A Circle Of Crows

by Brynn Chapman

  "I am plagued with black harbingers,” she said to no one in particular, especially not Tim. “For goodness sake, this is ludicrous."

  Her head in her hands, she attempted to sort out her feelings to find the source of her anxiety, hoping it would then abate. She suddenly had the feeling of being watched. Slowly, she turned her head toward the back of the bar, and sure enough, a huge man with ragged hair was staring at her. When she met his gaze however, instead of looking away, as one does when they are caught in the act of staring, his eyes met her full on, and he smiled—a huge, smile showing all his yellow teeth.

  Rae turned and after a few minutes, she leaned closer to the bar. “Tim, who is that fellow in the corner?"

  "I haven't any idea. Been here since yesterday. Odd sort of man. But being a stranger isn't a crime, you know?"

  "Yeah, tell that to anyone over sixty-five who has lived here all their life. Being a stranger is a capital offense in a town like this."

  Rae finished her beer in three large gulps and as she threw a tip on the bar, said over her shoulder, “Told you I wasn't staying!"

  Turning, she began her jogging pace again, oblivious to the two crows perched above The Rusty Lantern's stoop.

  As she jogged, she could not get the man out of her head. There was something odd about him, but I can't put my finger on it. Aside from the astoundingly good dental work...

  Rae quietly opened the back door in the kitchen when she reached the inn, choosing it over the front door to avoid the welcome bell placed above it. It was silent throughout the inn, but as she passed her twin's apartment, she heard the news inside.

  She bounded up the stairs, avoiding all the ones that creaked by memory, and hurried to her own suite. Her cat, the Dodger, was curled up on her bed. Opening the side table drawer, she pulled out a shot glass and Jim Beam™ and quickly downed one.

  Lying down, the cat placed himself upon her chest and she sighed deeply. Soon, her eyelids began to flutter with dream sleep.

  "Come here, poppet,” commanded her grandfather.

  Rae crawled upon his lap and she smelled his familiar scent of Old Spice™ and tobacco.

  Her gran leaned over a pot stirring, with her back to them.

  "Poppet, do you remember the story I told you last week about the Kelpies? Well, that new horse of the Sullivans looks like a Kelpie if I ever seen one. I expect he will change into a man any day now."

  Rae sat straight up in bed, her clothes sticking to her as she was sweating profusely.

  "What is going on here?” She poured herself another shot, which she disposed of quickly, again.

  "I'm a writer, I have the Hemingway defense for insanity, right?” she asked the cat, as his tail flicked dangerously back and forth, then he grabbed her leg and nipped it.

  The last coherent thought she had was I am not crazy.

  Chapter 2

  The Sisters MacBeth

  Rachael hit the alarm as it sounded its five a.m. call. She shuffled to the kitchen and put on the coffee, then waited at the scrubbed wood table till its rich aroma filled all the surrounding rooms of the inn. She walked into the sitting area and lit the huge brick fireplace to take the chill out of the early morning air. “Ahh, that's better,” she whispered. The cold September air leaked through the old windows, making the inn quite drafty, despite the three fireplaces on the first floor alone.

  At five fifteen a.m., the bell on the front door tinkled and her younger sister Isabella entered, her breath visible in the cold. As always, Rachael was astounded by her sister's beauty, even at dawn. Her hair was blond, cropped short, and her blue-green eyes sparkled with life. Her delicate features and frame reminded Rachael of a wood nymph or a fairy perhaps. She was a sharp contrast to the twins with their athletic bodies and long auburn hair; Rachael's was currently pulled into a clip as strands fell into her face.

  "Good morning, Rachael. What's on the agenda today?"

  "Come sit and wake up with me.” Rachael led the way to the kitchen. The sisters sat at the table and Rachael handed Bella her cuppa. “Well, it was supposed to be Raena's turn for storytime today in the library, but she was up half the night. I could hear her banging around; you know how lightly I sleep."

  Isabella's eyes narrowed and she looked concerned. “Is it the nightmares again?"

  "Yes,” she replied.

