by Nathan Roden
Dallas and David walked toward the stairwell. They stopped when they heard cackling laughter coming in their direction.
Two members of Bruiser’s gang stopped at the bottom of the stairs. They quit laughing when they saw that they were outnumbered. One of the men put his hands behind his back.
“Say, neighbors,” the other ghost said. “Have you seen Bruiser Brady? We were supposed to meet him here but we were running late.”
“Bruiser has gone to meet the rest of his group at something called ‘The Truck Stop’,” Dallas said. “It would be a good idea for you to find him. He will have important information for you.”
“Oh,” the ghost said. “No party here today then, huh?”
“No,” Elizabeth said. “There are to be no more ‘parties’ here. What do you have behind your back, sir?”
“Oh, it’s nothin’, Ma’am,” the ghost stammered. “Me and Carl was just wrestlin’ around a little upstairs.”
“I don’t care what you are capable of carrying, but you’ll take nothing from this castle,” Dallas said.
The man with his hands behind his back looked at his friend, who had no help to offer.
“I wasn’t gonna steal nothin’. I just didn’t know what to do with it.”
With his left hand, the man produced a broken picture frame with shards of glass hanging from it. What was left of the picture was in tatters.
All that was distinguishable was the rear half of a honey-colored foal.
“Nooooooo!” Charlotte screamed, running for the picture.
Elizabeth caught her and pulled her daughter to her chest.
Forty
Wylie Westerhouse
Branson, Missouri
I had no idea what was happening, but it was terrible. This adorable little girl, this adorable little ghost girl, was heartbroken over a pony. No—a picture of a pony.
Holly took me aside and explained the story about Charlotte’s pony and this painting that meant so much to her.
Poor little thing.
We would have had every cause for celebration, if not for the loss of the painting. Bruiser had vowed to leave us alone. The tours would go on unhindered and Quentin and I had a new circle of friends. And I had my brother back, at least temporarily.
I felt selfish.
Duncan was in-between worlds, just like the rest of these people. And none of them knew why they were in this state of limbo. I felt really bad for that little girl.
The state of limbo did not protect them from being hurt.
Quentin stayed with me for the first two tours. He didn’t say much, which is unusual for him. I was pretty quiet myself. I had a job to do, which was to keep the tour group from falling behind. But now I had those duties, plus listening and learning from Holly—and now I was distracted by the ghosts that were all around us. My concentration capabilities were maxed out.
Elizabeth kept her arm around Charlotte. Charlotte was calm, but her loss was taking a toll.
During a quiet moment, Elizabeth whispered to Arabella.
“Arabella, where is David?” Elizabeth asked.
“He said there was something he had to do,” Arabella said. “Actually, he asked me not to say anything, but I am afraid for him. He was so upset over what Bruiser’s men did. You don’t think that he might…?”
“David?” Elizabeth asked. “Don’t worry about him. The most he might do is to condemn these men in front of Bruiser and the rest. It’s not as if any harm can come to him.”
“I don’t know,” Arabella said. “This is so unlike David.”
“For many years I would have agreed with you,” Elizabeth said. “Yet, lately, I am not so sure.”
Between the second and the last tour of the day, I went outside on the second story balcony for some fresh air and to see what kind of crowd we had. There, in the courtyard with the rest of his family, I spotted Mr. Plimpton. Senior. Mr. Herbert Plimpton.
Porter and Tammy Fay were laughing and rubbing elbows with some of their “society” friends. Grady was there along with his friend Bobby. They ran about on all-fours seeking out crumbs of food dropped by previous guests.
Okay, they didn’t really. It’s just that my imagination had a few free minutes to come out and play, so, you see? It’s not really my fault.
Grady and Bobby had no intention of staying close to the family. They did not appear to be happy to be here at all. I’m sure that this outing was Mr. Plimpton’s idea, and there was no way Grady could pull anything with his grandfather there.
Mr. Plimpton was in a wheelchair with a red and black checkered blanket across his lap. He looked up and saw me and a big smile lit his face. He waved.
I smiled and waved back. He motioned for me to come down.
Oh, boy.
I turned to go and almost crashed into Quentin.
“Mr. Plimpton is here,” I said. “He must have had one of his surgeries. I’m going down to say ‘hi’.”
“Good,” Quentin said. “I’ll come with you.”
“I have to warn you,” I said. “His whole family is down there.”
Q contemplated that. He clapped me on the shoulder.
“I have no intention of hiding from Porter Plimpton,” Q said. “And other than the heartbreak of an adorable little girl, nothing else will stand in the way of this day being a success.”
“Mr. Plimpton,” I said. “It is fantastic to see you. How are you doing?”
“Wylie, my boy,” Mr. Plimpton beamed. “What a sight for these old eyes! It is good to see you too, Quentin. You two make an excellent team.”
Porter and Tammy Fay spotted us. They glared at each of us in turn, hiding their sneers from the couple they were chatting up. Grady and Bobby walked to the opposite side of the courtyard.
“Have you had one of your surgeries?” I asked.
“Yep,” he said. “One down, one to go.”
