In a little po-dunk town in northeast Florida there is an American Treasure. It is a B & B called the Herlong Mansion. The mansion has 7 or 8 rooms, all decorated according to its own theme, and all a beautiful sight to behold. Legend has it that the Herlong Mansion is, in fact, a haunted house. The owner of the house had died, you see, way, way back in the early 1900’s. The mansion had been home to several siblings and when the mistress of the house died, she did so intestate. Since the decedent left virtually no instructions as to what would become of the house, that is, which of her daughters would succeed her as the mistress, there was a terrible fight. For nine long years the family was embattled in a lawsuit over who was the rightful owner of the beautiful mansion.
When one of the heirs finally prevailed, she was ecstatic. She moved into the home immediately but, alas, she died within a year and so never got the opportunity to fully enjoy the residency for which she had alienated her entire family. So angry was she at this very unfortunate turn of events that she vowed to never leave the mansion and she never did. To this day she haunts that beautiful home and the visitors who sleep there. And that, patient reader, brings us to the bed.
The room in which we stayed was the master suite. It has a four-poster bed that is so far off the floor that it necessitates a small ladder be placed nearby. It is wide as it was tall and elegant in its own, semi-Victorian way. The room was built in the 1800’s, the walls and doors are solid, heavy and wooden. Upon entering the room, the bed, which is to the left, beckons and you cannot help yourself, you must climb atop the heavy white quilt with the tiny blue violets. But should you resist the temptation you will notice across the room is an imposing fireplace. It has a heavy wooden mantel on which are carefully placed lace runners and lovely little knick knacks: a small blue Delft cat, a
Victorian lavender teacup and saucer, and two small votive candles.
On either side of the fireplace are windows, treated with lacy powder-blue curtains and old-time shades, the kind with the string and the little circle. The window sills are white-painted wood.
The walls are covered in white wainscoting halfway up, meeting white pin-striped wallpaper with tiny blue and purple African violets about. The ceiling is cantilevered with heavy wooden, unpainted beams, giving the room a semi-rustic feel it does not deserve.
To the right is a sitting area, with a dusty- blue upholstered rocking chair, a small side table, and a floor lamp with an eggshell shade trimmed in beige fringe. Atop the table are a leather-bound journal and a feather pen. The journal contains entries from previous guests and many of them reported seeing and hearing energy, spirits or unexplained phenomena. One such entry told of how the light by the table suddenly went on and the candles that were on the mantle were blown out as if synchronized. This entry was written by my own hand and I tell you to this day, it’s the truth.
Beyond the sitting room is the bathroom, tiled in pocked white tile. The tub is an old-fashioned claw foot, and it is enormous. There is a side table with a light blue and yellow porcelain bowl and pitcher, the kind they used before they had running water and sinks. The deep purple bath linens are rich and luxurious, and there are several baskets and bowls about which contain lavender- scented soaps, lotions and bath oils. These lovely accoutrements are responsible for the heady, sweet scent of lavender that fills the room.
But this is a story about the bed. The bed with the ruffled bed skirts that lightly dust the hardwood floor. The four posters stand ten feet high, the quilt is an antique and the shams are plump and decorated with the same tiny blue and purple violets that were on the wallpaper and the quilt itself. It was as if someone took a handful of African violets, blew into them as one blows a dandelion, and dispatched the flowers to float in the air and settle comfortably about.
Sleeping in the bed, I dreamed of feminine visages floating about in mists of lavender. I dreamed of Lady Herlong and her troubled soul that refused to vacate the home she loved. I dreamed I was in a snow globe surrounding a beautiful, ancient room and I was sitting on the bed. But instead of tiny white specks I saw miniature blue flowers floating lazily about. After one shakes a snow globe, the specks begin to settle and all is at peace.
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