In the Shadow of the Lilac: II: Breath

The Hotel Lilac isn't such a quiet retreat, after all.

Photo by Thérèse Judeana, 2024.

---

Welcome to In the Shadow of the Lilac! This is projected to be a five-part wholesome spooky serial, concluding on October 31st. If you’d like to receive it in your inboxes, please be sure to subscribe to the section “It was a Dark and Stormy Night.”

Synopsis: When Melody and Zion Holcomb move to Lavender Vale ahead of their parents, they expect the peaceful Gilded Age town to be a breath of fresh air. They can’t begin to guess that a century-old mystery has been lying in wait for them to solve. . . and the answers lie buried in the halls of the Hotel Lilac.

This is a long post, so it may appear shortened in your inbox. In this event, please read the post in your browser. Thank you!

---

The morning after the second apparition, as the sun felt its way through the autumn frost and fog, Zion was at war with one of the stubborn tri-fold kitchen cabinet doors when Grant appeared, leaning over the edge of the counter.

“I wish you would knock,” Zion grunted, beginning to wonder if he could just slip his hand through the cabinet instead of fixing it.

“Adopted brothers don’t have to, or so Melody tells me.”

“Sometimes I wish she’d ask me first. But never mind, I’ve been waiting for you to show up. Do you know what you did last night?” Zion demanded impatiently. “You made it so Melody couldn’t sleep. I told you not to do that!”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t here last night.”

Zion scowled him, giving the door another energetic shake, finally freeing it enough to give it a satisfying slam.

“Grant. You need to stop fooling. I don’t care what you think you did or didn’t do, I don’t want it to get to the point where Melody doesn’t trust you and she’s having heart pain, alright? She loves you, well, as a sister, I mean, and she’s very trusting and innocent and naive, and if you’re going to take advantage of that, I’ll-”

“I’m not taking advantage of Melody, Zion. It’s because of who she is that I’m warning you. I need you to believe me. Most people around here are safe, no matter what is going on, but this isn’t a place for a rose to be growing.”

Zion’s phone rang.

“-Oh, hey, Mom – already? Well the house is in decent order – okay, I’ll tell her, yeah, love you. See you on Thursday.”

Zion hung up and found Grant watching judgingly.

“You didn’t tell them not to come.”

“Grant. . .” Zion sighed, and got to his feet, rolling his neck to free the kinks he had acquired from his position on the floor. “They need a home to, well, come home to, and I’m not going to warn them when it’s just you. Do you know how long it would take to resell this house, anyway? Now, will you please cross your heart that you’re dropping the pranks?”

Grant didn’t answer, distracted by Lys bouncing up the stairwell uninvited.

“Hey-”

“It’s okay, he’s probably looking for Melody again,” Zion waved carelessly as he ducked into the pantry. “Why don’t you go on up to the attic and console Mel, and promise her again that you won’t be spooking us. I’ll be up in a few.”

Melody was curled up on the ballroom floor, restringing the dilapidated chandelier with new crystals as Lys playfully tried to nab them, when Grant’s footsteps rattled on the stairs.

“Melody? Ah,” Grant surveyed the room in amusement. “You got the one with the ballroom. I knew one of these houses had one. Melody, Zion told me about last night.”

“Good morning! Isn’t it pretty?” Melody jangled the string of crystals in her hands, letting the morning light play them like the strings of a harp. “Why’d you try to scare me again? You promised you wouldn’t, and you were very creepy at night.”

“I know,” he hesitated. “Melody, I didn’t - I would never purposely try to scare you enough to hurt your heart. I’m sorry about what happened. You need to stay inside as I asked, and as you promised me.”

“I’m sorry, I thought the porch would be okay?”

Grant toed a fallen crystal across the floor to Melody’s hand. “Normally I’d say it is,” he sighed.

“What is it you’re so worried about, anyway?” Melody asked, slipping the crystal onto its respective hook. “Zion says there must be nothing, since you’re being mysterious about it, so it’s just you. Is it?”

“No, Melody. It’s very real, and I wish you two would find a way to leave.”

“Well if it isn’t you, what is it? Shouldn’t you tell us?” Melody’s eyes went very wide as a thought struck her. “Is it – is it a serial killer?” she whispered anxiously.

