Seven Turns: A Ghost Story/A Love Story

The Hall was filled with the aroma of good country cooking. Ian took his leave of Cally here, passing through the dining room and turning left into a narrow back hall. He asked her, as he went, to please tell everyone he would see them at dinner.

Cally took the opportunity to return to the Rose Room to drop off her purse. Hanging it on the closet door knob, she hesitated briefly before deciding to also leave her notepad behind. She could ask people to tell their ghost stories during the dinner conversation, but it would be rude, she imagined, to actually take notes next to her plate.

As she turned to leave the room, she saw her open suitcase had been moved from the bed to the luggage rack beside the desk. The other stood neatly beside it. Cally appreciated the customer service, but decided to power off her computer and tuck it into the desk drawer before she left, even though it did not yet contain her potential “next bestseller.”

Two other guests were also exiting their room at the end of the hall as she locked her door behind her. A man and a woman who looked to be in their late thirties joined her at the Gallery railing, making appreciative remarks about the aromas rising from below. Nobody could yet be seen seated at the dining room table. “At least we aren’t late,” Cally remarked to the couple.

The young woman smiled but looked at the floor as she extended a hand to Cally. “You must be Callaghan McCarthy,” she said. “I’m Nell.”

“Oh, you’re Ian’s daughter,” Cally said, grasping the proffered hand, which was thin and cool and lay limp in Cally’s hand until she released it.

Large brown eyes peeped out from behind auburn curls as Nell giggled softly. “I really loved your book,” she said. “I can’t wait until your next one comes out! I love to read. I see you have the Rose Room! I...”

“Don’t pester the poor lady, Nell,” said the man accompanying her. He reached for Cally’s hand. “I’m Foster Brentwood, Ian May’s son-in-law. Pleased to meet you.” He smiled down at her from his six and a half foot frame and pumped her hand up and down enthusiastically. Dark, straight hair flopped over his forehead, and his black-framed glasses slid down to the end of his nose. Pushing them up, he added “I’m also Ian’s business partner. He’s getting on in years, as you may have noticed, and he needs my help with things more and more often, these days.”

Cally followed the couple downstairs. They went straight to what were apparently their accustomed seats near the head of the table. “You should probably take the Guest of Honor seat,” Foster said to her, indicating the chair across from Nell. Nell giggled softly and fiddled with the silverware beside her plate. She seemed about to say something more to Cally, but a quick look from her husband silenced her, and she put her hands in her lap.

Cally did not sit down right away. She walked to the far side of the room where six tall windows framed with antique lace let in afternoon light and a jasmine-scented breeze. A formal garden lay outside the windows, nestled in the space between two wings extending back from either end of Vale House. Lush drifts of roses, hostas, and hydrangeas surrounded a neat strip of lawn, and a white gazebo adorned its center. Jasmine vines clambered over the gazebo, crowning it with clouds of yellow blossoms. At the very end of the lawn, an old stone building nestled in the shrubbery, surrounded by rust-red chickens clucking softly and scratching in the mulch. It was a picture-perfect scene well suited to a magazine cover but definitely not, Cally thought, the cover of a ghost story.

She turned at the sound of footsteps to see a very thin old man entering the dining room from the narrow hallway at the north end of the room. He leaned heavily on a polished wooden cane as he made his way to the foot of the table. Here he paused to hang his cane carefully on the back of a chair, and turned to the sideboard. “Anyone want a little aperitif?” he offered cheerfully, picking up one of the brandy glasses next to the crystal decanter there.

“Let me get that for you, Captain!” Foster called, jumping up from his seat to pull the old man’s chair out for him so he could sit down without spilling his drink. Then he dashed around the table and pulled out Cally’s chair for her, as well. As Cally took her seat, Bethany came into the room from the same narrow hallway from which the old man had come. She wore a fresh white apron and was carrying two covered bread baskets. A short woman with huge brown eyes followed her, carrying a large crystal bowl filled with colorful garden salad.

