Spring House

by Taylor, Mary Ellen

  Natasha’s eyes widened, and she looked at the board and then at Lucy and Megan. “What do I ask?”

  “Anything you want,” Lucy said.

  “Anything?”

  “That’s right.”

  Natasha sat back in her chair, and as she sighed, her brow furrowed, forming a deep wrinkle over the bridge of her nose. “I dunno.”

  “I know who I’d be talking to, if it were me,” Lucy said.

  “Who?”

  “My mom. I’d want to know why she never told me about this place. If she had, I might have come here sooner and gotten the chance to meet Samuel and maybe your mom.”

  “You should ask her why she left,” Natasha said. “She might have a really good reason.”

  “I might,” Lucy said, thoughtfully. “One day.”

  Megan realized then that she did not have a lock on unfinished business. Everyone should be playing this game, she thought.

  “Ask your mother if you were a good baby,” Lucy said.

  “Okay,” Natasha said. “Let’s do this.”

  Lucy nodded, her face solemn. “Megan, can you dim the lights?”

  “Sure.” Megan rose and reached for the lights. She hesitated before she turned the central light off, leaving the one over the sink on to cast a soft glow of light over the room. Out the window, the full moon bathed the property and the bay in a delicate silver hue.

  Megan sat back down and scooted her chair close to the table. The baby kicked the side of her belly several times, as if she too felt the energy pulse around them.

  “Remember each of us needs to not break contact with the top of the planchette,” Lucy said.

  Megan looked at Natasha’s wide-eyed expression, which reflected a youthful excitement. In this instant she too felt like she was twelve again, at a sleepover and staying up long past curfew to whisper secrets in the glow of a dime-store flashlight.

  “Everyone needs to close their eyes and try to summon Natasha’s mother, Grace,” Lucy said.

  Nervous giggles rumbled from Natasha as she closed her eyes and then quickly opened them. “What if no one is home?”

  “You won’t know unless you ask,” Lucy said.

  The three closed their eyes, and Natasha began to call out to her mother in soft, even tones as if she were coaxing a fawn toward her. Her soft, melodic voice called out and then paused before she asked, “Mom, it’s me, Natasha. Do you miss me?”

  The planchette didn’t move at first, but Megan could feel energy shooting through her own body. And then the wooden device moved barely a fraction, but it was enough to make Natasha hiss in a breath.

  Megan peeked and saw that the girl’s eyes were squeezed shut tightly while Lucy’s face looked serene.

  The piece suddenly jerked to the yes and then to the no, and then quickly it returned back to the yes, where it settled. After several beats, Lucy opened her eyes and met Megan’s gaze.

  “Natasha, open your eyes,” Lucy said.

  The girl slowly opened one, and then both sprang open. “It says yes!”

  Lucy nodded. “So it does.”

  Natasha picked up the piece and looked under it. “You guys did that. You moved it.”

  “I did not,” Lucy said.

  “Then Megan did.”

  Megan held up three fingers. “Nope, scout’s honor.”

  “This thing can’t be real,” Natasha said.

  “Why not?” Lucy countered. “It makes perfect sense to me that your mother would miss you. I know I would.”

  “You would not,” she said. “I drive you crazy.”

  A smile tugged at the edge of Lucy’s lips. “Yes, you do. But I would miss you if you were gone.”

  Natasha stood up abruptly, came around the table, and hugged Lucy. “I would miss you too.”

  “Good thing we’re stuck like glue,” Lucy said. Dolly barked and wagged her tail. “It’s getting late. She needs to go out, and you need to go to bed.”

  “I’ll take her,” Natasha said. “Can we do this again?”

  “Sure,” Lucy said.

  “I like talking to dead people.”

  The girl and dog bounded out of the room. When Megan heard the door slam closed, she asked, “You did that?”

  Lucy smiled. “It was the power of the universe.”

  A breeze blew outside, rattling the old windows. “Come on. You said yourself you did this in the bars on Halloween.”

