Haunted Ground (14 page)

Stephen Aldrich helped his children into the wagon and waved a last goodbye to Rowan.  She waved back, but her gaze seemed to focus somewhere just behind his head, her shoulders hunched as she wrapped her shawl tighter around herself against the early evening chill.  Rowan usually waited until they were well on their way before going back inside, but today she spun on her heel and disappeared through the low doorway before the wagon even left the confines of the yard.  Stephen had been looking forward to seeing her all week, but something seemed different today, something he couldn’t put his finger on.  Caleb mentioned that Rowan had been helping Reverend Pole with some housekeeping since the old man could barely manage for himself these days, but Stephen saw no reason why that would so alter his future bride. 

It wasn’t that anything was outwardly different in Rowan’s actions.  She set the table and served him as she always had before taking care of the children, but she barely looked at him, and when she had, it wasn’t a look of tenderness, but one of apprehension.  Had he done something to offend her?  When could he have?  They hadn’t seen each other since last Sunday, and everything seemed right as rain then.  He hoped she wasn’t having second thoughts about marrying him.  He’d only asked her a month ago, so it was possible that she still wasn’t sure.  Perhaps it’d been too soon, but few men waited more than a few months after their bereavement before casting a net for a new bride.  They didn’t have the luxury of mourning, not when there was a house to run and children to be minded.  At least Stephen’s children were old enough to fend for themselves, but there were many in the village who were left with babes, and had to marry as soon as possible to provide their children with a caretaker while they were out working to put food on the table.

There were those in the village, he knew, who thought him a fool for courting Rowan.  They believed her to be soft in the head, and not fit to be the wife of any man, but Stephen thought differently.  Rowan was beautiful, kind, and smart.  He’d felt awfully sorry for her when she first showed up a few years ago, frightened and silent, and hoped that in time she would recover, but it was not to be.  He didn’t mind the silence though.  His first wife, Agnes, talked nonstop, always complaining or berating him for something he had or hadn’t done.  He’d loved her when they first married, but as the years wore on, he often wished that she would just leave him be.  The pregnancy had been a surprise; he thought they were past all that, and was more than happy with the two children that they already had. 

Agnes had been even more difficult during the final months, but Stephen did everything in his power to keep her happy and comfortable.  She wasn’t a young woman anymore, and her condition was taking a toll, making her tired and cranky.  She couldn’t stand for long periods of time and her ankles and feet swelled to twice their normal size, forcing her to go barefoot on the cold earthen floor of their house in the dead of winter.  Poor Agnes was constantly shivering with cold, no matter how much wood she threw on the fire to drive out the chill.  Her back ached incessantly and it took her hours to finally settle down and go to sleep, her tossing and turning keeping Stephen awake when his body was exhausted from the day’s work and begging for a well-deserved rest.

The babe was very late, according to the midwife, and kept growing inside the womb, getting larger by the day. 
By the time the pains finally came, Stephen prayed for them both, but it did no good.  The child was too big, and after four days of labor, both Agnes and the babe were called to the Lord.  In a way, it was a blessing that the child was never actually born, as it wouldn’t be buried in hallowed ground without the sacrament of baptism; instead relegated to a quiet corner of the yard where dogs would come sniffing at the grave or hogs would root for acorns.  Agnes was buried in the cemetery by the church, the fully-formed baby still inside her
—
together in life and death.  Stephen took Lizzie and Tim to visit their mother’s grave every Sunday after church.  Agnes had been a good and loving mother to them, and deserved their sorrow and respect.  But after they paid their respects, Stephen took them to Caleb’s house for Sunday dinner.  It would do them good to get used to Rowan and her ways before they married, so the adjustment would be an easier one. 

Stephen tried not to think of what married life with Rowan would be like.  It wasn’t proper to think of her in that way, but sometimes late at night, he pictured her warm, naked body beneath his and he nearly burst with longing, wishing the spring would come soon and he could finally make Rowan his.  He’d give her a child if she wanted one, but he’d asked the midwife for ways to avoid pregnancy, and he would do it if he could, to keep her safe; to keep her alive.

Jasper hurled a chicken leg into the fire and watched with satisfaction as it sent a shower of sparks into the chimney, the fire burning brighter for just a moment before resuming its merry crackle.  He hadn’t bothered to light the candles, and the shifting shadows cast by the flames were the only light in the room, the gloom a fine reflection of his mood.  It’d been over a two weeks since his accursed brother had come back, and everything had gone awry from the moment he set foot on the estate.  Even Meg had changed toward him, her once affectionate gaze chastising him and judging him every time she walked into the room.  She’d become a right venomous shrew, she had, especially since the death of their father, her eyes always full of accusation and scorn. 

