Dancing Ladies

by Marilyn Gardiner

  His mouth stretched in a little, lopsided grin. “But neither of our horns blew and nothing fell off the walls. We're making progress."

  "Is that what we're doing?"

  "Among other things.” He drew a long breath. “I'll wait until I hear the locks go. And the chain. Don't forget the chain."

  "I won't."

  "And you will call if Leah pays a visit. Right?

  "Yes. I will. Promise."

  "Maybe I should just stay."

  "No. I'll be fine. You kissed me just now and nothing happened."

  He grinned. “I wouldn't say that. Something happened all right."

  "Go on. Git. You're bad."

  "I'm on my way. Lock the door."

  "Yes. I will. Bye."

  "Bye, Baby."

  He waited until he heard the bolts run home before he left the porch. There was no sound from Max's bedroom and Kate let Babe out the back long enough to take care of his business. She found she was trembling a bit as she waited for Babe. It had just been so very long since she'd been close to a man as vital and compelling, as caring, as Cass. That was it. Only human for her to feel ... feelings. That old primal pull between male and female. The desire was as old as Adam and Eve. And she definitely wasn't immune. It might not have been wise, but there it was.

  But when I am with him, I'm happy, she argued. What more did she want? Somehow, over the month, throughout all the trouble, she'd found someone in whose presence she was content and trustful enough to relax and feel happiness.

  He made her happy!

  The feeling had sneaked up on her so gradually she hardly knew what to make of it. She'd so conditioned herself to betrayal by Huey that she'd been blind to something good when it happened. She'd come near to blowing it. How could she have been so shortsighted?

  Babe appeared at her feet, wagging his tail, anxious to get inside and go upstairs to find Max. She let him in and then she, too, started up the stairs, replete and smiling, tired yet basking in the glow from the long and peaceful, contented day.

  At the landing where the stairs curled to the left, she stopped. There was the familiar giggle from behind her shoulder. Thinking no, no, not again, she turned slightly and her eyes went automatically to the small window.

  A figure was etched there. The same figure from last night. Leah. Only this time the power was on. The stairway was clearly lighted. Kate saw her sister as before in long flowing robes and pointing.

  Had she been there all day and Kate hadn't noticed? Surely not. She would have seen. Her heart kicked into high gear. Leah again. How could she be in the same place, dressed the same, pointing the same—again?

  Hesitantly, Kate stretched out a finger. Her voice was weary. “Leah, let me have some happiness. He's a nice man. A friend. Please, just let us alone.” She wondered, even as she said it, if she was being entirely truthful. What she felt was a bit more than friendly.

  Despite the warm summer evening, the window was icy cold. So cold it almost hurt her skin to remain in contact. She drew her finger across the bottom of the figure, the feet and the robe. There was a defined indention. Up toward the waist and higher. Every line of the figure felt to be etched into the glass. Leah's head and ... Kate's finger stopped before she traced the outstretched, pointing arm.

  Her hand was almost numb from the cold before she withdrew it, but the cold seemed to follow. She was engulfed in a wintry whirl of chilly draft. She shuddered.

  "Leah?” she asked in a mere whisper of sound. “Leah, what do you want? You know how sorry I am for what happened. If I could, I'd undo it and relive that whole afternoon. But I can't. What do you want of me now?"

  The figure didn't change, but the voice came again. No giggle. It seemed to swirl around Kate, engulfing her in its whispery essence. Hair on the back of her neck sprang erect as if electrified by a shock.

  " ... careful, Katey. Careful, Katey-did. Careful ... ” It faded into nothingness while Kate's ears strained to hear more.

  Be careful? Was it a warning or a threat? Chill bumps broke out on Kate's arms and a hard core of fear solidified in her breast.

  Careful of what?

  Seven

  Jewel Box ‘Dark Waters'

  Miniature, with five-inch scarlet blossoms and yellow throat. Slender blossom with delicate wand-like tentacles. Sophrolaeliocattleya. Mini-Cattleya type Mericlone.

