Dreams of Fire (Maple Hill Chronicles Book 1) (30 page)

Before showering she put a can of cat food down and went around her house shutting windows against the Hudson Valley’s late August humidity. The Cape Cod’s internal brick and lathe and plaster construction held the coolness for much of the day in spite of the lack of central air conditioning.
 

After breakfast she called Kelly and Sarah and left messages inviting them to a housewarming party on Friday night. She dithered and delayed calling Ruari by phoning her Grandma Selene first.
 

“Oh, I’d love to come, dear!” She said with her slight British accent. “Tell me, are George and Anne still there?” Marianne recounted her confrontation with the ghosts, and Selene expressed great satisfaction with the expelling of George from the place. “Be sure you set up some barriers so he doesn’t return out of habit, dear,” she warned.

“Sarah mentioned that,” Marianne said unhappily. “Is that possible?”

“Sometimes,” Selene said ominously.

“She promised to help me do that.”

“Well, if she doesn’t get around to it, let me know and I’ll help you as best I can.”

“I had no idea that you knew anything about this kind of thing.” Marianne still felt a little stunned by the apparent wholehearted understanding of her grandmother. “But I’m really glad you do!”
 

They had always gotten along, but Grandma had never revealed this side of her nature. It was nice to have an experienced ally in the psychic department who also knew her very well. She suspected Sarah would eventually become a close friend but it would take her a long time to know Marianne as well as her grandmother did. Suddenly, she wondered if her mother knew of Grandma Selene’s talents. “Do you think I should tell Mom?”

“Mmm,” Selene made a dubious noise. “I think she is aware of my conversations with spirits but prefers not to dwell on it too much. It makes her uncomfortable. You can try, but you’ll have to choose your words and your timing.”

Marianne agreed to think about it.

Marianne called her mother next and invited her to the Friday party.

“I’ve been worried about you! Of course I’d love to see your new place,” she responded enthusiastically. “You’ll have to come and pick me up, though, since someone has borrowed my car…”

“Of course, Mom! Can I come by around three? The party starts at six, and it’ll take me about an hour round trip. Do you mind coming early to help set up? I’d love to have your help.”

“I’ll see you at three, then.”

Marianne told her briefly about her injuries but assured her she was healing. She deflected questions about what caused them, promising to tell her the whole story on the car ride. After she’d hung up, she quickly dialed Ruari’s number before she could chicken out.

“Marianne! How are you doing today?” He greeted her warmly, and she tingled pleasantly knowing she must be in his address book.

“I’m good—better than good really. Sarah and I were able to get my ghostly ‘housemates’ to move on yesterday, and I think they really did.”

“That’s great. How did you do that?” He sounded cautiously curious.

She grinned and teased, “I’ll tell you over coffee some time.”

“You’re on.” He sounded like he was smiling. “How does Friday after work sound?”
 

“Well, that’s the other reason I wanted to call you. I’m having a housewarming party on Friday evening and called to invite you. It’s a potluck. You can bring something to eat or drink, if you like.”

“Okay, I’ll be there! Maybe we can go for coffee on the weekend instead?”

“Sounds great, I look forward to it!”

Ruari closed his fist around his phone after she’d disconnected, feeling deeply happy. She was a little strange, but maybe that’s what he needed to shake up his own life. His ‘muse carving’ was nearly complete except for the finish, and he knew where it was supposed to go now. He returned to his punch list of repairs for the day where it lay on the passenger seat of the truck and felt his life moving forward slowly for the first time in a long time.

Marianne pressed the hang up button and smiled delightedly. She figured she’d talk to the Cavarelli’s in person and invite John Irving later that day since she planned to visit the cemetery anyway.

Retrieving the grubby little rabbit doll from her bedside table, she examined it carefully. The rough spun cotton fabric of the body had become a uniform gray-brown over time, and the brittle straw stuffing crunched under her fingers, trailing dust if she squeezed too hard. The rabbit’s face, two eyes, a nose and mouth, had been sewn on with faded thread or floss, giving the animal an oriental look. The gingham trousers with shoulder straps went over a little shirt that must have once been white and was now the gray of rock wool insulation. Marianne could imagine little Sam Jr. getting it for a birthday or Easter and carrying it around with him everywhere. No wonder big sister Anne grabbed it to get her little brother to play with her. Marianne sighed. Teasing seemed to be a universal trait across time and cultures.