He’d told Brendan the truth; Wilfred Carr had died of apoplexy, but he hadn’t quite signed the legal document Jasper had then made public to the rest of the family.  Father had raged at Brendan for leaving and threatened to cut him off, but his bark had always been worse than his bite.  In time, he would have forgiven his son, and everything would have gone on as before had Jasper not tried to add fuel to the fire by riling his father up and skillfully maneuvering the conversation to Brendan’s disobedience and desertion.  But, no matter how angry his father had been, he’d never have disinherited his firstborn.  Wilfred Carr was a man of tradition, and it was the eldest son who inherited the lot, not the spare one who hardly merited any notice unless something happened to his older brother.  Jasper had idolized Brendan until he realized one day that although they were equally reared, they were destined for entirely different lives.  It wasn’t Brendan’s fault that he came first, but Jasper needed a target for his resentment, and it was easier to hate Brendan, especially after he left, than to take issue with their father who wouldn’t countenance any breach of tradition.

Forging the signature had been easy enough since few people had ever seen Wilfred Carr sign his name.  He wasn’t a man of letters and could barely read, finding education to be an unnecessary burden for a farmer.  He had a good head on his shoulders though, and a talent for making profit; taking their estate from near poverty to prosperity since he’d taken over on the death of his own father, who found a lot more solace in the bottle and a pair of dice than in hard work.  It would have all been so easy and natural had Brendan just got himself killed on some battlefield, but he’d come back, expecting to claim what was rightfully his, and Jasper panicked.  Brendan would have challenged the document, and Jasper would be exposed for the fraud that he was. 

Sending the men after Brendan had been a form of insurance.  They were meant to make it look like a robbery, taking Brendan’s purse and horse and leaving his body on the side of the road for some passerby to find, but things didn’t quite go as planned.  Instead, Brendan was gone and the men were dead, their families now Jasper’s responsibility.  He’d gone after the men when they failed to come back, and was nearly sick to his stomach when he came upon the mangled corpses strewn on the ground, the earth soaked with blood and flies already buzzing over the bodies as the crows began to gather sensing a fresh kill.  The horses were grazing nearby, oblivious to what had happened and enjoying the lush grass that grew at the side of the road. 

Jasper gulped lungfuls of air, his guts twisting and writhing with fear and shame.  What if Brendan had recognized the men and figured out Jasper’s part in this ambush?  He might accuse him of attempted murder and have him sent to gaol, or worse.  No, that would never do.  Jasper jumped off his horse and paced in agitation, his brain working feverishly until inspiration struck.  He rummaged in his saddlebag looking for the prayer book.  It had been Brendan’s, but he left it behind when he took his leave and Jasper sometimes took it to church when he couldn’t find his own.  Brendan’s name was carefully scrawled inside the front cover, written years ago by a ten-year-old boy who was just learning his letters.  Wilfred Carr hadn’t bothered with learning, but he made sure his son got an education from the village reverend, an education that would serve him well once he became master of the estate.  Jasper threw the book on the ground and pulled off his ring.  It wasn’t the ring his father had given Brendan, but it would do in a pinch.  No one would know the difference.  All he had to do now was raise the alarm and make sure that the items were found by the bodies, incriminating his brother and sending him to the gibbet. 

Jasper rubbed his stubbly jaw as he stared into the dancing flames, his fingers making a rasping sound against his skin.  At least he still had Mary.  He’d better move up the wedding just in case.  He meant to have her, and have her soon, and the quicker he got a child on her, the better.  He’d mark her as his own, physically and legally, and no man would be able to take her away. 

Jasper rose from his chair with a grunt and drained the remainder of his ale.  It was time for bed, and tomorrow would be a better day, especially if Brendan was found and dragged off to prison to await his murder trial and subsequent execution.  In the meantime, Jasper would spend a few pleasant moments fantasizing about his wedding night as he pleasured himself in the darkness of his bedchamber to relieve the mighty cockstand he was suddenly sporting.  Soon it would be a reality, and he would finally be able to slake his lust on his willing bride.  Yes, things were bound to get better, he thought as he climbed the stairs.

