Yet every time she resolved to go to Union Station and arrange for a Pullman car, she thought of Maura, and found her steps turning away from the station. She would hate to presume on such a short-lived friendship by asking Maura to put her up, especially since she knew how that might look to outsiders... or perhaps, even, to Maura herself.
Not that Charlie would assume Maura felt that sort of affection for her, of course. Yet she had never met anyone who understood her so well. Charlie thought she would very much enjoy the study of botany, and Maura encouraged that, loaning her books about Indiana’s flora.
Charlie had revised her opinion of Maura’s age upwards, though she supposed Maura wasn’t much older than thirty-five or so. That wasn’t so much older than Charlie’s twenty-eight, was it?
“What about you?” Maura asked. “You still haven’t told me what you do for a living.”
Charlie bit her lower lip. “I—I was a private tutor before I left my family home,” she admitted finally, her voice soft. “I enjoyed teaching, but I certainly don’t wish to be a private tutor forever. I enjoy photography, but I don’t think I wish to make portraits. I really should like to learn more about the plants and herbs, perhaps medicinal, or... well, no, I suppose Colonel Lilly and his son are doing enough of that.”
Maura’s gaze was intent on her face, but Charlie couldn’t quite meet it. She felt as though she were lying to Maura, even though she was actually being honest, for the first time, with herself. “I didn’t have much of a plan when I ran away,” she confessed.
Maura surprised her with a low chuckle. “I didn’t suppose you had,” she said. “It’s all right. Chloe—you remember meeting her, right? She and her husband want to have dinner with us tomorrow night. Maybe one of them will have suggestions for you. They might even know of a job opportunity.”
“Chloe, yes, I remember.” Charlie remembered that Chloe had seemed suspicious of her, too. But perhaps that had changed. And it was promising, wasn’t it, that Maura wanted them to spend time together? Charlie couldn’t stop the wide smile that spread across her face. “I should like that very much.”
Nagging at the back of Charlie’s mind were twin worries—first, that her supply of cash was dwindling as she lingered at the English’s Hotel, and second, that her father might actually come looking for her. Charlie didn’t think he would. After all, Father had meant to get rid of her. But if Charlie escaped to her freedom, the bank wouldn’t have the benefit of a marriage into the Casey family. James was already married, so no convenient Casey daughters could be forced on him. Elise’s betrothal to a partner in the bank was a love match, but convenient for Father.
“You seem troubled,” Maura said. “If I’ve pressured you—”
“Not at all.” Charlie forced a smile that grew more genuine as she looked at Maura. “I’m just a little tired.”
“I should let you get back to your hotel,” Maura said, and Charlie hoped she didn’t imagine the reluctance there. Besides, it was growing late enough that single ladies oughtn’t be with a beau unchaperoned.
The thought jolted Charlie. Was she Maura’s beau? She knew, almost certainly, Charlie’s nature. They were very amiable with one another, and Charlie certainly enjoyed looking at Maura and spending time with Maura.
But perhaps she was thinking too deeply into this.
Charlie nodded, suddenly thoughtful. “I shall call on you tomorrow.”
Chloe wore a friendly smile when she and her husband Braxton arrived in Maura’s comfortably appointed apartment. Charlie could still feel the woman’s brown eyes studying her, but no one else seemed to notice, and eventually she began to relax.
Braxton certainly helped. He was handsome, shorter than his wife, and had an easy confidence about him that invited others to feel confident with him. Charlie found him more approachable than his wife, and had little trouble staying interested as he described his work in law enforcement.
Over the past few weeks, Charlie had gotten used to going out without a hat, and she had even grown more comfortable—though not entirely so—with removing her jacket and rolling up her sleeves. She was still leery of going without her cravat, though she’d taken to tying it more loosely. The cravat had the added benefit of hiding her feminine throat while offering a bit of fashion. Still, looking at the informal shirtsleeves Braxton wore, Charlie wondered if she might look a bit silly.
