stance was bold and defiant.
The two men floated down toward the ground, keeping an eye on Dallas, who was quite tall. He dwarfed the two men.
One turned to the other and began to mock Dallas.
“Good sir, perhaps you could perhaps…” He turned back to Dallas.
“We speak Anglish round these parts—know what I mean, Cowboy?”
The other man said, “Maybe they all talk funny because they all sure do dress funny. Except for this one here,” he pointed at Holly. “Course, if I’m not mistaken, that one’s still livin’. So what’s your story, Captain? It ain’t Halloween yet. Why you made up in those duds? You supposed to be a pirate, or what?”
“I am the Baron Dallas McIntyre of McIntyre Township of the Province of Perthshire.”
The two men stood a little straighter and their eyes grew wide.
“McIntyre?” Butch said, “You’re a McIntyre? Oh, my Lord. Are you one of Reba’s relations?”
“We’re beggin’ your pardon, Sir. We had no idea you was related to the Queen of Country Music,” Ernest said.
“Hey! You watch yourself, Ernest,” Butch said, “Loretta is the Queen. Reba is… well, she’s like a Princess or something.”
“I do not know of this ‘Reba”, Dallas said, “but I would like to meet your Royal family. I have many questions to ask them. Who might you gentlemen be?”
The first man stuck out his hand.
“I’m Butch Atkins, no relation to Chet, I’m sorry to say. This here’s my cousin, Ernest Atkins. He’s a little touched in the head but he don’t mean any harm.”
Ernest shoved Butch aside and held his hand out to Dallas.
“Don’t listen to that moron. He’s been introducin’ me like that to folks since we were kids. If anybody is touched it would be him.”
“And I guess this here’s your wife and young-uns?” Ernest asked as he took off his filthy John Deere cap.
“My wife, Elizabeth, and my daughters, Nora, and Charlotte,” Dallas said.
Elizabeth nodded, and Nora and Charlotte curtsied.
“Ladies,” Ernest said, nodding. Butch did the same.
Butch looked at Dallas, and then glanced at Holly.
“So, she can—”
“My name is Holly McFadden, and I can see you, Mr. Atkins and Mr. Atkins. Even when you hide up in the trees and spy on people,” Holly said.
“Hey, we was here first, young lady. We’re just gettin’ used to this after-death thing, and all of a sudden somebody’s buildin’ this big old stone house. Now there’s a new batch of dead folks wanderin’ around who dang sure ain’t from around these parts. A man can’t be too careful these days. You can’t blame us for hidin’ and watchin’.”
“You must admit that this is quite reasonable behavior, Holly,” Dallas said.
Butch turned to Ernest.
“You must admit, it is most reasonable—”
Ernest dropped his chin to his chest, laughing.
Butch turned to Dallas.
“You seem like a nice enough fella, but…say. Turn around, I want to see something.”
Dallas craned his neck, looking behind himself.
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“I just want to see what a two-by-four stuck up a man’s backside looks like,” Butch said. He slapped his thigh and laughed. Ernest did the same.
The girls turned away from Dallas and covered their mouths.
“We’re just pokin’ fun, Mr. McIntyre,” Ernest said.
“Don’t worry about it. We only poke fun at people we like. You folks are okay in my book.”
“And that goes for my book, too,” Butch said, and then he turned around and yelled.
“Mona! You and Brenda Sue come on out here and meet the new folks.”
Two small women peeked around a corner and walked toward the group. A flash of white streaked in front of them.
A man in a sequined white jumpsuit slid to a stop on one knee in front of them. His hair was styled in a large black pompadour. He held up his hands in a dramatic gesture.
“Has someone requested an audience with The King?”
“The King?” Dallas said. “The King of Missouri? If this be so, I would very much like to inquire—“
“He ain’t no King,” Ernest said.
“That’s Delbert Scoggins. He ain’t King of nothin’ but that ridiculous Elvis outfit.”
“That does seem to be unusual clothing for a member of the Royal Family,” Elizabeth said.
“I’ve never seen a King display his chest hair all the way to his navel,” Nora said.
Delbert stood, and then immediately dropped into a karate stance. He sawed his hands back and forth.
“May I present The King—Elvis Presley, the King of Rock and Roll, at your service,” he said.
Butch shook his head.
“This here is Dallas McIntyre and his family and their friend,” he said.
“McIntyre?” Delbert said, standing at attention.
“Oh, my goodness. Reba’s family? Reba is the greatest woman sing—”
Dallas was shaking his head.
“I do not know this Reba; however, I am curious to know more about the lady.”
“This here’s my brother-in-law, Delbert,” Butch said. “He fancies himself a great Elvis impersonator.”
“Well, I’m closer to being Elvis than you are to being a boat driver,” Delbert said.
Butch clenched his fists.
“When are you gonna shut up about that, Delbert? It was an accident!”
