“A note?”
“It’s still unclear, but it might be something.”
“What does it say?”
“Nothing really, just . . . I don’t know.”
Evidently, he didn’t want to tell anyone, me included, what the note said. As a civilian, it was none of my business anyway, but I was still curious. I continued down a different path. “Did anyone go missing at the time?”
Cliff looked at me. “That’s a great question, Betts. Very investigative. It’s something I’m looking into.”
“You might ask Jake.”
“He might have something on missing persons?”
“Sure.” No. As a rule he wouldn’t, but I thought I might somehow manipulate things so that Cliff eventually realized the Cylas family was the missing group. I could get Jake to come up with a “clue.”
“Good thinking, Isabelle,” Jerome said.
A sound that resembled the distant crack and rumble of a storm cut through the darkness.
“What was that?” I said.
“I . . .” Cliff began.
But he was interrupted by a train engine–like whoosh and then something falling from the sky. It was something big, and if I’d had my wits about me, I would have known that the object didn’t come from the sky exactly. It came from the side of the building. A window, frame and all, was falling speedily toward us.
Cliff and I were standing amid weeds and uneven ground. The window came from about a hundred feet above, and even if we’d had smooth ground and no weeds, it would have been difficult to get out of the way.
A second later I heard, “Betts!” and “Isabelle!” Another second later, out of the corner of each of my eyes, I saw men leap toward me, Cliff from one side and Jerome from the other.
I instinctively crouched. And closed my eyes.
The noise was awful: too loud and ferocious. I felt the impact of the blow, but not as much as I would have if Cliff weren’t on top of me. His lungs made some sort of air-release sound that I managed to hear through everything else, and I immediately wondered if he’d been killed.
“No!” I either thought or perhaps said aloud, I couldn’t be sure.
When I opened my eyes and focused on not being panicked, I saw Jerome’s grungy boot-clad feet right next to my knees. After the window finished its dive, the boots stepped back a bit and then I felt Cliff lift off my back.
“You’re both okay, Isabelle,” Jerome said.
Tears sprung to my eyes with his words, but I pulled myself up and offered him a quick nod of thanks before I turned to Cliff just to make sure. I knew what had happened; Jerome had saved us both. If it hadn’t been so dark, he wouldn’t have been so “solid” and somehow, some way, his state of being had saved not only me but Cliff, too.
“You okay?” I said as Cliff held his hand up to his head.
“You okay?” he said, too.
“I’m fine. What’s wrong?” I reached for his arms.
“I’m glad you’re okay. I’m really fine, too, just a little dizzy. I’m amazed we’re not busted up into a million pieces. If you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll be just fine.” Cliff took his hand from his head and looked at me. I could see he was having trouble focusing and his speech bordered on slurring.
“You must have gotten hit in the head. We need to get you looked at right away.”
“I’m fine, Betts, really. I barely felt the blow. I have no idea what happened, but that should have either killed us both or at least hurt us pretty badly. I barely felt it.”
“You need to get out of here, Isabelle,” Jerome said as he peered up at the empty space where the window had once been. I didn’t see anything but the hole, but I guessed he did. I’d have to ask him later.
“Cliff, I’m going to get the car. Stay here.” I looked at Jerome.
He nodded. “I’ll watch out for him, for you, too, but hurry your hide, sweetheart.”
I high-stepped my way out of the weeds and ran to the car via the road. It was the long way around but it probably took less time. When I got Cliff in the car, he seemed much less dizzy, but I still wanted him to get looked at. I shut the passenger door and looked at Jerome as I made my way to the driver’s side. He still stood in the weeds and surveyed the building as though he was looking for whatever item might fall next. He looked my direction.
“Thank you,” I mouthed to him.
He tipped his hat and gave me a worried grimace.
Chapter 18
Cliff didn’t have a concussion. He’d been knocked a little silly but it was nothing serious. The sleeve of his shirt had been torn and he had a small scratch on his hand and dust in his short hair. My hair was dusty, too, but that was my worst injury.