“Butterscotch?” Braxton held out an amber-colored, cut glass bowl full of candies.
Charlie jerked her attention back to the conversation. “Thank you,” she said, taking it. It held small, hard, yellow discs wrapped in paper that crinkled under her fingers. “Maura?”
As she passed the dish to Maura, their fingers slid past each other, and Charlie knew she hadn’t imagined the indrawn breath that contact caused both of them. She bent her head and carefully on the task of unwrapping the candy.
“These things are so old they’re sticky,” Chloe protested. “Tell the truth, Maur, did you really go grocery shopping, or are these candies older than you?”
“I’m not sure they were even making these candies fifty-one years ago,” Maura said primly.
Fifty-one? Charlie blinked down at the candy wrapper. Maura didn’t seem so much older than she. Perhaps Charlie had been foolish to hope... but then, she couldn’t bring herself to care about her age. Maura was intelligent, attractive, confident—everything Charlie had struggled to become. What did it matter if she was nearly twice Charlie’s age?
“It could be worse,” Braxton said lightly. “It could be blue cotton candy.”
“That,” Chloe objected, “is not real cotton candy.”
Charlie wondered what cotton candy was. She hoped she wouldn’t be expected to have an opinion of it.
“Of course it isn’t,” Maura said briskly. “And it’s called candy floss, anyway.”
They were exceedingly comfortable with one another. Was there space for Charlie in this? She held in a soft sigh.
A hand entered her view and touched the back of her hand. “All right?” Maura murmured.
Charlie jerked her gaze up to meet Maura’s. “Yes.”
Chloe cleared her throat. “Maura, could I... borrow you in the kitchen for a minute?”
“Certainly, darling.” Maura curled her fingers around Charlie’s and squeezed, then left the room with Chloe.
Charlie stared at her fingers, then clenched both hands together. She wasn’t certain why she suddenly felt so adrift. Although she had a firm grasp of Maura’s occupation as indexer, she didn’t entirely understand how it was so universally accepted that a woman should have such an occupation without a husband. Although she was in no doubt whatsoever of Maura’s capability as a person, she didn’t understand how other people accepted that without expecting her to have a husband.
It seemed like perfection to Charlie but it was leagues away from what she had experienced only a few weeks ago when she was Charlotte Holmes of the Zionsville, Indiana, Holmeses.
“So. Charlie.” Braxton smiled, and she could tell he was trying to put her at ease. “Maura’s mentioned you more than once, but she’s never been quite clear on how you met. I hope you won’t find it offensive if I ask about your intentions?”
Charlie’s mouth dropped open. “I, um, I’m afraid I bumped into her on the street,” she said finally. “Literally, that is. I was walking past City Market and my hat slipped and—well, the rest you know.” She managed a weak laugh.
He laughed with her. “When was that, again?”
It was a trick question. It must be. But for the life of her, Charlie couldn’t understand how. There was little mystery about it. They had met four, perhaps five, weeks earlier. She might have lost track of the actual number of days, but she was in no wise confused about her own place in time.
Charlie smiled.
“I might be a better swain if I could tell you the date, down to the hour,” she confessed. “But if I’m entirely honest, it
feels both like it was a hundred years ago and only an hour ago.” And it was no exaggeration. Charlie felt as though she could spend every moment of the rest of her life with Maura and still believe they hadn’t enough time together.
Charlie’s heart thumped harder. Was it possible to fall in love with someone in a month?
It was just that moment, of course, when Chloe and Maura came back from the kitchen. Maura looked annoyed, which let Charlie shove down her uncomfortable suspicions.
Charlie stood automatically, reaching out to her. “Maura, is everything all right?”
Maura smiled, twining their fingers together. “I think so,” she said. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Who’s up for a few games of euchre?” Chloe said, holding up a deck of cards.
The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. It had been ages since Charlie played, but she had always enjoyed it. They were only betting pennies, but even that felt greatly daring, considering how low her funds were running.
