Shaker Town (Taryn's Camera Book 4) (15 page)

She was left whimpering, cold and dismayed. Still trembling in fear, she attempted to straighten her shirt and smooth back her hair but her arms and legs were weak and wouldn't stop shaking. She could barely move.

Something else was still with her. The other thing, the one that had fallen on her; it was beside her. It seemed to be waiting for something, observing. She was afraid to look and tried to inch away but when she made to move a pale hand reached out, alabaster stone, and grazed her knee. She had a hole in her pants and small drops of blackish blood leaked from a tiny wound. The hand touched her there and warmth flooded through her, like little rivers of fire. She stopped shaking. In less trepidation now she slowly turned and looked, the closeness of the thing jarring. But she didn't jump back in fear; it was a man she was looking at. His curly brown hair shone in the pale, filtered light; his eyes were tempered. He looked both at Taryn and
through
her at the same time. When she opened her mouth to speak, he disappeared.

W
hen all else failed, there was always Matt.

“I need help,” Taryn spoke rapidly into the phone, trying to tell him as much as possible before he sunk into work.

“Okay, what can I do?” he asked reasonably. “You need some research? Some investigating?”

Despite the fact that Matt was not a naturally nosy person, unlike Taryn, he was very good at digging stuff up. He missed his calling as a reference librarian.

“Maybe. If I send you some information can you take a look?”

“Sure. What's going on?”

Taryn quickly filled him in on her dreams, the photo of Evelyn, and what transpired down at the river. “I know for sure now that there are three distinct spirits: the man, the evil thing, and the woman,” she finished in a rush. “I think the man might be the protector, kind of the overseer of the park. He seems to want to protect me and probably others as well.”

“So what are you aiming to do here?” Matt asked. “If he's a protector then he's a good thing to have around, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Taryn admitted.

“And the woman?”

“I don't know. She just kind of dances around really,” Taryn replied lamely. It sounded silly now.

“And the other thing? The 'evil thing'?”

“I guess I want to make that thing disappear,” Taryn shuddered. “Nobody would want it hanging around, right?”

“Taryn,” Matt began gently, “maybe there's nothing to be solved here. It sounds like they're going along on their daily business and all seem to be happy about doing it. Well, except for maybe the evil thing. Yet it's possible you're one of the few who can sense it. You are unnaturally sensitive, you know?”

He had a point and it while it should have been encouraging, it actually deflated her a little. “Well, what about the murder?” she asked at last. “What if the man I keep seeing is the elder who was killed? And the evil thing is the thing that killed him? Maybe I am meant to solve that...”

“And maybe not...”

“Matt, dammit, I am meant to be here,” Taryn pronounced with more force than she'd meant to use. “I know it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down. I believe you. Send me names, dates, whatever you have and I'll try to check them out,” he promised.

But part of the problem was that Taryn had almost nothing to go on, save for her own dreams and a couple of ghost sightings. For once she had almost zero clue of who the spirits could be or what they wanted.

S
he caught a break that evening when she ducked into the dining room for dinner and saw a befuddled Julie trying to organize her bar. “Hey, Taryn!” she called, motioning her over. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah? What's up?”

“I talked to my mom last night. Her family's been around Mercer County since, well, forever. Since there was a fort here. She knows a lot about the history. Really got into genealogy, too, when she retired.”

Taryn leaned against the wall and sipped on a glass of ice water and marveled at the fact that Julie could carry on a conversation with her, set out what she needed, and mix drinks all at the same time. Taryn was having trouble multitasking these days herself.

“Find anything out?”

“Maybe,” she confessed. “The guy who was murdered? His name was Morgan. He wasn't old like most people seem to think he was. Maybe forty? Anyway, Mom says that some people thought a Shaker killed him and that they just kind of covered it up. You know, dispense their own brand of justice?”

Taryn considered. “Makes sense.” It would also fit with the man she'd seen in the forest. He could've been forty, although he looked younger. Well, maybe being dead for more than one hundred years did that to a person...It would explain, too, why he kept hanging around. He had a need for vengeance and felt like protecting everyone else, especially since he'd suffered such an awful fate.

“Hey Julie, have you ever seen a guy ghost here?” Taryn asked, realizing she hadn't talked about him yet.

“No, not that I can remember,” Julie answered.

“Okay, well, what about someone helping you? Being, you know, kind of considerate?”

