“I shut the bedroom door before Chester could try to follow me, and I went straight for the kitchen, where I keep that old metal pipe propped up against the screen. Never did like the idea of a gun. I stood there, looking out into the darkness, like I was trying to will whatever was out there to hurry on up and show its face. I’d been waiting for the something bad for so long by then that to tell you the truth, I was a little glad it had finally decided to show up. Get it all over with.”
“Lemme guess,” one of the men said. “It was the snake’s momma, come for revenge.”
Miriam sighed loudly, putting her exasperation on display. “No. It wasn’t. But it wasn’t gonna just tell me what it was, either. So I opened the door—too slowly for it to squeak—and I stepped outside. Oh, it was still. And too warm for October. Kind of like it feels just before a storm, you know? I started tiptoeing, me out there in my nightgown, holding that pipe like a baseball bat. Eyes as wide as they would go.
“Rustling exploded from the side of my property. The same kind of rustling that had woken me up to begin with. And I saw him. A man. But I couldn’t see his face. It was like he was all in outline, you know? Or—a silhouette. Like our grandmothers used to like to hang in living rooms, remember? Those solid black figures. That’s what I saw.”
The entire diner had stopped at this point. Forks were poised midair. Ruthie, the waitress, had paused by Kelly’s table, her coffee pot still midway to the white mug sitting just to the right of Kelly’s half-eaten cheeseburger.
“And then there was all this squawking. Like—like birds. And I shouldn’t’ve taken my eyes off him, that man in silhouette, but I did. I looked up, and the closest tree had a bunch of carrion crows sitting on the very tiptop, just chattering away.”
Kelly couldn’t see Miriam’s face from her vantage point, but she imagined her eyes were fixed on some inanimate object: the metal wheel where Ruthie stuck her orders for the cook or the soda dispenser or the plastic cups full of recently washed silverware.
“What kind of crows?” the cook asked. He’d stopped toasting hamburger buns and adding cheddar squares to patty melts to stick his face in the open space between the kitchen and the dining area. The opening had been decorated with twists of orange and black crepe paper, a few glitter-encrusted tarantulas and bats.
“Carrion. You know—birds that eat flesh. And I started counting them. I knew they’d be honest with me. They always have been. One of those superstitions that always works. You count the crows in front of you, and that’s a way to predict what’s about to happen. I kept counting two the whole week leading up to my first wedding. Counted five right before my son came down with the croup. You know the saying, right? ‘One’s lucky, two’s unlucky, three’s health, four’s wealth…”
Kelly was struck by the contrast, suddenly—the cutesy Halloween decorations and the seriousness of the story spilling from Miriam. The all-in-good-fun play cobwebs stuck to the cash register and the sober, half-frightened look on the cook’s face.
This wasn’t a joke anymore. Even the two teasing men at the counter sensed that. “Four’s good,” one of the men beside her offered.
“No, but see, my eye came down then,” Miriam said. “Back to where the man was standing. And before I knew what I was doing, I counted him, too. Because he looked just like them. Like the crows, I mean. He was all black, but I realized, where he was standing in the moonlight, he had the same sheen crows have. Those green and purple iridescent streaks.”
“Five,” Joe called out, loud enough to make Kelly jump a little. “What’s five?”
“Sickness,” Miriam said. “But, see, I didn’t stop with five, either. I counted one more. Because suddenly, there was another man.”
“Another!” came a startled shout from the other side of the diner.
“Another.” Miriam nodded. “Number six had a car. With a strange sounding engine. Unlike any other car on the streets of Finley.”
“Wait,” Joe begged. “What’s six?”
“When I took a step forward, I realized—the car was a Model T. All in silhouette, too. I couldn’t make heads nor tails of any of it. Couldn’t keep a solid grip on my pipe, either. It slipped right out of my hands. And it struck a rock in the ground, letting out this clang. Right then, I thought, I’m a gonner. I’d tipped them both off, see? They knew I was out there.”
“What’s six?” Joe tried again.