I allowed the curtain to drop back into place, having watched my strange tenant retreat back into the ruin as the sun dropped below the horizon, and the purpling sky began to twinkle with the first stars of the evening.  No amount of rationalizing on my part made the man disappear or offered any logical explanation for his presence
—
save one.  It’d become my daily routine to watch him kneel under the tree at sunset before disappearing from view.  I was no longer afraid, just curious.  He clearly meant me no harm, and whatever kept his spirit tethered to this world, for I knew now that he wasn’t real, had nothing to do with me or the house.  What was he praying for?  Was it for his restless soul to finally be set free or was there something more to this nightly routine?

The strange thing was that none of my enquiries over the past few weeks turned up anything of value.  No one seemed to know anything about the ruin behind my house.  I always thought that in villages like this one, where families had lived for generations, stories never really died, but no one seemed to remember this one.  I’d carefully asked around, but got nothing but blank stares and shrugs, so my ghost was still nameless.  There must have been someone who’d known him and loved him during his time on Earth, but there seemed to be no one left who’d remember, or if there were, they might be in another part of the country.  Perhaps the man had been passing through when he died.  Or he might have been killed by highwaymen, or even by friends or business associates who turned on him during an argument over money.  My imagination was running rampant, but I still didn’t have a shred of information about the mysterious young man who knelt under the tree.  

“Who are you?” I whispered into the gathering darkness, “and what happened to you?  Am I the only one who can see you?”

I was taken aback when the man suddenly turned and looked toward my window.  I was sure he wasn’t looking at me, but at something from his past, but it was the first time I’d seen his face.  I grabbed the binoculars and trained them on his face.  He was younger than I’d expected, in his mid-twenties perhaps, with a straight nose and full, unsmiling lips.  I couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, but they were fairly large and long-lashed, his eyebrows knitted in concentration as he continued to gaze toward the house. 

“What’s your name?” I asked aloud, but the only answer I got was the movement of the wind through the trees and the sound of a car horn somewhere in the distance.  I watched the man disappear and lowered the binoculars, my hand shaking slightly because suddenly he seemed that much more real. 

After several weeks of construction, I was forced to purchase a patio set for my newly cleared back garden.  It was the only place where I could get any peace during the day and avoid the constant banging and clouds of dust that seemed to permeate the entire house.  I busied myself with researching eighteenth-century furniture, artwork, wall and bed hangings, and cuisine.  It was too soon for me to start scouring the countryside for antiques since I had nowhere to store them, but it wasn’t too soon to be prepared.  I had to make a list of what I needed, create a budget, come up with a business plan, and start gathering material for my future website.  I would add pictures and prices later, but for the moment, I could start working on the basics.  I’d never built a website before, so it was frustrating, slow-going work.

Being away from the noise wasn’t the only reason I wanted to get out of the house.  I needed to keep a safe distance from Aidan as well.  Being around him made me feel like a teenage girl with a crush.  I found myself sneaking peeks at him as he worked, blushing when he caught me looking and averting my eyes when he smiled back.  An accidental brush of the hand or a meeting in a narrow hallway left me breathless and full of longing.  The air between us seemed to crackle with unseen electricity, something I’d never experienced before, not even when I fancied myself in love.  I could see from his gaze that he felt it too, but although I was probably sending a lot of mixed signals, I wasn’t sure how I wanted to proceed.  He hadn’t asked me out since he invited me to his place for a movie and a pizza, and I hadn’t invited him either, partly afraid of rejection, and partly unsure of my own reaction to him.  In truth, he scared me and made me feel things that I didn’t know I could, and for someone like me who’d always relished being in control, that was the scariest thing of all.

And then there was Colin…  At first I thought the young man was simply shy, but over the past few weeks, I sensed something in him that put me on my guard.  He was always watching me; his eyes gliding over my body as I passed by or came in to say good morning or good night.  He never replied or smiled back, just stared at me with an intensity that I found vaguely alarming.  As I passed by the room where the men worked I heard the other workers teasing him and chatting between themselves, but Colin stayed mostly quiet; intent on his work and oblivious to the loaded looks the men gave him every time I was in the vicinity.

Colin had never done or said anything to offend me, but I found being around him uncomfortable.  The other two men were fun and easygoing, so I chatted with them often as I offered them numerous cups of tea and biscuits that I brought from the village, but Colin took his tea by himself, sitting on the steps and taking drags of his cigarette between gulps of the tea.  He refused the biscuits with a curt shake of the head, and seemed to prefer that I put the cup down before he picked it up rather than taking it from my hands.