Julie grinned. “Is he good looking? Sounds like my kind of ghost. Seriously, though, I have heard of that but haven't seen it myself.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

Julie wiped her hands on a bar towel and then walked over to Taryn. Everyone who was waiting to be seated, and taking a little pre-dinner spirit, had moved on. “It was to Dustin actually. He was here at Christmas, leading one of the tours in his wagon, and the horse skidded or tripped or something. Whatever horses do when they almost fall. Dustin said it could've been hurt real bad but then it was like, from out of nowhere, he saw the outline of a man's arm shoot out and actually steady the horse.”

“Geeze,” Taryn replied, envisioning the scene: tourists huddled together under blankets, the lanterns adorned with wreathes, snow falling in big fat flakes from the sky, and the beautiful horse stumbling.

“I think there was another time when he was working up on the roof of the barn and he lost his balance. Something reached out and grabbed him. Or something like that.” Julie waved her hand in the air. “I can't really remember.”

“Thanks for sharing that,” Taryn said warmly. “I'm trying to put all these stories together to see what I can come up with.”

Taryn ate her meal and then grabbed a drink outside while she listened to the band. It was a group of women playing that night and they had a folksy bluegrass sound that she loved. She listened to them go through a repertoire of Patty Griffin and Lucinda Williams and then smoothly transition into early Alison Krauss.

Taryn wasn't meant to be drinking alcohol. She'd never been much of a drinker to start with, she didn't like feeling out of control if she could help it, but the progression of the EDS seemed to be affecting her brain more and more and even a drink or two these days made her feel loopy. It was usually followed by a day of increased pain and stomach sickness that reminded her of the flu–not fun. But the occasional drink was okay, especially if she hadn't taken any heavy pain meds that day.

Now the Bailey's was starting to go to her head, and in a nice way. The warmness seeped into her arms and legs, tingling her fingers and toes. She spotted Andy off in the distance and gave him a little wave; not even the sight of him could ruin her good mood. Her painting was looking fabulous, Carol had maintained as much earlier that afternoon, and this isolated, insulated place was a happy one. Well, when the ghosts were playing fair. The food was good, the accommodations comfortable, and she was well taken care of. She'd even become friendly with enough people that, while not necessarily friends, at least made her feel not as lonely.

The female lead, a willowy woman with a flat chest and stringy hair down to her waist, pulled out a banjo and stepped back up to the microphone. Her low voice carried out over the small crowd, the opening lines of Gillian Welch's “Orphan Girl.” Taryn straightened a little and smiled, singing along with the others when she got to the chorus. It was one of her favorite songs. There wasn't a bad track on that album and Taryn always made the time to see her and Dave when they were in Nashville.

But then Taryn stopped and let the melancholy lyrics wash over her. She had no mother or father either. No sister or brother. She, too, was an orphan girl by the very definition since her parents were dead. Completely alone in the world, other than Matt. He was her sole link to her own mortality, the only one who would really mourn her if she was gone.

Her thoughts fell to Evelyn then, and her younger brother. Evelyn had not been an orphan, at least when she arrived at Shaker Town. But why had she left and taken her sibling? What happened to her parents? Once they'd arrived at the village they'd ceased being her parents and, instead, became her brother and sister. She was an orphan girl, too.

Maybe,
Taryn thought, that's why she likes me.
You can live among a hundred people and still feel very, very alone.

T
aryn woke up feeling as excited as a kid at Christmas.

Melissa, a woman she’d met while working the job over in Vidalia at Windwood Farm, was coming to visit her at the park. Taryn had arranged to take the whole day off, which was fine since her work was a day ahead of schedule. She'd stayed up most of the night before working on it and in a few days it would be completed. She'd have to move on then, of course, and wasn't yet sure where that was going to be to, but she wasn't going to worry about that just yet. The money she'd earned at Shaker Town would see her through for another month or two until she found something else.

Since it was Election Day, Melissa, a schoolteacher, also had the day off. The park was already overrun with harried-looking parents and adrenalin-pumped kids but when Melissa showed up, hair in signature ponytail and sporty backpack, she looked refreshed and relaxed.

Although Taryn wasn't much of a hugging person, she found herself almost immediately engulfed in an embrace that smelled like gardenias and Ivory soap. “I am so glad to see you, girl,” Melissa beamed. “I was hoping you'd invite me up here.”

“To be honest, I figured you'd done so many field trips here you would be sick of it,” Taryn teased her.

“Yeah, well, this is different. I don't get to see a friend often and spend the day with her.”

Taryn preened a little at the idea of someone referring to her as a “friend” and began leading Melissa through the gate. “We can grab lunch around noon, if that's okay. In the meantime I thought we'd start at the farm and then kind of work our way to the other end.”

“Sure, lead on!”

