Merry, Merry Ghost

by Carolyn Hart

  In Gina’s room, she once again stood by the wide-open window, blowing smoke into the night. Her scarlet robe would have been flattering to her gypsy dark coloring, but her sharp features were drawn in a tight frown.

  Jake rested against a bolster and two large pillows. Her faded blond hair was pinned in protuberant tufts. A white mask of night cream covered her face but didn’t hide the droop of her mouth. She held an open book in her hands, but she stared blankly at the page.

  Susan sat in her chair by the fake fire, the manila envelope in her lap. She lifted a cup of cocoa, absently sipped. Her patrician features were alight with happiness.

  Since everyone was safely upstairs, I turned on every light in the kitchen. Have I mentioned the light in Heaven? You’ll be amazed, bright as gold, lustrous as pearls, clear as a limpid pool of aquamarine water. Electricity can’t compete, but the bright glow in the kitchen was cheerful. I’d grown up in a similar kitchen with a wrought-iron lamp fixture, white-painted wooden cabinets, an old gas range (any cook can tell you that cooking on gas is far superior), hardwood floor, painted wooden spice rack, pots and pans hanging from hooks on one wall, a long wooden table with a half dozen chairs, lace curtains on the window, and a back door with Victorian glass.

  The calico cat rose from her cushion and ambled toward me, head lifted in hope.

  I dropped down and petted her. “I don’t know where they keep your food but I’ll share some roast beef with you.”

  A purr rumbled deep in her throat.

  It was not only a homey kitchen, there was plenty of good food. I made a thick sandwich of roast beef on homemade wheat bread. I provided several curls of roast beef to the cat. “Here, Duchess, we’ll both have a feast.” I ended with a dish of chocolate ice cream, then washed up, returning everything to its place.

  I was rewarded when I returned to the blue room. Peg’s breathing was even and deep. As I drifted into sleep, I carried with me the memory of Susan Flynn drinking cocoa and looking ahead to happy days with a little towheaded boy.

  I love waking up, grasping after the last tendrils of a pleasant dream, welcoming the first silky awareness of a new day. I rolled over on my elbow. My quilt was bunched into a soft heap at the foot of the chaise longue. Sun spilled bright as pirate’s gold through the east windows. I shivered and pulled the quilt higher. The clock on the table between the twin beds read shortly after seven.

  Bedsprings creaked. Chestnut brown hair tousled, yawning sleepily, Peg lifted her head from the pillow and looked toward the opposite twin bed.

  Stealthily, I drew up the quilt and folded it.

  Peg’s gaze shifted as I placed the quilt at the foot of the chaise longue. She gave the quilt a puzzled glance, shook her head, and turned back toward Keith.

  The small form beneath the covers lay unmoving, head tucked beneath the pillow.

  Easing to her feet, Peg slipped into pink house slippers. She stretched, brushed a hand through her curls, then tiptoed softly toward the door.

  As it closed behind her, the covers moved. Cautiously, Keith emerged. He stared at the door, his thin face anxious, his body rigid.

  Poor baby. He was scared to pieces.

  I darted a look at the door. Peg surely wouldn’t be back immediately. Probably she’d gone to see about Keith’s breakfast.

  With a defiant nod Heavenward, I swirled into being. I liked being here. I wanted to see myself in a mirror, hear my footsteps on the wooden floor. The image in the mirror was satisfactory, my green eyes bright and cheerful, my red curls tidy enough. This morning’s turtleneck was white, my wool slacks red, my boots white. I hurried to Keith.

  He drew back as far as he could.

  I gave him a sharp salute. “Good morning, Keith. I’m Jerrie.” I didn’t think St. Jerome Emiliani, the patron saint of orphans, would mind if I used a version of his name. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so we can play. Do you like to sing in the morning?” I didn’t wait for an answer but began to sing “Jingle Bells,” throwing in a few lyrics of my own devising: Keith is here, Keith is here, what fun we’ll have today…

  The rigidity eased from his small frame. He began to smile.

  “Let’s pick our favorite things to do. I like to giggle and I’ll bet you do, too. Have you ever seen a cross-eyed frog dancing on a stage?”

  A tiny smile curved his lips.

  “Or an octopus with the hiccups?”

  He looked at me uncertainly. “Ogpus?”

