Secrets at Silver Ash Manor

Chapter 9 ~ Aspen Curio

Aspen nodded again, anger rising in her like bile. She knows. This sweet old lady knows that the guest house is haunted as hell and she's going to do whatever it takes to keep me from leaving like everyone else did. She's even suggesting I let my kids sleep there alone so I can get a break from it.

"Where is Gus?" Brigitte asked brightly, looking at the delicate antique watch on her narrow, liver spot-covered, crepe paper-skinned wrist.

"He's still raking leaves," said Aspen, pointing out the window above the sink.

"I'll go get him. I could use some fresh air."

"I'll have everything ready for you in the dining room whenever you come back in," Aspen said, since the bowls and bread were already in there waiting.

"That will be very nice, dear," said Brigitte, bundling herself into a padded down coat and mile-long scarf, despite that it was forty-five degrees outside. She looked cute. Like a kid about to topple over. Aspen sighed, already on the brink of forgiving her. After all, it wasn't her fault the guest house was haunted. And wouldn't Aspen do the same thing if she were in her shoes?

As soon as Brigitte stepped outside, Aspen sat down at the kitchen table and composed a letter to Shep:

November 18, 1989

Burgy Blossom, Iowa

Dear Shep,

Forgive me if this is a quick note. I'm writing it while I cook lunch for Gus and Brigitte.

Wow! I'll just come out and say it—I'm honored and touched that you've shared so much with me. I'm also very sad for you.

Yes—that splotchy water mark on the page is a tear drop.

Actually, it was soup. But what a lucky mistake! That splotch really added something to their exchange. It was theatrical without being melodramatic. Respectful of the seriousness of their conversation. Reverent, even. Aspen considered dripping some more soup on the page, but was afraid it might make the letter smell like a cafeteria so she refrained.

"You always did have a flare for the subtle," she murmured to herself, giving the splotch a tender little kiss before continuing:

I know you don't want my pity, Shep, but I can't help feeling distraught over the injustice of it all. I can't believe you went through all of this and I never knew. It just shows how in-my-own-world I was!

Have you tried getting in touch with your dad? Do you even want to? If you need a friend to help you do it, count me in. Or, if you're not quite ready for that, I say we hunt down Nadine Karpinsky and make her pay.

About being a mom and feeling guilty: As a parent, especially a single parent, so much of my kids' lives, happiness, future, success, etc. is really up to me. So if I get exhausted and slack off for a while, that's a missed opportunity to love them or enrich their lives or help them become stronger and smarter. Any time I take time for myself, it's time away from them. So, the guilt. I'm not complaining, just explaining. I wouldn't have it any other way, though. My life is definitely better with them in it!

Like my bosses, this job is getting old. Gus and Brigitte are working me to death! The worst chore of all? Darning socks. Why don't people this rich just buy some new ones?

Aspen chewed her pen, debating whether or not to mention her unwelcome visitor. Because things were getting worse. Just let night, after the kids had gone to bed, she'd looked up to discover the low ceiling of the guesthouse kitchen covered in a thin, smoky blue haze. She'd squinted and stood up, sniffing. Was the house on fire? All she could smell was the faint, cool, damp scent of soil. The kitchen turned colder and the smell intensified. It reminded her of a a root cellar. Or a grave. She'd turned on the light above the kitchen sink, and as the kitchen brightened up a bit the haze dissipated. The soil smell went away.

The whole incident lasted less than a minute or so, but it had left her completely shaken. She'd checked on the children and then tucked herself into bed, pulling the blankets up to ears, and barely slept all night.

Had it all been in her head? It had seemed so real, but now, in the light of day, it seemed like she must have imagined it all.

Shep was so practical, and she was dealing with what was essentially post-traumatic stress disorder.

"How selfish of me to have never seen it," Aspen whispered aloud. She sighed. But that was her thing. Selfishness. Before the twins were born, she'd never even considered the feelings of anyone but herself. And once they came along, sure, she was devoted to them, but wasn't it because they were a part of her? Wasn't loving your kids just an extension of selfishness?

Her own small, ghostly problems would probably seem delusional or fanciful in comparison to Shep's huge, very real problems, she realized. Shep's own issues relating to death and the netherworld were enough for one friendship. "Keep it light," she told herself, and finished off the letter with:

Oh, shoot! What's that burning smell? Oops, it's their lunch. Yikes, gotta go!

Aspen a.k.a. Cinderella