“He’s fine. He just gets a little overexcited when he plays with his PlayStation. He just got a new one for Christmas.” She wondered if she should tell her that he had an imaginary friend, in case she heard him talking to Magnus, but she decided not to mention it yet.
She laid Caroline’s only long dress out on her bed, they had bought the dress when her best friend’s mother remarried in New York six months before. Sybil wanted her family to look respectable for the Butterfields that night, to make up for how unsuitably dressed they’d been the night before. She didn’t want them to think they were savages, and she hoped they’d reappear since they had invited the Gregorys to join them again that night. She hoped they’d meant it. She thought about renting tails for Blake and Andy, so they could be dressed as the Butterfield men were, but instead she took their dinner jackets out and laid them on their beds, with their cummerbunds, suspenders, dress shirts, and black satin bow ties. Andy had just gotten his first tuxedo for a deb ball he’d gone to before Christmas, for the sister of one of his friends. Sybil was sure their dinner jackets would be enough to satisfy even Augusta.
And then she dove into her own closet and came out with a black velvet dress with a big white satin ruffle and a low back. She’d had it for a year and she loved it. She had been saving it for a special occasion, and this was it. She felt a little crazy getting everything ready, and Blake looked at her in confusion when he saw his dinner jacket on the bed when he got home from the office.
“Are we going to something black tie tonight? You didn’t tell me.”
“I thought we’d dress for dinner with them tonight, so they know we’re respectable.”
“Them?”
“The Butterfields,” she said cautiously, wondering how Blake would react to wearing black tie for no special reason, and her acting as though dressing up for a family of ghosts was normal. But maybe it was for them now. She wasn’t quite sure how to react to it herself.
“Oh,” Blake said, and then sat down on their bed, next to his tuxedo. He didn’t object, he just looked confused. “Are we going to do this every night now?” He couldn’t imagine wearing a tuxedo on a daily basis, and didn’t want to, even though the previous evening with them had been fascinating and enjoyable.
“I don’t know. This is new for me too. Magnus came to play with Charlie today. They had a good time together. He said his grandmother was in a bad mood because Uncle Angus’s dog ate her embroidery.” Blake didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as he listened.
“I think I need a drink. Have we gone crazy? Are we in The Twilight Zone here? This is beginning to feel like a weird movie.” And yet when he’d been with the Butterfields it felt totally comfortable, and even pleasant. He had liked talking to Bert on a variety of subjects. Their ideas and their opinions were not so different, although times had changed radically since Bert had been a banker a hundred years before. But good economic principles still held up over time. “What if we get all dressed up and they don’t show up?”
“Then we’ll look great having pizza in the kitchen,” she said, smiling at him. “But I think they will. They invited us to dinner tonight. And we were all dressed like such a mess last night.”
“They didn’t seem to mind,” he said, seeming relaxed about it. “Except the grandmother, of course. But she probably won’t approve of us tonight either.” And then he shook his head again. “Listen to us. They’re real to us, Syb. Has everyone forgotten they’re ghosts?”
“Very real ghosts,” she reminded him. “And we happen to be living together. I was thinking about it today, when I finished Bettina’s book about the family history. There’s so much we know that they don’t, about what’s going to happen to them. It doesn’t seem fair. Why can’t we warn them?”
“Because you can’t change destiny, life isn’t fair, and they’re already dead, for whatever reason, no matter what we tell them.”
Sybil nodded and knew it was true. “They probably have more to teach us than we can teach them, even though they don’t know our future. But we can use them as examples. It’s so strange being trapped in a time warp, yet when we’re with them, it feels so right,” Sybil said as she headed for the bath to get ready for dinner.
“I hope they show up,” he called after her, as he took his dinner jacket to his dressing room, and then realized that the space had once been Bert’s. He wondered where Bert dressed now. He had looked impeccable the night before.