  "She didn't come in and try to wake you?” prompted Bella.

  "No, you know how she gets about them."

  "The last time she told me anything about them, we were down at the Watering Hole in town and she was on her way to funkytown. What she did tell me was gruesome; and she laughed the whole time, the way she does when something makes her uncomfortable."

  "Like what, Rachael?” Bella inquired, her blue-green eyes somber and focused.

  "I assume that if she wanted you to know, she would tell you. Yes?"

  Bella's eyes blazed. “It's ridiculous the way the two of you act like I'm still a child. I am twenty-seven years old! Where is she now?"

  "Still in bed, I assume,” Rachael responded, attempting to appear nonplussed by the situation.

  "I'll do her group today, but first, I'm going to check on her."

  "Suit yourself, but she'll be mad as a hatter if we let her miss her group."

  Isabella went to the sitting area closet and donned her “uniform” for the day. The sisters dressed in renaissance style dresses each day when they had guests at the inn. Once appropriately dressed, Isabella walked up the stairs in the ruddy September light, trying to miss each loose floorboard in the stairs to be as stealthy as possible.

  The old house creaked and moaned in protest as fall and winter approached. The sisters had made several renovations to it since the death of their father. Rachael had redone the stained glass which adorned the top of each window upstairs, and Rae and Bella had furnished the inn with antiques they had found at various “fleatiques” in the area. The plaque on the front porch proclaimed it a historical landmark.

  Isabella turned right at the top of the stairs, and tiptoed toward Raena's suite on the second floor. Rae had her bed, bath, and sitting area close to all the guest suites. Quietly, Bella opened the heavy mahogany door and peered into Raena's room. Her older sister was sleeping soundly, and looked very small in her enormous four-poster bed. Her auburn gold hair was being highlighted by a ray of sunlight leaking in through a space in the curtains. Next to her lay an open book and a shot glass. Isabelle frowned that Rae had needed this avenue again to sleep. “That's twice this week,” she murmured to herself.

  She walked over to the window and pulled the drapes completely shut and checked Raena's alarm. It was set for six fifteen. Bella checked her watch, which read six on the hour. She flicked the switch on the alarm to off and smiled to herself at the scolding she was going to receive when Rae finally woke.

  Rae carried on under a facade of bravery, and would not let any of her problems ever affect the family, or the business. Secretly, Isabella believed Rae appreciated any attention given to her, as she was the primary caregiver of the family. Bella turned to go and spied a stack of papers on Raena's nightstand. She quickly recognized the children's lesson plan and activity Rae had planned for the bi-weekly story hour the inn held in their library. “Oh, I am so dead,” she said as she let the door click shut.

  Chapter 3

  The Dreams

  Dark, murky water surrounded her as she looked fervently left and right, unable to distinguish anything in the gloom. There was no sign of her anywhere. She could feel the panic rising in her chest and the inability to breathe properly.

  Then she saw her—her little sister, not more than three years old—her blond hair swirling around her in wavy clumps entangled with seaweed. “Bella!” she tried to yell, but no sound came out. She swam toward the girl, but no matter how fast or hard she went, Bella kept drifting out of her grasp. Just then, the little girl began to struggle and twirled to face her. Raena saw the look of terror in her blue eyes—already beginnin
g to bulge.

  "Bella!” Rae yelled, and sat straight up in her bed. She was sweating and panting as her eyes adjusted to the dim light in her bedroom. Her cat, the Dodger, sat staring at her from the foot of her bed. She picked him up for comfort and held him to her. “What is going on with me?” she whispered to herself. “I haven't dreamt that since Bella was a baby."

  Bella was adopted. When her parents brought her home at the age of one year old, they had told the twins, then eight, that Isabella's biological parents could contest the adoption for up to one year. So the girls lived with the fear that Bella could be taken at any moment. They would hurry home from school each day, neither admitting why they were running flat-out on a fine autumn day instead of lingering as all their friends were.

