The Fall of Shane MacKade Read Online Free PDF

Nate’s small, pudgy ones. “Regan says you want a close-up look at the inn.”
    â€œI do. I want to stay there, at least for a while, if you have a vacancy.”
    â€œOh, but…we want you here, Rebecca.”
    Rebecca smiled over at Regan. “I appreciate that, and I do want to spent time here, as well. But it would really help if I could stay a few nights there, anyway.”
    â€œGhostbusting,” Rafe said, with a wink at his son.
    â€œIf you like,” Rebecca returned coolly.
    â€œHey, don’t get me wrong. They’re there. The first time I got a good hold of Regan was when I caught her as she was fainting in the hallway of the inn. They’d spooked her.”
    â€œThat’s not entirely true,” Regan said. “I thought Rafe was playing a prank, and when I realized he wasn’t, I got…overwrought.”
    â€œTell me about it.” Fascinated, Rebecca leaned forward. “What did you see?”
    â€œI didn’t see anything.” Regan blew out a breath. Her son was too involved with his blocks to notice the subject of the conversation. And, in any case, he was a MacKade. “It was more a feeling…of not being alone. The house had been deserted and empty for years then. Rafe hadn’t even begun the renovations. But there were noises. Footsteps, a door closing. There’s a spot on the stairs, a cold spot.”
    â€œYou felt it?” Rebecca’s voice was flat now, that of a scientist assessing data.
    â€œRight to the bone. It was so shocking. Rafe told me later that a young Confederate soldier had been killed there, on the day of the Battle of Antietam.”
    â€œThe two corporals.” Rebecca nodded at Regan’s surprised look. “I’ve been researching the area, the legends. Two soldiers, from opposite sides, met in the woods on September 17, 1862. It’s thought they were lost, or perhaps deserting. They were both very young. They fought there, wounded each other badly. One made his way to the home of Charles Barlow, now the MacKade Inn. The mistress of the house, Abigail, was a Southernwoman, wed to a Yankee businessman. She had the wounded boy brought inside, and was having him carried upstairs to be tended. Instead, her husband came down and shot and killed him, there on the stairs.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Regan agreed. “You’ll often smell roses in the house. Abigail’s roses.”
    â€œReally.” Rebecca mulled the information over. “Well, well… Isn’t that fascinating.” Her eyes went dreamy for a moment, then sharpened again. “I managed to contact a descendant of one of the Barlow servants who was there at the time. It seems Abigail did her best to take care of the boy, even after his death. She had the servants search his pockets and they found some letters. She wrote to his parents and arranged for his body to be taken back home for burial.”
    â€œI never knew that,” Regan murmured.
    â€œAbigail kept it as quiet as possible, likely to avoid her husband’s wrath. The boy’s name was Gray, Franklin Gray, corporal, CSA, and he never saw his nineteenth birthday.”
    â€œSome people hear the shot, and weeping. Cassie—that’s Devin’s wife—runs the inn for us. She can tell you more.”
    â€œI’d like to see the place tomorrow, if I can. And the woods. I need to see the farm, too. The other corporal, name unknown, was buried by the MacKades. I hope to find out more. My equipment should be here by late tomorrow, or the next day.”
    â€œEquipment?” Rafe asked.
    â€œSensors, cameras, temperature gauges. Parapsychology is best approached as a science. Tell me, have there been any reports of telekinetic activities—the movement of inanimate objects? Poltergeists?”
    â€œNo.” Regan gave a quick shudder. “And I’m sure we’d have heard.”
    â€œWell, I can always