“Accident my rear end,” Delbert yelled. “If you and Ernest want to endanger the country’s supply of Rocky Mountain Spring Water, and then play ‘chicken’ in your bass boats—that’s fine by me. But no—you had to do it with me and the women-folk in the dang boats.”
“That don’t mean it wasn’t an accident, Delbert,” Ernest said.
“You two stubborn mules have been trying to one-up each other ever since you could crawl, and no one in their right mind thinks either one of you is gonna pull up in a game of ‘chicken’,” Delbert said.
“Can’t do nothin’ about that now,” Butch said.
“That was sure one mighty impressive explosion, though,” Ernest said.
“That was because of my boat. I was runnin’ nitrous,” Butch said.
“Well, so was I, you idiot,” Ernest said. “My boat made the biggest explosion—I had just topped off my gas tank.”
“That’s enough!” Holly yelled. “How many more of you are there?”
“Maybe a hundred that we know of,” Butch said. Ernest nodded.
“They ain’t all exactly…friendly, if you know what I mean,” Ernest said.
Holly sighed.
“Yes. They never are.”
“So what’s the story on this old building, here?” Butch asked. “That’s how you folks got here, right? You come in from the Shire?”
Delbert snickered.
“You folks come from the Shire? I thought Hobbits was little barefoot folk.”
“Very funny, Elvis,” Holly said.
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Delbert Elvis said.
“This is the Castle McIntyre—constructed in the year thirteen hundred and six,” Dallas said with pride.
Butch whistled.
“That’s a lot older than America. Where are you folks from, exactly?”
“Why, Scotland, of course,” Elizabeth said.
“Scotland?” Delbert said. “You
are not.”
Dallas loomed over Delbert.
“Do you presume to call my wife a liar, Your Highness?”
“No! I didn’t mean that. It just…sort of slipped out,” Delbert said, shrinking; much to the delight of the rest of his family.
“So how did you end up here?” Butch asked.
“The castle was sold to a Mr. Lynchburg, who had the castle disassembled and transported here to your village. It appears that while we remain in our family home, we have become residents of your fair Township,” Dallas said.
“Hey,” Delbert said. “Who is that tall drink of water?”
David and Arabella had finally decided to make an appearance.
Holly moaned.
“Aye, someone could have mentioned that those two had made the trip as well,” she said.
“Dallas, we have been able to travel as far as…oh, Good Lord,” David said. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw their Branson neighbors. Arabella had been following David and she slammed into his back. She straightened her hat and peeked around her brother’s side.
“Make them go away, David,” Arabella whispered. She clutched her brother’s shirt tail and tried to hide behind him.
“As far as where, David?” Dallas asked. “We have yet to encounter any territorial boundaries on this side of the castle.”
“We were able to traverse the entirety of the…that area where those silly people chase the tiny white spheres. They all have bags of sticks and wear ridiculous clothes—“
“Ha!” Butch said. “Here’s another one talking about people’s clothes!”
“I never seen me a Liberace impersonator before,” Delbert said.
“I believe old Twinkle Toes here is makin’ fun of the golfers,” Ernest said.
Delbert tilted his head to one side, trying to make eye contact with Arabella. She hid her head behind David.
“Come on out and meet the King, pretty lady,” Delbert said. He made another elaborate stage move and then drew a handkerchief from inside his outfit. He wiped sweat from his brow in dramatic fashion, and then offered his handkerchief to Arabella.
“Thank you very much.”
“David!” Arabella said, through clenched teeth, “I must lie down. I am about to be very ill.”
Nineteen
Wylie Westerhouse
Branson, Missouri
I called Quentin early to ask if he could meet me. He was already at the construction site.
I found him sitting at one of the picnic tables that were in front of the castle. The sun had just come up. There was a line for the catering truck. The workers got their breakfasts and moved to a table. I didn’t realize that construction workers were treated so well. It turns out that they’re not unless Quentin Lynchburg is involved.
“All right, you bunch of Mama’s Boys,” Brian McAllen said with his hands on his hips. “Fifteen minutes and you had better be ready to get with the program,” he turned his head and spat on the ground.
“I’ve never seen such a thing in my thirty years of building—picnic for breakfast, picnic for lunch—this bunch is going to be ruined for every other job for the rest of their lives, Mr. Lynchburg.”
Quentin laughed as he chewed a mouth full of pancake.
“I have no kids yet, Brian, and I insist on spoiling all of my friends rotten. Isn’t that right, Mr. Westerhouse?” Quentin said.
“Might as well get yourself a plate, Mr. McAllen. It’s easier than arguing with him,” I said.
I chose a biscuit the size of a hubcap. It was loaded with about two thousand calories worth of heavy breakfast food. I sat down across the table from Quentin.
“I thought you were in Boston,” he said.
“There was a little mix-up at the airport,” I said.
“So, you’re going today?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t think so.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“You won’t believe who I met at the airport.”
“How many guesses do I get?”
“How many do you want?”
“Hmmm—Madonna.”
