Table of Contents
Excerpt
The Ghost of Kathleen Murphy
Copyright
Dedications
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
A word from the author…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Katie heard the whimpering again.
It was coming from across the room. Her sister, Maeve. She must be having another bad dream. Katie pushed back her thin blanket and turned up the lamp. She ran across the icy floor to her sister’s bed, her small bare feet making no sound at all. But Maeve was not asleep; and as Katie held the light above her, Maeve’s blue eyes looked other-worldly shining out of her stark, white face.
Katie put the lamp down on the side table and got into bed with Maeve. “What is it, Maeve?”
“Nothing. Nothing, go on back to your bed now, Kathleen.” Maeve turned away from her.
“Were you dreaming then, Maeve?”
“Yes, just a dream, a bad dream, now go on back to bed and go to sleep, Kathleen. They will soon be here to get us up to start the laundry.”
Katie went back to her bed, but she couldn’t sleep. She knew Maeve was upset, because she called her Kathleen, not Katie. Kathleen was what her parents called her when they were angry with her. Maeve almost never called her Kathleen.
Katie felt as though a black knot began to grow inside her stomach. She was never wrong when she got her bad feelings. Maeve was in trouble and that was something Katie could not bear. Maeve was the one she could turn to for anything. Maeve was the one who always listened to her and took care of her. Something terrible was coming and she could feel it in her bones.
The Ghost of Kathleen Murphy
by
Vickie Carroll
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Ghost of Kathleen Murphy
COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Vickie Carroll
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Kristian Norris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2017
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1814-1
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1815-8
Published in the United States of America
Dedications
To my kind daughter, Michelle,
who read my bad drafts and still urged me on.
~*~
To my granddaughters, Sarah and Caroline,
never failing in their support.
~*~
They all keep me going in all ways.
Prologue
Rosehaven Monastery, Rosehaven Village, Ireland, 1919
Katie heard the whimpering again. It was coming from across the room. Her sister, Maeve. She must be having another bad dream. Katie pushed back her thin blanket and turned up the lamp. She ran across the icy floor to her sister’s bed, her small bare feet making no sound at all. But Maeve was not asleep; and as Katie held the light above her, Maeve’s blue eyes looked other-worldly shining out of her stark, white face.
Katie put the lamp down on the side table and got into bed with Maeve. “What is it, Maeve?”
“Nothing. Nothing, go on back to your bed now, Kathleen.” Maeve turned away from her.
“Were you dreaming then, Maeve?”
“Yes, just a dream, a bad dream, now go on back to bed and go to sleep, Kathleen. They will soon be here to get us up to start the laundry.”
Katie went back to her bed, but she couldn’t sleep. She knew Maeve was upset, because she called her Kathleen, not Katie. Kathleen was what her parents called her when they were angry with her. Maeve almost never called her Kathleen.
Katie felt as though a black knot began to grow inside her stomach. She was never wrong when she got her bad feelings. Maeve was in trouble and that was something Katie could not bear. Maeve was the one she could turn to for anything. Maeve was the one who always listened to her and took care of her. Something terrible was coming and she could feel it in her bones.
Chapter 1
Cassie Malone had never been a good sleeper. She knew it was from years of self-imposed guard duty over her mother. She changed positions and pictured the beach, the forest, anything, but she could still hear the ropes and pulleys groan as her father’s casket was lowered into the ground. It was this time last year, almost to the day, when she received her mother’s ashes inside that plain brown urn. Lung cancer claimed her father with remarkable speed and he was dead before she could comprehend the severity of his illness. At thirty, she was now an orphan. This fact terrified her yet freed her in some way. It was time for her to make her own way and to be what she wanted to be…it was past time. But what did she want to be?
Cassie looked around her condo in Atlanta one last time. She knew better than to think too much about things, or she might change her mind. Everyone told her she was crazy to dump her boyfriend, quit her job, sell her condo, and move to another country. Everyone didn’t have a boss who was a cheating boyfriend. She knew everyone thought she was stressed because she lost both her parents in the last year, and then of course, Jed’s betrayal was icing on her cake. It was a hard year; and yes, she’d been a bit depressed, but she knew she made the right decision. Today, as she clutched the ticket to Ireland in her right hand, she felt more than ready to leave the past behind and get on with her life.