“Ms. McCarthy, this is Katarina, our cook,” said Bethany. “Though she and I both also perform other duties as assigned.” She winked and tilted her head toward the Hall and Joan’s office door.

Katarina put down the salad. Her black ponytail bobbed as she put out her hand and said “I’m so thrilled to meet you, Ms. McCarthy!”

“Please call me Cally.”

“I will if you call me Kat!” She stood back and folded her hands over her apron, smiling proudly. “I just want everyone to know,” she said, “this salad includes some of the first tomatoes of the season from Ignacio’s garden!”

“Kat is married to Ignacio, whom you have already met,” Bethany informed Cally.

Foster said, “It never ceases to amaze me how he gets so much to grow in such a small garden.”

“It looks too pretty to eat,” Cally remarked honestly.

“Where’s Ian? It’s half past six.” Joan’s voice came from the Hall. “Where’s the food? Come on, let’s show some efficiency around here!”

Katarina rolled her eyes and sighed. Bethany touched her arm and gestured toward the kitchen hallway, and both women left the room before Joan entered.

“Honestly!” Joan declared to the room in general as she swept through the doorway in a clatter of heels and bracelets. “Ian is too easy on these people.” She clomped her way around the table to the windows and began banging them shut. “And who keeps opening these windows? No wonder my allergies are acting up. Outside air belongs outside!” With a final bang, she turned to the table. “Hello, Foster, Nellie, and hello...” Stopping in mid-stride, she seemed about to say something else, but thought better of it and sat down quietly on Cally’s right.

“I think you’re in her seat,” Nell said softly. Her husband nudged her with his elbow.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Cally said, and started to get up.

“No, no, you’re the Guest of Honor,” Joan reminded them all just as Ian entered the room from the narrow hallway mirroring the one leading to the kitchen. She smiled sweetly up at him as he made his way to the head of the table.

“Are we all here?” Ian asked. “The Iversons won’t be joining us, I’m afraid. They are spending the evening in Blackthorn, and will be back late tonight.”

“They’re bed and breakfast customers,” Joan reminded him. “Not bed and three meals a day.” She gave Cally a glance from the corner of her eye but quickly returned to smiling at Ian.

As Ian made his way to his seat, he opened each of the six windows as he passed them. “Ah, that’s better,” he said. “Such a beautiful evening! We should enjoy this good weather while it lasts.” Joan said nothing as “outside air” filled the room once again. Foster helped Ian take his seat at the head of the table.

Bethany and Katarina returned with steaming platters which they distributed around the table. A beautifully braised brisket was set before Ian. “This smells wonderful!” he said, and gestured toward the empty seats around the table, indicating the women should be seated.

“Oh, I shouldn’t stay,” Bethany protested, glancing at Joan. “I’ve got some leftover soup at home that I really should...”

“Nonsense,” Ian said gently. “Your leftovers aren’t going anywhere. Please join us.”

It was hard for Cally not to laugh out loud at the tension in the room as Bethany smiled sideways at Joan’s careful silence. “Well, thank you, Ian,” she said. She took off her apron and sat down at the Captain’s left, and indicated the empty seats across from herself. “You and Ignacio can sit there,” she suggested to Katarina.

Joan went red in the face and glared at Bethany, who looked studiously away, smirking. Katarina said, “Oh, thank you so very much, Mr. May, but Ignacio has already made his wonderful spaghetti for our supper tonight, with fresh tomatoes.”

“Spaghetti?” Joan spat. “Seriously, Maria, shouldn’t he have made tacos or something?”

“My husband is a very accomplished cook,” Katarina assured her, nodding as she backed out of the room. “I’ll be back later to help with the washing up,” she told Bethany, and then was gone.

“Well, then!” said Ian, seemingly oblivious of the drama. “Introductions all around!”

“I think we all know each other’s names,” Joan pointed out. Ian ignored her and continued.