Taking it into the kitchen, she turned on the tap and spot cleaned the rabbit gently with a damp sponge as best she could. After dabbing at the dust and grime she recovered a clearer view of the expression on the face and the faded gingham looked a little brighter. She was afraid if she washed any harder it might begin to disintegrate in her hands, so she stopped. Laying it in the drainer to dry, she went on to her next project.

Now that she was going to have guests on Friday she assessed what she could do to make the place more lived in, less moved in. The dining room, kitchen and living room walls were beyond her both in time and with the limitations of her hand injury. But, she realized if she could paint the built-in bookcases on either side of the fireplace, she’d also be able to empty many of the remaining boxes.
 

She spent a bit of time dusting and cleaning the shelves one-handed, balancing on the ladder carefully. She got out the bright white semi-gloss paint and began working on painting from the top down. The little radio kept her company and Oscar slept on the couch as she worked. By noon she’d finished one side. As she stepped back to appraise her work, she realized that she’d worked uninterrupted all morning, and the radio had not been marred by static once. Anne and George seemed to be truly gone.

The little rabbit was dry now, and after a quick lunch, she wrapped it carefully in a clean dishtowel, got her purse, and bid Oscar a farewell. He lifted his head sleepily from his nap on the cushion and opened his mouth in a soundless meow before closing his eyes again.

She passed through town and out to the Maple Hill Community Cemetery. The day was hot with a deep blue sky above deep green trees. The world felt alive and full of movement all around her and she smiled contentedly. She had a flash of realization that a couple of weeks ago she had been surrounded by the concrete towers and asphalt roads of the city with preoccupied people hurrying everywhere, and the sounds and smells of traffic, construction, people, and the subway permeating her senses. In a way, Geoffrey’s incomprehensible pursuit of her had forced her out of her old comfort zone and into this place. Being surrounded by greenery, blue sky, the sounds of birds, insects, and wind was an unexpected and wonderful tradeoff. In a strange way, she had to thank him.

The tan sedan “Flea” bumped over the uneven gravel and dirt road of the cemetery, and she pulled up to the little parking area near the old stone caretaker’s shed. She parked, leaving a little veil of dust to drift away on the breeze. The doors of the shed were partially open leaving the interior in deep, chilly shade.

“Hello, Mr. Irving?” She called uncertainly.

There was movement in the back by the workbench, though she couldn’t see clearly with her sun-mazed eyes.

“Mr. Irving? It’s me, Marianne? I was here last week…” She peered into the gloom and saw a figure in overalls with his back to her. He looked stouter and perhaps shorter than she remembered John Irving being.
 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m looking for Mr. Irving. Is he here today?”

The man half-turned, his face still in shadow and said,
He’s out in section five-c, up on the north side of the hill, trimming some branches and mowing.
His voice sounded a little odd in the confined space of the shed.

“Thank you. I don’t know if I’ll find him so would you please let him know I stopped by? My name is Marianne Singleton. Thanks.” The figure raised his hand in acknowledgement without looking up and continued his work at the bench.

Back in the bright sunshine, she made her way back down the hill toward the grove of old trees that shaded the early twentieth century gravestones. She thought with a smile that walking along the curving gravel and dirt road was like going down a broad highway with the clusters of markers like towns or villages of houses. The green between the rows of headstones was like quieter roads and streets in each community. She imagined herself driving back down the years toward the early 1900s to visit the people in the village where the Eddys now lived. The cut grass smelled rich and green and heavy in the thick summer air. John Irving maintained the place beautifully, she thought, and it must be a ton of work. She wondered if the man in the shed helped out.
 