“The second man hopped behind the wheel of the Model T. The first man followed. At the driver’s insistence, it seemed like. And they took off. It was like—like the sound of the pipe hitting the rock had startled them.”
“Hey! What’s six?” Joe shouted.
“They took off,” Miriam said, in a tone far more serious than Kelly had ever heard her use. “Came straight toward me, no problem at all driving over the bumps and ruts in the ground. And this cold came over me. Draped right down on me. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I was frozen, and that car was headed right toward me. I couldn’t get out of the way. Wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. And that car—it got closer, closer…should’ve hit me. It should have. But at the moment we should have collided, it just—”
“What’s six?”
“—evaporated,” Miriam finished.
“What—” Joe tried one more time.
One of the men at the counter turned slightly to call out over his shoulder, “Six is death.”
Ghosts. Miriam had seen two ghosts.
A timer went off for a basket of fries, startling everyone and shattering the heavy, grim feeling that had invaded the diner. “Ahhhh, Miriam,” the cook said, tossing a hand at her. “They caught that guy last night.”
“What guy?” Miriam’s tone was one of pure innocence.
“The one who was out there trying to break into the Williams’ place. Didn’t you see it? Was in the paper and everything. You must’ve just scared him off. He probably got turned around in the fields, had your back door mistaken for the Williams’. They’re the ones out of town, not you. Neighbors had to call the police.”
“But—no. There were two men,” Miriam tried.
“Those are good neighbors to have,” the Orscheln hat announced, ignoring Miriam’s two.
Collectively, the diner nodded in agreement. The kind of agreement that said they would all be such good neighbors themselves, should a similar event happen out by their own properties.
“You had me goin’ for a minute,” the cook announced, pointing the greasy tip of his spatula at Miriam.
A flutter of relieved laughter hit the air, along with a round of shoulda knowns.
But Miriam didn’t move. Kelly assumed that her eyes were still fixed on something inanimate. Easier to look at a cardboard box of paper napkins than a bunch of faces that were in the midst of rolling their eyes or pursing their lips or showing some other sign that they were tossing her story to the side, deciding that Miriam had been hitting her blueberry wine just a little too hard.
Ruthie kicked herself into gear, pouring steaming coffee into Kelly’s mug. Kelly didn’t usually have coffee with lunch, but the day was so overcast, so blustery and bone-chilling—the entirety of the world on the opposite side of her window was a dark gray watercolor smear. As Ruthie poured, Kelly stared at her reflection—at the caramel highlights she’d added to her short curls, her ivory colored baggy cable knit sweater. The sweater was her favorite, with its chunky combinations of braided stitches and peacock tails. She loved the pattern, and she loved the way the lighter color highlighted her dark skin.
Maybe that was one reason why she’d gravitated toward wedding dresses. Because she’d always been drawn to whites and ivories in her own wardrobe.
“Ooooooh,” Ruthie said, clunking the coffee pot on Kelly’s table. “This one’s fantastic.” She picked up the sketch of a dress featuring a lace shawl—a dress that was all at once somehow both old-fashioned and too modern to be something any bride had ever worn before.
“It’s the shawl that mak
es it,” Kelly muttered sourly.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is when the owner of the shawl won’t let you use it.”
“Not even for a wedding? Something borrowed—did you tell the owner that?”
“About a thousand times,” Kelly said through a semi-disgusted nod.
“Well. It sure is pretty,” Ruthie said, returning the sketch and picking up her coffee pot again. “Dress like that would even make me reconsider doing it a second time. And that’s saying something, considering the mess the first one was.”
“Marriage?”
“And the big formal wedding. Got married outside, while a nearby building got hot tar roofed. Never did smell such a stench in my life. Should’ve known it was the sign of things to come.”
Kelly nodded. Nothing, she thought as Ruthie headed back toward the front counter, brought out superstition in a person quite like a wedding.
Well, she reminded herself, her eyes landing on Miriam one last time, except for ghosts.
