Somewhere Between Read online

  Elizabet smiled. “Whatever you say, Ms. Phebe. But, I will tell Papa.”

  She removed the paper from the desk and tried to focus on the numbers, but they floated before her eyes, not making any sense. What will I do? I had no idea she saw me leave my room. If I take her with me, someone will find out. If I don’t, she’ll tell.

  Elizabet continued to smile at her.

  She’s got me cornered.

  “My turn, Ms. Phebe, I’m finished.” Benjamin waved his paper.

  The interruption gave her the opportunity to extract herself from Elizabet’s nefarious little web.

  Elizabet didn’t mention the subject again. Phebe hoped the child forgot about it, but something in her Machiavellian eyes convinced her she wouldn’t let it go.

  She avoided the subject of the ghost at meal time. The warning from Mr. Powell and the ultimatum from Elizabet set her on edge.

  Only one full day and I’m in jeopardy of losing my job.

  As evening approached, a dread settled over her. She promised the children one-on-one time each night. No doubt Elizabet would press her.

  After she tucked the boys safely in bed, she hesitated outside of Elizabet’s door.

  “Come in, Ms. Phebe. No sense in standing in the hallway.”

  The door opened at her touch. “Can you see through doors, child?”

  “No, but I can hear through walls. You told my brothers good night. I was next, that’s all.”

  “All right. Would you like a bedtime story?”

  The girl shook her head. “I want a promise.”

  “Elizabet, I told you. No one is allowed up there. I received fair warning from your father.”

  She frowned. “I don’t care what Papa told you. Something’s going on up there. You need to tell me what.”

  “Aren’t you frightened?”

  “No, Charley and Benjamin play tricks on me all the time. I’m used to surprises. There’s a ghost. I want to see it.”

  “There’s nothing there. No ghost, nothing.”

  The little girl crossed her arms. “You take me up there tonight, or I’ll tell.”

  Phebe sighed. “Very well. But, only if we hear the noise.”

  Elizabet’s frown evaporated. She threw her arms around Phebe. “I love you so much. You’re already my best friend.”

  “I love you, too.” She extracted the child’s arms and tucked her in. “If we hear the noise, I’ll come for you. Meanwhile, you need to go to sleep.”

  Elizabet snuggled under the covers, eyes alight with excitement.

  She kissed the child, extinguished the light, and continued to her room. I’m not about to take Elizabet up there. I’m left with one choice; go upstairs before the noises begin. If I can stop it, Elizabet will sleep through the night.

  Last night the noise didn’t start until about after midnight. I’ll wait an hour, make sure she’s asleep, and go upstairs. Maybe I can stop the books from falling on the floor. Or maybe I can catch the mouse.

  She didn’t bother to change into her nightgown, but sat in the chair beside the bed to await her chance. It was agony watching the minutes tick by.

  Finally, the clock struck the hour. She tiptoed to the door, opened it a crack to check the hall, and closed it behind her. Elizabet’s door was closed, and the hall was empty.

  Carefully, she scurried to the abandoned stairway.

  Upstairs, she found the sky parlor and tried the knob. The door opened freely.

  Inside, the quarter moon cast an eerie glow through the window. She took the rocker next to the bookshelves and sat down to wait, heart pounding, not sure if she actually wanted to see what made the thumping noise.

  At first, she focused on the books, waiting for the mouse, or whatever it was, to push them to the floor. Time passed slowly and without a clock, she only guessed the time.

  Occasionally, her head would nod and startle her awake.

  Suddenly, something changed.

  The light brightened, and a slight chill permeated the room.

  Awake now, she glanced around, frightened, anticipating—.

  And then, she saw a shimmering apparition materialize before her eyes.

  An outline. A man.

  As she blinked, a more substantial figure appeared, although still transparent. Now she noticed his manner of dress. A jacket, an ascot around his neck, but the colors were muted, nondescript. The clothes were of another time.

  In the chair behind him, she watched, still as a statue, heart beating in her throat, as he moved to the book shelf. Palms perspiring, she gripped the arms of the rocker.

