Seven Turns: A Ghost Story/A Love Story

Cally had begun to feel confident everything was sorted and filed more or less properly, when Katarina came into the Hall, drying her hands on her apron. “It’s quitting time!” she said. “You go freshen up for dinner. I’ll put the phones into night mode!”

“There have only been a few calls anyway,” Cally told her, “and they were all from people in town, asking how Bethany is doing. Though they all seem to know more about it than I do.” Under other circumstances, she might have found this kind of stereotypical small town behavior amusing, but she sighed as she went up the stairs.

She hesitated at the door of the Rose Room. It was unlikely Bethany had had a chance, before everything had gone crazy in the Hall, to tell the staff to stop moving her things around. Steeling herself, she opened the door and looked inside, and then sighed with relief. Nothing seemed to have been touched. Even the purse she had thrown on the bed in her haste to speak with Bethany still lay slumped against a rose-shaped throw pillow.

Then she went in, and swore loudly when she saw George standing next to the desk. His hand rested lightly on the plastic crate of CDs she had left there.

He turned and looked at her, but did not appear the least bit alarmed or sheepish. “You like some very interesting music,” he said.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” Cally stammered. “But I’d really prefer it if you didn’t mess with my things!”

He smiled angelically. With the window at his back, he almost seemed aglow himself with beatific light. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “I’m always very careful not to frighten you. I apologize for my curiosity but, you see, I have never heard of Jonathan Coulton before.” He turned his palm up, gesturing toward the titles on the spines of the CDs.

Cally balled up her fists in frustration and opened her mouth to speak. Then she let her breath out as a sudden thought came to her. The last thing Bethany had said to her had been something along the lines of “Georgie isn’t really all there.” He must have some kind of mental disability, she realized. That would explain his naïve and socially awkward behavior.

She unclenched her fists and said evenly, “I would be happy to let you borrow some of my music. But please. Listen, George. I really would prefer it if nobody comes into my room. It’s not that I’m afraid anyone here would take anything.” This wasn’t strictly true, but she didn’t want to make enemies here in the household as long as she was meaning to stay. “How will I be able to find my stuff if people are always moving things around?” She tried to appeal to what she imagined must be his very simple nature.

“Oh, Miss!” His face was earnest. “I could never do that. Maybe it was the White Lady?”

Cally sighed, silently counting to ten. How nice it must be, she thought, to have a resident ghost on whom to blame everything. She walked to the desk and began flipping through the CDs in the crate. Pulling out one of the Jonathan Coulton albums, she said, “If you bring this back to me when you’re done, I’ll lend you anoth...”

She looked up to hand the CD to him, but he was already gone. She sighed and put the CD back in the crate.

She didn’t really have much time, before Joan’s mandatory dinner meeting, but she took some time anyway. She put the crate of CDs on the floor of the closet, then took her notebooks and pens out of her purse, piling them on the desk next to her computer. The purse itself she hung on the closet doorknob and nodded firmly at it, defying it to dare move again. Then she locked the door behind her and went downstairs to the dining room.

Most of the household was already seated at the table; Joan had made sure to claim the seat at Ian’s right hand before Cally arrived. Ian was walking around the room opening all the windows, while Katarina placed a large bowl of pasta in the center of the table. “This is Ignacio’s famous sauce recipe,” she said proudly.

Joan snorted. “I bet it tastes like taco sauce.”

Cally opened her mouth, but couldn’t find adequate words to express her incredulity at the woman’s ignorance.

“You may as well come sit down, too, Jose,” Joan said to Ignacio, who stood in the doorway wearing an apron. “This concerns you as well.”

“No, thank you,” he said. “I ... er, tasted, a lot while I cooked.” He smiled mischievously.

Joan scowled at him silently until he relented, took off his apron, and took a seat next to Katarina at the far end of the table. Ian took his own seat at the head of the table and Nell began passing the bread basket.

“Anyone want a little brandy?” the Captain offered from his preferred seat near the sideboard.

Joan shifted her scowl to him. “I think we should all try to remain sober for this meeting,” she said. “It’s important!”

Cally told the Captain she would like a glass of sherry if he didn’t mind. He grinned and lifted his glass toward her in an unspoken toast, and Joan looked away, rapping the table beside her plate with a spoon.

