June 18, 2020
Review, Edit and Update
Because of these reviews, my list of details is growing. I’m creating such a list to help me maintain consistency with my characters. Added to my list, from China Roses, is a great description of the Estate ghost, Sarah. One detail, her Mary Jane shoes, is troublesome for me. Sarah is from the late 1800’s, Mary Jane shoes were not named as such until at least 1920 (Buster Brown cartoon). I decided not to alter the character Martha’s dialogue because Martha may not have been aware of this detail.
China Roses
Brigitte did not sleep well. Tossing and turning, churning her blankets all around her. One of her pillows landed on the floor some time in the night. Dreaming only of a girl on a swing eating from a china plate ringed with red and yellow roses. But there was no food. There was merely the sound of a fork scraping against the china, as regular and monotonous as the swing. Back and forth back and forth.
Brigitte came to, her hair soaking wet. Her pyjamas, sheets and pillow cold and damp. Barely opening her eyes, she sat up, running her hands through her hair. She dragged a stubborn hank of hair from across her nose and anchored it all with a big plastic comb/clip from her night table. Flinging back the covers, she sat up on the side of the bed. Her toes curled into the shag pile of a square of red carpet at her bedside. I have to talk with someone of the older staff. Brigitte stood up, stretched backwards, then forwards to touch the floor. She hung there for a minute, relishing the stretch to her shoulders and back. My toenails need some attention. And I need coffee. Picking up her housecoat, she shambled into her tiny kitchen, hit the ‘on’ switch on her coffee maker and looked for a clean mug in the dishwasher. While she waited for the coffee to brew, she went to the hallway and shuffled through the mail from yesterday. A bill. A bill. An advertisement. A bill. The coffee must be ready. I’ll deal with these later. Filling her mug with the strong black coffee, she inhaled the aroma of the first coffee of the morning. Still barefoot, she picked up her mug and went to the patio door, frigid air rolling from the cold glass. She stared at the early morning light, the air, a tree….nothingness. That was the strangest dream. There was a girl on a swing at the estate. But there is no swing on that tree. I feel like I’ve not slept at all. Out loud she said “I wonder if the Beaufort place is haunted. I mean, there are just the three of them that have been there forever? If it’s haunted, they should have told me. I wouldn’t have minded.” Enough coffee had warmed Brigitte. She felt awake now. “She’ll think I’ve lost it, I’ll have a chat with Martha about my dream. I’d feel weird about going to Digby. He kind of freaks me out, but Martha’s easier to talk to.” I need a shower after all that sweating I did last night. I’ll set out some clean pj’s for tonight. These ones just feel nasty. Brigitte went to her door and picked up her newspaper. Pouring another cup of coffee, she quickly read the headlines. Nothing interesting. Still Covid19 stuff. She set it down on the kitchen table and went for a shower.
~~~~~
“Oh my goodness, Brigitte. Weren't you ever told about her? You're telling me that you dreamt of Sarah? Well, we don't really know who Sarah is. We don't know her full name or why she just shows up in only two places. We used to tell everyone about her ~ the cleaners we interviewed. They just left ~ no explanation. Just gone. Right out of Digby’s office. One woman rushed past me so fast that I barely even saw her. Another woman just huffed and puffed that we would be so rude as to ‘have’ a ghost. And then she pushed her way right out the back door. Well, we told her that Sarah was here long before any of us started and that it wasn’t our fault. But she wouldn’t hear any of that. She walked right past me and out the door. Has Sarah hurt you, dear?”
“No, Martha she just scared me. I had finished up in the dining room. Everything was all shining and clean. I polished the mirrors and the glass doors of the china cabinet. The wood on the table gleamed. The living room was my next stop. But, while I was dusting the mantle over the fireplace, the sound I heard made my blood run cold. I held onto the dust rag so tightly, I almost pushed it right through mantle.”
“What was the noise, dear?” Without giving Brigitte time to answer the question, Martha pressed on. “Was it the china cabinet?”
“Yes it was! How did you know?”
“Because that’s what Sarah does as soon as the table has been polished. She glides in from wherever she stays. In the walls, up in the attic…..no one knows. I saw her once. She was wearing a light lemon-yellow dress that went to her mid shins with a white lace collar. White Mary Jane shoes, and one dark blue ribbon in blonde ringlets. I was so taken aback that I was speechless. She didn’t even seem to notice me. She just set the table with the china. Two places. One at one end and one at the other. Teacups and saucers. Silver cutlery. Linen napkins.” Martha hesitated. "Brigitte, don’t ever change the order of things in the cabinet. That’s the only time Sarah gets angry. Maybe she can only find things in certain places. If they’re not there then…….”
“What happens if she gets angry? Does her head spin around like in the movie Carrie?”
“No, but you’ll be cleaning the dining room and the living room over and over.”
“What’s wrong with that? I do that everyday.”
“No I mean if you were to clean the dining room, then go into one of the bedrooms to clean, when you come back to the dining room it would be dustier and dirtier than you first found it. And that could go on all day. I’m just telling you. Don’t change the order of anything in that china cabinet.”
“What would happen if you got rid of the china cabinet all together. Do you think she might go after it?” Brigitte was almost amused at how distressed Martha became. She did take her seriously though. “Is the dining room the only place that she goes?”
“The only other thing I’ve heard, and that was when I first started work here a long time ago, is that she sits on a swing on the big old redwood in the yard.”
“But there is no swing there Martha.”
“There is when she wants one there. It apparently can only be seen when she’s sitting on it. And it’s always after she has set the table. Oh dear, my phone is ringing off the hook. If you see her again, especially on the swing, tell me all about it.” Martha bustled off to her office.
Brigitte spoke out loud to the air. “Where do you live Sarah? My name is Brigitte and I’d like to be your friend, but only if you want to.” A cool breeze came through the unopened window like tiny sigh.
“In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts,
but we create them. We haunt ourselves.”
~ Laurie Halse Anderson, Wintergirls
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