Two months after her father’s funeral, Cassie found herself bound for Ireland. She sat back in the limo and watched her neighborhood fade away, and then her city disappeared into the background. Since it was summer, the light hung on even though it was near eight. She hoped she could sleep on the plane but reality was threatening to set in now, and she fought the little voice in her head that was telling her she was crazy to do this. It is done, she kept telling herself. Look ahead and not back. The trip to the Atlanta airport was quick and without incident and before she gave in to her little voice, she was in the air. Hours later, stiff and groggy, she opened her eyes and looked out the plane’s little window. They were still over the ocean but nearing Ireland; she could see it in the distance as the clouds broke open and the sun appeared. The green patches scattered like so many old quilts across the country came into view, and then at last, the city, Dublin, and her jet lag fell away.
Cassie felt the familiar tug of being pulled toward something. The sense of belonging somewhere washed over her as she looked at the letter from Martha Devlin again. Martha was one of the new owners of the writers’ and artists’ retreat, or Center, as it was sometimes called. The Haven, was the new and official name for the Center in Rosehaven, a s
mall village not far from Dublin. Though she and her partners owned the Center, they were in London. They hired two other people to run the Center, and Cassie was scheduled to meet them today. She took the job as the Center’s part-time creative writing teacher for their writing retreats, and then signed on as an archive worker in exchange for room and board for six months. Her time commitment to the Center left her time to write her book. That was the big draw for her. She tried to picture what she wanted her new life to look like, but it wouldn’t come into focus for her.
The plane went into its landing mode, and she felt it again, she was not in a foreign land—she was home. The feeling got stronger as she made her way through the airport to find a taxi. Rather than the rush of nerves she was expecting, or worse, panic, there was only peace. It was a new and welcomed feeling.
The cars were lined up outside the busy airport and she got into the first available one. The scenery flew by as they left Dublin for Rosehaven Village. The roads narrowed, and the landscape began to change until it looked like the Ireland she remembered from her childhood visits with her grandparents. The city faded away, replaced by green pastures, rock walls, people on bicycles, and smaller houses. Cassie felt the call of something, the pull of something. She didn’t understand it. She only knew she felt at home.
The taxi driver, who was uncharacteristically un-chatty for an Irishman, interrupted her musings to say they were almost at the retreat center. She ran a brush through her hair and tried not to look too hard at the dark circles under her eyes. They pulled into a circular drive and stopped in front of the main building, a former castle, and then rebuilt as a monastery and girls’ school. The mammoth gray stone building was set on a small hillside. There was no way to guess its age. As she got out of the car, Cassie could see it was much more than one building, but rather it was a main building with a long wing on each side. The center building, which was part of the original castle, still stood complete with turrets, and the biggest doors she had ever seen. Acres of green surrounded it and reminded her of something, but she couldn’t put her finger on the memory.
Cassie stood in awe as the driver unloaded the bags and put them in front of the massive doors. In one second, her feeling of peace and joy was replaced by a heavy and dark cloud of sadness. It settled on her like a shroud, as if she entered a place of mourning. The car drove away and then she heard not one sound, and the silence was unnerving. She shook herself as if she might shake off the mood, and couldn’t help but wonder why everything looked familiar, yet strange. The only picture on-line was a close up of the doors with their new sign beside it. She looked around and tried to determine the cause of her wild roller coaster emotions. She felt a touch of the old panic coming on and did her deep breathing exercises. “In and out, and breath,” she whispered. A few deep breaths brought her back to calm, and she moved her bags closer to the door. It was quiet except for a few birds and the barking of a dog in the distance. She stood back to admire the huge blood-red doors which looked thirty feet tall. She knocked once but then she saw a bell attached to a long triple-braided and weathered rope and gave it a hard pull. The retreat center, though a third incarnation of the original structure, seemed little changed from the old castle and monastery days. Cassie thought it still looked like an ancient building full of spirits and stories. This was perfect for writers and artists, and she could understand why they were getting a lot of press. The place was ancient, massive, with a personality all its own.
She pulled on the rope bell again, and walked the few steps to the border of the garden to admire the flowers while she waited. A movement in the garden near the trees caught her eye, a swish of dark and light, and then a sound like a sigh on the wind—it made the hair on her neck quiver. She stepped forward to get a better look but the giant doors opened with a groan and she rushed back to stand beside her luggage.
Two women pushed through the doors, and they couldn’t have been more opposite; one was petite and curvy with a welcoming smile and blue eyes, her dark brown hair held back in a long ponytail. The other was tall, model-slim, and blonde, with piercing green eyes and a stern all-business expression.
The tall one stepped forward. “Welcome to The Haven and our home, Ms. Malone. I am Rose, the director here, and this is Emily in charge of the day-to-day operations and supervises the other employees.” A petite and attractive teenager appeared from behind them. “This is April.” Rose nudged the young woman forward. “She is helping us for the summer, and she will be your writing workshop assistant while you are here.”
