by Terri Reid
Mary was still laughing as she crossed the street to Maybelle’s house. She jogged up the stairs and was disappointed and a little hesitant when the door didn’t open for her. She stood in front of the door deciding what she wanted to do. “Maybelle is probably in another part of the house,” she reasoned softly. “I mean, really, where would she go?”
She pulled the key out of her pocket and inserted it into the door. The key stuck a little, and she had to pull on the door handle to get the lock to move. But it did move, and Mary pushed the door open and walked inside.
The front hallway was dark, and Mary felt chills up her spine. She stepped forward, and the door closed behind her with a solid thump. Her heart in her throat, she jumped around, but nothing was there. "Maybelle," her voice came out in a pathetic squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Maybelle."
She was proud of herself that her voice was a little stronger, but she didn’t like the way she was feeling. Like someone was watching her.
She clicked on the flashlight and shone it around the hall, making sure to keep its beam down low enough so it couldn't be seen through the windows. She started toward the dining room but caught a movement out of the corner of her eye in the parlor to her right. She turned and walked in that direction. "Maybelle," she called out. "Are you in here."
She entered the room, the room Maybelle had steered her away from the last time she was there, and slowly looked around. The temperature in the room seemed colder than the hall and Mary felt a distinct chill. She reached for a light switch and flicked it up, at this point not caring if anyone saw she was in the house. But, the power didn’t cooperate, and the room remained dark.
“Okay, Mary, this is silly,” she said aloud. “You have been dealing with ghosts for several years now. This is no different.”
The door on the side wall of the parlor opened by itself and Mary swallowed audibly.
“Except I could see them and know what they wanted,” she reminded herself.
She looked at the open door and could see that it led into a dark room. Then she turned and looked at the hall behind her. “Is Mary O’Reilly afraid of ghosts?” she asked herself.
The door opened wider and slammed into the wall of the other room.
She nodded. “Yes. Yes, she is,” she whispered. But she forced herself to walk into the dark room ahead of her, her heart thundering in her chest.
Chapter Fifteen
“Boo!”
Mary screamed and dropped her flashlight, plunging the room into darkness.
“Okay, that was not the move of a seasoned private investigator.”
“Mike?” Mary said, anger and relief coursing through her veins. “Are you kidding me? This was not funny!”
The flashlight hovered in the air towards Mary. She grabbed it and turned it on Mike’s translucent figure.
She could see that he was trying not to laugh and not succeeding very well. “Really, you scared me to death,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he replied, his mouth twitching slightly. “I didn’t mean to scare you that badly.”
She released a long sigh of relief and shook her head. “Okay, so now you’ve had your little fun,” she said. “Why are you here?”
“Bradley was worried,” he said. “So, I came over.”
“Bradley was worried,” she said. “So you decided to hide in the dark and scare me?”
He shrugged. “I’m sure that wasn’t Bradley’s intent when he sent me over,” he admitted. “I just saw you standing in the middle of the room, staring at the open door…”
“Wait,” she interrupted. “You didn’t open this door?”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “I just got here a few moments ago.”
“So, you didn’t close the front door behind me?” she asked.
“Mary, you’re starting to creep me out,” he said, looking around.
“I thought you could see spirits,” Mary replied. “Why are you creeped out?”
“Since I’ve been delegated to guardian angel status for Mikey,” he explained. “I don’t have those abilities anymore.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “So, you came over here to what?” she asked. “Be scared with me?”
The door to the room suddenly slammed closed, and they both jumped.
“Guess so,” Mike replied with a shaky voice as he looked around the room in fear. “Really scared.”
Shaking her head, Mary looked at Mike and felt some of the fear dissipate. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed slightly hysterical. “I can’t believe this,” she said, laughing. “What a pair we make. Ex-ghost hunter and her companion, the fallen angel, shaking with fear in the middle of a dark room.”
“Hey, I’m not fallen,” Mike replied, insulted by her implication. “I’ve just been reassigned. Big difference.”
“Okay, reassigned angel,” she said with a chuckle. She took a deep breath and shone her flashlight slowly around the room.
Three walls were nearly all covered with floor to ceiling bookcases, and there was a lovely fireplace set on the fourth wall. A large desk sat in one corner, with an old leather chair behind it and two smaller, upholstered chairs in front of it.
“This must have been his office,” Mary said.
“Whose?” Mike asked.
“Maybelle’s father,” she said. “Aloysius Finders.”
"Really? His name was Aloysius?" Mike said. "He gets the prize for cool names."
A book flew off the shelf and onto the floor. Mary walked over and picked it up; it was a leather-bound copy of Charles Dicken’s “A Christmas Carol.”
"And he also gets the prize for being a heartless thief," Mary replied, putting the book back in place. “I’m sure that the ghost in this room is probably one of the people he destroyed with his greed.”
She paused and tried to connect with whoever else was in the room, but she could only feel there was a presence, nothing specific at all.
"This is hard without my gift," she said. "I hope by following up on the files, I can help this ghost cross over."
