by I Beacham
“You know, it’s just occurred to me why John Stafford is so intent on haunting you.”
Ele took time to accommodate the shift in topic. “I assume it’s because I live in the house, and because of something I’ve done, something I’ve altered,” she said as she too, now rose and sat on the couch, allowing a graceful distance between them.
“No, it’s way deeper than that.” Kiernan rubbed her chin as she looked at her. “John Stafford has always been consistent. He’s always been trying to communicate with you. He appears only in photos with you, or when you take them. You have always been the link, and that’s what’s been puzzling me all this time.”
“Puzzling?”
“Think about it. If you were the ghost, and something needed changing or putting back, wouldn’t you try to communicate with anyone likely to listen? He never appears in any photos I’ve taken without you around. You are the link.”
“Why me, then?”
“It’s because you have something in common with him. Something very important.”
“Go on,” Ele whispered.
“You have both loved very deeply. Both suffered. You have both lost the most important person in your life under incredible circumstances. He feels your loss. It’s what draws him to you. The pain and sadness he would have suffered in that house, so have you. He knows you understand.”
“And yet I can’t help him.” Ele felt hopeless. There was far too much hopelessness in the room this evening.
Kiernan drew her feet up under her on the couch. “Here is a man who had to leave the woman he loved, to fight in the Great War, and to experience the horror of the trenches. He is then injured and can’t get home, and worse, comes to realize his wife probably thinks he’s dead, but he can’t do anything about that. When he does get home, he discovers that she has died of the influenza.”
Ele saw how much Kier was affected.
“There’s real tragedy in that. Oh yes, Ele, he talks to you because you are the one who understands his pain. You are the one who can resolve whatever it is that needs resolution.”
“And he’s getting angry and frustrated, Kier, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
You are the one who can resolve whatever it is that needs resolution. Kier’s declaration was meant for the ghost, but it felt closer to home for Ele. There was so much she didn’t understand, and much of it had nothing to do with John Stafford. All these memories and feelings about Beth that were resurfacing after all this time, and only since Kier’s arrival. What did it all mean?
*
That night, Kiernan could not sleep. She shifted and twisted in bed. Her mind kept replaying the entire evening over and over. She tried to analyze what was going through her head, rubbing her temples with her fingers.
She was falling in love with Ele. Perhaps she had been from day one? Sometimes love hit you in the face when you weren’t expecting it. It was a love that was instant and powerful.
Chrissie had broken her heart and left her with the constant cross-examinations that kept her awake at night demanding if she had done anything wrong; if she could have changed the outcome. She knew now that nothing would have altered Chrissie leaving. She just hadn’t been ready for commitment. Simple. True. But now Kiernan’s heart was alive again, and it sang when she was with Ele. It sang when she wasn’t. Yes, she was in love.
The evening had been magical and she’d been so happy. But then she had dared to speak of matters of the heart. She wished she hadn’t. She wished she’d been more patient, but she longed to tell Ele how she felt. To see if Ele returned those feelings.
Kier knew that Ele did. All the signs were there; the touches, the stolen glances, that kiss. Ele had said the latter was an impulse. Maybe it was, but Kiernan reasoned that there was much more emotion behind it. How could Kiernan flesh out those feelings from Ele?
She’d told Ele that she was a friend, but told her too that she wanted more, and asked Ele if she did. She hadn’t got the response she longed for. Instead, Ele had declared, with brutal honesty, that maybe “Beth had spoilt her for anyone else.” That had stung. She remembered how Ele emotionally retreated after the kiss. Kiernan found herself wiping tears from her face.
She was up against a memory of infinite size. One that, over time, had taken on immense proportions, and evolved into idolatry and gilded existence. Beth was untouchable. How could she compete with her? Ele had placed her lost lover on a pedestal and was possessive of her memory. Yes, but Kiernan deduced, Ele had shared those memories with her and her alone. Was that cause for hope?
Kiernan understood the emotional hurdles Ele had to clear. How could she show Ele that the risk of love was worth it? She chastised herself. Was she being selfish, thinking that she was “the one?” But the risk was worth taking. She just couldn’t show Ele that. That, if ever, would need to come from within her. After tonight, Kiernan felt the possibility slipping away.
Despite all her bravado, her own willingness to enter another relationship after Chrissie, she was still wary, still cautious. Kiernan knew she mustn’t make the same mistake again—see what she wanted to see. The signs had been there with Chrissie, but she’d ignored them. Those commitment concerns were here now with Ele. She ignored them at her peril.
Maybe there was no future with Ele. Maybe it was all dead before it had even started.
In time, sleep claimed her, and when she awoke the next morning, the light snow had disappeared. She felt more stoic and managed to put away all emotional thoughts circling in her head. She would make no decisions yet, but she would tread carefully and not repeat past mistakes.
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning, she and Ele returned to the vicarage to feed Featherstone. There was no mention of the previous evening’s revelations. It seemed to Kiernan that they were both in “containment mode.” Perhaps because they were unsure what to do next? She knew there would be other conversations.
