Passions Read online

  Checking the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall, she confirmed that it was Tuesday. Rosie would be hosting her Bridge game tonight in Carter Lake. Her mind raced to remember where she had stowed away that card with the old woman’s number on it. Chloe had no intention of being late.

  Chloe pulled her black jeep up along the grassy shoulder of the road and peered at the mailbox. Even in the dim evening light, she could make out the house number that Rosie had given her over the phone.

  The narrow street, nestled just off the main road of Carter Lake, was lined with tall shady trees and an aging concrete sidewalk riddled with cracks that were filled in with sprouting weeds. Beyond the sidewalk was a white picket fence that could use another coat of paint. But beyond that was a very cozy looking home with deep-set porch and white shutters.

  Rosie’s home was like many on that block, probably built at least a few decades ago, aiding the small-town feel that Carter Lake exuded so well.

  The walkway that led up to the porch steps was hedged with flowerbeds and lush bushes to hide the lattice paneling that wrapped underneath the house. The orange glow of the porch light illuminated the pale blue front door that was only a slight shade darker than the vinyl siding. Topped off with a gray, shingled roof, Chloe wished for a split second that this could have been the home her aunt willed to her instead of the cabin.

  Two other vehicles were parked in front of the house. Chloe took comfort in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be the only other person here. It wasn’t too surprising that Rosie had friends. Aided by her sweet demeanor, Rosie must be on good terms with everyone in town.

  She wanted to think that her aunt had been the same way at one point in time before she left for the nursing home. But Chloe’s memory was spotty when it came to remembering how Aunt Mary Anne interacted with other citizens of the town. She couldn’t recall if people gave her dirty looks or smiles. In fact, she couldn’t think of a time when she saw her aunt leave the mountain at all. Chloe was sure that she did, but she just couldn’t remember.

  Chloe slid out of the jeep and nearly tripped on the way to the pavement. She wasn’t used to the drop from the driver seat, which was much higher than her old car. That was something she would miss sorely. Other than that, the vehicle was in great condition, just like Bobby said at the hardware store, and it drove like a dream around those mountain roads.

  Making her way up the porch, she could already hear laughter coming from inside. It then occurred to Chloe that this was the first time she had been to anything resembling a party in such a long time. Would she know how to act? Even her last party was nothing like this. Her last party involved alcohol and dance music.

  She rang the doorbell, interrupting the riotous laughter. Rosie appeared in the doorway a second later, wearing a pair of dark slacks and a loose, flowery shirt that flowed with every subtle movement. A long, beaded necklace hung down from her slender neck, silver hair piled up on top of her head in a stylish coif, and lips painted a bright red. Chloe likened her to an elderly Hollywood movie star, glamorous even in her golden years.

  The two women smiled brightly at one another, and the younger presented a dish of peach cobbler to the elder.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should bring anything,” Chloe began hastily to explain herself, “so I just decided to go ahead and bake something since I had the time.”

  Not only did Chloe have the time, but she needed the distraction.

  Rosie seemed pleasantly surprised and touched by her offering. “That’s so sweet of you, honey. I wasn’t expecting this at all,” she crooned in her rich southern twang.

  Chloe just shrugged and was quickly invited in. The air inside the house was a few degrees cooler than the evening air outside and smelled distinctly of peppermint. She was thankful for the decision to wear her warm off-white sweater and jeans; otherwise, she’d be freezing.

  Stepping into the living room, wood creaking beneath her boot heels, she was amazed by the collage of pictures on nearly every wall. The walls were so arrayed with baby photos and wedding portraits that Chloe had to really look to see what color the wall paint was behind the frames.

  The furniture was truly vintage, complete with wooden rocking chairs and flower print upholstery on the sofa and wingback chair. Knick-knacks cluttered every surface of the home from end tables to the mantle above the fireplace, while a coo-coo clock ticked away on the far wall, its pendulum swinging rhythmically. The inside reminded Chloe of her paternal grandmother’s house in Idaho.

