A Portal for Your Thoughts Page 27

  “That was the biggest damn mess ever.”

  Sarah and Cora both looked up from their tea and then together looked over at the four men sitting huddled together.

  “I figure we must have angered ev’ry damn spook for a hundred miles.”

  “Shut yer mouth, Gene,” a second man grumbled. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “Talk about what?” a third man asked.

  Gene, the man who avoided Cora outside the blacksmith’s shop, spoke up.

  “We were sent to burn down a house,” Gene told them in whispered tones. Sarah and Cora had to practically hold their breath in order to hear them. “Didn’t see why we were s’posed to burn down the house but clearly it’s a good thing we didn’t.”

  “Why not?” the third man asked. The hushed, conspiratorial tones Gene was using had already unsettled him. “What happened?”

  “All hell broke loose, that’s what happened. Spooks were floating up off the ground and massing at that cursed house.”

  “Spooks? You sure you weren’t drunk?”

  Gene put down his bottle of beer as if he had been caught drinking after promising never to drink ever again.

  “Hank, I’m telling ya I weren’t drunk. Let me tell you, I started drinkin’ once I made it back home, though.”

  “What exactly did you see?” Hank asked.

  The fourth man, who up until this point hadn’t said anything, slammed his third empty bottle of beer down and reached for another.

  “It ain’t natural,” he muttered crossly.

  “What isn’t?” Hank asked, growing more nervous by the second.

  “The things I saw last night, that’s what.”

  “You think you saw somethin’ last night, too?” Hank asked as he nervously eyed his empty bottle.

  Ever the vigilant barkeep, the bartender swooped in to remove the empty bottles and replace them with new ones. Hank grabbed another beer and swallowed noisily.

  “Let’s hear it. What’d you see?”

  “I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout this no more,” the fourth man stated.

  “Gene? What about you? What’d you see?”

  “Spooks. Rising up from the ground. We watched ‘em all fly into that blasted house.”

  “That huge manor east of town?”

  “Right. Must have been a hundred of ‘em. They all rose, quiet as a mouse, and flew inside.”

  “Weren’t there people inside?” Hank wanted to know. “What’d they do?”

  “They’re in league with ‘em. I swear it.”

  Hank blinked with surprise. Neither noticed the two women sitting nearby who were doubled over with silent fits of laughter.

  “You’re kiddin’. That’s a lie.”

  Gene stubbornly shook his head. “It ain’t. I swear it on my pappy’s grave!”

  “You’re makin’ that up,” Hank insisted, growing angry. “Why would anybody live in a house with spooks in it?”

  “I ain’t makin’ it up. I saw her earlier today.”

  “Who?”

  “The lady of the house. She’s here, in town. She was just strollin’ along without a care in the world. I know her house is infested with them spooks. The only way she wouldn’t be concerned was if she could control them. That’s it. She’s gotta be a witch. Think about it. It makes perfect sense! She summoned those spooks to her once she saw that her house was in danger. It’s the only explanation!”

  Cora turned to Sarah and suppressed a giggle. “I’m a witch now, am I?”

  Sarah had a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “Oh, this is priceless!”

  “She even made it rain bugs!” Gene continued. He shuddered, which caused the fourth man to suddenly stand up from the table and stride outside. “He must have been one of those unlucky fellers that was covered with them critters. Never have I heard such shrieks of terror.”

  Hank’s eyes were open so wide that they couldn’t open any wider.

  “She made critters fall on you? Er, just one or two or was it –”

  “SHE MADE IT RAIN BUGS!” Gene interrupted, becoming more and more agitated. “Do you have any idea how terrible that must have been? I only got a few on me but the ones that did got down into my britches, Hank. Do you hear me? They were in my britches!” Flecks of spit flew out of Gene’s mouth as he became more and more crazed.

  A soft giggle sounded from behind them. Three angry faces turned to see two women sitting at another table. Sarah, mortified that she had been unable to contain her laughter, was looking down at her hands, which she had clasped together on the table. Hank rose angrily to his feet.

