Charoteer fic
A Halloween story written for the maryrenaultfics community's challenge. Based on characters from Renault's The Charioteer, this story is set a few years later in my Wrightsville universe. Hopefully, it makes sense even if you haven't read Long Ago and Far Away.
Shadows in the Dark
by Laura Mason
He was reminded of another time, years ago, when he'd drifted in cold darkness, the wind rushing past. Even then he'd trusted Ralph enough to relax and sleep, paying no attention to their route.
But Laurie didn't want to sleep away this ride. He made an effort and roused himself out of the languor brought on by the hour, too much rich food and wine, and the motion of Ralph's auto. He shifted and tried to stretch his leg, and Ralph said, "Are you with us, Spud? I'd love a cigarette."
"Yes, of course." Laurie reached over to Ralph's pocket and pulled out his cigarette case. Ralph might have managed it himself -- probably would have if he'd been driving alone. An American automobile was easier, in some ways.
But Ralph didn't take risks with Laurie beside him.
Laurie put two cigarettes in his mouth and lit them both, then handed one to Ralph. Their silence was companionable, and Laurie used the time to wake up. He wasn't sure how far they'd come from the city. Once the lights of Connhaven were left behind, the highway stretched a long way back towards Wrightsville with few landmarks that could be seen by moonlight.
And, if he were being honest, Laurie rarely paid any attention to the landmarks or the routes. If Ralph were taking them in a completely different direction, to another town, Laurie wouldn't notice. He told himself that he would learn, eventually. After all, he found his way around Wrightsville and, unlike Ralph, knew the campus, too. There was no reason he couldn't learn his way to Connhaven...
No reason except that he was letting Ralph spoil him, and possibly spoiling Ralph in return. After all, Ralph liked being in charge. Was it wrong to let him be the captain of their travels? Laurie took a deep inhale of his cigarette and decided one shouldn't deal with such questions in the wee hours of the morning. Then he choked on the smoke and spent a few moments coughing and catching his breath.
It was dark, but he could still see the amusement in Ralph's smile. "Leave smoking to the experts, I always say," Ralph solemnly intoned, and Laurie barked out a brief laugh.
"I can't seem to manage doing two things at once tonight," Laurie said.
"Two things?"
"Thinking and smoking," he said before he realized how silly it sounded. Ralph coughed a bit himself and Laurie felt his face go hot despite the chill air.
"Well, Spud, neither activity sounds profitable to me. Toss the butt and talk. I'd like the company."
"Are you tired?"
"This drive is just boring enough to put me to sleep," Ralph admitted. "Much like Reverend Hardy. But I don't think he'll see either of us at services this morning."
Laurie tried to peer at his wrist watch. "It is late."
"We're not halfway yet, just past Amesville."
"Amesville," Laurie repeated, trying to remember the town.
"Don't worry, Spud. I only meant we'll be fortunate to be in our bed by dawn. Even God can't expect one to function on two hours' sleep."
"Ralph," Laurie chided absently, catching sight of something far ahead alongside the road. "What's that?" He could see something white, reflecting the glow of their headlights.
Ralph slowed the car, frowning. "I can't see..."
"No, but I think -- Ralph, it's a woman. Do you see her? She's waving, I think she wants us to stop and help her."
Ralph looked at him, then peered back down the road. "Spuddy, where do you see a woman? There's no one."
Laurie looked over at him in surprise, then looked back -- at a dark, empty roadway. "But... she was there, Ralph, just a moment ago. You really didn't see?"
"I saw -- maybe a piece of paper, something blowing across the road."
"Ralph, she was young, alone, a girl in a white dress -- she might be hurt, maybe she needs help. Pull over--"
Instead, Ralph accelerated and shifted back into high gear. Laurie turned to study the roadside, then craned his head to look back, but there was nothing: no car in the ditch, no sign of anyone. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he were still asleep. But no, he was awake and he'd seen someone. Something. Whatever it had been, it was gone now.
"Did I drink more wine than I should have, Ralph?"
"No." There was a long pause.
When Ralph didn't continue, Laurie said, "I can't explain it any other way. I truly saw a girl..."
"Spud. Please stop. I don't want to talk about it, not here."
Laurie squinted at him, wishing for a bit of light. Ralph seemed uncomfortable, but there was nothing to do except respect his request. "I was impressed you held your tongue when Mikelson's friend started talking about the glories of Communism."
Ralph laughed and the tension in the car seemed to melt away. "Well, he was actually calling himself a Socialist, which might be the accurate designation for someone who's been living off his friends since the war..."
Laurie accepted the change of topic and the rest of the ride was uneventful despite the lively conversation. He kept Ralph supplied with cigarettes and the strangeness of the roadside apparition faded with every mile.
***
Mrs. Oliver slammed down Laurie's Monday breakfast loudly enough that he closed his book.
