Marsha put a pot of water on the stove for tea. Without asking Georgia if she wanted any, she put two cups on the table and a chamomile teabag in each. She was quiet as she set out milk and honey.
As the teapot whistled, she asked, “So the divorce is final?”
Georgia glared. “It’s been done for over six months.”
Minutes later, they sipped their hot tea in silence.
“How’s the weather in New York? Is it getting cold yet?”
Georgia narrowed her eyes. “Just a nip. It will probably stay warm for awhile yet.”
“And the gallery?”
“Slow.”
“How about you? Are you getting out? Staying in touch with friends?”
“What’s really on your mind? It’s not like you’ve really cared much about my life before.”
Marsha leaned in closer from across the table. “Alright. I need to talk to you about something before Steven gets back.”
Georgia crossed her arms over the front of her cashmere sweater.
“We need to talk about Grammie’s house. You know...if she gave it to you—”
“What?” But, she thought for a second, remembering the day that she and her now ex-husband packed up a truck to make the move to New York. Grammie had told her that she was planning on leaving the house to her in her will as an incentive to come back home to Calathia some day.
“You know that’s not fair. You have to sell it and split—”
Georgia threw her arms up. “I can’t even begin to think about this yet. We haven’t even had the funeral. We can’t start divvying up her—”
Marsha slammed her cup down, sloshing tea onto the checked cotton tablecloth.
“Damnit! I need the money. The crops weren’t that good this year, and I want to open my own shop. I’ve got customers, you know—people that would follow me. I could be the owner, not just some hourly employee who punches in and out.”
Georgia cradled her head in her hands. “Do you know if she had a will?”
“She never mentioned it, but I know she had a safety deposit box at First Union. We could check it out on Monday.”
“Well, we’ll have to abide by her wishes. I’m really not ready to talk about all of this. You could be wrong. Maybe Grammie gave the house to you.”
Marsha looked into her teacup as trying to read something in the dregs. “That’s about as likely as a pig wearing lipstick. We haven’t gotten any closer these last few years, you know.”
Grammie lived about three miles away on the west side of town. Georgia knew that in summer Jarrod and Clarissa sometimes rode their bikes over and spent the day there, coming home at dusk with eggs from Annie’s and fresh flowers from Grammie’s garden. Stevie and his father sometimes helped her do odd jobs around the house. But, it was a rare occasion that Marsha ever accompanied any of them, except on holidays.
Marsha looked at the window as the rain picked up and began to pour down as if someone was standing on the roof tossing buckets of water over the edge.
“When exactly did you last talk to her?”
Marsha cupped her hand over her chin. “I guess it was one night last month”.
“You haven’t talked to her since August?”
“I don’t need you to judge.”
“Well, how did she seem to you then?”
“She called asking for Steven. When I told her he wasn’t in, she seemed agitated. She asked if I could come over right away, but she wouldn’t say why. The boys were out, so Clarissa and I went over there. When we got there, she was sitting on the porch swing just rocking and rocking.”
“Did she seem ill?”
“She seemed nervous. She kept biting on her fingernails. “Oh...that Henry,” she said. “What am I going to do with him?”
“Henry?”
“Yeah. She was talking about Grandpa like he was still alive. Said he was in there causing a ruckus, making the furniture move, and turning the lights on and off. I told her that was crazy—Grandpa had been dead for years. We had a windstorm that night. I think her mind was playing tricks on her. She probably heard branches scraping the windows, and the power probably went out a few times.”
“Did you go in and look around to make her feel better?”
“No. She wasn’t making any sense. I told her to go in and go to bed.”
“Did she do it?”
“No. After that...we got in a fight about selling the house. I told her that she was getting too old to take care of such a big place...and all that land. No wonder she was imagining such things and getting scared! I figured her mind was playing tricks on her. She shouldn’t have been alone in that house for so long.”
Georgia sipped the last of her tea with a furrowed brow.
“The woman damn near hit me! I couldn’t believe it.”
Georgia had a hard time picturing her grandmother in that state. She was a small frail woman who hated violence and treasured life. It wasn’t uncommon for her to capture wasps that got in the house and set them free outside rather than swat at them. If she were to swat at a human, she supposed that Marsha would be a likely candidate...but it still seemed out of character. “So, how did it end?”
“I finally just threw up my hands and left.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“It didn’t seem important.”
Georgia couldn’t help blurting out her next thought. “You must actually be relieved now that she’s gone.”
Marsha narrowed her eyes then snatched the teacup out of Georgia’s hand and took it to the sink. “I hope you’re not insinuating that I had anything to do with her death.”
“I didn’t say that. I just meant that...now you don’t have to worry about all the past with her anymore.”
Marsha swirled around and leaned against the edge of the counter. “We’ll see about that. I wouldn’t be surprised if that old woman found some way to get the last word in even after she’s dead.”
A short while later, Georgia said ‘goodnight’ to the kids. Marsha apologized for the mess as she led her into Jarrod’s room, a nest of dirty jeans, boots, truck models, and girlie posters.
