Forget Me Never by Sable Hunter (books successful people read txt) 📗

the windows of the main ballroom and imagine the people in their grand costumes.  He and lived in the caretaker cottage.  And as far as Patrick was concerned, the whole place was entirely too creepy.  During the day when tourists came for tours, it was okay.  But at night, when it was just the two of them, it was far too quiet.  As he walked by the old slave cabins, a funny feeling wiggled down his spine.  The moon had gone behind a cloud and it was dark.  Patrick told himself that he didn’t believe in ghosts, but this was one part of the property that he didn’t like to walk through at night.  He sped up a bit, breaking into a trot.  Soon, the sound of music drifted to his ears.  He was getting close.

Strings of white lights in the trees lit up the area.  This was a big place for just two people to live.  Even though it was open to the public by day, the owners had chosen not to make it into a bed and breakfast.  People came and went, but it wasn’t the same as having more family about.  He knew Grandpa was lonely, that’s why he was dating Izzy and Gertrude’s aunt.  Yuck!  Bounding up the steps of the gazebo, he walked up on his grandfather with his arms around the woman!  Crap!  “Excuse me,” he stammered.  Weren’t they too old for stuff like this?

Selma Smith backed up and giggled. “Hello, Patrick.  My, don’t you look nice tonight.  How old are you now?”

“Thank you, Ma’am.  I was thirteen last month.”

“What can I do for you, Boy?”  Grandpa was an ex-Marine or as he would say ‘once a marine, always a marine’.  Patrick intended to join the Corp, too.

“Izzy and Gertrude want to look in the old slave well to see if they can see the faces of their future husbands.”  Patrick put just as much disgust into the words as he could muster.

Selma giggled again, “Maybe I should go look.  What do you say, Paddy?”

Paddy?  He might be named for his grandfather, but he didn’t ever want to be called ‘Paddy’.

“After the kids get through, we’ll walk over there together, Shug,” Grandpa placed his arm around Ms. Smith and hugged her.

“So, it’s okay?”  Patrick was about to barf.

“Yes, it will be all right. Just be careful moving that old concrete cover, its heavy.”

“Yes, sir,” he was just about to make his escape when Selma stopped him with more chit-chat.

“I understand you’re a pretty good little artist.  Your grandfather tells me you won a prize at school the other day for a picture you drew.”

Hell!  Did everybody know about that?  “It was just a picture of a horse, Ms. Smith.”  Great, everybody would think he was some sissy painter.  That was all he needed.

“PATRICK!!!”  It was Gertrude.  For the first time, Patrick was happy to hear her voice.  Anything to get away from these two old lovebirds.

“Coming!  Excuse me.” He jumped down and struck a trot to join the girls down by the mill pond.  “Let’s go.  I got places to be and people to see. Wasting time with you girls is not my idea of fun.”

It wasn’t far to the well. An old wooden structure covered the entire curb and opening.  The whole thing had seen better days. “Who do you think we’ll see?” Izzy asked with giggly trepidation.

“If you see anybody, he’ll be scrambling to get out of that well and away from you,” he grumbled as he struggled with the big stone disc.  Patrick was a big boy for his age, but this was heavy!  With a great heave, he pushed it off to one side and stood by taking deep breaths.

Gertrude pulled a flashlight out of her front dress pocket.  “Here goes nothing,” she stepped closer, shone the light down into the water and peered down into the dark depths.

“Scoot over, what do you see?”  The two girls got into a little pushing struggle.

“Move, Izzy!  If we’re both standing here, how will we know which guy belongs to who?”

Patrick almost snickered.  The foolish girls were talking like they were actually gonna see something.  He thought the whole thing was stupid.

“I don’t see anything,” Gertrude whined.

“Me either, but give it time,” Izzy was more optimistic.

Behind them, Patrick waited with hands on hips.  “Maybe it’s not working because nobody will want to marry you.”

“Shut-up, Patrick.”

“Yes, you hush.  You’re gonna be our cousin; you have to be nice to us.”

That shut him up.  Just the thought of having to see these two all the time was enough to render him speechless.

“Look!  The water’s acting funny.  It’s like something is coming to the surface.”

“I can’t look.  I’m scared,” Izzy grabbed Gertrude and pulled her away.  “This whole place is haunted.  Aunt Selma said so.”

“Good Lord, give me that light.  There’s nothing in that well but water. You two are nuts.”  Patrick took the light and stepped up to see for himself.  Gazing down into the darkness, he was surprised to see the water was churning. He kept the high beam on the black water and waited. “It must be a pocket of gas.” Soon it all went still and it became as clear as glass. Patrick looked closer, straining to see. What was that?  “What in the world?” Patrick whispered.  It was a face.  He stared.  It was a woman!  A beautiful woman.  She smiled and Patrick felt funny – warm and happy.

“Do you see anything, Patrick?”

Patrick didn’t answer.  Instead he shook his head disbelievingly, trying to clear his vision.  Closing his eyes he counted to five, and then he looked again.  The image was still there.  Was it real?  She had long dark hair, dark eyes and the prettiest smile he had ever seen.

“Come on, Patrick, let’s go.  You’re right, this is waste of time.”

For a few more seconds, he gazed.  It was as if they had made eye contact.  With an artist’s eye, Patrick committed her face to memory.  When he got back