The Kingdom

Sixteen

Except for a sore ankle and the slit in the screen door, last night’s drama might never have happened. I slept in and arose to sunshine. Angus was already awake and prowling through the house. When he heard me stir, he started to whine to let me know he needed to go out.

I took a closer look at the damaged screen as we exited the porch, wondering how on earth I’d slept so soundly through the break-in. Angus must have been sedated or otherwise subdued because he surely would have alerted me to a prowler. I remembered now the way he’d sniffed the ground when I let him out after dinner and wondered if someone might have tossed a chunk of drugged meat into the yard. Still recovering from near-starvation, the poor dog likely would have gobbled it up despite a strange smell or taste.

I checked the area for clues but found nothing other than a heel print in the dirt that I thought might be my own.

A trio of squirrels foraging for acorns kept Angus entertained while I found a sunny spot on the steps where I could sit and keep an eye on him. He seemed perfectly fine this morning, but the sooner I took him in for a checkup and shots, the better I would feel.

I’d already decided to make a trip back to Charleston soon, anyway. My mother hadn’t felt well enough to come to the phone the last two times I’d called, and I was starting to worry that the chemo might be taking too much of a toll. Aunt Lynrose had tried her best to reassure me, but I wouldn’t have peace of mind until I saw for myself. Maybe I would also drop in on Papa. Since my mother had been staying in Charleston for her treatments, I rarely saw him. I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d spoken, but that wasn’t unusual. Even though he was the one person I could talk to about the ghosts—we would always have that bond—I no longer tried to bridge the gulf between us. I had finally accepted that, for whatever reason, he needed his distance.

Absently, I plucked a stem of bee balm that grew near the steps and lifted the purple blossom to my nose. The morning was impossibly peaceful, the lake a quiet mirror reflecting nothing more sinister than sun, sky and the wavering images of the evergreens. I got up and walked down the stepping-stones to the pier where I leaned over the rail to gaze into those still depths. I could see nothing, of course. The water was too cloudy. But it wasn’t hard to imagine the ruins of Thorngate Cemetery at the bottom. There was a faint hum in the air that I thought might be the echo of those bells. But when I listened closely, I heard only the gentle lap of water against wood pilings and the occasional thump of the boat.

Tossing the flower into the lake, I went back up the steps to the yard where Angus sat watching the squirrels. I was tempted to pack him up and head back to Charleston today. Just abandon the restoration regardless of my contract and business reputation. I needed to get out of this place. Something very alarming was happening in Asher Falls, and somehow I’d become a part of it. Might even be the reason for it. I didn’t understand why or how, but I couldn’t help but think my role here was preordained. The anxiety I’d felt last night in the clearing—the fear of my own destiny—had left me shaken.

And yet…I didn’t leave. I sat there in the lemony scented sunshine as if I hadn’t a care in the world. Because somehow I knew that whatever—whoever—had led me here in the first place would find a way to bring me back.

Alive or dead, Ashers are compelled to return home.

Why that particular snippet popped into my head at that precise moment I couldn’t imagine. I tried to ignore it because I didn’t want to dwell on Pell Asher this morning. Despite his charisma, my time with him had been very disconcerting. How odd to think that our paths had crossed so long ago, and I’d never even known it. How stranger still that he’d seen me playing in Rosehill Cemetery as a child and remembered it after so many years.

On the heels of that reflection, my own memory surfaced, hazy with time and distance and invoked, no doubt, by a combination of concern for my mother and the strange events that had unfolded since my arrival. Reacting to the stimuli, the shutter in my brain clicked once more, and an image slowly came into focus.

I could see myself on the floor of our living room, legs drawn up, arms wrapped around my knees as I listened through an open window to Mama and Aunt Lynrose on the front porch, lulled as always by the lovely cadence of their Lowcountry drawls. I had been six or seven at the time and had yet to learn of the ghosts. But my world had always been guarded and insular, and those accents had given me a glimpse of the lush and exotic. My mother and aunt were very beautiful women, exuding a bygone femininity that smelled of honeysuckle, sandalwood and fresh linen. Papa, by contrast, smelled of the earth. Or was that me? To Mama’s horror, I often had little half moons of dirt beneath my nails, the odd leaf or twig stuck to my hair. Even wearing my Sunday best, a bit of the graveyard seemed to cling to me.

I’d been sitting with my cheek resting on my knees, drowsy in the warm breeze that stirred the lace curtains. I even remembered the incessant drone of a bee trapped against the screen and the smell of freshly mown grass. It was a typical summer afternoon, dreamy and hypnotic, until the sudden anger in my aunt’s voice brought my head up. I’d never heard her speak to my mother in that tone.

“Do you have any idea what I would give to be in your shoes? You have a husband and daughter who love you. What more do you want?”

“You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand. You always imagined yourself having the perfect life, the perfect husband, the perfect child. It was what everyone else expected of you, too. But dreams go awry, Etta, and life gets messy. What’s done is done. You need to forget about the past.”

