Affairs of the Heart (8 page)

I hung up the last of my
clothes and waited for the ship to quiet down for the night before
starting my investigation. The rest of my team wasn’t expected to
arrive for another twenty-four hours. I’d delayed their trip not
wanting the legend of the haunts to override the reality of their
causes. Plus, it gave me a chance to do some digging into the
ship’s history, and my great-grandfather’s role aboard ship during
war time.

Glancing at my watch, I
was surprised by the late hour. The lobby piano had been silent for
some time, but obviously I’d been lost in my own thoughts to take
notice. Now, if the rest of the ship was the same I’ll be able to
start investigating without the interruption of the overnight
guests. One of the reports was a woman heard the laughter of
children coming from the display of the First Class Playroom while
on one of the guided tours. Another was the sound of shuffling feet
in the Isolation Ward, followed by screaming. The Isolation Ward
was one of the exhibits in its original location; so many others
had been moved and relocated to the exhibit halls.

I gathered up my camera
equipment, headed out the stateroom door into the hallway. With a
black bag containing video equipment slung over my shoulder and my
great-grandfather’s locket in a pocket, I headed for the Promenade
Deck.

I strolled through the
lobby then down the portside hall. The weight of my 35mm camera
slung over a shoulder, I turned the voice activated digital
recorder on then spoke into it.

“
Cole
Masterson, portside hall, A Deck, Queen Mary, approximately 1:30
am.” I continued down the never-ending corridor, passing doors
closed tightly for the night. Other than an occasionally late night
television show penetrating the silence, all was peaceful…and a bit
eerie even for me. I made sure my footsteps fell light so as not to
disturb any of the other hotel guests. Not that I have a heavy
step, I don’t, I just wanted to be sure everyone stayed where they
were and out of my hair. For some reason, I have a knack of
attracting people inquisitive about ghost hunting techniques. I’m
only too happy people want to know, but their questions always came
in the middle of an investigation.

I reached the end of the
hall and stood at the stern. Again I brought the handheld close to
my mouth. “I’ve completed the walk down the hall between the
outside staterooms and the inside rooms from bow to stern. Nothing
appears out of the ordinary.” I spoke clearly, then stepped into a
small elevator and pushed the button for the Promenade Deck. The
shops are closed at this time of night so no one should be
wandering about, but I have an overwhelming feeling to get out into
some fresh air as if being crowded. The unusual need to smell the
brisk ocean air and watch its inky blackness stretch further into
the night past the Long Beach port of call for Carnival cruise
ships is overwhelming.

My blood rushed through
my veins like liquid silver as the small compartment takes me
slowly up two deck levels. Sucking in a breath to calm my nerves,
confusion began to cloud my mind as my head swam.

Why would a
simple elevator ride unnerve me like this? This is so not
professional but I can’t deny it. Damn, all I want is a breath of
fresh air and to check out a good place to settle in for an hour or
so. Just me and the ship—that’s all I want.

The doors slid open, and
I surged forward trying to get away from whatever bad vibes were
haunting me and jerked to a halt brought up short by a slight, but
noticeable, tug on my camera strap. What the hell? It was as if it
was caught on a hinge but looking back I see that that’s not so.
I’m completely alone and unfettered. Damn it all this is weird even
for me. On that thought I literally charged out of the elevator as
a shiver ran through me. Standing and trembling outside the Royal
Salon, looking around I glanced over my shoulder hoping to catch a
glimpse of whatever, or whoever, wanted my attention but came up
empty. Oh well.

I’m well used to this
kind of thing happening on an investigation until I get settled
into the rhythm of the site, which was why I always went in a few
days earlier than the crew. I’m continuously jittery and on edge at
first—I keep telling myself it is the rush of the hunt. Maybe one
day I’ll actually believe it. Tonight was not the night though;
this feeling was totally different, this was feeling personal.
Hanna’s ghost?

I’m here to get to the
bottom of my great-grandfather’s journal and the locket that had
been found among his World War II belongings packed away in the
attic. Granny had said that old chest held secrets of a war well
left dead and buried as far as she was concerned. She’d hated the
pain reflected in her father’s eyes each time he’d gone to the
attic and tore through the chest. She’d always found him slumped
against it with his war journal spread out in front of him, an
opened tarnished locket in his hand, and tears streaming down his
face mumbling something about the war and The Gray Ghost and
someone named, Hanna. Granny always presumed it was the young woman
in the locket, but no one knew for sure—not even
great-grandmother.

Faint sounds
of voices and music jumble me out of these memories as I stepped
from the glitz of what was once the first class area onto the
deck.
There must be a late
night party going on in the ship docked at the Carnival port, but
why would they be playing Big Band music unless it’s a themed
cruise.
I listened a bit
closer but the musical notes dissipated, so I stepped out onto the
deck.

