“That you’d seen a ghost?”
She lowered her eyes and picked at her fingernails, laughing. “It’s silly, of course. I probably got caught up in Nanny Mae’s memories, and then there you were, with the face I’d just seen in a picture.”
Chapter Four
Charlie took a moment to answer. What were the chances that Anna Brierley would think she’d seen a ghost right after he could have sworn that the woman in the photo had looked at him through the window? A woman who looked precisely like a young Nanny Mae Workman.
He scrubbed one hand across his mouth, trying to puzzle it out. The whole thing seemed far too coincidental to be an accident. Yet if all of this was supposed to happen, who had orchestrated it? And why?
He could be hallucinating out of exhaustion. If he kept seeing things, he’d end up like Old Joe Tracey, who wandered the city mumbling to himself as he looked for the puppy he lost as a boy. Old Joe still believed he was seven years old. Everyone said that an accident had changed him at that age, but no one remembered the details. Old Joe didn’t recognize his own brother, Frank, who watched out and provided for Joe as best he could. Every time Frank brought food and offered a warm bed, Joe thought he’d met the nice old man for the first time— and had no idea that he, too, was an old man.
Charlie pictured himself wandering the streets, muttering about seeing a ghost on the chapel balcony. Maybe he’d see hallucinations of her in the church window for the rest of his life. That alone could drive a man mad. Starting tomorrow, he’d take a different route home from the orchards, and he’d avoid nighttime meetings and activities at the church.
What if I see the ghost in other places? Then I’ll know I’ve lost my mind entirely. He cleared his throat and deliberately laid the papers face down into the wooden crate. He faced Anna, glad to no longer have the woman’s face staring back at him.
“It’s a bit eerie going through the belongings of a dead woman on All Hallows’ Eve,” Anna said. “I should have agreed to do it next week.” She leaned forward and touched his arm again. “Are you sure you’re well? Need some water? I’m sure there’s some in the building somewhere.” She spoke as if she weren’t the one who’d fainted moments ago. The color had returned to Anna’s cheeks, which now seemed to glow by lantern light.
Sitting alone with her in the quiet of the chapel, Charlie found himself happily diverted for the moment. He had a feeling he could sit in a haunted chapel for days if it meant also sitting beside Anna. He might even be able to face the visions of a young Nanny Mae Workman if it meant he got to stay. He could not say why, but he felt drawn to Anna, and not only because she was pretty. The more he looked into her face, the more he realized that she wasn’t the classical ideal— not really— but she radiated a certain beauty nonetheless. He wanted to be near it as one gathered about a wood-burning stove and absorbed its warmth on cold winter nights.
“How long have you been in town?” he asked, forcing his eyes to not stray to the crate.
“I arrived yesterday.” Anna smoothed her skirt and shrugged. “Just in time to attend David Rushton’s funeral this morning.”
Charlie chuckled. “An excellent welcome to a new citizen, I’m sure.”
“Oh, definitely,” Anna said with mock solemnity. Her face softened. “But the tabernacle is impressive. We don’t have anything that large or ornate in Shelley.”
“Shelley,” Charlie repeated. “Is that up by Logan?”
“Quite a bit farther north than that. It’s a small town in Idaho. Much, much smaller than American Fork. You probably have more chickens than we have people.”
“Except that we have an unusual number of chickens,” Charlie said. The city was known for its chicken and egg industry.
“Granted,” Anna said with a smile. “Even so, you’ve got a much bigger city than I’m used to, with a bigger variety of food and crops. Shelley does quite well with potatoes, and I love a Russet as much as the next girl, but I’ve taken a liking to your apples in particular.”
Charlie took the opportunity to tease. “You don’t have apples in Idaho?”
She gave him a look, then laughed. “Yours taste better. I don’t know why. When I arrived last night, my aunt served fresh apple pie...” Her voice trailed off, and she wore an expression of pleasure. “It was a piece of heaven on a plate.”
