The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy)

by Brenda Hill

  What little strength she had felt was fading fast and her knees were giving way. She had to lie down. Just for a moment, she thought, sliding down on the sofa, her eyes closing as soon as she hit the cushion …

  Sometime later, she heard a voice.

  “Berina, are you ill?”

  Lindsay opened her eyes. Galen stood over her, concern in his eyes. She rushed up and locked her arms around his neck. He was there. Tears of relief formed and trickled down her cheeks.

  “My darling, what is wrong?” He took her arms from around him and looked into her eyes. “Why are you crying?”

  “I was afraid I’d lost you.”

  “Lose me? Why would you think that?”

  She sighed. The house sat in darkness, rays from the moon streaming through the front windows. She must have slept for hours.

  She rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Late. Aren’t you well?”

  She reached for him. “Hold me, Galen. I need to feel your arms around me.”

  He drew her to him, and she held him as if she were trying desperately to hold onto a fantasy that could fade away. He wore similar clothes to the night before, and she caught the subtle scent of Bay Rum. Once again she rested her head on his shoulder, content to feel his warmth, his strength, glorying in the miracle that allowed her to be with him.

  “You’re trembling, my darling. You should be in bed.” He lifted her into his arms, and she lay quietly as he carried her up the stairs to her bed. He could carry her to eternity and she wouldn’t care—as long as she was in his arms.

  Lying on the bed, she reached for him. “Hold me, make love to me again. I want to feel you inside me.”

  He sat beside her and took her hand. “As much as I ache for you, I must not. Clearly you’re not well and until I know differently, I’m assuming it’s because of last night.”

  “But—”

  “I won’t risk it, Berina. It took every source of energy I could summon to appear to you, and I’m afraid part of it came from your life force. Until I learn how to overcome that, we must be content to simply be with each other without anything more.”

  “I can’t bear the thought of never holding you again.”

  “My darling, I must be firm. I refuse to endanger you further.”

  She was silent. While she loved him even more for his consideration of her, she couldn’t bear for him to leave. Not now, not when she desperately needed to be reassured.

  “At least lie next to me. Talk to me, tell me about the mysteries of life—and death.”

  He laughed. “Oh, the mysteries of life. I wish I had it figured out.”

  His deep, rich laughter sent tingles of delight through Lindsay, and the thought of never hearing it again was more than she could bear.

  “Galen, what would happen if I had to leave this house? Would you follow me?”

  “Why would you leave?”

  “I would have to if Eric and I divorced. This is his house.”

  “But your father built it. You grew up here.”

  “That was in a past life, something I could never claim in court. If I said anything like that in pubic, I’d be locked away.”

  He stared at her, the full understanding dawning on his face. “I don’t know, my darling. I’ve never questioned what might happen. I had only one purpose—to wait for you.”

  “How did you know I’d return?”

  “I just knew. And waited.”

  “We have to figure this out. We have to know what’s likely to happen so I can make plans. I couldn’t bear it if I lost you again. I wouldn’t want to live.”

  He gently brushed her hair from her face and stroked her cheek. “No matter what, our love wouldn’t end.”

  “That’s a wonderful philosophy, and maybe I’m too selfish, but it’s not good enough right now. Help me, Galen.”

  “Let’s get you well. Then we can talk.”

  “We don’t have the time! Eric will be home as soon as he can smooth out his business, maybe sooner. I need to know what to do before he arrives.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Tell me what your life is like now. Maybe we can discover a clue, a sign to guide us.”

  At his nod, she began. “Do you ever see anyone from the family who’s crossed over?”

  His face clouded. “No.”

  “Were you here after … you were shot? When I lived as Berina?”

  “I had to see you. Even though I couldn’t touch or speak to you, I had to be near you.”

  “Did Frida know you were there? Is that why she wanted this house burned down?”

  “I never wanted to frighten anyone; I simply wanted to be near you. Tilly and Elsie, her young helper, always knew I was there, and I think you did as well.”