  “You find somethin’ funny, lady?”

  “You’re being silly,” Sarah told him, deciding to see how riled up she could make him. “The Millers live at the house you’re talking about. They’ve lived there for a few years now. I believe that it was Luther who built the place. You’re saying he built a haunted house?”

  “I know how it sounds!” Gene was practically shouting at the top of his lungs. “You gotta believe me!”

  Sarah made deliberate point of dropping her head to address Cora, who still had her back to the three men.

  “Maybe Luther built the house on an Indian burial ground. I hadn’t considered that possibility.”

  If possible, Gene’s already ashen face became even paler. Cora finally turned in her seat and looked up into Gene’s shocked eyes.

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say about me, is it?”

  Three grown men screamed in unison and bolted for the door.

  “Hey!” the bartended shouted after them. “You forgot to pay your tab!”

  Gene tossed a handful of coins up into the air behind him as he continued to run down the street. They darted around the bend in the road and vanished from sight. The bartender collected the coins from the ground and eyed the two women still seated at their table.

  “It would appear that your gentlemen friends have left enough to pay your tab, too. Shall I take care of that for you?”

  “How nice of them!” Sarah exclaimed. She looked at Cora, whose face had slowly melted into a frown. “What’s the matter?”

  “Don’t you think this is going to have some type of repercussions on you when you return to your, er, home?”

  Sarah slowly stood and pushed her chair back under the table. Cora did the same.

  “It probably will. In my time there’s no record of the manor being haunted, so this will more than likely have some type of effect. We can’t worry about that now. I can live with rumors about my house. I can’t live without my husband. If this is what it takes to keep you and Luther safe then so be it.”

  Cora smiled gratefully as she and Sarah stepped back out into the bright sunshine. They hadn’t made it more than a few steps before both women stopped in their tracks. A brand new aroma was in the air and it was one they couldn’t ignore: freshly baked muffins.

  “Whatever that is sure smells good,” Sarah remarked. “That must be the new bakery which opened last week.”

  Cora turned and pointed in the direction they were walking.

  “It’s that way. Fresh Baked opened next door to the barber shop. Want to go?”

  Sarah hooked her arm through her friend’s and together they followed their noses north. Three stores down they saw a brunette woman, wearing a white long sleeved blouse with a black floor length skirt covered by a white apron. She was carrying a tray of assorted muffins. The woman was greeting everyone that passed by with a smile, regardless of whether or not they chose to patronize the bakery. The bakery’s door had been propped open to allow as much of the fresh cool air in as possible. On the bakery’s main window was a picture of a huge orange muffin that had light colored flecks on the crown. A comical smiley face had been drawn in on the cupcake’s base. Sarah stopped in front of the shop and looked through the open door. A second person, a tall balding man with his back to them, was moving trays of bread from one rack to the other. The woman with the apron appeared in front
of them and held up her tray.

  “Fresh baked muffins! Care to try a sample?”

  Sarah looked down at the gorgeous works of art nestled on the tray and whistled in admiration. No muffins she had ever made, whether from a box or from scratch, came close to looking as good as these did. She could identify blueberry, some type of apple, a variety of berry, and a muffin that loosely resembled the painting up on the window.

  “These look lovely,” Cora observed. “What flavors are they?”

  The dark haired woman gave them a million dollar smile. She rested a corner of the tray on her hip and started pointing at different sets of muffins.

  “This is blueberry, which is quite good; right next to it is apple crumb. Mixed berry comes next, followed by my personal favorite, oatmeal pumpkin. I’m Aras. Nice to meet you!”

  Sarah returned the smile. “What a pretty name! It’s nice to meet you, too, Aras. I’m Sarah.”

  Aras smiled and handed Sarah a muffin. “You need to try the oatmeal pumpkin. Trust me, you won’t find anything better.”

  Sarah accepted the muffin and carefully pulled it apart. She handed a piece to Cora and then surprised their new friend when she offered her a piece of the muffin, too.

