by Janet Cooper
Another Chance
Janet Cooper
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my children and their spouses: Cheryl and Chuck, Jodie and Chris, Joy and Larry, Sandra and Todd. May all your dreams come true.
Many thanks to Cali, for my wonderful cover. Thanks also to my many writer friends for reading and re-reading my book.
This is a work of fiction, but the information about the Lenape (Delaware Indians) comes from various references books and several direct descendants of the Lenape who stayed on their homeland. My admiration for their brave ancestors who did whatever was necessary to protect the culture is boundless.
Prologue - Present day
"Wow, what a spooky house!"
Sarah Tawkes smiled as her neighbor's freckle-faced boy dashed through the partially open door, ducked under her arm, and darted toward the stairs. Spooky? she thought. That adjective had never occurred to her.
"Come on sis," Joshua yelled over his shoulder.
"Young man," his mother called as she started up the wooden steps leading into the house. "Walk, don't run. Elizabeth, walk."
A blonde-haired cherub of six smiled angelically before scampering after her brother.
Sarah pushed the door wide open. "Michelle, don't worry." She touched her friend on the arm. "They can't hurt a thing. This building has survived two-hundred and fifty years, and there is no way two little ones can destroy it." She watched as they disappeared around the corner of the upstairs landing. "Besides, I like children. One day maybe I'll have some of my own," she added a little wistfully, for she had yet to meet the man of her dreams.
"I'm sure that will happen." Michelle surveyed Sarah's colonial costume. "You're all dressed for tonight, aren't you?"
"Mustn't get out of character," she stated, touching her Quaker cap.
Shaking her head, Michelle surveyed the room.
Sarah, too, spent the next few moments glancing around her new home. She looked from the beautiful birch panel walls to the open-hearth fireplace, then to the reconstructed bar, and finally to the wide-planked wooden floors that ran throughout her house. Sarah loved everything about her new home. Yet, when she took a deep breath, she shivered. The feeling was not unpleasant nor strange for similar ones had touched her ever since she had first walked inside this 18 Century tavern. She wondered why this reaction happened but had never discovered a satisfactory answer.
Shaking the sensation aside, she said, "Since I just hung the last picture and you haven't seen the house since you and David helped me move in, I couldn't wait to show you how everything looks. I hoped you didn't mind stopping here before we go to the party."
"I'm pleased you asked me, and of course the kids are delighted about attending the Halloween party at the museum." Michelle strolled around the room. "My lord!"
"What is it?"
"It's so dark in here." Michelle walked to the window. "Why doesn't more light come through?"
"The glass is old and imperfect," Sarah responded.
"No wonder the estate was so eager to settle."
When Sarah had met Michelle several months before, she had been shocked and at times hurt by her new friend's forthright manner. Now, she generally shrugged off her neighbor's blunt words. Without embarrassment, Sarah replied, "If the owners hadn't been anxious, I couldn't have afforded the place."
"Well, David and I and the kids are glad that you are our neighbor regardless of why." Michelle smiled. "How about showing me the rest of the house now that you’ve finished decorating?"
“I’d love to.” A surge of pride filled Sarah as she walked into the room. Seeing the pieces of furniture she had collected over the years fitting perfectly into the old tavern gave Sarah a lot of pleasure. To her, it almost seemed as if she'd ordered each piece for this very inn.
She stepped closer to the window. With a loving touch, she caressed the well-worn wood and gazed at the rainbows formed by the imperfections in the hand-blown glass. "A few of these panes are said to be original."
"If you replace those with new glass more light will come in. Or even removing that bulky, wooden cage over the bar."
After staring in shock at the remarks, Sarah laughed. "I can see why you live in an ultra modern home."
Michelle giggled and reddened
"Since you mentioned my bar, let me show you how the cage works." Sarah walked over to the four feet wide, three feet deep structure, that reached from ceiling to floor. "With a slight upward push, the lock disengages and the front section swings down to enclose the entire bar, which protected the barkeeper from flying bottles. Plus once down, the closed area indicated that the bar was closed for business" As she pulled the open grill down, she wondered how many brawls the tavern had seen during its years of operation.
The clatter of feet hitting uncovered wooden stairs drowned out any comment Michelle might have made.
An instant later, Joshua landed in front of his mother. "There are only two rooms upstairs."
Michelle said, "Calm down. Catch your breath."
He wiggled for a moment then stood still. "Miss Sarah, where does the ghost live?"
"Ghost?" Though she had heard the rumor about a ghost, an eerie sensation traversed Sarah's back, and sent chills racing along her spine.
"My teacher, Mr. Sykes, said this house was a tavern where the British hanged some relative of his on that big tree right out there." He gestured to a large oak visible through the front window.
"Where, where?" asked Elizabeth, jumping up and down in an effort to see.
Picking her up, Sarah placed the little girl on the deep-set sill. "You mean that huge tree on the other side of the road?"
"Uh-huh." Joshua bobbed his head.
Sarah stared at the gnarled, ancient oak. The trunk could scarcely be encircled by four grown men. The branches stretched out to encompass a large portion of the lot, proclaiming its age and grandeur. Yet for all the beauty of its shape and greatness, a sense of sadness filled her and deepened until she wanted to cry. Giving herself a mental shake, she forced the unhappiness aside and focused on the children.