“Listen up!” she said. “Here’s a chance for you all to earn your keep for once! I have just booked the most wonderful opportunity for Vale House. The Greater Asheboro Area Scientific Paranormal Society...” she spoke slowly to make sure she got it right, “has agreed to come and do an investigation of this property. They will be making video recordings, and if they get enough good footage, they say they will make it into an episode of Ghost Investigations!” She paused and looked around, as if allowing space for applause. Nell was the only one who clapped her hands, though, until Foster gave her a look. He seemed very agitated and kept pushing his glasses up, so vigorously Cally wondered how he didn’t bruise his forehead.

Joan continued. “I don’t have to tell you all what this could mean for business.” She placed a hand over Ian’s, and he smiled gently at her. “And if you all contribute exceptionally, it could mean job security for you all.

“Needless to say, with Ms. Chase having had her little ‘accident,’ you will all have to double up, to take up her slack.” She shook her head, as if she felt Bethany had fallen and hurt herself deliberately just to spite her. “This place will need to be spotless. Right now it looks like a pigsty!”

Cally looked quickly at Katarina, expecting her to have some choice words to say about that, but Katarina, who had had years of practice ignoring Joan’s remarks, barely even rolled her eyes. Ignacio closed a comforting hand over his wife’s hand.

“I think the house and grounds already look immaculate,” Cally said. “But I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”

“I dunno.” Foster spoke around a mouthful of food. “Maybe a few cobwebs would make it look spookier?” His tone was clearly mocking, but Joan’s face lit up.

“That’s a good idea!” She looked up, her eyes scanning the well-dusted ceiling trim. Not finding a single cobweb in any corner, she said, “Well, never mind. They’ll be here Thursday and there’s no time for that. I just want to make sure everyone in this room does everything they can to cooperate completely with the investigation crew. Stay out of their way. Help them find things they are looking for. And if they ask for stories about things people have seen here, lay it on thick!”

Nell giggled. “ I might get to be on TV!” she said.

“I think you should just focus on the ‘stay out of their way’ part,” her husband told her. Then he said to the table in general, “I don’t often agree with Joan’s business philosophy, as you all know. But in this case, I think I do, to some degree. Being on national TV will make people aware that Woodley actually exists. Put this place on the map, so to speak. That can only increase everyone’s property value. So whatever we can do to give these guys a good show, let’s do it right.”

Cally found herself growing more and more irritated with the entire discussion. “Maybe Ignacio should tune up the air-conditioner?” she said. “You know. Give these investigators that ‘cold chill’ they are always on about in those shows.”

Nell took the ball and ran with it. “And maybe we can knock things over and run past in the dark so they can jump and yell ‘What was that! I felt something!’”

Katarina let out a giggle, and the Captain guffawed silently into his napkin.

“I don’t see what’s so funny!” Joan pushed her plate away. “This is serious! This ... town... this pathetic little hick village, doesn’t attract much business. Getting more visitors to Vale House would boost business for the whole town of Woodley. And it could save all your jobs. Most of you are only here because Ian is just too soft-hearted to turn you out. This isn’t a farm anymore. We don’t need a full-time handyman and a cook and a receptionist. Not with the little bit of business we get. I’m just trying to get us more business. I don’t know why I even try!”

Ian patted her hand. “We all appreciate everything you do,” he assured her. “I do have one concern, though...”

Joan was not to be consoled. Her frown zeroed in on Cally. “And you!” she barked. “Of all people! You would think your own living also depends on this sort of thing. You make a living off people believing in ghosts, too!”

Cally felt she was about to lose her temper, but she realized she would be taking out on Joan a years-long frustration with the entire human race, and even Joan didn’t deserve that. Instead, she took a sip of sherry and tried to explain as calmly as she could.

“I apologize for being flip about it,” she said. “It’s just that watching those guys in those shows really bugs me. No, it’s true I don’t really believe in what they are investigating. But that still doesn’t excuse the way these people get paid to behave in ways that go against everything I was ever taught was decent.

“I mean, if ghosts did exist, they would be entitled to the same common courtesy to which anyone else has a right, don’t you think? Would you go into the house of a living person and act like that? Would you go into someone’s house and demand that they ‘say something’? Or challenge them to push you or turn on this little light you’re holding? What kind of person feels they have any right to go up to someone who is just minding their own business and demand that they prove themselves? Okay, sure, maybe if they are offering to sell you something, or claiming to love you, but...”