  “It’s wonderful,” Cora agreed. “I’ve never been able to bake like that. Your bakery is going to be a huge success, Aras.”

  Aras’s eyes sparkled with recognition as she looked at Cora. “Wait a moment. I know who you are. You’re the seamstress! Your dresses are to die for! I would love to own one of your dresses but, sadly, not yet. They’re a bit above my budget.”

  The beginnings of a smile appeared on Cora’s face.

  “Then I propose a trade.”

  Aras’s eyes flew open. “A trade? What could we possibly trade for?”

  “If you can provide a dozen muffins once a week, let’s say for two months, then I will give you a gown.”

  “A dozen muffins? That’s it? But that’s nothing! Deriksen would let me have that once a day if I’d like.”

  “You’re sure he’d let you have that many?” Cora skeptically inquired. “That’s a lot of muffins.”

  Aras glanced back at the bakery. “It’ll be fine. Trust me, Deriksen makes dozens of muffins each day. That man sure loves his muffins.”

  Cora turned to look inside the open door. “Is that Deriksen in there?”

  Aras didn’t bother turning around. “Yes. He’s the owner.”

  “Do we have a deal?” Cora asked.

  Aras excitedly jumped up and down as she emphatically nodded her head yes. She held out her tray to Sarah.

  “Could you hold this for just a moment? Please?” The instant Sarah took the tray Aras caught Cora’s wrist and pulled her into a hug. “We have a deal! Thank you so much!”

  The tray was handed back just as Aras pointed towards the bakery.

  “Let’s go inside for a bit.”

  Once inside the shop they were introduced to Deriksen, a friendly man who, they were told, was famous all across the country. They learned he had operated a bakery in Philadelphia before deciding to try his luck out west. Wherever he went his baked goods drew rave reviews. In fact, in the few minutes they had spent inside the bakery several passerbys had hollered and waved, to which Deriksen had promptly smiled and waved back.

  Having never been in a 19th century bakery Sarah took her time looking around. The shop, while small, had everything it needed crammed into the tiny area. The far wall was comprised of bricks and encompassed several ovens. One reminded Sarah of a pizza oven and was chest high. There was a much larger oven down lower that could almost pass for a fireplace, only Sarah could see grooves along each side of the large oven where racks, or trays, could be placed.

  In front of the ovens was a huge bin full of long loaves of bread. The far right of the bakery had a large work bench spanning just about the entire length of that wall. That’s where Sarah could see rolling pins, canisters of flour, sugar, and other assorted ingrediants used in the day to day operations of the bakery.

  The far left wall had an enormous rack that had multiple shelves. She could see dough proofing and loaves of freshly baked bread cooling. Stacked on top of the racks had to be at least thirty empty trays, waiting to be used.

  Sarah was about to tell Deriksen that she loved the bakery when she noticed Aras standing silently by the window, her arms crossed. Sarah glanced back at Cora, who was inspecting the fresh loaves of bread in the huge bin.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, in a hushed tone.

  “That man is still there,” Aras told her. She pointed at the figure leaning against the hitching post across the street in front of another saloon. “I saw him there a little bit ago and didn’t like the way he was looking at you so I ushered you inside here. He’s not going away.”

  As they were staring at the man he suddenly straightened and walked across the street, angling straight towards the bakery.

  “Deriksen!” Aras sharply called out. “Heads up. We might have a problem.”

  Deriksen appeared and wiped the excess flour off his hands onto his apron. He looked at the figure walking purposely towards them.

  “What’s the matter? What’s wrong with that guy?”

  “I have a funny feeling about him.”

  The man stepped through the door and ignored everyone but Sarah. He tipped his hat at her.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

  Sarah, convinced there was something wrong with this person, kept her guard up.

  “Good afternoon. Why are you following me?”

  “You noticed, did you?”

  “It’s rather hard to miss. One person leering at another is generally considered rude.”

  Deriksen inched closer to one of the many rolling pins stacked neatly on the far corner of the work bench.

