A Ghost of a Chance by Cherie Claire (book series to read .txt) 📖

Harding Spring, a spot where one of the most famous healings took place.

“Jennie Cowan came to Eureka to cure her blindness but didn’t get any relief from the Basin Spring,” Johnson says. “But at this spring, she regained her sight.”

Off to the side are stone stairs leading up and I follow, ending up to the left of the spring and the group, hugged on one side by a cliff where a tree is growing in the middle of the rock. Viewing a majestic tree prospering despite its limitations gives me hope, and I’m suddenly feeling better, regardless of the fitful night’s sleep and the disturbing morning. I’m liking this town, especially the springs.

“What are you doing?”

I look down and find Richard scowling at me.

“You Louisiana people never follow the rules, do you?”

“What does that mean?”

“Uh, like you’re supposed to get out of town when a major storm is brewing so the rest of us don’t have to rescue you afterwards.”

A fire rushes up my body and I’m about to give him a major piece of my mind but Richard’s already back in line with the group as they head to the next spring. I hurry down the stone steps and catch up, still fuming over his insensitive remarks.

Next up is the town’s Carnegie Library — those wonderful old buildings constructed by the Carnegie Foundation in the early twentieth century that I love — and the delightful Crescent Spring beneath a canopy. I use the opportunity to close my eyes, listen to the water spewing forth and calm down. Thankfully, Richard has moved to the other side of the group.

Before the library was built, a gazebo existed on this spot, Johnson explains, and marked the beginning of a staircase that led up to the Crescent Hotel. Around the corner is the First Presbyterian Church, built in 1886 from the hotel’s leftover stone.

“And now we will take a drive to the springs on the outskirts of town,” Johnson informs us, and like magic, Alicia appears with the van.

Stephanie, Joe and I are amazed at this well-tuned tour but Richard grumbles, “More springs?”

“Well, we are in Eureka Springs,” Joe says.

Richard shakes his head as Alicia approaches. “I don’t want to see any more springs. You’ve seen one water coming out of the earth, you’ve seen them all.”

Poor Mr. Johnson stands there unsure of what to say — no doubt he’s used to people paying him money to take a tour of these unique waters and undoubtedly stay until the end — and the rest of us wince at Richard’s rudeness. Alicia, dear heart, comes to the rescue.

“You can return to the hotel, if you want Richard. Maybe you can catch a quick nap before lunch.”

Richard instantly perks up. “Great.”

“But we’re on a schedule,” Alicia continues. “So if you want to do that, you’ll have to walk back.”

This takes the wind out of Richard’s sails but he’s still itching for that hotel room. “Yeah, whatever. Is the hotel close?”

“There’s a stairway on the upper side of Crescent Spring,” Johnson says. “Goes right to the hotel. Just walk up the stone steps to Crescent Drive, turn left and you’ll be right in back of your hotel.”

“Thanks.”

As Richard heads to the stairway, hidden behind the gardens of the Crescent Spring park, Alicia whisks us to the van. She’s moving too fast, I suspect, which means there’s some ulterior motive, but I’m just glad to be rid of the irritating man. When we get settled into the van and head off, Stephanie says, “You’re right Mr. Johnson, those springs are healing. I feel so much better.”

We all know what she means, and I smile as we pass the stone stairway leading up to the Crescent Hotel, a steep incline winding through woods with Richard struggling through every step.

Johnson offers to either show us historical and architectural sites or water and the three of us enthusiastically choose springs. We make a big loop around the north side of town, passing adorable gingerbread Victorians, several bed and breakfasts and a backyard dinosaur statue Johnson tells us used to belong to nearby Dinosaur World. We pause at the Grotto, a spring that’s hidden deep inside the mountain with a small stone staircase providing access into its cave. The temperature drops significantly and I pull my sweater close over my chest. Someone has placed candles on a makeshift altar, creating a glow that’s stunning.

“The Grotto is considered by many to be very spiritual,” Johnson says and I’m so there.

Back in the van we stop at Magnetic Springs, the only spring in town that’s drinkable but none of us choose to try it out. Since there’s a large, deep basin where the water collects, Stephanie does take the opportunity to dunk her arthritic feet into its depth. After a few minutes, the cold water proves too much for my co-traveler so we drive to Cold Spring and Soldier Spring, both located away from town and tourists.

