by Patti Berg
But how?
“Please, let me be your friend,” she said. “Let me help you.”
I don’t want any friends, his voice boomed, loud and angry. The walls reverberated with the sound. Go away!
“I’m not about to leave,” Elizabeth barked back, just as she would with any other man who told her what to do. “I’m not going to run away, either. This is my home. You’re the intruder, and I’m not about to sit around and let you scare the hell out of me or my friends whenever the mood strikes you.”
I haven’t frightened you! The windowpane shuddered at his booming voice.
“No?”
No! Frightened people snivel or cower in a corner.
Elizabeth laughed softly. “Maybe I haven’t sniveled or cowered, but I am afraid. I’ve never encountered a ghost before.” She took a deep breath. “Of course, it would take a whole lot more than your crazy antics to scare me away.”
Maybe I’ll try harder.
Elizabeth smiled, remembering the events earlier in the evening. “You didn’t have to try very hard to frighten Matt Winchester.”
He’s a coward. A ghostly laugh echoed through the room. Elizabeth could sense him stalk across the floor and stop suddenly. An old parasol lifted into the air, twirling around and around while tattered silk and lace fluttered about its metal frame.
Again Elizabeth felt the prickly sensation of fear on her skin. Why didn’t he show himself? But did she really want him to?
Suddenly, the parasol sailed across the room and slapped against a wall, falling, bent and broken, to the floor. Matt Winchester’s a buzzard, the voice boomed again. A thieving, lying bird of prey who’s got nothing on his mind but pecking away at your bones and eating your heart. He’s just like every Winchester who’s ever walked the streets of Sapphire.
Elizabeth fought the urge to laugh again. “I take it you don’t like him?”
I won’t be happy until every Winchester is dead or gone from this town.
“Why?” she asked. “What do you have against the Winchesters?”
One of them buried me alive, he said matter-of-factly. And I won’t rest until I get revenge.
“I don’t believe you.” Elizabeth cried out. Jon couldn’t be a murderer. Not even Matt. It wasn’t possible.
It’s true, whether you choose to believe or not. Now, go away. She heard defeat in his voice. If you have no trust, you cannot help. So, please—just leave.
“And you’ll continue to haunt this place. You’ll laugh and cry and make my life miserable?”
I will continue to do as I have always done, he said, his voice fading to a whisper. I’ll try to drive you away. I’ll make your life hell, just as mine has been. Now, go.
oOo
From her bed, Elizabeth heard dishes rattling in the kitchen. Stairs creaked. Crying rang out from the attic. She jumped at every sound as night moved closer to morning. If she wasn’t frightened, why were her nerves on edge? Lack of sleep? Tension? Or the startling realization that she was sharing her home with a disagreeable spirit, a being that was living up to its threat of making her life a living hell?
She pounded her fist into her pillow, buried her head deep into its softness, and tried to sleep.
A loud scraping noise made her crack open an eye just in time to see her nightstand slide across the floor.
Elizabeth wrapped the pillow around her head and tried to drown out the noise.
Lights flicked off and on.
She squeezed her eyes tighter.
Something tickled her nose, but when she opened her eyes, nothing was there. She closed her eyes again and dozed.
Bzzzzz.
It tickled her nose again. A fly? she wondered. Elizabeth swatted thin air.
Bzzzzz.
Her eyes popped open.
Bzzzzz.
No fly. No bee. No sleep!
Deep laughter filled her room. Fooled you, didn’t I?
“Go away.”
I believe I said the same thing to you, yet you’re still here.
“Yes, but I have nowhere else to go.”
Maybe. But at least you have the option. He sighed deeply. I have no choice. I cannot leave.
Elizabeth heard light footsteps across the floor, then all was quiet. I cannot leave, he’d said, and once more she wondered what she could possibly do to help.
oOo
The loud, incessant knocking woke Elizabeth from the deep, sound sleep she somehow fallen into.
“Go away.”
She buried her head deeper beneath the comforter.
Knock. Knock.
Groaning, Elizabeth peered out from under the blanket and peeked at the clock. Seven forty-five. “Oh, heavens!” She never slept that late.
She pushed out of bed and wrapped up tightly in her robe. “This had better not be another trick,” she muttered, as she crept downstairs.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” She padded across the floor and pulled open the door. No one was there, only the most glorious blue-skied day she’d seen in years. Snow sparkled on rooftops and on the ground, and for the first time, she didn’t seem to mind the cold, or the fact that her companion had tricked her once again. This place must be growing on me, she thought.
But when she turned around, her mood shifted from good to not too thrilled. Picture frames hung helter-skelter on the walls in the parlor. Furniture had been pushed to the center of the room and stacked like a pyramid. And high above the melee was a red satin bra, draped casually over the brass rungs of the chandelier.
Elizabeth shook her head and headed for the kitchen and coffee. Good, strong coffee.
She pushed through the swinging door, half expecting to find the kitchen flooded or gutted by fire, but this morning she was lucky. “Thank you,” she whispered to anything that might be within earshot.
