Echoes of Other Times Read online

  “Don’t I know it.” Abigail was at the sink making her cup of coffee. She was gazing out the window into the yard where the garden was. “It was good she had the garden, the grounds here, the wild creatures and her friends to keep her from breaking out of confinement. Oh, and the books.”

  “Even then it was hard to keep her out of town, away from her church, and her other friends. Thank goodness Irma and Rose were here. That pacified the old woman to some extent. The holidays were the worst. Remember? At Christmas and New Year’s, she wanted parties so badly. Of course, we couldn’t have any. We hadn’t had the vaccines yet. I promised her we’d have huge parties for both holidays this year.” Glinda shrugged her shoulders. “If things keep going as well as they have been, I might even be able to keep that promise.”

  “It looks like you will. Things are so much better these days.”

  Glinda reclined in her chair. “Yes, things are so much better. I watch the news every day and the infection numbers are still falling. Thank goodness. I miss our old life so much.

  “Oh, I meant to ask, how are Nick and Laura doing these days? Any news about Nick’s previously postponed music tour–the one he had to cancel after his senior year?”

  Now Abigail’s expression brightened measurably. “He’s so thrilled. It’s on again. He was able to rebook almost all of the venues he’d had before and even some new ones. A couple of the bars and night spots had gone under because of the pandemic, yet most had rebounded, are open again and eager to bring back their customers. Nick and the band are leaving next Sunday for a five-month tour. First gig is in Chicago at a modest concert hall. It’s almost better, I believe, that he and the band had this forced sabbatical to build up more of a national reputation. Those You Tube, Facebook videos, and Twitter posts he, Leroy, and Paul put out week after week have garnered them a massive following of rabid fans who can’t wait to see and hear them in person.

  “All their You Tube videos went viral. It’s been amazing, really. Suddenly, so many venues want The Young Ones to play. Their pay is going to be better, too. Because their media fame has grown, demand for them is higher, so have their fees. Nick now thinks they’re going to make money, instead of just break even. The stars are the limit.

  “He’s so excited. He can’t wait to get on the road and, as he puts it, begin his real life. He’s written so many new songs he wants to perform in front of live crowds. Frank and I are going to miss him, but we’re also ecstatic for him. Music is his dream and this tour, playing live music with his band, is what he wants to make his career, his life. He has promised to stay in constant touch with us by text, Facebook and phone calls, though. Take lots of photos and videos and post them.”

  “I don’t need to be psychic to know he’s going to do very well,” Glinda remarked. “His band, his songs, are really good. He’s already a fantastic songwriter. And I love hearing him play that guitar. He’s become so expert at it. The banjo and the harmonica, too. Those impromptu Friday night concerts of his brightened our long lockdown considerably. Gave us all something to look forward to through the worst times. Even if we all had to stay six feet apart.”

  “They did. He mastered all those instruments on his own. Self-taught. A quick study. That’s a talent in itself. I can’t even carry a tune, much less teach myself how to play a musical instrument.” Abigail was beaming.

  “How about Laura? What’s she going to do now that the world is opening up? Is she returning to college? Are they doing classes in person again?”

  Abigail’s daughter, Laura, had also taken a moratorium from her pre-pandemic life. She’d decided to defer her last year at the Chicago Art Institute until it would be safe enough to resume live classes. She hadn’t wanted to spend her last year of art school alone on her laptop hundreds of miles away from her teachers and the other students. She hadn’t wanted to end her college experience like that. So, after gaining authorized permission to suspend her classes until it was safe again to resume them, she’d closeted herself with her family and had spent the time studying ahead for her senior year, drawing and painting; and cautiously assisting anyone who’d needed help during the pandemic. She’d shopped and delivered necessities and groceries to the doors of the elderly or infirm. Myrtle had given her a list. Becoming friends with old Silas, she’d spent hours and hours playing chess with him, and soaking in all the fascinating stories of his long life. When his cancer returned, she’d helped nurse him, along with Frank and Abby, until he’d quietly, and without too much pain, slipped away one night. He’d refused any treatment, but pain medication. No radiation, no chemo, no needles or hospitals. No tears or pity. He said he was ready to go and be with his Violet.