  Morning dawned hot and cloudless. Kate awakened slowly. The air conditioner seemed to be having difficulty keeping up; the sheet clung to her body. She squinted her eyes against an irritating noise and frowned. It was a moment before she could identify the sound echoing in her head. She groaned. A woodpecker pounded out a solid beat on the eave.

  "Go away!” she shouted at the window, not expecting a response and not getting one. The rat-a-tat-tat went on.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. She couldn't go on like this. Nights when she hardly dared let herself drift into sleep and days consumed with wondering where Leah would appear next and in what form. She was beginning to dread the fall of darkness, fearing what the night would bring.

  Thankfully her fears for Max's well being were dissipating as night after night rolled by and he slept peacefully, undisturbed by any nocturnal antics of his lovely but unpredictable Aunt Leah. Other than that first day, he had never once mentioned seeing or hearing anything odd or different. And, not wanting to put ideas into his head, Kate hadn't asked.

  He was settling in so nicely, seemed happily content with their lives as they were shaping up in Winsom, that Kate rejoiced yet again that—apart from Leah—she had made the right decision to move. If she could just ignore her sister. Impossible. If she could just put Leah in some sort of perspective where these unearthly manifestations didn't rattle her so. That was impossible, too. Somehow, she had to find a way to dilute Leah's impact on her life. The alternative was to check herself into the psych ward at the nearest hospital.

  She slammed the door on the thought. No matter what, she couldn't allow herself to get to the point where a psych ward was a possibility. The thought had begun in jest, but she stopped short, realizing it wasn't a laughing matter. Ghosts didn't exist in real life. They just didn't! Was there really something wrong with her? She'd discussed with Cass reading that some people were “sensitives,” but had not seriously thought of herself in those terms. But was she? She couldn't remember what Cass's reaction had been. What he'd said. Had he given the idea any credence?

  Moments spent with him, developing their friendship—and that was all she would call it—were small, bright blessings scattered though some not-so-bright days and nights. He called frequently at night and the more they talked, the more it seemed they found to talk about. The friendship was deepening, in spite of her trepidation, and in an odd way was becoming a comfort. She found herself looking forward to those late-night conversations. They were friends. Like Bree was a friend. Like Spence.

  Spence! She'd almost forgotten, tomorrow was the night she and Max were going for Mexican food with Spence. It wasn't a date. Not a real date. You didn't formally date a friend. She said it out loud, “Both Cass and Spence are casual acquaintances.” For heaven's sake, she was taking Max along. Forget Cass's kiss on the porch that had melted her bones like hot wax—as if she could forget—she wouldn't allow it to be more than friendship.

  She'd built up a huge distrust of men during the Huey years. She was smart enough to know she'd better not forget the lessons of hard core experience.

  Men, as husbands, were not to be trusted. Huey had insisted on living in the high rent district of Winnetka, but he couldn't keep a job, and they were always poor. The electricity had been turned off more often than she cared to remember, and she'd been the one who had to take the money in late and stand before the careful, expressionless faces of clerks who knew she and Huey were deadbeats. And that was when he'd had a job.

  Huey was the original three-month-thirty-day man. He'd work
a job for three months and just when he was eligible for insurance and other benefits, he'd take offense at something someone said or just decide he didn't like the work, and quit. He'd then go on unemployment, for as long as it lasted, before beginning the hunt for another job, which most often took another thirty days or more.

  That was when the water would be turned off, as well as the power. The rent was always overdue, meaning they had to pay extra for late fees. Kate was a basket case by the end of every month. She'd been so humiliated at times that she could hardly bring herself to walk in and pay the bills when she had the money. She did well to buy groceries and keep the car running on her pay check. Juggling doctor bills and medicine had been a nightmare of unbelievable proportions.

  Talk about being a poor judge of men. Kate thought she'd deserved an Oscar for her performance at home, so that Mom and Dad wouldn't know just how bad things were. And that wasn't even counting the nights Huey came home at dawn smelling of someone else's perfume.