  They would reach the kitchen door, see Bella smiling in her playpen, and breathe a sigh of relief. Isabella's biological parents were quite poor, had a brood of children and were trying to give their youngest daughter a better life. Anna MacBeth rarely spoke of the experience, but one night after a bottle of her favorite port, her Scottish brogue more pronounced than usual, had confided in Rae. “The house was freezing and I could see the children's breath. She looked up at me with that angelic smile, and put up her arms for me to pick her up. She was the youngest of seven, so I think she would have taken any attention she could get."

  Thus, the recurring dream—making sure Bella was safe. The dreams started in the year Bella entered their home. She awoke much as she had this morning, and snuck down to Bella's nursery. The little girl was sleeping on her stomach in her crib. She was barely perceptible, except for the tuft of blond hair sticking out over the top of her blanket. Eight year old Rae was not satisfied—so she put her hand between the crib slats and placed her hand on the baby's back till she felt the rise and fall of her breathing.

  Raena was shook out of her reverie by the sounds of chaos from underneath her—the shuffling of feet, the tinkling of the inn's front door bell, opening and closing of doors, and the sound of children.

  "Oh, I'll slay the pair of them,” she said aloud and sprang out of bed. Looking over her shoulder at her bedside clock, which read eight twenty-five, she began to throw her clothes off and bolted for her bathroom.

  "Sorry, Twist,” she called to the other cat as he ran out of her path. Rae stepped into the clawfooted tub as fast as she dared and turned the water on. She washed quickly and opened her closet full of an entire set of Victorian age dresses. “Couldn't we look like normal people for just one day?” she said offhandedly and donned a green gown with antique lace.

  * * * *

  The inn was alive with activity. The dining room was half filled with patrons beginning breakfast; the library had a few children already sitting at the story table with their parents. Raena bypassed all this and headed directly for the kitchen and flung open the swinging door hard as the hired help scurried out of her way.

  "Rachael! Where are you?"

  "What?” came the sarcastic reply from the other side of the kitchen. Rachael stood over a waffle iron supervising the help's progress with breakfast. Her dark hair was pulled into a clip and she was not yet in Victorian attire. Her sister's blue eyes blazed as she prepared for the verbal onslaught.

  "Don't work yourself into a frenzy. It's only eight forty-five and you're just angry because you thought you would miss something!"

  "No. I'm angry because today was my library day and nothing is ready!"

  "Bella finished it. She stole your plans from your room and she and Morgana had it prepared before she left for school."

  "I suppose she was the one who turned off my alarm?"

  "I assume so, unless it was the ghost of Uncle Joe, or maybe it was Dodger,” she said as she smiled maliciously and turned back to the waffles. Her sarcasm was legendary.

  Raena headed directly behind her and grabbed her sister from behind in a mock headlock.

  At this, Dorothy and Maude, two older women who were cooks at the inn, elbowed one another and chuckled into their frying pans.

  "What are you doing?” yelled Rachael.

  "What does it look like?"

  "I'd say you're acting your mental age again!"

  The two women began a mock fight. The twins still acted like children at times behind the scenes of the inn. Both women were physical and athletic, and had about the same level of physical comedy as Abbott and Costello.

  Midfight, Bella walked into the kitchen. “Not again! Would you two get with the program! I need help out here. All the kids are here for story hour and my hostess has disappeared from the dining area!"

  "It's your fault, Bella!” yelled Rae as Bella slammed the door.

  "Yes, I know I'm very evil, and I'm sure that Jim Beam™ had nothing to do with it either,” was Bella's muffled reply.

  Raena and Rachael followed their younger sister out the door, still pinching each other.

  Chapter 4

  The Daily Grind and Head Shrinkers

  The Daily Grind Coffee House was two blocks from the inn and a favorite place for many of the townsfolk to unwind after a long day. Its aromatic sitting rooms were colored with warm browns and every shade of green to further a peaceful experience.

  The sisters sat drinking cappuccinos and talking about the week's events as Mozart music piped through the sound system.

  Bella looked across the table at the twins and gave Rachael a meaningful look before beginning. “Rae, about the dreams—what's going on? This is becoming almost nightly now. Rachael and I think maybe you should go and see somebody about them."