“There are no serial killers around here,” Grant stated, taking up one of the window seats. “I know Zion already talked to the nearest sheriff’s office to make sure it’s nothing like that. Quote: ‘There is nothing strange going on in Lavender Vale, nor are there any dangerous animals in the woods.’”

“Hm?” Melody cocked her head in confusion. “I thought you said-”

Grant smiled a little and shook his head sadly. “You like this house a lot, don’t you, Melody?”

“She begged and begged when she saw the ballroom,” Zion’s voice came from behind as he mounted the stairs, bearing a bowl of rainbow goldfish crackers in one hand, not to mention the rest of the bag, and three mugs and a coffee pot in the other. “She’s worth being stuck in a pink dollhouse.”

He flipped the bag to Grant as he passed to hand Melody the bowl. Lys happily burrowed his nose into it.

“Big brother! Where’ve you been? Ooh, thanks.”

Grant examined the bag with curiosity, and Zion took it back, dumping the crackers into Grant’s hand.

“They’re for eating, Grant. I’ve been in the study, job-hunting, Mel, and then I had to fix that cabinet door. Though I won’t be surprised if it sticks again. Also, Mom called: they’re flying into Boston on Thursday, so you have precisely three days until you need to bake another cake.”

“Yayyyy! Chocolate or cherry lemonade?”

“Chocolate. . .lemonade?”

“Lys, get your nose out of the Lady’s food,” Grant reprimanded, luring his dog back to his side with one of the treats he kept in his pocket. Dusting off his hands, he turned to Zion, who was casually eating all the reds and greens from the bag.

“If you’re looking for work, there’s the resort,” Grant said resignedly. “That’s where I work, and there have been plenty of openings lately.” A faint smirk tried hard to make its way onto his lips and barely failed. “You won’t find an easier solution this side of fifty miles, and fifty miles is the Scream-a-Lot amusement park, which is a no.”

“Oh, yes – I saw the hotel mentioned when we were looking into Lavender Vale, but we haven’t had a chance to stop by and see it,” Zion recalled. “Would they have anything in IT or security? That’s what I’ve worked in before.”

“Eh, I believe there’s something that would suit. But Zion -” Grant’s voice took on that gravity again, and his eyes briefly flashed. “You’ll want to take Melody with you, and not leave her alone in this house so close to the woods.”

Zion hesitated as Melody paused to listen attentively.

“No, I wouldn’t want to leave her alone, even if it’s for her heart and not your ‘facts.’”

“Maybe there’s some work we can find for her as well. There’s probably something she’ll like, and judging by this house, the Lilac is the kind of place she’ll enjoy.”

“Oh, don’t tell me it’s actually lilac purple,” Zion groaned. “Worse yet, please tell me I haven’t got to wear lilac?”

Grant’s eyes twinkled, but he said only that he wouldn’t promise.

That afternoon, the three drove out to the Hotel along the winding road, finding the wind buffeting the sea-lavender along the roadside and the seagulls overhead. The Hotel was only two and a half miles from Lavender Vale, but the bluffs that sloped down towards the sea hid the sprawling lawns and sparkling white brick from view, as well as the transition from asphalt to sand to brick. An eggshell white and lilac sign proudly proclaimed,

The Hotel Lilac and Promenade

Since 1887

Visitors Welcome to Our Emporium, Tea Room, and Gardens.

“Was that before or after Lavender Vale?” Melody wanted to know, leaning forward and steadying herself on the shoulder of Grant’s seat.

“A little more than a decade after. Lavender Vale was founded in 1874, but it was always a bit of a retreat for the wealthy, or the sick, depending on who’s counting.” He proceeded to tell them of the resort’s history, as a long-suffering worker might who easily slips into the role of tour guide.

“It was founded in 1887 by Col. Steve Wilder’s family and their family friend, Meredith Grant. The resort was named for Delilah Grant, Meredith’s autistic daughter, who had recently passed away from cancer, and whose favorite flower was the lilac. The Hotel Lilac became a popular retreat for two decades, famous for possessing the most unobtrusive staff in the world, but when guests later began to flock elsewhere, it closed its doors from 1909-1937. The village struggled during those years, but Hotel Lilac reopened in the late 1930’s, and the vast carriage house was extended and converted into an Emporium of antique and luxury handcrafted goods.”

