Somewhere Between Read online

  “Don’t mind if I do. We could enjoy a good chat.” She took another bite of the juicy fruit and tossed it in the scrap box.

  Myrtle finished the dinner’s preparations and served up beef stew and cornbread.

  They ate in silence while Myrtle continued to glance at her and frown. It was clear she didn’t want her to mention the cemetery in Winston’s presence.

  “I say, no one has handled the children the way you do, Phebe. They like you.” His frown vanished but fell short of a smile.

  While she appreciated praise from one so reluctant to give it, she hoped the conversation would drift toward the history of this place. She longed to find out more about Edmund, Mary, and Jonathan, how they connected to Mrs. Powell, and discover the true mystery—Edmund’s death.

  “The children are a delight. Mr. and Mrs. Powell raised them well. I’m fortunate they respond as they do, given the plight of the other governesses.” She glanced at them both hoping the ghost would find its way into the discussion.

  Winston flinched slightly, but focused on the dish in front of him.

  Myrtle remained quiet.

  She persisted. “What was Mrs. Powell’s maiden name? Was it McAdams?”

  Winston let his spoon clatter to the bowl. “The family will return soon, I must see to my other duties.” His chair scraped across the wooden floor as he hurried off.

  She stared after him. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Cook carried her bowl to the sideboard. “You ask too many questions. Makes Winston uncomfortable. His job is to protect and serve the family, not disclose information.”

  “If I’m to live here, shouldn’t I gain knowledge of the family? What if the children ask about their relatives?” It was a weak argument, but the only one she could muster.

  “The relatives are none of your concern. The education of their ancestry falls to their parents.”

  Phebe took full note of the firm look on Myrtle’s face. She crossed the line. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. Father always said I was too curious. I won’t bring it up again.”

  “I think it’s best you don’t. Now, I need to get this mess cleaned up.”

  “Let me help. The fresh air woke me up. I couldn’t sleep now if I tried. It’ll feel good to dip my hands in some suds.”

  Myrtle’s face softened. “It’d be right nice to have your company.”

  Phebe lay in her bed staring at the ceiling.

  She understood, now, no information would come from either of them. It was up to her to find the answer to the mystery. Loyal to their employers, they guarded the family secrets well.

  The children, settled in their beds, should be asleep by now. Relieved Elizabet didn’t bring up the ghost, she tucked her in and left swiftly.

  Moonlight filtered through the curtains. She knew the thumping would start soon if she didn’t stop it. Her arm tangled in the heavy robe as she struggled to pull it on.

  Upstairs, she stood in front of the parlor door, anxious, but excited. Will he appear?

  She didn’t bother to knock, but pushed the door open.

  He was there, staring at her, the amber flecks in those green eyes glowing like fire.

  This time he didn’t turn away.

  THE AIR VIBRATED AS PHEBE and the ghost regarded each other. Goosebumps sprang to her arms as a chill engulfed the room.

  A glow radiated from his body and bathed the room in a vaporous light.

  She whispered, “Please don’t go, Edmund.”

  His eyes remained vibrant, but he didn’t disappear. The sight of him standing in the light was beautiful. More than the eyes, now, she saw the shock of dark hair, the strong jaw and rugged look of him.

  Encouraged, she pressed more. “I’m Phebe Whiteside. We’ve seen each other before. May I come in?”

  “You were in the cemetery tonight.” Edmund’s voice rolled in a low timber, like velvety warm chocolate, smooth and full.

  “Yes, I was searching for you.”

  He looked away. The light dimmed, the hum diminished.

  Afraid he might dissolve again, she stepped into the room and gathered the books off the floor. “Were you reading?”

  “Reading? No.” He faded a bit, but his eyes glowed brighter, the amber flecks shooting infinitesimal shards of light right at her. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

  “I’m the new governess.” She held the intense gaze, fighting to maintain her composure. The glowing orbs cut into her soul, pulled her in as if they might swallow her up. Despite the ferocity of his scrutiny, she smiled and spoke softly, “You make quite a lot of noise at night. I came to investigate the sound.”