  “And I was good at it. I had repeat customers because some thought I was psychic.”

  Megan laughed as she rose. “Right.”

  She crossed to the counter and set up the coffeemaker for the next morning. As Lucy cleared the table, Megan stared out the kitchen window toward the waters of the bay now glistening in the moonlight.

  Rick’s new home had a similar view, though there was something more settled about the view of the cove than the one of the open waters of the bay. He was trying to fit into Cape Hudson because of Scott. He looked out for her out of a sense of duty and honor. But he had a gypsy spirit much like Scott had. Though dedicated and brave, no place or woman would ever hold him down for long. Her body vibrated with sexual tension when she thought about him standing in his house. Her body ached to kiss him and to feel his rough hands on her skin.

  Megan watched a tanker appear on the horizon. Its bow was nosed south, and the lights slowly crawled along the horizon, away from Baltimore and toward the Atlantic Ocean.

  Her attraction to Rick was clearly being fueled by hormones in overdrive and by the fact that he had been Scott’s best friend. They shared a history, and if there was anything she liked, it was history.

  April 7, 1939

  From the Journal of Samuel Jessup

  The Port of Tunis, Tunisia

  Mr. and Mrs. Edward Garrison appeared out of place on the old, weathered dock. Husband and wife were finely dressed and looked more suited for the grand avenues of New York rather than a dock crammed full of sweaty men, stacks of cargo, and livestock. Like all the men, I was curious about the couple we’d been sent to fetch. But instead of crowding against the railing like the others, I stood back, oddly nervous.

  As Mrs. Garrison boarded the ship, her gaze caught mine, and for a moment she stopped and stared at me as if she’d seen a ghost. I knew enough history of Cape Hudson to understand she had vacationed there when she was younger. But that would have been years before I was born. When her husband finally caught her attention, she smiled quickly and continued to their rooms. The ship’s captain greeted the Garrisons like they were royalty.

  Mrs. Garrison’s sister-in-law, Mrs. Claire Buchanan, met me in Norfolk, Virginia, one month ago. It was good to see Miss Claire, and when she asked me to deliver a letter to Mrs. Garrison, I agreed. It seemed a routine task until Miss Claire cautioned me not to read the letter. It was for Mrs. Garrison only. I’m not sure why all the secrecy, but rich people are an odd lot in general. I do not pretend to understand them now, or ever.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Megan

  Tuesday, March 6, 2018

  Cape Hudson, Virginia

  8:00 a.m.

  Megan, Lucy, and Dolly dropped Natasha off at school and waited until the girl vanished into the building before driving back to Spring House and arriving at a quarter past eight.

  Megan got out of the Jeep, wrangling her big belly out of the tight space. She opened the back door for Dolly, who jumped out and put her nose to the ground immediately, following a scent into the overgrowth.

  As Megan walked toward the house, her phone chimed with a text. The contractor reported that his movers were caught in traffic in Norfolk and would be several hours late. The extra time turned into a boon for Lucy, who spent the time removing the books from the floor-to-ceiling shelves while Megan sat in a chair, thumbing through each volume. She knew from experience that important stray papers or letters often found themselves tucked into a book, and she did not want to miss one.

  After an hour, she had a small pile of papers, incl
uding a stub for the movie Jaws, receipts for groceries purchased in 2005, a political pamphlet dating back to a congressional election in 2000, and a receipt for property taxes on a 1989 truck.

  Samuel’s reading tastes were indeed varied, ranging from historical military biographies and classics such as Oliver Twist and Silas Marner to political histories that covered the Bay of Pigs invasion as well as the fall of the shah in Iran. Samuel had not graduated high school, but clearly he’d had a thirst for learning that had spanned his entire life.

  At ten in the morning, the moving crew arrived, and three burly men climbed out of the cab. Lucy turned from a now empty shelf and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. The cavalry has arrived. We can get those guys to box all this up and haul it away.”

