Plagued with phone calls from television reporters, journalists, and curiosity seekers, Molly and Sarah barely finished cleaning the two empty rooms in time for Diana Chiasson’s brothers and their wives to check in and dress for their youngest sister’s wedding.
Molly followed the photographer around as she took pictures of Diana in her matron-of-honor dress on the staircase, on the landing in front of the bay windows, and by the fireplace, followed by various formations of the three couples decked out in their wedding finery. She couldn’t wait to see the photos, especially since she had permission to post a few on the B and B website.
Molly locked the front door, smiling at the memory of the photo session, then turned on the night lights since her guests would come in late after the reception. She glanced up the staircase and wondered about George Roark. He’d gone out early that afternoon, and she hadn’t seen him return. But the light was on in his room, and she’d heard the television earlier in the evening. He was scheduled to check out after breakfast the next morning, and she didn’t look forward to cleaning his room. He was a messy one. She’d seen his clothes strewn about when he’d asked for clean towels that morning.
Molly stretched as she opened the door to her studio apartment. In the bedroom, she kicked off her shoes with relief. It felt like she’d been on her feet the entire day. She opened her jewelry box, and as she removed her earrings, the framed photograph on the dresser caught her eye. The handsome young man grinned at the camera, his arm around the young woman who smiled up at him. She sighed and ran her fingertips across the man’s face.
What might have been?
Molly stopped midway through closing the jewelry box lid. She opened the ring box and stared at the two-carat oval-diamond engagement ring. Slipping it onto her finger, she admired how the main diamond, encircled by a halo of smaller ones, sparkled in the low light.
She closed her eyes and remembered the day Danny had asked her to marry him. It had been a warm spring day, and they’d taken a picnic lunch to the perfect spot overlooking the river. An army ranger, he was on leave before deploying to Afghanistan for the third time. They’d planned their wedding for his next leave. “Third time’s the charm,” he’d said before kissing her goodbye at the Cincinnati airport. The third time was not the charm. Danny died six months later when his vehicle hit an IED.
The woman in the photograph looked happy, warmly embraced in one of his best hugs. Her brown hair, streaked with golden strands, hung to her shoulders. Molly barely recognized herself as the young woman in the photograph.
Molly raked her fingers through her short, wavy hair and removed the ring. She returned it to its resting place and pushed the lid shut.
“Guess what,” she said to the photograph. “I think I accepted a date today. That’s called moving on. Right?” She put her fingers to her lips and pressed them against his image.
Molly slipped into her pajamas and sat on the edge of the sleigh bed that used to reside in the Rookwood Room upstairs. She shivered at a sudden chill. “Drafty old house,” she muttered as she picked up Aubrey’s book from the night table, adjusted her pillows against the carved ornamental headboard, and opened to the first chapter.
***
Elnora Harrington stood at the foot of the bed where her great-niece slept. The book had fallen to the side, resting precariously on the edge. She’d sat on the bed, hovering over Molly’s shoulder, and read the book with her. Elnora thought this must be an important book, because everybody at the big party had wanted it. When Molly dozed off, the book snapped shut. Elnora couldn’t turn the pages.
It’s hard to do the simplest thing without a physical body.
She felt sad for Molly, especially when she looked at the pictures on her dresser. Elnora remembered the day Molly’s mother had learned the news about the man in the picture. He’d died somewhere in a place called Afghanistan. Molly had come to stay with her mother for a long time, and they’d cried many tears. Elnora knew what it was like to lose the man she loved.
She moved in to closely inspect Molly’s features. Ever since that tall man with the blue eyes and the gun had said Molly and Elnora were the spitting images of each other, she’d taken every opportunity to look at Molly—the shape of her nose, the way she smiled, and how she moved. Elnora could see a passing resemblance, but the spitting image—definitely not.
Molly stirred and snuggled farther under the covers, knocking the book onto the floor. Elnora backed away and paused in front of the dresser. She wanted to look at the diamond ring again. She adored sparkly things and parties. Elnora loved parties.
She remembered when her parents used to entertain her father’s business associates. A quartet had often played in the foyer in front of the staircase. Elnora lifted the hem of her full skirt and glided around the foyer, feeling the vibrations of long-forgotten strings. However, there was no band celebrating the man and his book. The music came from a little, black, rectangular contraption like a tiny radio. New things fascinated Elnora.
Elnora hoped they would have more festivities, though she was sure her mother was rolling over in her grave since Molly and Kevin had turned their ancestral home into a boarding house. She laughed at that thought, and an image of her mother appeared. Esther Harrington was beautiful, wearing an elaborately beaded gown and holding a glass of champagne in her hand. Elnora loved champagne and remembered how the bubbles had felt on her tongue. At Molly’s party, she had craved the taste of the food and had watched the cook with the funny pink hair prepare the hors d’oeuvres.
Elnora remembered how she saw the man who wrote the book take the champagne up to what used to be her mother’s bedroom. She’d seen what had happened on the terrace that night. He had seemed surprised that he was dead. Many spirits didn’t realize they were dead, especially if they’d passed suddenly.
Elnora remembered when her father died. She’d hated her father, and when his spirit left his body, her angry face was the first thing he saw. Then, the darkness came over him. Just like it did for the man on the terrace, but she didn’t stay around to watch. The darkness scared her. She’d rather stay where she was, trapped in this house, as long as the darkness didn’t come for her. Besides, that man got what he deserved.