Spirit of the Revolution (5 page)

Jolena laughed over the comment. “Don’t worry, I won’t.

“So tell me, are you finally settled into your new home? No—wait a minute before you answer that question. I can tell something is wrong, so, out with it,” Nancy commanded.

“Oh, Nan, buying and restoring this house is the greatest thing I have ever done in my whole life. You should see my garden. The flowers are all in bloom now, and they’re just so beautiful. As soon as you can, you need to fly my babies out here for a long visit. You and Bob can come too, if you must.” She placed her violin on the desk, and then settled into her chair.

“Oh. Well, thanks for the invite,” Nancy retorted.

“Really, I just love it here, and the house turned out even better than what I hoped. The only problem I have is a nest of squirrels or mice living somewhere inside the house. I hear them at times, disturbing things, rattling around and what not, mostly at night. From the corner of my eye I frequently see their shadows, but I haven’t discovered their point of entry so I can plug the hole,” she added. “I will, though.”

“Rodents have invaded your house? Well, of all the—yuck,” Nancy sputtered. “Perhaps you ought to call an exterminator. Now tell me, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, get real. I’m sure living out here where farmland abounds, an exterminator would only laugh and roll his eyes, don’t you think? You get rid of one annoying rodent, and two more scurry in.” Jolena bit down on her bottom lip and then added, “You know how it goes. They would probably just tell me to get a cat.”

“You could at least give them a try. You’ve dumped a good chunk of your savings into the place. Therefore, you wouldn’t want it infested with nasty creatures. They multiply like you wouldn’t believe, they’re destructive, and they pee and poop everywhere. Imagine the smell of that mess over time. Now, for the last time, and don’t tell me ‘nothing’ because I can hear it in your voice, what’s wrong?”

Jolena combed her fingers through her hair and sighed. “Well, it’s because—you reminded me that you didn’t get to share in the excitement of my ‘Finally, I’m officially moved in party.’ And I have to tell you, we missed hearing all of your snide comments while I unpacked my last box. Kay-Kay had to endure my reluctance to set the last goblet on the shelf, all by herself. Without the two of you ganging up on me, things took so much longer than usual, and it drove her crazy.”

“Yeah—no. Give it up, Jo. There’s something else, I can tell.”

She placed a hand to her forehead as she released a lengthy breath. “Look, it truly is nothing for you to worry about. Tender emotions have risen to the top. That’s all, I promise. You see, I finally received the music for the motion picture score I told you about a month or so ago, and you’ll never guess what they’ve included in that score.”

“So, then just tell me,” Nan said.

“Mom and Dad’s song. And wouldn’t you know, the package arrived just this morning of all days.” She breathed out a bit of a laugh as she closed her eyes. “In fact, I was just playing it through for the second time when you called, so now you know the reason I’m a bit weepy.”

“Oh, that explains it. I know how you feel, Jo. I miss them too. If it makes you feel any better, we plan to visit the cemetery a little later today. We’re going to put some fresh flowers on their graves.”

“That’s good. Add some for me, will you? You know, you would think their death would get easier to accept as time passes.” Jolena dabbed at a tear and sniffed as she grabbed a tissue. “But it just doesn’t seem to, does it.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, girl, truly I am.”

Nancy said something comforting in return, but Jo didn’t key onto it because she could swear that distinctive voice just whispered into her ear again. Her eyes swept over the library with unhurried thoroughness and found nothing out of the ordinary. How very odd. She didn’t have a television or stereo in this room. The closest TV and stereo sat in her bedroom, and she’d yet to turn either of them on. In fact, she might not even have plugged them in.

“Jo? Are you still there? Did you here me?”

“Hmm? No—still here. I kind of lost the last thing you said, though,” she said.

“I asked you about a convenient time to pack up the family for a visit. What’s your schedule like during the summer months? Do you have the week before Labor Day free? The kids start back to school the Tuesday after, so maybe we can fly out then—”

Jo turned her attention away from imaginary voices and focused instead on the chat with her sister. They talked for well over an hour. As their conversation wound down, she said, “Well, Nan, give hugs and kisses to everyone in the family. You can also tell my thoughtless brother to call me every now and again, just to make sure I’m still alive, if for nothing else.”