Still half asleep, she filled a mug with yesterday’s coffee and popped it into the microwave she’d purchased on a trip into town. It wouldn’t taste great, but it would be fast—and she needed a jolt of something strong to get her going. She crossed the room, pulled open the refrigerator door and a dozen eggs crashed to the floor. She closed the door again and leaned against it, eyes closed, and wondered what could possibly happen next.
With another deep sigh and a halfhearted laugh, Elizabeth began the nearly impossible task of cleaning raw eggs from the hardwood floor.
She was just taking a sip of coffee when footsteps sounded behind her. “Oh, please!” Her exasperation exploded in a huff. “Must you bother me this morning?”
“I don’t have to, but I’m going to do it anyway.”
She spun around. It wasn’t the ghost this time. Jon stood behind her, arms folded across his chest. “I couldn’t miss the mess in the parlor. Matt didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Do you really care?”
He reached out and touched her cheek. Dark circles pooled under her reddened, tired eyes, and he felt the need to gather her into his arms and comfort her. “I care. I was an ass last night. You have every right to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I don’t dislike you, either. The problem is, you don’t trust me. Maybe you have reason. The more time I spend with Matt, the more I realize why he’s so despised. I don’t want to be his partner, Jon. I don’t want anything to do with him.”
He drew her into his arms, holding her close, his hand smoothing the long, silky lengths of her hair. “You didn’t answer my question, Elizabeth. Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No. He didn’t make that mess, either.” She pulled away and ran her fingers through her hair. “I drank too much last night. I was mad at Matt, and I was even madder at you. I just started throwing things.”
Jon couldn’t help but smile. Her explanation sounded fabricated, but he hated to think about what might have really caused the mess. Had the ghost been playing tricks? If so, did she know the ghost existed? Unfortunately, he couldn’t ask. People had thought he was crazy once.
He didn’t want to go through that again.
“Y’know, I hear a punching bag does wonders for aggression.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“If I can withstand a two-by-four, I think I can stand up to whatever you feel like dishing out,”
She laughed. ‘No, I don’t want to hit you. I just want to go upstairs and get cleaned up.”
“Good. I’ll straighten up the parlor, and when you come down, I’m taking you out of here.”
“Why?”
“For starters, we need to talk. Second, you’ve been cooped up in this place too long, and you need a change of scenery.”
“Where do you plan on taking me?”
He smoothed his fingers over her cheek and looked deep into her sparkling amber eyes.
“Have you been to heaven lately?”
oOo
An eagle soared across the blue horizon, its wings spread wide as it circled the snow-covered meadow. On the ground, a cottontail peeked out from under a sheltering shrub and cautiously hopped out into the open. Its winter-white fur blended with the snow, a perfect camouflage, except for its telltale shadow.
Jon stood a short distance from the place where Elizabeth sat and pointed toward the eagle. It was hovering now, watching, waiting. Suddenly it swooped toward the ground, talons extended, and the rabbit ran, snaking out a zigzag pattern across the snow, dodging the raptor’s claws at the very last second and diving into its hole.
Not one heartbeat was skipped as the eagle climbed back into the sky, coming to rest on the top branch of a naked birch. It tucked its wings into its sides and sat there, stately and serene, the master of its surroundings, with its head erect, and alert.
They’d driven nearly half an hour on unplowed and rugged roads and hiked for another fifteen minutes to reach the spot where she sat on a blanket Jon had spread out over a fallen log. Before her, a narrow stream of water could be seen in the center of the ice-and snow-blanketed river, and the sun beat down, slowly melting away the cover of winter. All was quiet except the trickle of water, the call of a bird somewhere far away, and the lightness of her breathing.
“It’s beautiful,” Elizabeth said, watching Jon as he knelt down to touch animal prints in the new-fallen snow. “I think I could take up permanent residence here.”
“It’s a little primitive,” he said, looking at her over his shoulder.
“Try bedding down in mud with a three-thousand square foot house collapsed on top of you.” She laughed. “After living in not much more than a coffin with only spiders and dirt to keep me company for three days, nothing bothers me.”
Jon stood slowly and moved toward her, stroking away a wisp of hair the light breeze has blown across her cheek. “Feel like talking about it now?”
“I never feel good talking about it. I talked about it with a psychiatrist till I was blue in the face.”
“I know all about psychiatrists,” Jon said, surprising her. But he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he swung a leg over the log, clasped her shoulders gently to turn her around, and pulled her comfortably into the warmth of his chest. He wrapped her in his embrace and rested his cheek against her cheek. “Psychiatrists give you a box of Kleenex and ask you questions. Rarely do they give you any answers.”
Jon’s words brought back memories of a cold, unsympathetic voice that didn’t believe. “They tell you your imagination’s run wild,” Elizabeth said.
Jon laughed. “Mine said the same thing.” He pulled off his gloves and dropped them into her lap. Slowly he released the top few buttons on her coat and pulled it down around her arms. She didn’t even feel the cool air through the light sweater she wore underneath her jacket; all she felt were his hands, his fingers, as they brushed her hair to one side and gently, warmly kneaded the muscles of her neck, her shoulders, and her spine. “You’re tense as hell, Ellie,” he said, continuing the gentle rhythm. “Close your eyes and relax.”