∞ ∞ ∞
Opportunity. That was really what had led Kelly to designing wedding dresses. She knew that. Not her love for ivory garments, not her fascination with anything resembling a ball gown, and not any other sound-good reason she might rattle off to her clients as to why she’d jumped into bridal wear. It was just dumb luck. The chance had presented itself, and she’d pounced. Opportunity was a strangely elusive thing. Almost as much as…
“Ghosts,” she muttered, tightening her hold on her steering wheel. “Please.”
Only, she really could almost believe in ghosts on a day like this, late in October. On the opposite side of her windshield, the town of Finley was showing itself to be far less elementary classroom-Halloween cutesy and far more prologue to a ripped-from-the-headlines horror story: Bare tree limbs reaching their knobby, arthritic hands to scratch against a sky whose clouds were as black as a Jolly Roger flag. Brutal winds tossing decaying leaves across Kelly’s path, crunching and clattering as if to bemoan the loss of summer. A hidden sun causing her to turn her headlights on so early in the afternoon, the taste of her cheeseburger was still faint on her tongue.
Kelly checked the time on her phone and veered from her path, off toward Founders Park. She drove down by the river’s edge, where she killed the engine and pulled herself from behind the wheel.
The wind picked up, slapping her cheeks. The trees in the park, looking completely naked without the protection of their leaves, let out a pleading noise when a breeze slapped them. Like the trees were begging the bullying wind to leave them alone.
Fallen leaves crackled beneath Kelly’s sneakers. She rarely wore them; sneakers reminded her of the horrors of middle school gym, but heels would have been a foolish choice for the old Powell farmstead, which was her true destination.
It struck her, as she walked, that the leaves were the trees’ clothes; here they were, scattered on the ground the same way teenagers tossed jeans onto bedroom floors. While she was at it, maybe autumn was the trees’ annual fashion show, each of them adding another fiery hue and trying to outdo all the others.
Now, the bare limbs looked threatening—like they were full of fingers reaching out to grab the closest living creature. Tainted with the smoke of nearby chimneys, the outdoor air smelled burnt, bitter. And something else: because of the direction Kelly’s thoughts had turned, the air seemed to her like it had been filled with mean-spirited words. Things said with the intention of cutting a person down.
The world, she thought, remembering Miriam’s latest story, could be a menacing place. She understood firsthand the feeling Miriam had described—one of waiting for her bad luck to arrive.
Kelly took a step toward the statue of the town founder, Amos Hargrove.
“Hey, there, Amos,” she said. “I’m Kelly.” And tugged on her bottom lip. “I never have dropped by to talk to you, have I? Most people in town stop by often, I’d imagine. Am I the only one left who hasn’t?”
Amos didn’t respond. She chuckled at herself for pausing long enough to give him the chance.
“You wouldn’t believe what people in Finley say about you. Has any of it floated your way? Can you hear it out here?”
She looked around to make sure no one was watching. Why was she asking a statue questions?
“It’s common knowledge that our town was founded on your broken heart.”
She cleared her throat—an old nervous tic that hadn’t appeared in ages, not since the days of her high school speech class. “It is true, isn’t it? You wanted everyone to know it was true. That was why you named the town after your fiancée. Finley. The woman who died before you two ever got to marry. I’m in the wedding business myself. Had a few weddings right here, in the park. I hope that didn’t hurt your feelings. I never meant to throw it in your face or…anything.”
Amos showed no hint of emotion.
Had she honestly hoped he would?
“Some say you’re—a ghost. That you’re still here in town, waiting to be reunited with your fiancée’s spirit. And until that time comes, you’re granting wishes. Helping the people who still live here, in the town you founded.”
This was her opportunity. Her moment to ask him to grant her own wish. But she chickened out, like a child afraid of a parent refusing to grant permission.