Mr. Plimpton made motions with his hands as though he was carving a turkey.
“They opened me up ever so gently, reached in, and took everything out of my wallet.”
We laughed until Mr. Plimpton grimaced in pain.
I dropped to a crouch beside him.
“Are you all right, Sir?” I asked.
He waved me off and shot a stern look toward Porter.
“I have the benefit of the best recovery environment known to man, Wylie,” Mr. Plimpton chuckled. “A family with absolutely no sense of humor.”
“So what do you say, boys?” Mr. Plimpton directed his question to Quentin and me. “Can a broken-down old man tour this magnificent place?”
“Absolutely,” Quentin said. “We installed a state of the art elevator behind the wall, there. It’s integrated into the exterior and interior walls so that it remains almost invisible.”
Porter and Tammy Fay were approaching. I believe that Mr. Plimpton waited until they were within earshot to look at me and ask,
“Wylie, if it’s not too much trouble, would you be willing to escort me through this fine establishment?”
“It would be an honor, sir,” I said.
“Father,” Porter said without looking at either Quentin or me. “Mr. Westerhouse is an employee here. Tammy and I will—”
“Don’t worry about it, Porter,” Quentin said. “I will assume Wylie’s duties myself.”
“Father, I think—”
“I see you every day, Porter,” Mr. Plimpton said. “I have not seen Wylie for over a month now. Spend time with the rest of your family, for God’s sake, and leave me be for an hour.”
Mr. Plimpton “oohed” and “ahhed” over the castle as much as anyone. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Not as much as the feel of a driver smacking a golf ball dead center, I’m sure.
I hoped that his return to the golf course was not far away.
At the conclusion of the tour, Porter walked toward his father. Mr. Plimpton began shooing him away with both hands.
“I’ll be along in just a few minutes,” he said to Port
er. “I want to visit with Wylie for a bit longer.”
Porter and Tammy Fay rolled their eyes and turned toward the parking lot.
I parked Mr. Plimpton’s wheelchair beside me, where I took up station by the exit doors opposite Holly. Holly stood with her hands clasped behind her as she thanked everyone for coming. She had taken this stance at the conclusion of the earlier tours, but I had never noticed.
Some of the departing guests assumed that Mr. Plimpton was part of the staff. Many people thanked him for the lovely facility. Two elderly couples even tipped him a dollar each, which he accepted graciously rather than try to explain.
When everyone had gone, Mr. Plimpton reached into his own wallet and drew out a twenty, which had somehow escaped the grasp of his surgeon. He handed it to me along with the singles he had collected and pointed at the tip jar.
“That was a most exhilarating experience, young lady,” he said to Holly. “You do a remarkable job.”
“Thank you kindly, sir,” Holly nodded.
“Holly McFadden,” I said, “This is my good friend and former employer, Mr. Plimpton.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Plimpton.”
“A fine old Scottish castle and a beautiful young Scottish tour guide,” Mr. Plimpton said. “I always thought that Quentin had a good business head on his shoulders. He has outdone himself here.”
“You are very kind, sir,” Holly said.
Holly was distracted by something behind her—something that I couldn’t see. I hadn’t been recharged.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “If you would excuse me for just a moment?”
“Certainly,” Mr. Plimpton said.
“I’ve heard Grady speak rather fondly of a young Scottish lady,” Mr. Plimpton said, once Holly was out of earshot. “Might this happen to be the same one, Wylie?”
“I’m sure she is,” I said, trying to keep my voice void of emotion.
“Well, she seems very sweet,” he said. “As well as, ahem, quite healthy.”
Holly came back into the room but stood near the threshold. The look on her face—
What now?
“Wylie,” she said, “Could I speak to you for a moment, please? In the parlor?”
“I’ll just be a second, Mr. Plimpton,” I said.
“Take your time, Wylie,” Mr. Plimpton said. He began wheeling himself toward the suits of armor.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said, clutching my arm and running one hand up to my elbow.
“About what?” I asked.
“I’ve never had anything like this happen,” she said. “Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to let you onto this.”
She pulled one hand away, put it to her mouth and began chewing on a fingernail.
“Once again,” I said. “I’m lost. What are you talking about?”
Holly pointed behind me.
“Mrs. Plimpton.”
“Hello, ma’am,” I whispered, “My name is—”
“Oh, I know who you are, of course,” the transparent Violet Plimpton said with a laugh.
“You do?” I said.
“You’ve taken such loving good care of our store. I couldn’t have been more pleased,” she said. “I feared that Herbert would just let the place go, but he exceeded all of my expectations. He found the sweetest young man to care for her like she was his own.”
“Thank you, Ma—”
“Did you know that Porter was conceived—?”
“Yes, Ma’am. As a matter of fact, Mr. Plimpton did tell me about that.”
I glanced over at Holly, who still looked nervous.
“Your husband is going to wonder what is keeping us, Mrs. Plimpton,” I said. “Begging your pardon, Ma’am…I don’t know how to ask this, but—”
“What in the Dickens am I doing here?” Mrs. Plimpton asked.
Holly and I nodded.