  “Laura’s going back to work at that art gallery job in Chicago for the remainder of the summer, full time, to make money, and then she’ll start her senior year in September,” Abigail disclosed. “She’s leaving the same day Nick is. Frank and I will be empty nesters again. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’ve gotten used to a full house. I have to tell you; I didn’t mind it at all. I enjoyed it. Even having Silas with us.”

  “But children must grow up and parents must move on with their lives.” Glinda rose from her chair and rinsed out her cup at the kitchen sink. Outside it was a beautiful early summer’s day. All the flowers were blooming and the yard was green with new grass. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Even though her stomach was a little queasy, she was so pleased life was returning to normal. It had felt as if the world had been on pause for way too long. She was ready to live normal, pre-pandemic, again. More than ready.

  “I accept that truth, Glinda, but I’ll still miss both of my kids. Anyway, we’re going to have a going away party for them this Saturday evening, the day before they take off. You, Myrtle and Kyle are all invited. So is Martha and Gregory, as well. Irma. Nothing fancy. It’ll just be appetizers, barbequed pork steak sandwiches, and cake.”

  “We’ll be there. Let me know if you need me to bring anything, all right?”

  “I will. But I think we have it covered. Frank went shopping yesterday,” she giggled, “and bought out the store.”

  Glinda tilted her face towards her friend. “With the kids gone and the house empty except for you and Frank, what are you going to do now? Any big plans? Any new art exhibitions in your future? I know, because Frank told me, that you’ve been painting up a storm for months.”

  “Oh, that St. Louis art gallery I’ve had showings at the last four years wants more paintings. I’ve been working on a whole new series. Huge, some eight feet by five feet, canvases. Ten of them this time. Being stuck at home the last year or so has allowed me to finish more than half of them. I’m on number six now. They’re coming along quite well. If I say so myself.”

  “What are your subjects this time? More haunted places, abandoned buildings, or infamous houses?”

  “No, not exactly. I’m painting...ghosts.” Abigail flashed Glinda an ambiguous look.

  “Ghosts...like in plural?” Glinda murmured. “Really? That’s your new theme?”

  “Yes. Ghosts, as in plural, of all emanations.”

  “Aaah, you’re not kidding, are you?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Oh boy, Myrtle’s going to love that.” Glinda rolled her eyes, and chuckled. “What sort of spirits are you creating?”

  Biting her lip thoughtfully, the expression in her eyes becoming soft, Abigail replied, “What I imagine ghosts look like. Of the works I have already completed, some of them are merely beings of translucent smoke, phantasms, some are more solid and look like the people they once had been. For this series, I have placed some of them in deep darkled night woods, on a shadowed street in a town, walking among a crowd of live people, or even on a porch in the sunlight. But I make sure people know they are ghosts by the lighting, their transparency, or the otherworldly expressions on their faces.

  “Actually, I was going to ask you if it would be all right to paint you at your card-reading table in your
séance parlor–with ghosts sitting in some of the other chairs? Perhaps a ghost or two hovering around you in the room’s shadows. It would make a great centerpiece for the collection. The Ghost Whisperer. As if all the other spirits on the other canvases were ones you’d seen.”

  Glinda cocked her head towards the adjoining room. “You mean like the séance wall painting you did for me in there? Me at the table with my crystals, Ouija board, and tarot cards, the candles flickering in the center of the table, and the darkened room around us?”

  “Exactly. I just wanted to run it all past you and get your permission first.”

  “Really? I don’t know....”

  Abigail’s voice was conciliatory. “I’d conceal your face, though, so it wouldn’t be as recognizable as in that wall depiction. If you’re worried about that. No one would ever know it was you.”

  Glinda mulled it over for a moment. “All right. If you promise, as you said, to make my face indistinct, I guess it’ll be okay.”