  "Oh really? I wasn't aware your major had been psychology in college. And what in the world do you presume Dr. Headshrinker will tell me to magically rid me of night anxiety?"

  "Perhaps he'll sprinkle some magic pixie dust and then you'll sleep soundly,” retorted Bella, nonplussed by the reply. She had to listen to the two of them daily, so their sarcasm had absolutely no effect on her. Rachael's gaze met Bella's with a “good one” look.

  "Or maybe he'll lace your port with something stronger and you won't have any choice but to pass out, yes?” suggested Rachael helpfully.

  "Yes, all valid suggestions,” quipped Raena.

  "I'm not sure Rae really needs any more port...” said Bella.

  "Seriously, Rae,” said Rachael. “Do you think it's garden variety anxiety, or something else?"

  "I'm not sure. I'm thinking it might be the month of November, it is a pretty significant one for us...” she trailed off at the guarded look in Rachael's eyes and suddenly felt very selfish. If her twin could handle the death of a spouse and her parents, all occurring in the month of November, who was she to get anxiety?

  "Sometimes, I have the feeling something is amiss, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

  "Like one of Gran Moira's fairie tales, or one of her paintings. It makes you very uneasy, but it isn't clear why,” chimed in Bella.

  "Yes, that's it exactly,” said Rae.

  "Okay, well, let me know if I can help in any way. Oh man, I have to fly! Look at the time! Morgana will be home already."

  "Sam will take care of her,” said Bella, gathering her things.

  "I know he will,” replied Rachael.

  Silently, Rachael was grateful for Sam's masculine presence in their lives. Morgana's father, John, had been killed in a car accident when she was only three years old. Rachael had little interest in replacing her husband, as he had been a good man, and at present, her world was very busy between her daughter and the inn. She thought of her husband and inwardly sighed.

  Raena, as if hearing her twin's thoughts, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and said, “C'mon, let's go! Sam's cooking tonight!"

  * * * *

  The Macbeth and Crane families gathered around the scrubbed wood table and prayed over the food. The wine flowed, the fire crackled and talk of the day's events flowed as easily as the wine.

  At last, at about six thirty, Rachael stated, “Morgana, how much homework do you have?
"

  "Enough,” was her guilty reply.

  "That's our cue. Thanks so much for dinner, Sam. It was almost as good as mine!” cackled Rachael.

  Sam ran his hands through his hair. “Ha! Go!” was his only reply.

  He shut the door as the sisters and his niece raced across the lawn like three little girls.

  "I thought they would never leave!” yelled Sam, running over and tackling his wife and knocking her over the back of the sofa. “It's a full moon, you know!"

  "Sam ... I'm beginning to think we'll never conceive,” Bella quietly said. She suddenly looked worn and slight to him. Dark circles were forming under her blue-green eyes, and her complexion was pallid. He was becoming concerned, although he would never admit that to her for fear of escalating her anxiety. Besides, being positive helped any situation, he rationalized.

  "It will happen, I'm sure of it,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her.

  "How can you be so sure?” she asked quietly and laid her head on his shoulder.

  "Because I've already seen her,” he said slyly with a wicked smile, “in my mind's eye. She'll have your blond hair and will be such a tiny thing, that I have to search for under the covers each morning, just like I do with you.” He began to walk toward their bedroom doing some sort of awful dance .

  Sometimes in life, we feel things, Bella thought as she stared into the fire. And we cannot explain them. In the middle of a beautiful, sunny day, as we lift our face into the sun, we may feel dread.

  Intuition, it's called. Sometimes, it's right and others it isn't, but some people definitely feel it more than the rest. Perhaps it is the ability of some to empathize with others so much, we physically feel their pain, as if it were our own.

  Psychologists have a name for it, “Theory of mind.” It's a curse, really. Because I'm unable to ignore when someone needs me or when they're in pain. And we sure have enough of it in this family ... Sam's voice from the bedroom shook her out of her reverie.