  “I’ve seen you around town,” Mr. Creepy said. “I’m an admirer. I was hoping to accompany you to the festival this evening.”

  “No, thank you. That won’t be possible.”

  Mr. Creepy made eye contact with everyone in the bakery. He finally grinned and again tipped his hat at Sarah.

  “Can’t blame a man for tryin’. Good afternoon.”

  He left the store and immediately walked away, disappearing around the nearest building.

  “I don’t trust that guy,” Sarah announced to the room. “There’s something smarmy about him.”

  “You’re more than welcome to wait here for a while,” Deriksen offered. “I will not have one of my patrons accosted by a stranger.”

  “Thanks, but its okay. I can handle myself.”

  Cora tapped their new friend on the shoulder to get her attention. “Remember our deal, Aras. Come by the manor, at your earliest convience, and we’ll get you fitted.”

  Aras’s smile illuminated the room.

  “Thank you so much! I look forward to it!”

  After they had left the bakery it was decided they should return to the manor. Something about that unsavory character had spooked Sarah. As she followed Cora back toward the wagon Sarah cursed silently to herself. If only she had been allowed to teleport Cora they could be back at the manor by now. However, since they had driven the wagon here, they’d have to drive it back.

  The streets became busier and more crowded as the many activities of the harvest festival got underway. Sarah looked at the numerous people walking by. At least it was crowded. There was safety in numbers, so hopefully they’d be left alone. Nevertheless she kept turning to look behind her, halfway expecting to see Mr. Creepy tailing them. Thankfully they didn’t see any signs of him.

  Their luck ran out as soon as they walked by the small park that had the band playing in it. Couples were dancing to the lively music while many others clapped approvingly nearby. Cora pulled Sarah to a stop.

  “Your friend is back.”

  “Damn,” Sarah swore softly. “Where is he? If he tries anything his sorry tail is going to end up in Timbuktu.”

  “Where’s th
at?”

  “Somewhere very far from here,” Sarah assured her. She turned to look behind her. Sure enough, there he was about twenty feet behind her, casually following her as if he didn’t have anything better to do. “He’s not even trying to disguise the fact that he’s following us. That can’t be good.”

  As she and Cora turned to hurry away from the park they were stopped by a veritable wall of huge men. They were deliberately blocking their way and made no qualms about it. In fact, every one of the men had a nasty leer on their face until they saw Cora. Sarah saw several of the men nervously eye each other as they became unsure of what to do.

  “May I have this dance, milady?”

  Cora turned to see Mr. Creepy expectantly holding out his hand.

  “I don’t think so,” Cora nervously answered.

  Mr. Creepy smoothly turned to Sarah.

  “May I have this dance?” he repeated. He continued to hold his hand out.

  Sarah shook her head. “Sorry, but I’m married.”

  “I don’t see your husband here. I want to dance. Shall we?”

  Mr. Creepy’s hand never wavered. He waited, patiently, as though he was the perfect gentleman and to refuse would be a faux pas.

  Sarah held her ground.

  “You need to leave.”

  Thinking that she’d be perfectly safe with hundreds of people as witnesses, she turned back to Cora and urged her to go. The instant she turned her back Mr. Creepy lunged forward to encompass her in a bear hug.

  “If I ask a woman to dance, then she’s expected to dance,” Mr. Creepy hissed in her ear.

  Sarah started to scream.

  “Help! Help! Get away from me!” She turned to look imploringly at the people hurrying by. Every single one of them had their heads down and refused to lift a finger to help her. “What’s wrong with you people? Help me!”

  Cora rushed forward to help but was grabbed from behind, too. She struggled helplessly against her assailant but there wasn’t any way she could break out of his iron grip. She did the only thing she could: scream.

  Suddenly Sarah remembered something Steve had told her several years before. He had taken several years of taekwondo lessons and had shown her some of the brutal, but effective, ways to break a grip in case someone tried to do her harm. She just had to remember what to do.