by Nathan Roden
“Our little boy…he’s all grown up now, Tooie.”
Tooie rolled her eyes. But, you knew that.
“I’ve known him since he was just a puppy,” Nate said in a weepy voice.
“Holly,” I said, “Did you hear about the drummer that graduated from high school?”
“What?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me, neither.”
I went back inside.
I’m not going to get a break. Not ever. Not ever again.
The two ghosts in the overalls and dirty John Deere caps had come inside. Standing next to them was…it couldn’t be. No freakin’ way.
“Wylie,” Dallas said, “this is Butch Atkins, and his cousin, Ernest Atkins. And this is Butch’s brother-in-law, Delbert Scoggins.”
Okay. Delbert Scoggins is either an Elvis Presley impersonator or someone with waayy too much of a man crush on the King of Rock and Roll.
It wouldn’t be polite for me to refer to Delbert as an impersonator of fat Elvis, so I’ll just say that he was an impersonator of greasy Elvis. Or, maybe sweaty Elvis.
Nah, let’s stick with Fat Elvis.
I was introduced to the room, and then Dallas said, “Well it appears that more introductions are in order.”
Duncan had come, too.
“Gentlemen.”
“Can you FEEL it?”
The war cry of Bruiser Brady made the hair on my arms tingle. Or maybe that wasn’t it.
Holly was rubbing my arm. Hard.
“Good luck,” she whispered into my ear.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “You, too.”
I slipped toward the stairs and took them two at a time. I opened the doors to the Juliette balcony as quietly as I could. I made a last check of the electric cord and the red glow on the boom box told me that we were in business. This was no time to trust batteries.
“Are you ready?” she whispered.
I stopped my scream just before it left my throat.
“I…I think so,” I whispered instead.
“You need to relax,” she said. “I know that you are afraid, but one mistake could doom us all.”
Gulp.
“I’m just making last minute checks,” I said.
Power. Check.
Volume at “eight”. I know that volume. Check.
Cd tray.
Open. Ch—
Oh no.
There was a CD in the tray.
A karaoke CD.
No voices.
Holy crap.
“Look,” I said, “I have to—”
“I thought you and your people would be long gone, Dallas,” the voice of Bruiser Brady boomed from below.
She stood in front of me.
“It is time,” she said.
“But—”
“There is no ‘but’,” she said.
Oh, no. Oh, God.
You may not recognize it, but this is a prayer.
If I’ve blown this, it could ruin everything.
The castle. Quentin Lynchburg. The McIntyre’s home.
And Holly.
Prince David had no reason to lie or even exaggerate.
I can only hope.
Amen.
“We’ve prepared a little surprise for you, Mr. Brady,” Dallas said.
“Yeah, right,” Bruiser said.
“Yeah, right,” Little Dougie Day said.
“What are you playin’ at, McIntyre?” Dallas asked.
“From my observations you must be quite a fan of the country music,” Dallas said.
“Yeah, so what?” Bruiser said, jutting out his jaw.
Dallas cleared his throat. He turned and extended a hand toward the Juliette balcony.
“Bruiser Brady and friends, from Winchester, Virginia via Nashville Tennessee—for your listening pleasure I give you the one and only—
“Miss Patsy Cline.”
Bruiser, Dougie, and the rest turned and stared up at the Juliette balcony.
“Go!” Arabella barked at me through clenched teeth.
I pushed the play button.
As the introduction to the song ‘I’m Sorry’ played, Arabella stepped onto the balcony.
I couldn’t see downstairs but I could hear the murmur growing down there. It was followed by Bruiser’s growl.
”Shut your pie-hole, Dougie.”
Arabella opened her mouth and she was really singing the song—but she also fully expected to be doing little more than lip-syncing.
She turned slightly and gave me a look that would melt steel, even as she increased her volume.
“I’m sorry,” I mouthed, appropriately.
Anyone who has ever witnessed the answer to a prayer will tell you.
You will never, never, never forget it.
The goosebumps started at the base of my spine. They climbed up my spine and then raced down my arms. Another wave of them came up and flooded my entire body.
I remember thinking that I was about to cry until I realized that I already was.
I looked at the profile of Princess Arabella McIntyre—
And heard the voice of Patsy Cline.
The song finished and Arabella took one step backward. But I was too slow at the buttons and the song ‘I Fall to Pieces’ had already begun to play.
Maybe I did it on purpose—subconsciously. I wanted her to keep singing, and now she had little choice.
I couldn’t help myself. I crawled across the floor until I could peek through the balcony railing to see downstairs.
What a sight that was.
Bruiser, Little Dougie, and the rest were blubbering like babies.
Baron McIntyre, Sir,
You are a genius.
Apparently Arabella knew how much time was left to the song because I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. She was kicking at my head. I scrambled backward and got ready to shut off the boom box.
I pressed the stop button when the song finished. The whimpers from the ghosts invaded the silence.