Broken Rope didn’t have a hospital and our closest emergency room was in Springfield. But we did have Dr. Callahan, who had lived in Broken Rope for all of his almost eighty years. During the day, he practiced out of a small office just off the main boardwalk that happened to be about half a block from his house. In the evenings or in the middle of the night if someone needed medical attention, they would knock on Dr. Callahan’s door and he’d tell them he’d meet them in his office. It didn’t matter how early in the morning or how late at night it was, when he was home Dr. Callahan wore a red plaid robe over bright blue pajamas. His robe was almost as big a legend as some of our old dead characters.
I’d knocked on his door and he met Cliff and me back at the office. He’d examined us both and proclaimed us healthy but too curious—and maybe a little low on common sense, but that usually righted itself. Or not. He was also adamant that the bakery building couldn’t come down soon enough. Though our experience was the most disturbing he’d heard, he was tired of stitching up cuts from silly folks who didn’t realize how dangerous broken glass and debris could be.
After the requisite lecture, he suggested a pain reliever, some relaxing tea, and a good night’s sleep for both of us.
Now, as we sat at my small kitchen table and drank the tea and ate some shortbread cookies, Cliff was still struck by the positive outcome of the evening’s events.
“I don’t understand, Betts. It must have hit just right, but I feel no pain in my back at all. How is that possible?”
“We got lucky.”
“I guess, but I will wonder about it forever. I felt the pressure of the hit, but it was as if something was in between me and the impact. It’s unbelievable.”
I came this close to telling Cliff about Jerome, about all the ghosts. When I’d told Jake, he had believed me fairly easily. Cliff wouldn’t want to doubt anything I said, but the ghosts would be a bigger pill for him to swallow. Jake was more into the possibilities of the ethereal world than Cliff’s straightforward, realistic, and logical outlook allowed.
I expected Jerome to show up and suggest I tell Cliff. It would be easier on all of us if Cliff knew, and if he believed me, of course. I didn’t have the heart to rock his world so soon after the incident at the bakery. It had been rocked enough. Maybe someday, but not today.
As I put the cup of tea up to my mouth a glow appeared out the back kitchen window. It wasn’t Jerome but Gent who’d found his way to my house. He stepped up on the small back porch, peered in the window, waved, and then popped into the kitchen.
“Betts, I’m so sorry. I tried to stop him, but he was stronger than I was. It was just like that night, the night we were killed. He was so much stronger. I couldn’t stop him.”
The cup was still at my mouth but I hadn’t taken a drink yet. I looked at Cliff and then back at Gent. This was going to be interesting. I faked a cough and threw in the word who with it.
“What’s that?” Cliff asked.
I shook my head at him, pretended to clear my throat again and looked as pointedly as I could at Gent. Cliff turned to see what I was looking at but gave up when I cleared my throat one more time.
“The killer, of course,” Gent said.
I sighed and looked away from Gent. “Name. Names are good.�
�
“Whose name?” Cliff asked.
“Oh. No, I said ‘same.’ All the same, we’re okay and that’s all that matters.”
“Sure,” Cliff said doubtfully. He was probably wondering which of us wasn’t tracking the conversation, but since he was the one who was hit in the head, maybe he wouldn’t push it.
“I don’t know his name,” Gent said. “A big man. I couldn’t see him clearly. Yet.”
Of course not.
“Come on, Cliff. Let’s get you to bed. Dr. Callahan said we needed rest, you especially.”
It wasn’t easy. Cliff wasn’t much for being taken care of and my attempt to “tuck” him in was met with furrowed eyebrows and grumbles of “I’m fine.” Nevertheless, once he was safely under the covers and I told him I’d be back once I got the kitchen cleaned up—and, no, I didn’t need his help, but thanks—he fell asleep quickly, cheek on his folded hands.