“Have you ever gone in for history documentaries?” Melody giggled at him. “You need to make it sound like a dramatic mystery, though.”

“It would be better than ghosting!” was Zion’s comment as they rounded the bend. Before them sloped the seaside gardens, and, set twixt garden and sea, rose the majestic inn with its soft white bricks, gabled roofs, round towers and turrets, filled with sparkling stained-glass in floral hues, and vine-twined columns which mirrored in front and back.

A massive double-floored rounded portico welcomed guests in style, and brick paths wove in and out of each other through the manicured lawns, circling fountains and flowers, leading to the resort’s amenities, the beach, and the public promenade which stretched along the edge of the white sand.

A colonnade ran parallel to it, linking the hotel with an old carriage house. It was now crystal-paned with glorious double-doors, and a gilt sign labeled it the Emporium. The back of the carriage-house was a surprise: half housed the hotel’s twelve horses, the other side fulfilled the old carriage house’s purpose, for with some modern engineering, it now was a triple-level parking deck for hotel workers and guests, successfully keeping automobiles out of most vacation photos.

“The Emporium side is really the 1930’s extension,” Grant explained, as Zion carefully pulled into a first-level spot and parked. “It’s a bit more deco, if you look closely.”

“What is it you that you do here, Grant?” Melody quizzed, slipping her arm through his as he guided them up the colonnade.

“I’m the hospitality manager,” he replied. “I oversee things, generally behind the scenes. Since there are a fair number of empty positions right now, I also keep an eye on inventory and help manage the Emporium.”

“Hospitality?” Zion repeated, laughing. “That’s quite an ironic position for you, considering how Melody met you.”

“It’s okay, it makes Grant, Grant,” Melody declared, tucking her arm more securely into his. Grant’s eyes wavered between a smile and sobriety, but meeting her gaze he chose the former.

It didn’t take long for him to show the pair to the hiring manager’s office on the east side of the hotel’s first floor, passing through pastel carpeted corridors with white paneling and antique wallpaper. Carven flowers decorated the cornices, and every doorway was arched over by fairytale paintings of lilacs, lavender, roses, or briers.

Zion’s eyebrows went up a little at the obvious relief of the hiring manager, and even further as, with surprising ease, Zion landed the perfect job in security, while Melody found, happily, that she would spend her day as the hotel’s florist, and in occasionally baking for and playing piano in the tearoom.

“Grant. . . is there a reason that was so easy?” Zion probed, as the office door clicked shut behind them.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? - No, no, I didn’t. The Lilac is haunted.”

Zion facepalmed.

“You could have mentioned that! It’s just a hotel prank, like you pull, right?”

“I’m dead serious.” Grant pulled them along, casting a frown at the woven thorn branches over the next archway, stepping swiftly through to the other room.

“Grant!” Zion tugged him back.

“Don’t worry. The ghosts are rarely seen, and they’re unaffected by exorcism.”

Zion narrowed his eyes at Grant and leaned against the lavender-plastered wall.

“Ah-huh. Grant, you wouldn’t happen to be responsible for some of those ‘empty positions,’ by any chance.”

A smile tugged at Grant’s lips.

“Some.”

Melody attempted not to giggle but failed.

“What you’re doing in hospitality, I’m sure I’ll never know,” Zion threw his hands in the air and walked out, leaving Melody and Grant to link arms and follow, laughing.

Melody and Zion were called into their first day of work early the next morning. A grin cracked over Grant’s lips when he met them on the Lilac’s veranda, for poor Zion’s worst fears had been confirmed. In his defense, the lilac button-down leaned more towards the most ungirlish dusty shade of the color.

“Morning! The color suits you, Zion.”

“Same to you!”

“At least no one’s arguing about how nice you look, Melody,” Grant complimented, for her uniform was a lilac poplin Edwardian-meets-Deco dress. “Did you know those uniforms haven’t changed since the 30’s? More or less the same for the men,” he added, “although the color wasn’t always so muted!”

“I’m so grateful that I live in the 21^st century and not the 20^th,” Zion shook his head. “Now, kindly point us in the directions we’re to go?”