They found a note inside the door from Mary Marsh. She had found something that would interest Ele, and she could be contacted at the church most weekdays after one o’clock. They decided to waste no time and meet Mary later that day at Pegmire Church.
Kiernan found the woman fascinating. She guessed she was in her mid sixties and was a precise sort of person whose appearance was meticulously crafted. She imagined that Mary would inspect herself in a mirror every day before leaving an immaculate home. She would check every cardigan button was done up, and that the small handkerchief just visible from a pocket was neatly folded. Mary wore her glasses around her neck, and they hung on a shiny, delicate gold chain. Her hair, still brown and without any visible gray, was tied in a perfect bun.
“As soon as I heard the name, I recognized it,” Mary said amiably as the three of them stood in the vestry. She raised a small pocketbook to consult notes that were written in very minute, precise handwriting. Kiernan smiled.
“The records show that Captain Stafford’s wife, Harriett, died of influenza in August nineteen eighteen, and that she was buried at St. James Parish Church in King’s Cliffe, Northamptonshire.” Mary licked a finger and flicked over a page. “Her family lived in Thrapston, her father a practicing attorney. That sort of money would explain it.”
“Explain what?” Ele asked.
“How they managed to get the body exhumed and moved down here.”
Kiernan couldn’t hold her excitement. “You mean Harriett and John Stafford are buried together?”
“Yes.” Mary seemed pleased with herself and her findings. “The body was exhumed by the family sometime during nineteen nineteen, and her body was brought down here so that her final resting place could be with her husband. Of course, exhumations weren’t regular happenings, but they weren’t totally unheard of. I suppose hearts and regulations were a little more giving at that time because of the war. So many people lost their loved ones. Those who didn’t fight or who survived wanted to see things were done decently, as it were.”
Mary kept puttin
g her glasses on and off her face, and Kiernan wondered if the very particular woman wasn’t just a little vain. Mary bent over the wooden table and picked up some papers, and then put the glasses back on.
“All of the documentation referring to the exhumation still exists. It wasn’t something that had occurred here before, so as a unique event, it’s probably why the paperwork has survived. I don’t think it’s ever happened here since. Anyway, I have a photocopy of the main record, which shows Harriett Anne Stafford was buried here in October nineteen nineteen.” She passed the photocopy to Ele. “I hope this has helped.”
“It has.” Kiernan genuinely believed it had, if only to clarify that the haunting had nothing to do with the Staffords’ final resting place. “I have to say you’re very good at this. Have you done it for a while?”
Mary seemed to enjoy the compliment. “I’ve always been in research. I was a university librarian until I retired four years ago. I’m used to analytical investigation and empirical evidence in the formulation of study. I was immensely pleased when the vicar said he needed me, well, not exactly me, but my skills. He’s overwhelmed with people requesting ancestral information or historical detail about Pegmire and the church. He asked for volunteers to help. I was glad to step in. Retirement has bored me rigid.”
Kiernan couldn’t stop grinning. Now she understood where Mary’s methodical, precise nature came from.
“Of course, the task is immense,” Mary said in a hushed voice, as if sharing a secret. “Previous ecclesiastical members may have been touched by divine inspiration, but their abilities to keep records are nothing short of appalling. It isn’t that the information isn’t here, it’s just discovering where ‘here’ is.” She laughed at her joke. “But I enjoy the challenge and procuring data.”
Mary patted the table in front of them. “Ah, I almost forgot. If you’re interested, I can show you roughly where the two of them are buried. The gravestone has gone I’m afraid, but I can point out their resting place within a few yards.”
“We’d love that.” Kiernan took the lead. Ele’s disappointment was written all over her face, and her mind was elsewhere searching for other haunting possibilities.
They followed Mary outside, and she stopped at the north side of the church where much of the land was cleared and no gravestones remained. She pointed to the general vicinity.
“They rest close to here.” Her hand hovered over a small area, and she turned thoughtful. “Wonderful to know they are buried together, that the family cared enough to reunite them in death.” She faced them. “Do you know the outbreak of that virus killed over seventy million people, three percent of the world’s population, more than died in the Great War itself?”
Kiernan shook her head. “I know John Stafford died on the third of January nineteen nineteen, and yet, he wasn’t buried until the eighteenth of February. What would the reason be for that?” Ever since Ele had told her this information, she had wondered why it had taken so long to bury the man. Had there been suspicious circumstances surrounding his death that required an inquest or autopsy?
“That’s an easy one,” Mary said confidently. “The winter of nineteen eighteen has gone down in the records as a particularly bitter one. There was very heavy snow, and the ground froze like cement. Unlike today when we have mechanical diggers, then we relied on two good men with shovels to dig the graves. Most of the good ‘young’ men were still overseas, either deceased or waiting to sail home. Gravediggers during the war tended to be men well past their best. In nineteen eighteen and into early nineteen nineteen, the church had to wait for a sufficient thaw before anyone could be buried. Many others researching their family around that period have asked the same question.”
“So, no other reason for the delay?” Kiernan continued her line of inquiry.
“None. The records and death certificate are quite clear that Captain Stafford died of complications brought about by his war injuries.”