  He didn’t appear to see her.

  There was a sadness on his face, but something else, as well. Determination? Anger?

  He reached for a book, rifled through it as though looking for something, then moved to toss it to the floor.

  Before it fell from his hand, she snatched it. “No. You mustn’t make any more noise.”

  Startled, the apparition stopped and turned toward her. She gasped at the sight of his bright eyes. She saw them clearly. Green with amber flecks.

  Just like Elizabet’s.

  THE NEBULOUS FIGURE FADED.

  Oddly, her initial fright dissipated, as well. Although non-threatening and somewhat vaporous, those green eyes danced with light.

  I never expected to come face-to-face with a real ghost, but here I am calm and unafraid.

  “Please don’t go. I’m Phebe Whiteside. Who are you?” She reached out.

  He vanished.

  “Please come back. I mean no harm.”

  He didn’t reappear.

  She returned to the rocker and waited.

  An hour passed. He didn’t return.

  “I can’t sit here forever. I must teach tomorrow. I hope he’s finished tossing books for tonight.”

  The rocker creaked as she stood and glanced around. Reluctantly, she tiptoed downstairs to her room, resigned he wouldn’t come back.

  She fought sleep, waiting for another thud from above, hoping quiet would prevail, and willing Elizabet to sleep through the night.

  The last thought before she dozed off was of the ghost’s eyes. So clear, bright, and alive. And so like Elizabet’s.

  The next morning, she waited in the classroom after breakfast. The children filed in with eagerness shining on their faces.

  Today, they would practice spelling. She prepared a list of words.

  Charley entered first, all wiggly and excited.

  Benjamin marched in, a mature countenance etched on his young face and a book under his arm. His dark brown hair was parted and slicked down in the fashion of the day.

  Elizabet wore a frown.

  The children slid behind their desks and prepared for the lesson—except Elizabet.

  She crossed her arms and continued to pout.

  “Something wrong, dear?”

  “You didn’t keep your promise.”

  “Let me get the boys started on their spelling words. We’ll talk in a minute.” She passed out the words for the day’s spelling bee and sent them to another corner to test each other with a warning of consequences if they didn’t stay on task.

  Elizabet remained sullen in her seat.

  “Tell me how I broke my promise,” Phebe said.

  “You didn’t come and get me.”

  “I said I would if I heard a noise. Well, I didn’t. Did you?”

  Elizabet tightened her arms and deepened her frown. “No, but you should’ve come anyway so we could explore.”

  “Now see here. We had a deal. Neither of us heard the sound last night. The noise didn’t happen, so I think whatever it was left the house. Maybe we’re rid of it for good.”

  “Well…”

  “Time for lessons. No more talk of the noise or the ghost.”

  Phebe called the boys back to their regular desks and offered a competition. The first one to get all the words spelled correctly wins a prize.

  Elizabet’s pout faded. Her eyes twinkled.<
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  Ah! She’s competitive when it concerns her brothers. A good distraction.

  The day flew by. Dinner time approached with no further reference from Elizabet about prowling upstairs.

  She sent them off to their parents and decided to take a stroll around the grounds. Confined to the house since she arrived, a breath of fresh air suited her.

  She chose to check out the stables but stopped to grab a few apples for the horses.

  Myrtle wielded a whisk handily, attacking something in a large bowl as she entered.

  “Smells heavenly.” She swished a cape around her shoulders. “Do the Powell’s ever ride?”

  The cook frowned. “Why, I’m not sure. Mostly the horses are kept for the carriage. Going for a walk?”

  “Yes, I’m desperate for a change of scenery. Think I’ll start at the stables. I love animals. That’s not against the rules, is it?”

  “No. I’m sure it’s perfectly acceptable.” Myrtle dropped the spoon in the bowl and grabbed a hand towel. “Sleep well?”

  “Like a baby.” She opened the door and made a quick exit.