“Well, don’t worry yourselves,” she said. “I won’t be staying long. I’ve been allowed to—pending Miss McFadden’s cooperation—you see, I was not able to tell Herbert goodbye. I was unconscious for three solid weeks before—
“Make no mistake, children. I am in a happy place. I petitioned for this opportunity to ease Herbert’s mind. After this, I will be content to wait. Lord knows it won’t be that long. For goodness sake, the man is like two hundred years old.”
She said the last part with a smile and a wink.
“What do you think?” Holly asked me.
I looked around the room.
“I say, ‘go for it’,” I said. “No talking donkeys, no burning bushes, no indoor thunderclaps. As far as I’m concerned, that says ‘go for it’.”
Holly squatted beside Mr. Plimpton.
“Is your heart in good condition, Mr. Plimpton?”
“My, my,” he chuckled. “What a question! Many a physician has remarked that I have the heart of a forty-year-old. Well, I did before I was confined to this contraption.”
Mr. Plimpton raised a brow when Holly took his hand, and what he saw after that raised his brow to its limit.
“Violet,” he whispered.
“Stay with him,” Holly whispered to me.
She backed away, into the parlor.
“Hello, Herbert,” Violet said, kneeling beside her husband.
Herbert reached a hand toward Violet’s face.
“No, Herbert,” Violet shook her head. “That cannot happen today, my love. I’ve only come because I left without saying goodbye.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Violet. You never did.”
“I want you to rest better, Herbert. Recovery is slow and difficult at your age. You needn’t toss and turn like you do.”
“Can you stay just a little while, Violet?” Herbert asked. “Porter is just outside—”
“No, Herbert,” Violet shook her head. “That is not to be. This was a temporary arrangement and only possible with Holly’s cooperation. Believe it or not, Herbert, you are a very old man. This experience will not traumatize you though it would disrupt Porter’s life greatly.”
Violet smiled at him.
“We will be together again soon, but it pains me to watch you being miserable. Be happy with the rest of your life, Herbert—for me, and for yourself.”
“You’ve always looked out for me, Violet,” Herbert Plimpton smiled.
There were voices coming from the parlor.
“Who is that man?” Violet asked.
Mr. Plimpton and I turned around. Quentin was in the parlor talking to Holly.
I said, “That’s Quentin—”
“Quentin Lynchburg, of course,” Violet said. “I remember him—such a shy young boy. He always sat in the rear of the congregation with his parents before…well.
“I would like to speak with him, please,” she said—to me.
Hey, I didn’t sign up for this.
But I saw no point in consulting with Holly on this one.
“I’ll go get him,” I said.
“Hey, Quentin,” I said. “You got a second? Someone wants to talk to you.”
Holly’s eyes opened wide.
“Oh, sure. Let’s just invite the whole world in.”
I put a hand to my ear.
“Was that you, God? I thought you would sound more like James Earl Jones.”
“Mrs. Plimpton?” Quentin whispered.
“Quentin, it’s so good to see you,” Violet said.
“And you as well, Ma’am,” Quentin said. “Forgive me; I didn’t know that you were—”
“Oh, no. I won’t be staying,” Violet said. “I’ve only stopped in for a few minutes. I came to say goodbye to Herbert, and I have the feeling that I’m to say something to you as well.”
”Something good, I hope?” Quentin said.
“Dear boy,” Violet said. “If it was bad I would just keep it to myself and remain innocent. I just want to say,
“Don’t give up.”
“Don’t—?”
“Ah, ah, ah,”
Violet waved a finger at Quentin.
“You know very well what I mean.”
Quentin smiled.
“Yes, Ma’am. I believe I do.”
Quentin left and walked toward the courtyard.
I was trying to give the Plimptons as much privacy as possible. I stayed close in case I needed to call for Holly. I was a few steps away with my back to them.
That was why I didn’t see Porter coming.
Porter grasped his father’s shoulder.
“Father, we have been wait—”
I had no idea what to do.
Oh, wait a minute. Yes, I did.
“Holly!”
Porter was close to passing out. Mr. Plimpton held Porter by the arm. Holly ran into the room, slowed for only a second, then grabbed Mr. Plimpton‘s other arm. She motioned with her head for me to help steady Porter.
Didn’t want to. Did anyway.
They all stared at each other for a few seconds. Holly had both of her hands on Mr. Plimpton’s arm. She let his arm slip away and stepped back toward the parlor. She motioned for me to follow her. I did, but only for a few steps.
I don’t trust Porter Plimpton.
“M-Mother?” Porter finally managed to say.
“Porter,” Violet said.
“You aren’t going to faint are you, son? I’m remembering your wedding—”
“No,” Porter said, gaining some embarrassed strength. “I’m not going to faint.”
He leaned closer to her.
“Are you a—?”
“A ghost?” Violet finished the question. “No, no. I’ve come to tell your father goodbye. Since you’ve dropped in, I’ll say goodbye to the both of you, darling.”
“But how—”
“I made a request, and Miss McFadden has helped me to pay this little visit.”
“She is a special young lady indeed, Mother. This is the very girl that Grady is infatuated with.”