They were both in their evening clothes when they rounded up their children, who had grudgingly gotten dressed up for the evening to indulge their mother. Magnus had left Charlie an hour before, dazzled by playing with the PlayStation. Charlie told his mother that Magnus had been good at it, for a beginner. And they all headed to the dining room at seven-thirty, guessing it was the time for dinner. The room seemed quiet at first, as they approached it, and Blake suspected no one was there, but as they reached the door, they saw that the Butterfields were getting seated. Bert and Gwyneth smiled broadly when they saw the Gregorys and waved them into the room. Augusta examined each of them closely when they walked in, and Sybil and Blake and their children greeted her formally. Angus teased them about how respectable they looked.
“Bought some decent clothes, I see. Lovely dress,” he said to Sybil, nearly fawning over her when he saw the low back and admired her slim figure, and his sister gave him a wicked look and told him to sit down.
All the young people were delighted to see one another, and the Gregorys took the same places as the night before. Phillips bowed politely to Sybil and held her seat for her. She felt like a queen as she sat down and Bert complimented her on her dress, as Augusta made a comment about their being informally dressed for dinner. At the time, white tie and tails were the appropriate dinner dress, and black tie was considered informal, but they passed muster with everyone else.
The talk that night turned to the war in Europe, and whether or not President Wilson would allow the United States to get involved. The war had been raging in Europe for three years by then, and America had stayed out of it so far, much to everyone’s relief, and particularly Gwyneth’s.
“You must be worried about Andy too,” she said kindly. And Sybil didn’t know what to say. It was a hundred years later, and there was no risk to him. Only to Josiah.
“He’s applying to college for the fall,” Sybil said and changed the subject. He had three more weeks to apply, and then they’d have to wait till March for the results. He had applied to Princeton, Harvard, Yale, and Dartmouth. He was thinking of applying to Stanford too, but didn’t think he’d get in. Two of his friends and he had become interested in the University of Edinburgh, which was an unusual choice. Andy liked everything about it except the weather, and going to school in Europe appealed to him. Andy mentioned it at dinner and Uncle Angus heartily encouraged him.
“Wonderful school. I went there myself. Much livelier than Oxford or Cambridge. You should apply. Use my name if you like.” Andy smiled at that, and couldn’t imagine they’d remember him unless he had built the school, but decided to look at it online again that night. He was considering Oxford, but the University of Edinburgh sounded like more fun.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll read up on it again tonight,” Andy promised.
“Good lad,” Angus said, and complained that his sister hadn’t allowed his dog in the dining room, since Rupert was in disgrace for the napkins he’d destroyed.
Caroline flirted with Josiah, and Andy was extremely attentive to Lucy, who had worn a gauzy pink dress that made her look like an angel with her fair skin and pale blond curls. Blake watched his two older children carefully. However agreeable this was, he didn’t want them losing track of reality and falling in love with ghosts. He was going to mention it to Sybil later that night.
The adults enjoyed a lively conversation, and Gwyneth and Sybil got to chat for a few minutes. Gwyneth was fascinated that Sybil had studied both architecture and design, curated museum shows, and wrote articles for ne
wspapers. Blake had been bragging about her dedication during dinner, and Gwyneth was wide-eyed with admiration and in awe of Sybil’s talents. She was artistic herself, but had no real outlet for it.
“It must be so wonderful to work,” Gwyneth whispered, and her mother stepped in immediately, having overheard her.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Gwyneth. What would you want to do? Take in washing? Be a governess? Leave work to the men, and do something more useful with your time.” Augusta added that Gwyneth used to do lovely watercolors but had stopped when she had the children. And Gwyneth added modestly that they weren’t very good.
“I don’t have time,” she said to her mother.
“Nonsense, they’re old enough now. You should take it up again.” But Gwyneth was much more excited to hear about what Sybil did. She thought it remarkably brave of her, and she was impressed by the way Sybil expressed her opinions without offending anyone, and remained feminine at the same time. She thought her very modern. The two women had formed an almost instant rapport, and Gwyneth thanked her for allowing Magnus to come and play that afternoon. “He had a wonderful time,” she told her new friend, and Sybil said he was welcome whenever he wanted to visit them.
