The Ghost and Miss Hallam: A Time Travel Romance (Lavender, Texas Series Book 1)

by Barbara Bartholomew

  Embarrassed that he’d insulted her after she’d greeted him without fear and with hot cocoa and hospitality, he tried to explain but she was having none of it.

  She waved away the apology. “Maybe I’m here to give you advice about the girl. After all with all those years locked away, you probably don’t have a clue how to go courting.”

  “You think so?” he asked eagerly. “You think I’ll see her again.”

  “Who can say? Maybe you were just sent here to keep me company because somebody out there thinks I’m lonely.”

  She made a bed up for him on her sofa, even though he told her he was sure ghosts didn’t sleep, and then went to her own bedroom. She woke him before the sun was up and took him out to do the morning chores. He had to fend off despair, knowing he was walking the same ground where the dark-eyed girl walked, but so many years before she came. He was afraid he would never see her again and that thought bothered him a whole lot more than the possibility he was dying in a nearby hospital.

  Chapter Five

  For the first time since she’d arrived at the Sandford Ranch, Lynne dressed to impress, putting on a slim gray skirt with a white, short-sleeved blouse, and spiky heels. She wanted to be taken seriously and had long ago learned that how you dressed made a difference, especially when you were five two and, in jeans and a pony-tail, looked like an eighth grader.

  She was going to the regional hospital in more distant Elk City to visit a critically injured man named Moss Caldecott. She’d learned his name and the location of the hospital to which he’d been transferred from the newspaper that had come in this morning’s mail just as Wilda Walsh had promised. The story of the accident and its barely surviving victim was on the front page.

  It also said that Moss had spent his entire life in prison having only just been released on the day of the accident.

  He had no known family, the article said, and she, disappointed that he’d failed to visit the night before and almost sure that meant he’d passed away, was headed with leaden heart to find out if her fears were true.

  Elk City was a clean and well-kept mid-sized town and she’d thought as she drove through that if she hadn’t here under compulsion, she might come to like living in this area. But today she was interested only in locating the hospital and finding out about Moss.

  Moss, a funny name, but it suited him. As she parked and headed toward the front entrance, her heart began to pump faster and bile choked at her throat. She could only hope he still lived. Nobody should have to die without anyone who cared nearby. She would just have to stand in for that sister he mentioned.

  At the front desk, she was met with suspicion. Apparently the injured man’s unique history had attracted the attention of out-of-state press and the community had closed around him to protect his privacy. The receptionist eyed her with suspicion as she asked if she was a reporter.

  So nervous that she had a hard time sounding calm, Lynne shook her head. She had her story all worked out.

  “I’m Lynne Hallam, the researcher currently working out at the Sandford Ranch up near Antelope Hills. I just read about the accident in the newspaper. My brother was on his way to see me when he was injured.”

  The reception looked startled. Then she said, “Praise the Lord, we’ve all been praying for family to show up for this poor young man.”

  With that small degree of credibility, she was able to get an update on Moss Caldecott’s condition. The receptionist told her sadly that there was no improvement and that in fact the patient had almost died several times. Lynne hardly heard what she was saying, she was just glad to hear he was still alive.

  “Can I see him?” she demanded eagerly. The receptionist called a volunteer to take her place and immediately escorted her upstairs, saying she wanted to see this reunion for herself. “It’s such a sad story,” she said as they got into the elevator. “We all have connected with this young man and felt so bad for him. If I’d been locked up for a crime I didn’t commit and was just let go, well, I might drive a little fast and run into somebody. You wouldn’t be thinking your best, would you?”

  “I heard the other driver pulled out in front of him,” Lynne protested.

  “Hadn’t heard that.”

  “Well, the injured man can hardly talk for himself, can he?” Lynne said angrily.

  The round-faced receptionist smiled kindly at her. “He is your brother.”

  “I hardly know him. We’ve been apart for years.”

  “You didn’t visit him in prison?”

  Oops! Time to build on her story. “I am years younger and my parents didn’t want me to grow up damaged because of what had happened to Moss. And when I married and moved away, so much time had passed I barely remembered my brother.” This was getting more and more complicated. What if they had records that showed his sister’s real name. But she didn’t know anything more than that it was Cynthia. She should have said her name was Cynthia. Maybe she could still say her middle name was Cynthia.

  “Yes,” she said aloud, “I am Lynne Cynthia Hallam. Hallam is my married name. And I only found out about my brother from the newspaper.”

  “I thought he was coming to visit you.”

  “I mean I found out about the accident. He was. Coming to visit. First thing out of prison and he contacted me. Our parents are dead , you know, but I guess friends must have told him how to find me out here.”

  “So sad.” Her guide shook her head. She led the way into the intensive care unit, explained to the nurse that this was Moss Caldecott’s sister, and left her to be shown into a cubicle where the man she’d seen only as a sketchy spirit lay solid and real. A respirator helped him breathe, one leg was in a cast and elevated, his arms were bandaged, and what she could see of him was dark with bruising. Wires seemed to attach to most of his body and monitors flashed around him.

