Our Red Hot Romance Is Leaving Me Blue (27 page)

Debbie Sue ignored her questions. She had questions of her own. “Why are you here, Pearl Ann? Why?”

“We’re trying to talk to Justin’s wife,” Edwina said.

“I know Rachel. Sweet little thing. I convinced her to let me go first. You don’t think I’d miss a party, do you?”

“Well, you always did love to party,” Edwina said, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Bet your sweet ass, I did, Four-eyes.” Sophia raised her arms and stretched. “Damn, it feels good to stretch. That’s one of the bad things about having no body and living in a coffin. You can’t imagine how much you miss stretching.”

“Among other things,” Debbie Sue whispered to Edwina.

“Say, do you ever see…” Edwina started to say, but suddenly Sophia sat back down and her shoulders sagged. Everyone watched in anticipation.

Sitting straight again, Sophia slipped the bracelets from her wrist and drew a deep breath. “We want to speak to the spirit known as Rachel. Rachel, are you there? It’s time for you to appear, Rachel.”

Without another word Sophia looked down at the T-shirt she was wearing and pulled it over her head, then patted her hair into place. She folded the T-shirt neatly and returned it to the table. Turning her gaze to Justin, she smiled sweetly, “Hi, Marathon Man.”

Justin didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry, grab her to his chest or push her away. It was Rachel, then again it wasn’t. A tear rolled down her cheek and he fought to maintain control.

“I’ve missed you, baby,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry I had to leave you the way I did.”

There was something in the inflection of her words, and the way she touched her hair that was purely Rachel. Having her sitting across from him was incredible, and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. He wanted to say so much. He knew she could disappear as quickly as she had arrived and he was sitting here fighting back tears like a fool. “Your leaving was my fault. I can never express how sorry I am. I’ve relived the whole thing a thousand times, trying to understand how it happened. And why.” Against his strongest defenses the tears escaped his eyes. “If I could change places with you I would. Can you forgive me, Rach? Can you ever forgive me?”

Justin lowered his eyes and waited for her answer. He felt her hand smooth the back of his head and rest on his neck. “What happened to me was meant to be, Justin. It was no one’s fault. There are plans for our lives before we’re even born, and none of us has control over that.

“I’ve—I’ve always heard that, but…”

“It’s true. I don’t blame you at all.”

His voice broke. “You don’t?”

“No, Justin. I’ve never blamed you. I love you and I always will. I only came back to tell you to forgive yourself and move on with your life.”

“Move on?”

“Find someone and make a good life for her and yourself, the same life you gave me. Accept that I’m happy. Truly happy. I don’t want you to worry about me, and please don’t feel guilty.”

Justin’s felt his face heat up. “I…I made you happy?”

She stroked the side of his face and leaned toward him. “Oh, yes,” she said softly. “All women deserve to be as happy on earth as I was.”

Leaning closer, they exchanged a kiss, then stared intently into each other’s eyes. After a few minutes, she said, “Sweetheart, I have to go now.”

“Nooo, Rachel. Will you be back?”

“I cannot come back. I only came this time to help you. Have I? Have I helped?”

“Rach, honey, please don’t go yet. There’s more I want to say. I’ve been so lonely…”

“But you don’t have to be. Open your mind to the opportunities that are around you. Move on, Justin, and if you truly love me…”

“Yes?” He asked when she paused.

“You’ll have a good life.”

“Rachel. Rachel?” he said, putting his hands on Sophia’s shoulders and turning her to him.

She looked at him intently for several seconds. “Did she appear, Justin? Did Rachel appear?”

Sniffling noises were coming from Debbie Sue. Edwina touched the inside corner of one eye with her fingertip.

Justin got to his feet, gasping and declaring, “I need air. Oh, God.” He made an exit through the front door. Soon the rhythmical squeak of the rocking chair floated from the front porch.

Sophia started after him, but Debbie Sue stopped her. “Let him go, Sophia. He needs to be alone for a minute. Here,” she said, going for her purse and pulling the camera free. “I filmed the whole thing. Let me show you.”

