The Ghost in the Well

(c) 2016  Patricia M. Bryce

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the permission

of the publisher.

Cover Design by SB Designs

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Dedicated to

Syd

For everything and so much more.

Chapter 1.

Two weeks had passed since Kate Lancing had stood before the flashing cameras, accepting the lottery prize, becoming the newest multi-millionaire in the state. At her side, protecting her from the overzealous, was her lawyer, Eric Lawson. When the photo shoot was over and they got down to brass tacks, it was Eric who made sure that Kate wasn’t taken advantage of. He didn’t allow Kate to just sign anything until he’d read it through. Eric escorted her past the waves of Lotto officials and out to his waiting car.

The lump sum of winnings after the taxes had been removed was about $2,702,381.00. As Eric had said, not chump change. There was plenty of cash; more than enough for a new residence and a comfortable life as long as she was careful and didn't go overboard. The state and Lotto officials were happy to hear she intended to stay in the state rather than relocate elsewhere. The very thought of the lotto tax money going to some other state didn’t sit well with them, not that they would have come out and said anything.

Locking up her camper and leaving it at the campgrounds where she'd resided, Kate headed toward Riverton in her yellow vintage Volkswagen Beetle. The trip west was a two and a half hour journey through picturesque farmland and quaint rural towns and villages. Kate had left before the morning rush, getting on the road before the heavy truck traffic. She had made a ten thirty appointment with a Mr. John Bogaard,  the local realtor in Riverton, and the listed agent for a private showing of the property that had been haunting her. Passing the corn fields on the old highway, she had second thoughts. Was this just a foolish idea? Why had she promised the Gods or Fates, or whatever powers that be that if she'd won, she'd buy the big old house out in Riverton? What in the world did she need with a five bedroom Craftsmen out in Boo-Foo?

It was a little after ten when she parked, traffic had moved along well and she’d made great time. Kate liked being early; it gave her a chance to scope out the area and allowed her to get her bearings. So many of the river communities on this side of the state had seen hard times, but one wouldn’t know it looking at the Main Street of Riverton. While it was small, it appeared to be thriving. There wasn’t a single closed shop or vacant building; the street was nicely landscaped, and busy. People were greeting each other, many by name; something the folks in the Crystal Rock Lake community were out of practice on.

Thanks to internet maps and sky-cams, Kate knew where everything in the main part of town was. She easily found the Bogaard realty office, sitting across from the village green’s windmill. She had read of the large Dutch population in both Fulton and Riverton, everywhere there were indications. From the Dutch styled buildings in the Main Street area to the windmills that dotted the landscapes. Kate appreciated how proud they were of their heritage.   

The Bogaard building had an old world air to it, from the reddish brown bricks to the white stair-step trims. The main floor was the realty office over which was rented office space, topped by what might be a loft apartment. Kate entered; the large windows allowed a great deal of light into the lobby where a receptionist sat. Good morning, I’m Kate Lancing. I’ve an appointment with Mr. Bogaard.

The girl at the desk offered her a composed, cordial smile and asked her to be seated. She went over to a closed door, tapped and delivered the message that Kate had arrived. A few short moments later, a tall man wearing a blue suit came out. He was slender but not scrawny, a bit older than Kate; his sandy colored hair had thick streaks of gray showing. One of the first things that struck Kate, his blue eyes, so clear and friendly. He extended a hand toward her and said, Good Morning, I’m John Bogaard.

Kate Lancing, she stood and accepted the offered hand. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.

Not at all, his warmth seemed genuine and Kate liked him immediately. I’m very happy to show you the house you inquired about, or any other property you might find of interest in our community. He looked toward the door,  I suggest we leave your car here and take mine. He motioned toward the door and Kate nodded.

The drive out to the house was pleasant and unhurried. John Bogaard took local streets rather than getting back on the highway, as if he wanted to show off how pleasant the town was. The houses and neighborhoods were picture perfect, they could have come off a postcard. He told her about the parks and schools, the churches, and local points of interest. He also gave her a bit of the history of the town and surrounding area. He pointed out the last remaining of the two saw mills that had been in operation here. Explaining that it now did mostly specialty millwork.