“You, that way,” Grant waved towards the south wing. “The computer security room is in back of the Emporium. As for you, Melody, you’ll be with me on and off today, as you’ll need more of a behind-the-scenes tour than your brother.”

“Amazing,” Zion drawled. “I have one request. Try not to engaged before Mom and Dad are here, please, won’t you, Mel?”

“I adopted him-”

“Maybe you adopted him, but that doesn’t make him safe, I think,” Zion teased, and beat a hasty retreat.

“So!” Melody hastily changed the subject as she started down the opposite corridor, bouncing along the braided florals in the deep indigo carpet. “Old places like this always have secret passages!”

Grant led her into a small reading room. “Secret passages? If that’s what you want, allow me to demonstrate just how the Lilac maintains ‘the most unobtrusive staff in the world.’”

He rapped lightly on a carved rosebud set into the wood of an old bookcase, and the lilac-papered wall slipped aside, revealing a wood-paneled corridor lit by old-fashioned lamps. Grant’s eyes sparkled at Melody’s excitement and he gave her a bow.

“After you, my lady?”

They stepped in through the doorway, breathing in the spicy smell of the old pine and oak timbers with delight. Somehow the salt of the sea seemed woven into the splinters, an ancient scent of perfume lingered, clinging about each panel. The door slid shut behind Grant as he escorted Melody down the passage, passing innumerable narrow branches between rooms, countless doors, and a handful of cheery personnel whom Melody waved to.

“This is how the staff gets around,” Grant revealed. “The whole resort is honeycombed with passageways. If the walls were going to be hollow anyway, the designer, one Avery Wilder, decided to put them to use. You see, it keeps staff members out of the way of guests, never cluttering the halls or creating too much noise, so they’re only seen once in a while during their duties.”

Melody tapped her heels experimentally on the floor. “Does this sound like a ghost?”

“To some.”

“Tell me about the ghosts,” Melody begged. “Are they actually real?”

“They are,” Grant replied. “We have at least six of them. Five have names: there’s the Daisy Debutante, the Magnolia Maiden, the Violet Widow, the Jasmine Bride, and the Lavender Lady. They’re all the sad kind.”

“They must be souls from purgatory,” Melody mused sorrowfully. “I’ll pray for them, and maybe then they’ll be able to stay home. They’re all ladies? Why are they haunting the hotel?”

“All the named ones who have been seen,” Grant nodded, almost grimly, as they turned the corridor and skirted a line of cleaning carts and room-service trolleys. “According to hotel tradition, it’s suspected that all of the hotel’s ghosts are from the year 1908.”

“The year the hotel closed?”

“Yes. That was because five women died that year, along with two men, seemingly all of natural causes. Many thought it seemed too coincidental and the number too great, and so the Lilac closed its doors.”

He clammed up briefly, noting that Melody had forgotten to breathe as she stared up at him and risked tripping over crooked floorboards.

“As for the floral titles,” Grant remarked, easing into a different subject, “along the way those flowers came to be associated with the ghosts. Call it floral habit, if you will; after all, we’re at Hotel Lilac in Lavender Vale. As you might guess, the Lilac leaned into the floral theme in many ways and quickly became a favored and safe retreat for women, especially if they had to travel alone, and was especially popular with brides and debutantes. Naturally, the resort the Lilac catered to them - with a wider range of feminine activities than most resorts, and even creating its own signature perfume, feminine floral teas, and unique floral rouge that the wealthiest ladies might be gifted on special occasions during their stay.”

“Ooh, I’d like all of those,” Melody said wistfully. “Do they still make any of those things?”

“The teas are still served in the tea room, and you can find the modern ‘Pluie de Lilas’ at the Emporium. The makeup died out with the Edwardian era - by the time the revamp came, modern makeup was huge in Hollywood, and we had better services to spend our time on.”

Grant drew her to a halt before another panel in the wall; there was a covered knot-hole which he slipped open and peered through.

“No guests around. Follow me, please.” He pulled the panel aside, revealing the florist’s studio at the back of the hotel, all bay-windowed and opening into the garden. It was filled with antique vases and pottery in soothing shades, many decoratively painted with pastoral scenes or greenery.

“This is where you’ll work, Melody, but allow me to show you around the garden.”

