by Vered Ehsani
The days following Prof. Runal’s visit witnessed a flurry of activity the Steward residence had not experienced since the time Bobby released a bucketful of frogs into the kitchen. At least this time, we weren’t chasing amphibians around the chinaware. We were, however, having a challenge in selecting what to pack.
“But surely I can’t be expected to abandon my lovely furniture,” Lilly wailed one morning.
“My dear, we will be provided furnished accommodations,” Mr. Steward reassured us all. “A very generous position, indeed.”
Lilly sobbed. Mrs. Steward slurped her tea angrily, and I marveled that she hadn’t yet bit through the cup. Bobby, who had been avidly watching his parents argue over furniture and the sheer stupidity required to lose all one’s investments, jumped up and announced, “I’m going to hunt lions.”
Mr. Steward leaped up just as rapidly, and restated with a false confidence, “We’ll be furnished with a very generous position, you’ll see.” He retreated into his study and closed the door firmly.
It was left to the ladies of the household to make the packing arrangements since all the servants had been let go. Mrs. Steward reminded us with a sniff, “We are, after all, Household Generals. Which reminds me: where is the book? We would be amiss if we failed to pack that most informative masterpiece in domestic literature.”
There was only one book to which she could be referring, a rather obnoxious little volume in which a good housewife is anointed with the lofty title of Household General. I had rather hoped to conveniently forget to pack Mrs. Isabella Beeton’s Book of Household Management.
Gideon chose that precise moment to float through a wall and into the room. I’d lost track of the number of times I’d requested him to use the doorway like any civilized person. But it appears that death not only deprives one of a body, but also of a sense of decorum. It was appalling, really. What was a widow to do?
He tilted his head to one side, a brown lock of hair obscuring one twinkling, light-brown eye as he gestured to the trunk.
“Why not pack her in there as well?” he whispered. “That way, you can enjoy the trip.”
I didn’t dare respond and tried my utmost to ignore him, but I couldn’t prevent my betraying lips from smirking slightly.
“It’s nothing to smile about, Bee,” Mrs. Steward said, her voice rising into a shrill whistle. “Nothing at all. It’s a disaster. This whole affair is a complete and utter disaster of a magnitude that I… I just can’t handle this.”
She tossed a piece of silverware into the trunk and stomped out of the room as best as one can stomp in an ankle-length dress and high-heeled slippers. With a sniff, Lilly followed.
“So are you packing yourself in here as well, Gideon?” I asked.
“Personally, I’d prefer to stay here,” he said in his whispery voice.
“Alone? You’d be miserable,” I scoffed.
He snickered. “Better miserably dead in England than happily haunting in Africa.”
“Come now, it won’t be so bad,” I said, more to reassure myself than him.
What would I do if he chose not to come? Who would make me smile when there was nothing to smile about? Who would sing me to sleep each night and keep away the nightmares?
He floated up behind me and whispered into my ear, “Don’t worry, love. I won’t leave you alone to battle the lions.”
“Yes, however would I manage without you?” I retorted.
“Good thing you don’t have to,” he said and grinned.
Such a handsome, beguiling smile. I believe I married him for that smile. Of course, this isn’t exactly a sound basis for marriage, even if it seemed like a marvelous idea at the time.
Gideon sunk into the trunk, his head sticking out of a hatbox. He stared up at me, making a funny face. “Be a dear and pack my journal, will you?” he asked in his whispery voice, the sound barely louder than a rustle of air through my hair.
“Pack it yourself,” I said, but he was already gone.
It really was inconvenient being married to a ghost.
Chapter 7