The lights cast a yellow
glow onto the polished planks and lit my way as I rounded the
corner from port to starboard side. Pausing at the stern, I looked
out into the bay and tried to imagine what it may have been like
for my great-grandfather during those days of war…but
can’t.

* * * *

He’s come for
you at last, Hanna. Bill, my Bill. Here aboard the ship?
Reluctantly, Hanna Amery keeps her
distance from him, fading into the background, yet wanting so badly
to touch the man she had given her heart to. Admittedly, he looked
a bit different now, his ebony skin now a light milk chocolate, his
once thin body more muscular but she could feel Bill’s spirit
inside him. She aches to reach out and let him know she was there
waiting for him like she’d promised. From the moment he’d walked
out onto the deck heading toward the Isolation Ward she’d felt his
presence. His spirit felt as strong today as it was seventy years
ago when they first met, and it called to her bringing her back to
the present.

The man she loved, here
aboard ship in the spot where they’d declared their forbidden love.
She, from a white family and he an African American man. The spot
where they’d said their true love vows to God and their shipmates.
It shouldn’t be possible yet here he was. Didn’t the captain tell
him she’d died from influenza trying to heal the sick and wounded
on that final trip during the war?

She’d thought for sure
he’d feel her near him as he stepped onto the deck but he walked
right by her and her heart broke. Still, she couldn’t help noting
that he was alone, no wife in tow at all and it gave her hope. Her
mind spun in a thousand different directions!

Why oh why
doesn’t he know I’m here waiting for him?

Hanna continued to watch
him, close enough to touch him but not daring to. If only he’d turn
around and really see her things would be alright. When he finally
stopped staring out into the bay her heart leapt. Had he felt her?
Then he looked right at her and she smiled rejoicing but he seemed
to look through her. Oh no. He headed down into the Isolation Ward.
Hanna was a ghost. He would never see her. She had to accept
that.

Cole Masterson takes a
ghost hunting gig aboard the
Queen
Mary
to find out why pictures of his
great-grandfather and Hanna Amery are in an old locket.

Hanna Amery finds the love
she left behind on
The Grey Ghost
housed in the body of Cole Masterson, she just
needs to figure out how to get to him.

What happens when they find each other on
opposite planes of the Universe?

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review!

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The Queen
© 2013 by Maxine Douglas

MuseItUp Publishing

14878 James, Pierrefonds, Quebec, Canada, H9H
1P5

NASHVILLE RISING STAR

Contemporary Novella by Maxine Douglas

Born into the Nashville music scene, things
hadn’t come easily for the youngest son of Will Sheridan and
younger brother to James Sheridan. For most of his life, Utah
Sheridan had lived in and chafed under the shadow of his famous
father. He played in his father’s band instead of his own. He grew
up in the public eye and in what some considered social advantages,
never knowing whether people liked him for himself, to get closer
to his father, or for his own healthy bank account.

In the next few minutes, he’d step out of his
father’s shadows and perform his original song on the stage of the
Ryman Auditorium during the live taping of Rising Star. It was the
first crucial step into becoming his own man. This competition was
what Utah needed to free him of being “Will’s boy,” and he was not
going to let anyone stop him. All he had to do was continue
performing at the top of his game until Rising Star was complete
and the votes were tallied. In less than two weeks, he’d know
whether he was good enough. Correction. If the
voters
thought him good enough. For once, his
father had nothing to do with the outcome. It felt good.

A hush like the quiet before the storm fell
upon the Ryman. Lights dimmed until darkness veiled the audience.
Guitar slung over his shoulder, Utah tried to ignore the shudder
that swept through his six-foot-three-inch frame as his destiny
opened up before him.

“
Ladies and gentlemen, here to
sing his original song ‘Snowy Firelight,’ please give a warm
welcome to Nashville’s own…Utah Sheridan!”

The dark, heavy curtain rose from the shadows.
As hot, bright lights illuminated the legendary stage, he felt like
he’d come home. Even so, nervous anticipation rocketed through
Utah’s body, followed by a swell of a cold sweat. Applause
thundered through the packed auditorium.

He drew in a deep breath before stepping
forward onto the stage.

Utah took his place with practiced confidence
pushing back his nerves and strummed the first chords of his newest
song. This was the real him, his heart and soul bared for all to
see. He’d never been this edgy performing in front of an audience.
He’d been born into this business. There was no reason for him to
be jumpy as a bull frog.

Standing on the Ryman stage with a television
audience holding his future in their dialing fingers for the sixth
week didn’t mean he had to feel like some kid on his first date.
But that was exactly how he’d felt since the beginning of this
competition.

The first verse barely came through the
microphone. If he could hardly hear himself singing, did that mean
the audience couldn’t hear him either?