Chapter 3
“I swear you must be bad luck,” Arlo grumbles, his hands straining on the wheel as he expertly navigates the truck to the side of the road. That’s significant muscle control. Color me impressed.
“No way, I’m Irish,” I mutter absentmindedly as I lean forward, peering out over the dashboard. “Is that…?”
“A cemetery?” Arlo opens the door, leaving the truck running. “Yeah.”
Oh, it isn’t just a cemetery. It’s actually beautiful in a historic, witch trial kind of scenario.
Ahead, a magnificent, traditional Victorian home rises between the trees, complete with a wraparound porch and white trim.
A plume of smoke curls into the air as big, fat snowflakes flutter from the twilight sky.
Behind the house is a woman, maybe in her fifties, who walks with something in her hand, while a trail of others follow behind her. As a group, they march into a cemetery that looks to be hundreds of years old.
It’s both disturbing and intriguing all at once, and I instantly want to be a part of it.
“Stay here,” Arlo grumbles, slamming the door shut in our faces.
“We won’t stay here, will we?” Lark pulls a thick wool beanie over her red curls.
“And miss the séance? Of course not!” I press the door open and tumble to the ground, holding my arms out for Cooper, who snuggles against my chest. Who needs a heavy winter coat when I’ve got a skunk to keep me warm?
More agile than me, Lark hops out behind me, her boots sinking down into the soft snow.
“I told you two to stay in the truck!” Arlo throws a jack and a spare tire in the snow, making it puff up in a cloud.
“Yes, but that would mean we would miss out on whatever that is.” I point over to the cemetery, feeling far too giddy and excited about the strange woman wearing what I can now see is a black veil over her face and… I gasp. “Is she wearing an all black lace on an eighteen hundreds gown?”
Maybe this pit stop to Silent Springs won’t be so bad.
Arlo’s eyes widen, and his hands, which were on his hips, drop to his sides as he looks over at the cemetery. Throwing his hands up into the air, he dips his head back with a silent plea for patience on his lips.
Lark and I share a quick look before a smile stretches across her angelic face—an expression I’m sure my face mimics. As one, we take off around Arlo and dart through the snow to the wrought iron cemetery gates.
The best thing about having a baby at such a young age is growing up with her.
Sure, we had our difficulties, and yeah, we struggled more than the other moms we came across, but it also meant I always had a movie night buddy for my love of all things creepy.
As I grew, so did she, and though our evening meals weren’t always gourmet, it meant that I spent my time with her.
As her laughter rings through the cold fall air, reminding me of a fairy or a Norse queen with her red hair flying behind her, my heart fills. It might just be the two of us once more, and though my heart aches at losing Eric, I know we will be okay.
At that moment, I feel all right, but tomorrow could change how I feel.
I didn’t expect this side trip, but I’m excited about it.
The woman in black lace looks up, and I can just barely make out the blue of her eyes through the lace. Behind me, I hear Arlo heaving as he catches up to us.
I’m just about to open my mouth and ask if we can join when Arlo steps up behind me and wraps his hand around my mouth.
Now I know what any sane woman would do in this situation. I do. A hot guy, though one I just met, wrapping his warm body around mine on a cold, snowy fall day? Yeah, most girls would swoon right into him.
So I naturally elbow him in the gut and watch as he gasps for breath and falls to the ground. It’s rather dramatic if you ask me.
“It’s All Saints’ Day,” he wheezes.
Lark tugs on my useless jacket. “Mom, it’s All Saints’ Day.” Her eyes widen with enthusiasm, and I can practically see the excitement bubbling out of her.
“Yes, Elvira, I know.” I wiggle my brows, my own dark curls falling in my face.
“Arlo.” The woman’s raspy voice fills the air as she flicks back her veil to step up to the gate. Behind her, an array of people mill about, some of them whispering. “Get up.”
“She elbowed me, Ma.”
Oh, this is glorious. Ma? Her perfectly coiffed white hair sits under a mourning veil, and her short frame fills out her widow’s dress. She’s like that Broadway actress I didn’t know I needed to meet until just now.
“Well, Arlo, I taught you better than that. Never sneak up on a woman. She was right to elbow you in the gut. Now get up and introduce me to this lovely young lady and her daughter.” Her warm eyes gaze up at me with a mischievous twinkle.
Her and I? Yeah, we are going to be friends. I can just feel it.
“Ah, I don’t need him to introduce me.” I go to reach for her hand, and just like that, Arlo slaps it down.
