HAUNTING REFRAIN
A NOVEL
BY
MARY MARVELLA
PUBLISHED BY:
M. M. BARFIELD
HAUNTING REFRAIN
Copyright © 2011 by Mary Marvella
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.Thank you for respecting the author's work.
Dedications & Thanks
HAUNTING REFRAIN is dedicated to my critique partners Connie, Melba, Pam and Tamara, and to Linda, We’re still at it and we’re having fun. Cindi, remember with you first read this?
Danielle, my dear daughter, thanks for finding a haunted house for me. Georgina and Gina, thanks for being the first readers for this story, one chapter at a time, hot off the printer.
Without Georgia Romance Writers I might have given up writing for publication years ago
Laura Morrigan, you are a fabulous cover artist! . www.lauramorrigan.com.
Haunting Refrain
Prologue
The usually dusty storage attic resembled a post World War II drawing room. The two ladies seated in it were just as out of date. Heavy draperies covered the usually bare windows. Shaded lamps cast a warm glow over the area.
No one in the house would have expected to find them in this place, or any place. Only one person could see them, if she’d been there. At times Eloise and Mattie dwelt in spirit form, but tonight they were young women. Mattie could have graced a post Civil War painting, Eloise a 1940’s movie magazine.
“How long has it been since we last spoke with Sarah?” Eloise asked her companion. No matter what Mattie wore, she always looked delicate, but Eloise knew she was strong.
“Fourteen years. Remember, her fever was so high she almost joined us,” Mattie answered.
“We really should speak with her now. She needs us.” Eloise leaned forward on the ornate sofa. “We need to do something before she makes a horrid mistake.”
“If we go to her she’ll probably make enough noise to awaken the household before she realizes who we are. The last time she tried to tell people about us, they thought we were part of her delirium. Let’s just bring her here.”
“So call her.” Mattie wondered why Eloise always wanted her approval. “You can do it without my help.” Mattie had been here in her ghostly form to help Eloise in her times of need, but Eloise had been with her as a ghost for fifty years.
Mattie patted the soft flawless hand Eloise had placed on the arm of the sofa.
Eloise smiled. “I just like it when we work together.”
“Why don’t you invite our dear Sarah?” Mattie always seemed so practical and calm. It must have come from living through a horrible war so close to home and having to run a plantation.
Eloise expelled a long sigh. “All right, I'll call her.”
Sarah, Sarah, come to us, Sarah. Eloise chanted silently as she heard Mattie’s silent call, echoing her own.
“She’ll be here soon, get the tea things ready.” Mattie trilled with an excitement she seldom showed. Their Sarah would be here soon and Mattie, for one, was pleased.
“Yes, I hope she can handle what we show her tonight.” Eloise worried her lower lip as she had done for the last sixty years as a ghost. What if she doesn’t believe us?
Mattie smoothed her hair back from her brow and straightened the bodice of her blue day gown. She was the picture of youth. Answering Eloise’s silent question, she smiled. “We’ll just use trickery, like I did with you.”
You look as elegant as you did all those years ago, when I first saw you as a ghost in this house. ” Eloise assured her companion. As a woman of the twentieth century, she had found the old-fashioned Mattie utterly charming and fascinating. Even after so long she still learned new things about the southern belle and her strengths.
“You always did say sweet things,” Mattie smiled. “even though I'd been here nearly a hundred years. You look more like one of her friends than I do. You understand more about her modern world. Don’t worry, she’ll like us.”
“She probably won’t even know us. We look a bit different from the way we did the last time she saw us. I hope she’ll still listen to us.”
Chapter One
Sarah Overby bolted upright in bed. Something had awakened her. A noise? A touch? She shook her head, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Dazed, she glanced around her dimly lit bedroom.
Moonlight streamed through sheer curtains, illuminating the antique four-poster bed. Gauzy streamers danced slowly in the fragrant night air, warm and redolent with honeysuckle. Sarah saw no one skulking among the heavy furnishings of her room.
Squinting at the alarm clock, Sarah read the luminous numbers. “Two o’clock? Oh, God,” she groaned. Five more hours ‘til time to get up. She turned to rest on her left side away from the clock. She punched her pillow into shape, then snuggled her face against the cool pillowcase and closed her eyes.
She tried to close her ears and mind to the music borne on the air. At this time of night the loudest sounds were usually crickets or frogs from the pond behind the house. Her dream, like sleep, would not reclaim her.
Her imaginary lover was absent, probably resting from making love to her. What a shame he was only imaginary.
Exhaling a sigh, she turned heavily to face the clock radio and checked the buttons. It’s not on. Someone must have a radio on somewhere else.
Tossing didn’t help. She looked at the glowing clock from hell and read two-thirty. “O-o-h-h! I wish whoever left that noise on would wake up and shut it off,” she muttered. ”Oh, well,” She gave up. “I might as well go for the last piece of chocolate pie. It’s calling my name.”
The old house was cool enough in the wee morning hours for her to need a light robe over her pink silk gown. Grabbing a flashlight, she slid her feet into matching slippers. “Now for that noisy pie,” she whispered. “Who needs stupid diets?”
