Chapter One, Episode 49 - A Storied Past - Situationally Theirs

June 24, 2020
Review, Edit and Update
Detail within sentences in two places was improved - none of it within dialogue. What I have learned over this exercise, is that attention to the details of persons, places, locations or the ambience of a scene is key to showing rather than telling.

A Storied Past

Digby had kept his father’s secret. That is, until the day he answered Emelina’s questions. She had been a young bride, very much in love with young Michael Beaufort. Curious in the flush of new marriage, she wanted to know more about the old house and its history. Digby knew how much young Michael cared for Miss Emelina. ‘Head over heels he is’ ~ Martha and Cook always spoke of Michael as though he were a favourite nephew instead of their employer. James Edward Digby, Mary Elizabeth Saunders and Martha Haverstock had watched him grow from toddler to teenager, teenager to young adult and then a handsome groom ready to take on the responsibilities of the Beaufort Estate. 

Digby Sr. had passed on to Digby the ancient crumbling diary that told of a ghost that drifted through the estate. Different people had seen her in the dining room, laying the table for a dinner for one or sometimes for two. Others had seen her on a swing from the sturdy branch of the ancient redwood in the yard. Digby also knew that she often stood at the dining room window watching as a ghostly wedding ceremony took place beside her swing. The swing that hung from thick cabled ropes and decorated in garlands of flowers. If someone had seen her, they would have seen a smile, her translucent face glowing with joy. Then she would turn to the china cabinet and again, she would lay china and crystal places for two. When she was finished she retuned to the window to watch as ghostly guests gathered, wavering like long silvered grasses in a summer breeze. The flower beds seemed more brightly coloured. Brilliant butterflies dipped and floated. Song birds trilled and warbled. As the wedding party drifted away like thin clouds in a clear blue sky, Sarah floated down from the dining room to return to her garlanded swing. 

~~~~~

Digby waited in the kitchen for Brigitte to arrive. Brigitte would be doing her usual cleaning and dusting of a house that was mostly sitting empty. Pandemic restrictions had merely been eased, allowing Beaufort staff to gather carefully. They were easing themselves slowly back to keeping the estate functional. None of them knew what the final outcome would be for not only the estate,

but for themselves. For today, Digby had one important task to get done. 

“Good morning. Brigitte. How is your health today?” Digby didn’t know quite how to approach the request he had of Brigitte. He had already talked with Giles, who would arrive at lunch time expecting his help to be ready.

“Good morning, Digby. My health is great. Are you well?” That was odd, Digby greeting her in that manner. If he was present, he would always say good morning or afternoon, but seldom did he inquire after her health. 

“Mm……yes…I am well, quite well thank you. I am a bit nervous though.”

“You? Nervous. Is everything all right?” Brigitte put her lunch away in the refrigerator. She brought her water bottle to the table and sat down. 

“I have something to tell you and something to ask of you. Please bear with me.” Digby looked as if he had to spit out his words. He was not a man given to speaking about himself and definitely not asking for help for himself.

“Go ahead. I’m listening.” Now Brigitte was concerned. Did she still have a job? Was he about to tell her that her hours had been shaved? She really couldn’t afford that. Grocery prices had gone up. She was doing more driving, making certain her parents were well stocked. She had tuition coming up for her fall classes. Brigitte had signed up for classes in being a modern day lady’s maid. She was questioning that decision as she watched Mrs. B. change from a helpless, snobby middle aged woman to a middle aged woman, self assured and not quite so uptight. But today she needed to know what Digby had to say, no matter what it was. 

“Brigitte, it’s about tomorrow. Tomorrow as you know, I am having our Staff Meeting in the morning. This is difficult for me so I might as well just say it. I’m taking Martha to lunch tomorrow. No, I didn’t say that correctly. Martha and I are going on a picnic, but it will be a surprise for Martha.”

Brigitte was digging her nails into her thighs to keep from laughing. She had never seen Digby so nervous. This had nothing to do with her. He was sweet on Martha. Everyone knew it ~ except for Digby and Martha. “It’s ok, Digby. You need me to do something to help set the stage.” Digby looked puzzled. “You know, set things up so you and Martha can be comfortable. Do you need a blanket to sit on, or a couple of those lawn chairs? I’m afraid I can’t help you with chairs, maybe a blanket.”

Digby held up his hand. “While that is very good of you Brigitte, I have something different to ask of you. Giles is going to be here at lunch time to move the big picnic table from the patio area to the front lawn. He needs help to move it and I would like you to be that help. I would have asked Samuel the gardener, but I really just want to keep this among the house staff. If you don’t feel like that is a job you should be doing, please feel free to decline.” Digby wiped his brow with a large white handkerchief.

“No problem, Digby. I’ll get my work done here, have my lunch and help Giles out. Does he know I’ll be here?” Still amused, Brigitte got up from the table to get started on her morning’s work, She also needed to turn her smile away from Digby. He was such a good man but so awkward!