“Ever had strawberry-rhubarb pie with ice cream? That is an experience you won’t soon forget.”
“I’ve never had rhubarb, and I’ve only had ice cream a couple of times. Turning the crank is a lot of work, but it’s worth it.”
Charlie’s smile widened. “What if I told you that you could get ice cream without turning a crank even once?”
Anna seemed suspicious at first, as if Charlie was teasing her again, but then her eyes widened with understanding. “You have an electric freezer.”
“I don’t,” Charlie said. “But I know who does. A small restaurant on Main Street serves ice cream with pie. They call it à la mode.”
“Really?” she asked wistfully, as if she didn’t dare believe it.
“Absolutely. I’ll take you. But you have to promise to try the ironport.” Charlie leaned an arm on the back of the bench, further narrowing the distance between them. He felt utterly comfortable now, a far cry from a minute before. He and Anna didn’t know each other at all, yet he was sure they could carry on hours’ worth of conversation, and he’d enjoy every second.
“What’s ironport?” She leaned against the back of the bench, coming to rest by his hand. She seemed perfectly at ease, too. No one would ever have suspected that she’d recently fainted.
If he wanted to— or, rather, if it were proper to, because he absolutely wanted to— he could have reached out and stroked the dark-blue cotton of her sleeve.
Anna laughed. “I won’t try your ironport if I don’t know what it is first.”
How long had he been sitting there silently admiring her while she waited for an answer? You’re looking like a fool. Behave as if you have a brain between your ears.
“It’s a drink. Sort of like sarsaparilla, a bit like cream soda. A mix of the two, really, with its own flavor,” he said, the explanation coming out in a rush.
She didn’t look at him as if he were foolish. In fact, there was that smile again. It made something in his chest twist deliciously.
“There’s nothing like ironport,” he said. “You’ll like it. Trust me.”
For the space of several heartbeats, Anna didn’t speak. She gazed into his eyes, the twinkle in hers suddenly replaced with a more serious expression. “I do,” she finally said. “I do trust you.” Her voice carried a certain depth— something saying that she meant more than a visit to a restaurant.
There was the twist again. Between that and her smile, he could be happy for the rest of his days. “I imagine I could show you a lot of things you’d never see in Shelley.”
“I’d like that,” she said quickly. She snapped her mouth closed and shook her head, laughing at herself. “I mean... I don’t mean to be forward. We’ve just met, but—” She shrugged helplessly and laughed again.
Charlie thought he caught a deepening of pink in her cheeks and liked the idea that he might have had something to do with it. “How about we begin getting to know each other better... tomorrow?” He’d never been so glad to have a day off work.
“Let’s.” Anna looked around the room. “Goodness. I didn’t realize so much time had passed. I really should get home, and I feel well enough to walk. Let’s put all of this away.”
Let’s. He liked the sound of that— it meant both of them. Charlie stacked one crate on top of another he’d only now noticed. “You lead; I’ll carry. And then I’ll see you home.”
“Thank you,” Anna said, smiling over her shoulder as she crossed to the lamp. “They belong in a closet down the hall.”
He followed, thinking ahead to the morrow and what enjoyable things he could plan for Anna. That is, after the milking and other morning ch
ores that had to be done even when he didn’t work for someone else.
The ice cream might be best to save for the end of the day, after spending hours in the sun. Before that, they could walk to the original location of the fort where the first settlers of the city had stayed. Or stroll to the river and down to Utah Lake. Its enormity surprised him no matter how often he went there.
What else? Maybe one day, if he could convince some others to come along, he could take Anna up the canyon and climb to Timpanogos Cave. Sometimes youth held dances in the spectacular caverns by the light of kerosene lamps. They danced to the music of a few instruments small enough to carry up.
