The Gardener

by Michelle DePaepe

  “Eh?” he said, cupping his ear to give the hearing aid more direction.

  She moved closer and sat down on the step next to his chair, then raised her voice louder, so he could hear. “I’m trying to find out some information about the Blake house out on County Line Road. You remember any of the old stories about that place?”

  He took another puff on his pipe then rubbed the gleaming white whiskers on the side of his cheek. “Blake, eh? I remember HenryBlake. He was a good fella. Always came and dropped off some of his harvest in the good years. Smoked a pipe or two with him.”

  “Yes...and you knew his wife, Virginia. She just passed away a few days ago.”

  “You don’t say...they’re all dropping like stinking flies in this town. Should be smoking pipes like me. They might live longer.”

  Opal chuckled. “Ed, do you remember anything about the family that used to live in the house before them?”

  “Blake? Can’t say that I do. It was a good farm. Right next to the river. Lots of flowers out at that place.” Sometimes got some bouquets for the lobby in here.”

  “Do you know anything about when the house was built? The people that lived there?”

  “Oh...it was built before I was born. Back in the 1890’s I suppose. The Crawfords, I think. Then, there was that girl that drowned in the river. I wasn’t even a puppy back then. Don’t remember too much ‘bout what folks said since then, but I know the whole town was talking about it.” He yelled louder, not able to hear his own voice, “What Blake did you say died?”

  Then, the screen door to the porch swung open. “Blake? Are you two talking about VirginiaBlake?”

  Opal looked over her shoulder and saw WandaRothbert, Ed’s granddaughter, walking onto the porch with a tray of glasses filled with orange juice and slices of moist rhubarb cake.

  She set the tray down on the round wicker table next to them and put a hand on her hip. “I didn’t go to her funeral. I didn’t know her all that well.”

  “Morning, Wanda. I was paying Ed a visit to ask him if he remembered anything about the old Blake house and its past.”

  “You thinking of buying it?”

  “No. I doubt it’s even for sale. There are two granddaughters that I assume will be inheriting it.”

  Opal looked noticed Wanda’s long wavy auburn hair that was graying at the temples. She wore a flowing ruffled skirt, and there was a silver anklet dangling from her bare ankle. There was something about her appearance that seemed to yearn for tie-dyed cotton, special recipe brownies, and an escape from the boredom of this small dying town. She leaned over toward her and whispered, “Wanda...do you believe in ghosts?”

  “Ghosts? Did you say ghosts?” she laughed out loud. “If you’re going to tell me that old house is haunted...I wouldn’t doubt it for a minute.”

  Opal glanced over at Ed and saw that his chin had fallen into his chest. He was beginning to snore.

  Wanda looked at her watch. “Time for Pa’s morning nap. He gets up at dawn every morning and comes out here. I don’t know how he does it. I guess he still doesn’t want to miss saying goodbye to each and every guest.”

  “What do you know about the Blake house?”

  “Well, for starters...it wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve heard stories about Virginia getting dementia in the end. People say she all of a sudden quit the gardening club and stopped going to church. Supposedly, this was the first year out of the last twenty that she didn’t go to the County Fair to sell her crafts. She wouldn’t let anyone in her house the last couple months and wouldn’t talk to anyone at the store if they said ‘hello’.”

  “But, why would that make you think that the Blake house is haunted?”

  Wanda giggled. “It’s not that. I bet there’s not a teenager in this town that hasn’t snuck out to that river behind the house with a few bottles of beer to try to contact the ghost of MargaretCrawford. If there’s such a thing as calling a ghost back from the dead, that girl’s name has been called so many times over the years, I’d say she’d probably just decide to stay around to save them the trouble.”

  “Really? Now that you mention it, I remember hearing about that legend a long time ago, but I never realized it was still such an ‘in’ thing.”