  “I’m searching for the diary.”

  When he spoke, his form solidified, the colors of his clothes came alive, the forest green corduroy waistcoat adorned his upper body, the ascot was a deep scarlet.

  “Diary? Your diary?”

  “No, Mary’s.”

  “Jonathan’s wife?”

  He faded instantly.

  “Please, come back, Edmund.”

  His form strengthened until he appeared solid again, eyes brighter, the shooting particles of amber piercing her soul. “Never speak his name, again. Mary is mine.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware. Perhaps you’d like to tell me why you’re searching for the diary. I can help you look.” She went to the rocker, heart pounding, and sat down.

  The light surrounding him dissipated until he appeared like any other flesh and blood man. “I must find it. We can’t be together until I do.”

  A winged-back chair sat adjacent to the rocker. She pointed to it. “Please, sit down and talk. I’m a friend. I want to help you.”

  He studied her, the conflict on his face evident by a slight frown. The glow in his eyes lost the intense brightness, but he did as she asked.

  Phebe leaned back in the rocking chair trying to show a calmness she didn’t feel. “Mary is the woman you love?”

  “Yes.” The force in his voice rattled the sherry glasses on the mirrored tray.

  She wanted to ask questions but understood the fragile nature of this new friendship. Friendship with a ghost? Is that possible?

  He rose and returned to the bookcase. “I must look. I don’t have much time.”

  “You promised to tell me about her.”

  He gazed at the books until one flew from the shelf.

  She caught it in mid-air. “You mustn’t make so much noise, Edmund.”

  His lips parted, as if to speak, one brow lifted in surprise.

  “I’m Phebe. Have you forgotten so soon?”

  “Phebe…”

  “Yes, your friend.”

  “I need to find the diary.”

  “You told me. I want to help, but you must explain this to me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me your story.”

  “It’s Mary. I have to help her, so we can be together.”

  At this point, she couldn’t surmise if Edmund realized he was dead or not. If she said the wrong thing, he might disappear forever.

  He sat down and bowed his head. “If I don’t find the diary, I can’t release her from the hell she endures.”

  “Edmund, do you; I mean…you understand that you are, well…”

  His eyes flashed bright as he looked up. “Dead? We all are. Mary, me, and—him.”

  “Why is it so important for you to find this diary, if you are all…”

  “Because of the lies. Everything was a lie. He stole Mary from me. I can’t let him get away with it. Mary can’t rest. She wants me. We want to be together.”

  “I don’t understand. She is buried beside her husband. Does that mean she married your brother?”

  The room exploded with light and vibration. Books flew off the shelves in a violent barrage. Edmund stood in the middle of the floor, hands outstretched, writhing in agony, his face contorted with rage.

  “Stop! You must stop. You’ll wake the whole house with this racket.” She hastily gathered books
from the floor, as if it would remove the noise peppering the ceiling of the second floor.

  He stood still.

  Books stopped flying.

  His eyes returned to a soft glow while he lowered his arms.

  Out of breath, she stood holding several books. “What happened? Why in the world are you so angry?”

  Remorse replaced the rage on his face. “I’m sorry. I’ve not yet learned to control emotion in this realm.”

  Annoyed, she shoved the books back on the shelves, one by one. “Well, you’ve had plenty of time to practice. I should think you would after all these years.

  After she replaced the last book, she turned to him. “Now, sit down and tell me what made you so angry.”

  His face took the form of a contrite child, but he reclaimed the chair.

  He’s a lost soul. Fighting some kind of demon, something not settled before his death. My heart goes out to him.

  His eyes filled with wonder as he studied her. “I’ve never seen anyone before. You are the first one. And, how is it you can see me?”

  “I don’t know. I’m certainly not one who goes around seeing ghosts. The fact remains, we have crossed paths for some reason. Maybe I’m the one who can help you, but you must tell me everything. Start at the beginning, maybe we can sort this out.”