~~~~~

When Brigitte first encountered Sarah, it had frightened her. But when Martha told her what she knew about Sarah, her heart softened. She felt badly for a child that had gone so early and seemed so lonely. After Martha left to answer her telephone, she told Sarah that she would like to be her friend. She remembered that only a tiny sigh like a breeze had come through the unopened dining room window. Since then Brigitte had always felt safe in the upstairs. She kept the china and crystal in order, never rearranging anything. The silver cutlery exactly lined up perfectly in the right hand drawer. The linen napkins laundered and kept in the left hand drawer. When she finished her upstairs cleaning and dusting for the day, she waved to the air and said ‘See you later, Sarah’.

Today, her routine was the same. The only change was that she took her lunch out to the picnic table. It was a lovely day, the patio was beautifully shaded by the wisteria beginning its springtime drape through the latticed pergola. Digby must have something really special planned for this picnic lunch. They could have had it right out here. It’s lovely. “Giles! Hi! I’m over here. I’m just finishing my lunch and we can move this table.”

“Hi Brigitte. Thanks for doing this. James was very specific that he wanted you on this job. Did he tell you why? He told me it was something about ‘keeping it all in the family’.”

“He didn’t use those words, but I got the gist. Giles, do you know any rumours or stories about this old place? “

“How much time do you have, Brigitte? Driving the Mrs. all over town here and there, I do hear whispers. Some of them louder than others. Sometimes it’s about an old man in the garden. Some kids are sure they hear eery noises coming from the apple orchard. And then there’s the one about a witch riding her broom at Hallowe’en. Now I don’t believe that one. Kids reading not enough Harry Potter. If they did they’d know it was Hagrid on his motorcycle!” Giles was ready to spin his tales. Travels all around Hartley and the hours he had spent waiting for Mrs. Beaufort had provided him with a rich imaginary life.

“But you know Brigitte, the one - call it ‘ghost story’ - that rings true is the one about the girl on the swing. Of all the stories I’ve heard, that is the one I hear the most often. She's apparently a pretty little thing.”

A breeze, like a tiny sigh, rumpled the wisteria over their heads. Giles and Brigitte did get the table moved that day. From the dining room window, two figures - an earthly man and a shadow child - could have been seen. They both smiled as they watched the picnic table settle just ahead of the arching redwood branch.

“There’s always room for a story that can 
transport people to another place.”

~ J.K.Rowling

Chapter One, Episode 48 - Promise Not to Laugh - Situationally Theirs

June 23, 2020

Review, Edit and Update

Just a couple of teeny tiny fixes: removal unnecessary spaces.

More importantly, Promise Not to Laugh, reveals Sarah's history of her sad demise in the 1700's. Sarah, now the resident ghost of Beaufort Estate materializes often.

Promise Not to Laugh

Over pizza and coffee on the evening of Mother’s Day, Dez and Emmie did reminisce about the changes wrought in their lives since their almost forced reunion two months prior. They also talked of their dreams and hopes for the future. The conversation looped and swirled around the different ways they lived. On Dez’s mind for most of the time was a question she had held to herself until the proverbial right moment. After the pizza was only crumbs scattered on the grass, and the coffee had only drops remaining, Dez decided the time was right. It had to be, or she would just keep putting it off. Emmie would know. At least Dez hoped she would. If she did know, why hadn’t she told Dez about the girl on the swing.

“Emmie. We’ve talked about everything from your black eye when you were 15 to the horrible colour job of my hair and everything in-between. I have a question though that only you can answer. That’s if you know the answer.” Dez was nervous. She was ordinarily pretty straightforward to the point of being blunt. But this would make her sound really crazy. Lock’m up crazy and throw away the key crazy.

“Dez, stop beating around the bush and ask your question. Is it something personal? Something you need to know about me and my marriage?" It was unusual for Dez to not just come out and ask her questions or make a bold statement about something.

“Promise you won’t laugh or think I’ve lost it? It’s just something that happened a few days ago when you weren’t on the estate. And no one else was either."

“What did you do, Dez? Now you’ve really got me curious.” The puzzled look on Emmie’s face almost made Dez laugh.

“Ok. Here it is. I saw a ghost. She - or it - was in the dining room and then she was on a swing on the big old redwood in the front yard………Did you know about it? You’ve gone white as a sheet, Emmie……Emmie?” Now it was Dez’s turn to look puzzled.