Mary Marsh was thorough in her research, and they both thanked her as they left the church and walked back to the car.
“I can feel your depression,” Kiernan said once they left the church grounds.
Despite the cold, Ele stopped walking and faced Kiernan. She shrugged. “What now? John Stafford’s ghost isn’t going away.”
It wasn’t, and Kiernan tried to lift Ele’s glumness. “What do we know?” She started to summarize in no particular order. “We know the haunting started when the building works commenced and that Stafford is always looking or pointing toward the general area outside the kitchen, by your studio, where the builders were. We know the ghost is John Stafford and that he and his wife are buried together in the church. We know they had no children.” She caught Ele looking at her unimpressed.
She felt helpless. “Are we sure the builders found nothing unusual while they were working there?” It was a feeble question, but she was clutching at straws.
“Roger would have told me. Besides, I was around most of the time, and I’m sure I’d have noticed.”
“But you were trying to avoid the young builder who was lusting after you.” Kiernan imagined how the youngster would have tried to impress Ele and have dreamed of starting a relationship with her. The poor besotted fool.
“True.” Ele seemed despondent.
“Is it worth talking to Roger again? Double-checking?”
Ele said she would ask, but Kiernan knew she wouldn’t. She was just being polite, but she did mention that she needed to contact him anyway with regard to seeing his wife, Joan.
Ele’s face creased with worry when she spoke of Roger’s wife, and Kiernan wanted to ask more, but the weather was raw and they were both cold. It was another conversation for later.
Chapter Nineteen
Ele stayed at Kiernan’s a few days more, but after four nights away, she knew it was time to go home and face whatever waited for her. She also felt guilty about Feathers. He was becoming a “home alone” victim, and she could see the normally cool and aloof cat, who faked a joy for independence, was disturbed by her absence. This wasn’t fair on him.
She was dealing too with a gnawing feeling that she was overstaying her welcome. Kier had not said or done anything, and Ele considered this absence of output was indicative of the problem. Since their sharing of matters of the heart a few nights ago where she had revealed she wasn’t sure she could move forward beyond Beth, Kier had become less open, and more reticent. She wasn’t any less friendly, any less capable of holding warm conversations into the early hours of the morning. Kier just wasn’t quite the same—as if she held back. And as the days marched forward, Ele sensed an important distance growing between them—something deeply personal. Kier was not her old self.
Ele wondered if she was imagining all this. Was she thinking too much? Maybe this was all in her head and wrong. As the days had progressed, she’d felt the time drawing closer when she would have to go home and face whatever waited for her. Nothing had happened each day as she and Kier had returned there to feed Feathers. But she didn’t think Stafford would have disappeared, and she dreaded what he might do next. She and Kier were still laughing and co-existing well. They were sharing other “neutral” less emotional parts of themselves. But she realized it was more the discovery of friendship, not the already hinted blossoming of something better. Something quiet inside her missed that.
She cursed herself. She had been heavy handed that night and blurted things that had the power to hurt. She could have just asked Kier to slow down—to give her time. That would have given her the space she needed to work out what she really wanted. She still wasn’t sure, but she felt she had hinted too much that there was no hope. That wasn’t true. At least she didn’t think it was.
She cursed again. Ten years! You’ve had ten years to sort this out. How much more time do you need?
She packed her belongings and walked into the sitting room where Kier was reading a photography magazine. As she looked at her, a wave of emotion rose, and she r
ealized how much she was going to miss the closeness of Kier’s company. These past few days had spoilt her. “I owe you so much, Kier.”
Kier looked up and smiled. “No, you don’t. You’d be doing the same for me if I had a ghost, which mercifully, I don’t.” The way Kier’s eyes feigned thankfulness raised a laugh from her. Laughter always came easily now when she was around Kier. Something desperate inside her worried that she wouldn’t see enough of her anymore. A plan sprang into her head.
“Kier, I want to take you out for a meal to say thank you for putting up with me.”
She watched Kier shrug. “That’s not necessary. I haven’t done all this to get a free meal, regardless of how bad my cooking is.” It was a reply laced with humor, but Ele noted that the levity didn’t rise to Kier’s eyes.
Ele would not take no for an answer. “I insist. I know this fantastic country pub outside Alcester. They do great food and are renowned for their fish and chips. I’ve been looking for an excuse to go back there, and you’re it. Just say yes, Kier!”
Thankfully, Kier folded. “Since you put it like that, I accept.” Kier put the magazine down and rose. “Why don’t you let me follow you home and make sure everything is all right?”
All morning, Ele had been adamant that she return alone even though Kier kept volunteering. Ele won the argument, but Kier’s insistency pleased her. It gave her hope that maybe she hadn’t ruined everything.
“Shall we do dinner the day after tomorrow, Thursday evening? Is that all right with you?”
“It is.” Kier appeared happy.
“Great. In that case, why don’t I drive here and pick you up? I almost pass your door, and it seems daft to take two cars.”
Kier shifted awkwardly, and after a moment’s hesitation, she said, “No, Ele. I’ll drive there myself. I’ve an appointment with a potential client over that way so I’ll meet you there, say about seven o’clock?”