“First of all, our guest of honor is Ms. Callaghan McCarthy,” he said, nodding toward Cally. “And this is my daughter and son-in-law, Nell and Foster Brentwood. Next we have my assistant and very dear friend, Ms. Joan Cromwell.” Joan beamed at him possessively. He nodded toward Bethany. “The secretary here at our little bed and breakfast is Miss Bethany Chase. And, of course, we have my oldest and best friend, Doug Arkwright, otherwise known as the Captain.”

The old man at the foot of the table nodded graciously to each of them in turn as Ian spoke, and raised his glass. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said to the table in general. He drained the glass, and turned to refill it.

“You should know most of us very well by now,” Joan reminded him. “You’ve only been living here for ten years.” She muttered to Cally, “He’s one of those freeloading hangers-on Ian doesn’t have the heart to turn out. And he was never a captain, either. Everyone just calls him that. They say he’s a war hero or something, but I have it on good authority he never rose above the rank of corporal.”

“It’s an honorary title,” Ian said, smiling at Joan gently. He stood and began carving thick slices from the brisket. Nell took a roll from one of the baskets and passed the basket to her right. “Now,” said Ian, by way of getting the dinner conversation started, “I must confess, I have never read Ms. McCarthy’s book. But I know my daughter enjoyed it very much. Has anyone else here read it?”

“I haven’t!” Joan proclaimed with a snort. She took two rolls from the basket Cally passed to her. “Books about ghosts and fairies and things. Nothing but a bunch of silly escapism, if you ask me, for people who can’t deal with reality.”

“I’ve read it at least six times!” Nell announced.

Bethany smiled indulgently at the quiet woman behind her curtain of auburn curls, and picked up the basket from in front of Joan to continue passing it around the table. “I’ve read it twice, myself,” she said. “I’m looking forward to reading more of your work someday, Ms. McCarthy.”

“Please, call me Cally,” Cally reminded her.

“Is your next book going to be about Vale House?” the Captain asked.

“Well, not exactly,” Cally tried to explain. She began to fear this might become the next Inevitable Question she would spend years deflecting. “I just hope to learn some interesting ghost stories here, and maybe get some ideas about creating haunted atmospheres, something I hope will give an authentic feel to a completely fictional story.”

“You can ask me anything,” the Captain said. “I have tons of stories.”

“I do, too,” said Nell. She snuck a quick glance at Cally between bites. Cally tried to smile at her before she looked away again, but missed the opportunity.

“I’d be happy to hear your stories,” Cally said. “Maybe we could make an appointment to chat sometime tomorrow?”

Foster answered for Nell. “I’m afraid not, Ms. McCarthy. Nell and I have some business we have to attend to in Blackthorn tomorrow. Perhaps another time.”

“Well, I have all day free tomorrow!” the Captain informed them happily. He swirled his brandy glass at Cally. “How about after lunch?”

His enthusiasm made Cally grin. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll make a note of it. Don’t let me forget.” She wondered if the old man himself would remember.

Bethany said, “I’ll put it in the appointment book and remind you.” She patted his blue-veined hand.

“And I can talk to you any time you want, after you get back,” Cally said to Nell.

“We’ll be gone until late afternoon,” Foster said, more to Nell than to Cally. Nell looked down and picked at her food; Cally was starting to feel bad for the painfully shy young woman.

Foster went on, explaining as he pushed up his glasses, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this town’s economy is crumbling. The few establishments still hanging on here barely get enough business to survive. And that doesn’t help my father-in-law’s business any, either, let me tell you. Since Ian retired from farming, this bed and breakfast business is his only significant source of incoming cash-flow. Now, I have a lot of ideas about how to turn this whole town into a thriving economy base again. And I’ll be talking to a venture capital specialist in Blackthorn this week about some of them.”

“I like this town the way it is,” said Nell.

“But it won’t survive if it doesn’t make any money,” Joan pointed out. “And that means neither will this house. I have some ideas of my own about how to turn it around,” she said to Foster.

“I am sure you do,” said Foster. His tone was conciliatory as he went on. “Joan and I actually have some ideas in common about how to turn Vale House into a going concern again. Though I’m not sure billing it as a Haunted Bed and Breakfast would actually be good for business.”