Gent had waited in the kitchen. He was in his country boy/farm boy clothes and I caught him peering at the toaster.
“Gent,” I said quietly.
He jumped slightly as he straightened. “Are you and your fella all right?” he asked.
“We’re fine, Gent, but tell me what happened.”
“I could see you outside the window, you and those other two, you were all just looking up. I yelled that you should get back.”
“We didn’t hear you.” I didn’t think Jerome had heard him, either, which raised more how-does-this-ghost-stuff-work questions in my mind, but now wasn’t the time for that math problem.
“I thought you must not have. The big man was angry that you were watching him, but I think he could only see you, not your fella or the other one.”
More questions.
“I didn’t see him,” I said.
“I know. You’d’a moved back if you did. He was angry, so angry that he pushed the window down on you. The big man wondered why you didn’t get hurt. He was so angry.”
“You need to sit down, Gent?” I asked.
“No, no, I need to get back to my family, just in case.” He looked at me with brightly panicked eyes. He was scared. “I don’t know what’s going on. Can we die again?”
“No, Gent, I’m pretty sure that only happens once.”
“Then why is he here? Is it for you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will you come see who he is? Maybe you and Miz can get rid of him.”
“Let me talk to her and we’ll see.”
What was I supposed to do with a scared teenage ghost? I didn’t know how to calm his fears, because I didn’t know if they were valid or not. I was certain he couldn’t die again, but I didn’t understand why he could feel fear. Ghosts weren’t supposed to have feelings.
But that, it seemed, might have already been disproven today.
Gent nodded. “Okay, okay, good. I’ll come to talk to you and Miz tomorrow.”
I wished there was more I could do for him, but I wasn’t going back to the bakery. Maybe ever.
In fact, I sensed so much more than I would ever tell Gent. It wasn’t difficult to connect the dots. Jerome had told me to be careful. I’d had a window hurled down at me. I was a threat to the “big man” ghost. I didn’t know specifically why I was a threat, but it must have had something to do with the nature of my ability to communicate with the ghosts. Gram might not be as much of a threat. We’d already witnessed how the encounters with the dead had become something more, somehow elevated, and, frankly, something that we might need to be concerned about as my awareness of my ability grew. They just weren’t as “formed” when Gram was the only one they could talk to. There was still a lot we didn’t understand and there probably always would be. But, I had no doubt that I was at least being perceived as a threat. My advantage was pretty clear though. I just needed to stay away from the old building. I could do that.
“Gent, I found some Marys. Do you remember Mary Loken, Gleave, or Silk?” I asked.
“No. Yes. Well, I think I do!”
I literally crossed my fingers behind my back. “Which Marys?”
“Silk. Oh, I remember. She was there. Mary Silk was the reason we went to the bakery that night.”
I almost cheered in joy, but I remained calm. “Why was she there?”
“I . . . I . . . Oh, Betts, I don’t remember it all, but she was there. She was . . . Oh! She was a teacher. Yes, she was a teacher. Mary Silk.” His fear had turned into excitement, and now it transformed to disappointment. “But she’s surely dead by now.”
“Actually, no, she isn’t. She’s old, but not dead.”
And his excitement changed to pure joy. He whooped and slapped his leg. The slap was silent and reminded me of our last ghostly visitor, Sally Swarthmore. I smiled.
“Let’s go talk to her right this second,” he said. “I mean, you’ll talk and I’ll see if I can remember anything.”
“It’s late.”
Gent looked around as if he needed proof that it was, indeed, late. He noticed it was dark outside.
“Tomorrow, then?” he said.
“I will talk to her, I promise, but I need to do it the right way. I might need to make an appointment. She’s old and living in a care facility; we don’t know much else.”
Gent nodded. I could tell he wanted to argue but was too polite to do so.
“Thank you, Betts Winston. Will you come back to the bakery and see me?”