Sophia sat and watched the film several times. Finally she lowered the camera to her lap and looked at the two women. “What can I do? What can I say? Shouldn’t I go to him?” Looking past them toward the ceiling, she called out, “Gran Bella, please tell me what I should do.”

“Gran Bella’s here too?” Edwina whispered in Debbie Sue’s ear. “Who the hell’s Gran Bella? Damn, this place is getting too crowded for me.”

“Shut up, Ed.” Debbie Sue turned to Sophia. “As it stands
right now, you know Justin better than anyone in this room. Go to him.”

“But you said he needed to be alone,” Sophia replied.

“He needed a couple of minutes, but Sophia, he’s been alone for a year. What he needs the most is someone who cares about him.”

“Someone warm, with real flesh and blood,” Edwina added.

Sophia smoothed her hair and clothing. “Wish me luck.”

“You know you’ve got it,” Debbie Sue said.

As Sophia left the room, Debbie Sue said no more. Edwina played with the bracelets that lay discarded on the table. Debbie Sue picked up one of the candles and drained the molten wax into its saucer.

“Can you believe Pearl Ann was here?” Debbie Sue finally asked.

Edwina shook her head. “Of all people. You might know she’d be first in line to come back.”

Sophia eased the door closed behind her and stood in silence, studying Justin’s profile. “Do you want to be alone?”

He looked up. “No. Please. Please join me, Sophia. I had to let my head clear a little. That was intense.” He sighed. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “Feeling a little drained is all. I don’t have any memory of what just happened.”

“Thank you for coming here, Sophia. Thank you for helping me talk to Rachel one last time. I needed to know
she’s forgiven me. I don’t…I don’t know how you thank someone for that.”

“My powers are pointless if I don’t use them to help others.” She sat down in the rocking chair beside him.

“You’ve done more than just help me. You’ve made me laugh again. You’ve made me feel alive again. I’m one of the deceased people you’ve brought back to life.”

Sophia looked directly at him.

“Sophia, I don’t want to lose two wonderful women in the same night,” he said. “Maybe something could become of…of
us
. Would you be willing to give that a chance?”

A sob escaped her throat and her hand flew to her mouth, Justin reached up and took her hand away. “It just occurred to me that I’ve kissed your lips twice, but I’ve never kissed
you
.”

Smiling slowly, Sophia wrapped her arm around his neck. “There’s not a ghost of a chance I’d try to stop you.”

D
ebbie Sue, in her eagerness to show the film of the séance to Buddy, accidentally recorded over it and instead of viewing the séance, Buddy saw fifteen minutes of Edwina painting her toenails.

Debbie Sue and Edwina made a pact to never mention to anyone in Salt Lick that Pearl Ann had been seen again. Many women in Salt Lick doubted she had ever died in the first place. Anyway, that’s what they had been telling themselves when their husbands didn’t come home at night.

Lone Star Oil and Gas Company made a deal with Justin, and he signed an agreement that meant substantial money would be coming his way for the rest of his life. He continued working as a firefighter and contributed heavily to Mothers Against Drunk Driving.

John Patrick remained in a coma, unresponsive for sixty-three days. When he awoke, he had undergone a 180-degree change in personality and had no memory of what had happened to him. He ceased drinking and philandering. He became a friend to all, volunteered in the church and operated a birthday-party entertainment service for children, dressing as a clown and appearing with a miniature pony. Everyone who knew him or had ever dealt with him was stunned.

Unfortunately, Felicia, who had never been treated better by anyone in her life than the reformed John Patrick, became increasingly bored with her husband’s new personality. She missed his bad-boy antics and divorced him for a man who wore a gun for a living, Brad Pitt, from Odessa.

Sophia and Justin continued seeing each other for several months before they concluded they wanted to be together forever.

When the new school year began in the fall, Odessa had a new teacher in their system. The middle school’s fifth-grade students were constantly astounded that she seemed to see right through them, never buying their excuses for lost assignments or for missing school because of “illness.” She even had the uncanny ability to know what was in the notes passed in class without reading them.

