Chapter One, Episode 46 - Setting It Up - Situationally Theirs

June 21, 2020

Review, Edit and Update:
After yesterday's review, I've followed the same path today. I reviewed my online post and my personal file. This posted version had been properly and completely edited for typos and unnecessary bits. Could the word crafting be different? What I have learned in this gigantic writing exercise that word crafting can always be different.

Setting It Up

Dez and Emmie had been out to a country nursery for seed potatoes and some bedding plants. They were going to have their own small garden plot. Samuel, Emmie’s gardener, had indeed created another small garden as Mrs. Beaufort had asked. She didn't seem sure what she was going to do with it, but Samuel didn’t ask. Just marked it off and got it ready for planting. To get to the nursery, the two sisters had to drive on a gravel road. On the way back to the estate, Dez heard a ping, ping, thunk from below and called Giles right away. 

“Giles can you meet us at the estate garage. I think there may be a hole in the oil pan…not that I know much about cars, but……….  You’re on your way out there now? Ok we’ll be there in about 5.”

Giles had received a distress call from James. All he would tell him was that it was about the picnic and a table. He told him to get the coffee on and he’d be there soon. He needed to check on one of the estate vehicles before he came in. Giles grinned. He’d known James Digby for years and had never seen him in such a state. He had been getting crankier over the last couple of years, but thought it was just about getting well into his sixties. Then the pandemic restrictions scattered everyone. Giles and Melanie had their kids to entertain them and drive them mad. James lived on his own. He actually seemed more distracted in just the last week. But, he’d go see what this distress call was all about. Probably about Martha. James misses her! I hadn’t thought about that. At work together almost every day for all these years. No wonder he’s been all tied in knots. Giles grin just got bigger. I wonder if he’s talked to Cook yet. That may have turned him inside out. Giles parked at the back, just as Emmie and Dez arrived. 

“Park it in the garage, Emmie. My tools are in there. Where did you go that you were driving on gravel?”

“Are you familiar with the nursery out on Benson Road? The road to it from the highway is all gravel and not the best road. The municipality really needs to do something to take care of the ruts.” Although Emmie drove the Honda often, it was her first trip to that nursery. They had good reputation for well started bedding plants. Dez and Emmie had been taking a trip down memory lane to the days when they helped their father plant the garden. They were very young and loved using their very own garden tools. Emmie was the one who said “Let’s plant our own garden, Dez!” 

“Are you sure? You’ll get in the dirt and mud. I’ll bet you don’t have any garden clothes.”

“These jeans are old jeans so, they have officially become my garden clothes. Come Dez, it’s be fun!” And away they went. Like a couple of kids, they made their purchases and returned to the estate with their prizes. “Here Giles, I’ll give you the keys and let you park it where you need it. Just give us a few minutes to get our potatoes and bedding plants out.”