  Sitting on the sofa was a man and woman of similar age to Rosie, making Chloe the youngest attendee thus far. They both smiled to her in warm greetings. The woman was dressed in a long skirt and button up blouse, while the man wore a pair of khakis and a bright canary polo. If she hadn’t known any better, she might have thought they were dressed to go to church rather than a game night with a friend.

  “Marge… Jeff… this is Chloe. She’s Mary Anne’s niece.”

  The couple lit up at the mention of her aunt’s name. They both began to exclaim over Chloe’s prettiness, suggesting that she looked just like her aunt. To give her cheeks enough time to pale out again, they went into how unfortunate it was the Mary Anne was no longer alive.

  It was apparent that they all knew each other, and upon further listening, she learned that Mary Anne had been another frequent member of Bridge Night at Rosie’s and a beloved member of the community. That set her mind at ease given what she had just been thinking about earlier.

  They reminisced on how the house used to be packed with friends from their school days. But, as the years came and went, attendance slackened due to health limitations and the general hindrances of daily life. Some moved away, and others were laid to rest in the local cemetery like Mary Anne. Only Rosie, Marge, and Jeff remained.

  Chloe found it exceedingly sad and hoped that perhaps youthful presence would brighten their gathering a little. But she soon found that their aging bodies were facades. Underneath, they were like children with energy and a zest for life.

  Marge and Jeff began to sort out the cards while Chloe trailed behind Rosie, following her into the kitchen that was overly decorated with roosters and fat pigs dressed like chefs.

  Rosie set the cobbler down on the counter and went to pull out some small dessert plates from the cabinet.

  “My doctor was just getting on my case about having too much sugar in my diet,” Rosie said, a hint of humor in her voice.

  Still, Chloe blanched a bit. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  The old woman laughed and took out a wide spoon from a drawer on the other side of the kitchen. “No, no. Don’t worry, honey. I haven’t had peach cobbler in years, and a few bites won’t kill me.”

  Chloe gave a breathy laugh and leaned back against the counter to hide her unease. She watched Rosie dollop junks of warm sliced peaches and crust onto four porcelain plates bordered with pink cherry blossoms painted around the border. Her fingers were restless against the counter, nails tapping sporadically against the laminate.

  She wondered if now would be a good time to ask about her aunt and the cabin. Bringing up the idea that the cabin is haunted and that her aunt was crazy might not have settled well with Marge or Jeff, seeing how fond they were of Mary Anne.

  “So how are you liking the cabin now? You’ve had a few days to form an opinion, I suspect.”

  Chloe was silently thankful that Rosie was the one to bring up the topic first. Giving a thoughtful nod, she said, “I’m really liking it. I spent a lot of time there as a kid. I’m just sorry the real estate company changed it so much to accommodate tourists and renters.”

  Rosie snorted and shook her head. “That cabin was gorgeous before those idiots tampered with it. There wasn’t anything wrong with it when your aunt lived there—besides the obvious, of course.”

  “The obvious being that it is haunted?”

  The clang of metal on porcelain stopped, and Chloe felt Rosie’s hard stare on her instantly. If t
here were a way to reword her question, Chloe would have taken the words back into her mouth and swallowed them down.

  “I know you must think it silly of me to believe the place is haunted, but I’m only telling you what Mary Anne confided in me years ago.”

  Chloe stood perfectly still as if the slightest wrong move would send the whole moment off kilter, and waited for Rosie to continue. This was exactly where she wanted the conversation to go.

  “What did my aunt say?” she asked.

  Rosie sighed and slid the spoon into the peach cobbler dish. Planting a fist on her bony hip, she turned to Chloe and wagged her head disapprovingly. “She talked about so many things. And I guess that should have been a red flag to all of us that she wasn’t all there anymore.