She took a deep breath and ran her hands through her hair, stopping herself just short of pulling at it. She realized she was ranting; everyone had put down their silverware and was looking at her. She let out her breath and tried a different tack.

“Okay. Well. Put yourself in a ghost’s place. What if living humans seem just as weird and mysterious to them, as they supposedly seem to us? Imagine you are a ghost, and every time you encounter one of the living they start jumping around and yelling ‘Oh, my god, what was that!’ How, exactly, is that communication? I’m not sure what these people on these shows are trying to do, but it certainly isn’t communication. It’s just plain disrespectful.”

She unclenched her hands from around her napkin, into which she had squeezed deep creases, possibly permanent. She was thinking “Geez, what is wrong with me, getting into a tizzy over the feelings of people who are only theoretical at best?”

Everyone at the table quietly resumed eating. Even Joan didn’t seem to be able to think of a snarky comeback but, above her head, from the Gallery, Cally heard applause. She looked up to see George grinning down at her, clapping his hands. She grinned back up at him sheepishly, and wondered why he was not present at this “important all-hands meeting.”

“I would call that well-put, Ms. McCarthy,” Ian finally said. He took a long sip of his tea, and the ice clinking in the glass seemed to echo in the silent dining room. “Very well put. And you are right. I will request that these investigators conduct themselves respectfully while they are in Vale House.

“But if you all don’t mind, I have one other concern.”

Cally remembered that Ian had tried to voice a concern before. She listened carefully this time.

“In these shows,” he said, “I have noticed the investigators like to set up cameras and recorders in the cellars and service passages under the properties. I suppose those kinds of places look dark and spooky to their viewers. But if it’s all the same, I’d rather not have these people going into the cellars of Vale House. The cellars are... old, and the floors are uneven. The stairs are not up to code. It’s not safe. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Good point,” Joan said. “And all those bare wires and things down there. We don’t want to show these things to the whole world on national television. It would make the place look like a firetrap!”

Several voices in the room gasped, and Joan snapped her mouth shut. Everyone looked at Ian, except Cally, who looked at everyone else looking at Ian, and wondered why.

“I’ll explain later,” Katarina whispered to her.

J

Joan retreated to her office to “make some very important phone calls!” and Ian excused himself from the table, putting two desserts on a plate to take with him. As he started down the hall toward the south wing, Cally called, “Ian, wait, I just remembered something!”

She went into the Hall, gesturing for him to follow her. He set his plate on the desk while she dug in the bottom file drawer and removed the envelope containing his will. This she put into his hands, saying “I think Bethany meant to give this to you earlier, before things got a little crazy around here.”

His eyes opened wide when he recognized the envelope. “Thank you very much indeed for taking care of this for me! I wouldn’t have wanted it getting into the wrong hands.” His eyes said more than his words did as he clasped it to his chest. “Really, Ms. McCarthy, thank you so much for everything. I hope you don’t mind me repeating myself: you really don’t have to do Bethany’s job for us.”

“I know,” said Cally, smiling at him. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it will only be for a couple of days, and I don’t mind at all.”

“Very well, then.” He glanced at Joan’s office door before reaching over the desk to put a hand over one of Cally’s. “What I really mean to say is, don’t let Joan upset you. You are doing us all a great favor, and we all know it. You are not a servant here. Don’t let her treat you like one. If you find she is beginning to get on your last nerve, just let me know, and I will speak to her.” He smiled and winked, and Cally laughed, relieved that he seemed to understand so much more than he let on.

“She will certainly, at some point,” Ian continued, “try to tell you that you are still being charged the full rate for your board even though you are doing work for us. Don’t listen to her. I have no intention of charging you at all.” He leaned over the desk and spoke more softly. “She’s really not so bad, you know. She’s had a hard life. Her family was... Well, the word they use nowadays is ‘dysfunctional.’ And she was abandoned by her husband at a very young age. She’s just trying to protect herself from getting hurt anymore.”

Cally thought taking random stabs at everyone around one was probably the wrong way to go about avoiding getting hurt, but she smiled up at the old gentleman just as she had seen Bethany doing several times before. “You are a far more generous soul than I am, Ian May,” she said. “And I promise I will try to be more like you.”

“Well, now,” he said, “I have an appointment with this dessert in my rooms. I hope you will have a very good night.”