  Huey knew nothing about giving. All he knew about was taking. And Cass was as different as anything she could imagine, yet she wasn't ready to loosen the strings that tied her to caution. No, she and Max were doing okay all by themselves.

  With a sigh, Kate made an effort to pull her scattered thoughts together. Cass. It was awfully nice to have some adult conversation once in awhile, and even nicer to feel like a woman again. Nicer yet to know that Cass was only a phone call away if she needed him. And, it was wondrously good to know that she could lean, just a little, if she needed to, and the wall wouldn't crumple and give way.

  He gave the impression that he was a simple and uncomplicated man and yet she'd never met a more complex one. He'd given up his dreams to come to his father's aid. As a single father, under difficult circumstances, he was doing an admirable job. Not doing too bad with her, either, Kate thought. Other than the Leah problem, she felt more settled and content than she had in years.

  If there was just some way she could get to the bottom of this thing about a haunting. She didn't have a clue why Leah had chosen to come back and torment her. It wasn't all Cass. Strange things had begun happening before she'd met him again. The thing with the mirror, for instance. That was the day she and Max moved in.

  Yes, Leah had been terribly angry before she died. Yes, she died blaming Kate for the accident that left her almost a paraplegic. And yes, indeed, her life had been cut miserably, unfairly, horribly short. But it was her own decision to die. There was nothing Kate could have done to prevent her death. Leah had chosen to end her life as she did, knowing that Kate would find her. Knowing how bereft and grief-stricken, utterly devastated, her sister would be. Leah chose to deliberately punish her twin—the other half of herself—beyond the grave. And Kate had a hard time forgiving her that. She was still working on it. There was an ache inside her too deep for words.

  Dad, Mother, I need to talk to you. I don't know what to do. I handled Huey. I handled losing my job. I even handled it when you both died so suddenly. But I don't know what to do about Leah. I need you!

  There was no answer, of course. She didn't expect one. But it was comforting to talk to them.

  I need to know ... Do you think ... I've read about some people being “sensitives,” and I can't seriously, really seriously, think of myself in those terms. But, am I? Am I going to be sensitive to all multiple ghostly manifestations? Or just Leah?

  Silence.

  Mom? Dad? I'm scared. A squiggle of unease slithered into her stomach. She was a couple of giant steps beyond scared.

  After awhile, she sat up and brushed her hair back out of her eyes. She was so tired she felt like a puppet with collapsing strings. But with all the rain, the grass was growing and, Leah or no Leah, she simply had to get the mower out today and see about mowing the lawn. If she could figure out how to start it.

  The boy she'd hired to mow for her was on vacation with his parents, and from the way the grass was growing she'd almost swear the kid had been using fertilizer as he mowed. Did grass always grow this fast?

  By mid-morning the mower was still in the garage and she was still trying to get it going. The riding mower was a monster of a machine with more gears and knobs and strange-looking symbols than she'd ever seen. She couldn't find a manual, she was hot and sweaty, all patience long since gone, and no closer to mowing the lawn than she'd been before breakfast. She would have kicked a tire except that she'd hurt her foot and it wouldn't have budged the mower in the least.

  She felt downright peevish.

  Leah, you do just about anything you please around here, so why don't you make yourself useful for a change, and start this damn thing! She didn't think her irritable request was so off-base. Weird, maybe even stupid, but not off-base. If Leah was determined to be a part of her life, the least she could do was add something positive.

  Breathing hard, standing over the mower with her hands on her hips, Kate's eyes rested on the utility shed farther back in the yard. Would the garden statuary Leah was so fond of still be there? One day while shopping when they were both about ten years old, they'd found a black marble image of a young ballerina, up on her toes, one arm extended in a graceful pose. Leah had fallen in love with it. Dad had placed it in the rose garden where it sat until the year after Leah's death. He never been able to dispose of it completely. She had known in her bones the figure would still be where Dad had placed it in the shed all those years ago.