He pointed toward the highway and told her the Riverton cutoff went one way off the highway; the Fulton cutoff went the other and across the river was Clinton, Iowa. Fulton was perhaps the most famous river community in the area with its rich Dutch history, its industry and festivals. However Riverton had its fair share to offer, Bogaard insisted, Kate took it all in.

John pulled his car into a long, winding drive and then parked when the drive came up to the front façade of the craftsman style house. This is it, he said. It’s a bit out of the way, but it does have marvelous views and ambiance. And it is still part of the Riverton zip code area and addresses.

I love that it's away from the sounds of traffic. Kate said, emerging from his car. This is charming, the pictures in the ads don't do it justice. It wasn’t the kind of place that Kate had ever lived in, but it had the same openness that she’d felt at the campgrounds; attuned to nature.

"The house was built nearly a century ago byChristiaan Bogaard, of the Bogaard mills, from local lumber and stones. During Riverton's heyday, we had two very active saw mills and were nearly as busy as Fulton. The area's finest craftsmen worked on it for two years.  It was and still is considered the jewel in our crown of residences." His voice went soft, reflective.

The ad said the house had several renovations, she prompted.

John nodded. It was first renovated in the 1950’s when the county brought in public water, and did away with most of the old well systems. All the plumbing was updated at that time. Then again in the late 1980’s when the furnace was replaced, and most recently a few years ago. The house has been in one family’s possession since it was built. He waved toward the brick walkway off the drive up to the steps. Would you like to see inside now?

Yes, thank you.

The door opened to a well-designed area that had once been a covered porch, the walls were a soft cream color and the floor was slate, allowing for easy cleaning. Kate could imagine a warm colored rattan pair of chairs and side tables and maybe an old fashioned porch glider in this welcoming space. Sidelights next to the oak formal door let in the sunlight, opening up into an airy receiving area off of which one could go to the dining room, or the large living room with its fireplace focal point. There was also a wide formal staircase up to the second floor.

Built in the craftsman style, John said proudly. The windows have been updated for efficiency, while keeping the charm of the original style.

So light and airy, Kate commented.

John walked into the living room, The ceilings are ten feet high, this was to accommodate the old coal furnace. In the 1980's the house was refitted with a newer, more efficient forced air system for heat and air, and new insulation was added. He pointed up, The crown moldings are from the sawmill I told you about on the way over.

Kate nodded. Beautiful. It was decorative, yet it wasn’t overly ornate.

The dining room has custom walnut built-ins, china cabinet with leaded glass and mirrors, sideboards and can accommodate a banquet sized table. Again Kate noted a slightly wistful tone. A moment later he was speaking like a salesman again, There’s a butler’s pantry between the kitchen and this room. A great deal of storage is available in that room. He motioned to a door. The kitchen was renovated most recently. He led the way. New counter tops, refurbished cabinetry, and modern appliances.

The large room had a country kitchen feel to it, yet it was stylish and very modern. There was a back staircase up to the second floor that had a chair lift. Before Kate could think to ask John Bogaard was showing her the pantry and the housekeeper’s rooms. When she lifted a brow, he shrugged and informed her all the old moneyed families with large houses in the area had at the very least housekeepers. He kept her moving, the back door led to a wide four season porch with a great view of the cliffs and river through screened windows that matched the front of the house. You could see Clinton across the river. But it was the back stairs and a ramp that had her attention.

Why is there a ramp?

The last member of the original family was~ is disabled, John said quietly. She commissioned the ramp to be here in the back as she didn’t want the public to see it on the front.

A good aesthetic choice.

Yes, it was. He paused for a moment, as if distracted, then said courteously, Would you like to see the upstairs before I show you the basement and the grounds?

Yes.

Half an hour later they stepped out the back door and down into the yard from a recently added wooden deck. It’s a wonderful house, Kate said. And I so love the views. She looked at the flagstone walk in the garden and the precisely trimmed lawn and the carriage house that reflected the building. That can't be original, how old is that?

Ten years ago the owner had to tear down the old carriage house that stood there, John confided. Newer cars need bigger spaces and a larger working area. There's a small apartment over it, originally for the owner's driver.

"It’s a wonderful house, Mr. Bogaard.

