Jeremy spent the night. No, not in that way. My life sadly does not resemble a Misty Monroe paranormal romance novel. God, how I wish it did. I’d look sexy with a sword, though I’d need to stop eating to fit into the leather halter tops.
I easily collapsed back into sleep and Jeremy refused to leave me alone. He used the excuse of Mrs. Saunders and wanting to make sure she was also all right in the morning, but I got the feeling he was worried about me, too.
In a pathetically platonic sort of way. Like I said, not a paranormal romance. When this was done, I planned to check out the entire paranormal novel section from the library and live vicariously through others.
I asked Jeremy to keep the chatter to a minimum while I prepped my mental defences. I’d already failed, several times. If I messed up again, there was no telling what kind of damage the spirits would do.
I heard Jeremy leave just after sunrise and the distant sound of his voice talking to . . . someone outside. Probably one of the neighbours who were heading out to fish. The fall food fishery was open for only a couple of weeks, but most of my neighbours participated in it, even those who didn’t fish commercially anymore.
I crawled out of bed, showered, and sat down in front of my easel to work on my painting, a scenic view from my backyard overlooking the ocean. I focused on painting for most of the day. Jeremy came in a few times, but he left me alone. Mrs. Saunders sent over some fresh baked bread that she still bakes every morning for herself or her neighbours. She also sent over some leftover “cooked supper,” as she called it, as if there was only one meal she ate cooked.
I picked at the Jiggs Dinner, the official name for the traditional Sunday meal of Newfoundland. I have no idea who or what a Jiggs is, or how it was related to salt-cured pickled beef. But, that didn’t affect my enjoyment of the salt beef, root vegetables, and split-pea pudding meal. I took three naps and, each time, I awoke to an even cleaner house than to which I’d fallen asleep. It was just after suppertime when I awoke to the chopping of wood. I reluctantly pushed myself off the sofa and found Jeremy in the back, chopping firewood in a T-shirt. He saw me and stopped, giving me a big grin. My heart sank.
Friggin’ suckhole. I really needed to kick him out of my life.
I turned my attention to the spirits. Evil, dead things lurking all over the place, wanting to catch things and people on fire. Focus, Rachel. Ogle the eye candy later.
I sucked up my pride and called David O’Toole. I did not want to make that call, but I was convinced I needed to.
The conversation went about as well as I expected. David called me inaccurate names like “devil worshipper,” “witch,” and my personal favourite, “heathen.” Still, he agreed to meet me at the World Heritage Site.
We were fairly quiet in the car ride to the site, about ten minutes away. Mrs. Saunders sported an old snowmobile suit, borrowed from Tobe. We drove past the roadside vegetable gardens and log piles, where people cut and cured their winter fuel.
“I called Jimmy Anderson and he’s going to keep the gate on the road open for us,” Jeremy said. He was driving.
I nodded. “Thanks. I didn’t think about that.”
Jeremy let out a little laugh. “Last thing I need is to be arrested for trespassing.”
“What did you tell Jimmy?”
“I told him you needed to do something to stop spirits.”
I just stared at him. “You did what?”
Jeremy shrugged a shoulder. “Jimmy offered to help. His grandmother was some kind of midwife.”
Mrs. Saunders interrupted. “Old Maggie Anderson, God rest her soul, delivered two of my babies. She’d put a knife under the bed to scare off evil spirits. She never lost a woman, never. All her years birthing babes. Folks used to say she had an angel sitting with her.”
I shook my head. “Is there anyone on this island that doesn’t believe in spirits and such?”
Mrs. Saunders sniffed. “They’re probably all in St. John’s.”
We pulled up to the site’s interpretive building and parked. I frowned. The lot was full. “I thought the site was closed in the evenings.”
“It’s supposed to be,” Jeremy frowned. “Tourist season is pretty much over now that the icebergs and whales have moved on.”
“There’s no way I can do a ritual with a bunch of tourists gawking at me,” I grumbled, but I climbed out of the vehicle.
I gathered up my gear while Jeremy gathered up Mrs. Saunders. We took our time and made it inside the building. It was easier to go through the building and take the boardwalk, than tramp across the bog that surrounded the area.
I walked in and stared. I knew my mouth was hanging open but I couldn’t close it. There were people here. A lot of people, and they looked ready to do business. Bibles, pentagrams, crosses. A chill went through my body and it had nothing to do with the howling wind outside.
Manny stepped forward and I asked, “What is this?”
Red rose in Manny’s face, but he answered me, his voice soft and diffident. “They’ve come to help you.”