  “It wasn’t until Henry passed away. He used to run kids off his property all the time. There’s also a neighbor that used to sit and watch with his shotgun, but I guess he’s gotten old and doesn’t care to sit up all night and run them off anymore.”

  Opal hadn’t sensed a female spirit at the house. Despite the popularity of the legend, she figured that it was little more than a trumped-up legend. “Actually, the house is haunted...but not by Margaret. I was hoping your grandfather could tell me if anything else bad happened in that house around the same time that Margaret died...back in the Victorian age.”

  Wanda walked over to her grandfather and tucked a pillow under his chin. “Well...you won’t get much from him. What’s left of his memory comes and goes.” She sat down on the porch step next to Opal. “Why do you want to know about the house’s history?”

  Opal took a deep breath then relayed the story of the séance and the intruding spirit. She hedged her bets that Wanda would take her seriously and held nothing back. “I’m afraid this spirit may have done something to Virginia...and I fear for the lives of anyone in that house. One of the granddaughters is staying there now. I don’t know what might happen to her…”

  “Wow. That’s quite the story.” Wanda sat still and stared at a squirrel burying a nut under a wiry young oak by the roadside. Then, she turned and looked into Opal’s framed blue eyes as if she was waiting for a punch line to the incredulous story.

  “Please, Wanda. Anything you might know would help...”

  Wanda looked off again in the distance, as if studying the dew lingering on the wildflowers across the road. Then, she glanced at Ed and lowered her voice. “I don’t know if Pa here can help you. But, I have something that might be of interest to you.”

  “Anything...anything at all.” Opal nodded.

  “Well...there’s some history between the Crawfords and the Hansons. Supposedly, old Willian Crawford, the builder of the house, was friends with Ed’s dad, Charles. Before William died, he gave some things to him for safekeeping. Apparently, he didn’t want his family to inherit them...or even know they existed. There’s a locked box of his hidden here in the hotel.”

  Opal’s eyes grew wide. “You mean Ed held onto this secret box for all these years and never gave it back to the family?”

  “My mother tried to give it back once a few years back. She took it to Virginia, but she said she didn’t want it. She didn’t even want to look in it. She said, ‘a dead man’s secrets ought to stay secret’.”

  “Hmmm...I guess if there were any skeletons in the family closet, she wanted to keep it that way. Do you know where the box is?”

  “Yes, I think I do. But, it’s locked, and we don’t have the key. You can tell that someone’s tried to pry it open a few times, probably some kids in the family that got a hold of it.”

  “It might make a difference to my problem. I hate to ask you...but can you find it?”

  Wanda turned towards her and cupped a hand over her mouth. “If Ed finds out we did it, he’d be awful mad. He likes to think of himself as its guardian. He’s got it hidden away somewhere now like a time capsule, but I think I know where.”

  Opal whispered back, “He wouldn’t have to know if we’re quick about it.”

  The Innkeeper’s granddaughter raised up from her perch, then put a finger to her lips, motioning for Opal to keep quiet. “Alright...follow me,” she whispered.

  Chapter 39

  It felt strange waking in her old bed for the second time in recent history. For a brief moment, Georgia felt like she was a young girl again, and any moment, her grandmother might come in and tell her that it was time to get ready for school.

  Then, she realized that she was almost forty, Grammie was dead
, and she was here alone in the old Gingerbread house.

  She took a long warm shower then slipped into a comfortable pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She decided to go barefoot and forego wearing any pointy-toed heels out of deference to her achy feet and a sudden remembrance of her Grandmother’s rule about not damaging the wood floors.

  She started the day thinking that there were so many things to do in the house itself, she was glad that the gardener, Daniel, was coming over that evening to work on the tangled garden mess.

  As she reached the kitchen, she smelled something sour that made her nose crinkle. The putrid trail of scent led her to the refrigerator. Despite having cleaned it out, it still stank of molding food, and she knew that scrubbing it down with bleach would be her first horrible task

  Before beginning the unpleasant chore, she cleaned out the old grounds in the coffee pot and made some fresh brew. Then, she found an old loaf of cinnamon raisin bread in the freezer for toast. Its seductive scent disguised the odor, but she still decided to open a few windows to the cool morning air before taking her breakfast in the living room.