I tried to be as nice and friendly as I could, smiling at Colin and attempting to include him in the conversation in the hope of drawing him out.  Perhaps he had some kind of social disorder which made it difficult for him to relate to people or socialize. 
He wouldn’t be the first
, I thought sadly as I reflected on the rising number of cases, both at home and abroad, of people whose symptoms ranged from mild to severe on the autistic spectrum, often impairing them to the point where they couldn’t lead normal lives or forge intimate relationships. All I could do was try to treat him as I treated the others and avoid showing him my unease.   

I took a sip of my iced coffee and turned back to my laptop.  It was a beautiful day outside, the sun gentle on my face; the buzzing of bees as they circled over the clover in the meadow and gurgling of the stream soothing as I settled to my work.  The ruin looked tranquil in the bright light of the summer morning and I felt at peace, knowing that my ghost wouldn’t be showing up for many hours yet.  I was just poring over some photos of canopy beds with damask hangings when Aidan came strolling across the lawn.  He was wearing his work overalls and his hair was covered with dust and something that might be cobwebs, but he still managed to look attractive, his stride full of purpose and his eyes crinkling at the corners as he gave me a beatific smile before grabbing a seat across from me and gazing at my screen. 

“Those look expensive,” he pronounced as he looked at the beds. 

“I’m just getting some ideas.  I’m not going to buy actual antiques.  I’m going to find affordable replicas, and I can actually make some of these bed hangings and drapes myself.  All I need is to buy the fabric and some fringed trim.  Piece of cake.”

“Hmm, sounds like you have it all figured out.  I look forward to seeing the finished product.  In the meantime, there’s something I wanted to ask you.  George and Colin were just in the basement with the plumber.  Since you want to add several baths, we’ll have to break the walls and install additional plumbing.  Anyhow, I was wondering if you might have a large, brass key lying around somewhere.”

“Is this a riddle?” I asked, puzzled by the question. 

“No.  When Paula gave you the keys to the house, was it just the keys for the front door?” 

“There was also a key for the back door, but it’s not large or made of brass.  What are you going on about?”  Aidan had a strange expression on his face, one of childish curiosity and suppressed excitement.  “What did you find?  Is it a large chest of money and jewels, like something from Aladdin’s cave?”

“No, it’s not quite as exciting as that, but the boys did find a hidden door with a huge padlock that looks to be a few hundred years old.  Maybe it’s a secret passage, or perhaps there is something of value.  Why put a lock on something for no reason?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow in a way that made me laugh.

He was vibrating with excitement and I caught the bug, eager to see what was behind the secret door.  “I don’t know of any key, but do you think we can break the lock down?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he exclaimed as he jumped to his feet.  “Let’s go.”  I closed my laptop and followed Aidan back to the house.  I couldn’t imagine that the previous owners would leave something of great value, but who knew?  They’d left the house full of furniture, personal papers, and even photo albums.  I would have thought that to be valuable, but I guess they didn’t want any part of their history. 

The steps to the basement were made of stone and well-worn by numerous feet over the centuries.  The rough-hewn walls and low ceiling made me feel a little claustrophobic, and I was glad of Aidan’s comforting presence and industrial-sized flashlight, which he referred to as a torch.  A torch would actually be very appropriate right about now, since I felt as if we’d stepped back in time.  The vaulted ceiling and flagged floors reminded me of a crypt in a church, but there was nothing in the cavernous space save a few wooden wine racks which were mostly empty.  A few dusty bottles could be seen here and there, but otherwise, everything had been cleaned out years ago, judging by the layer of dust and the cobwebs that seemed to fill every corner of the ceiling, hanging down like some gothic bridal veils from a horror film. 

We took several turns until I had no idea what part of the house we were beneath.  There had been a light bulb in the main part of the basement, but as we turned off into smaller tunnels, it was pitch dark except for the beam of Aidan’s flashlight.  He pointed it straight ahead, and I finally saw the door built into the stone wall.  It was made of dark wood, arched, with rusted iron hinges and studs, and a huge padlock that looked as if it hadn’t been touched in centuries. 

“Maybe it was a torture chamber or a dungeon.”  I was going for a lighthearted tone, but my voice sounded tense and full of apprehension.  I was suddenly very uneasy and wanted to turn back.

“I doubt it,” Aidan replied, having taken my comment at face value.  “It could be a secret chapel, if they were Catholics, or a reverend hole.”

The idea of having to come down into the bowels of the earth to pray or hide didn’t hold much appeal, but then that was the whole idea of clandestine worship.  I tried to imagine what life must have been like in a time when practicing one’s religion could lead to an accusation of heresy or worse and shuddered.  It seemed wrong somehow to violate this sanctum, one that was hidden and locked by someone who needed or wanted to keep others out, but Aidan didn’t seem to share my sentiments.  He lifted the padlock with his hand to get a closer look, the beam of his flashlight hitting the section of wall to the right of the door and the corner.