  Piles of books stood like sentries around Megan’s chair as freshly stirred dust danced in the sunlight streaming through the window. “We’re making real progress. Once they get the books out of here and the furniture, then the demo can begin.”

  With a hand cupping her belly, Megan rose and gingerly tiptoed her way around the books and out the front door. A man dressed in faded jeans and a TUCKER’S MOVING & CONSTRUCTION T-shirt approached. His gaze went directly to her round belly as he stuck out his hand toward her. “Ms. Buchanan.”

  “Yes. Mr. Tucker.”

  “You can call me Ron, and these two fellows are Dave and Bill.” He looked past her toward the house and the porch cluttered with Keep boxes nearly bursting.

  “All those need to be loaded so we can clear the porch and work our way into the study.”

  “Will do. I understand Mr. Jessup was over one hundred when he died.”

  “He was, and the last century of stuff is all right here.”

  Mr. Tucker laughed while shaking his head. “We specialize in houses like this. Clutter is our bread and butter.”

  “It’s not all junk,” Megan said, a bit defensively.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Mr. Tucker and his guys got to work, and soon the porch was cleared. Lucy came outside and, tipping her face toward the sun, stretched. She crossed the yard to her Jeep, opened the back door, and removed a cooler she’d packed earlier.

  “Time to take a load off, Megan.”

  “I think I’ll stand here and make sure they don’t damage the furniture. Some of it is quite valuable.”

  “It’s going to take at least an hour before they can clear the room enough to attempt furniture removal. Sit and eat.” She pulled a water bottle and sandwich from the cooler and handed both to Megan.

  “Technically, I should be doing this for you,” Megan said. “You’re the boss. I’m the employee.”

  Lucy laughed as she pulled two folding chairs from the truck bed and opened them. She cracked open a water bottle, stretched out her legs, and took a long drink. “You’re right. As your boss, I’m telling you to sit, eat, drink some water. Otherwise, one of these three guys is going to be delivering your baby on this front porch.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said with a grin.

  The sandwich was ham and cheese with a slice of tomato. Mustard, not mayo, just as Megan liked it. Lucy noticed the little things.

  “I got a call yesterday about a potential wedding on Winter Cottage property,” Lucy said.

  “Really?” She drank from her bottled water, not realizing how thirsty she’d become.

  “The event is scheduled for August.”

  “Four months in the wedding world is short notice for a venue.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Who’s the client?”

  “Her name is Zoe Bradford, and she has been to the Eastern Shore before and seen the property. She has always dreamed of getting married here and just got engaged.” Lucy rolled her neck from side to side. “I hear it’s really hot here in the summer.”

  “It’s beautiful, but you’re right. It’s hot. And it’s hurricane season. If you schedule it for the evening, some of the day’s heat may have cooled. When’s she coming to look the place over?”

  “Saturday. I don’t know if I can help her out, but what the heck, it doesn’t hurt to talk, right?”

  “There’s going to be a lot of transition in August. We won’t have Spring House finished.”

  “I know. It might not work out, but who knows? The extra cash would be welcome.”

  “So she called you out of the blue?”

  “Not exactly. I posted my notice on a wedding website. Plenty of parking and room to pitch a tent. Limited kitchen access. Portable potties a must. You can bring your own caterer. Discounts on wine from Beacon Vineyards.”

  “How much are you going to charge?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got to figure wear and tear and insurance—see if Rick wants to earn a few extra bucks working security.”

  “Sounds like you have it all sorted out,” Megan said.

  “I planned a few events back in Nashville. My claim to fame was a music festival last year. I’m thinking a bride can’t be much worse than a bunch of temperamental musicians.”

  Megan chuckled. “I have my last pie delivery to make in Norfolk on Friday. Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to the coordinator. She knows everyone in the wedding world.”

  “Cool. I’ll do that.”

  Lucy tore off the crust of her bread, and they both ate in silence. The rumble of tires on gravel had them turning to find a dark sedan with Virginia plates driving their way. The car pulled up and came to a stop. Helen Jessup stepped out.