  “I met Elsie,” Lindsay said.

  Galen nodded. “You always knew when I was near you. Frida also sensed me and was frightened, but she needn’t have been. I’ve never blamed her for that night. It was I who was responsible for everything …” His voice trailed off, followed by a few moments of silence. “After your days ended as Berina and you passed on,” he said, “I stayed. I needed to be surrounded by your things.”

  “I don’t remember my last days as Berina. But once she, I passed, why didn’t I see you?”

  “I don’t know why or how things happened, but I suppose it’s because I never left this house.”

  She was shocked. “You never left? Why not, Galen? Didn’t you want to go to the light as I’ve heard people with near-death experiences say? According to most, it’s a wonderful experience.”

  He was silent, seemingly considering what she had said. She patiently waited, desperate for some indication as to what had happened. And why.

  “I couldn’t risk it,” he finally told her. “You see, I had betrayed Frida and that was a blight to my character. Who knows what would have awaited me? Besides, somehow I knew you would be back and I had to wait. No matter how many years. Time didn’t matter. Only the chance to see you again.”

  “But that still doesn’t tell me how you knew I’d be back.”

  “When you left, it was different, somehow, so I hoped. And waited.”

  “What about your own family? Did you have relatives in the area?”

  “An older sister in Ironton. Once I got the job at the bank, I moved from the Cities to stay with her family.”

  “Have you tried to visit them, to see if they’re still here? You might have relatives nearby. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “Possibly …” His voice weakened and his image was wavering. Lindsay thought it fascinating how he could be solid one moment, then nearly transparent the next.

  She realized she too was losing energy. Even though she felt an intense need to know more, she was finding it difficult to think, to form words. She yawned.

  “Okay, that’s enough for now.” Galen leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose. “You need nourishment, but you’re in no condition to prepare something. This is one of those times I wish I were more than what I am. But that’s not the case, so I want you to call Elsie’s granddaugther and ask her to help you. Doesn’t she work at a restaurant? Ask her to deliver at least two meals, maybe more. You can put some in the refrigerator for later.”

  “Shirley. I’ll call her.” She picked up her cell phone to call, and after she clicked the numbers, she looked up at Galen, but he had disappeared. Vanished.

  “Galen?” But there was no answer. By then, someone at the diner answered. Luckily, Shirley was working, and when she came on the line, Lindsay told her she was ill and her husband was still out of town. Could the restaurant make a delivery?

  Once arrangements were made, Lindsay felt overcome by exhaustion. She lay back in bed and closed her eyes.

  “Thank you, Galen.”

  His scent filled the room. Comforted, she fell into a deep sleep. She didn’t even hear when both phones rang again.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  When she woke the next mor
ning, she was alone.

  “Galen? Are you here?”

  He didn’t answer and she didn’t sense his presence. He remained in his own world—wherever, whatever—that may be. She just hoped he wouldn’t stay away too long. They had to figure out how to remain together, and they had to do it now, before Eric returned.

  She sat up and realized she felt stronger. And hungry.

  Did Shirley bring the food last night? She slipped out of bed, and, too hungry to bother with her hair or a robe, she took one stair at a time. Clinging to the walls and banister, she made it downstairs, and there on the porch, just outside the fromt door, sat three white paper bags.

  Eagerly, she carried the sacks to the kitchen and unpacked. Six nourishing hard-boiled eggs, four large containers of homemade chicken and wild rice soup, rich and creamy with carrots, celery, and onions. To her delight, she found Hungarian goulash, thick with hamburger, pasta, tomatoes, and cheese. All she had to do was zap it in the microwave. Shirley had sent enough to last a couple of days. Lindsay’s eyes welled. What a nice thing to do.

  While waiting for the soup to heat, she picked up her phone. When the restaurant answered, she left a message for Shirely, thanking her. She’d settle with her as soon as she felt better.