“Do you see everyone when they come out here in February? I’m not sure how you could miss it, really. We all bring bright glittery red tinsel, those doily hearts. It probably looks really gaudy to you. But it’s done out of love. It’s just—what’s the old saying? There are no sad stories, just stories that haven’t found their happy endings yet? Everyone in Finley wants to help you two find your happy ending. You’ve seen us, haven’t you? All of us on Valentine’s Day, flocking to the park, hoping to see the two of you finally reunited.”
As she rambled, she didn’t mention the fact that the Valentine’s Day gathering in the park had always reminded her of Charlie Brown Halloweens, the story of Linus waiting year after year for the Great Pumpkin, who never did materialize.
“I never considered myself a superstitious person,” Kelly confessed instead. “Not that—not that I think you’re a superstition—”
The limbs cracked in the wind; bare branches swayed over Amos’s face, making it appear that his stoic expression had shifted into a smirk.
“But I’m here, though, right? That’s what you’re thinking. So I must be at least a little superstitious.”
The river beyond Amos’s feet looked choppy. And dark.
“Love itself is superstitious, don’t you think? Just ask any bride who ever wanted to smash a champagne glass at her reception, or insisted on wearing her grandmother’s lucky pearls during the ceremony. Ask any girl who ever thought that putting a rose petal beneath her pillow would make the face of her one true love show up in her next dream.”
Again, the nervous clearing of her throat.
“I have a wedding coming up. At the Powell farmland. Finley’s old home.”
The October skies churned. The river darkened three shades.
“And the thing is, I’ve been talking it up. Across all my social media platforms—I guess that makes about as much sense to you as rocket science does to me, though, huh?”
The passing clouds cast shadows across Amos’s face, causing his expression to shift once again, this time into a somewhat blank stare.
“Yes, well, the thing is, I promised the whole world that I was going to create the most beautiful gown of all time. Literally. And if this afternoon’s meeting doesn’t go the way I need it to, I won’t deliver the dress I promised. And I’ll be torn apart by trolls and their nasty remarks. And worse—I’ll be torn apart by fashion critics who have been watching, too. Flash in the pan. That’s what they’ll call me. And I can’t just pretend I never bragged about this dress-in-progress in the first place. I mean, I put a countdown clock on the sidebar of my website.” She held up a hand, as if to silence him. “I know—that
makes as much sense as the social media. But the point is, I’ll have to share pictures of my finished design. There’s no taking it back. And I can’t pull this design off without…See, I need someone’s help…”
She sighed. “Fine. I need your help. Crazy as that is. I need you to help me to convince Mary to loan—something—to me.”
Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him exactly what the item was.
“If I don’t get it—” Kelly’s eyes grew distant as she pictured her future online slaughtering. “—they’ll tear me to shreds. Like carrion crows pecking away at my dead flesh.”
She angled her pleading puppy dog eyes toward the tarnished, brown statue. Amos’s toes, his nose, his eyes, his fingers, and the spot on his chest where his heart should be all still shone a bright yellowy orange. “Everyone swears you can rub your statue for luck. And that’s exactly what I need most. Luck.” She rubbed first his left eye, then his right. “Please, Amos,” she whispered.
As she started to leave, an awful shriek attacked her ears. She gasped, afraid that someone—or someone’s animal—had been hurt. Her frightened eyes landed on the nearby mill, closed too long for even most of the town’s old-timers to remember it being in business. Covered in rust and cracked windows, the old building leaned. It groaned. Metal pieces scraped against each other, showing themselves to be the source of the spine-tingling shriek.
The hairs stood on the back of Kelly’s neck. She raced back to her car, locked the door as soon as she slammed it shut. She drove toward the park exit just a little too fast, losing most of her control on the last curve. The bolt of ivory material, which she’d painstakingly wrapped in acid-free tissue paper and placed in a plastic container, tumbled into the floorboard. She stopped abruptly—not bothering to look for another car—and grabbed the container, the same way a mother might grab a small child who had slipped out of their car seat.
Kelly hadn’t cut the fabric yet. Somehow, scissors had come to seem like a far more important, powerful tool than her sewing machine. She would not cut the dress until she had everything in order.
Forever Finley Page 25