  “Moss,” she said, glancing at the watching nurse. She had to be here for him even if she had to lie in order to be allowed to stay. “It’s your little sister, Moss. It’s Cynthia.”

  The last thing he remembered he’d been helping Maud feed the calves their fresh milk and he was watching them suck it down hard and fast and then he heard her voice.

  The sound came from far away and he knew he once more lay in his hospital bed and was aching all over and unable to move or speak. For the first time, hearing her voice, he felt confined and helpless. Up until now he’d just hurt all over, but now he needed to be able to open his eyes and see her, to open his mouth and talk to her. He doubted he could even breathe without help.

  “Moss,” she said, her voice sending his nerves to trembling, “It’s your little sister, it’s Cynthia.”

  No way. Even though he’d last heard his sister’s voice sixteen years ago when she’d been eight, he knew this wasn’t her. You didn’t forget the sound of your own sister’s voice. This wasn’t Cyn.

  This was her, the woman from the ranch house. In spite of how absolutely terrible he was feeling, he felt a rush of gladness. He’d been afraid he’d never see her again.

  If only she’d tell him her name. Somehow she’d found out who he was, it would be only fair to tell him hers. He felt a great need to know her name.

  “I read in the paper about you’re being hurt,” she went on and he knew she had to be close since he could hear her so clearly. Then he heard the sound of a door closing and guessed someone had left. He hoped it wasn’t her.

  “Moss, this is Lynne. I had to pretend to be your sister or they wouldn’t let me see you.”

  Lynne. What a beautiful name! Pretty petite dark-eyed Lynne. If only he could see her, touch her. He needed to tell her about the tricky fate that had taken him back through the years to the writer she was researching. But, of course, he could only lie still and silent so she wouldn’t even know he was hearing her.

  He listened to her going on. It must be really difficult to talk to someone who couldn’t answer back, but she kept on, whispering softly as though afraid of being overheard.<
br />
  “I missed you last night and determined to start trying to find you this morning. There must be something special between us or you would never have found me at the farmhouse. Anyway, I didn’t want you to be alone here. You’d said you had a sister so I decided to pretend to be her. You know how it is, they would never even have told a stranger what your condition was.”

  He took in the sound of her voice, visualizing her in his mind, lingering over the thought of her in his arms. He wanted to tell her about his visit with Maud Sandford and how, strangely, he’d been able to drink cocoa, take a nap and even work with her on the ranch. He was not a shadowy ghost to Maud, but a solid person.

  Maud said the barriers between times were thin at the farm and she’d often had visitors like him. She seemed to think that in his visits to Lynne he did not cross time, but his spirit flew to her side. When he went back in time, he was able to connect to his still undamaged body.

  He wanted to tell her, but he could only lie silent and frustrated. He could only listen.

  “I’ve been thinking about her, about your sister. If I were her it would be really important to me to find you. She’s in the same position you are. You’re the only family she has left. You need each other.”

  He didn’t like that idea. He didn’t know where Cynthia was, but she’d known he was there in the prison all those years. She had made her choice.

  “Well, I’ve said what I think and I won’t bother you with that anymore, at least right now. I thought I would tell you a little more about me. That way we can begin to get acquainted.”

  He liked that idea and wished he had some way to encourage her to continue. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her.

  “I told you I come from a big family and I’m the youngest. We live in a big old house in New Jersey. They built it not long before I was born. Up ‘til then they’d really struggled to get an education and get ahead.

  “By the time they both got their doctorates, they wanted a real family house for all of us. You see, they grew up without much family and they wanted a different life for us.”

  A strange voice broke through her whisper, “That’s very good, Mrs. Hallam. We encourage family members to talk to our coma patients.”

  It was the first time he’d heard that word. Coma? Hey,you could stay in those for years. For the first time he felt really alarmed. Worse than dying, worse than only being able to see her from a ghost-like form, would be staying locked in this immobility for years and years, kept alive by medical instruments.

  “I really hate to interrupt you,” the strange voice went on, “but our administrator would like to talk to you in his office. He wants to discuss your brother’s condition.”

  He heard her protests being over-ridden and then she came closer to whisper, “See you later, Moss.” Then he heard her walking away.

  Lynne felt like a little girl being led to the principal’s office as she walked beside the smiling young woman who was taking her to the hospital administrator. She was sure they’d found out about her deception and were about to forbid her to ever visit Moss again.

  They went through double glass doors and into an interior office where a middle-aged man with a kindly face and balding head greeted her with a smile. “We’re so glad to have you come to see your brother, Mrs. Hallam. Your presence relieves a real problem for us.”

  She stared at him, totally puzzled.

  “But, of course, I should first express my sympathy that you have had to be reunited with your brother in this sad fashion. I understand you haven’t seen him for years and this has to be so difficult for you.”

  She nodded. “We were separated by circumstances.” She couldn’t believe they were accepting her so easily.

  “I don’t like bothering you this way, but we do need some proof of who you are and your relationship to the patient.”

  Uh oh! She opened her purse to take out her identification, the identification that said her name was Lynne Eleanor Hallam, not Lynne Cynthia as she’d told the receptionist.