They all lingered over coffee and dessert that night, not wanting the meal to end. Gwyneth told Sybil that at formal dinners the women normally went into the drawing room at the end of the meal and left the men to their cigars. But with close friends, they no longer did. It was a practice Sybil had heard about but never seen, except in old films.
Bert said they might go to their home in Woodside soon for a few days to ride their horses. They kept them there, and he was thinking of getting a new motorcar, a Cadillac, and asked Blake’s advice about it, who admitted he knew very little about cars but would love to see it when Bert got it, and then realized he never would, because it was long gone.
“I’d love to learn to drive,” Bettina whispered to Andy, and he smiled at her.
“You should. My sister does,” he said matter-of-factly, not thinking of how rare it would be for Bettina in 1917, and considered quite racy for her as a woman.
“At sixteen?” She looked shocked. “Did you teach her?” she asked hopefully, and he didn’t want to explain about driver’s ed in school, so he said yes. Bettina didn’t go to school—she was twenty-one—but when she was younger, she had been tutored at home in languages, history, literature, and the feminine arts, such as drawing and needlework and writing poetry. Her father had said proudly at dinner that she wrote very well, and might write a book one day. She wanted to write a family history, she said, even if she didn’t publish it. It jolted Sybil to realize she had just read it.
“If she does, she’ll wind up an old maid,” her grandmother predicted. “Women do not need to write books. Men don’t like it.” She was very definite about it, although there were women authors of their day.
Eventually the time came when Phillips appeared with the tray of after-dinner drinks, and they followed him into the living room, as Blake explained to Bert the concept of the company he was running. Gwyneth and Sybil talked about their children, and the young people followed, talking and laughing, with Augusta and Angus bringing up the rear. And just as they had the night before, when they reached the living room, which Sybil had filled with flowers for them, the Butterfields disappeared and the Gregorys stood looking at one another, alone in the room. They had done it again. No one was surprised this time, and they walked slowly upstairs, talking about their new friends.
“This is really strange, Mom,” Andy said, turning to his mother on the stairs with a troubled expression. Sybil didn’t attempt to deny it.
“I know it is. Things like this happen apparently, but they’re hard to explain.” No one disagreed with her, but they had all enjoyed the evening, even more than the first one. And being appropriately dressed had made them feel more at ease.
When Blake and Sybil got to their room, he took off his dinner jacket and stared at her, as though seeing someone new. She looked exceptionally beautiful, and he hadn’t seen her in an evening gown in ages. It was very romantic.
“You look spectacular tonight,” he said, as he took her in his arms and kissed her. And Sybil smiled as he held her.
“You look very handsome too.” She had always loved seeing him in evening clothes, and thought he was very dashing.
“Maybe they have the right idea, dressing for dinner every night,” Blake said, as he unzipped her dress and she stepped out of it. He admired her body in the soft light in the room, with the moonlight coming through the window. He wanted to say how strange it was to be dining with ghosts, but the odd thing was that it didn’t feel wrong, just different. It felt right to both of them, and they were both happy in their new home and new city. But all he could think about now was his wife, whatever century they were in. It really didn’t matter to him, he loved her whatever year it was.
Chapter 6
The day after the Gregorys’ second dinner with the Butterfields turned out to be hectic. Sybil had to do errands with Caroline to buy things she needed for school, Blake needed her to do some things for him, The New York Times had called her and wanted an article on short notice, and there were details to organize for the Brooklyn show. A museum in Chicago called her about a show they were considering and wanted her to curate in November. Alicia, the housekeeper, was sick, and Sybil had to go to the supermarket, since there was nothing to eat in the house, in case the Butterfields didn’t appear that night.