  After hanging up, she rummaged for Katie’s phone number to make an appointment, but when she called, a recording stated the team was in the northern part of state doing an extended investigation, that Katie would call when they returned. Disappointed, she made a mental note to find someone else.

  Just as she took a bite of the soup, she heard a car pull up outside. She tensed.

  It couldn’t be Eric, could it? Please, no. Not him. Not yet.

  Listening intently, she stood waiting until the front doorbell rang. She released the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. It wouldn’t be Eric; he’d simply use his key. Thank God.

  Shirley stood at the door. Although casually dressed in jeans and a short-sleeve shirt, her French twist looked as elaborate as before.

  Lindsay grabbed and hugged her as if greeting an old friend.

  “Thank you for the food,” she said. “That sounds so inadequate, but I’m very grateful.”

  The woman flushed. “Had to check on you. You sounded at death’s door last night and I had to make sure you’re still standing. Certainly don’t want to deal with another ghost at this old place.”

  “Speaking of ghosts, I need to talk to you about this one. Do you have some time?“

  “I have some errands to do for my grandmother, but I’m off today. So yeah, I have time. What’s up?”

  “I need your help.” Lindsay pulled her into the house. In the kitchen, she poured coffee for them both and finished her soup. “Delicious. Thank you again. Before I tell you my problem, how’s your grandmother? Is she recovering?”

  Shirley shook her head. “They don’t think she’ll make it.”

  “I’m so sorry. I wish I could help.”

  “If it’s her time, there’s nothing anyone can do. I’m prepared.”

  Once Lindsay placed her bowl and spoon in the sink, she turned to her new friend.

  “I have a lot to tell you. What I have to say will hard to believe, but just listen with an open mind. When I’m through, I’ll answer any questions you might have.”

  She took a deep breath and told Shirley nearly everything that had happened since arriving at the house, about her experiences with Galen, only skipping the details about their lovemaking. She talked about how she came to believe she had lived before as Berina. Most of all, she spoke of her love for Galen and of his for her, and how fulfilled she felt after finding him again.

  Shirley listened with her eyes wide and mouth open at times, but she didn’t interrupt. Finally, when Lindsay grew quiet, she spoke. “He actually appeared? You saw him?”

  Lindsay nodded.

  “What does he look like?”

  Lindsay smiled and relaxed. “After all that, you want to know what he looks like?”

  Shirley shrugged. “I’ve heard a lot about him. Two women in love with him …?” She flushed and shrugged again.

  “After trying—and failing—to convince my own husband that it’s all true, I can’t tell you how much your belief means to me. Instead of describing him, go take a look. See for yourself.”

  Shirley went pale. Her eyes grew wide and she cautiously looked around. “You mean he’s here now? I don’t think I want to see a ghost …” She glanced nervously in all directions.

  Lindsay laughed, something she hadn’t done in quite a while. But she wouldn’t have believed how much of a relief it was to talk to someone who didn’t scoff.

  “Relax. He’s not here now. At least I don’t think so. I meant his portrait. The one I painted right before meeting you in the park that day.”

  Shirley jumped up. “I’d love to see it. Where?”

  “The attic. Go on up. You’ll see the stairs on the second-floor landing. I’ll wait here.”

  After Shirley flew up the stairs, Lindsay straightened her tee. She really needed a shower.

  Shirley returned and sat in the same chair. For once, the talkative waitress was silent.

  “Well?” Linsday said.

  “I can see why both women … uh, you … and uh, Frida …” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to call you. Lindsay or …?”

  “Lindsay.”

  “I always believed there was a ghost here, but this is unreal.” Shirley asked a couple of questions about the initials, so Lindsay led her to the dining room window and pointed out the ash tree. “You can go look if you want.”

  “Oh no, I believe you. It’s all so bizarre, but I guess I shouldn’t feel that way, not after cutting my teeth on grandmother’s stories. You said you needed my help?”