"Perhaps the ghost lives on the other side of the house where the tavern keeper and his family used to live," Sarah offered. Then her eyes grew round with mock fright. "That's where I live." She placed Elizabeth on the floor.
The children squealed with delight and raced through the door that led to the private quarters of the old tavern.
The two women followed at a leisurely pace. "Why haven't the sellers fixed that?" she asked, pointing at pieces of mortar missing around the stone fireplace.
"They will. The sales agreement states the property will be in livable condition. Since I settled faster than they expected and needed to move in quickly, we left money in escrow to handle a few minor problems."
"What's 'livable'?" Michelle challenged Sarah.
"Cleaned, painted, grounds weeded…general maintenance."
"What about an exorcism? Does that come with the maintenance plan?" her neighbor questioned.
"Just because Joshua's teacher mentioned a ghost doesn't mean the house is haunted."
Her neighbor looked uncomfortable. "I probably should have told you before you bought the house. But when we met you, I knew I wanted you for my neighbor and my friend. Please forgive me for not telling you the truth about this building."
Sarah started to speak, but Michelle gestured for her silence.
"The house had stood vacant for over a year. Former tenants have said that the house moans. Of course, we've never heard anything. Also, the last renters had an option to buy but left after less than six months." Michelle bit her lip. "I am sorry to wait so long to tell you."
Sarah touched her friend's arm. "I've researched this house. None of wha
t you are telling me is new. Not even Joshua's ghost, although I didn't let on to him."
Her eyes grew large. "If there is a ghost, perhaps it’s the spirit of the Quaker, who built the tavern and according to rumor was excommunicated?" Michelle asked. "Perhaps he was so unhappy." She left the rest unsaid.
"I doubt it," Sarah said, interrupting. "And the term is 'Read Out' not excommunicated."
"Why would they do that?" Michelle asked.
"The Society of Friends read him out because he married outside his religion. They did the same thing to Dolley Madison when she married James. I don't believe that's a strong enough reason to haunt a house or to kill oneself."
"Oh," she sounded disappointed.
"Please, don't worry. I walked into this with my eyes wide open." Sarah even accepted that she would have to economize further because her salary from the Historical Society would barely cover her expenses. Still, she loved this house. She glanced around, noting the spiral steps that led down to the unfinished basement and up to the bedroom and attic on the private side of the tavern. "The place calls to me."
"Even in the short time I’ve known you, I’m not surprised. You love history, old fashion ideas, and plain living." She gave Sarah a serious, concerned look. "I hope the ghosts don't call to you, too, or upset you. I really want to keep you for a neighbor."
Sarah wondered how she would feel if the ghosts did speak to her. Aloud, she said, "On the long winter's night, he or she will be company for me." Shivers swirled along her spine as she spoke.
"He or she? If you believe all the tales the locals tell, you'll have a tavern full of them," Michelle quipped.
"I'm sure they're all friendly," Sarah replied and smiled.
Needing to change the conversation, she said, "You remember that old map you and I found at the garage sale?"
Michelle nodded.
Sarah gestured. "It's hanging in a place of honor, over the fireplace. Look. The spot’s perfect." Both women glanced at the stone-faced fireplace The two‑by‑four parchment with the hand-carved wooden frame appeared made for the bluestone wall.
Michele nodded. "Seems to fit right in."
"Do you know that map's incorrect?" Sarah asked.
"No. What’s wrong?"
"The map shows a wider creek than what exist. The east branch of the Brandywine isn’t wide enough for even a canoe to avoid the rocks and shallows in that location." She traced the river with her finger. "Anyone looking at the map wouldn't realize you'd have to portage for at least two miles…" She indicated the spot.
"Portage?" Michelle frowned. Even the few lines that cross her forehead did nothing to distract from her very attractive face.
"Carrying a canoe from one navigable body of water to another," Sarah said somberly.
"You sound like the director of a museum instructing the visitors," Michelle teased.
"I guess I was using my "teacher's voice."
"How do you know about a portage?"
"While you were probably busy flirting with all the good-looking high school guys, I was out canoeing with my girl scout troop and occasionally portaging," Sarah teased. “Plus to earn extra money, I often guided people down the Brandywine.” To herself she added, and might have to start again if money remained tight.
"Wasn't that the senior troop you mentioned that had more men than women?" her neighbor retorted.
"I pled guilty," she said, in as somber a tone as possible.
They smiled and burst out laughing.
"Since we've seen all there is down here, what say, we find out what your darling son and daughter are doing upstairs?"
Her eyes opened wide. "Oh, my lands. They have been awfully quiet, haven't they?"
Sarah giggled as Michelle hurried toward the steps.
* * * *
After the party, Sarah threw off her cap, kicked off her uncomfortable black leather shoes, and sank onto the high-back wooden settee that stood in front of the fireplace. Before she'd properly positioned the stool for her feet, a gray and black tabby jumped on her lap. "Hello, Puss," she said, as she stroked its soft, silky ears. "I'm exhausted. How about you?"