Mike nodded. “Well, let me see what I can do about that,” he said. “This is more than just Maybelle being tied to this house.”
“And we won’t know how much more unless I can see things again,” she agreed.
Chapter Sixteen
They walked out of the darkened room and back into the parlor. Mary still felt a weird vibration in this room too. “I wonder if this was Aloysius’ waiting room?” she mused as she walked toward the door. “Where he made those poor people sit and wait while he hid their money?”
“Makes sense,” Mike said. “A lot of these old houses were used for business as well as family living. A lot of doctors used to have a set-up like this.”
“Really?” Mary asked. “They’d see people in their homes?”
“Not only see people,” Mike said. “But they often had separate rooms set aside for waiting rooms, offices areas and even surgery.”
“I wonder what the ghosts are like in those houses,” Mary said. “Surgery gone wrong ghosts.” She shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Well, financing gone wrong isn’t anything to sneeze at,” he said, glancing around the room, “if what we’re feeling is an example.”
The door to the office closed behind them and they both jumped again. Mary turned to the doorway, placed her hands on her hips and took a deep breath. “I know that you are trying to get our attention,” she said. “And I’m sorry that I don’t have the ability to communicate with you. But I really do want to help.”
Mary felt like she heard a soft sigh in her ear and she shivered.
“Okay, well, good,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “So, right now I’m working on the Elmer and Mabel Johnson file. If that’s not you, I’ll be getting to your files as soon as I can.”
She turned to Mike. “Would ghosts know about their descendants?” she asked.
He smiled at her an
d cocked his head to the side. “Mary, if Mikey or Clarissa had kids, would you know about them?” he asked. “Even if you had passed away?”
“Of course,” she said. “Just because…”
She stopped and nodded. “Okay, I understand,” she said.
Turning back to the door she continued. “If you know Elmer or Mabel, can you send a message to them from me? I’ve got to find their other grandchildren. Not Elmer Junior’s children and descendants, but Michael Henry’s son and his children, if he had any.”
“The farm.”
The hairs stood up on the back on Mary’s neck. “Did you hear that?” she whispered to Mike.
“I may be dead, but I’m not deaf,” he replied softly. “Yeah, I heard it and it was incredibly creepy.” He paused for a moment. “So, what form?”
“What do you mean, what form?” Mary asked.
“The voice. It said the form,” he replied.
She shook her head. “No, it said the farm,” Mary replied. “The farm. You know, like Old McDonald had a…”
“No, I’m sure it was form,” he argued.
“The FARM!”
Mike nodded, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Okay then,” he said, stepping back away from the closed door. “Sorry about that.”
He glanced over at Mary. “You were right,” he whispered.
“I know,” she replied. “Now we just have to figure out which farm they’re talking about.”
“What do you mean which farm?” he asked. “How many farms did Elmer and Mabel own?”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Well, there is the farm that they lost because of Aloysius,” she said. “And then there’s the Poor Farm where they might have ended up. And then there could be farms that their kids or grandkids bought.”
“If either Mabel or Elmer is the whispering ghost in this room,” Mike said. “I think the farm they would be talking about is their old farm. I think that needs to be our first stop.”
“Our stop?” she asked.
He grinned sheepishly. “Well, yeah, Mary,” he said. “You do need protection, you know.”
Chapter Seventeen
Henry Carmichael sat at the gray Formica kitchen table, his elbows on the table and his head cradled in his hands. The old wall clock clicked as each second passed, a constant reminder that Henry’s time on the farm had run out. He lifted his head and glanced up at the framed black and white photo of his grandparents in front of the farmhouse. They usually looked pleased, surrounded by their oak frame in the room where family always gathered. But today, for some reason, as they looked down at him from their place of honor between the refrigerator and the pie safe, he felt their faces were filled with disappointment.
“I just couldn’t do it,” he whispered sadly to them. “I tried. I really did. But there were just too many things beyond repair. I’m so sorry.”
“So sorry for what?” Maisy asked, coming in through the kitchen door.
Henry turned towards her and, seeing his face, she immediately put down her bag and hurried over to him. Pulling up a chair next to him, she took him in her arms and just held him. “What?” she asked tenderly.
“I can’t,” his voice broke, and he took a deep breath. “I can’t do it. I can’t save this farm. It’s too much.”
“What happened?” she asked again.
“The milk cooler,” he said sadly. “It’s not just the motor; it’s the whole unit. We’re talking thousands of dollars.”
“And without a cooler…” she began.
“We can’t sell milk,” he said. “It’s as simple as that.”
They sat quietly, holding each other, the ticking clock the only noise in the room for several long moments. Finally, he sighed and sat back. He gently brushed her hair from her forehead and kissed her. “Thank you,” he said. “You gave me a chance.”
“There has to be something we can do,” she said. “How about the bank?”
He shook his head. “I called them,” he said. “We’re too far extended.” He laughed bitterly. “We’re a bad risk.”
“My parents,” she suggested.