  “Oh”—I threw up my arms—“you haven’t seen anything funny until you’ve seen an octopus with the hiccups. Octopi—that’s more than one octopus—live in the ocean in caves. They have big sleek heads and lots and lots of arms. An octopus with the hiccups waves his arms every which way.” I flopped my arms. “If an octopus—not having the hiccups, of course—came to see you, do you know what he’d do?”

  He watched me with huge eyes.

  I sat down on the bed and wrapped my arms gently around him. “That octopus would give you one hug, two, three, and then he’d take his other arms—he has lots of them—and hug and hug and maybe even give a tiny tickle.”

  In a minute he was giggling and twisting.

  When we stopped to smile at each other, his eyes were shining.

  “Now, let’s look in your suitcase and I’ll help you get dressed. I’ll bet Peg has gone to fix you some breakfast. We’ll go downstairs and surprise her.”

  I found fresh underwear, a thin long-sleeved shirt dull from many washes, and a pair of jeans that were too short. When he was dressed, I took his hand. “Let’s pretend we are on a breakfast safari. A safari is when…”

  I remembered to disappear as we opened the door and started down the dim hallway. I’d enjoyed being there. Invisibility has its advantages but it was nicer to actually be on the ground. When I’m not here, I feel insubstantial.

  At the stairs, Keith shook off my hand and started down, one steep step at a time, chubby fingers sliding from baluster to baluster. I was poised to grab him should he misjudge.

  A door clicked shut.

  I whirled. The hallway behind me was unrevealing, every door closed.

  Someone had looked out, seen Keith walk past.

  There had been no greeting.

  Keith was midway down the stairs. He looked small, his short legs stretching to reach the tread. If he fell…

  I shook away a sense of foreboding and hurried after him.

  Peg turned in surprise when we reached the kitchen. There was a welcome smell of bacon and eggs. She beamed at Keith. “Aren’t you the big guy to dress all by yourself.”

  He shook his head. “Jerrie helped me.” He pointed straight at me, but of course, only he could see me.

  Peg slowly nodded. “I see.” Obviously she didn’t. “You have an imaginary friend. That’s very nice.” She turned roughly in my direction and gave a formal bow. “Good morning, Jerrie. I’ll set a place for you, too.”

  Peg dished up bacon and toast and scrambled eggs for Jerrie’s plate.

  She fixed French toast as well and took time to open a can of tuna fish cat food for the calico. “Here you go, Duchess.” By the time she turned back, Jerrie’s plate was empty.

  Peg’s eyes widened. “My goodness, Keith, you are really hungry this morning!”

  I smiled at him.

  Keith smiled back, an impish, lively, pleased grin.

  Footsteps thudded from the hallway. The door burst open. “Can you set an extra place?” Tucker’s grin was disarming. Today he wore a thick red cotton pullover with Levi’s and boots. His cheeks still sported a fuzz of beard. “You remember I promised to pick you guys up first thing? Gina, of course, is taking forever to get dressed.”

  I wondered if the house was rarely locked or if he had a key.

  Peg licked a smudge of powdered sugar from the back of one hand. “I’d completely forgotten. You and Gina go on without me. I need to take Keith shopping, get him a warm coat. You don’t need my help to pick out the tree.”

/>   I looked from one to the other, puzzled. The Scotch pine in the living room was beautifully decorated. I am partial to taffeta bows on Christmas trees.

  “Bacon, eggs, and French toast coming up.” She turned back to the range.

  “I’m your man.” He pulled up a chair opposite Keith. “Hey, buckaroo, I brought you something special.”

  Keith put down his fork, his thin face eager.

  Tucker made an elaborate show of reaching into his pocket and pulling out a soft leather pouch. He held it up. “Can you guess what’s inside?”

  His face solemn, Keith shook his head.

  Tucker leaned forward, spoke in a stage whisper. “You’ve heard of buried treasure?”

  Keith’s dark eyes widened.

  “Buckaroo, here is a treasure just for you and you can spend it for special things you want.” Tucker loosed the drawstrings, upended the bag. Plastic gold coins tumbled free, creating a pile that looked for all the world like a pirate’s hoard. “Now, here’s what you do. You think about things you’d like to have—maybe a Matchbox car or a spyglass or a cowboy hat—and you tell Cousin Tuck. I’ll find whatever it is or the next best thing and you can give me however many coins you think it’s worth.” Tucker held out a big hand. “Is that a deal, buckaroo?”