Puss meowed.
"Hard day?"
Again, a purr.
"Mine, too." She stared at the cold open hearth and wished one of the little costumed fairies she'd entertained at the museum earlier that evening had been real. If they had, Sarah would have borrowed a smidgen of magic dust, sprinkled the powder, and ignited the firewood. Not having the energy to complete the task herself, she pulled an Afghan from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her chilled legs. Pantyhose would certainly be warmer than the short stockings she was wearing as a part of her Quaker costume. She rubbed the top of her thighs, trying to chase away the goose bumps.
The cat snuggled closer.
"Just give me a few minutes to thaw and I'll get your dinner."
The response was to paw the knitted cover and enlarge his nest.
"Stop that," Sarah scolded.
Her comments affected Puss not at all, and Sarah was too tired to argue.
Beginning to relax for the first time all day, she laid her hand on the top of Puss' head, leaned back her head, and stared at the map. Why or how had the cartographer made that mistake? Perhaps, he’d only seen the river in the spring or after a heavy rain. Strange.
CHAPTER ONE
"Daughter, wake up!"
Sarah dragged her eyelids opened. What's happening? she thought, trying to chase the thick cloud of sleep from her brain. Turning in the direction of the man's voice, she blinked and shook her head, unable to comprehend what she saw or what was happening.
"The tavern is full of guests, and thou art sleeping. What is the matter with thee?" the scold continued.
Feeling as though her mind was moving in very slow motion, Sarah stared at the short man standing in the doorway of her living room. His appearance didn't frighten her, just surprised her. Of course, she was dreaming. Still she wondered, who was he? Why was he calling her daughter? And what was he talking about? Her tavern-home full of guests?
His Quaker costume reminded her of the Halloween party she had hosted earlier that evening. The plain horn buttons of his waistcoat strained against their threads. Yet he appeared prosperous, not fat. His bushy, gray hair stuck out in all directions as if he'd run a toothless comb over his head. Even in the dim light, the lines of age showed in his face. She peered closer, trying to recognize him.
Before she could ask a single question, the portly man with the solemn expression went on, "Make thyself presentable and join me in the public room. With Daniel gone, I need thee to help serve."
Was she recreating the party the museum had held earlier but adding new twists to make her dream more interesting? The man's antiquated speech increased the authenticity of the reenactment. Oh, well. If this fantasy failed to live up to its possibilities, she'd change the scene and start again.
Throwing off the blanket, she placed her stocking feet on the pine floor, than jerked them back. She stared at the logs burning briskly in the fireplace. Obviously, the heat from the fire had kept the furnace from clicking on. But, I didn't light the fire. She stopped. This is a dream, remember? Sarah shivered as she hunted for her shoes. A small worry nagged at her. She had never before felt sensation in a dream. Perhaps, I'm really cold and needed another blanket. Should I search for one, or just continue without for the time being?
Sensing someone staring at her, she glanced at the doorway. The Quaker gentleman appeared rooted there, so much for looking for another blanket and lying back down.
She heard laughter, and the deep tones of men's voices coming from the far side of the house, in what during Colonial days would have been the common room. As she put on her black leather pumps, she wondered, How did I manage all that noise?
Before she could seek an answer, she heard a man clearing his throat. Staring up at him again, she wondered if he had expected her to reply to his earlier comment? Uncertain and uncomfort
able with his peering at her, she said, "I'll be right there, as soon as I splash a little water on my face." Having secured her buckled shoes, she picked her cap off the floor and tucked it into the waistband of her apron.
"Do hurry," he admonished before disappearing from her sight.
The glow from the fireplace shone on the steps and gave her light as she raced upstairs to the bathroom. Upon entering the only room on the family side of the second floor, she stopped. Everything in her bedroom looked wrong. Instead of her mother's Art Deco furniture, a style that didn’t match the house, but since it was a gift she gratefully used what was available, a large poster bed filled one wall and opposite stood a Chippendale mahogany breakfront wardrobe. On the near wall, a beautiful, large looking glass. Her brows drew into a bewildered frown. Now, why would she use an 18th Century term to describe the mirror? Too much museum work, she decided.
Feeling nature's call, she started for the bathroom door, but found only solid paneled walls. Her confusion increased. Searching the area again, she spied a chamber pot under the bed. I guess in a period dream, one has colonial toilets, she thought, less than delighted with the prospect.
The same man called from below, "Sarah, do hurry."
After completing her toiletry, she hastened down the stairs. Next time I have a dream, can we include modern plumbing? she implored the gods who had sent her this one.
The noise from the opposite side of the house resounded in the private parlor, which in her own home was a small kitchen and sitting room. When she pushed open the connecting door to the public area, the smell of burning wood, tobacco, venison stew, and gingerbread mingled into a cozy, welcoming aroma. Now, I've added smells to my dream. Wow! Maybe I could patent this technique. That is if I can discover what I've done.
Behind these thoughts, another concern edged forward. This couldn't be happening, could it? Instantly, she dismissed the ridiculous idea. Still, the room did look entirely different. Why not? Dreams don't follow reality.