Nancy laughed over the comment. “Don’t worry. I’m queen at making Eddie feel guilty, so look for his call. And listen, don’t forget to call the exterminator because A, I want your house intact and beautiful when we arrive, and B, you and I both know how scared I am of anything that’s furry and scurries.”

“I’ll call the exterminator, post haste, I promise. I love you and I’ll talk to you later. Bye for now.” Jo still wore a smile as she hung up the phone.

“You needn’t call anyone. There’s no vermin in the house.”

Jo looked up, yet remained quite still while her hand rested atop the phone. She couldn’t possibly have imagined the voice. Not this time. But where in the world did it come from? Once again, her gaze meandered around the room.

Just take a moment and think about the unexplained incidents you have observed
.
What about the celebration taking place in the parlor? You did witness part of that celebration, did you not?
the voice inside her head whispered.

Flashes of memory swirled through her mind and she dismissed them at once. Perhaps she ate something disagreeable that night and it culminated in a most peculiar dream.

There’s more to consider, what about the dog—

Dakota’s behavior had changed a bit since they settled into the house, both inside and out. His playful actions didn’t really look as if he chased something or tried to corner it, they look more like—

He’s playing with someone. You’ve seen the evidence of that. And what about those flashes of motion?

The wandering shadows she saw so often from the corner of her eye were at eye level, not on the floor where she should expect to see squirrels or mice.

T
he shadows are much larger than any rodent could possibly make, correct?
What about the occurrences in the library? Today isn’t the first time you found the book out of place.

She had no reason or desire to take that book off the shelf, not unless she walked in her sleep. In her struggle to make sense of her mind muddle, the memory of her first guests crashed into the forefront. Now that she looked back on the visit, Richard looked more as if someone—

Shoved him from behind
—

The sofa? Impossible. The sofa sat against the wall and Gloria said the house was—

Haunted.

The word made the hair on the back of her neck rise and goose bumps appear on her skin. She tried to recall everything she had ever read or seen concerning the subject. Jo swallowed hard and shook her head slightly while trying to make sense of this current dilemma.

Television documentaries reported shadows on the walls, and sometimes those interviewed insisted they followed orbs or what not. Shadows, yes; orbs, no. Cold spots throughout the house at various times definitely showed up in the group. She remembered ghost hunters running about old homes, mansions, or castles with some sort of electronic equipment measuring temperature in their quest to find cold spots.

Then she recalled those who professed to hear voices—check that one as a big yes—or seen apparitions. She’d yet to see an apparition, good thing too. Some interviews included people who talked about objects going missing and turning up again later in a place previously searched. She couldn’t remember anything like that happening. Objects moving before one’s very eye? Nope, unless she wanted to count Richard vaulting from his seat.

Oh, this is just silly.
Surely, all of those events were no more than figments of people’s very active imaginations. A large part of the populace enjoyed the sensation of fear, and in turn, they conjured all sorts of unimaginable things in their quest to scare themselves silly. Kind of like people believing in vampires and werewolves, or fairies even—

“Just stop all of this nonsense, Jo,” she berated herself aloud. “There are no such things as ghosts.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” an audible voice said. “For all things are possible, are they not?”

Jo’s heart raced as she drew in short, shallow breaths. Bumps appeared on her arms once more. As she sought to rub them away, her eyes traveled around the room, looking for the source of that voice.

“Please, you needn’t fear me. My intention is not to frighten or harm you,” the voice whispered.

The sudden shiver that coursed throughout her body made Jo clench her teeth, and as she rose from her chair, she placed a hand to her brow.