As for John Patrick’s dream of owning and operating a Billy Bob’s clone, the banker he approached for loans thought it was such a good plan, he stole the idea for himself and built the biggest honky-tonk in West Texas. It became a huge success.

FROM

DIXIE

CASH

AND

AVON A

Real ghosts thrive in Texas. Dixie Cash has a friend who has researched Texas ghosts extensively and written several books of true Texas ghost stories. Here are some real events from Olyve Hallmark Abbott. If you’re a ghost hunter, you might want to travel to Texas and look for these ghosts.

The Glow Stone

The night is darker than usual. The moon has slipped behind the clouds. A faint light comes from a small bulb on a cattle barn on a faraway hilltop. That is the setting for the glowing tombstone of Veal Station Cemetery near Springtown, Texas.

The first white settlers founded Veal Station in the early 1850s on horseback, and I had trouble finding it in a car, with directions. For some reason, I hesitated to go at night, alone, in the dark. Did I say by myself?

The local newspaper editor directed me to a cordial gentleman named Steve, who gladly agreed to go with me. Not to hold my hand—just for protection in case I needed it. I had visited dozens of haunted cemeteries before, but this eerie glow thing intrigued me.

Dusk finally turned to dark, and we arrived at the cemetery. We parked the car facing west, close to the big gate, but we found it locked. (I never saw a gate I couldn’t squeeze through or a fence I couldn’t crawl under.) We could see the luminous stone from the car, all the way across one hundred yards to the back fence. That might not be a bad idea—not leaving the car, I mean.
But after all, we were here for a reason,
and
the pedestrian gate stood ajar.

Steve assured me he had seen the stone glow in all types of weather, even rainy. On this clear, quiet night, not a field mouse squeaked as we continued our walk. We lost sight of it for a moment or two, but on cue, brightness appeared from the far end of the graveyard.

“There!” I said. “There it is.” I shivered.

We scarcely needed our flashlights. Strangely, when we approached, still several yards away, the luster disappeared. We moved back, careful not to step in a gopher hole, and the marker again served as our illumination—bright as ever.

Similar markers stood in the same family plot, but they were dark. Of course, a few decades separated the burials, and they were not from the same granite slab. It is generally accepted that if there is no scientific explanation for a phenomenon, something paranormal is at work.

Before we left, I asked Steve about the rumored apparition of a woman who roamed throughout the graveyard as if looking for something, or someone. He said, “No, I haven’t seen her. I believe that’s what it is, just a rumor.”

I tend to agree. We’ll put that one to rest. We saw what we came for, embedded the visual in our minds and climbed back into the car, suggesting aloud that any spirits not come with us.

We discussed if minerals in the granite caused the glow. This tombstone may forever be a conundrum.

But wait, there’s more. A couple years after my book on haunted cemeteries came out, a reporter from our city’s newspaper called me. He asked if I’d give him specific instructions on how to get to Veal Station. He wanted to write an article about the phenomenon. I told him and asked if he’d like me to go with him.

“No, but thanks. I can find it.”

He called again the following day. “I found the cemetery but couldn’t see anything glowing.” He thought he misunderstood the directions.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I must’ve missed a turn.”

The phone rang the next afternoon. “Olyve, would you mind going with me?”

Good idea. I wanted to go all along.

The problem was, from the time I wrote the book and when the reporter couldn’t see the stone like I said he could from the front gate, tree limbs must have grown and obstructed the view. I thought I saw something shining. Maybe a frog’s eyes…or a snake’s.

But after passing the tree, we saw the stone. Again, when we came closer, the glow ceased. We backed away, and then repeated the movements. Same thing.

Now I wish I could take credit for this suggestion, but I can’t. My reporter friend said, “What would happen if we got down really low and walked toward the marker?”

“You mean walk like a duck?”

I admit I wondered how he arrived at that idea. So we gave it the ol’ knee bends and waddled all the way to the tombstone. The glow did not stop until we got there!

For whatever we learned, it was
interesting
—a generic term which should have been more scientific. Could the little 100-watt bulb actually have caused the glow after all? The thing is, only the rough sides glow, and one side faces away from the light—it couldn’t have reflected on it.