  As her feet crunched along the gravel walkway, she contemplated whether it would be wise to share what transpired last night. Myrtle and Winston knew more than they cared to tell. If she made too many inquiries it might get back to her employers. However, at this point, they possessed the information she wanted.

  It’s a dilemma, for sure.

  The stable smelled of hay and dung. The horses stamped and nickered as she walked through the center aisle.

  “Anyone about?”

  No one answered, so she continued, stopping at each horse and petting their velvety muzzles.

  At the last stall, a young boy entered from the back door carrying two buckets. “Who are you? You shouldn’t be disturbin’ the horses.”

  Physically, she guessed his age at around twelve, but his face wore the serious scowl of someone older. Dark brown hair peeked out from under a duckbill cap and clear blue eyes regarded her with suspicion.

  “I’m Phebe Whiteside, the new governess. Myrtle said it was okay to come out here.”

  The frown remained. “I don’t know any Myrtle. You need permission to come in here.” He set the buckets down, pushed the cap to the back of his head, and straightened a strap on his coveralls.

  “Why, Myrtle’s the cook. What’s your name?”

  The boy snatched off his cap. Two pink dots appeared on his youthful face, but didn’t change the scowl. “Oh, I never knew Cook had a name. Sorry. Didn’t hear they hired a new teacher. Name’s Jake. I’m the stable boy.”

  “I only arrived two days ago. First chance to come outside.”

  Jake replaced his cap, picked up the buckets, and headed for a stall. “I got work to do.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You care for the horses all by yourself?”

  He opened a stall door and bent to his task. “Yep, been my job for ‘bout two years. I’m the man of the family now. Takin’ care of my ma and my little sister.”

  “Why, you look so young. This is a big job for someone your age.”

  Water sloshed from the bucket into the trough as he poured, muffling his voice. “I’m plenty big enough. Turned twelve last month. Pa died, so I had to step up.”

  She reached out and steadied the stall door wondering at his resolve and strength through such adversity. “I’m so sorry. Do you live nearby?”

  He pointed toward the open door. “Down that lane, ‘bout a quarter of a mile, next to the family cemetery.”

  That news intrigued her. “Cemetery?”

  He continued down each stall. “Yeah, all the generations who lived in the big house are buried there.”

  “Can one go there? Walk around?”

  He shrugged. “Guess so. Nobody ever said ya couldn’t.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Jake. If it’s all right, I’d like to come back and visit the horses. I promise I won’t disturb your work.”

  “Fine with me. Just don’t get in the way. Takes me all day to groom, feed, exercise, and all. On a tight schedule since its only me.” He entered the last stall.

  She wondered at the boy’s abruptness but dismissed it as his desire to get his work done.

  The narrow path meandered through the wooded hillside. It was a pleasant walk, one she sorely needed. More than the exercise, however, was a peaked interest in the cemetery. Might she find a clue about the ghost there?

  A stone wall marked the area where the family lay their dead. An iron gate barred the opening, but swung wide at her touch. She looked around as if someone watched; an expected reaction when one enters a strange cemetery, she supposed.

  The shank of evening approached as she wandered through the rows of grave markers, many more than she imagined. None of the names meant anything to her, of course, but then, only one interested her. Edmund.

  Myrtle said the house was handed down through Mrs. Powell’s family, so the Powell name wasn’t among the others.

  Had she mentioned Edmund’s last name?

  She couldn’t remember, but so far, she didn’t see any markers with the name Edmund carved into the stones. As she approached the far corner, a subtle change of air crept into the cemetery. Not cold, but more ethereal. Otherworldly. She pulled the cape tightly around her, glad for its protection.

  As she came to the far corner, two granite markers graced the area, surrounded by a stone barrier. One monument stood taller than the other and was obelisk in shape. The shorter one was a weeping angel.

  She crept closer.

  At the edge of the stone barrier, she stopped. The temperature dropped considerably. Hoping to see Edmund’s name etched across the front, she stepped over the barrier and peered closer. Jonathan McAdams, Beloved Husband and Father.