The girl’s perfect porcelain skin was set off by her long dark red hair. Her large blue-green eyes, almost too big for her pixie-like face, were looking up at Cassie. It was hard not to like her at once.
“Nice to meet you, April. I’m sure you’ll be a great help to me.”
“I will try my best, Miss Malone. I think it is wonderful to have an American writer here staying with us this summer.”
Before Cassie could reply, she was distracted by the tall handsome man who appeared from the side of the building. When his eyes met her own, it was as if some familiar connection was made. She felt she knew him, but of course it was not possible. She wondered if the jet lag and maybe too many romance novels were getting to her.
The man walked toward them and stood beside Rose who put her hand on his arm. “This is Jacob Sullivan; he owns the bookstore in the village and is a writer as well. He is here doing a little history research in our archives and library. Jacob, this is Cassie Malone.”
He stepped between the two women and held out his hand. “My aunt is the part-time librarian here so I am a regular visitor. I hope you enjoy your time here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan. I look forward to visiting your bookstore.”
“We are informal here, call me Jacob. I’ll be happy to stop by and get you whenever you want to visit the store or the village.” He released her hand but his gaze held steady.
Emily gave him a small tight smile. “There is no need for that Jacob; Ms. Malone will have the use of one of our cars when she needs it.”
Cassie forced herself to look away from his vivid blue eyes. “Thank you just the same, Jacob. I’m grateful to be here, and I look forward to working with all of you and getting some writing done as well.”
Rose stepped forward. “We know you must be tired from your trip. April will show you to your room, and then you have some time to rest before lunch.” She turned her attention to Jacob with a dismissive nod. “Good day, Jacob.”
Jacob seemed reluctant to leave but shifted his armload of books and walked past her toward his car, parked at the edge of the circular drive. “Good day, ladies. Cassie, I hope to see you again soon.”
She gave him a wave and could feel all eyes on her.
Cassie tried to refocus. “April, I will follow you.” She picked up two of her bags, and April picked up the third. She tried to keep her gaze away from Jacob’s broad shoulders as he walked toward his car.
Rose’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Miss Malone, you have a unique situation here at the retreat since you will be a temporary employee, but we want you to have all the same privileges as the others in the writers’ retreat.”
“Thank you, Rose; please call me Cassie.”
Rose nodded toward April. “She knows where to find us if you need anything and will explain our operation to you, the meal times, where things are, and so on.”
“I’m sure April will take good care of me.”
Rose and Emily hurried away and left her with April.
“Well, Miss, let’s get started then, it’s a bit of a walk, I’m afraid.”
Once inside the building, they started down the long dark hall, took a sharp right turn down another hall, equally gloomy, and then climbed up a winding staircase. Cassie felt as though she were walking back in time with every step and turn of a corner.
“Your room is in the original section of what was the monastery, which was actually a castle in the begi
nning. They just finished even more renovations last year so you will find it comfortable, I am sure.”
“It’s a bit imposing and a bit spooky but in a romantic kind of way, don’t you think?”
April picked up her pace as they reached the top floor. “Yes, it can be a bit spooky at night. You are the last door at the end here.”
This hallway with its large windows at the end of the hall allowed more light to filter in. The window went from ceiling to floor, and as they got closer Cassie could see it opened to a balcony.
April pulled a key from her pocket and opened the door. “This will be your key. They like to keep the personal rooms locked because this place is very big and there have been a lot of workers and such in and out recently.”
Cassie put the key on the little green table in the room’s entryway and looked around the large room. It was cool and serene with muted colors and large glass doors leading to a small balcony overlooking a large expanse of green. The grounds were dotted with a few boulders, a bench, a small water feature, and a large flower garden completed the picture. She stepped onto the balcony to get a better look. A thick line of trees blocked part of her view and she wondered how much property the Center owned. She was still getting used to the different names the place was called. It had a rich history, and the locals called the place, the Center, though the new owners had hung that huge sign declaring it, The Haven. Back inside her room, she took a closer look. The wallpaper was light green with small white flowers. There was a darker green quilt across the foot of the bed and three stark white pillows at the head. A large, over-sized pine dresser with a mirrored door sat against the wall across from the bed. She spotted a round work table with two chairs in the corner and a nice reading chair and lamp in another corner.
“Oh, it’s a lovely room, April.”
“Yes, it’s one of the largest rooms, but there is no internet connection in the room. I think you can pick up wireless sometimes around here. Otherwise, there is an internet connection in the archive office and in the community room.”
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