Faint music floated around Sarah as she made her way downstairs. She peeked into the music room where she saw her shiny baby grand piano in the center. Farther against the wall her old upright sat deserted, its keys covered.
Her baby always made the most beautiful magic when she touched its smooth ivory keys to play or to teach her advanced students. No one coaxed them now. The keys were still. The music seemed to stop.
By the time Sarah reached the kitchen she was primed for pie. As she opened the refrigerator door, the music started again. Someone played Chopin. Impossible. She was the only person awake. Her parents had long since gone to sleep. Shaking her head, she pivoted, trying to pinpoint the music’s source.
The sounds seemed loudest by the door to the old servants’ staircase. No one used those stairs to the attic. Surely if her parents had been up there, they wouldn’t have left a radio playing classical music.
No, she wouldn’t be like the foolish movie heroines who opened doors or went into places where danger lurked. Might as well eat the tempting pie so she could get it off her mind. Then she’d go back to bed to sleep the sleep of the guilty. Pie for a dieter spelled hell and retribution, a double whammy.
And then there was haunting classical music keeping the music teacher awake.
The pie was delicious and Sarah felt guilty, but not very. After she’d practically licked the dish clean, she turned to leave it in the sink, nearly dropping it as she heard her name repeated like a chant.
“Sarah...Sarah...Come, Sarah...”
Ohhh, boy! I didn’t hear voices. No way! I’m asleep and dreaming. That’s it. If I go back to bed, I’ll wake up in the morning and the pie will still be in the refrigerator and t
he music will be no more than a vague memory. Right.
No sooner had she passed the attic door than she felt a tug on her hem. Barely able to still her trembling hand holding the flashlight, Sarah glanced down toward the floor. Nothing.
Probably a loose nail in the wall, or ...
“Ginger tea?” she muttered. The fragrance was a physical thing, like the wavy lines in cartoons, drawing Sarah from the kitchen. Was she really going to explore the attic like some dumb horror movie character? Well, it was her house. How dangerous could it be?
The fragrance of ginger tea grew. Its pull intensified. “Oh, well. It’s only a dream, anyway, isn’t it? Sure, Sarah. You’re no wimp. If this is a dream you might as well make it good, so go explore the stairs to the attic, your attic.”
The heavy door opened as she reached for the knob. The sound of music floated toward her as she mounted the first step.
“Here goes nothin’,” she said, lifting the hem of her long gown. There was no need to trip on the way up the dusty stairs, chasing non-existent music in a dusty, empty attic.
“Here she comes.” Mattie beamed at the door.
“She heard us, finally.” Eloise laughed softly. “This ought to be interesting.”
“What the ...?” Sarah stood stock-still. The attic, alight with shaded lamps, looked different from the large, dusty, storage room she’d last seen. She was even more startled by the sight of the drawing room (which wasn’t supposed to be there) and the two young women perched on a dainty gold and white loveseat. Each held a teacup and looked at her expectantly. Well, Holy Mother! Shades of Twilight Zone. A dream, remember, it’s only a dream. I can handle a dream.
“Come join us,” invited the small, young woman whose blonde hair was piled up in curls that would have made Scarlett O’Hara jealous. Her off-the-shoulder, puff-sleeved dress would have thrilled Scarlett’s mother. Speechless, Sarah took a step toward the bizarre scene.
She turned her attention to the other woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, dressed in an outfit straight from an old 1940’s movie. Her tailored suit and carefully bowed lips added to the image. Mahogany hair swept up on both sides with a bun at the nape of her neck. Sarah had seen pictures of her grandmother wearing a similar hairstyle.
“Join us, dear Sarah. We’ve been waiting for you. Was the pie good?” The woman with the Scarlett O’Hara look held out her dainty hand, beckoning to Sarah, who hesitantly moved toward it.
After clearing her throat several times to regain her voice, Sarah spoke to the woman wearing the more modern costume. “Okay. I’ll bite. What’s going on? Who set this up and what do you get for it?”
The woman in the hooped skirt tilted her head toward her companion and asked. “Doesn’t our Sarah look lovely, Eloise?”
The other woman nodded and smiled. “You’re frowning, Sarah.” Her voice sounded low and husky, like she had a cold. “You’ll have age lines if you keep that up.”
“Frowning? Probably. I’m getting one helluva headache. Who are you and what are you doing in my attic at three o’clock in the morning?” Sarah’s voice rose.
The women sat there smiling, like they were all having a friendly tea party.
“Ladies don’t swear, dear Sarah,” Mattie reminded her, smoothing her voluminous skirt. “We tried to work on your language the last time, when you were so ill. Eloise said girls in their early teens sometimes use strong language for shock effect. I had hoped you would outgrow it.”
Sarah opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She tried again. This was not happening. It couldn’t be.
“Mattie forgets times change. I‘ve used a few words she found offensive. She didn’t approve of my occasional cigarette, either.” Eloise winked at Sarah.
Mattie frowned at Eloise, who arched a plucked eyebrow and smiled. “We did not intend to scold you, dear. We have something important to tell you.”
Eloise added. “You’re in danger of making a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Sarah asked. “Too late. I’ll get back on my diet tomorrow. Now, who are you, and what in the hell are you doing in my dusty, old attic now?”