After the gathering broke up, Charlie lingered, remembering that Maura had said they should talk. She found herself worrying her lower lip with her teeth. When it was just the two of them, sitting in the living room with hot tea, Maura sat back and studied her. Charlie raised her eyebrows but didn’t speak. She could be patient, and if this silence wasn’t quite as comfortable as their shared silences usually were…well, that might be all right.
Finally Maura sighed. “I’ve always known you had secrets, Charlie. I don’t mind; we all have secrets, don’t we? But I’m afraid you and I need to exchange secrets before we can figure out how we will go on with things.”
Charlie opened her mouth, but Maura held up a hand.
“My friend Chloe is a medium. She sees spirits.” Maura’s gaze was steady on hers.
“All right.” Charlie wasn’t sure why that was important. Mother and Father had been fascinated by spiritualism for years, though Charlie had never paid much attention.
Her simple response seemed to surprise Maura, but she took a deep breath and said, “Chloe says you’re a spirit.”
Charlie blinked. “What?”
“It’s why she acted funny when we first met you. Because you’re a ghost.” Maura’s hands were clenched in her lap, knuckles white. “She was angry I hadn’t told you yet. She said if I didn’t tell you tonight, she would.”
“But I’m not dead.” Charlie laughed as she said it. How could she be a ghost if she hadn’t died?
“Chloe did her research.” Maura took a folded sheet of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and cleared her throat. “Charlotte Maya Holmes, twenty-eight, murdered in her own home by her father. Father pled not guilty, but corroborating testimony from James and Elise Holmes, Charlotte’s siblings, cinched the case.”
Charlie’s ears began roaring at that point, drowning out whatever Maura was saying after that. It wasn’t true. Perhaps her siblings had reported her missing after she ran away? But why would Father be blamed?
He did beat you. He tried to strangle you.
But that was no excuse for blaming him for her death when she wasn’t even dead.
The world dimmed, flickered. Charlie tried to remember how, exactly, she’d gotten to the English’s Hotel. She wouldn’t have stolen Father’s carriage. Had she walked? But she remembered how tired she’d been after that beating.
“Charlie.” It was Maura’s voice.
Charlie jerked, the physical jolt that ran through her bringing her back to attention. She shook her head and focused as best she could on Maura.
Maura was holding her grandfather’s clock. The one that matched her mahogany and silver pocket watch. The clock Charlie had pawned to pay for her train ticket.
The train ticket she’d never purchased.
“The news stories from the time of the murder said…” Maura trailed off, licked her lips, and soldiered on. “Said your body was found clutching a clock you’d inherited from—”
“My grandfather,” Charlie whispered. “How…how do you have it?”
“I bought this clock at an estate sale a few weeks ago.” Maura was whispering, too. “I didn’t make the connection until tonight. Chloe showed me the news clippings she’d gathered. The estate sale was the day before I met you.”
Charlie looked at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. Slowly she unclenched them, turning the palms up as she inspected them. Was she a walking corpse? Had Father truly killed her? She shook her head, trying to clear a space in her whirling thoughts.
She had been so tired that night.
“I’m solid,” Charlie said. “I’m a person. I’m real.”
“Yes.” Maura nodded too quickly. Charlie realized there were tears glistening in the older woman’s eyes.
Wait—was she older? Or did it matter if Charlie was…was…
“What did Chloe say would happen?” Charlie gulped. “I mean, why did she say you had to tell me, or she would?”
Maura licked her lips again. “I think—” A tear slipped down one cheek. “I think she means for you to move on.” She exhaled a breath that almost sounded like a sob. “You said, that first day, that you were leaving Indianapolis.”
“But I…I never really wanted to go, not after I met you.” Charlie clenched her hands together. “I… You knew, didn’t you? That I—I’m a woman. I just never fit.”
“I knew,” Maura whispered. “I was glad you let me see you. Truly see you.”