"Good morning, Mrs. Oliver," he said, wondering what it was this time. Mrs. O was the best-natured woman in the world, as long as her kitchen was functioning properly. Maybe the drain was backing up again...
"'Morning, Mr. Laurie," she replied. "You know I always take up for Mr. Ralph, even if he does write for the newspaper. But this time he's really done it. I don't know how I'll hold my head up in town!"
"Beg pardon?"
"That trashy story -- in the Sunday paper, too. Everyone reads the paper on Sundays." She swiped at a crumb on the table with her dishtowel and stormed out, still mumbling.
Laurie spent a bemused moment wondering what Mrs. O thought he could do about Ralph's job. "'Even if he does write'... I suppose writing for the newspaper is a little more respectable than, say, writing novels." He wondered if Mrs. O expected a raise in her salary to compensate for the social position of her employer. Then he wondered, briefly, how she regarded his teaching job. But the call of his book was too great, and soon he was absently pushing food around his plate as he read.
It wasn't until Barry came into his office carrying a section of the Sunday edition of the Wrightsville Record that Laurie remembered Ralph's "trashy" story.
"This is the kind of thing Lanyon's up to these days, eh? Doesn't seem like him." Barry held out the article and Laurie read the headline, Haunted Wrightsville. He took the paper from Barry's hand and stared stupidly at the story for a moment.
"Well. I'm sure it's not anything Ralph thought up. His editor, Duncan -- he assigns stories when he doesn't have anyone else with the time to write them."
"Oh, well, then," Barry harrumphed for a moment. "I suppose it's seasonal and all that, end of October. But it's rather silly. Bad to lump such nonsense with the news, wouldn't you say?"
"You have a point," Laurie admitted. "But I'm not the publisher." He looked at the paper again. "Would you mind if I keep this, to read?"
"You haven't seen it?"
"No, I didn't get through the paper yesterday," Laurie said. "I was out late on Saturday. Dinner with Toby Barnes and some of his cohorts in Connhaven."
"Ah, you're his latest prize, aren't you?"
"Beg pardon?"
"Barnes is ambitious, you know. His father will push him into politics, and then you'll be called to the capitol as one of the brain trust, I suppose."
"Hardly," Laurie said with a laugh. Unlike Barry, he knew there was a reason Toby's wealthy father would never see his son seeking public office.
"You don't have much experience with Vermont politics," Barry said in a huffy tone.
"No, I don't. But if Toby is looking for advisors, I think he'd be more likely to recruit economics professors instead of anyone from our department, Barry."
"When he was here at Merrimac we called his dinner parties The Auditions. The guest list always narrowed to those who'd impressed the others... Can't stand all those departmental politics, you know."
Laurie nodded his agreement, even though he knew Barry was always angling for advantage. He wondered how much of his dislike of Barnes was jealousy of someone who'd been hired away from Merrimac. Barry wasn't content to be at a small school in a small town, and his attitude was growing worse every year. Laurie looked at the newspaper and wondered if Barry had come in expressly to pick a fight. He kept his eyes down, not meeting Barry's so the older man wouldn't see unwanted pity.
"Well, I'd better get to class. Are we on for drinks on Friday night?"
"Certainly. Just tell me where and when."
Laurie rose and began to gather his lecture notes for class. He left Ralph's story in the center of his desk blotter.
***
It wasn't "trashy," he decided. Ralph wasn't superstitious and his style was too matter-of-fact to be sensational. He'd merely interviewed town residents, asking for their ghost stories. Some were from old-timers, tales of an era nearly forgotten in Wrightsville. Some, Laurie was amused to see, were the schoolboy stories inspired by youthful imaginations and the abandoned buildings of Low Village.
Then Laurie saw a familiar town and read:
Wrightsville residents traveling to Amesville have been reporting the story of Ella Longren since the Great War. Her spirit wanders the roadside on Route 12, still wearing the white ballgown from her debut.
While not strictly residents of Wrightsville, the Longrens owned land that is now part of Wrightsville Junction. Their tragic story, which has inspired the ghostly "White Ella" sightings, took place in 1914. Miss Longren was killed when her family's buggy overturned as they drove home from a dance in Amesville.
Since that time, despite improvements to the road and the clearing of trees from the shoulder, there have been numerous accidents along the same stretch of Rt. 12. Many unwary late-night travelers, distracted by the sight of a lovely young woman waving to them, have run off the road -- but none of them have ever found any trace of the girl in white.
Laurie brought the paper home and left the article on Ralph's chair, but he doubted Ralph would mention it.
He sat in his study as the sunlight faded, trying to remember her -- the glimpse of something white, the impression of youth, beauty and distress. But she was gone. Instead, he could hear Ralph's tone, and remember the way he'd determinedly pressed the car forward.