  “At first, it was little things.” Rosie flipped her free hand back and forth to address her point. “One night, she didn’t wash the dishes and left them lying in the sink, but the next morning they weren’t there. Someone had come in, cleaned them, and put them away. Mary Anne thought it was a burglar, but she didn’t do anything about it.”

  Rosie’s brows furrowed together. “And then things got stranger. She said she heard footsteps around the cabin in the middle of the night. But when she got up to look, no one was there. Things turned up missing all the time. Mostly books, paper, pens, and other office supplies, you know.

  “Mary Anne tried to talk about it with your mother,” Rosie said with a shrug, “but she didn’t help the situation by refusing to visit again.”

  Chloe slumped a bit and realized her assumptions had been true. They stopped visiting her aunt because her mother thought Mary Anne was going crazy, and no self-respecting parent would want their child to be under that kind of influence.

  “She got really lonely,” Rosie continued. “And she even disappeared for a while, staying locked away in the cabin for days at a time.”

  An unexpected laugh bubbled up from Rosie. The lilt of it suggested more disbelief than amusement at what she had to say next. “Then, all of the sudden, she was talking about a man named Gavin.”

  Chills skittered up Chloe’s spine at the name that had consumed her life for the past few days.

  “Mary Anne wouldn’t stop talking about Gavin, but I never met him.”

  “She had a boyfriend?” Chloe asked, playing dumb as if she had no clue who Gavin really was.

  “You know, I’m not sure. She never talked about him as if they were intimate, just very good friends. They talked all the time.”

  Chloe gripped the counter tighter as if she expected the room to turn upside down any moment. Her life was doing just that, so why shouldn’t this lovely house? She took a deep breath. “What else did she say about Gavin?”

  Rosie opened her mouth as if she were going to continue but then froze. Something in Chloe’s face caught her attention, and the old woman tilted her head curiously. “Are you feeling well, honey? You look a little pale.”

  Chloe touched her cheeks and found them a little cold. She just smiled and shook her head. “I’m alright. Maybe I just need a little sugar.”

  Rosie chuckled softly and handed her a plate loaded with the delicious dessert. “This will fix you up right good then.”

  That was when Chloe knew she would get no more information tonight. Miss Rosie proved to be an invaluable help, however.

  The two ladies took up the plates and headed back into the living room where the others were waiting. While passing out the servings to Marge and Jeff, Chloe couldn’t help but think about what Rosie said in the kitchen.

  No doubt, Gavin was the one causing all the strange happenings in the cabin. Chloe felt a little envious that her aunt had personal conversations with Gavin, while she was stuck passing notes like a grade school student. Although, she didn’t know what there was to be envious about. The idea of coming face to face with a real ghost wasn’t appealing in the least. Maybe it was the idea of finally meeting Gavin in person that made her stomach churn with suspense.

  Going over the order of events, and if Rosie was telling the truth, that meant Gavin had been communicating with Mary Anne even when Chloe was a little girl. It wasn’t until the happenings became too disturbing to keep secret that her mother stopped bringing Chloe to visit the cabin.

  It was all so extraordinary. And there was still the mystery of why Mary Anne went to live at the assisted living home. Chloe still wasn’t sure if it was because of Gavin. From what Rosie implied, Gavin’s presence was a Godsend to her aunt. He kept her company and gave her someone to talk to. Rosie described their relationship as strong friendship rather than intimate. In her old age, living alone, Mary Anne would have wanted a friend like Gavin.

  It was then that she found similarities in their situations. Mary Anne was lonely when her sister stopped coming to visit, and Gavin showed up to keep her company. Chloe had just moved to the cabin without a friend in the world when she received the first letter from her ghost pen pal.

  Was Gavin merely there to comfort lonely women? Was that his purpose? At least Chloe was not the only one to experience Gavin’s manifestation. Then she knew she wasn’t crazy. This had all happened before.

  She found it hard to focus on learning the game of Bridge while all these thoughts swelled in her mind. But the carefree chatter of the elderly people was enough to make her forget her immediate troubles.