The gardens were empty this morning, all the fifty guests enjoying breakfast, or a leisurely brow across the bay. The garden foliage shifted between scarlet, burgundy, and jade, many of the blooming flowers coming in cream, gold, deep rose, and orchid purple. The lime hydrangeas blushed and nodded to them as they passed by, beneath decorative wrought iron bowers and trellises laden with a wealth of autumn roses.

It was well that Melody would be permitted to cut any flower she wished, for she wanted every one of them, dying to arrange them in symphonies of flower, moss, and branch. Still, her plans didn’t stop her from noticing how Grant brushed past the roses and thorned berry bushes with a frown.

Rounding the bend, Melody nearly tripped over a loose branch of one of the little scarlet-leaved Franklin trees, which had been snapped and left carelessly, creamy petals and burnt leaves sweeping the walkway, and down the weaving walkways lay other flowers, trampled by uncaring guests. Grant steadied her.

“I hate to see flowers cut down with no mercy,” he snapped with surprising vehemence, stopping to gathering up the fallen flowers. “In floristry, fine, but to cruelly snap off the bloom of a branch to no use?”

It was the first time he had shown any irritation, or even any interest in any one thing. He seemed to have no hobbies, no likes, and no particular dislikes, except a strange aversion to any bush with thorns, regardless of whether it bore roses or berries.

Melody sweetly touched his arm, feeling the turbulence muddling beneath his surface.

“I’ll use them, Grant,” she said softly. “They won’t go to waste. Broken flowers are still beautiful.”

She let him lay the branch of flowers in her hands like a sacred trust. The tenseness slowly faded.

“I’ll take you back to the studio so you can begin your day,” Grant exhaled. “I’ll meet you and Zion for lunch later. Enjoy yourself, Melody.”

Thursday came quickly as the days passed at the Lilac. Running into Grant in the passageways was always the highlight of Melody’s day, for she saw less of him after the initial tour. He was grave, business-like, except she saw the way his manner gentled and warmed when he saw her, and they had great fun slipping through the corridors between tasks, pranking the guests and popping in and out at the last second, narrowly missing witnesses. She loved Grant’s eyes when the pair were stealing back and he was breaking down and laughing at whatever they had done, whether it had been to shift someone’s coffee cup across the room, or sneakily switch on a player piano.

Yet, there were times when a hard look slipped into his eyes, as though he was trying to find a way to scare her off again, and he couldn’t. He had promised.

“Well, whatever Grant was worried about, he seems to have lightened up,” was Zion’s cheerful opinion on Thursday morning. “He hasn’t given me any warnings for three days, and he seems to be fairly happy around you.”

“Yes,” Melody agreed shyly, dumping the sourdough she was making into the nearest greased bowl and draping a towel over. “He’s still his grave self, though, except when he spares a few moments to prank the guests with me – we only gently spook them.”

“Gently? Now that’s shocking for Grant. I had heard a rumor that the Lilac now has a pair of laughing ghosts,” Zion grinned. “That must be you two.”

There was a mild cacophony of mews agreeing with him as the kittens tumbled about in the corner.

“Three of them,” Zion commented as he watched. “Seriously, we don’t need three squeaking trash potatoes getting lost or stepped on. We should give him at least one of them.”

“They aren’t ‘trash potatoes,’” Melody corrected him serenely, “they’re mine. But Grant could use a kitten to look after.” She searched through the cabinets.

“Great, let’s give him one.”

“Did you move the bottle of olive oil?” Melody asked abruptly.

“Hm? No, haven’t touched it.”

“Then how’s it all the way across the room by the door?”

“Uhhh….one of us must have lost track of it? Very distractedly?”

Melody shrugged and accepted that explanation with a thank-you as Zion dutifully delivered it to her hand.

Still, it was hardly the first odd thing that had happened, but usually it wasn’t at home, and it wasn’t possibly attributable to forgetfulness. Maybe it was just her mind, but things were often vanishing or shifting around at the Lilac - and staff never pranked fellow staff members while on the premises.

Melody had found roses strewn across the studio floor once, when she and the shopgirl, Ellie, were both out and the doors were locked. Melody had taken it as an answer from St. Therese, prayers about Grant - but then, flowers that were fresh one moment were found burnt to shrivels a few minutes later. Coffee was instantly chilled to ice-water temp in a draftless room; mud was tracked in on a rainless day. Chairs were moved, old-fashioned violet ink found dripped on new paper, and candles blew out whenever someone said anything about ghosts.

