“You were not a nerd.”
“I could have given lessons in the art. But—” she ran a hand down the side of her unconstructed jacket “—I’m learning to disguise it.”
“I thought I heard voices.”
Rebecca looked toward the stairs and saw a small, slim blonde with a baby snuggled into a sack strapped over her breasts. Rebecca’s first impression was of quiet competence. Perhaps it was the hands, she mused, one lying neatly on the polished rail, the other gently cupping the baby’s bottom.
“I wondered if you were upstairs.” Regan walked over to get a peek at the sleeping baby. “Cassie, you’ve been changing linens with the baby again.”
“I like to get it done early. And Ally was fussy. This must be your friend.”
“Rebecca Knight, girl genius,” Regan said, with an affection that made Rebecca grin, rather than wince. “Cassandra MacKade, irreplaceable manager of the MacKade Inn.”
“I’m so glad to meet you.” Cassie took her hand off the rail to offer it.
“I’ve been looking forward to coming here for weeks. This must be quite a job, managing all this.”
“It hardly ever feels like one. You’ll want to look around.”
“I’m dying to.”
“I’ll just finish upstairs. Give me a call if you need anything. There’s coffee fresh in the kitchen, and muffins.”
“Of course there is.” Regan laughed and brushed a hand over Ally’s dark hair. “Take a break, Cassie, and join the tour. Rebecca wants stories.”
“Well…” Cassie glanced upstairs, obviously worrying over unmade beds.
“I’d really appreciate it,” Rebecca put in. “Regan tells me you’ve had some experiences I’d be interested in hearing about. You actually saw a ghost.”
“I…” Cassie flushed. It wasn’t something she told many people about—not because it was odd, but because it was intimate.
“I’m hoping to document and record episodes while I’m here,” Rebecca said, prompting her.
“Yes, Regan told me.” So Cassie took a deep breath. “I saw the man Abigail Barlow was in love with. He spoke to me.”
Fascinating, was all Rebecca could think as they wandered through the inn, with Cassie telling her story in a calm, quiet voice. She learned of heartbreak and murder, love lost and lives ruined. She felt chills bubble along her skin at the descriptions of spirits wandering. But she felt no deep stirring of connectedness. An interest, yes, and a full-blooded curiosity, but no sense of intimacy. She’d hoped for it.
She could admit to herself later, as she wandered alone toward the woods, that she had hoped for a personal experience, a viewing or at least a sensing of some unexplainable phenomenon. Her interest in the paranormal had grown over the years, along with her frustration at having no intimate touch with it. Except in dreams—and Rebecca knew they were merely the work of the subconscious, sometimes fraught with symbolism, sometimes as simple as a thought—she’d never been touched by the otherworldly.
Though the house had unquestionably been lovely, though it had brought back echoes of a lost past, she had seen only the beauty of it. Whatever walked there had not spoken to her.
She still had hope. Her equipment would be in by the end of the day, and Cassie had assured her she was welcome to set up in a bedroom, at least for a few days. As the anniversary of the battle drew nearer, the inn would be full with reservations already booked.
But she had some time.
When she stepped into the woods, Rebecca felt a chill, but it was only from the thick shade. Here, she knew, two young boys had fought, essentially killing each other. Others had sensed their lingering presence, heard the clash of bayonets, the cries of pain and shock. But she didn’t.
She heard the call of birds, the rustle of squirrels scrambling for nuts to hoard, the faint buzz of insects. The day was too still for the air to stir the leaves, and the leaves themselves were a deep green, not even hinting of the autumn that would come within a month.
Following Cassie’s competent directions, she found the stand of rocks where the two corporals were reputed to have met. Sitting down on one, she took out her notebook and began to write what she would transpose onto a computer disk later.
There have been only mild, and perhaps self-induced, sensations of déjà vu. Nothing that equals that one swift and stunning emotion at seeing the edge of the MacKade farm from the road. It’s wonderful seeing Regan again, being able to view firsthand her happiness, her family. I think it must be true that there is indeed the perfect mate for some people. Regan has certainly found hers in Rafe MacKade. There’s a sense of strength, of self, an arrogance, an underlying potential for physical action, in him that’s oddly appealing, particularly, I would think, to a female. Offsetting it, perhaps enhancing it, is his obvious love and devotion to his wife and his children. They’ve made a good life, and the inn they have created is successful due to their vision. Its location and history, of course, add to its success. Undoubtedly their choice of chatelaine was also inspired.
I found Cassie MacKade to be competent, organized, and anything but aloof. There’s a…I want to say innocence about her. Yet she is a grown woman with three children, a demanding job and, from what Regan has related to me, a miserable past. Perhaps sweetness is more accurate. In any case, I liked her immediately and felt very much at ease with her. This ease isn’t something that I feel with a great many people.
I’m looking forward to meeting Devin MacKade, her husband, who is also the sheriff of Antietam. It will be interesting to see how much he resembles his brothers, not only physically, but in that less tangible but equally strong aspect of personality.
Shane MacKade has a personality that is impossible to forget. That arrogance again, though he is perhaps a bit more good-natured than his older brother, Rafe. I would theorize that Shane is a man who has great success with women. Not only due to his unquestionably stunning looks, but there’s also a high degree of charm—and a blatant sexuality. Is it an earthiness, I wonder? And if so, is it due