“Here. Put them in here.” Giles brought them a wheel barrow kept beside the garage. “You can’t carry all those plants out in one go.” He helped them load their plants in the wheelbarrow and once they were on their way to the orchard, he drove the Honda into the garage. Checking underneath, he could find no holes, only a bit of a dent. He slid a piece of cardboard beneath to catch any oil leaks he may have missed. Time for coffee and a chat with James. 

~~~~

“Coffee ready, James?” Giles walked into the kitchen. The aroma of fresh coffee told him that it was. Two mugs were on the table. “James? Where are you?”

“Right here, Giles.” James walked out of his office. “I was just getting caught up on some paper work. I took some work home with me when we left, but there were still some issues waiting for me to clear up. This pandemic has certainly turned everything around. Thanks for coming so quickly, Giles. Any problems with the vehicle you checked?”

Giles was surprised. James seemed back to his old self. In charge and in control. He sounded a little off balance when he had called. “Vehicle is ok, James. You had me worried. You really sounded rough when you called.” Giles poured their coffee, got cream out of the refrigerator and sat down at the table.

“Giles, I’ve thought about this whole thing. I’ve been nervous as a cat for days now and I don’t like it. I never have liked it, although I don’t suppose anyone does. Anyway, I did talk to Cook yesterday. I was incredibly nervous having to tell her about Martha. She was good about it and will make the picnic lunch, but did manage to tease me a bit. I’ve also thought about where Martha and I should have our picnic.”

“Where? Out in the apple orchard. The trees are really coming into blossom.” Giles grin materialized again.

“No. I did consider that, but I think under the old redwood. We’d have good shade there. But what I need from you is a picnic table. I can certainly get down on a blanket, but sitting for a while then trying to get up again would not be very graceful or comfortable. I suspect the same is true for Martha.”

“I can do that but I’ll need some help with getting it out there. It’s heavy table. What prompted your distress call, James?” Giles was puzzled, his grin faded and his brow wrinkled.

“Well, it was certainly appropriate talking to Cook. She has known us for years. I guess I just needed to talk this over with you. I will enlist Brigitte to help you - she’s a good strong girl. I thought of Samuel, but I’m trying to keep this all in the family, so to speak. He is seldom here and then he’s out in the garden or orchard. I don’t really know him.”

“So you are still nervous, James.”

“Well, yes. The other issue is when we’ll have this picnic. I’ve decided that on the day of the Staff meeting, which will be mid week, I’ll have the picnic the same day. If you, Cook and Brigitte know about it, then, I think I wouldn’t be as nervous. Oh, I don’t know, Giles. What do you think?”

“So Staff meeting in the morning, then the picnic. I guess you have to figure out how you’re going to get Martha out there. What if she has other plans?”

Just then, Dez and Emmie came in the back door, laughing and talking. “You’re soaked, Emmie!”  

“You soaked me!……Oh, hello Giles. What are you and Digby up to?” The sisters had heard the words ‘Martha’…’picnic’ ……’under the redwood’. Curious but not wanting to pry, they merely glanced at each other. Dez was more than curious. The old redwood was where she saw the girl on the swing.

“O divine art of subtlety and secrecy.”

~ Sun Tzu

Chapter One, Episode 45 - Cook's Letter to Lily - Situationally Theirs

June 20, 2020

Review, Edit and Update:

Letter writing is a dying art. I pen a lot of words, and once upon a time did write letters. Birthday cards, the kind you take to a party or dinner. So I enjoy writing Cook’s letters to Lily. Editing, while it may not a dying art, is dependent on time, commitment and too often, budgets. For this review, I went to my personal files as usual where I found so many problems in wording, spelling, punctuation that I had to read my actual posting from May 07, 2020. I breathed a sigh on relief to see that all those mistakes had not made it to my readers. Despite that, I did find three tiny little missteps in the posted episode that have been fixed.

Cook's Letter to Lily

The heart of any home and especially the kitchen is the Cook. Not the gleaming silver or dated avocado appliances. Not a kitchen decorated professionally or cobbled together with thrift store finds. It is the Cook. When a kitchen empties out, as it had been with Covid19 restrictions, the beat and rhythm settles into silence. Dez and Emmie had inhabited it for two weeks when they were in isolation. Anyone coming from a jail cell, and the person rescuing them, were to be isolated for the standard two week period. While the two women were in the empty kitchen, they only used the appliances as tools. Dez did make some delicious breakfasts, but a cook makes meals and snacks of all types and for any number of people. The maestro of a symphony of deliciousness.