“After tonight, I think you’d better try to check in with me and Gram. I think I’m a little spooked.” There wasn’t enough money or chocolate in the world to convince me to go back to that place.
“I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye, Betts Winston.”
“Gent—wait, where are you shoes?” I said.
Gent shrugged. “I’ve wondered that, too. I just don’t know.”
I nodded. “Good-bye, Gent Cylas.”
He waved and disappeared.
I relished the silence for a moment as I sat down in the chair and drank some more tea. I didn’t want to think about what might have happened at the bakery, but frightening pictures flashed in my mind, nonetheless. It had all worked out okay, but that was because Jerome had been there. Both Cliff and I might have been killed otherwise.
“Damn,” I muttered to myself. “I have a guardian ghost.”
The thought wasn’t as comforting as I would have liked. I shivered, took one more sip of tea, and then joined Cliff in bed.
Chapter 19
I did not tell Gram about the events at the bakery. Since I’d returned Sarabeth’s keys promptly at 7:00, I got to the school a few minutes later than Gram expected me to. We still had some time without the students, but I didn’t want to ruin her morning with all the previous evening’s stories.
Freddie’s black eye caused her to demand the details of that story. Once she heard said details, her mood soured and I decided I might not ever mention the window falling out of the building.
It turned out that the morning didn’t start off great for anyone.
Except Brenda Plumb. She seemed to enjoy every second of the drama. She took notes, but surreptitiously enough that I thought I might be the only one to notice. Brenda’s notes were the least of Gram’s concerns.
Brenda claimed that she hadn’t gone to the wedding reception, but had spent the evening watching television in the room she’d rented. Brenda had no idea why Freddie thought he’d seen her in the party.
Gram was dressed in a Missouri S & T T-shirt, the serious miner holding a pickax mascot only adding to Gram’s stern attitude and lecture.
“Folks, we lost a student to a terrible tragedy: murder. I’ve already told you all that I’m a big believer in innocent until proven guilty, but the behavior exhibited last night doesn’t give me the faith I need to have in all of you. I’m looking for higher standards here, particularly now and particularly because of the murder. You all need to make a decision right here and right now: shape up, show respect for each other, show re
spect for this school, this town, and show respect for the memory of one of your former peers, or take your leave. I know we might not have known him well, but these actions in the wake of what happened to Roger are even more appalling. Shape up or ship out, and I mean it. I can’t have this. You need to understand that before you even arrive here, Betts and I feel like we know you pretty well. We also know there will be surprises, but wedding crashing and violent brawls aren’t the types of surprises that we tolerate.”
The students and I were accordingly quiet. The majority of the class hadn’t been involved in the fracas, but Gram always made it perfectly clear that we were a team and our individual behavior affected everyone on that team. No one argued, no one protested.
And then, as only Gram could do, when she’d spoken her peace, she switched back into caring teacher mode.
Bread, we were going to continue with bread, but she was adding a twist today. She told me that everyone needed something fun, something to give the horrible week a touch of enjoyment, and even after the adamant speech, she stuck with the plan.
The project of the day would be bread pudding. Cliff had framed and given me his grandmother’s handwritten bread pudding recipe, and when I showed it to Gram, she immediately decided that it needed to be shared with our students. Granny Sebastian had died a year earlier and Gram thought teaching the recipe would be a perfect way to keep her memory alive.
As supplies were gathered, though, we discovered that we were out of cinnamon, a key ingredient and one that we inventoried frequently. Its empty space on the shelf was a clear indicator of the turmoil that had distracted us over the last five days.
“I’ll run to the store,” I offered. We would order some from our suppliers, but they wouldn’t be able to deliver until Monday.
“I’ll go, too. I’ll help,” Freddie said.
It was cinnamon, so it wouldn’t be a burden to carry from the shelf, to the register, and then to my car. I probably wouldn’t even need a cart, but there was something in his voice that made me think he wanted some fresh air.
If Bread Could Rise to the Occasion Page 17