  “I’m afraid I have no way of proving that Moss is my brother. Surely his records at prison show he had a sister my age.” She was counting on that. He’d said Cynthia was eight sixteen years ago when his troubles began. She and his sister were the same age.

  “Indeed they do.” He nodded briskly, examining her identification cards, and then looking up. “But her name was listed as Cynthia Ann Caldecott.”

  “I’m married, of course, and I took my husband’s last name. And after what happened with Moss, my parents wanted to preserve my privacy so they had my given names legally changed.”

  She doubted anyone would believe this story, but somehow she kept babbling on doing the best she could.

  He frowned, looking in troubled fashion at the cards. “I might have done the same,” he said, “if I had a daughter in a similar situation. I understand it was a most horrendous murder and the public attention overwhelming.”

  She breathed a little easier. At least she’d bought some time. “I will obtain some proof of our relationship and bring it to you.” She paused, then went on, “As soon as possible.” In the meantime she would do her best to find Moss’s actual sister so he would be allowed to have someone at his bedside.

  “We would appreciate that. Some difficult decisions will have to be made and we understand you are his only close relative.”

  She frowned. “What decisions?”

  “Your brother’s condition is quite serious. Broken femur, fractured arm, cracked ribs, internal injuries, but the most significant is the head injury. The tests we’ve run are not promising.”

  “I’m sure he will get better,” Lynne protested fiercely.

  “We all pray that happens, Mrs. Hallam, but in case it doesn’t would you like him to go on living the way he is now? Is that what he would want?”

  Lynne sat very still, numbed with shock. This was the last thing she’d expected, that they were already talking about giving up. His body was terribly damaged, of course, but his mind was keen and alert under there. She knew and opened her mouth to say so.

  Then she closed her mouth again. What was she going to say? That he had come to her at the farmhouse two nights in a row as a kind of ghost. ‘There are more things in Heaven and earth,’ she tried to remember the quote and probably got it wrong. But she knew what she meant. Some things just couldn’t be explained.

  “He isn’t even able to breathe on his own, Mrs. Hallam,” the administrator went on, his voice gentle. “I understand your brother was left very well off because of the trust fund his parents arranged for him and the best of care will be available to him, but the question you have to ask yourself is if he would want to go on in this state. I’m not trying to plead the case either way, just advising you to give the matter serious thought. After all, as his closest relative, it will be your decision.”

  Stunned, she was unable to speak. She’d only pretended to be his sister so she could see him. It wouldn’t be fair for her to have to make this choice. She didn’t want to make this choice.

  “Surely we don’t have to decide right now?” she managed to croak. “I’m still hoping for a full recovery.”

  He nodded. “As we all are.”

  Chapter Six

  She spent another two hours with him before the staff politely urged her to go home and rest. Stopping on the edge of town to pick up take-out tacos, she ate as she drove through the changing countryside that gradually went from wheat-growing farms to the red hills and grassy ranch country that led to Maud Sandford’s old home. Oil wells and wind turbines marred the landscape and she wished they weren’t there, then rather guiltily reminded herself that the country needed the energy they produced and, no doubt, local people needed the jobs.

  She tried to think of anything and everything but the man lying in the hospital and the dilemma she faced. Well, she had one advantage nobody else possessed. There was at least the possibility she would see him again and could ask him in
person what his choice would be.

  In forty five minutes she was turning in the drive at the ranch when her phone sounded its avian ring tone. The voice answering her greeting sounded a whole lot different than it had only a few hours ago. Warm sympathy had turned to icy indignation.

  “Mrs. Hallam, this is Charles Grahame, administrator at the regional hospital. I hope you enjoyed the little trick you played on us!”

  Oops! Caught already. Dismay flickered through Lynne’s brain. “Trick, Mr. Grahame?” she stalled in pretended innocence.

  “We checked your credentials. You are Miss Lynne Hallam of Bound Brook, New Jersey. You have living parents, two sisters, and a brother named David. We know because we talked to your mother.”

  She eased down the drive and stopped beside the house. Double trouble. She was surprised she hadn’t heard from Mom already. This was just the kind of thing that had gotten her sent to purgatory in Oklahoma. Trying to deceive her parents, even if it was for their own good, was looked on with disapproval.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Grahame, but it was important that I talk to Moss.”

  “Why? I understand your mother is a writer; do you hope to sell his story? Surely the poor man deserves his privacy at the very least.” He was, obviously, fighting mad. She couldn’t much blame him and respected his determination to protect his patient. He couldn’t know what Moss meant to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I won’t write anything.” She ended the call, feeling that it would be only painful and futile to continue the conversation.

  The phone sounded immediately and, glancing at the screen to see that the caller was her mother, she ignored it. She would deal with Mom later.

  Wearily she climbed from the little car, carrying the debris from her hasty dinner inside to put it in the trash compactor. She didn’t care that everybody was mad at her. Moss had deserved to have someone at his bedside other than medical professionals and now she would just have to work to locate his sister so she could provide that attention.