Ralph hadn't seen her. Or perhaps he had. But Ralph -- Ralph didn't take risks with Laurie beside him.
Shadows in the Dark
by Laura Mason
He was reminded of another time, years ago, when he'd drifted in cold darkness, the wind rushing past. Even then he'd trusted Ralph enough to relax and sleep, paying no attention to their route.
But Laurie didn't want to sleep away this ride. He made an effort and roused himself out of the languor brought on by the hour, too much rich food and wine, and the motion of Ralph's auto. He shifted and tried to stretch his leg, and Ralph said, "Are you with us, Spud? I'd love a cigarette."
"Yes, of course." Laurie reached over to Ralph's pocket and pulled out his cigarette case. Ralph might have managed it himself -- probably would have if he'd been driving alone. An American automobile was easier, in some ways.
But Ralph didn't take risks with Laurie beside him.
Laurie put two cigarettes in his mouth and lit them both, then handed one to Ralph. Their silence was companionable, and Laurie used the time to wake up. He wasn't sure how far they'd come from the city. Once the lights of Connhaven were left behind, the highway stretched a long way back towards Wrightsville with few landmarks that could be seen by moonlight.
And, if he were being honest, Laurie rarely paid any attention to the landmarks or the routes. If Ralph were taking them in a completely different direction, to another town, Laurie wouldn't notice. He told himself that he would learn, eventually. After all, he found his way around Wrightsville and, unlike Ralph, knew the campus, too. There was no reason he couldn't learn his way to Connhaven...
No reason except that he was letting Ralph spoil him, and possibly spoiling Ralph in return. After all, Ralph liked being in charge. Was it wrong to let him be the captain of their travels? Laurie took a deep inhale of his cigarette and decided one shouldn't deal with such questions in the wee hours of the morning. Then he choked on the smoke and spent a few moments coughing and catching his breath.
It was dark, but he could still see the amusement in Ralph's smile. "Leave smoking to the experts, I always say," Ralph solemnly intoned, and Laurie barked out a brief laugh.
"I can't seem to manage doing two things at once tonight," Laurie said.
"Two things?"
"Thinking and smoking," he said before he realized how silly it sounded. Ralph coughed a bit himself and Laurie felt his face go hot despite the chill air.
"Well, Spud, neither activity sounds profitable to me. Toss the butt and talk. I'd like the company."
"Are you tired?"
"This drive is just boring enough to put me to sleep," Ralph admitted. "Much like Reverend Hardy. But I don't think he'll see either of us at services this morning."
Laurie tried to peer at his wrist watch. "It is late."
"We're not halfway yet, just past Amesville."
"Amesville," Laurie repeated, trying to remember the town.
"Don't worry, Spud. I only meant we'll be fortunate to be in our bed by dawn. Even God can't expect one to function on two hours' sleep."
"Ralph," Laurie chided absently, catching sight of something far ahead alongside the road. "What's that?" He could see something white, reflecting the glow of their headlights.
Ralph slowed the car, frowning. "I can't see..."
"No, but I think -- Ralph, it's a woman. Do you see her? She's waving, I think she wants us to stop and help her."
Ralph looked at him, then peered back down the road. "Spuddy, where do you see a woman? There's no one."
Laurie looked over at him in surprise, then looked back -- at a dark, empty roadway. "But... she was there, Ralph, just a moment ago. You really didn't see?"
"I saw -- maybe a piece of paper, something blowing across the road."
"Ralph, she was young, alone, a girl in a white dress -- she might be hurt, maybe she needs help. Pull over--"
Instead, Ralph accelerated and shifted back into high gear. Laurie turned to study the roadside, then craned his head to look back, but there was nothing: no car in the ditch, no sign of anyone. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he were still asleep. But no, he was awake and he'd seen someone. Something. Whatever it had been, it was gone now.
"Did I drink more wine than I should have, Ralph?"
"No." There was a long pause.
When Ralph didn't continue, Laurie said, "I can't explain it any other way. I truly saw a girl..."
"Spud. Please stop. I don't want to talk about it, not here."
Laurie squinted at him, wishing for a bit of light. Ralph seemed uncomfortable, but there was nothing to do except respect his request. "I was impressed you held your tongue when Mikelson's friend started talking about the glories of Communism."
Ralph laughed and the tension in the car seemed to melt away. "Well, he was actually calling himself a Socialist, which might be the accurate designation for someone who's been living off his friends since the war..."
Laurie accepted the change of topic and the rest of the ride was uneventful despite the lively conversation. He kept Ralph supplied with cigarettes and the strangeness of the roadside apparition faded with every mile.
***
Mrs. Oliver slammed down Laurie's Monday breakfast loudly enough that he closed his book.