  Laughing, Peg set a filled plate before Tucker. “It sounds like you’re trying to turn Keith into a little trader.”

  Tucker finished a piece of bacon. “It’s in the blood. It didn’t matter what we were trading, comic books or girls’ phone numbers, Mitch always won.”

  Duchess walked majestically to the kitchen door, meowed, lifted a paw.

  Peg laughed. “Coming, Your Majesty.” She hurried to the back door.

  Tucker gave Keith a swift glance. “Looks like it’s happened again.” His voice was low. His expression as he stared at Keith was suddenly bleak.

  The door creaked and Peg didn’t hear his words. Cold air flowed inside.

  In the imperious way of cats, Duchess remained in place, tail flicking.

  “Come on, Duchess.” Peg tried to shoo the calico forward.

  Duchess gave her a gimlet stare, then stepped outside.

  The door clicked shut.

  I remembered the earlier sound of a closing door in the upper hallway. I’d watched a little boy at the top of steep stairs and felt a rush of fear. In this warm and cheerful kitchen, Keith seemed utterly safe.

  It was my job to be certain he remained safe.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gina rushed into the kitchen. Her black cashmere turtleneck emphasized the rich plum of slacks that flared wide at the bottom.

  I really liked that style, the low snug fit over the hips and a saucy front tie. I’d have to find out what the slacks were called. They were certainly distinctive enough to have a name.

  Gina’s gaze jerked to the counter near the stove and a tray covered with a fine damask napkin. Some of the tension eased from her thin face. “I’ll take Susan’s breakfast up.”

  Peg looked surprised. “That would be nice. I need to fix Keith more French toast.”

  Tucker’s brows drew down in a quick frown. “Hey, let’s get the show on the road. We’ve got to find the right tree.”

  Gina was already picking up the tray. “I need to talk to Susan. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

  As the swinging door shut behind her, Tucker looked exasperated.

  “More coffee?” Peg held up the carafe.

  Tucker nodded, his face drawn in a frown. “Gina’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

  Peg looked hesitant.

  Tucker gripped the mug. “So what else is new? How much does she owe?” His voice was weary.

  Outside Susan’s door, Gina hesitated, then gave a brisk nod. She opened the door and called out, “Breakfast.” She carried the tray to the table near Susan’s chair in front of the fake fire.

  Susan wore no makeup, but her lovely face looked younger. She smiled at Gina. “Thank you, my dear. I suppose Peg is busy with Keith.” Her smile grew wider, her eyes shone. “Oh, what a happy day. Gina, I haven’t had a happy day in so long.”

  Gina’s eyes glistened. “We’re glad for you, Susan. He’s a nice little boy.” She removed the napkin and the cover. “Do you want coffee now?”

  At Susan’s nod, Gina poured from the hottle. Then she took a deep breath. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Her voice was shaky.

  Some of the light fled Susan’s face. She looked up, gave a tiny sigh. “What’s wrong?”

  Gina stood stiff and still, her thin face twisted in despair, her shoulders hunched. “I owe almost forty thousand dollars on my credit cards.”

  Susan’s aristocratic features stiffened. Her dark eyes gazed at Gina with a long measuring look. She didn’t speak.

  Gina’s hands twisted together. “I know. I’m a fool. But I had that good job for a while and I got so many credit card offers and I signed up and I wasn’t thinking. I was able to make the payments until I lost my job and now I can’t find a job.”

  Susan glanced at Gina’s outfit. “I saw those trousers in a Neiman catalog. They were expensive. Bedford pants. Very distinctive.”

  Gina stared at the floor.

  “You have beautiful clothes. You’ve always liked fine things.” Susan was more grieved than scolding. “You’ve always spent money you didn’t have. Tucker has helped you, hasn’t he? I suppose you’ve asked Jake, too.”

  Gina pulled her hands apart, turned them out in appeal. “I’m desperate. I can’t get a job, and I get all these threatening phone calls.”