Charlie put the crates into the closet Anna indicated. He followed her outside and shut the church door behind him as Anna wrapped a shawl about her shoulders and extinguished the lamp, which she left by the door right as Mr. Sorensen appeared, apparently putting his tools away. Charlie and the gardener exchanged waves, and then he and Anna headed toward the Ingersolls’ house. At the corner, he couldn’t help but look back at the window above the door. It was dark. He shivered and turned to escort Anna home.
Surprisingly, after talking in the chapel, neither said much on the way. The evening was cool, the air nipping at their noses and ears. The walk seemed to last only moments. All too soon, they stood on the north side of Main Street, waiting for two carriages and an automobile to pass. Night had fallen completely, and the moon was only a slight crescent, providing little light. A few street lamps and a handful of buildings with electric lighting helped guide the way.
After crossing the street, they approached the final corner and slowed their step at the same time, as if neither of them wanted the walk to end. Anna stopped completely at the corner opposite the Ingersolls’ house, which had several windows lit up already. Charlie could hardly make out Anna’s features now that velvety darkness had descended, but he felt her shiver. With the sunset came the autumn chill, which surely went right through her shawl. She didn’t speak or move. Charlie looked over and found that her hands were clasped tightly, and she wore an expression of dread.
“Is something wrong?” He glanced at the house. “Do they mistreat you?”
“No. They’re kind enough. It’s not that.” She looked down at her hands.
Charlie wanted to reach out and lift her chin so he could see her eyes again, then make a joke so she’d smile. “I hope I’m not being too bold when I say that I’d like to help if I can. You can trust me with whatever it is.”
Her face lifted to his, and she smiled wanly.
A small smile is better than nothing.
“I really can trust you, Charlie Beck, can’t I?”
“Absolutely.” He reached for her clasped hands and held them between his. She didn’t pull away. Her skin felt like ice. “Your aunt needs to get you a good pair of mittens,” he said, hoping for a smile. All he got was a nod. He needed to stop being silly and return to her— and her concern. “What is it?”
“You’ll think I’m crazy.”
He’d had the very same thought earlier. “I doubt that. Tell me.”
She didn’t answer, just looked at her hands in his for several seconds. Charlie resisted the urge to break the silence. Anna finally spoke. “That picture you saw. The one with your father... Your resemblance to him isn’t the only thing that startled me— that frightened me. There’s something more.”
Charlie felt a sensation much like a spider crawling up one’s back. “Does it have to do with Nanny Mae?”
A quick nod. Anna licked her lips then looked into his eyes and spoke quietly. “I think I saw her ghost.”
Maybe I’m not going mad. The thought was a tremendous relief— for him. Anna’s brow remained deeply furrowed. Whatever she was thinking, it wasn’t pleasant.
“Did you see her in the chapel too?” Charlie asked.
“No. It was this morning at the cemetery.” Her expression changed to one of confusion. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘too’? Did you see Nanny Mae?” She pulled her hands from his and covered her mouth. He must have looked guilty, because she grinned with relief and grabbed both of his forearms. “You did see her.”
A flood of emotions made thinking hard for Charlie. Beautiful, kind, smart Anna was holding on to him. And she’d seen the ghost of Nanny Mae Workman. How exactly was one supposed to behave under such circumstances? His mother always quoted the newspaper’s etiquette columns, but he doubted whether even those would have sound counsel for this situation.
Anna began pacing, first going a few yards back the way they’d come, then returning, all the while talking so fast that the words seemed to come out like bullets. “I was at the burial, standing in the crowd with my aunt, and I saw a woman— the same one from the picture— looking right at me. Her hair and clothing were different, but it was definitely her. She wore white. At a graveside service. No one so much as glanced her way. And she carried a candle— outside, in the daytime, in the rain. I asked Aunt Wilma who she was, but she thought I was coming down with the flu. I didn’t want her thinking that her niece was completely daft, so I left it alone. I could tell that no one else saw the woman. The queerest part— and the most unsettling— was when she looked at me and pointed.”