Good heavens, Maura had known Charlie was dead, what did it matter that she’d known Charlie was a woman who couldn’t force herself to live like a woman? To love like a woman? She was a ghost.
“Am I supposed to leave?” Charlie felt a cold spike through her chest. Something tugged at her, but she pushed it away.
“I probably ought to say yes,” Maura said. She looked down at the clock she still held. “I probably ought to want what’s best for you, and I’m sure the afterlife is best. If there is one. Chloe thinks there is.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Charlie held her breath and then wondered if it was stupid to hold her breath when she was apparently only imagining herself breathing in the first place.
Maura shook her head, but if she was trying to speak, she wasn’t succeeding.
“For the first time in my li—” Charlie cut herself off. “For the first time ever, I felt understood and accepted and wanted, after I met you. I felt—”
“Stay,” Maura finally choked out. “Please. Stay with me.” Her fingers shot out, gripping Charlie’s. “Live with me. Be with me.”
Charlie felt a pleasant rush all through her, and then looked down, even though she tightened her fingers on Maura’s. “I’m not even sure if I…how we could be together, exactly…I—”
“Just as we have been. I can still touch you.” Maura squeezed her hand gently. “I can still see you. I can still hear you. Just stay.”
Non-existent heart racing in her imaginary chest, Charlie grinned.
A is for Ad Hominem
(see also Character Assassination)
Samantha L. Strong
Bentley’s eyes twinkled as he led me toward the locked dining hall. “You know we have the keys for this?” He flipped through his ring, holding key after key up to the door before settling on one.
My stomach fluttered, as it always did when he got that look. The mischievous one. The “let me share a secret” one. The secret didn’t matter. I was starved for Bentley’s favor. I needed it, like a parched traveler needs water.
I met Bentley when we were sophomore student security officers at NBSU. I had trouble making friends in college, but he never seemed to notice my awkward pauses, when I had too much to say and none of the words to say it.
On the nights we worked together, we stayed up long past daylight hours, walking the halls of the dorms armed with flashlights and walkie-talkies, while students crammed, fucked, or drank themselves into a stupor behind closed doors. Sometimes we shirked our du
ties to huddle whispering under the rustic drawbridge connecting the Smith and York dormitories. Other days, we recounted our life stories as we passed through clouds of marijuana smoke drifting from underneath doors. I felt comfortable with him. I’d never had anyone to share my past with.
And tonight, he was sharing his after-hours dining hall kingdom with me. The lock rattled. The keys jingled. The door opened to reveal a usually bustling hub dark and silent. The juice jugs sat empty, and the cereal containers were filled to the brim. A streetlight spilled through the farthest window, bathing the entire place in yellow.
“No lights,” he whispered, disappearing through the door. His voice floated back toward me. “Only one flashlight. We don’t want to get caught.”
I knew stealing bowls of cereal at midnight was no indication of his feelings for me, but I hoped it meant something more than the comfortable friendship we’d developed. I needed him to need me.
I trailed him into the kitchen area, a thrill coursing through me.
“Did you know that a girl... died... down here?” He lifted the flashlight beam to his face. “Her ghost haunts the dining hall.”
At the corner of my eye, something white flashed, a figure darting between the tables.
“Really?” I breathed.
His lips glistened ruby and wet. “No, not really, but work with me here. Don’t you want to leave a legacy?”
I nodded. The white-clad figure huddled next to a table.
“Oh, Penelope, you’re not getting it. We can make it true. How do you think these stories start? Don’t ever tell anyone we made it up, and we’ll live on for years, immortalized down here.”
A secret with Bentley. He used the word “we.” Maybe he harbored a crush in return.
A girl could dream.
Bentley grabbed a peach and bit into it. I held in a sigh as juice ran down the corner of his mouth. Grinning, he sauntered toward the dining area. The figure disappeared before he rounded the corner.
G is for Ghosts Page 2