  Helen was a tall, slim woman who kept her graying, thick hair short and her makeup minimal, but her features were striking.

  She was dressed in crisp slacks, a white blouse with a vintage Hermès scarf wrapped around her neck, and tasteful, chunky pumps. Helen took meticulous care of her clothes. Her salt-and-pepper hair was swept into a low ponytail, and diamond studs winked from her ears. Her blue eyes reminded Megan of Scott’s, and for an instant, Megan’s heart squeezed with pain.

  Tension rippled up her body. The easy relaxation she had shared with Lucy vanished.

  “What’s wrong?” Lucy asked.

  “It’s Helen Jessup. Scott’s mother.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “We didn’t part on good terms.” She smoothed her palms over her jeans. “Helen, what are you doing here so early?”

  Helen tipped her chin up. “I was just visiting Scott’s grave. I visit him often.”

  Megan’s throat tightened as she thought about the endless supply of fresh flowers that always adorned his grave.

  “Your mother said you were working here now,” Helen said.

  “Yes. I’ll be here for at least a year.”

  “Please tell me you’re having the baby in Norfolk and not here at the clinic.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Helen slid her finger under a thick gold bracelet sporting a gold star. Megan could not read the writing on the charm but suspected it bore Scott’s name.

  Her baby kicked hard, and for a second, Megan allowed herself to imagine what it would be like losing her child. The thought squeezed her chest, making it impossible for her to speak without her voice cracking.

  When she and Scott had been together, she had known almost from the beginning they were not really suited. He was on the go constantly, always needing to ride his motorcycle, swim, or hike a trail. No such thing as too much adrenaline. In fact, sitting was torture for him. She, however, was always content to curl up with a new biography or historical research project. But the one place they had been compatible had been the bedroom. That had lulled them both into thinking that great sex translated into lifelong compatibility.

  Helen’s expression just then softened in a way that made her look vulnerable, and it caught Megan off guard. Helen’s gaze dropped to Megan’s belly. Seconds passed before she raised her eyes. “How are you doing?”

  “Well.”

  “And the baby?”

  “The baby is fine. Likes to kick a lot.”

&nbs
p; Plucked eyebrows rose as regret and pain darkened Helen’s blue eyes. “Scott was like that when I was pregnant. I barely slept a wink that last month.”

  Helen was not a woman who apologized. She was not a hugger, and according to Scott, she had never been comfortable with deep emotions. For her to associate this child with Scott was about as close as Megan was going to get to any kind of apology or acknowledgment that Scott was the father.

  “My mom said you called her,” Megan said.

  “She wrote me a lovely note, and I wanted to touch base with her and see how you were doing.”

  Considering her mother was in Australia, it could not have been an easy call to coordinate. “How are you doing, Helen?” Megan asked.

  “Restless, angry, tired of staying with my husband’s grandmother, who is pushing one hundred and really does not need me hovering around all the time.” She paused and cleared her throat as if this utterly raw moment embarrassed her.

  Megan had received some of those looks blended with curious stares and a few angry glances. And those who shoved pity her way usually got an earful from her.

  Helen cleared her throat again. “Renovating Winter Cottage and Spring House is quite the undertaking.”

  Megan accepted the change of subject, reminding herself again that Helen was living a mother’s nightmare. Scott had said when his father had died, Helen had gotten very angry and turned that rage on Scott. Now, she knew, thanks to Rick, that all Helen had was an aging grandmother-in-law.

  “We’ve only just begun to scratch the surface. It’s going to take days to clear it out.”

  “Is that good for you to be working so hard?”

  “I’m taking it easy.”

  Lucy stepped forward and extended her hand. “I’m Lucy Kincaid.”

  Helen shook her hand. “You’re Samuel’s granddaughter, correct?”

  “That’s right. Did you know him?” Lucy asked.

  “Not well, but he came to Scott’s funeral dressed in full uniform. Polished shoes, shaved. They tell me he rarely left this house, but he was there for Scott.”