“Federal soldiers reportedly killed two bushwhackers in front of this cave,” Johnson explains in front of Soldier Spring.

“Want more?” he asks after the van pulls away and the three of us glance at each other for confirmation; we all do. Johnson tells us there are dozens of springs and “seeps” in the area, with nineteen pocket springs and parks in town, all maintained by the Eureka Springs Parks and Recreation Commission. Alicia politely adds, however, that we’re due to meet up with Henry and the next tour.

“One more loop around a neighborhood,” Johnson says. “And the last three are fun ones.”

Turns out Carrie Nation, the hatchet-wielding, saloon-smashing prohibitionist made her way to Eureka Springs at the turn of the twentieth century and we pass what used to be her house. Being from New Orleans and a lover of cocktails, I make a joke about the radical member of the temperance movement but Johnson quickly corrects me, claiming she was acting out in protest of women who were victims to family members who couldn’t hold their liquor. Nation married an alcoholic physician who died of alcohol poisoning, which drove her to do what she did, he informs us. Her protests ranged from the meek singing hymns in bars to smashing bottles with her hatchet, which landed her in jail more than two dozen times. Many bars hung a sign that read, “All Nations welcome but Carrie.”

In her later years Carrie Nation ran a boarding house and girl’s school in Eureka Springs, aptly titled Hatchet Hall, and she never hesitated knocking cigars out of youngsters’ mouths and protesting alcohol sales.

“There’s a story that Carrie had a vision of a spring across from her boarding house,” Johnson tells us as we drive down Flint Street. “She hired workers to blast through the rock and sure enough, there was a spring.”

We also pass Onyx Spring, which was used by locals for washing laundry, which makes us all gasp in horror. We pause at Little Eureka Spring, its water once labeled as the purest at the 1904 World’s Fair and a favorite with people with arthritis, which makes Stephanie perk up.

The road ends at Lake Eureka, a spring that was damned to produce a swimming hole, although it’s anything but a lake. The small body of water — more like a pond — rests in the turn of the road deadly still and a bit rancid around the edges, although dragonflies are flitting everywhere. This corner of the world is on private property — I spot a house up to the left of the lake and a gravel road hugging the right. No doubt the owners have left the swimming hole to run wild with nature. Which isn’t a bad thing, I suppose.

We disembark the van to check out both spring and lake while Johnson tells us about the last spring on our list, the Cave Spring up Douglas Street that’s reportedly haunted. That strange tingling sensation I had back in my hotel room returns in a rush, buzzing me like an electrical shock. I swallow hard, trying to regain my balance — and sanity — and return to that peace I had known at the previous stops. Johnson keeps talking about ghosts and I find it’s both difficult to breathe and walk, so I pause while the others head to the lake’s edge and look out on what used to be a popular gathering spot in summertime.

“Why is the Cave Spring haunted?” I manage to ask before Mr. Johnson moves too far away.

“No one knows but there are plenty of stories. Of course, they say the same thing about this turn in the road, that it’s not safe to be down here late at night.”

Joe laughs. “Sounds like the perfect teenage date scare. Take a girl down a dark road late at night, a place with spooky placid waters and tell her ghost stories so she’ll jump in your arms.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty placid all right,” Stephanie adds. “I wouldn’t want to hang around here after dark.”

“That cave isn’t much better,” Johnson adds. “Dark and cool inside, with several rooms cut out of the bluff. It’s awesome to see, will take you there if you want, but it’s pretty spooky at night.”

My head hurts when he speaks these words and something tells me that what he’s saying is important.

Joe snaps a few pictures but no one’s impressed so everyone moves to get back in the van. “Aren’t you going to check it out,” Stephanie asks me.

I realize I haven’t moved from my spot, still vibrating as if I stepped in a puddle during a lightning storm. My head is screaming for me to get out of there, but something else I can’t explain is pulling me forward. I nod to Stephanie and gingerly take a few steps toward the lake, my hands clutched tightly around my camera.

“Just take a photo and get the hell out of here,” I tell myself. “It’s an ordinary body of water.”

I stop at the pond’s edge, knowing for sure, now, that something’s very wrong here. The journalist in me is desperate to know what, but my beating heart demands I flee. Off to