“I thought I had,” Mama said wistfully. “But then I found myself driving up there the other day.”

My aunt gasped. “After all these years? Why would you do such a thing?”

“To visit the grave.”

There was a long pause, during which I’d held my breath. I didn’t understand much of that conversation, but I knew it was serious because my aunt never raised her voice. She doted on Mama. Only a year or so separated them in age, but Aunt Lynrose had always seemed both younger and older to me. Younger because she still had the coquettish quality of a girl while my mother grew more solemn with each passing year. And older because she was so fiercely protective of Mama. Their closeness had always filled me with deep yearning because they shared secrets I could never be privy to. Sister secrets.

“And?” Lynrose asked softly.

My mother paused. “It was a very strange moment.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t explain it any more than I can put into words how I felt driving through that town.” Her voice dropped. “It’s as if the soul of that place has been eaten away. The people, the houses…even the very air seems befouled. I can’t stand to think of my little girl in such an awful place.”

“You don’t have to. She’s right here with you. Exactly where she belongs.”

“For now.” In the ensuing silence, I could imagine my mother’s hand going to her throat, plucking nervously at the gold cross she always wore. “Oh, Lyn. I’ve been so weak. I’ve never let that child fully into my heart because I was so afraid someone would come for her.”

“They won’t. How can they?”

“You know how.”

“Too many years have passed. She’s ours now, Etta. Just accept it as a blessing and let that child into your heart,” Lynrose murmured, but I had heard something in my aunt’s voice—a palpable fear—that made me shudder now in memory.

The images fluttered back into the shadows of my past, leaving me deeply troubled by what I’d overheard. But had I really overheard it? Maybe that conversation was nothing more than a remembered dream or a false recollection planted by my own fears. I had so many memories of my mother and aunt. Over the span of my childhood, I’d spent hours and hours by that open window as they reminisced and gossiped on the front porch. Why would I have buried that particular memory?

Even if it was real, I wouldn’t have been able to recall everything in such detail. Not after so many years. I must have embellished an impression. Besides, it was too much of a leap to assume the town in question was Asher Falls. What could possibly have driven my mother all the way up here? Whose grave had she felt compelled to visit? And why had she always feared that someone would come for me when even the woman who gave birth to me hadn’t wanted me?

As if drawn by my disquiet, Angus came over to plop down at the bottom of the steps. I rested my chin on my knees as I reached down to scratch behind the ear nubs, but my thoughts were still on that conversation. It’s as if the soul of that place has been eaten away. The people, the houses…even the very air seems befouled.

That was a near perfect description of Asher Falls, but I still couldn’t believe my mother had been talking about this town. I certainly couldn’t picture her here. In some ways, she’d lived an even more sheltered existence than I had. She knew nothing of the ghosts and had scoffed at any mention of the paranormal, especially the stories Papa had told me of his childhood in the mountains.

The sun was warm on my shoulders, but I found myself shivering. The longer I stayed here, the more convinced I became that my restoration business had not been picked randomly from a phone book or the internet. My arrival was part of a design, a grand scheme that went back to those days in Rosehill Cemetery when Pell Asher had watched me play among the dead.

After I loaded up my tools, I came back around the house to collect Angus. A woman stood at the end of the pier tossing something into the water, and my heart lurched until I reminded myself a ghost wasn’t likely to appear before dusk. And, anyway, even though she had her back to me, I recognized Tilly Pattershaw’s slight form.

Angus still lay in the shade watching the squirrels, and I thought it odd that he hadn’t barked when she came up. He didn’t seem the least bit alarmed by her presence. In fact, he looked half-asleep. I bent to give him a pat before I started down the stepping-stones, coughing discreetly so as not to catch her unaware. But she paid me no mind even when my boots clattered on the wooden planks of the pier.

“Ms. Pattershaw?” I said softly as I approached.

“I’m called Tilly,” she said, without turning.

“Good morning. I’m Amelia.”

“I know who you are, girl.”

“I guess Luna told you that I’d be staying here for a while. Thank you for getting everything ready for me. And thank you especially for your help last night.” I moved up beside her at the railing. “I don’t know how I would have gotten my dog free if you hadn’t come along when you did.”

“I’m not here for thanks,” she said stoutly.

“I never thought you were. Still…I’m very grateful.” I motioned toward the house. “Someone cut a hole in the screen and took Angus off the porch last night. You didn’t see anyone else in the woods, did you?”

“I saw no one but you, girl.” Her gaze darted over me, and I felt the oddest quiver at the base of my spine. I wasn’t afraid of Tilly Pattershaw…far from it. I was genuinely happy to see her. But there was an undercurrent in her voice, the shadow of something dark in her eyes that made me grip the railing until my knuckles whitened. It was only with some effort that I was able to relax my fingers.

“You did notice the traps that were set all around the clearing, didn’t you?”