  Susan was brusque. “You were able to make the payments. Don’t you understand, Gina? That’s going into debt. The interest charged is huge. What will happen if I pay the debts? Will you live on what you can earn, buy things only if you have the money to pay for them? Somehow I’m afraid you’ll fall back into your old ways. I don’t know. Maybe this time you will have to work out your problems by yourself.” She made a sudden swift gesture. “I’ll think about what should be done. Let’s not talk any more. I have much to do today.” She turned to her breakfast, her face stern.

  Susan gestured with her ebony black cane. “Look toward the back of the closet.” There was a becoming pink flush in her pale cheeks. Her softly waved hair was brushed back, emphasizing her expressive face. Regal in her red silk brocade dressing gown, she was full of cheer. There was no hint of her uncomfortable morning encounter with Gina.

  Jake reluctantly stepped into a long cavernous closet with a flashlight in one hand. “What if there are fiddlebacks?”

  Susan laughed aloud. “Would a fiddleback dare hide in any house under your supervision?”

  Jake’s voice sounded hollow as she slowly moved deeper into the closet. “No one dusts in here. No one’s been in here for years.”

  Susan’s face was suddenly somber. Lines of sorrow pulled at her face. “No. Not for years.” She gripped the head of the cane. “At the back, there are boxes with Ellen’s name. Look for the one that reads Carousel.”

  “Ooh. A spider.” There was a sound of a stamping foot.

  Susan’s expression was a mixture of irritation and amusement.

  “I see the box.” Jake’s voice lifted in triumph. “It’s on top. I’m not sure…Yes, I can. Oh, it’s not too heavy.” She stepped into the hall. She held a box out in front of her, gripping it with obvious uneasiness.

  Susan led the way, the cane thumping on the floor. She opened the door to the blue room.

  Keith sat cross-legged on his bed, stacking his plastic gold coins, patiently picking them up when they slid and fell. Duchess rested at the foot of his bed, golden gaze fixed on the plastic coins. Keith looked up as the door opened, his expression uncertain.

  Susan’s face shone with delight. “Good morning, Keith.”

  Peg turned from the mirror, laid a hairbrush on the dresser with a smile. “Good morning, Susan. Keith ate a huge breakfast. Keith, here’s your grandmother.”

  Susan came across the ro
om, bent to kiss his cheek. “I’m glad I caught you before you and Keith leave.” Susan was a little breathless. “I have something special for Keith.”

  “Tucker brought a present, too.” Peg gestured at the small leather bag and Keith’s pile of play gold coins. “After we go shopping, Keith’s going to think the world is made up of presents. What do you have?”

  Jake stepped into the room, still holding the box stiffly.

  Peg hurried toward her mother. “Let me help. What is it?”

  Susan smiled at her grandson. “I’ve brought Ellen’s musical carousel for you. Every morning and every evening we can turn it on for you to listen.”

  Peg’s face softened. “The carousel! We loved hearing it play Christmas carols. Here, I’ll take it.” She carried the box to the bedside table and stripped tape from the lid.

  Keith slid from the bed with a thump, came nearer, his dark eyes curious.

  Jake fluttered her hands. “There may be spiders.”

  Keith’s face was serious. “Mütter says spiders are good mütters. They work hard.”

  Peg smiled at him. “I like spiders, too.” She lifted out a lumpy shape protected by plastic wrapping. She carefully peeled back the plastic wrap and set the merry-go-round on the table between the twin beds. She bent sideways to insert the plug.

  Leaning on her cane, Susan came across the room. She reached down and turned the switch.

  Lights twinkled. Animals rode up and down, including a sea dragon, a rabbit, a cat with a fish in its mouth, a rooster, a stag, and a goat as the carousel went around and around. Sweet and clear came the strains of “Silent Night.”

  Keith walked slowly toward the turning carousel. Lips parted in a smile, he reached out to touch the light-bright top.

  Susan’s eyes were soft as she watched her grandson.

  Faintly, the front doorbell sounded below.

  Susan nodded toward Jake. “That will be Wade. Please bring him to my room.”

  Susan Flynn’s lawyer bounced into the room. Though middle-aged, his dark hair thinning and his athletic build contending with the beginnings of a paunch, he seemed youthful with a broad, good-humored face and a hint of boyish eagerness. He beamed at Susan and held out a plate covered with pink Saran Wrap. “Cindy’s famous pralines.”