Yes, in the Beaufort household, there is a paycheque attached to this very creative work. But Mary Elizabeth Saunders cooked because she loved cooking. She loved the chopping and peeling and arranging. She loved the aromas of the sizzling bacon, steamy bubbling of stew or soup and the yeasty breath work of bread rising, bread baking and fresh bread welcoming butter on the first slice. Mary Elizabeth Saunders loved cooking. At the Beaufort estate she had earned the title Cook.

There is one other thing that Cook loves, though. It’s a dying art that sputters along quite sporadically for many, but for Cook is as regular as clock work. She keeps pen and paper in her desk in the kitchen, just as the whisks and spoons in the kitchen drawer. When the roast is roasting or the bread is baking, when the soup is brewing or the stew was stewing, Cook would go to the desk for her other set of tools ~ pen and paper. Today, there was nothing on the big stove but the tea kettle for Cook's pot of tea. She brought it, her tea mug, a cookie and her writing tools to the long kitchen table and settled to write to Lily, her sister who lived 'across the pond' as Cook was fond of saying.

Dearest Lily,

I got your last letter telling me about your new grandson. Thank you for the photograph. He is the spitting image of his grandpa Charley. I’ll bet Charley is proud as punch! That dear little one’s hair is just like yours was when you were a baby. I loved the pictures mom always had of our baby pictures that she kept on the side table. You with your shock of black, black hair, and two years later, me with just a thin cap of barely brown hair. My hair didn’t grow in as thick as yours until I was three months old. Now it seems I’m starting to shed that hair! I suppose when you're pushing on through your sixties that kind of thing should be expected.

Do you remember me telling you about the two people that were hired here about the same time as I was? They started a bit earlier. Well, I do have some news about the two of them and neither of them know that I know that they’ve been making eyes at each other for years. In the last while, since we’ve all been isolated, it seems things have gotten a bit….how can I say this…..hotter. Well, they have been simmering long enough, Lily. But that’s not all that’s happened with the two of them. And at their age. I just shake my head. Now here’s the really interesting part. James - that’s Digby the butler.....his father had been the butler before him. Martha Haverstock, is the Housekeeper. The three of us have been here for, I don’t know 25 or 30 years.We’ve watched young Michael Beaufort grow up and watched him get married. There have been other family weddings on the lawn, pictures taken under the big redwood tree (did I send you a picture of that tree?) and all kinds of entertaining. I’ve been the cook for all of the gatherings. But I was telling you about James and Martha.

Wouldn’t you know it but James came to me the other day when I was in to inspect the kitchen and pantry. He looked real nervous and stood like a school boy over by our big table. We still have to keep our distances so I thought that’s what he was doing. He said we wanted to talk to me. So, I thought it was about the kitchen inspection I’d just done. But that wasn’t it. He was clasping and unclasping his hands, and James is always in control, he was so nervous. So I made a pot of tea and told him to sit down. I’ve never, ever told James to sit down. I may have invited him to but, no, this time I just told him. And he did! Just like he was afraid of me or something. I asked him if he would like some tea. Now I know James likes to have coffee, but it’s my kitchen and I had a pot of tea already. I thought he might like something a little stronger. You know that I’m not one for any alcohol, but I do use it when I’m cooking. I remembered our grandfather liked his cuppa, and once in a while he’d put just a tablespoon of rum in his tea. So I did the same for James. He didn't say anything one way or another. I've had rum in the back of the cupboard for the Christmas cakes I bake every year. I told Mrs. Beaufort if she wanted  something else for her parties she had to order it for herself. I thought she’d fire me when I dug in my heels. Lucky me, she didn’t. But I can’t abide having bottles of liquor cluttering up my kitchen.

Anyway, I was telling you about James. I’ve cooked a lot of lunches and dinners for a few or a lot. But I’ve never had a good looking man, looking real nervous, come to me and say - ‘Cook…Elizabeth….would you, please, make a picnic lunch for myself and one other person. A woman.” It’s a good thing he was sitting down. He might have fallen right over. So I said: “Why James Digby, are you asking me to go on a picnic with you and make the food for it?” Well, I was just teasing him because I knew who he was taking to this picnic. It's Martha - I’ve told you about Martha before. Well, he blushed and stuttered and stammered and said “No, I’m sorry Cook. It’s Martha.” Anyway, we had a good visit after that and he settled down. He didn’t know that food for this picnic would be no different than any other picnics, except that something chocolate would be for dessert. He said he wanted to have the picnic the same day as our Staff Meeting next week.  I'll let you know how everything goes.