He placed his fingers gently against her lips. “No,” he said. “Although I truly appreciate your offering, we don’t have enough money to continue to make this work. I’m in way over my head.”
“You’ve worked so hard,” Maisy said. “You did the best you could.”
He glanced up at the photo and shook his head. “It just wasn’t enough,” he said.
He stood up and walked to the back door, slipping on his chore coat. “I’ve got to go down and milk the cows,” he said, trying to summon a smile. “I’ll say hi to the ladies for you.”
“I love you, Henry Carmichael,” she said. “And no matter what you think, I know that Elmer and Mabel would be proud of you too. They understood how hard it was. They lost the farm during the Depression.”
He sighed. “I just wanted to get it back for them, you know,” he said. “Give them back their legacy.”
“You did,” she replied. “You made them proud.”
He nodded, not convinced, but just to appease her. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he said. He picked up his stocking cap and pulled it over his head. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
The wind was cold and bitter as he walked across the now frozen slush and made his way to the barn. The cows were all lined up, waiting for their turns in the milking stands and their allotment of grain.
He let the first one into the barn, into the milking stanchion and closed the gate behind her. Then he wiped her teats with a warm antiseptic cloth and attached the milkers. “Well, Ella,” he said. “Looks like we’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”
She lifted her head from the grain bucket and turned to him with a loud “Moo.”
He nodded. “Yeah, you knew it was too good to be true,” he said, patting her haunch. “But I promise to find you a good home, where they’ll take good care of you.”
Contented, she turned her head back toward the grain bucket and munched away. He watched her for another moment and stroked her back once more. “I’m going to miss you, Ella,” he said, sniffing back a tear. “Okay, back to work.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Mary!”
The scream echoed through the house the next morning and Mary dropped the clean laundry she was carrying into Clarissa’s bedroom and rushed down the hall.
“What’s wrong?” she exclaimed as she ran into her bedroom.
She stopped at the door and stared in astonishment. Bradley’s white uniform shirt, his hands, and part of his face was covered with a mustard-yellow gooey substance. He turned to her in wide-eyed shock.
“It was like a power sprayer,” he said. “I think he might have reached all the way across the room.”
She bit her lower lip to stop the laughter, but it didn’t help.
“Um, did you…” she tried to speak, but she just couldn’t. Laughter burst from her, and she leaned against the doorjamb, helpless to do anything to help him.
“A little help would be appreciated,” Bradley said, not as amused as Mary.
“Sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes. “But, you know, he’s probably not loaded anymore.”
And even though she knew her joke was lame, it seemed like the funniest thing in the world for several more moments.
“Mary,” Bradley said.
She wiped her sleeve across her eyes, took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, sorry, I’m ready to help,” she said. Then she stopped and looked at Bradley. “What would you like me to do?”
“It’s slowly dripping towards my mouth,” he said, keeping his lips as tight as possible. “A towel would be nice.”
“Of course,” she said, jogging to the bathroom and trying not to giggle.
She grabbed an old towel from the cabinet and reached up to wipe the baby poop off his face. It wasn’t easy to get off. “This stuff is like glue,” she said, as she rubbed harder.
“Mary,” Bradley interrupted.
Sh
e rubbed harder. “I can almost get it…”
“Mary,” he said, a little louder.
“Just another second,” she said, trying to wipe it sideways.
He grabbed on to the towel. “I’ll take the towel and go into the bathroom,” he said. “If you would finish changing Mikey?”
She nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Of course,” she said. “Great idea. You go and wash up.”
Turning to Mikey on the changing table, she waited until the bathroom door closed before she started laughing again. “Oh, wow, Mikey, what a powerful pooper you are,” she said to the smiling baby. “Did Daddy forget the extra diaper rule? I think he did.”
She wiped the small amount of mess from the baby’s bottom and pulled out a fresh diaper. “Will Daddy forget that rule ever, ever again?” she asked the baby. “I don’t think so.”
Tossing the soiled diaper into the diaper pail, Mary dressed Mikey. The warm, flannel sleeper was light blue with little clouds and lambs on it. “You look so adorable,” she said, picking up the baby and cuddling him. “And you are so soft.”
She heard the bathroom door open and smiled. “Who’s got a big boy sphincter? Mikey does.”
“Funny, Mary,” Bradley said. “Very funny.”
Cuddling Mikey to her, she walked across the room to her husband, wearing only a towel. She lifted an eyebrow at his attire. “Look at your sexy Daddy, Mikey,” she said.
He shook his head. “I had baby poop on my underwear,” he said, shaking his head. “How does that happen?”
“We should Google it,” Mary replied as straight-faced as she could.
“Mary,” he said.
“Yes, Bradley,” she replied.
“Shut up.”
She snorted and then cuddled Mikey closer to her, covering his ears. “Bradley, such language. We don’t want Mikey to hear us using the “s” word.”
He shook his head. “This wasn’t funny,” he said.
“You’re right,” she replied, biting her lip again. “It wasn’t funny in the least.”
“Good,” he said. “At least we have that settled. I’ll be down in a minute. I have to change.”