He pointed out the boundaries, It’s a very good sized lot, one of the largest in the township; from the cliffs to the stone wall and from the county road to a marker back in the woods.

It is a good sized lot and a wonderful house, Kate mused, So, why the low price?

John frowned, Real-estate markets are at a low point right now out here near the river, he explained. He shrugged, It is a fair price for the market.

More than fair, Kate agreed, I thought maybe something was wrong.

John shook his head, No, there’s a bit of settling here and there, he said with a flourish. Sometimes doors close for no reason or boards creak, but the house and foundation are sound, rock solid. All the mechanics are up to date, the wiring and plumbing are all code. But you’re more than welcome to have inspectors look it over.

It’s a wonderful house, Kate said again. It's everything I could ask for, more than I've ever dreamed of. It's absolutely perfect. Kate was thinking about something the realtor had said, and she turned to him, You said the house was built by a man named Bogaard, any relation?

My grandfather, He admitted.

Then the last resident was a relative also, Kate said.

John flushed, My father’s older sister. He confided. Margret Bogaard.

This is your family home? Kate asked.

No, this was my Grandfather’s house, John said making it very clear he didn’t consider the house to be his or his father’s. My father didn’t feel so warm towards it, nor my mother. John said softly. There was something unspoken, something that told her there was bad blood between the members of this clan. She wondered if the reason had something to do with why she was being haunted by this place. "My Grandfather wasChristiaan Bogaard, and his father was Arjen Bogaard who started the Bogaard Mills; my Grandfather expanded it and brought in artisans in the early twenties, he built this house."

John’s voice went formal. Aunt Margret suffered a stroke about a year ago; the doctors said there was little hope of her recovering. My father took over and put her in a convalescent home, it was my father who began the process of selling this house. He was granted conservatorship of Aunt Margret and her finances. Kate got the feeling that John Bogaard was happy it hadn't fallen to him.

I didn’t mean to ask so many personal questions, Kate said. I’m sorry if this is unpleasant for you.

John smiled, My Aunt used to complain to my father that he wasn’t ‘Dutch’ enough, John said as he remembered. She's a cold and stern woman and age hasn’t improved her, nor did the stroke. I understand why my parents were not interested in taking on this place. He shook his head, However, it is a good house. It needs a new start. he said. I’d be more than happy to see it get that start with you. John seemed relieved and amazed at the same moment.

Are you sure? Kate asked.

Yes, Ms. Lancing, I'm very sure.

Good, she said, letting out a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding. Because, I love this house.

You do know this is still a predominantly Dutch community? She understood, the Dutch had standards and while hard on their own, they looked down their nose at outsiders. A divorced outsider might not find herself welcomed at all.

That won’t bother me, if my being predominantly Scottish doesn’t bother them. Kate teased. I need a home base and I need a fresh start away from my old stomping grounds. This house can give me a place to come back to when I travel. She confided in the realtor. I suppose you know I recently came into some money, she hesitated.

We may be out in the boonies, but we're not at the end of the world. He teased back, just as lightly. I have read of your good fortune; congratulations.

Kate smiled, Yes, well before the vultures come out of hiding, I’d like to be in a place that’s mine.

We’re a tight knit community, John warned. It’s a small town, old families and old grudges.

I like small towns, I grew up in one; I like neighbors looking out for each other, even if they don’t like your national heritage, your politics or the color of your car.

She saw amusement on John's face, Back when I was a youngster, we were more than 80% Dutch, now there’s a bit more diversity, but the old ways are hard to bury. John warned. It might take people a bit of time to warm to you.

Mr. Bogaard, I want this house and I have a feeling that it wants me. Kate looked back at the house, it was true. That house wanted... no it needed her. You've no idea how much. As an afterthought Kate said, I just need the green light from my lawyer.

We can fax him all the information he'll need and put in a conference call from my office. Bogaard suggested.

~*~

Kate sat in the conference room, What do you think, Eric?

He was quiet for a moment, then let go a long sigh before saying, Before you sign anything, you should have a look at the county inspector’s report. I can request that for you.

Fine. she agreed.

Bogaard, Eric, directed his conversation to the realtor. I will contact the inspector's office and have him set up a time and date with you.

That will be fine,