  He stared at her as if his eyes could drill a hole right through her, the amber flecks pulsating, threatening. “I was murdered.”

  THE NIGHT PASSED QUICKLY AS Edmund revealed his story.

  She listened, afraid to stop or interrupt him about things she didn’t understand.

  “I met Mary at a church social.” His face relaxed as he said her name. The hard line of his jaw softened. “She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. We fell into a comfortable kinship, immediately. Her father, a prominent parson in town, gave his permission for us to see one another. We fell in love.”

  She nodded. “Go on.”

  “As time went on, I asked for her hand in marriage. The parson agreed, but insisted on a long engagement, parties, the proper announcements, and such. A year.”

  He glanced up, eyes soulful and pleading. “One whole year.”

  She remained silent, waiting.

  “As the wedding day approached, Mary came to me, wanted to tell me something, but he interrupted.”

  Phebe spoke softly. “He?”

  His eyes resumed a fierce glow. “My younger brother.”

  Suddenly, she understood. “Jonathan.”

  The hum grew loud, again, the room vibrated, and books dropped off the shelves.

  “Don’t say his name!”

  “Please, Edmund, stop. I’m sorry. I won’t say it again. You need to stay calm.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t control it.”

  “Close your eyes, think of Mary and all the happy times you enjoyed together.

  He did as she asked. The hum weakened, the vibration stopped, as did the gravity defying books.

  “Good. So, we’ve learned something, Edmund. When these things overwhelm you, think of Mary. You can control this, you simply must focus.”

  He opened his eyes. “Thank you. You’re right. The anger subsides if I train my thoughts on her.”

  “Can you go on? What did Mary want to tell you?”

  His form shimmered, became vaporous, like a fine mist. “I must go. I told you I didn’t have much time.”

  “No, please, I need more information. Please stay.”

  “It’s not up to me. I’m only allowed a short time to discover the truth. I’m sorry.”

  “Will you come back tomorrow?”

  As he dissolved completely, she barely caught his whisper, “I’ll try.”

  And then, he was gone.

  The books strewn across the floor remained the only clues he was there at all. She picked them up and placed them back on the shelf.

  The sky lightened through the window.

  “I’ve been up here all night. How will I ever get through the day?”

  She hurried downstairs to her room. The clock chimed five bells. “I must be up by six o’clock. I’ve no time to sleep. I’ll just lay on the bed, close my eyes, and pray the racket Edmund made didn’t wake the others.”

  Sleep didn’t come. Instead, she stared at the ceiling and replayed the image of Edmund’s tortured ghost: his eyes, the anger, the sadness. So many questions popped into her head. Why was he there? Why could she see him? Was it her imagination? Was he even there, at all?

  The clock announced six a.m. She could take another hour and try to sleep. Class time was eight o’clock. It wouldn’t do to change her routine now, however. Each morning, she bounded into the kitchen promptly at seven. Myrtle and Winston might question her absence. She wasn’t prepared to share the events of last night. Not yet.

  She sat up, changed her clothes, took extra care with her morning ablutions, and brushed her long hair. She studied herself in the mirror. It won’t do to look disheveled. My eyes are like sandpaper. I hope my lack of sleep isn’t obvious.

  The aroma of pancakes triggered hunger.

  “Mornin’ Phebe,” Myrtle said.

  The normal cheer usually displayed became forced. “Good morning.”

  Myrtle moved the large mixing bowl to one side, squinting at her. “What’s wrong with you this morning? You look as if you didn’t sleep a wink.”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I read far into the night. Didn’t get my proper winks. I’ll pay for it today, but it is such a great tale.” She poured a cup of coffee and sat down.

  “And what are ya readin’?”

  “Moby Dick. My parents gave it to me for my birthday. I’m almost finished. Have you read it?”

  A derisive snort emanated from Myrtle’s rather large nose. “You won’t find me reading any books. I ain’t got time for such idle pastimes.”