“Mom, not over the gate,” Lark hisses at me.
“Oh, of course, that makes perfect sense.” It makes no sense, but I allow her to have this.
“Arlo, why don’t you get our guests settled in the bed-and-breakfast.” The strange and intriguing woman goes to flip her veil down, dismissing us.
“Oh, but I would love to be a part of all of this.” I wave my hand around, careful not to allow it to touch or go over the iron fencing.
“My dear” —she uses a saccharine sweet voice that drips with honey— “do you have an invitation?”
“Ma.” Arlo slams his head into the snow once more. I hadn’t even realized he never got up. “Dial back the weird.”
“Please dial it up,” I encourage her, and I swear I see the slight quirk of her lips.
“Perhaps there will be an invitation for you later.” Her brows rise, and with a delicate shrug of her shoulders, she dismisses us with a flick of her veil. All her followers line up behind her as she begins to talk about the widowed lady who haunts this cemetery.
“I love it.” I smile down at Lark, then glance at the big Victorian house sitting just to the side of the cemetery. It looks cozy and inviting, and just thinking about the smoke billowing out of the chimney sends a trail of warmth through my body, chasing away the chill.
“Fine,” Arlo grumbles, rolling up. “This is where I’d have taken you to stay anyway. Let me show you to your rooms, and you can unload any bags.”
His broad frame leads the way through the thinning forest. The steps of the Victorian house squeak as he trudges up them and flips open the screen door, causing it to thwack against the siding.
The inner door squeaks as well, and I swear I hear him mutter about oiling the hinges as he walks inside with Lark on his heels.
Pausing, I turn around, taking in the towering pines and balding maple trees. The crisp air fills my lungs, and with it, a sense of something I’ve never felt before settles over me. It’s a hopeful thing that I can’t quite grasp but lurks just out of reach.
I lean against the peeling banister, watching as the snow calms, leaving a blanket of white all over the road and the forest floor. Birds tweet overhead, and I swear I hear an owl in the distance.
Silent Springs and Atlanta are nothing alike.
The climate isn’t just different, it’s the polar opposite.
There, humidity clung to me like a second skin, but here, snow clings to my arms. The hustle and bustle of the city and the constant sounds of cars and sirens are an echoing memory in my ears, replaced with the silence, which consumes me like a reigning entity, forcing one to reflect and acknowledge their life.
I’m not ready to think about the path that led me here.
But the blank slate before me, expanding as far as the eye can see, promises me that maybe, just maybe, starting over doesn’t have to be so scary. That maybe fate really had a hand in us ending up here.
This house I haven’t even entered holds the feeling and promise of home. It’s something I’ve been seeking for the last decade. Yet the thought terrifies me. I had plans, and I intend to stick to those plans.
Behind me, the door creaks. “You know…” Arlo begins.
I glance over my shoulder at the handsome, rugged man. “I know many things, Arlo.”
“I could be a serial killer, and you just left me with your kid. What kind of parent are you?” He crosses those thick, corded arms over his chest.
Laughter bubbles out of me as I stare him down. “I’ve already taught Lark the most valuable lesson.”
“What’s that?” he challenges, and even that feels like the promise of a new beginning.
“To scream fire if she’s in danger.” I push past him, pausing at the threshold to look at the snow surrounding me, but I catch Arlo’s inquisitive gaze.
“It does that to you.”
“Does what?” I ask, turning to give him my complete attention.
“Sucks you in. Silent Springs is like that.” His voice goes soft, and I can’t help but agree with him. I met this man only an hour ago. Normally, I’d be on the phone, trying my best to get a rental and continue on our journey to my one and only brother.
So why didn’t I?
A flare of nervous energy shoots from my gut to every inch of my body.
The intense gaze he throws my way fills with knowing.
It strips me bare, right down to my bones, to my marrow.
Unsettled, I look away and press into the foyer of the bed-and-breakfast, where there’s a large, mahogany front desk to the left.
A little bell rests on the side, while a lamp illuminates the area in ambient light.
Behind it, a wide staircase swivels up and to the right, where a banister lines a hallway.
It’s a mixture of modern and antique that blends so seamlessly that if I saw it separately, I would never believe they would ever go together.
The beautiful deep green and mahogany décor makes me want to whip out a cigar and puff away in the sitting room I just know exists.
I never would have thought that this lurked in the interior of the home, but I love it.
“Mom!” Lark thunders down the stairs. “Arlo said I can have my own room.”