The reporter shot a great picture, an un-retouched glowing tombstone. We headed back home, and he left to write his story. I went to sleep that night, laughing to myself. I had actually walked like a duck.

I also wondered about light being a form of energy.
Incandescence
from heat.
Luminescence
from cold.

Ghostly light?
Reflect on that.

A Different Drummer

Why is a hotel haunted? For centuries, the belief is that a tragedy either happened there, the structure stood over a cemetery, or the hostelry simply appealed to the ghost as a comfortable place to hang his…his…well, it looked comfortable.

Occasionally, someone lived and died in a place and never wanted to leave. That may be the case with this lovely, two-story, white-frame hotel in Central Texas.

After the town of Calvert settled, it soon bustled with saloons, “pleasure houses,” gambling halls, and businessmen with minds aimed toward the future…and pleasure houses. The town expanded, but in the 1870s, a yellow fever epidemic broke out, killing three hundred and striking down two thousand other residents. The situation looked grim.

A German named Gottlieb Dirr and his family found their way to Calvert. Gottlieb worked in the coal mines until a surprise flood occurred, forcing the mines to close. He used his baking talents and opened a bakery and grocery business. It flourished, and Dirr built the hotel as a five-room cottage in 1872 for his family of five children.

After Gottlieb’s death in 1898, his widow, Hannah, showed she had a business mind of her own. She added a second story onto their house. With a few additional modifications, she was all set to open the “Cottage Hotel.” Hannah knew of extra perks for her clientele. She designated a special room for “drummers,” the traveling salesmen of today.

They realized right away that the hotel offered them selling opportunities. After the drummers visited the town’s businesses,
they returned to the “Drummers’ Room,” where they displayed their merchandise and wrote orders.

Fast forward to the twentieth century when a fire destroyed most of the business district. And further, into the 1980s, two brothers whom I’ll call James and Fred, purchased the hotel and changed the name to the Calvert Hotel Bed and Breakfast. They shipped their own antiques from the northwest coast and created a lavish hostelry.

When I visited the Calvert, everywhere I turned I saw glorious antique furniture and accessories—a charming place in a small Texas town. From the time I researched Calvert’s recent history, I knew dinner guests made reservations far in advance for Fred’s delectable full-course meals and wines of their choice. They dined on white linen tablecloths, with flowers and candles. People drove for miles around for such dinner parties.

The brothers soon became aware of unusual occurrences—hearing voices with no one there and footsteps after they had retired for the night. There was something about the hotel that attracted the “other world.” They told me of several incidents they had experienced.

I contacted author Trana Mae Simmons, whose Aunt Belle lived in Calvert. They shared their own experiences at the hotel. Both women are sensitive to the paranormal, so perhaps it’s hereditary. On an occasion in 2004, Trana, her husband, and Belle visited the hotel, armed with cameras. Two other friends arrived soon after.

It could have been only a temporary chill, but no, Trana sensed a definite presence next to her on the settee. Belle, sitting across from her, could see the image of a small woman holding a feather duster and dressed in dated clothing. She obviously wanted to clean the room and preferred the ladies to leave. They all decided to make a hasty exit. Belle later identified the woman from a photo, as Mrs. Dirr.

They decided then to look through the rest of the hotel and take more photographs. On the way down the hall, Trana envi
sioned a white dog racing past, brushing against her as it ran. James told me that a white ghost dog has indeed made appearances both inside and outside the hotel. It’s a small dog and will turn in a circle before running off. It might be he wanted someone to follow him. But where?

Later that same evening, when they returned for one of Fred’s famous dinners, they arrived for a meeting in the former Drummers’ Room. Within a few minutes, Trana sensed a female presence rushing out of the room, mumbling, “Too many men, too many men!”

After dinner, she told James of the incident. He didn’t even have to think when Trana told him what had happened. He immediately said she had to be a woman named Leona. His explanation was that in life, Leona had married one of the Dirr men. They divorced, and she received the hotel in the settlement.

Later, male family members took her to court to regain the hotel.