  “Reading is educational. Educating the children is why I’m here, remember? You really should pick up a book, occasionally.”

  Cook snorted again.

  Phebe paused. “I meant to ask you…I’m almost finished with it. Do you think Mrs. Powell would mind if I looked for another in the library? They do have a library, don’t they?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s kept locked, but I don’t see as they’d mind. You should ask this morning, however. They’re leaving with the children after lessons.”

  “Where are they going? Am I to go along?”

  “Well, I can’t say for sure, you only arrived a few days ago. It’s their tradition for the family to visit Mr. Powell’s Aunt Martha, once a month. This is the weekend. I doubt they expect you to go.”

  In between bites, she tried to ask more questions, but the rich, buttery flavor of the pancakes only accentuated her ravenous hunger.

  “I’ve never seen you eat so, Phebe. Does reading make you that hungry?”

  She laughed, almost spewing a mouthful. “I can’t say it’s reading that makes me hungry. Maybe the lack of sleep.”

  “Well, don’t nod off in the middle of your lessons.”

  A knock on the door interrupted the light-hearted banter.

  Myrtle greeted the young stable boy. “Why Jake, what brings you to the house so early?”

  He snatched the cap from his head. “Mr. Powell asked me to ready the horses. I left the house so quick this morning I plumb forgot the carrots for Artemis. He gets a bit cranky if he doesn’t get them. I wonder if you have some to spare.”

  “Come on in, I’m sure I can scare up a few.”

  “Oh no, I can’t come in. I’ve mud on my boots.”

  Phebe was pleased to see her friend. “Good morning, Jake.”

  “Morning, a pleasant day to ya.”

  He grabbed the carrots. “Much obliged.”

  “I might have some time on my hands this afternoon. I’d like to visit the stables again, with your permission.” She pushed the chair back and followed him.

  “Anytime, Ms. Phebe. I really must go. Artemis won’t be easy to handle without his treat.�
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  She watched him walk toward the barn.

  “Shut the door, girl. You’re lettin’ the flies in.”

  “Sorry. He’s such a polite young man. Carries a lot of work on his shoulders. He told me his pa used to work the stables until he died. I would think they’d replace him with a grown man, not a young boy.”

  “There ya go. Asking more questions. The runnin’ of the stables is a family affair. Jake’s family has carried on the tradition since the family arrived here. Now, put your curious nose back where it belongs. You better get to the classroom.”

  The statement was issued with more force than Phebe expected, adding another layer of inquisitiveness to the mix.

  She folded all the bits and pieces of this curious household away and tucked them into her mental ‘to do’ list. I’ll deal with this later.

  As she turned to go, Winston entered, the ever-present scowl in place.

  “The Powell’s wish to see you in the study. Now.”

  PHEBE OPENED THE STUDY DOOR, hands shaking. Had her employers heard the noise last night? Were they aware she went up to the third floor?

  The couple sat together much like they did when she first met them. Mr. Powell behind the polished desk, Mrs. Powell on the chaise.

  Mr. Powell stood, but didn’t extend his hand. “Good morning, Phebe.”

  She couldn’t read his face, and her heart beat thudded in her chest. She curtsied. “Good morning, sir. Good morning, ma’am.”

  Mr. Powell nodded. “I’m not sure we mentioned our monthly excursions to my Aunt Martha’s. It’s a half day’s carriage ride. We take the children to visit her. She loves them so.”

  “Myrtle mentioned something.”

  He sat down again. “Yes, well, after lessons we’ll be on our way. No need for you to make the trip as there won’t be any time for schooling. Is there anything you need while we’re gone? I trust you may enjoy a couple of days off after this first few days with the children.”

  “I’ll miss them, of course. I look forward to the chance to catch up on my reading, however. Is it possible for me to make use of your library? I’m almost finished with the book I brought with me.

  Mr. Powell looked at his wife. “I don’t see any reason why you can’t make use of our collection. I’ll have Winston give you a key. We keep it locked due to the number of precious editions.”