“I can’t believe I’m seriously saying this out loud.” She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Look, I can hear you, you know, and I have—several times since I moved into this house. Whoever you are, whatever you are, just—just go ahead and show yourself before I think myself completely mad. Unless of course, you’re a spineless coward who enjoys toying with people’s sanity and driving them batty—”

“I may be many things, Miss Jolena Leigh Michaelsson.” The presence dipped his head and folded his arms across the breadth of his chest. “But I like to think a coward isn’t one of them.”

Jo just stared at the image that suddenly appeared before her eyes. She didn’t know what she expected after her tirade, but surely, she didn’t expect this. One minute she found herself ridiculously ranting in the room all by herself, grateful no one could hear her vent. The next moment, to the left of her George Washington at Valley Forge painting stood the man she remembered from her dream.

From the poet-style shirt, form-fitting fringed vest, and leather pants he wore, he could easily have stepped out from the painting. He had shoulder-length dark brown hair, which he tied back at the neck in a queue. Shorter strands of hair framed his face in a most attractive sort of way. His warm brown eyes bore into hers. She didn’t detect any animosity from within them. Judging from where his broad shoulders met the top of George Washington’s frame, he stood at least six foot four, was much better looking, and—he called her by name.

She had no idea how long they stood across from each other or how long they gazed at each other with such intensity. Mere seconds might’ve passed or maybe even hours for her brain to accept what her eyes beheld. He looked very solid. If not for the fact he appeared right before her eyes, she would’ve taken him for a prowler or worse. But ghosts, devoid of their human form, should appear transparent or wispy. Right? Kind of like those cartoon ghosts with that funny-looking tail thing instead of feet.

Did he scare her? Yeah, maybe a little. The thumping of her heart attested to that. But many times in her life she had sensed something truly threatening, something truly evil. She didn’t have any of those feelings now. In fact, in a bizarre sort of twist, he made her feel relatively calm. Still, her eyes searched out the door, looking for a means of escape if for nothing more than to think this situation through and try to understand it. She would need to pass by the—by him, in order to leave the room. And go where?

“Won’t do you any good, for I’ll still be here when you come back, and you know you’d have to come back,” her ghost pointed out.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she appreciated the fact that he stood very still, waiting for her to come to terms with something she didn’t understand or believe. Finally, after assessing the truth of his words, she looked him directly in the eye, raised her chin a notch, and tilted her head to one side.

“You are not supposed to be here,” she stated with all the conviction she could muster.

Chapter 4

The bold statement elicited a quiet chuckle. “Pray tell, Miss Michaelsson, where then, am I supposed to be? This is my home and has remained thus for a very long while now.”

The man remained near the painting and apparently, awaited her response. Man, had she gone stark raving nuts or what? She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and slowly released her breath. Jo hoped that when she opened her eyes, he’d be gone. Then she could question the state of her mental health, check into a hospital somewhere,
and
he still stood there. But now, he looked very much amused.

“Miss Jolena?” her ghost prodded.

“Okay.” Jo touched the tip of her tongue to her dry lips and said, “You—you should be at the next plane of existence—paradise—spirit realm—heaven—whatever you personally want to call it.”

The spirit’s shrug accompanied a single shake of his head. “Perhaps heaven is simply found at the location one loves best.”

“No. That’s not right. The tunnel of light everyone goes on about—you’re supposed to go through it, aren’t you? Didn’t you see it when you—when you passed?”

The bright light seemed a common experience among those who “died” and returned to tell their story. Right? People with a near death experience said the beauty of the light drew them toward it, and once they entered, they had no desire to return to their mortal state.

“I saw it,” he said.

“Then why didn’t you go through it?” she asked.

“Because I didn’t choose to.” The tone he used also said, “Case closed, end of subject, move on.”

Nevertheless, Jo mulled the comment over. She believed wholeheartedly the gift of choice forever belonged to each soul. Therefore, she supposed, one could choose to stay behind or choose to leave once their mortality ended. The notion made sense in a strange sort of way. But why would anyone want to stay behind? Some unfinished business or a life cut short perhaps. Didn’t movie and TV shows point out such a reason? However, her ghost didn’t want to pursue the topic any further.
Her
ghost. Her ghost? Wait just a darn minute—