  “Great. Thanks, Glinda. Before I leave, I’ll snap a couple of photographs of the room, and you in your chair, so I can reproduce your surroundings with as much detail as I can. Details, except for your face of course, makes a difference.”

  “With your paintings, I’ve come to learn it does. I can’t wait to see what you come up with for my The Ghost Whisperer painting.”

  “Me, too.” A quick grin. Her eyes were still on Glinda. “If you’re not going into the clinic, what do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

  “I have an appointment to read the cards for and counsel someone,” she glanced at the clock on the wall, “in about a half hour.” Glinda had basically stopped doing home readings during the pandemic for obvious reasons, but it felt good to resume them now that it was safe. It also felt good to not have to wear a mask any longer when she met new people.

  “Anyone I might know?”

  “I don’t think so. Vanessa Krantz? I don’t know her, either. Talking to her on the phone, I gathered she’s a private sort of woman; she and her husband keep to themselves. Lives out on Rivers Drive out in the woods. She said our friend Martha recommended me, and said she should come talk to me about her...problem. When Vanessa Krantz telephoned me yesterday, she sounded distraught, and truly desperate. I hadn’t planned on resuming my readings this quickly, wanted to take a couple days off to relax, but I couldn’t say no. I felt sorry for her.”

  “Oh? What is her problem?”

  “Because of the situation, I don’t think she’d mind me telling you, because sooner or later everyone’s going to know.”

  Yet Glinda paused, unsure, knowing the moment she spoke the words how they might affect Abigail. She knew Abigail’s personal history well enough. It couldn’t be helped. Abigail always found out about these kinds of things eventually. And, as she’d said, soon the whole town would know Vanessa’s trouble. Best if she broke it to her friend first. “Vanessa Krantz told me her husband, Derek, is missing. He’s been missing for two days, no word at all, and she says that’s not like him. She’s hoping I might be able to ease her mind some.”

  Glinda caught the startled look on her friend’s face; the discomfort the revelation had ignited in her eyes before Abigail cloaked it. Some pain a person never forgot. Abigail had had a missing husband once long ago and knew the anguish it could produce; she would feel instant sympathy for Vanessa Krantz.

  “She wants to know if he’s alive or dead, right?” Abigail’s voice was close to a whisper.

  “That and other things, I imagine. I didn’t ask her. I’ll find out more when she gets here. She was so hysterical she was kind of hard to understand.”

  “And you hesitated even telling me because of what I went through with my first husband, Joel, right, when he went missing? The trauma? You didn’t want to remind me, upset me?”

  “I didn’t want to upset you,” Glinda repeated.

  So, what Abigail asked took her off guard. “Would you mind if I sat in for the session, and the tarot reading, you’re having with Vanessa Krantz? I know well what she’s feeling; what she’s going through. Been there, done that. I might be of some help to her. She’s bound to be distressed. Do you think she’d mind? Would you mind?”

  “No, I wouldn’t mind. But her? I don’t know. I’ll ask her when she gets here.”

  Abigail seemed content with that answer. Though, as Abigail put the cup up to her lips, Glinda could see the consternation in her friend’s expression. Whatever she was remembering was making her unhappy. Which made sense. Being reminded in any way of that heart-breaking period when Abigail’s first husband went missing had to bring up painful memories. And, years later, Joel’s decomposed body had been found in his car; it had been discovered he’d been murdered. That had left scars, as well.

  Myrtle came shuffling into the kitchen. “Smells like cinnamon rolls and coffee in here to me. Did you save some for me?”

  “Of course, we did, Auntie.” Glinda gave the old woman a good morning hug, and pointed at the plate of rolls on the table. “We saved you plenty.”

  Glinda handed Myrtle a cup of coffee. “Here. Just the way you like it. Sit down.”

  Myrtle plopped into a chair and grabbed a roll. She wasn’t in a robe or one of her lounging outfits as she’d been most days the last year and a half. She was dressed to go to town in one of her pre-pandemic flowery blouses, slacks, tennis shoes, and a sweater in case she’d need it. She laid a cap and sunglasses on the table. Her cane was hung on the back of her chair. She’d informed Glinda that she wasn’t wearing her long dresses anymore because she tripped over them too much. “That’s what happens when a person gets really old,” she’d stated. “No balance. Klutz city.”