After unpacking a few things, she settled into the fresh sheets that smelled like fresh country air from being dried on a line outside. She wasn’t thrilled to be Marsha’s houseguest, especially under such unhappy circumstances, but as she sunk into the bed, she realized how nice it was to be back in Calathia.
Before she drifted off to sleep, she heard the horse snorting outside and her brother-in-law’s heavy boots stomping down the hall towards the master bedroom. Finally, there was a brief whine from a male voice with a squeaky pitch, “...but it’s Saturday.” And then, Marsha’s reprimand, “That doesn’t mean you can stay up all night. Get your butt to bed.”
Despite the unpleasantness of her sister’s shrillness, Georgia turned over on her side, thinking how nice it felt to be back with family. It felt so good, she almost couldn’t imagine getting back on a plane in a few days and going back to her lonely life in New York.
Chapter 20
Early Sunday morning, before the flushed glow of dawn crept through her blinds, Opal jumped out of bed. Her heart raced and her wide eyes darted around the shadows of her room. It took a moment for her to realize that she was safe in her home, and it had all just been a nightmare.
She’d seen him again. He’d invaded her mind while she slept!
Her hands were sticky with sweat as she wiped the damp hair away from her face and tried to force her consciousness back to reality.
As she felt her way in the dark towards her bathroom to get a drink of water, she kept her eyes shut, afraid to see those glowing eyes peering at her along the way.
Without her glasses on, her image was a blur in the mirror. She fumbled around for a cup, but couldn’t find one. So, she cupped her hands, taking a sip then splashing the rest of the cool water over her face.
The dream.
All dreams were important. She kne
w that from her studies over the years. She had to find her dream journal and write it down quickly before she forgot.
She raced back to the bedroom, turning on lights as she went.
After she found it, she went to the kitchen and sat down at the table. With the house ablaze like a sunlit meadow, the dream seemed a little less ominous and threatening.
She began to write.
*****
In the dream, she was at the Blake house many years back...long before Virginia was born. But, she wasn’t an occupant or a guest; she was a prisoner.
She was lying on the warm grass, looking up at an angry purple sky. The black clouds churned like sooty steam. She tried to move her arms and legs, but found them bound to her sides.
The shadow of a man loomed above her. She looked up and knew it was him when she saw his eyes lit up like red-hot coals. But, he wasn’t dressed in vintage formal attire and a hat. He wore dirt-smudged olive green trousers held up by suspenders over his cream-colored buttoned shirt and a cotton cap. There was a hideous smile above the tufts of his beard.
Then, she saw the shovel in his hand and a rose bush lying on its side beside him.
He walked a few paces away then he began to dig in the soft earth. He threw scoop after scoop of soil over his shoulder, maneuvering the shovel with his tanned muscular arms.
Planting. Planting roses. That’s nice. But, there’s rain coming…he should hurry.
Then, as the hole grew larger and larger, she realized that he wasn’t planning to put the rosebush into it. He had pulled the plant out of the ground in order to dig her grave beneath it.
Despite all of her efforts, she couldn’t scream or move from the bounds of rope wrapped around her body.
When he finished digging, he rolled her body towards the hole and kicked her in. She landed amongst a tangle of tree roots, writhing earthworms, and beetles. She said a prayer and prepared to die. Then, she waited for the first shovel full of earth to land on her body.
But, it wasn’t earth that rained down on her—it was water. He meant to drown her first. Buckets of water were lined up next to the hole, and he poured them down on her one by one.
She woke from the nightmare as the muddy water reached her gagged mouth and nose.
*****
Opal laid down her pen.
What was significant about the garden setting?
She remembered the night of the séance when she had circled the property trying to find a way back in. She had noticed a path behind the house that led to a picketed area and then continued further on around a curve. Did it lead to a garden that had some significance to the spirit’s presence? If he had once been a real man, she figured that he might have had some tie to the Blake property.
But, she didn’t think that was likely. His presence exuded too much evil to be the ghost of a former human. The only other alternative was a demonic manifestation.
She thought again about the dream. What was it about the roses, the gardens? Had some crazy teenagers snuck back there and performed some sort of satanic ritual during the summer? Maybe, they had invoked something, and she had just been a conduit during the séance allowing it to manifest more fully.
She glanced at her bag on the table. What good would a tiny bottle of holy water do against something so powerful? Unfortunately, she knew that she was going to have to find out. She didn’t have any evidence yet to return to Father O’Dell, and Karl had turned out to be a dead end.
As twilight turned into day, she went out in her robe and slippers to retrieve the morning paper. When she flipped to the obituary section, she immediately saw the notice of VirginiaBlake’s passing.
The funeral was to be held on Tuesday morning. She had planned to skip it and go straight to the house to confront the spirit. But, how could she? Didn’t she at least owe Virginia one last face-to-face apology? Maybe there, she could fish around for details about what happened to her during the last two months of her life. She might learn something that could prove important.
So, she decided that she had to attend the funeral, but would leave early so she could change into her combat boots and prepare for battle.