“Don’t you worry none about that.” She tossed another handful of crumbs into the water and then turned, her assessment once again quick and sharp. Contrary to Bryn Birch’s assertion, the woman seemed in complete control of her faculties. “I took care of them traps.”

“That’s good to know.” I had so much more I wanted to ask her about the episode in the woods, but I remembered Thane’s caution that she had little use for strangers, and I didn’t want to frighten her away.

We fell silent as I watched her feed the fish. She was a plain woman, but I found great beauty in the movement of her hands, encased though they were in a pair of cotton gloves. She wore her gray hair scraped back in a bun at her nape, a harsh style for such a careworn complexion, but the wind-loosened tendrils gave her face an unexpected sweetness that belied her gruff demeanor and shadowy eyes. She was a woman of contrasts, I thought, and I liked that about her.

I made a slight movement, and she glanced up, her eyes revealing a flutter of emotion before she quickly returned her attention to the water.

“Luna said your house is down that path,” I said. “Is it close by?”

“Close enough.”

“Do you come here often to feed the fish?”

“I come here to visit the cemetery.”

“The cemetery? You mean…the one down there?” I glanced into the murky depths and shivered. “You had family in Thorngate?” I asked carefully.

“Most of my people are buried in Georgia,” she said.

What about Freya? I wondered. “Thane Asher told me that the bodies weren’t moved before the water rose. Is that true?”

“He told you right. They’re still down there. Right under our feet. The Fougerants and the Hibberds and those poor little Moultrie boys. My girl knew every last one of them.”

I glanced at her, startled. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, but the motion of her hand was steady. “She used to come here to read the headstones when she got lonely. She knew all the names by heart. They were her friends, she said. And the graveyard was her hideaway. Her special place.”

I felt that tingle along my spine again. “I had a place like that when I was a child. Rosehill Cemetery. It was my special hideaway. My sanctuary. The only spot I ever felt truly safe.”

She nodded. “My girl’s gone now, but I reckon she’d still come here if she could.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak at that moment. My heart had quickened, and I felt a little breathless as I envisioned Freya’s ghost hovering on this very pier. I wanted to tell Tilly about her, but I knew better than to acknowledge the dead. And I knew, too, that the restless spirit of a loved one rarely offered comfort. It was far better for Tilly to think of her daughter at peace.

Still, I couldn’t help wondering if she could sense Freya’s presence here, if she somehow knew that her daughter lingered. Was that why the ghost had told me to leave so vehemently? Was I intruding on her peace…her sanctuary?

I didn’t think so. It had been my experience that places were rarely haunted. People were haunted.

I turned back to Tilly. “You say your family is from Georgia?”

“Union County,” she said. “I was born and raised in the shadow of Blood Mountain.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Since I was a girl. I was fifteen when I left home. I came here to study with a midwife. When she died, she left her place to me, so I stayed on.”

“You’ve been here most of your life, then.”

“I reckon I have.”

“It’s beautiful country,” I said.

Her eyes lifted to the mountains, and she shivered.

“Are you still a practicing midwife?”

“I gave that up years ago.” She glanced down at her gloved hands. “Just as well. Not many babies being born around here these days.”

“I guess when businesses started to close a lot of people left town.”

Her gaze went back to the mountains. “The lucky ones.”

“What do you mean by that?” When she didn’t answer, I touched her sleeve and felt a slight tremor go through her. “Why did you come into the woods last night, Tilly? How did you know I needed help?”

“Sound carries at night,” she said.

“Did you hear the howling?” I asked urgently.

“I heard your dog. I could tell he was in trouble.”

“But you told me to get out of the woods. You said something was coming.” I studied her face. “What was out there last night?”

Her voice hardened. “You ask too many questions, girl.”

“Because I need to know what’s going on! Strange thing have been happening ever since I came to town. What’s out there in those woods? What lives up on that mountain?”

She turned with a scowl. “It don’t live in the woods, girl, or up on that mountain. It don’t live anywhere because it’s not anything.”

The hair at my nape lifted as I looked into her eyes. “But I’ve felt it in the wind. I’ve heard the howling. It’s out there. I know it is. It’s cold and evil—”

Her hand whipped out to grip my wrist, her fingers digging into my flesh until I jerked away. “Go home, girl. Go back to where you came from. Best not meddle in things you don’t understand.”

I massaged my wrist, shaken. “I can’t go home. I have a job to do here.” And I needed this job. I had a living to make, a business to run. My professional reputation was on the line.

“Best not be so stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn, I’m being practical. I signed a contract. I can’t just walk away. And, anyway…” I watched her warily. “Why does it matter? If it’s not anything, how can it hurt me?”

Her voice lowered to a desperate whisper. “Don’t you understand? It’s not what’s out there you need to be a-feared of.” She placed a gloved hand over her heart as she leaned in, and for the first time, I thought there might be a hint of madness in her eyes. “It’s what’s in here.”