It was easy to follow his directions. It was easy to give her body over to the tenderness of his touch. And he called her “Ellie.” He’d called her that once before and she’d lashed out at him, but this time she didn’t mind. She’d always been “Elizabeth” or “Liz.” Never “Ellie.” She liked it, though. It sounded more like an endearment than a name.
“What did they tell you was in your imagination?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper in her ear.
No one had believed her before, but for some reason she felt Jon would believe. He might even understand. “They said I was only hearing voices. They said when you’re in pain or under stress you dream up companions, someone to keep you company. But I wasn’t dreaming.”
In slow, circular motions his fingers caressed the tops of her arms as he drew the coat around her again. But his fingers didn’t leave, moving casually over the curve of her throat, her ears, to her temples, and again he began to massage, very slowly, very gently. “Who did you talk to when you were in pain?” he asked.
She answered without fear of his response. “God. I’d prayed to Him when the roof caved in and while my house and my bed slid down the hill. I prayed to Him when the center beam of the house hit my chest, when the plaster fell on me, and the shingles. I prayed even harder when the rain started falling and the mud slid over me. All day, all night, when I wasn’t screaming for help, I prayed. And then I lost my voice and I couldn’t scream any longer. I thought I heard voices. I thought someone might have come looking for me. But I was all alone, until He came and kept me company. I hadn’t been much of a believer before that, but it didn’t seem to matter. I made so many promises before they found me, so many promises while I prayed. And then He told me I’d be safe, and not to worry, and He stayed with me for three days and three nights, until the rescuers came.”
The gentle massaging over her temples ceased, and for one moment Elizabeth was afraid he might not have believed her, until she leaned forward and tilted her head to look into smiling eyes. He pulled her back, wrapping her once more in his embrace. “I’m glad He was there with you,” he said. “I’m glad you weren’t alone, or afraid.”
She put her hands over his and watched the eagle swoop down once more from its perch, then soar high above in the sky.
“I always imagined if God wanted to visit you, He’d do it in a place like this,” Elizabeth said. “Do you think heaven looks this way?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
He pulled on his gloves and rose from the log, standing just a short way from her, looking down at the stream, at the blue sky overhead. Elizabeth watched his profile as he talked about the mountains, the valleys, and the animals he studied. Slowly he turned, looking into her face with those sapphire eyes that rivaled the most beautiful gems. “I’ve always liked coming out here alone,” he said. “Never found anyone I wanted to share it with—” The gems caught fire, blazing in the intensity of his stare. “Until you.”
Elizabeth could barely breathe. “Me?”
“Yes. You.” He didn’t walk toward her. He didn’t try to kiss her, but Elizabeth felt something powerful building up behind his strong countenance, and she knew when that kiss finally came, it would curl her toes and maybe her hair.
He reached for her then, and she took his hand. “Come on. I want to show you something.” They hiked at least another five minutes through knee-deep snow. Trees grew dense, their heavy, snow-laden boughs blocking most of the sun. Finally Jon stopped, leaned against a tree, and pulled Elizabeth’s back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and even through the heavy lamb’s wool of his coat she could feel the rapid beat of his heart.
“Look up there, just under the ridge,” he said, pointing to an outcropping of rock. “The den I was watching is behind all that snow. I used to watch the cubs play around that log where we were sitting and catch fish in the stream.”
Elizabeth could see it vividly—the mother, her babies—and now only one remained. “What about the second cub?” she asked. “Can she live on her own?”
> She felt the shrug of Jon’s shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s been nearly three weeks and there hasn’t been any trace of her. It’s possible the poacher butchered her, too, maybe dumped the remains somewhere else.”
“Does it happen often?”
“Too often.”
“Matt says you’re a little fanatical when it comes to the animals around here.”
Jon laughed cynically. “He does, does he?”
Elizabeth nodded. “He says the people in town get tired of your environmentalist stance.”
“I don’t consider myself a fanatic. Matt might; there might be a few others in town who feel that way, too; but most of the population sides with me. Hunting’s one thing, poaching’s another. Get a permit, hunt your limit, dress down the animal, and haul your meat away. That’s fine with me. Senseless butchering doesn’t fit into that picture.”
Elizabeth turned around in the warmth of his arms and looked into his eyes. “Have you always felt this way?”
“My grandfather and I used to hike all over these hills together. He’d tell me Indian legends and tales about the mountain men. He was a walking book of knowledge and a big-time environmentalist. I thought he walked on water and would have believed anything he put into my head.”
“Must have been nice to have someone care for you that way.”
“Oh, we had our problems. I rebelled a time or two, and I’m sure I wasn’t an easy kid to raise. Matt’s not the only one I punched. In fact, one time I even smacked his dad.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You’re joking, of course?”
“No. My uncle and Matt dragged me along on a hunting trip once, stuck a rifle in my hands, and made me get a deer in my sight. I was eight years old and scared to death, but Matt’s dad wrapped his arms around me, held my finger to that trigger, and made me pull. He stood over me while I skinned it, carved out the meat, then took my picture holding the antlers. It was a five-pointer. I had tears in my eyes, and when he laughed at me, I took a swing. After that, I never went hunting again.”