“That’s actually not a bad guess.”
Q shrugged.
“The man you bought the castle from, Mr. Larrimore?” I said.
“Seth Larrimore is here?” Q turned to look in all directions, “Really?”
“No, but his niece is. She was actually the castle’s owner, but she’s only nineteen,” I said.
“Well, what is she doing here? This is strange. Did Mr. Larrimore send—“
“Mr. Larrimore died, Q. Two weeks ago.”
Q slumped backward.
“Oh. That’s terrible. Man, I feel awful. What is she…I don’t know what to say. Why is she here, Wylie? Did she say…?”
“She has no other family in Scotland. She’s more connected to the castle than she is to Scotland, I guess,” I said.
Q leaned forward.
“She told you that?” he whispered.
I nodded.
Q blew out a breath.
“So what is she—“
“Look, Q,” I said, “I think there may be a good solution here, so don’t get all stressed out, okay? The girl’s name is Holly. Holly McFadden. She knows the castle inside out— she knows all about its history. She has conducted tours of the castle for the last five years. This is perfect for both of you. You’ll never find someone more qualified to manage the place.”
I could almost see Q’s brain processing this information.
“You’re right about one thing. It does sound like a perfect situation,” Q said. “I can’t figure out why it seems…maybe too perfect? I’m just being paranoid.”
“There’s something else I want to ask you about,” I said.
Q closed his eyes.
“I knew it. This is where you tell me that the girl is a werewolf, or a witch, or the she-devil daughter of Satan—or something else that makes this a bad idea, right?”
“No. She’s great, really great, as far as I can tell. What I wanted to ask you about was if you would consider hiring me as Holly’s assistant. Or apprentice. Whatever you would call it.”
Q sat up straight and his eyes grew wide.
“You’re staying in Branson? You’re not just messing with me, are you?”
I grinned, and nodded, and then shook my head.
Q cocked his head to the side. He stared at me for a few seconds before he stuck out his right hand.
“Welcome to Castle McIntyre, Branson Edition, young man. When can I meet this young lady?” Q asked.
“If I can get in touch with her, how about this afternoon?”
“That will be great. Feel free to warn her that your salaries may be ridiculous.”
“Thanks, Q. I think this is going to work,” I said.
“So do I,” Q said.
I turned to leave, and I heard Q say,
“Congratulations, Wylie.”
I turned around and looked at him. Something about the smirk on his face made it hard for me to maintain eye contact.
“Congratulations…for what?” I said.
“You know what.”
I found Q inside the construction trailer at about one-thirty that afternoon.
“Quentin Lynchburg, I would like for you to meet Holly McFadden.”
Quentin beamed his confident smile and jumped up to meet us. I saw his eyebrows rise a little when Holly grabbed his hand. I had felt her strength for myself, so I smiled when I saw his reaction.
“Have a seat, you two. Either of you care for something to drink?” Q said.
“I would like some water, please,” Holly said. “Mr. Westerhouse treated me to the ‘Blizzard’ from the Queen of Dairy and it made me thirsty. And I probably need to see a dentist.”
“Water it is. Wylie?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Q took a bottle of Aquafina from the refrigerator and looked to his left and right around the office.
“I�
�m not sure…I may not have a cup or a glass.”
Holly walked toward Q. She took the bottle from his hands, leaving him speechless. This was an impressive early accomplishment.
“Oh, for God’s sake, I’ve drunk ten thousand gallons of water from a garden hose, Mr. Lynchburg. I’m certain that I can survive puttin’ my mouth to the neck of a bottle. I do thank you for the kindness,” she said.
I did mention that I was in love, didn’t I?
Holly pulled a piece of paper from her jacket pocket. She straightened it out and put it on the desk in front of Q.
“I’ve listed my references, Mr. Lynchburg. The only ones I have are from my last job at the Castle Wellmore—that’s where I worked after we lost the bridge.”
Q didn’t even look at the paper.
“I’m certain everything is in order, Miss McFadden.”
Q leaned forward and clasped his hands.
“I’m sorry about your uncle, Holly. I would have loved to meet him. I could tell from our conversations that he was a great guy, and quite the character,” Q said.
Holly smiled.
“Aye, that he was.”
“I can appreciate that you have a special connection to the castle, Holly. I’m sure you can understand that it seems a little odd to travel half-way around the world to be with it?” Q said.
Holly shrugged her shoulders and avoided Q’s eyes.
“Wylie tells me that you have a great deal of knowledge of the castle’s history and that you’ve conducted tours for the last few years.”
Holly looked at Q and nodded.
Q sat back in his chair and smiled.
“Well, then, I must be the luckiest man in the world today,” Q said.
His smile faded.
“I do have one concern.”
Q stood and walked to the front of the desk. He looked at me, and then at Holly.
“I don’t know if Wylie has explained it to you, but I have met with considerable opposition since we began the reconstruction. Apparently, I rub certain people the wrong way—“