She encouraged them all to dress for dinner again, but Blake couldn’t find his second tuxedo shirt, and Andy had misplaced his studs and cuff links the night before. And she realized that the dress she wanted to wear was in New York. It also occurred to her that if she had to wear an evening dress for dinner every night, she was going to run short. She didn’t have that many, and had few occasions to wear them.
“Do we really have to do this again?” Blake complained, as he put on the same shirt as the night before, after she pressed it for him. “I brought work home from the office.”
“I have work to do too,” she said, after lending a set of Blake’s cuff links to Andy. “This is fun. And I don’t want to hurt their feelings and not show up. That would be rude.”
“Sybil, they’re ghosts, for chrissake. They’re not going anywhere, and they can’t expect us to do this every night. They’ll get tired of us too.” Blake felt strongly that they needed a real life too, with living people. He had met several men he liked at work and wanted to have over for dinner.
She rushed them downstairs, and they arrived right on time. There were no sounds from the dining room, and when they reached the doorway, the room was dark, there was no fire in the grate, the table wasn’t set, and the Butterfields were not there. All of the Gregorys were unhappy as they walked into the kitchen, and Sybil scared up something to eat, grateful that she’d made it to the supermarket that day.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Magnus hadn’t come to play that afternoon either, and Charlie looked glum.
They didn’t come the next day either, and the morning after that, Sybil called Michael Stanton.
“They disappeared,” she said sadly, and described the evenings they’d spent together, and the two nights they hadn’t shown up. “Do you suppose they’ve moved out?”
He laughed at the idea. “Not likely. They’ve been in the house for over a hundred years. Spirits do that, they fade away and get weak for a while, and then they come back stronger than ever. They need to recharge. Don’t worry. They’ll be back.”
The Butterfields were gone for another week, and all of the Gregorys started to miss them. The children talked about them at dinner, and Blake said it might be for the best, although he missed Bert too. Sybil wrote her next article, but thought about them at night. And she went through the box of old photographs. They felt like old friends now. The Gregorys had gone back to eating dinner in jeans and old sweaters, moccasins, flip-flops, and bare feet. It
wasn’t elegant, but their meals in the kitchen were casual and brief, and they talked about what they did daily. They also had dinner with a couple from Blake’s office. Sybil wasn’t crazy about them, but it was a good thing to do. Andy and Caro were busy with their homework, and she and Blake were both catching up with work after dinner. Only Charlie was bored without Magnus to play with. He looked unhappy, and even Alicia noticed it with some concern.
“I think he has imaginary friend. I hear him talking to him when there’s no one in the room with him,” she said, concerned. “He no play anymore with him, though,” she reported to Sybil, and she smiled.
“Sometimes he takes a little time off.” And she realized then that that was what the Butterfields had done. They were on a time out.
They’d been gone for nine days when Sybil heard voices in Charlie’s room one afternoon after school, and wondered if he’d brought someone home. She opened the door and poked her head in, and he and Magnus were playing videogames and shrieking with delight. She laughed when she saw them and waved at Magnus. They were back, and she hoped they’d see the whole family for dinner that night.
She checked on the boys again a little later, and they were gone. She glanced out the window and didn’t see them outside, so she assumed they were somewhere on the grounds. There were a lot of places to play in the garden and around the house. She wasn’t worried about them, and she went to her office upstairs to work on her computer. It was six o’clock when she came back downstairs to her bedroom. Blake was home by then, and she had just asked him how his day was when they both heard heavy pounding in Blake’s dressing room. Blake went to see what it was, and Sybil followed him, and they both realized the sounds came from behind the wall. He opened his closets and the sound grew stronger, and then they could hear the boys calling for help from the other side of the closet wall.
“Charlie? Where are you?” his father shouted at him, as Sybil listened and could hear Magnus shouting too. They were calling out and pounding alternately, and she could hear that her son was panicked. “Where are you?” Blake said loudly next to the heavy wood paneling so they could hear him.
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