  “Good morning, Abigail,” Myrtle said to the other woman at the table.

  “Good morning to you, too, Myrtle.” Abigail nodded hello to the old lady. “You’re looking chipper today. I like your blouse. Real spring like.”

  “I feel pretty chipper. I feel good. Better than I have in a long time. Nothing like an outing to get an old lady’s pulse pumping.”

  “I see you’re dressed for town,” Glinda made the comment. “You’re going in on your scooter, huh?”

  “Told you I was. I can’t walk it, and I know you have a client this morning for a reading so I don’t expect you to run me there and back. I’m not a kid. It’s time. I can do it myself. I had both my shots last month, plus the booster, and I’m good to go. Raring to go.” Myrtle stuffed a hunk of roll into her mouth, chewed, and washed it down with coffee; sighed with the deliciousness of it.

  “Irma’s going to meet me at Stella’s Diner. Just like in the old days. I’m even going to stop by first and say hi to Kate at The Delicious Circle and visit her and her hubby for a while. Maybe even drop in for a conversation with Claudia at the bookstore. I could use a few more of those Sue Grafton novels. I’m ready for the “K is for Killer” one. Claudia said she had a copy waiting for me. It’s going to be so good to get out, to be really free again and go where I want, when I want. It’s been such a long time. I was afraid I’d die before I could visit town like this again. But I’m still here on the living side and I’m determined to live the best life I can, for as long as I can.”

  When Myrtle turned her gaze on her, Glinda thought she saw tears pooling in the woman’s eyes. She knew Myrtle had been looking forward to this day for months. Rose’s death had affected her more than she’d admit. The two women, along with Irma, had become such fast friends all living under the same roof together. Glinda knew she missed Rose and Irma. She’d missed her routine jaunts into town to coffee-klatch and visit with the townies. Nothing would stop the old woman from scootering into town, so Glinda wouldn’t even try.

  “You gonna hit every place, see everyone, today, huh?”

  “Nah, not everyone.” Myrtle huffed. “That would take all week and then some. I’ll get around to visiting everyone sooner or later though. I have a bunch of people to see and visit with. I bet those old ones at the
nursing home think I’ve died; it’s been so long since I’ve visited them. Brought them supplies. I’ll go there one day next week. I have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “You sure do.” Glinda sat down next to her great aunt. She didn’t say anything about how many of those nursing home residents would still be alive after the last two years. Covid had done its damage there, too. No need to ruin the old lady’s good mood. Myrtle would find that out soon enough.

  “What are you up to today, Niece, besides this first client this morning?”

  “I’m once more hanging out the psychic shingle full-time on the front door. I have other appointments later in the week as well as the one this morning.”

  “Good for you. It’s been a long time since you plied your true trade. I know you’ve been missing it.”

  “I have,” Glinda responded. “Working at the clinic was fulfilling, Kyle needed me, but not what I’m supposed to be doing.”

  Myrtle turned to Abigail. “And you, artist lady? What are you up to today?”

  Glinda surreptitiously threw Abigail a cautioning look, gently shaking her head behind Myrtle’s back. Abigail got the message. Don’t talk about the ghost paintings. Don’t mention Vanessa Krantz.

  “After I leave here, I’ll be going home to work on my latest painting for that art gallery in St. Louis. I have a way to go, more canvases to produce, if I want a showing before the end of the year.”

  “Ooh, more paintings, huh? What are you painting this time? More empty houses or abandoned businesses?”

  “Not this time. I’m still...trying to figure out exactly what direction I’m heading in. A work in progress, so to speak. For now,” Abigail answered vaguely. “You know how it is?”

  Myrtle gave Abigail a strange look. “Not really. Then I’m no artist. But, deary, you’ll create lovely pieces of art, no doubt. You always do. I have complete faith in you and your talent.” Myrtle patted Abigail’s hand affectionately.