  As she sat on the sofa, surrounded by the velvet cushions and the room full of memories, she lamented the fact that she only had two days to get things done before she left. There was the kitchen to clean, laundry to wash, bills to sort through, and a dozen other tasks to do. She didn’t know when she would be able to come back and felt torn, because she was needed in New York by the art gallery and her assistant. But, she also felt needed by this house.

  An hour later, as she was up to her elbows in the muck of the refrigerator, she heard a knock at the door.

  It was too early for her moonlighting gardener. Seeing the tall form through the stained glass, she assumed that it was Fred from next door.

  She snapped off one yellow rubber glove and opened the door. To her surprise, Deputy KarlBauer stood before her.

  “Afternoon, McKenna. Sorry to bother you. I didn’t know you were staying here. I thought the house was empty. I just came by on my rounds, and when I saw the car out front, I stopped to make sure everything was okay.”

  “Thank you. Everything’s fine. I’m just here for a couple days. I’ve got to go back to New York on Friday.” Behind the cover of the door, she discreetly took off the other glove and tossed it onto the floor. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know when I’m going to be able to come back...or how long this house might stand empty. Fred and Annie next door are getting the mail in and my nephew can mow the lawn, but would you mind continuing to check on it now and then?”

  “Consider it done,” he said with a nod. Then, he paused and raised an eyebrow. “So...you might not be coming back?”

  She was taken off guard by the hint of disappointment. “I...I don’t know what my plans are yet. My grandmother left me this house in her will, and my sister wants to sell it, but I really can’t bear to part with it. So, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” But, even as she spoke the words, she already knew that she couldn’t abandon this place.

  “I can understand that. It’s a beautiful old house. It would be a shame to lose it.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “Well...I want to warn you that there have been some burglaries around town. If you hear or see anything strange while you’re here, please give me a call.”

  Georgia thought about mentioning the encounter with the old psychic woman, but was too distracted by the bulge of his Adam’s apple as he spoke and the way his black leather holster hung snug about the tan fabric at his hips.

  Her daze was interrupted as he handed her his business card. She took it and couldn’t help but notice that it had his private cell phone number on it as well as the main number for the Sheriff’s Office.

  He tipped his hat to her. “You take care now...” Then, he turned and strode across the porch back to his black and white car.

  She watched him go, conscious of her heart galloping. The odd feeling made her feel uncomfortably faint.

  But, a new sensation emerged as she shut the door, bristling the hair on the back of her neck. It was an uncomfortable feeling that someone was standing right behind her. She whipped around, but no one was there. She was certain that she had the jitters, because of the palpable memory of her Grandmother. It felt so odd to be in this house alone. Despite this rationalization, she still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched as she moved back into the living room.

  Then, she saw the orange eyes staring at her from the windowsill. The cat raised a paw and scratched on the glass with a pathetic howl.

  When she opened the back door, he waltzed in without hesitation. She gave him his kibbles and watched him gobble them up as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

  After he finished, he lay down on the floor next to her with his paws stretched forward like the Egyptian Sphinx. The cat was much too regal looking for a truck driver’s name. “Max...your name really doesn’t suit you.” Had Grammie named him and then let Clarissa have her own special pet moniker for him? “Is your name also Alphonso?”

  He ignored her questions and began washing his face.

  After his bath, the cat followed her around the house. Whenever she felt the searing sensation of eyes glaring at her back...he was there when she turned. She chided herself time and time again for her jumpiness.