“You’re sure you saw her…I mean a ghost?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“I didn’t tell you because she doesn’t appear very often. When she does, it’s usually because something is going to happen. Not everyone sees her. No one seems to talk about her, so I don’t really know if she has appeared to anyone else. Digby told me quite a story about her.”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about her? But meeting a ghost is kind of exciting. I’ve never been in a real haunted house before. Was she in the house when you and I were isolating?”

“You know, now that you mention it, I don’t know why we don’t talk about her. It’s like it’s some big shameful secret. Or maybe, it would make our whole family look a little odd. Digby knows about her, but I don’t know if he has actually seen her. His father, the first Digby, found this old diary in the back of an unused little cupboard in his room. Having just taken over from his father, Digby was investigating all the nooks and crannies in his office. It wasn’t a big diary and could have been easily missed or as easily thrown away. He showed it to me one day when he was telling me about some of the house’s history. The leather cover was dusty and cracked. The pages were yellowed and flaking away. Most of the ink had faded or smudged, but was still legible enough to read her story. The date looked like it could have been 1748 or 1773, I’m not sure which. I assume it was written by the butler at the time. 

      

     'the Master’s young girl child has passed away. She was taken          with a fever only one week past. Her face and hands blistered. Master had servants bathe her fevered body with cool water. They have all sickened and one of them has passed on.’ 

A few pages on there was another entry 

     ‘Although buried in the graveyard, the little child has come home. One evening, I heard the swing creaking. There was the girl on the swing. I approached her and she vanished.’

After that entry there was nothing more about her or about how the family managed.”

“Could that be why I could see her? Because there is a ‘sickness upon the land’.” Dez laughed at her own poor joke. She stopped smiling. Emmie was trembling. “What’s wrong Emmie? Or are you just cold?”

“No, I’m not cold.” Emmie was a bit snappish. “Her story always leaves me frightened. She has never done anything to anyone, but she is just there with her big blue ghost eyes. Like she wants me to help her, but I don’t know what to to for her.”

“Now you’re sounding like she materializes more often that once in a while.”

“I suppose I am. I’m just worried that something bad is going happen when she shows up. If I just knew who else had seen her. I could talk to them and find out what they know. Maybe I could plan a seance or exorcism or something. When we walked in on Giles and Digby the other day, and they were talking about a picnic under the branch of the old redwood, it made me terribly nervous.”

“I know! It freaked me out too. That’s where her swing was. Has Digby forgotten about that? He read the diary with that first mention of the girl on the swing.” Dez had not only seen the girl with the blond ringlets, but she had seen the scars on the branch where the rope would have been tied. “I suppose we should warn Digby against putting the picnic table too close to that branch’s overhang. But let’s just leave any more ghost stories for the day time, Emmie.” The sisters gathered up their things, discarded their paper pizza plates and coffee cups, and walked back to Dez’s apartment. It would not be long before Sarah would appear again on her swing.

“we need ghost stories because we, in fact, are the ghosts.”

~ Stephen King, Danse Macabre

Chapter One, Episode 47 - Mom's Advice - Situationally Theirs

June 22, 2020
Review, Edit and Update
After taking out unnecessary spaces and punctuation, there was little else to fix. 

Father's Day just passed, this writer asks: do Dez and Emmie have similar feelings about their father? Will this be identified in a future episode?

Mom's Advice

Mother’s Day had not been big deal for Dez for over ten years. Her father - and Emmie’s father - had outlived their mother by exactly one year. Dez had tried to avoid Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. She often wondered how her sister, Emmie, managed these special days. Neither sister had children, although Emmie had been married, so they could easily avoid being subjected to the celebration of Motherhood. Dez, disappointed in herself for feeling this way, knew and had worked with many great moms. There were many women who had been just like moms for her. Was Emmie’s mother-in-law like a second mom to her? The sisters had never talked about that. In fact, in the last several weeks that they had been reunited, they each had studiously avoided the subject. 

Today, Mother’s Day would not leave her thoughts. She cleaned the whole house, not a task she ever relished. She did the laundry ~ before she even saw the bottom of the underwear drawer. She was tempted to wash the patio doors, but before she could, her paint brushes got her attention. I could finish that water colour I started a few days ago. Just a touch in the corner. That persons suit needs a bit more red. Before long, washing the patio window was not even a memory. The canvas Dez was working on was a stylized painting of several people on, what looked like, a grass green surface. In the foreground there was a grouping of four substantial people. Not particularly close to each other but obviously a group. One other man, barely separate from the group, was striding towards them. In the back ground, a thin woman, dressed in blue, stood with her arm raised. Dez stood back from the painting. There’s something missing. I don’t like the bareness of the picture. Too much green, but I don’t know. Dez dipped her brush in water and dragged it across the top of the canvas, watering down the green so it was almost translucent. Giving it a chance to dry, she sat down to read, but was unable to concentrate. She got up and stepped outside on her balcony. The streets were busy with people believing that all the pandemic restrictions had been relaxed. Dez wanted to shout down to all of them to ‘Get it together! A bunch of you are going to be sick!” But, she didn’t. Her mood and her energy were low.