They were little things, often the kind of prank she and Grant might play on guests. Somehow it always happened when Melody was there, but she knew that it wasn’t Grant, for sometimes he was with her. He never seemed fazed.

Zion interrupted Melody’s thoughts as he stood up. “Well, I think it’s fine then if I leave you. I’ll be back for in time for lunch to hear you play the piano at the tea room, alright? Let me know when you’re ready to leave and I’ll drop you off before I head out.”

Twenty minutes’ time and Melody bundled herself out of the car, wrapped in warm shawls and carrying a box, containing her newly finished Edwardian tea gown for her piano-playing. She was surprised that she couldn’t find Grant anywhere. Usually he was waiting for her on the veranda before they both clocked in, but perhaps he had to work a bit earlier or a bit later this morning.

Melody shrugged and went to work in the studio. The first room set to be decorated was the bridal suite. A bride was coming in that afternoon before her wedding; her bouquet needed a last minute replacement, and there were several vases to be filled, besides. Melody hummed to herself as she plucked roses, ferns, anemones, and bound them together with a silk ribbon for the bouquet; more of the same went into blocks of floral foam, and she played with ferns, baby’s breath, the last of the cut white and violet roses, dusty miller, and branches of maple.

She didn’t know where the bridal suite was, as she started through the passageways. It was fun, trying to find her way through the maze of corridors, though she did wish that Grant was there to direct her; but there were plenty of other people to point her in the right direction. A narrow staircase in the far northeastern tower spiraled up to the bridal suite. The secret doorway opened out from behind the full-length mirror on the south wall of the spacious sitting room, where jewel-green carpeting was picture-perfect, as were the cream and ballet-pink walls strewn by tiny rosebuds. Cross-grained silk curtains and similarly silk plants tailed everywhere, bobbing lightly, for the maids had cracked open the balcony doors.

Melody set about filling the celadon vases scattered about the rooms, and laid the bouquet in a shallow water-filled porcelain dish to rest until the bride’s arrival; this she set on the old Edwardian vanity, a peculiarly beautiful one with a faceted mirror and scalloped bronze frame like some old medieval portal, which branched into two dainty candelabras and a tray for cosmetics.

A few droplets of water splattered on the deep red mahogany of the vanity as Melody settled the dish. Fearing it might fade the wood stain, she caught up the edge of her apron to wipe the water away, only for her wrist to scrape against the frame.

“Ah!” Now there was a bit of blood on the dresser, too, and a clink of metal as her rosary bracelet snagged, the jump ring popped, and the Miraculous medal vanished into the deep violet of the rug.

Melody groaned. Dropping to the floor, she hunted for the medal through the thick, snaring fibers of the carpet, inch by inch beneath the lace skirt of the old vanity. Her fingers encountered the chill of metal, poking out from beneath the back leg of the table, half-jammed between carpet and the carved claws.

“Please don’t drop anything,” Melody begged herself, inching her fingers around the foot and gingerly lifting it, just enough to slide the object out.

To her chagrin, it wasn’t the medal. It was a ring, tarnished now, set with a dimmed water opal. The once-gilt band, now twisted by the vanity’s weight, was ringed twice with a row of pinprick impressions. She stopped short.

The scent of jasmine was wafting through the room again. It was one of those things that she couldn’t explain, the way the scent seemed to be following her around the hotel. Occasionally the rooms, too, smelled like magnolias, lavender, or violets when there were none. It certainly wasn’t something she was wearing, for she only ever wore apricot-rose. The lavender she could understand, for she used it in her bouquets, and many visitors wore the “Pluie de Lilas”; but the others were out of place, for there was no jasmine, nor magnolias, around.

Sometimes she found the scent in the oldest rooms that were left empty - oddly empty, until someone informed her that these were the rooms where the deaths had occurred. Only the bravest ghost-hunters were ever interested in sleeping there.

Melody shivered and picked up the ring. It was clear that it had been lying in the carpet for a long time. A flutter of white drew her gaze to the balcony windows, just a few feet beyond the vanity, where white chiffon was billowing in the breeze. A young woman was seated on the balcony, staring out to sea.