Arabella was immediately in my face.
“It appears that Bruiser’s gang has had a change of heart. Did Dallas tell you to bring the ‘Hank Williams’? The ‘Lonesome’ song?”
“Yes,” I said, “But he didn’t say why.”
“Because I told him to tell you to bring it,” she said.
“Why?”
She pointed to the railing and smiled.
“I’ve punched them around a bit. Now go and knock them out.”
I had to close my eyes to stay focused. I was terrified that I would forget the words— even though I’ve sung this song a thousand times.
Nearing the end of the first verse, it occurred to me that Trevor Burkendale was now only the second most terrifying audience I had performed in front of.
That thought made me smile. And open my eyes.
Duncan was smiling up at me, but that didn’t last for long.
Bruiser Brady was sobbing. Little Dougie Day had his head buried in Bruiser’s side and he was clutching Bruiser’s shirt. Duncan saw Bruiser out of the corner of his eye and started to run but he was too late and too slow.
Bruiser threw his arms around Duncan and pulled him into his chest. Duncan was now at the core of a group hug that consisted of Bruiser’s entire entourage. The only parts of Duncan that were visible were his feet and his face. I could barely hear him—
“A little help here.
“God, he weighs a ton.”
That ‘hugging’ joke was funny a couple of days ago.
Am I right or am I right, Big Brother?
“That was incredible, Arabella,” I said.
Arabella’s eyes narrowed.
“What did you do to the music?” she spat. “There was no singing with the music!”
“There’s a simple explanation,” I said. “You know, we’ll laugh about this later—”
“If I had the voice of a stepped-on house-cat, you’d be swingin’ from that balcony right now—at the end of a rope.”
“Follow me,” Arabella said as she flew from the balcony. I followed her into the library. I jerked to a stop when Arabella disappeared through a wall of books. Two seconds later her head appeared.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know about the secret doors.”
She pointed down at a thick, black book about waist high.
“That one’s not real. Look closely at it and you’ll find the lever.”
I located the lever and pushed. The wall of books hinged inward.
“I knew this place was cool,” I said, “but I had no idea it was this cool.”
“That’s your Mr. Lynchburg’s doing. He’s added secret doors and passages all through the castle. And we never had so many books in the library. The few that we had were burned.
“I’m liking him very much.”
Arabella suddenly realized what she had said.
“If you repeat that to anyone,” she snarled. “I’ll haunt your dreams, Mr. Westerhouse.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said with a fling of my hand, “And I’ll tell my brother to hug you. Constantly.”
Thirty-nine
Holly and the McIntyre Family
Branson, Missouri
Arabella emerged beneath the stairwell. She was shocked to find Quentin there. Quentin was shocked that he was seen.
“That was incredible,” Q whispered.
Arabella was not prepared for that.
“Th—Thank you, Mr.—” Arabella said.
“Lynchburg. Quentin Lynchburg,” Q said. He started to extend his hand until he thought better of it.
“Well, of course,” Arabella said “Our benevolent landlord.”
Bruiser and his men had regained some of their composure. They peeled themselves away from Duncan. Duncan’s clothes were ruffled and wet and his hair stood straight up. His eyes were crossed, and he was quite wobbly as he sat down on the floor.
“What do we do now, Bruiser?” Dougie Day whispered.
Bruiser’s massive shoulders heaved as he fought to regain his composure. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands.
“We’re leaving.”
Dougie nodded and looked down at the floor, sniffling. He turned to go.
“Wait up, Dougie,” Bruiser said.
Dougie looked up. Bruiser addressed the rest of his gang.
“We’ll meet up at the Truck Stop,” he said.
They turned and walked away—some of them with arms around another’s shoulders.
“Stand by me, Dougie,” Bruiser said. Little Dougie beamed.
“We’ll be going now, Dallas,” Bruiser said.
Dallas nodded.
“Thank you, Bruiser.”
Bruiser glanced up at the Juliette balcony and then nodded toward Delbert Scoggins. Delbert was holding a huge wad of handkerchiefs and drying his eyes.
“My feelings about them,” Bruiser threw an open hand toward the courtyard, “haven’t changed. Not one bit.
“But I’ll take no part in bringing this castle down,” he said. “Not so long as it is home to—”
Bruiser was choked up. Little Dougie would have put a hand on his friend’s shoulder if he could have reached it.
“You’ll have no further trouble from us,” Bruiser said. His eyes narrowed. “Any of us.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Brady. Bruiser,” Elizabeth said, gripping Dallas’s hand tightly.
Nora and Charlotte smiled and nodded. Delbert, Butch, and Ernest mumbled their thanks.
Bruiser made a fist. That caused the group of ghosts to gasp until he pulled the fist against his heart.
“Nashville has the Bluebird Cafe and the Opry, and Memphis has Graceland. But Branson, Missouri is home to the great Castle McIntyre,” he said.
He made a classic two-hand Elvis Presley stance and aimed it toward Delbert.