She oriented herself by the trees she’d noted before and arrived in the shade of the weathered and stained stones of the Eddy’s “village.” There she walked carefully along the grass above where the family and their neighbors were resting, peering at each stone looking for the right “address.” She relocated Mr. and Mrs. Eddy and the tiny stone with “Samuel Eddy Jr.” inscribed on it. The little rabbit wrapped in the dishtowel rested lightly in her hands. The sound of a passing car on the road a few yards away was curiously muffled, perhaps by the trees and hedges. It added to the impression that this part of the cemetery was a long way away from the twenty-first century. Instead the air here was dappled and heavy with the heat of summer and the lazy buzz of insects. She cleared her throat.

“Excuse me,” she said aloud. “My name is Marianne Singleton. We don’t know each other, but I met your sister, Anne, and she told me about what happened when you were both little. I’m so sorry that happened to you, Sam. She felt really bad all her life about that fire and blamed herself. She also kept the little rabbit toy you had. She kept it all these years, and I think she wanted you to have it back.”

Marianne crouched down in front of the little stone and propped the rabbit up against it. “Anne was in my house until yesterday, and I think she really missed you. So, I hope she’s with you now.” She paused and then surprised herself by adding softly, “She became my friend, and I hope she’s happy now.”

She brushed her fingers over the weathered, streaked stone for a moment and then stood, clutching the folded dishtowel. She didn’t have a sense of reply but felt like she’d done the right thing. After a few moments, she walked slowly back down the green avenue between the stone “house” fronts and felt like she was returning to the twenty-first century. Back on the crushed gravel road, she shaded her eyes and looked up the hill. She did some orienting and headed toward what she thought was the north side of the cemetery. As she reached the top of the hill, she heard the sounds of branches being cut and hauled.
 

John Irving, dressed in a long sleeved workman’s plaid shirt and canvas pants and a big straw hat to protect him from the sun, stopped and looked at her. His golf cart with a small flatbed behind it was stacked with neatly cut branches.

“Hello!” She called as she approached.

His weathered face split in a broad smile, covered by a truly stellar snowy white mustache. Marianne smiled in return.

“You came back!” His unexpectedly deep voice said in a tone of welcome surprise, the loppers in his hands pausing in their work.

“Yes, I had to see someone.”

“Oh?”

She explained her errand, and he nodded in understanding. Suddenly recalling the cemetery her father was buried in, she said in concern, “Toys and things aren’t usually allowed to stay with headstones are they? Is there any way you can let the little rabbit stay with Samuel Jr.?”

He pushed the straw hat back up on his head a little and wiped away some sweat with a red bandana while he considered. “Well, I reckon that’s a bit of a special case. It can stay a while,” he assured her. “I think little Samuel will be right glad to have it back. He may or may not need to have it a long time, though. Don’t worry, I’ll let him tell me when it’s time to move it.”

“Thanks,” she said in relief. The strangeness of the conversation would have struck her more forcefully a month ago. Now, it didn’t seem so unusual at all.

“How did you find me?” He asked as he got a drink of water from a mason jar on the front seat.

“The fellow in the shed said you were up here. He named a section, but I don’t have the layout memorized, so I just walked till I saw you working.”

John gave her a frown. “Fellow in the shed? What did he look like?”

Marianne frowned and said, “I’m not sure. He seemed to be a little heavier than you and was wearing overalls. I didn’t get a good look at his face. He was working on something at the bench.”

John nodded as he replaced the lid. “That must’ve been Jesse Carleton. He was caretaker here before me. Sometimes he turns up to help with things. I’ll have to be sure to thank him for telling you where I was.”

“Oh, before I forget. I’m having a housewarming party on Friday night with some friends, and I wanted to invite you to come. It’s a potluck, and I’ll provide chicken and some basic drinks. Kelly and Sarah will be there, so you’ll know someone else besides me. Jesse Carleton is welcome to come, too,” she added generously.

John shifted the straw hat on his head, scratching his forehead, and smiled. “Well, thank you for the invitation. I’ll have to see. It’s nice of you to include Jesse, but I don’t think he’ll come. He sticks around here mostly, if you know what I mean.”

Marianne had the feeling she was missing something important but didn’t know what. She shook her head slightly and said, “Well, if he changes his mind, he’s welcome.”