“Martha is kind of maternal. She has her daughter next door. Her grandchildren are her joy. If I were one of her grandkids, I’d really like her to be my grandma.” Talking out loud was a way for Dez to break the silence of her home that sometimes seemed quite oppressive. This Mother’s Day was a tough one for Dez. “And Cook. She may be a bit gruff from time to time, but she would have been a great mother. Could have taught me how to cook, like my own mother didn't.”

Her canvas dry, Dez picked up her brush again. “Hmmm. The green is too flat. Making it translucent helped but………” It still needs something. Brush down again, Dez put water on for tea and rummaged in her refrigerator for a snack. Suddenly angry, Dez blurted out “I don’t feel like I belong there. It was ok when Emmie came and picked me up that night. It was ok when we stayed in isolation for two weeks. It was ok when we’ve been busy with the orchard and the garden. But now? When this pandemic thing is all over - if it’s ever going to be all over - I’ll come back to my little apartment and my little job. Emmie will do whatever it is Emmie has figured out for herself. And we’ll probably seldom see each other again.” By this time Dez was fuming. Fuming and her heart was starting to break at the loss that hadn’t come yet. And maybe never would. But just the thought of it was too much for Desperanza Eliot, a strong resilient woman. “What would Mom say?   -    Desperanza, you can keep sulking and kick all the doors you want, but how will that help? Do you want to be part of that group on Emmie's estate?” 

Dez went to her bedroom where she kept a picture of her parents. “I don’t know mom. I think I do. But I can’t just butt in. They all have their own lives and families. Mom, I’m so lonely and I miss you so much.”  “How does Emmie feel? She is your family, Dez. Don’t forget about her.”

The light bulb lit up. Like the one in the refrigerator when Dez  opened the door. Mom’s right. Mom was always right. Guess I’d better stop talking to her! My patio door is open. Anybody can hear me nattering on to myself. Dez picked up her phone and punched the speed dial for Emmie. There was no answer so Dez left her a message. “Emmie? I’m picking up some pizza and coming out there to share it with you. Call me.”

Dez’s phone rang almost before she tapped the stop icon. “Emmie? Where are you?….Outside my building?!…I just called you and left a message. I’ll buzz you in. Come on up.”

It was all she could do to not hug her sister when Dez answered the door. Emmie had been crying. “What’s wrong, Emmie?”

“I miss mom. I want her to be here with us.”

“Damn, Emmie I was just talking to her picture! I miss her too. This Mother’s Day has been harder than all the rest since she died. I’ve been pacing around here feeling sorry for myself. Mom - or maybe just the memory of mom - telling me to ‘stop sulking and do something about it’ pulled me up short. All of a sudden I was really hungry - I haven’t eaten much all day. My solution: A nice hot all-dressed pizza and go get Emmie.”

“I just cried and cried. But how could you tell? I thought I washed off all the salty mascara that had dribbled down my face.”

“Emelina Beaufort, have you forgotten? Every time you had some break-up or got in trouble with mom or dad, I knew something was up. First you’d go to the bathroom, you’d hold your head up high with your nose in the air. I didn’t see you go into the bathroom, but when I opened my door, your head was at that angle and your nose up in the air. I’ve always been able to tell.

~~~~~

Dez and Emmie, just two years apart, went out that evening. Picking up pizza, Dez got two slices of all dressed with extra mushrooms. Emmie’s pizza, in an effort to eat ‘more healthy’, ordered two slices of thin crust vegetarian pizza (with extra cheese). Taking it to the park by the water, they talked about their mom. The sewing and mending she had done for them, the secrets they hadn’t told her, the terrible cook she was - except for that one cake - what was it called…..Decadent Chocolate Pudding Cake. “We always ate it with vanilla ice cream! I was sure Dad always ate more that either of us.”

“No he didn’t. He just pretended he was to make you worried you wouldn’t get enough.”

As the sun settled on the water, they talked of the changes to their lives since they were united only weeks before. Emmie’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Dez, why don’t you come and live at the estate. You know I’ve got more than enough room.”

“I would hope that one day, I would at least live closer. Right now, I feel like I need all my things around me. Things I’ve gathered over the years that are tied to certain memories, events… people. But I’ll be out and I want you to come in. Now I’m going to sound like I’m twelve years old - we can do sleep overs at each other’s house. I’ve got that apiary to get up and running and you’ve got the garden and your whole house to manage. But we are family, Emmie. Let’s stay that way.”

“Mothers are like glue. Even when you can’t see them, 

they’re still holding the family together.”

~ Susan Gale, Canadian artist