Well, Lily, I guess I’ve talked your ear off again. Maybe some day you can come over here for a visit and meet everyone. I guess that would have to be when the pandemic is settled and all the restrictions are gone. Thanks for your letters, I love reading about what you are doing and I know you are all right.

You take care Lily and give my love to Charley,

Love you,

Mary Elizabeth

p.s. don’t forget to wash your hands

“Letters have to pass two tests before they can be classed a good: 

they must express the personality both of the writer and of the recipient.”

~ E.M.Forster

Chapter One, Episode 44 - Digby's Resolve - Situationally Theirs

June 19, 2020

Review, Edit and Update

Two commas, an apostrophe, three unnecessary spaces and one unnecessary word: that’s it. 

I do hope that Digby is pleased. 

In Digby’s Resolve he certainly struggled with his own sort of work-life balance.

Digby's Resolve

Digby struggled with two problems. One was professional. Digby, the butler for the Beaufort estate, had always prided himself on his professionalism. He was organized and very personable. When plans went awry, he was able to steer things back on course. His other problem was heartache, which he really didn’t know how to deal with. He had been unable to organize it, put it in its correct place or set it on a straight and orderly course. These two issues were about to come crashing together. 

He tried to place blame for his predicament on Giles. Giles Thornton, the estate chauffeur and mechanic, had listened to his plight about what to do ‘about Martha’ one morning in the estate kitchen. Giles finally suggested, because dinner dates were out of the question in this time of Covid19, that a picnic would be the next best choice. A picnic of all things. James Edward Digby knew about many things, even some sorts of picnics. But they were always for Mrs. Beaufort and her guests, or for Martha’s grandchildren. 

But this picnic? This picnic was just for two people. Himself and Martha Haverstock, the Housekeeper. How could Digby organize such an affair? He would have to talk to Cook. He would need to know what food should be prepared. James truly believed that Cook was unaware that he was smitten with Martha. Besides, he had set a standard that there was to be no fraternizing with any other staff. Consequently, Digby did not want to talk to Cook about the reasons for such a picnic. Then there was the issue of beverages. Digby enjoyed a glass of wine in the evenings. Martha had no taste for wine. Would he have a pot of tea at a picnic? Could he find some other beverage that would suit? 

Digby was certain of one thing. He knew where the picnic would be. He might need Gile’s help to set it all up. A table was needed beneath the branches of the giant redwood in the front yard. Neither James nor Martha were as agile as they once were. When they first started out on the Beaufort Estate, they were both in their twenties. Getting down on a floor or grass, and getting up again, was effortless. Now, getting down was not necessarily difficult, but getting up again had become a sometimes painful chore. Yes, a picnic table was a definite need.

The forecast for the weather in the next week showed sunshine and little wind. Perfect for an outdoor picnic under the spreading branches of the ancient redwood tree in the front yard. Digby always had been at the ready with alternatives, should a plan go awry. A back up plan as Giles called it. So if the weather was dull and rainy, they would have their lunch at the dining room table and use the china and crystal. 

Then there was the other problem. The Staff Meeting. Digby had been going on about a staff meeting for quite sometime. He had written up an agenda, but couldn’t concentrate as he normally could. He was very displeased with himself. Although Digby thought that Martha was the problem, Giles told him that it really was his feelings toward Martha. Feelings were things that could, and should, be filed away as they interfered with the orderly running of each day. He had seen that first hand with his father. If his father gave into any feelings ~ any feelings at all ~ he was unable to be as professionally cool as Digby. Even as a child, Digby recognized the need for a dispassionate approach. How could he run a staff meeting, especially with Martha present, with tripping over these ‘feelings’?

Which should come first? The picnic or the staff meeting. If he put the Staff Meeting first, he would not be able to look Martha in the eye. Giles would absolutely be no support with his winks and grins. Digby didn’t know how professional he could be in such a situation. But then, if he had the picnic first, and depending on the afternoon, it could be devastating or thrilling. Either way, he still wouldn’t be able to maintain his comportment in the meeting.