Delbert smiled, dropped the ball of handkerchiefs, and returned the gesture. Bruiser’s laugh echoed throughout the castle.
Bruiser put a hand on Dougie’s shoulder and said,
“If you have any trouble at all, if you need anything, you call for us.”
“We will,” Dallas said. “My friend.”
Wylie, Quentin, and Arabella watched Bruiser pass through the outer wall. They stepped into the room to a standing ovation.
Wylie grabbed Quentin’s arm at the elbow and held him back. Holly joined them.
David ran to his sister and hugged her. Elizabeth and Dallas were next to hug Arabella. Arabella hugged back though it looked as if the show of affection was brand-new to her.
Elizabeth looked around for her girls. She intended to make sure that they showed appreciation for Arabella’s performance.
That proved unnecessary.
“A simply stupendous performance,” Dallas expounded.
“Heaven has come down to walk amongst us,” Butch Atkins said in a hush. Ernest was unable to say anything. Delbert continued to weep quietly.
Arabella looked on in a wide-eyed silence. She had no experience to draw from.
“Thank you, all,” she said weakly. She wobbled and looked as if she might faint.
David leaped to his sister’s side and led her to a nearby chair.
“That was amazing, Arabella,” Elizabeth said softly. “We shall be eternally grateful.”
“Thank you, Eliz—”
Arabella screamed.
She jumped up from the chair, holding her hands to her head.
Charlotte stood behind the chair with both of her hands in the air.
In her right hand, she held her hair brush.
The room exploded with laughter. The laughter continued as everyone congratulated each another in light of the days’ victory. Arabella settled back into the chair to experience her first hair-brushing in six hundred years.
Holly watched this scene with a calm she had not known for a long time. It had been months since her days had not been victimized by one turmoil or another.
She took a deep breath and floated in a feeling of contentment. She smiled as she watched Arabella with her head tilted back and a smile on her face.
Arabella. Hair.
Holy crap.
“I’ll be right back,” Holly whispered to Wylie and Quentin.
She ran to her apartment and threw open the closet door. It took her a few minutes to find what she was looking for.
“Arabella?” Holly said.
Arabella opened her eyes.
“I can’t believe I forgot about this,” Holly said. “Everything has been so mad that it completely slipped my mind.”
She held Arabella’s tiara.
It was still caked with mud and hardly recognizable for what it was. Only two jewels remained—one ruby and one emerald. The other jewel mounts were distorted and empty.
Arabella stared at the tiara as if it was the most valuable treasure in the world.
She reached out with a trembling hand but then pulled her hand back.
“You…you found it.”
“I’m sorry that it is in such a sad condition, but—”
“No, no,” Arabella whispered. “That is not important. This was my only possession that came… that came with me—the only thing that spans both worlds. Well, besides my fan. I can still hold my fan.”
Arabella pulled the worn and tattered paper fan from her pocket. She laid the fan aside and held out her hands.
Holly placed the tiara into Arabella’s hands. When Arabella felt it—when she knew that she was still able to hold it—she began to weep.
“What types of jewels are missing?”
It was Quentin Lynchburg who spoke.
“Nearly all of them,” Arabella said.
Quentin laughed. He knelt in front of Arabella.
“Show me,” he said.
Arabella pointed to the empty mounts on the tiara.
“Emeralds here, here, and here. Rubies in the others.”
Quentin nodded and then moved his finger back and forth over the topmost part of the tiara.
&nb
sp; “What would you think about a nice arch of diamonds across the top?” he said.
“What is diamonds?” Arabella asked.
Quentin blinked a few times and then stood up.
“Uh, give me just a second.”
Quentin walked to his office.
He jogged back and knelt in front of Arabella.
“This tennis bracelet belonged to my mother. These…are diamonds. Do you like—?”
“Yes, oh yes!” Arabella said.
Her eyes were glued to the glistening gems.
Quentin unclasped the bracelet.
“May I?”
Arabella nodded.
Quentin tried to put the bracelet on Arabella but it passed through her wrist.
“I’m sorry,” Quentin said. “How stupid of me.”
“It’s all right,” Arabella said.
“Q,” Wylie said, “Put it on the crown.”
Quentin looked up.
“What?”
“The…tiara,” Wylie said. “Try putting the bracelet on the tiara.”
Quentin placed the bracelet across the top part of the tiara. He looked at Arabella.
“May I?” he said.
Arabella nodded enthusiastically.
Quentin lifted the tiara over Arabella’s head. He placed it down. Everything stayed in place.
Arabella’s smile beamed amid a round of applause.
“If I could take it for a day or two, Miss Arabella,” Quentin said. “I know a man who can restore it— better than new.”
“You are far too kind, Mr. Lynchburg,” Arabella said.
“Kind?” Quentin said. “Don’t be silly. I do believe that you and Mr. Westerhouse just saved this castle.”
A loud banging sound came from upstairs.