  “You’ve lived here all your life, so you must know people. I need a psychic. Or a medium.”

  “A medium? Seems like you can talk to your ghost without anyone’s help.”

  “You don’t understand. When my husband and I divorce, I’ll probably have to leave this house, and I don’t know if Galen will be able to follow me. He doesn’t know. I have to find out what to do so we can be together.”

  “You really want to live the rest of your life with a ghost?”

  “I can’t lose him again,” Lindsay whispered fervently. “I just can’t. I need someone who has a knowledge of these things, someone who can see into the spiritual realm and can guide me.”

  Shirely said nothing.

  “I know how this sounds,” Lindsay said. “That’s why I can’t ask just anyone, and I don’t want to check the Yellow Pages. Do you know anyone?”

  Before Shirley could answer, Lindsay’s cell rang. It was Eric. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the phone and walked to the dining room window.

  “What in God’s name is going on there?” he said as soon as she answered. “I’ve been worried sick. I’m on my way home and should land in Brainerd at nine tonight. Will you pick me up?”

  Even though Lindsay had been expecting it, a sense of dread tightened around her as she hung up, suffocating her with doom. This was way too soon; she hadn’t had a chance to settle everything—and, she’d only had one night with Galen.

  Tears forming, she sought and found the ash tree. Would her time with Galen be cut short again?

  “Shirley,” she said, walking back into the kitchen, trying to control her urgency, “I need someone now. Today. And since I’m not well, I need them to come to the house. I know that’s a lot to ask, but can you help me?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  By three that afternoon, Lindsay had taken her shower and was just finishing an egg and toast for strength when the doorbell rang. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but not the woman who waited on the porch.

  Linda Monson Powell could be any middle-aged woman in her jeans, deep purple tunic, and silver-strapped sandals. No bandanas, no rows of beads around her neck or covering her wrists. She stood nearly a
s tall as Lindsay, and natural silver strands sparkled through her shoulder-length chestnut hair.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly.” In spite of Shirley’s assurances, Lindsay had felt some apprehension, but was desperate enough to take her chances.

  The warmth in the medium’s brown eyes put her at ease.

  “After Shirley explained the situation,” Linda said, “I knew I had to be here. I just hope I can help.”

  Thank God for Shirley. Lindsay led the way into the parlor. She’d treat the waitress to dinner at a resort on the lake, but that couldn’t begin to demonstrate how grateful she felt.

  Linda followed her hostess from the foyer, but hesitated just past the parlor’s entrance.

  “This room holds much sadness,” she said. “Shock, agonizing grief. A spirit’s departing. More sorrow.”

  Lindsay stared at the woman, much like Shirley had gaped at her. “Yes,” she acknowledged, reluctant to say more. She needed to confirm the woman was authentic. Oh please, she silently begged, let her be the real thing. She needed help that only a true clairvoyant could offer.

  “Would you rather be seated in a different room?” Lindsay asked. “We could go across the hall to the family room.”

  “This will do fine.” Linda strode to the parlor chair opposite the sofa. “We’ll work in the middle of the action, as they say.”

  “Shirely referred to you as a medium. What’s the difference between what you do and a psychic?”

  “A psychic reads for the living, such as the client’s love life, career, or health issues, but a medium makes a connection with the deceased. Usually in the form of messages from loved ones who have crossed over, or images from spirits.”

  “You’re what I need, then. I don’t know how much Shirley told you—”

  “I never want to know details,” Linda interrupted. “It inhibits my ability to remain open and receptive. I have to admit, though, everyone in the area has heard stories about the restless spirit inhabiting this house.”

  Lindsay’s breath caught. “Will you still be able to be receptive? I so desperately need your help.”

  “Don’t be concerned on that level, dear. I purposely avoided learning details—in case Miss Peterson called upon me. However,” she added with a sigh, “that never happened. That’s all right, though. My guide will help me learn what I must to help you—if the spirits are willing.”