  Chapter 6

  Chloe’s eyes snapped open at the harsh cry of a crow on her porch outside. The house was bright with the morning sun as she lay on the sofa in the living room. Her gaze swept over the high wood paneled ceiling, frantically searching her memory of why she wasn’t in her pajamas, or in bed.

  A hardback copy of Moby Dick lay open across her stomach, and all at once she realized what must have happened.

  The night before, she resolved to wait up for her ghost, her Mr. G, whom she suspected was really named Gavin Caras from England. The coffee table was littered with photos and old documents, along with his three yellow notes. Chloe had planned to confront him about what unfinished business he had that made him into a haunting specter.

  Even as the clock tolled midnight, she felt foolish, like a child waiting up for Santa Clause on Christmas Eve... But she had to know. Mr. G only appeared when she went upstairs to go to sleep, and despite his previous chiding that she should get to bed at a decent time, she prepared an extra pot of coffee to help keep her awake.

  But the last thing she remembered was reading a particular sentence in the fifth chapter over and over again, her mind unable to grasp the meaning of the jumbled words as an unexplainable drowsiness took hold. And before long, her eyes refused to stay open. Chloe passed out and judging by the typical birdsongs drifting through the morning air outside the cabin, she had completely missed Mr. G’s arrival that night.

  Without even a twinge of grogginess about her, Chloe flipped a bookmark into the volume and turned around to look at her desk.

  Her laptop was still there, and next to it was another note with the familiar slanted cursive of her British ghost. Chloe groaned in frustration, mostly at herself.

  It didn’t make any sense why she would have fallen asleep. At her last count, she had three cups of coffee before dozing off, which would have been more than enough to keep her awake. When she was in Atlanta, she used to stay up all night with her friends on less coffee than she had consumed hours ago. Perhaps her mistake was in reading a book. Chloe should have done something more stimulating like exercise or baking countless batches of cookies.

  She pushed herself off the couch and retrieved the note.

  My Dear Chloe,

  You will have to try harder than that to catch me if that was indeed your intent. I was disappointed to see that you had not written a single new word for the novel. Nor did you respond to my offer to help. If I have offended you in any way, I apologize.

  I also saw that you found the land grant that was issued to me in 1733. Let me convey my sincerest gratitude. I thought it had been lost to the ravages
of time. And I suppose I can no longer hide my true identity from you. This is just as well.

  I shall return with the night, but until then, I encourage you to write more. Or, at the very least, allow me to assist you. It would not be an inconvenience in the slightest.

  You obedient servant, Gavin

  P.S. I admire your choice in literature.

  Chloe’s head was reeling. She didn’t know what bothered her most; the fact that he thought she was offended or that he had leafed through, not only her book collection that was still packed away in boxes, but also possibly her family photos on the coffee table with his land grant. The two things she held most dear in the world had been practically laid at his feet, and she wasn’t there to supervise. Once more, Gavin had violated her space without her permission. She thought British men had better manners than that.

  But now, she knew who he was. He confirmed it himself in the letter she held in her hand. The unknown had been brought to light and, somehow, the thought that he had been through her stuff didn’t matter so much anymore. He must have been bored, and she would have been, too, if she were over three centuries old and trapped in this cabin.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the strands a little silkier than usual since she took two showers in the span of twenty-four hours. Then a scent caught her attention.

  Coffee.

  Chloe went to the kitchen and saw that a fresh pot was steaming and ready for her. Even one of her favorite mugs had been set out in preparation for her morning ritual. And this was not just left over from last night. That pot had been half empty by the time she fell asleep.

  Gavin must have done this.

  And with that thought came the violent shaking of her whole body. She was not only terrified by this strange and wondrous thing that was happening to her, but also by the effect it played on her soul.

  Somehow, knowing that Gavin wasn’t an intruder, but a spirit whose presence was technically always there, made living in this cabin alone a little more bearable, not that it wasn’t before. But the idea of having a ghostly roommate made the mild case of loneliness seem smaller.