  But, at one point, she realized that she was disappointed to not have Grammie’s ghost following her around the house. She found herself humming as she dusted, just like her grandmother used to do. Sometimes, she talked to her as she worked. “Now...Grammie...what would you like me to do with this vase? Does it go in the craft room or above the cupboards in the kitchen?” The cat stared at her and gave her a look of ennui as if she were boring him with her banter. But, she ignored his stares as she gained some insight, an inkling of what her grandmother must have felt after Grandpa passed away. The loneliness could drive a person crazy.

  Later, she spent some time in the shed cleaning out the scarecrow image of her grandfather, the photos, candles, and other items from the shrine. It certainly wouldn’t do to leave them there for Annie or Fred or someone else to find while she was gone.

  As she dismantled the scarecrow and tossed the straw in the field, she kept a weary eye on the Birman’s house, half expecting them to appear and ask what she was doing. She was tossing the last bits of the idol into the garden compost pile behind the garage when she heard the Hayden family’s diesel truck pull up.

  What did Marsha want now?

  Chapter 40

  Opal wasn’t able to contain her disappointment that morning as she pulled away from the old Calathia Inn. She and Wanda had searched through the entire building, checking every unoccupied room, but they were unable to find WilliamCrawford’s box.

  “He must have moved it,” Wanda had whined. “I can’t imagine what he did with it. I’m sorry I got your hopes up for nothing. I’ll keep looking and let you know if I find it.”

  She left Wanda her business card and drove off with a tear smudging her glasses. The more she thought about it, the more she was certain that the box could hold some clue to solving her problem. Even if it seemed farfetched, her intuition told her that she needed to get her hands on it.

  Still worried for GeorgiaMcKenna’s safety, she decided to drive by the Blake house on her way home. She crawled up the road as quietly as she could with her knuckles like white marbles, and her nails making half moon creases into her palms over the top of the steering wheel.

  She paused and then rolled to a stop when she saw a large red pickup truck parked behind Georgia’s rental car in the driveway. So, Georgia was still there, and she had a visitor. That was good... it meant she wasn’t alone with the spirit.

  Turning her attention to the house itself, she thought that it looked different this time. There were no diabolical glowing eyes peering out at her. And, occupied by a living soul, with its curtains open wide and the dead geraniums removed from the porch, it had a less ominous appearance. Would she be fo
olish to wonder if the spirit had gone?

  Yes, she told herself after a moment of holding her breath and waiting for something catastrophic to happen.

  When the spirit didn’t materialize, she wondered if she should straighten her shoulders and muster enough courage to knock on the door. It would be worth facing any barrage of insults and threats just to make sure the woman was okay.

  But, before she could make up her mind, she saw Georgia—just behind the picket gate next to the garage—talking with a wiry young man and a munchkin-sized girl. She thought they looked familiar. Perhaps, she’d seen them at Virginia’s funeral?

  If they had noticed her watching them from her white Cadillac, whose presence was as conspicuous as a gigantic white hare on the black top road, they gave no sign of it. Opal figured they were too occupied with their conversation to feel her spying eyes.

  As Georgia stood behind the gate, gesturing as she talked, she didn’t look the least shell-shocked from any evil spirit. With her hair pulled back in a scarf and her arms full of straw, she simply looked like a busy countrywoman hard at work.

  As Opal turned her car around, she felt the lingering pain from her bruised ribs. She made excuses to herself for her departure. It wouldn’t be a good idea to stay and try to chat with Georgia right now. There was no point in stirring up more feelings of hostility in the house. That sort of unstable emotion in the atmosphere could incite more violence from the spirit.

  On her way back home, she could only think of one more option that might help her quest to get rid of him. It was a long shot, but she could make the drive out to Coon City and pay a visit to her Aunt Grace to see if she had any advice.

  When she got back home, she lay down on her bed. As she rested, her ribs ached worse than ever, still making breathing a chore. She wasn’t a young filly any more and wasn’t sure if she could withstand another attack of this sort from the spirit. If it hadn’t been for Georgia’s timely appearance during the attack, she might not be alive now.