“Right.” He nods. “Charlie. Gotta save Charlie.”
“Tell me what you meant when you said he’ll be dead soon if we don’t stop him from leaving.”
Everett strolls over to the post and rail fence—also freshly painted—that separates the property from the road and... well, he doesn’t sit so much as he hovers above the top rail in a seated position.Neat trick, Gretchen thinks for a moment before remembering it’s not a trick. Just the physics of being spectral, apparently.
“It’s a sad, sad story,” he says, his wide, delighted grin detracting somewhat from his words. “I suppose I should start at the very beginning.” Instead of continuing with his explanation, though, he stares at Gretchen, waiting for permission.
She gestures for him to get on with it already.
“Right. So. As you can see, I’m a rather handsome fella.” He waits again.
Anything except a confirmation is probably going to sidetrack this conversation and draw it out even longer, so Gretchen mutters, “Sure.” Besides, she will admit that he is easy enough on the eyes. Well, if deadGreat Gatsbystage production understudies are your thing, at least. They aren’t really hers, but she could comprehend how someone might’ve been into Everett’s whole vibe back when he was alive.
“Everyone was always saying, ‘Everett, you could be the next Valentino, you have such an expressive face, you should be inHollywood pictures.’ And oh, Ilovedthe movies. Almost as much as I love television—though of course we didn’t have that yet when I was alive. Such a neat invention, the television. But movies! They were really starting to pick up back then, simply spectacular stuff.” He puts his hands out as if praising the film gods, then clasps them together again. “There was this gorgeous little tomato, Betsy Chandler—her family had a horse farm up the road a ways—and one time I took her out to the Opera House. But the whole time she kept trying to sneak kisses in the dark, can you believe it? She didn’t even want to watch the picture! I had to say, ‘Betsy, now, stop that, I’m trying to see what this Nosferatu fellow is getting up to—’ ”
“What does this have to do with Charlie, exactly?” Gretchen asks.
“Oh, right. Yes.” Everett’s smile returns, as if it’s how he resets his focus. “So I thought about it for a while and realized everyone was onto something. Ishouldbe an actor in Hollywood.” He counts off on his fingers as he says, “I had the looks. I had the talent. I had the drive. Especially the drive. In fact, I wanted it more than anything. But I was stuck here working this damn farm. The place was supposed to be the responsibility of my older brother, Robert, but he got himself killed during the war. Right at the end. Meuse–Argonne. And our parents passed soon after.” His voice remains casual. Yet if there’s one thing Gretchen knows (other than how to bullshit), it’s how to spot grief. She clocks how it transforms Everett’s face for a fraction of a second before he continues. “Left me...”—for a moment he pauses, then continues—“trapped, taking care of everything. And not just the farm, but also our ancient great-aunt, Lucretia Thorne—who managed to outlive us all, by the way, the witch. Did I ask for thatresponsibility? No! Didn’t want it, not even a little bit. So one day I said to myself, ‘Now, ol’ boy, why are you simply accepting this life you’ve been saddled with? You have free will, don’t you? At least, according to that pastor your mama used to drag you to every Sunday, and probably some philosopher or another. If you want to make something of yourself, do it! Go West, young man! Pursue your dreams!’ ”
Gretchen stares blankly. “Okay... And what does this have to do with—”
“I’m getting there, I’m getting there. So I told Aunt Lucretia, ‘Auntie, I’m going to sell the farm, take you to live with Cousin George and his brood, and move out to California. I’m gonna be a film star.’ And, well, Aunt Lucretia didn’t like that, not one bit. Kept saying, ‘There have always been Waybills at Gilded Creek.’ She insisted that the property must be kept in the family. That I mustn’t go, but stay, marry, and reproduce like my ancestors before me. That’s what her grandfather intended when he built this place, she said. It was to be passed down through the generations, not sold off for quick cash to a railroad tycoon. Then she looked me in the eye and said—nay, she hissed!—‘A terrible fate will befall you, Everett Waybill—’ ”
“I don’t think you can hiss that. But wait. So you’re a Waybill? You’re related to Charlie?”
“Yeah. He’s my...” Everett looks up and to the side as if counting, then draws some imaginary lines in the air with his finger. “It’s something like first cousin three times removed? I never quite understood how all that works. It doesn’t really matter. This is the important part, doll. Listen.” His lips purse and his eyes narrow. Gretchen has to admit, his faceisincredibly expressive. “Aunt Lucretia hissed, ‘A terrible fate will befall you, Everett Waybill, ifyou ever take one step off this farm without the intention of returning. A terrible, terrible fate.’ ”
“And then you left anyway?”
“Yep. Tried to, at least. Fell onto the tracks right as my train was approaching the station in Harpers Ferry. And, well, splat!” He must notice the way Gretchen’s face contorts as he chuckles at his gruesome death, because he shrugs and says, “If you can’t laugh about your mistakes, what can you laugh about?”
“Then what happened?” she asks.
“I kind of... poofed back here. And I’ve been hanging around as a ghost ever since.”
Gretchen considers the story. She has a lot of questions, and it’s challenging to settle on one, but eventually she starts with, “How did the farm stay in the family? Hadn’t you already sold it?”
Everett shakes his head. “The sale wasn’t complete yet when I left—the railroad fella who wanted to buy it was still dotting some i’s, crossing some t’s and whatnot. He told me we could do the final signatures through the mail once everything was together. But then I was dead, so the property went to my next of kin, Cousin George. Conveniently, he already had Aunt Lucretia at his place, since I dropped her off with him just before going to the train station. And I supposehetook the whole curse thing seriously, because he immediately canceled the sale and brought his family to live at Gilded Creek. Ol’ George’s progeny have been running things here ever since. It was George, then Charles, then... well, it skipped a generation with Chuck, since he had no interest in it. And now Charlie.”
Gretchen maps out this family tree in her head. She wonders fleetingly what the deal is with Chuck, who is presumably Charlie’s father. But of all the questions floating around her brain, thatseems like it belongs in the “low priority” pile. “So you think if Charlie tries to leave he’ll get killed like you did?”
“Not only get killed but...” He trails off and looks around. “Do you see any other ghosts around here?” he asks.
“Uh...” Considering this seeing-ghosts thing is quite a new development, Gretchen isn’t entirely sure if there are others about or not.
“No, you don’t. And I’ll tell you why. Because everyone else who died before and after me got to move on. They got to go Up. Understand?”
She tilts her head. “Not really, no.”
“The terrible fate Aunt Lucretia cursed me with wasn’t death. It was being stuck here, haunting this place.” He pauses and his eyes shift back, forth, back again, with the dramatic intensity of someone who’s been assigned the role of Street Crosser #1 in a movie. Apparently deciding it’s safe, he bursts out with, “Foreternity! I wanted to leave, so now I have to stay forever. And that’s what will happen to Charlie too if he sells the farm.”
“It’s certainly a poetic punishment. Props to Aunt Lucretia for that, I guess.” She bites her lip as she runs the story back over in her mind again. “But how are you so sure Charlie will meet the same fate? Has anyone else tried to leave in the decades you’ve been here? What if the curse only applied to you, or it expired or something?”
Everett scoffs. “I think I understand the terms of my own damnation, thank you. It’s my job to ensure Gilded Creek stays within the family as long as the Waybill line exists, to keep my relatives—to keep Charlie—here and safe.”
“So all that spooky shit was you? Youhavebeen intentionally scaring away everyone who wants to buy the farm?”
This is all getting wilder and wilder. First a ghost, now a family curse with life-and-death stakes? Gretchen pinches her arm again.Ouch.Nope, still not dreaming.