James paced back and forth in his tiny living room. He stopped in front of the big window to watch the children playing in the yard across the street. His thoughts, so tangled, began to drift apart. That is so good that they can get outside and play. I wonder if they’re warm enough. I wonder if Martha would be warm enough outside. I suppose we could have a nice lunch in the dining room. My goodness, I already thought of that one. Digby’s brow relaxed. His face softened almost with a smile. James had an idea. He would have the Staff Meeting on the same day as the picnic. The Staff meeting would be first and in the morning. Afterward, he would ask to speak to Martha privately. Cook would, necessarily, be sworn to secrecy as would Giles. Cook would already have the picnic basket filled and ready. Giles would get Brigitte to help with getting the picnic table under the tree. So, Brigitte would also have to be sworn to secrecy. James was still pacing, but a little quicker now, rubbing the palms of his hands together. That’s when he knew that a plan was coming together. This time was quite a bit different though. James Edward Digby wanted to dance and sing, jump in the air and click his heels. As Covid19 restrictions were loosened, so were the restrictions James had around his heart. He would still be cautious, but now he could move forward. James slept well that night.

“Resolve, and thou are free.”

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

Flower-de-Luce, and the Masque of Pandora

Chapter One, Episode 43 - China Roses - Situationally Theirs

June 18, 2020

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

Chapter One, Episode 42 - The Girl on the Swing - Situationally Theirs

June 17, 2020

Review, Edit and Update: 

Little to fix in this episode - 

a comma here, a period there. 

What’s interesting? - a ghostly entry into Dez’s life.

The Girl on the Swing

Dez only caught a glimpse of her. She was driving up to her sister’s home for the afternoon. Emmie was away, so seeing someone in the house troubled her. It could have been one of the staff. Maybe it was Brigitte. The figure at the window seemed too slender to be Martha and Cook apparently never was in the upstairs. But, she thought, maybe it’s my imagination? There were no cars parked at the front, so Dez drove around back. Hmm...no cars here either. She made sure her cell phone was in the big bag she carried. Digging around in the bottom, she fished it out and turned it on. Parking the car as quietly as possible on the gravel, she turned it off. Let it sit for a minute. Opened her door quietly and slowly. Once she was out of the car, she closed the door just as quietly, the only sound the click of the catch. I’ll have to close it more tightly once I know who's in the house. The back door was closed and locked. The rubber soles of Dez’ shoes as she walked around the veranda, let her check the windows. None seem to have been disturbed. It must have been my imagination. Back at the kitchen door, Dez slipped her key in the lock. It made a tiny grating noise that made Dez wince. She really should be calling someone, but she just wasn’t sure of what or who she had seen. Not wanting to be thought a foolish woman, she decided she could handle anyone….if there was anyone inside. Slowly, carefully, noiselessly, she crossed the length of the kitchen and started up the stairs. Her breathing sounded too loud so she held her breath. When her lungs were about to burst, she took little shallow breaths. Dez still didn’t hear any movement from upstairs. The house, upstairs and down, felt empty and at the same time there seemed to be a fragment of a presence. No one had ever told Dez of any ghosts that may inhabit the old house, but the quavering of her heart, suggested that there was something or someone with her. Why now? Why not when Emmie and I were isolated here? Were there any strange noises we both ignored. Emmie would know of ghosts or strange goings on. She would have told me. Wouldn’t she? 

“Is there anyone here?” Dez voice was loud and sounded almost booming, making her jump. “Is there anyone here? If you’re a ghost or a spirit or something, do something so I can stop being scared! I saw you at the window when I drove up. At least I thought I saw you.”

Dez was at the dining room window. The very window that she thought she saw someone. The white gauzy drapes were pulled against the afternoon sun. Sunlight filtered through them softening everything in the room. Dez breathed a sigh of relief. “It was just my imagination. How did I get so spooked?” Nevertheless, she did look in each corner of the dining room and the adjoining living room to be certain that she was alone. Back in the dining room, she pulled back the curtain. It was always a lovely vista with the expanse of lawn, the gravelled driveway lined with Tuscany pines, the town of Hartley nestled in the distance. The sun was low, the shadows of the trees long. On the lawn, close to the mansion, was an ancient redwood that Dez admired each time she came to Emmie’s mansion. The red bark, lit up by the sun, made it more stunning than usual. Dez froze. There was the same figure, but a young girl. A blonde, ringleted girl swinging slowly back and forth. “But there is no swing on that tree! I know it.” Dez had often thought the old trees branches would be great for swings. The tree itself a wonderful climbing tree. But I’m not ten years old anymore. “There is no swing. No girl. Only a tree. I must be losing it. If this place is haunted, why hasn’t anyone told me!”

If the old house could have laughed, it would have. But all it could do was watch and listen in amusement as Dez tried to make sense of what she had seen. No one had ever told her the story of the house and the girl on the swing. It was an innocent enough story. No murder or mayhem. One day, that story would be told, of that the old house was certain.