The bride must have arrived early, and Melody was too close to betraying the Lilac staff’s reputation! A hasty dive under the vanity produced the missing medal and she backed away, tip-toeing behind the mirror and back down the stairs, feeling the ring in her pocket. Grant could tell her what to do with it, she was sure, if she could find him.

Melody glanced up at the clock, then bent over the checklist. She had thirty minutes before it was time to bake cakes for the tea room, and after that was the piano lunch hour. Ellie had just departed, going home for her own lunch, leaving Melody to tidy up the last of the bouquets and make the next morning’s schedule.

A muffled scraping across the room made Melody jump, and the pen skittered across the page.

“Ellie?”

There was no answer, only a quiet sigh that rushed through the potted ferns and carnations. Melody rose on tip-toe to catch a glimpse of the other side of the room, below the flowers. There was no one there.

It was someone in the passageways, obviously, she thought, though she had never come across whatever passage might be in the opposite side of the room. Anyway, she was about to run late.

She took up the keys, looked for the white box in which her newly sewn Edwardian gown was in, and realized it had vanished. She shoved aside elephant ears and palm fronds, ducking to check beneath the shelves.

“What are you doing over here?” she puzzled, as she discovered it lying in the walkway just beneath the ferns, the gilt and ebony bow still neatly tied and untouched.

Melody frowned a little, but only caught it up and retreated to the tea room, soon forgetting about it as she learned how to bake the tea room’s old recipe for lilac and lavender cake. It wasn’t until Melody went to open the box afterward that she realized there was something strange. As she undid the ribbon and lifted the cover, she found a sprig of jasmine lying on the throat of the folded dress, serene, the white petals still as the vine twined itself into the lace.

There was no jasmine in the studio, no jasmine in the garden. The pink jasmine wouldn’t bloom for several months yet - and Zion couldn’t have placed it there, for there was no jasmine in their own garden, either. Melody began to feel a creeping sensation.

Vague thoughts had arisen before, that these occurrences were not mere pranks, but the silent pleas of the ghosts. It was not unheard of, for souls from purgatory to struggle for attention, to receive the intercession they so needed. Melody had been keeping the ladies in her mind, praying for them at Mass and during work. Maybe, maybe they were telling her that they needed more effort on her part so they could speak, and tell her what they needed.

I’ll ask to have Masses said, Melody resolved, and maybe then the souls can go home.

The Jasmine Bride - could this sprig of jasmine be her calling card?

Grant jostled his way into the tea room, ducking through a sudden inflow of guests preparing for the usual nonsensical “Spooks of Lilac Inn” tour, which even got the name wrong. He’d had far too much involvement in setting it up this morning, and was dying to get a break - at least they wouldn’t be interested in an unhaunted tea room. There were only a few families and a gathering of grandmothers when he entered, but he saluted to Zion as the latter made his appearance, two tired but enthusiastic parents in tow, a young girl fast asleep on his shoulder. They all met at a lace-draped table in the corner.

“Hey! Where’ve you been? I’ve been texting you all morning,” Zion whispered, trying not to wake Angeline, but failing.

“I was going to ask you the same, I’ve been busy dragging together that ghost tour,” Grant sighed.

“Well, never mind, just don’t mention the you-know-what right now, please,” Zion whispered, and introduced his parents.

“Melody has told us much of you, and Zion, too,” Mr. Holcomb said, shaking Grant’s hand. “Where is she, by the way?”

“There,” Zion nodded, and Grant started stiffly, for Melody was seated at the piano, the notes of “Rêverie” weaving softly through the air. Her hair was swept up into the soft waves of the Edwardian pompadour, the high-necked gown sweeping the ground in folds of rose cotton and lace – she was a mirror, looking back into time, when another young woman sat there and played for guests so long ago.

Melody looked up, then, and her face lit with delight when she found them all present. Angeline and her mother were waving excitedly, her father already videoing the scene; but Grant stopped smiling, studying her as she played. Zion leaned over and punched him in the arm.

“What’s wrong, don’t like her playing?”

“No, no,” Grant hesitated, then forced, “She doesn’t look like herself.”