  Her feet seemed to move almost of their own accord as Kate left the mower where it sat and walked the length of the back lawn to the white, barn-like structure where all garden equipment and rarely used maintenance material was stored.

  At the door, she flipped on the light. There it was. A tent-like, tarp-covered object about three feet high. The soles of her shoes seemed stuck to the floor. Reluctantly, yet somehow needing to see, she picked her way in slow motion around a tiller, stepped over rakes and hoes, flower pots and stacked paint cans. Leaning one hand against the wall between hanging spades and shovels, hesitating only a second, she picked up the corner of the quilt covering the statue.

  And caught her breath.

  Maybe because the interior was in shadows, maybe because she didn't want to see as badly as she needed to see, but the visual impact of the ballerina and the similarity to Leah, punched straight into her blood and ran singing through her veins until she was suddenly lightheaded. Even though she hadn't seen the figure in years, the effect was still the same. It could have been sculpted from Leah herself. The same light, weightless, almost ethereal image. The angle and lift of the small arm. The flirting tilt of the head upward in anticipation of good things happening.

  A sob lodged in Kate's throat and her fingers opened allowing the shroud to fall back in place. She couldn't seem to move. It might as well have been Leah herself in living, breathing, joyous dance, en pointe. She'd been so full of vitality and energy. How could all that be gone? Where had it gone?

  And then, breaking into her thoughts, came the sound of ear-splitting barking. Babe was apparently feeling larger than life in his role as protector of the house. From where she stood, she could hear the doorbell ringing. Hurrying, she replaced the tarp, closed the door to the shed and ran up the incline toward the house.

  It was Big Lionel, from just down the block, asking if Max could play. Breathless from her run up the back lawn, Kate left them with cartoons on television, but negotiating who had the first turn with the Game Boy and headed back toward the garage and the lawn mower.

  On her way through the kitchen, the phone rang. She skidded to a halt. “Hello?"

  Nothing. No answer. No sound at all. She felt like slamming the receiver into the cradle and swearing.

  During her morning-long bout with the mower, the phone had rung at least three times, and she'd dropped everything to run inside to answer, wiping grease from her hands as she went, to find no one there. Well, that wasn't completely true. She was fairly sure there was someone on the other end of the line, but they wouldn
't respond. She had thrown the receiver down so hard the last time she was afraid she'd broken it.

  Kate stood staring at the phone for a long minute. Was something wrong with her line? This had been happening with unerring regularity for weeks. At first she'd hardly noticed. Telemarketing calls were almost a way of life, it seemed. You were computer-dialed along with a dozen other numbers and whoever answered first got the spiel selling insurance or siding, more credit or whatever. But it finally dawned on her that she was certainly getting more than her fair share of these anonymous calls, especially since she'd called the national number to not be bothered with them. The frequency was beginning to be scary. She'd have to break down and call the phone company when she had time.

  However, first things first. The lawn had to be mowed. She approached the mower eyeing it with distaste and disgust. An evil machine with stubborn and vicious intent. Her fingers closed around the handle and she pulled with all her might. It didn't even growl at her. She gritted her teeth and tried again. Same thing. Sinking back on her heels, she closed her eyes. Maybe if she turned it over and looked underneath, she could see something wrong. Yeah, right. As if she, who barely knew a screw from a nail, would recognize a problem with machinery. She gave an unladylike snort, but turned it over anyway, and sat looking at the unfamiliar blades and housing. Maybe if she could...

  Just when her stomach began making noises of neglect, and she figured it was noon and she could justifiably stop tinkering to fix lunch, Max came running out of the house followed by Big Lionel.

  "Can I spend the night at Lionel's house? His mom says it's okay.” This was a first. Max had never spent the night with a friend, away from her. Only twice at all, and then with the Junes. She wasn't sure she liked the idea, but didn't feel she could object with no good reason.

  "I'd have to talk to his mother first,” she hedged.

  "Good, ‘cause she's waiting on the phone."

  Again, Kate wiped the grease from her hands. “I'm on my way."