VirginiaElizabethBlake is survived by her granddaughters, MarshaHayden and GeorgiaMcKenna.
She had a strong feeling now that the woman she had seen at the house was Georgia. She wondered if she could find her at the funeral and warn her that the Blake house was haunted by...someone...something...otherworldly.
No...it was too soon. She had to know what she was dealing with first and try to get rid of it herself.
Georgia...realtor...whoever you are...please don’t go back to that house before I can cleanse it of evil.
Chapter 21
The smell of bacon awoke Georgia the next morning. She could almost see the tendrils of scent seeping under the doorway and curling up towards her nose.
“Cream and sugar?” Marsha asked as she sat down to the breakfast table.
“Black, please.” Georgia rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to seven. I wondered if you were going to sleep in. The smell of bacon usually gets any stragglers up”.
Georgia looked out the kitchen window. As her stomach grumbled again, she saw the sun beginning to crack open the sky. She could see Steven out by the stables already attending to his morning chores. It was Sunday morning, much earlier than she would usually have gotten up back in New York.
“Did you hear Napoleon?”
Georgia shook her head.
“Naughty rooster! Doesn’t like anyone to sleep in.”
She couldn’t believe she had slept through something like that, guessing that she was too used to the sounds of horns and traffic in the city. She hadn’t slept well though. She remembered tossing and turning throughout the night. Instead of the usual nightmare, she had dreamt about Grammie. In the dream, she was a child sitting on her lap in the porch swing at the Gingerbread House, listening to stories.
The whole family sat down to a leisurely breakfast. Afterwards, she helped feed the chickens, being careful to keep her designer boots out of the mud and muck.
All morning, she wanted to go back to her grandmother’s house, but there was a steady stream of visitors dropping by to express their condolences and drop off another casserole or neon-colored gelatin creation. She was surprised how many of them lamented how they hadn’t seen or heard much from her grandmother for the latter part of the summer.
Late that afternoon, the funeral director came by to finalize some details. He got right down to business without the usual preliminary condolences and banter.
“Marsha has already picked out a casket. She chose the 20-gauge steel.”
She looked at the computer-generated picture. It was a plain gray box that reminded her of the mushroom-colored lockers from Calathia High. She glanced over at Marsha. “I wish you would have let me in on this decision.”
“I thought I’d save you the trouble. It has a nice lining. What’s the big deal?”
Georgia grimaced. She couldn’t imagine Grammie sleeping forever in a cold metal box. “Is it too late to change our minds?” When he said, ‘no’, she chose a cherry wood casket with a hand-rubbed satin finish and ivory taffeta. It reminded her of the wood from Grammie’s bed and seemed more appropriate to her taste.
Marsha’s eyes widened as she leaned over and looked at the price.
“Don’t worry. I’ll pay the difference.”
Marsha recoiled as if she had been slapped and didn’t say another word.
Then, they went over details about the service and their choice of officiate. Georgia agreed to add her own eulogy, and they discussed flowers next.
“Roses...you have to have lots of roses. Unfortunately, at this time of year most of them from Grammie’s garden are done blooming. It’s a shame, because I know she would have liked to have some of her own. Many of them have been growing in her garden for generations. It’s been a family tradition to use them for weddings and other cerem
onies.” She remembered her own wedding in Grammie’s garden. She did all of the bouquets, and boutonnieres and lavished the arbor with the same velvety red roses. Their perfume was spicy sweet and added to the fairy tale setting with the puffs of cotton floating down from the sky from the trees back by the river.
“I suppose you’ll be paying for those too? Florist’s roses are quite expensive.”
Georgia lost what little remained of her restraint. “What do you want, Marsha...dandelions...a wreath of bindweed from the roadside?”
Marsha folded her arms. “I just thought we might keep it simple...that’s all.”
Georgia apologized to the funeral director. “I’m sorry you have to listen to us haggle.”
“That’s alright. It’s a very stressful time.”
“Well, since Marsha obviously doesn’t want to get into much detail, I’m going to make some choices myself.” Numbers swirled around in her head. There was a few thousand in her savings account. She needed to call her assistant. If Hendricks came back and bought one of the larger Nielsens, it would be a nice shot of funds to help with the funeral...and maybe give her assistant a bonus for Christmas. “If there’s any issue with money...I’ll foot the bill.”
Marsha twirled a strand of hair that had fallen out of her tortoise shell hairclip. “I suppose I could chip in a little…”
Georgia went on as if she hadn’t heard, “Several dozen red roses and a wreath of them with baby’s breath for the coffin.”
He scribbled notes as she talked.
When they finished, he gave Georgia his business card. Then, he gave both of them an awkward hug and said, “Well, I’ll see you on Tuesday then. Please come a bit early. Oh, do you have any photos of her that you’d like to display?”
Georgia thought about the photos on Grammie’s dresser. “I’m sure we can come up with some.”
The rest of the day proved to be equally frustrating. Every time she grabbed her purse and keys to go back over to the house, there was another knock on the door.
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