“No, as I said, I don’t plan to...” Cally tried to explain.

“There are at least six spirits in this house!” Nell declared. “And there are also...” She stopped as her husband gripped her forearm.

Joan curled a hand around her mouth and turned to Cally. “Don’t mind her,” she said in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “She’s what you call ‘a little touched.’ Foster has his hands full, taking care of that one.”

Nell sat up and shook back her curls to look squarely at Cally. “I have been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder and acute social anxiety,” she explained quite cheerfully. “I’m taking medicine for it. I’m doing very well.” She nodded. “The ghosts are just stories in my head. They aren’t real.”

“I don’t know about that! “ said the Captain. “The other day, I fell asleep in the parlor with the TV on, and when I woke up, it was turned off.”

Cally smiled patiently and tried to enjoy her meal, while the Captain, Nell, and Bethany fell to telling her all the same tales everyone always told, all the creepypasta anyone could find anywhere on the internet: stories about flickering lights, cold feelings in hallways, missing cufflinks and falling knickknacks. Doors opening and shutting. And, of course, the lady in the white dress who was believed, depending on the speaker, to be either one of Ian’s ancestors or someone who had died in one of several fires Vale House had endured over the years. This house had everything.

“Yes, yes,” Joan grumbled. “Shadowy figures and mysterious noises in the night and phantom footsteps. All these things probably have perfectly normal explanations. But that doesn’t mean we can’t take advantage of them to boost business.”

“Not everyone thinks ghosts are exciting,” Bethany pointed out, shaking her head. She told them how she often smelled smoke in the Hall, even though the fireplace there was rarely lit, and sometimes thought she saw a dark shape standing in front of the desk, which would disappear whenever she looked straight at it. “The shape, I mean, not the desk!” She laughed. “It used to really bother me. But I love my job and I love Vale House, and Ian is an old and dear friend of my family, so I just learned to shrug it off.” She demonstrated by shrugging and cleaning her plate with the remnants of her roll.

Cally thought that was a more unique story than most she had heard, and said “I would love to hear your story in more detail, Bethany, if that’s okay with you. Of course I would not use your name in anything I’d write about it.”

Bethany stood and put her napkin in her plate. “I wouldn’t mind helping you get inspired,” she said, “but right now it looks like everyone is ready for dessert!”

She started to walk toward the kitchen, but a knock came at the front door just then and she made a detour into the Hall to answer it. A minute later, she returned with Ben Dawes, the blue-eyed man Cally recognized from the news store. He stood in the dining room doorway and smiled quickly at Cally before turning and nodding to Ian May.

“Young Bennet!” Ian called delightedly. “Come, sit. You’re just in time for strawberry shortcake. Fresh strawberries from the garden! Ben, this is our honored guest, Callaghan McCarthy.”

“We’ve met,” he said, but he reached to take Cally’s hand anyway, and shook it warmly and perhaps for a little too long. The Captain filled a brandy glass and offered it to Ben.

“Thank you,” said Ben. “But I can’t stay. I just stopped by to give you a message, Ian, from Merv Arkwright. He says there’s a storm on the way. One of those big ones.” His voice seemed heavy with portent, much more so than Cally thought talk of the weather should normally warrant. “Should arrive sometime in the next couple of hours. He says if you need any help with it, to please feel free to call him.”

“There you are!” Joan said. She turned to Cally with genuine excitement in her face. “Now you’re in for a real supernatural experience.”

“Well, now, I think Ignacio and I have got it covered,” Ian said to Ben. “You’re welcome to come and watch it with us,” he added.

Joan explained to Cally, “Sitting on the front porch watching summer storms is a big tradition in this house.” She beamed at Ian with what Cally could almost swear was genuine affection. “It’s almost like a party.”

“It’s kind of you to invite me,” Ben was saying. “But I have things I’ll need to attend to tonight. Thanks, Ian. Evening, all. “ He bowed slightly, his gaze lingering on Cally as he backed out of the room. The Captain shrugged and drained the superfluous brandy glass.