Melissa's husband's family had owned the adjoining farm to the house where Taryn had last worked in Kentucky. Many years ago, one of his relatives had disappeared and that mystery haunted the town and family for generations. Not only had Taryn helped solve it, Melissa had been instrumental in putting the pieces together with her. They'd also shared a truly terrifying experience neither would ever forget. Now the two women chatted and laughed about the British royal family, new horror movie remakes of old films, and whether or not it was appropriate to wear pajama bottoms in public.

“I mean, really,” Melissa ranted as they left the shop that featured weaving demonstrations. “It's not just that they wear the pajamas, they wear those old flannel ones that fray at the bottom when they drag the ground too much.”

“My grandmother would throw a fit,” Taryn agreed. “I understand being comfortable but at what point do you draw the line?”

“And you know those are probably the same people who get mad if you look at 'em cross-eyed,” Melissa cackled.

Taryn was thoroughly enjoying herself, almost forgetting that there was a mystery at hand and that she'd been virtually attacked not once, but twice, by some kind of evil entity.

By the time they got to the other end of the park Taryn's legs were starting to throb and her lower back was killing her. She hated to complain but needed something to ease the pain. The embarrassment of admitting to Melissa that she was uncomfortable was just too great, however. Instead, she suggested they stop at the edge of one of the barns, near the cemetery, and take a break.

“I'm not as young as I used to be,” she wheezed as she flopped to the ground, wincing as the hard surface brushed against her bones.

Melissa had noticed her discomfort but was too polite to mention it. “I hear that,” she agreed. “So, give me the scoop. What's been going on?”

“Oh, you know, the regular. Camera sees ghosts, unsolved mystery, and I'm trying to figure it out before the job runs out,” Taryn chortled. “Just another day in my non-career.”

“'Non-career',” Melissa echoed. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Taryn said with a wave of her hand. “Just this guy here, working on a book. He doesn't believe this is really a viable job and that I make money at it. He's either complaining that they hired me or trying to figure out if I make actual money at it.”

“Oh, screw him,” Melissa said in disgust. “He's probably mad that he's not doing it.”

They laughed together and there, in the sunlight, Taryn felt so normal that a feeling of contentment rose up in her stomach and actually threatened to linger. Was this what it was like to have a girlfriend? To hang out with a friend who made you laugh, cared about you? Taryn had never had a close friend; indeed, her only real friends had ever been Matt and Andrew.

A huge part of Taryn wanted to cling to Melissa, to desperately hold onto her and make her love Taryn so much that she'd never think about leaving the friendship. She'd so enjoyed writing emails back and forth over the past year, sending each other funny pictures on the internet, and now visiting again in person. She didn't want that to end. The few times in her life she'd been close to someone they'd left her, mostly for good. This fear of abandonment gave Taryn a sense of desperation that embarrassed her and caused her to feel an extraordinary amount of angst.

It was time for lunch, though, and they had reservations since the day was so busy.

“Can I take a look at Miss Dixie?” Melissa asked after they had risen from the ground.

“Sure,” Taryn replied but when she reached down to pick her camera up, she lost her footing. Later she would admit it felt like something pushed her but for now all she felt was chaos of falling, tumbling down the small embankment and the final “thud” as she landed in the road, directly on her sore hip. She knew she was twisted like a pretzel and in pain she cried out, tears running down her face in betrayal.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Melissa called out, springing into action. The mother in her came out in full force as she knelt next to Taryn and began pushing on her tenderly.

Taryn tried to nod but the pain was building now, a sharp stabbing that radiated from her hip down her leg and to her foot. Then, in defeat, she shook her head.

“I think you've dislocated it,” Melissa stated with authority. “That can happen easily with your condition, right?”

Taryn groaned. “But sometimes we can get it back it...”

With an obscene amount of effort, Taryn attempted to stretch her leg out and twist her hip. The pain ripped through her then, like a knife, and she screamed in agony.

“I'm going to call for help,” Melissa explained, whipping out her phone. Miss Dixie dangled from her arm; she'd picked it up when she took off after Taryn's slide.

She'd no more than dialed the numbers when the air changed, charged with electrical power that knocked both women back. Melissa fell to the ground now, Miss Dixie held protectively in front of her. In bewilderment she looked at Taryn for an answer but Taryn's gaze was transfixed on what was happening before her. As she continued to whimper in pain, the male figure appeared before her, kneeling at her feet. The look of sheer panic on his face, the terror, touched Taryn.

He's afraid for me, she thought. That's almost sweet.

But while he was looking at her, he didn't seem to be seeing her. Instead, he reached for Taryn's leg, his face white and scared. When his lips moved, raspy words shot out like burnt leather–a voice that hadn't been used for more than a century.