~~~~~

Dez heard Matt’s truck before she saw it. Tearing her eyes away from the girl on the swing, she looked up. “I’ve got to tell Matt about this. Or should I? He’ll think I’m crazy and I don’t want to chase him away.” When she looked back at the tree, it was just a tree. No girl, no swing. “I’m forty years old and seeing things. But I know what I saw.” Dez turned and retraced her steps down to the kitchen just as Matt was knocking on the door. 

“Dez! Are you ok? I hate to say this, but you look like you’ve seen a ghost. That’s a pretty trite phrase, but that is how you look.”

“Not ‘a’ ghost but two ghosts, Matt. Or maybe it was just one that was in two places when I was outside it was upstairs and when I went upstairs it - or she - was on a swing on the big tree at the front. Damn. I’m shaking. It was so scary!”

“Are you going to be ok? Do you still want me to go to the orchard with you. We’ve still got some clearing away to do before you can get your beehives in.”

“Definitely, Matt. I’m just glad you’re here. Getting the beehive spaces ready would be good for me. I need some physical work to settle this shaking.”

Matt put his arms around Dez. “You are shaking! And yes I know we’re supposed to be distanced but I’m worried about you. Let’s go see that tree first where you saw the girl on the swing, just to prove you’re not going crazy. Then we’ll deal with the orchard.”

~~~~

Looking up into the tree, they could see nothing. Dez suddenly stepped backwards, gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Matt. Look. Up there.” 

Matt did as he was told. “What Dez?”

“Those scars on that branch. Scars that only a thick rope could have made. Two of them. There was a swing here.”

“The muses are ghosts, and sometimes they come uninvited.”

~ Stephen King, Bag of Bones

Chapter One, Episode 41 - What If? - Situationally Theirs

June 15, 2020
Review, Edit and Update:
This whole process of editing has really made me appreciate all the copy editors and editors out there that review the many books I have read. I can read, re-read and re-read again and still find issues. Today it's mostly been about punctuation - either too much or not enough. I also appreciate all my readers, who have kept on with me despite my many word crafting lapses. 

What If?

“Mom, why are you crying? And don’t tell me it’s allergies. I know the difference with you. So. You have been crying, haven’t you.”

“Maybe a little bit, but once the tears are flowing I get all congested and drippy, like allergies.” Martha, the Housekeeper at the Beaufort estate, had been over to the estate in the morning. Cheerful and happy, she told her daughter she wouldn’t be long. They kept their video chats open in order to maintain contact, and when Martha went out she would let Joanie know.

Joanie, Martha’s daughter, and Martha were having their afternoon tea over video chat. Martha didn’t know what she would have done if she did not have these afternoon chats. Her grandchildren put their beautiful faces up to the screen sideways, made silly faces then ‘Grandma, we have to go play now! Bye! We love you!’ Ben and Abby disappeared from the screen, off to their play room. Abby ran back and blew her grandma a big kiss, spun around and ran after her big brother Ben.

“Joanie, you always could see right through me even when you were little Ben’s age. To tell the truth, I don’t know what I’m crying about. Everything was fine until I went into that big empty kitchen. No minestrone soup bubbling. Cook not in the kitchen singing off key. The delicious aroma of bread baking missing. James’ office door seemed almost sealed shut. At least I had the children’s pictures and little finger-paint hand prints on my door. I just all of a sudden felt like I had a stone in my heart.”