Anna mimicked the gesture, pointing into the darkness. “Gave me the jitters, I tell you. And then she smiled. I remember because, like the white dress— or was it a nightdress?— either way, it didn’t fit at a burial. She said, ‘It’s you,’ as if she already knew me.”
Breathless, Anna stopped right in front of Charlie and locked eyes with him. “I could have sworn that she’d been looking for me. And tonight in the chapel, I came across the picture of her, and then you came in right after that, looking just like your father.” She held out her hands helplessly, palms up. “What does it all mean?”
“I have no idea.” Charlie wished he did. But the one thing he did know was that his experience sounded eerily similar to Anna’s. “You’re cold. Let’s keep walking.”
Anna slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. First, they crossed the street to the Ingersoll house, and then they strolled around the block as if they’d done so a thousand times. Her hand felt as if it belonged there, as if his arm had always missed a piece of a puzzle, and her hand fit the spot.
“When did you see her?” Anna asked.
“About one minute before I saw you.”
Her step came up short, and she turned to face him. “You saw her tonight?”
He nodded and encouraged her to continue walking; telling the story in the darkness, without looking into her face, seemed easier than the alternative. “I was walking home from the orchards. When I reached the church, a bright light came through the window above the door. The rest of the building was quiet with no church events or meetings, so I stopped to look. And then I saw her. The window was almost a perfect frame. She was smiling and had a white dress and candle like you described.”
“And a long, red braid?” Anna asked.
“Yes.” Charlie wasn’t sure if the emotion he felt was relief that he wasn’t alone or fear over what it all meant. “She pointed at me and spoke.”
Anna pulled back slightly and paled. “What— did she say?” Her voice had grown faint.
“The same thing. ‘It’s you.’ Then she added, ‘Come,’ and disappeared down the hall. I ran into the church to see if something was wrong. And found you.”
They rounded the third corner of the block and slowed to a stop, looking at each other.
“Anna, how is any of this possible?” Charlie asked.
“And what does it mean?” she added, voicing another question.
Somehow, his excitement over sharing ice cream tomorrow waned as new, troubling questions loomed. In silence, he and Anna walked around the last corner of the block, to the Ingersolls’ gate, which Charlie opened for her.
Anna stepped through to one of the paving stones and turned around. “Thank you for walking me home.”
“My pleasure,” Charli
e said with a tilt of his head as if tipping his hat.
In spite of their outward pleasantries, something more, something almost tangible, connected them. He glanced at the house, where the large window beside the door was open a few inches. In the sitting room on the other side, someone could probably hear them. Anna looked over too and nodded in understanding.
“May I call on you tomorrow at noon?” Charlie asked. The day might not look like he’d first envisioned, with a tour of the city and ice cream afterward, but he needed to see her again. Soon. Together they’d at least try to untangle the mystery that fate had handed them.
“I look forward to it. Good night, Mr. Beck.” She gave a proper nod, then followed the paving stones to the porch.
Charlie disliked the formality, but he understood the need, particularly if her relatives were the overly protective type. Mrs. Ingersoll, at least, had always seemed particularly conservative and straitlaced. Charlie and Anna didn’t need anyone putting their noses into their business, ghostly or otherwise.
He waited as Anna climbed the porch steps. She reached the door and turned the knob. Charlie hoped she’d look back one more time. She paused before pushing the door open and did seem about to look over her shoulder at him— perhaps give him another smile to melt his insides?— but she simply went inside.
“Aunt Wilma, I’m home,” Anna called, and the door closed with a thud.
Without Anna, the evening chill seemed twice as deep. He turned around and headed home, but the mile he had yet to walk stretched ahead like a long strip going on forever. And as he walked, every shadow or flicker of lamplight seemed to be another ghost.
Chapter Five
“You were out a bit late,” Aunt Wilma said over her glasses. She’d paused in her handwork, though Anna knew full well that her aunt could embroider practically blindfolded.
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