“Agreed,” Zion nodded. “The rose pink is fitting for her though. I wonder where she got the jasmine?”

Grant raised a puzzled eyebrow. “Why’s it fitting?”

“Hm? Rose is her middle name. I’m surprised you hadn’t found that out yet.”

“Rose?” Grant repeated. His gaze flickered from Zion to Melody as the music wafted past. His phone buzzed quietly.

“I’m sorry. I have that ghost tour to finish up with. Would you make apologies to her for me?”

Without waiting for a reply, Grant shouldered his way out the door.

“Sure,” Zion muttered. “Just don’t expect her to be happy.”

As happy as Melody was to see her parents, she still had flowers to deliver after her playing was over, and she couldn’t go home with them yet. Zion drove them all back, Mother promising she’d come back with him soon, to take her home.

“Why did Grant leave?” Melody wanted to know, tugging on Zion’s sleeve the minute she left the piano and ran to see her parents. “I didn’t see him all morning. I was waiting for him.”

“Don’t take it personally, Mel, he just had a ghost tour to keep an eye on,” Zion soothed her. “He did say, without so many words, that you looked very pretty but please don’t put your hair all the way up? I’m going to drive Mother and Father and Angie back to the house. I’ll come back and pick you up in an hour, if that’s enough time for you to finish up.”

Melody watched them leave, running the ring through her fingers. Grant might not have time to look at the ring, but perhaps she would find him. She still had a few flowers to deliver, and as much as she disliked ghost tours, she disliked not seeing Grant more. If she ran into the tourists, she might find him, too.

She didn’t run into him, though, not in the sun room, not in the dining room, and definitely not in the grand halls at the back of the hotel. The ballroom was the last on her list, and she wasn’t surprised when she didn’t find him there, either. She settled the vases down with a sigh and was turning to go when her eyes met those of the bride from the tower.

She was perfectly still and silent, her eyes, simultaneously penetrating, but retreating, like fallen flower petals eddying on a sea of ice, leveled upon Melody. A veil streamed down her back, pooling across the marble floor, haloing a silk gown that mimicked the dresses of the 1890’s perfectly, dripping in carefully draped lace, festooned into a bustle. Twined around her shoulders was a garland of jasmine.

“That’s a beautiful dress!” Melody breathed. “Can I help you?”

The bride didn’t reply, only stood, waiting, in the deepening afternoon sunlight that puddled inwards from the windows.

That was when Melody realized that the light was flowing through the bride like water.

“. . Jasmine?” Melody’s voice whispered, surprised as she was to hear herself speak. Chills were running through her as though the air conditioning had lost control and plunged the Lilac into the Arctic sea. The outside world seemed muffled and , as though a bubble had slowly encased the room

The bride stepped closer to Melody. The dress made no sound as she moved, nor did she speak, but her eyes were entreating as she reached out a hand and beckoned urgently.

“Jasmine, why are you here?”

The bride beckoned again and vanished through the heavy doors on the right.

Melody ran. Down the hall she glimpsed the train of the veil slipping around the corner, into the long H-shaped hallway the parted the ballroom from the second floor guest chambers. She could hear distant chatter behind, the ghost tour that was winding down – if they came, the bride would surely vanish!

“Jasmine!” she called, but when she turned the corner, the bride stood silent and still, one white-gloved hand pointing to the wall.

The hallway had long been used as the Lilac’s timeline, with old photos and histoircal memorabilia cased on the walls in the lamplight for guests to study. It was one of the photos that the bride was showing her now.

It was a faded one, tinged yellow and blue by time, with ladies and gentlemen posing on the promenade in 1904, where parasols and top hats shaded smiling faces as horses pranced by in the background.

There, playing in black and white, was a man Melody recognized.

It was Grant.

---

Read the previous episode here.

Find other chapters and themed playlists here:

Index: In the Shadow of the Lilac

---

Thank you for reading! Windflower is fully supported by its audience. Please consider supporting my work. Instead of buying me a coffee, you can leave a donation which will go towards the purchase of fabric for interactive projects, where you’ll be able to vote on what historical dress or film costume I’ll recreate! Donations also help to continue creating Windflower’s content and to support the local Latin Mass.

Please consider subscribing and sharing with your friends. Thank you, and God bless!