“Wouldn’t a reverend hole have a second exit so the reverend could escape in case of trouble?” I asked, my voice trembling.  I didn’t want to be here.  I wanted to go back outside into the sunshine where things were safe and bright, at least until sunset.

“Normally, yes, and maybe there is a second exit.  We’ll find out once we get this door opened.”   

“Shine some light over here,” I asked as I stepped off to the side.  There, in a small alcove built into the stone was the key.  It was so heavy, I almost needed both hands to lift it, and I nearly dropped it in disgust as a swath of cobwebs came off into my hand, the spider still very much in residence. 

“Give it here, love,” Aidan requested as he reached for the key.  “And hold the torch for me just so.”

I pointed the light at the padlock and watched as Aidan struggled to turn the key in the rusted keyhole.  It took a few tries, but I finally heard a scrape as Aidan carefully removed the lock and put it back in the alcove with the key.  He tried the door, but it didn’t open right away since the wood of the door had become warped over time, and probably swollen with the damp that seemed to seep through the walls and right into my bones.  Or was that fear?

Aidan put a shoulder to the door and it finally gave, opening with a shudder of protest to reveal a small chamber beyond.  He reached for the flashlight and shone it on the walls of the little room.  Sadly, it didn’t contain anything that might have been a hidden treasure; instead, it boasted a wooden bench, two brackets for torches and a stone slab on a plinth.  I couldn’t see any evidence of another way out; the walls were solid stone, so probably not a reverend hole, unless the way out wasn’t immediately visible. 

I followed Aidan into the room and looked around.  It was about ten by ten, with a low ceiling and thick stone walls decorated only with cobwebs and rusty brackets.  It was, in essence, a stone box deep beneath the earth that made me feel claustrophobic and short of breath.  At first, I took the chamber to be a secret chapel of some kind, with the slab serving as an altar and the bench used as a pew, but the altar seemed too high for a reverend to stand behind, the top not smooth, but carved with something that might have been an effigy. 

“Is that what I think it is?” I whispered, as if the occupant could hear me and object to the disturbance.  I shivered with apprehension as Aidan drew closer while I hung back, feeling safer by the door.

“I think so.  It looks like a tomb.” Aidan walked slowly around the coffin, running his hand over the stone as if looking for something. 

“What are you doing?” I whispered again. 

“I’m looking for an inscription of some kind.  I want to know who it belongs to.”

“Do you really think there’s someone inside?” I asked as I backed even further toward the safety of the doorway.

“There’s only one way to find out.”  Before I could protest, Aidan handed me the flashlight and pushed the lid of the sarcophagus with all his might.  The stone made a loud scraping noise that filled the small space and set my teeth on edge.  It was like something out of
Indiana Jones
, and I almost expected Aidan to release some ancient curse, but nothing happened as he reached for the light and shone it inside, his face alight with curiosity, like a little boy’s.

“Well?” I asked, too afraid to see for myself.

“Occupied,” he replied as he shone the light beneath the lid toward where the feet would be.  “Very strange,” he mumbled as he continued to gaze into the coffin, mesmerized.

“We shouldn’t be disturbing someone’s resting place,” I hissed as Aidan moved the heavy slab back in place before continuing his search for an inscription.  It took him a few minutes, but he finally found it and asked me to shine the light on it. 

The writing was worn off, but we could still make out the name.  “Brendan Carr.  Born 1626.  Died 16—.”

“I can’t make out the date he died,” Aidan said as he peered at the number.  “It could be 1650 or 1690, or neither.  The number is illegible.”

“It can’t be 1650,” I pointed out.  “This house was completed in 1681, so it’d have to be after that for him to be interred here.”

“Yes, I think you’re right.” Aidan was looking around, but I was starting to feel anxious in this small, dark space containing the remains of an unknown man, who had for some unfathomable reason been entombed in this chamber. 

“Aidan, please, can we go now?” I pleaded, my voice shaking.

“Of course,” he replied, sensing my unease. 

I felt better as we got closer to the steps leading to the ground floor.  The damp darkness of the basement was oppressive and creepy, and I breathed a sigh of relief as we finally stepped into the sunlit hallway off the kitchen.  Aidan followed me to my haven out back and took a seat across from me, absentmindedly brushing the cobwebs from his face.  I noted that his expression went from one of excitement to one of confusion as he stared off into space, lost in thought.