Oh mom. It’s all this social distancing and isolation. I have the kids here with me everyday and if I could transport one or both of them over to you sometimes, I would. You’ve been so strong and patient through all of this. Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you. Just the emptiness of it all?”

“I think so. Joanie, I’ll be fine. Just being a silly old woman. Of course, an empty kitchen isn’t something to cry over. Cook will soon be back at her big stove stirring a bit pot of soup or kneading dough for a big batch of cinnamon buns.” Martha starts to cry again. 

”Mom, what is it this time?”

“Nothing, dear. I guess I wasn’t finished with my tears.” Martha fiercely wiped her eyes the back of one hand. “There. See. I’m all dry now.” She brushed back her hair and sat up just a little too straight. “Now. Let me go put the kettle on. I think a I’d like another cup of tea. That other in the tea pot has been sitting too long and is not nice anymore. “ As she walked away from the computer, the dam burst again. All Joanie could hear was ‘Stop it! Just stop it!’ Then unintelligible muttering. All that Joanie could make out was something about ‘James’.

“There now, I’m ready to visit again. Are you out of cookies, because I am. Now that we can go out a bit to the store, I must buy a small bag of those good chocolate chip ones.”

Joanie sat back in her chair, smiling and listening to her mother carry on about cookies. She knew that she always had cookies for her children. “Mom, what are you not telling me. I heard you say something about James. Is that James the butler? What’s going on mom?”

“Oh that. That was nothing. I just saw James when I was leaving to come home. He was waiting to see Giles. He needed to know where the butter was. That’s all there was to that. I think Miss Dez, Miss Emelina’s sister, was out at the orchard.”

“Mom. Stop. You’re babbling. You always babble  when you’re nervous about something.”

“Well, Joanie. You don’t have to know everything.” Martha snapped at her daughter, unable to move the conversation to safer ground. 

“OK. I’ll tell you then. I just finished baking four dozen cookies yesterday, I’ve saved one dozen for you. So you won't have to buy cookies and if you come over here, I’ll put them on the front step. When can you come over?”

“Let me see. Right after we’re finished with our visit?”

Joanie was still smiling “And will you share them with James?”

“Joanie, stop it. I don’t even know if he likes chocolate chip cookies.”

“Of course you don’t know, mom, but to find out you just need to ask him. You know, talk to him. Outside of work, he’s not your supervisor. He’s just a good-looking man - those are your words.And you two are friends, aren’t you?”

“How on earth can I call him a friend? Yes, we are are friendly and he is very good looking but beyond that, he’s just the Butler and I’m just the Housekeeper. We were told when we were hired that there was to be no fraternization. Old Mrs. Beaufort’s strict words.”

“And no one has changed that little rule? But aside from that, here’s a ‘what if’ mom. What if he were to ask you out for a date? It wouldn’t be fancy because all the restaurants and the dancehall is closed. So what if he did anyway? Ask you out for a date? Maybe a walk?

“Why I don’t know what I would do or say. It would certainly take me by surprise. We have known each other for so long and he has never, ever even hinted that he would do such a thing. Oh, if we could only go dancing. I don’t even know if he dances.” Martha had a wistful far away look in her eyes at the thought of that handsome man holding her in he is arms while they waltzed away an evening under the stars. “I think I know what my answer would be, Joanie.”

“It’s fun to think of the what-if. Scary, but fun. It’s like, I thought this door 

was closed before, but here it is open just the tiniest crack. What if?”

~ Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before