“You'll be alright,” he murmured, but his voice shook. He was doing something to her, petting her? His hands worked furiously as he touched her hip, stroked her leg, fumbled at her knee, and then went back to her waist. She could feel nothing but warm air as his hands passed through her.

And then sadness overtook his fear. As his face contorted in despair he gazed down at his own hands, crossed over one another before him. “Oh heavenly father,” he prayed. “Oh what did we do? What did we do?” He rocked back and forth, singing a sweet, sad song with lyrics Taryn had heard someplace before.

She reached out to touch him, to offer comfort through her own pain, and tried to speak. “Morgan?” she ventured tentatively. “Morgan?”

He looked up sharply, not at her but at something far beyond her. His face contorted in rage, explosive anger. Fire sparked his eyes and his hands clenched in steel.

With a mighty roar he opened his mouth and bellowed a thunderous cry. The crows on a nearby limb took a flight, their wings flapping furiously as they beat against the wind.

And just as before, he was gone.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Melissa chanted. “Oh my god.”

“He tried to help me, though,” Taryn cried. The pain was returning with a vengeance now that he was gone and her mind could go back to it. “Right?”

“Oh, Taryn,” Melissa sobbed. Taryn was confused to see the sadness, rather than fright, on Melissa's face. She was holding Miss Dixie out to her, the LCD screen bright. “I thought I could take-after last time you know...a picture?”

Taryn reached out her hand and took the camera and focused on the image. It became immediately clear why Melissa was crying.

Taryn had been confused, understandably so. The man hadn't been taking care of her, he'd been taking care of someone else from long, long ago. Although moments before he'd knelt by Taryn and there had been nothing but empty air between them, in the picture Melissa captured in haste, his hands were full of a very real, and obviously lifeless, infant.

T
he local hospital was able to get her hip back to where it was supposed to be and gave her a shot of morphine while she was there. Although it took up most of the day and Taryn was upset her afternoon with Melissa was ruined, she took solace in the fact that she didn't have to spend the night.

Melissa waited with her in the hospital and then drove her back to the park.

“I really thought I'd seen it all,” Melissa mused as she sped through the quiet streets. “After what I saw and heard at the other house...but I believe this takes the cake.”

“Yeah, well, it's a first for me, too,” Taryn admitted with serenity. They'd given her a shot of morphine for the road so she was feeling pretty good about life in general at the moment. Maybe she'd start her own opiate garden at home. Though she doubted she could plant enough poppies on her apartment's balcony to bring in much of a crop.

“And I know it's inappropriate to bring this up but the ghost guy? He was kind of hot,” Melissa blushed. “You know, in a dead kind of way.”

Taryn had to agree with her there. He was hot. Extremely.

“Hey, did you talk to Matt?” she asked suddenly, remembering the texts he'd sent her while she was talking to the nurse.

“Yes and I did everything I could to keep him at home. But that boy is stuck on you and was chomping at the bit to come take care of you,” Melissa warned her, glancing over at Taryn in the passenger seat.

Taryn grimaced, eyes half closed. Maybe she'd just take a little nap...

“Seriously. My husband and I have been together for more than six years and I don't think I've ever heard him that concerned.”

Matt did worry about her; she knew that. And she worried about him. She loved him. But for a second the ghost-Morgan had looked at her with such passion in his eyes that she'd been transported to someplace else. The fact that he wasn't really seeing her was irrelevant. Was it imagination-cheating if the other person was dead?

“The girl he was seeing,” Taryn began softly, feeling like she was being lifted up into the clouds, “her name was Evelyn. She's dead now.”

Melissa smirked. “Yes, I figured that. I didn't think these people were one hundred fifty years old. Although I guess it's possible Shaker Town does have a fountain of youth nobody knows about.”

Taryn laughed. “They must have been friends, maybe more. She had a baby. She was attacked by somebody. I don't know who. Or maybe the baby was Morgan's and that's why he was murdered.”

“Morgan is the guy who was killed, right?” Melissa mused thoughtfully as she turned into the park. “Well maybe your Evelyn killed him.”

“Why?” Taryn asked, genuinely perplexed.

“If they were lovers or he raped her or...I don't know,” Melissa replied. “Lots of reasons to kill someone.”

“But he loved her. You could see that.”

“Love is an even stronger reason to kill someone,” Melissa chuckled. “Just wait until you're married.”

Taryn groaned to herself, resisting the urge to speak out about Andrew. They had been married in every sense but the legal one. And she'd never wanted to kill him. Well, almost never.