"Good morning, Mrs. Oliver," he said, wondering what it was this time. Mrs. O was the best-natured woman in the world, as long as her kitchen was functioning properly. Maybe the drain was backing up again...
"'Morning, Mr. Laurie," she replied. "You know I always take up for Mr. Ralph, even if he does write for the newspaper. But this time he's really done it. I don't know how I'll hold my head up in town!"
"Beg pardon?"
"That trashy story -- in the Sunday paper, too. Everyone reads the paper on Sundays." She swiped at a crumb on the table with her dishtowel and stormed out, still mumbling.
Laurie spent a bemused moment wondering what Mrs. O thought he could do about Ralph's job. "'Even if he does write'... I suppose writing for the newspaper is a little more respectable than, say, writing novels." He wondered if Mrs. O expected a raise in her salary to compensate for the social position of her employer. Then he wondered, briefly, how she regarded his teaching job. But the call of his book was too great, and soon he was absently pushing food around his plate as he read.
It wasn't until Barry came into his office carrying a section of the Sunday edition of the Wrightsville Record that Laurie remembered Ralph's "trashy" story.
"This is the kind of thing Lanyon's up to these days, eh? Doesn't seem like him." Barry held out the article and Laurie read the headline, Haunted Wrightsville. He took the paper from Barry's hand and stared stupidly at the story for a moment.
"Well. I'm sure it's not anything Ralph thought up. His editor, Duncan -- he assigns stories when he doesn't have anyone else with the time to write them."
"Oh, well, then," Barry harrumphed for a moment. "I suppose it's seasonal and all that, end of October. But it's rather silly. Bad to lump such nonsense with the news, wouldn't you say?"
"You have a point," Laurie admitted. "But I'm not the publisher." He looked at the paper again. "Would you mind if I keep this, to read?"
"You haven't seen it?"
"No, I didn't get through the paper yesterday," Laurie said. "I was out late on Saturday. Dinner with Toby Barnes and some of his cohorts in Connhaven."
"Ah, you're his latest prize, aren't you?"
"Beg pardon?"
"Barnes is ambitious, you know. His father will push him into politics, and then you'll be called to the capitol as one of the brain trust, I suppose."
"Hardly," Laurie said with a laugh. Unlike Barry, he knew there was a reason Toby's wealthy father would never see his son seeking public office.
"You don't have much experience with Vermont politics," Barry said in a huffy tone.
"No, I don't. But if Toby is looking for advisors, I think he'd be more likely to recruit economics professors instead of anyone from our department, Barry."
"When he was here at Merrimac we called his dinner parties The Auditions. The guest list always narrowed to those who'd impressed the others... Can't stand all those departmental politics, you know."
Laurie nodded his agreement, even though he knew Barry was always angling for advantage. He wondered how much of his dislike of Barnes was jealousy of someone who'd been hired away from Merrimac. Barry wasn't content to be at a small school in a small town, and his attitude was growing worse every year. Laurie looked at the newspaper and wondered if Barry had come in expressly to pick a fight. He kept his eyes down, not meeting Barry's so the older man wouldn't see unwanted pity.
"Well, I'd better get to class. Are we on for drinks on Friday night?"
"Certainly. Just tell me where and when."
Laurie rose and began to gather his lecture notes for class. He left Ralph's story in the center of his desk blotter.
***
It wasn't "trashy," he decided. Ralph wasn't superstitious and his style was too matter-of-fact to be sensational. He'd merely interviewed town residents, asking for their ghost stories. Some were from old-timers, tales of an era nearly forgotten in Wrightsville. Some, Laurie was amused to see, were the schoolboy stories inspired by youthful imaginations and the abandoned buildings of Low Village.
Then Laurie saw a familiar town and read:
Wrightsville residents traveling to Amesville have been reporting the story of Ella Longren since the Great War. Her spirit wanders the roadside on Route 12, still wearing the white ballgown from her debut.
While not strictly residents of Wrightsville, the Longrens owned land that is now part of Wrightsville Junction. Their tragic story, which has inspired the ghostly "White Ella" sightings, took place in 1914. Miss Longren was killed when her family's buggy overturned as they drove home from a dance in Amesville.
Since that time, despite improvements to the road and the clearing of trees from the shoulder, there have been numerous accidents along the same stretch of Rt. 12. Many unwary late-night travelers, distracted by the sight of a lovely young woman waving to them, have run off the road -- but none of them have ever found any trace of the girl in white.
Laurie brought the paper home and left the article on Ralph's chair, but he doubted Ralph would mention it.
He sat in his study as the sunlight faded, trying to remember her -- the glimpse of something white, the impression of youth, beauty and distress. But she was gone. Instead, he could hear Ralph's tone, and remember the way he'd determinedly pressed the car forward.
Ralph hadn't seen her. Or perhaps he had. But Ralph -- Ralph didn't take risks with Laurie beside him.