  She turned to the other marker. Mary McAdams, Beloved Wife and Mother.

  By the birth and death dates, Jonathan out-lived his wife by twenty years.

  Mary was young.

  Sadness overcame her. Only twenty-two. I wonder how she died.

  She turned from the markers and stepped back over the barrier.

  Darkness descended subtly and brought with it a damp cold. It settled in her bones like an infusion. It made her shiver. She must leave now or risk finding her way back in the blackness.

  Something held her back. Was it a whisper or simply a feeling?

  “By the old oak.”

  She felt it more than heard it and turned to look.

  A lone monument, under the shade of an ancient tree, beckoned to her. It, too, was made of granite and in the same obelisk shape, only smaller. As the light disappeared she could barely make out the inscription. Edmund McAdams, Loving Son and Brother.

  The air squeezed from her lungs. She sank to her knees. There he is. Edmund.

  As the shock of finding him wore off, she realized the cold air pushed her down like a hand at her back. The struggle to stand caused alarm. Her face was right in front of the marker. She squinted to read the dates.

  He died only two years before Mary. He was young, too. Only twenty-four.

  As quickly as the dampness engulfed her, it relented.

  She stood, looking about for the path to the gate. Her voice echoed in the lonely cemetery. “Myrtle said it might be murder.”

  She stole a glance at Jonathan and Mary’s tombstones and gasped. A man stood over Mary’s grave, weeping. A scream died in her throat when she realized it was the same apparition she saw last night.

  This time, she stood still, but reached out her hand.

  “Edmund.”

  SOMETHING GRABBED PHEBE’S ELBOW. SHE stumbled forward.

  Jake caught her, a lantern in one hand. “Ms. Phebe, what are you still doing out here? It’s black as pitch out.”

  “Jake. You gave me a fright. I guess I lost track of time. Why are you here?” She glanced back to see if the ghost was still there. It wasn’t.

  “I come this way home. I didn’t recollect seeing you come ba
ck by the stables, so figured you might still be here. You shouldn’t mess around in cemeteries at night. All sorts of things can happen.”

  She let him lead her down the winding path to the gate, glancing back, hoping to see Edmund, again. “It’s so peaceful here. The children keep me so busy, I…”

  “Well, I’m walkin’ you home. There’s a lot of thick woods out this way. We got prowlin’ coyote and such. Wouldn’t do for you to get attacked.”

  “It’s mighty nice of you, Jake. I’m sorry to be a bother.” She wanted to ask him about the ghost, but decided it wasn’t proper.

  He left her at the kitchen door, tipped his cap, and said goodbye.

  She thanked him and went inside to find the cook pacing around the kitchen, face red, cap askew.

  “Myrtle, what is wrong?”

  “Oh Lordy. I thought you was snatched or something. Been peering out the window for you to come back from the stables. Where in the world did you get off to?”

  She grabbed an apple off the sideboard. “No need to worry. I can take care of myself. I went for a walk. Jake told me about the path to the cemetery, so I headed there. It was farther than I thought. He found me and escorted me home.”

  “The cemetery? You shouldn’t go there. It’s not right.”

  “Why not? Cemeteries are peaceful places. I needed some quiet after the last two days with the children. There are a couple of stone benches along the path. I might take a book on my day off and read up there. Enjoy the birds and nature.”

  Myrtle stared, open-mouthed. “You want to spend your day off with dead people? Girl, you’re a crazy one.” She pointed a finger. “I’d stay away from that place if I were you. No good can come of hanging around there.”

  Phebe plopped down in a kitchen chair and took a bite from the apple. “Maybe you’d like to tell me why.”

  She always gets nervous when I talk of the ghost, and now, she’s uncomfortable with me going to the cemetery. If I needle her enough, maybe some new information will slip out.

  Winston entered sporting his signature scowl. “The children are going to a play with their parents tonight. Our dinner will be early.” He turned when he saw her. “Oh, hello, Phebe. I didn’t see you there. Would you like to join us for dinner?”