Sarah paused for a breath, but neither woman answered. “And why are you wearing those costumes? If it’s a party, someone should’ve warned me. Wait, you’re a dream, right?”
“You still like to ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Eloise smiled indulgently.
“Which question do we answer first?” Mattie asked Eloise.
“Do you remember two imaginary friends who kept you company when your mama was terribly ill?” Eloise looked at Sarah.
“And you were so lonely because your dear papa was too worried to spend much time with you?” Mattie added. “You wandered up here into the attic and Eloise and I played dolls and tea party with you everyday. You were a precious little doll. Your hair is more auburn now.”
Sarah stared open-mouthed. Long forgotten memories pressed in on her. She rubbed her temples to clear away the feeling of traveling back to another time. Memories of the misery she’d felt as an ignored child crowded her lungs. She saw herself, a small red-haired child crouched in a corner of the large, crowded storage attic. She looked like an abandoned waif with her dusty clothes and disheveled curls. Her cold, bare feet were tucked under the long nightgown.
Absentmindedly Sarah wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, finding tears there. The pain was as fresh as yesterday. Once again, she was that five-year-old child
“Of course we will, Mattie,” the other child, Eloise answered. Her brown hair hung down her back, except for the strands she kept pushing out of her dark eyes. Her pudgy hand wiped a tear from Sara’s cheek. “We’ll stay with you until your mama gets all better. I promise.”
As Sarah watched the three children embrace, she realized she was reliving a memory.
“Matta? Weesa? But how?” Shaking her head, she looked into the faces of the two women and knew what they were trying to tell her. She was just too bewildered to accept it.
Eloise shrugged, resisting the urge to take Sarah into her arms. Mattie looks as bad off as I feel. We’d better get things moving or we’ll all be crying. “When you had meningitis we came to you, too. We’ll always come when you need us. Won’t we?”
“Always!” Mattie answered.
“I wasn’t hallucinating?” Sarah asked. She remembered two teenage girls slipping into her sick room. Sometimes sitting on the side of her bed, telling funny stories and giggling.
“No,” Mattie answered, “that was what everyone said when you tried to talk about us. It was easier than believing we were really there, when no one else could see us.”
“Yeah, like the ‘imaginary playmates’. No one would’ve believed you were playing with ‘ghost children’, so it was easier to let you accept their explanation for your new little friends.” Eloise grinned. Her eyes danced with mischief. “It explained a lot, and it let your parents off the hook when your mama got better and your papa could tend to you.”
“You left both times. Why?”
“Why?” Eloise repeated. “Because you no longer needed us.”
“So, why are you back this time? Not that I mind, I think. I’m not sick or a lonely child.”
“You are in a different kind of danger,” Eloise answered.
“Yes, you are indeed,” Mattie agreed. “You may need us more than ever, since you will not trust that sweet William. He is tried to warn you about Jackson, the scoundrel you insist on seeing. William is so handsome and he really has your welfare at heart. Why see anyone else when you have him?”
“William is just being my friend, like a big brother,” Sarah disagreed. ”He’s jealous. Probably thinks I won’t have time to ski and fish and try new things. He’d worry about any man he thought would make me become serious and leave him without a playmate.” She brushed her hair from her face. ”What do you have against Peter Jackson? He’s handsome, polite, and fun. I like him. ” Sarah waved away their objections.
“But Wi
lliam’s right,” Eloise argued. “That horrible Jackson man means trouble. No Jackson can be trusted, so be warned.”
“I don’t understand, ladies. You can explain later.” Sarah barely stifled a yawn.
Eloise stood. “We’d better let the poor girl rest or she’ll fall asleep in her classes tomorrow.”
“That would be embarrassing,” Sarah laughed, as Mattie nodded. “since I’m the teacher. Good night, ladies,” Sarah called over her shoulder as she turned toward the door, and back to reality. She’d go back to sleep and wake up in a ghost free house. Wouldn’t William love to hear about this dream? No way!
Back to reality included a handsome dream lover. He set her on fire for something she couldn’t grasp. He looked an awful lot like William, with his flashing green eyes, but he couldn’t be. William would never wear a loose, white shirt, open to his belt buckle. Nor would he wear tight pants and tall boots.
##
The next day brought Georgia sunshine, warmth, brilliant spring irises, and William on Sarah’s front porch. How had he missed seeing her walk across campus after class? The idea Sarah would take Peter Jackson seriously turned William’s stomach. She had better taste than that weasel. He rang her doorbell and waited for her to open the door and make him feel better.
She seemed tired after a long day of teaching music theory classes in preparation for exams. Her schedule was as familiar to him as his own. He understood end-of-the-year tired. His classes were all graduate level psychology classes. Evaluating their Master’s thesis papers took a lot of concentration.
“Sarah, I’ve told you. You need to stay away from that Jackson creep. I don’t trust him. Besides, he’s such a pretty boy.” Looking down into Sara’s big, brown eyes, William saw defiance. Her eyes always warned when she was about to defy him, and she was about to defy him, now. He was sure of it.
Haunting Refrain Page 1