They lost, but the result caused Leona to lose her liking for men there and then. Whether or not men were in the room, if Leona saw them…well, they were there to her. A ghost can see anything he or she wants to.

I don’t know if Hannah and Leona ever run into each other on their visits to the hotel. I believe they would, but my thought is, it belongs to Hannah.

After a tour of historical Calvert homes, Belle and Trana probably expected other incidents to occur at the hotel. They retired for the evening and sometime after midnight, they heard men’s vigorous voices. The following morning, James said he, too, had heard voices, but when he checked into it, he saw no one.

He could see light beneath the closed door to the Drummers’ Room.

When he opened the door (with caution, of course), a phantasmagoria of small bright lights flew around, as if coming right at him, and then circled back. He watched them in amazement for several seconds before they vanished.

Since ghosts are not limited only to former humans in this
town, James and Fred, on more than one occasion, have seen that little white dog trotting in front of the hotel, then across the railroad tracks. While he should have still been in sight, he vanished. Other people in town told them the previous owner had a white dog, just like the brothers and their guests had observed. The truth is, it died years before.

A few months later, after selling the furnishings at auction, they sold the hotel and moved away. It never occurred to me the reason might have been because of the guests who never checked out.

The Calvert Hotel is now a private residence, so we can no longer experience the paranormal for ourselves.

If you visit this quaint Victorian town of antique shops, you might catch a glimpse of a little white ghost dog by the railroad tracks.

I hear he trots to a different drummer….

“Here’s to Your Ghost”

The intoxicating liquid of many colors existed five thousand years ago in Babylon, China, Mesopotamia…. An ancient Egyptian tombstone bears the inscription, “…satisfy his spirit with beef and fowl, bread and beer.” In taverns across Egypt, the favorite toast was, “Here’s to your ghost.”

According to the history of the Magnolia Brewery Building in Houston, in 1892, Hugh Hamilton founded the Houston Ice and Brewing Company, also known as Magnolia Brewery. Architect Eugene Heiner designed and built the four-story structure, which he completed in 1893. In less than two years, they brewed more than 60,000 barrels of beer annually. The one building expanded into more than ten by 1915, dispensing close to 250,000 barrels. The beer flowed like…well, beer.

Hugh Hamilton died long before witnessing the demise of his
company in 1950, which began with Prohibition, major floods, the Crash—all contributing to economic stress. Buildings washed away, or fortunate owners found buyers.

Eminent architect, designer, and developer Bart Truxillo bought the remaining two buildings in 1968 and restored the declining property. The history of the company shows the Magnolia Brewery Building survived, thanks to Mr. Truxillo. It is a registered Texas Historic Landmark and is listed in the National Register of Historic Places.

In 1978, beer found its way back from a long absence to the Brewery Tap. This was long after people cooled beer in cellars with ice brought from ponds, the same way they did vegetables to keep them fresh through winter.

The Brewery Tap, the popular bar that occupies the lower portion of the building, has an old-world atmosphere with large tables and an ambiance, which makes customers—many regulars—right at home. There may be others who also feel at home. We just can’t see them.

It seems one specific ghost craves attention or at least wants his presence known. Lana Berkowitz, staff writer for the
Houston Chronicle
, wrote about the spirit as interacting with Kathy, the bartender, by playing “Kathy’s Waltz” on the jukebox. He also teases by moving things from place to place.

Picture this: The bartender places your choice of ice-old tap beer on the bar. She smiles. You nod thanks. You pick up the glass and head for the dartboard with a friend. But something happens on the way to the back wall. A cold brush of air sweeps against your cheek.

“What was that?”

The bartender smiles again. “Not ‘that,’ it’s who. We call him William.”

The story is, there is at least one revenant resident in the Brewery Tap. The bartender had decided he really needed a name, and she thought he responded to William better than any other. Not Bill, it had to be William.

The building is the second oldest in Houston. The upper floor is The Brewery Ballroom, a formal hall, ideal for weddings, receptions, dinners—a myriad of celebrations. Who is to say an occasional spirit doesn’t join the high-spirited affairs?