If Bread Could Rise to the Occasion

by Paige Shelton

  I pressed the power button of one of the computers and waited only a few moments for it to warm up. Sarabeth had long ago given me the sign-in and the password. She did this for almost all of Broken Rope’s residents. It was easier on her that way. Though there were other librarians, Sarabeth knew more than they did combined, and her time in the library was rarely spent behind the reference desk or in her office. Instead, she was constantly moving around, helping patrons with anything they needed help with. Despite the fact that everyone in the world had a computer, the ones in the library were still well used, and Sarabeth gave out the usernames and passwords to those she trusted.

  From the vantage point of the chair behind the computer at the end of the row of five, I could look out one of the building’s side windows and onto the main road that was in the distance and down the sloping property. There wasn’t much traffic out here, but every now and then a car drove down the road in one direction or the other.

  Once the computer had warmed up and the search engine was ready to roll, I realized I had so many avenues to explore that I wasn’t sure where to begin. I finally started with Freddie O’Bannon.

  It wasn’t an uncommon name. There were evidently a number of them throughout the world. On the first page of listings, I saw a teacher and a pianist, but even a few pages in, there was no Freddie O’Bannon in Maine. It was a long shot anyway. I knew that an “Isabelle Winston” search didn’t lead easily to me. I wasn’t into social networking at all, and there were many tech-savvy Isabelle Winstons to get through before you found me and the fact that I lived in Broken Rope.

  The smell filled the library first, so I wasn’t as surprised as I’d been the night before, but my heart rate did speed up, and I swallowed hard to try to moisten my suddenly drying mouth.

  “You found me,” I said as I turned to face Jerome. “Is one of your new tricks the ability to just pop to wherever someone is without knowing the exact location first?”

  Jerome moved to sit in the chair next to me. “No. I followed you from downtown.”

  “I didn’t know. I didn’t smell you.”

  “I stayed downwind, I guess. I knew you were there because your automobile was there—I was outside the Jasper. I didn’t want to disturb you with your friend Jake so I didn’t come inside. I didn’t think I’d bother you too much if I came in here.”

  “I see.”

  “I didn’t ask last night, but I noticed my treasure is gone.”

  “It’s now in a state-protected archive.” I didn’t mention that even at that moment I had a coin from his treasure still in my pocket. He didn’t need that detail.

  “May I ask what you’re doing on that thing? I remember seeing them last time I was here, but I don’t understand what they are.”

  “This, Jerome, is the world at my fingertips. It’s a computer and it accesses pretty much any information that you’d want to find about any topic that you can think of.”

  Jerome whistled sincerely. “Gracious, that’s something isn’t it? Kind of like that Dina stuff you talked about last time.”

  “Dina? Oh, DNA. Yes, the world is much different than when you were alive.”

  “That’s good, is it?”

  “Mostly, I think. Sometimes, simpler is better. I’m not sure it’s always a good thing to know everyone’s business and have everyone know yours so easily.”

  “I wouldn’t like someone in my business.”

  “I don’t think you would. Anyway, it is convenient. I’m looking up our students to see what information’s out there about them. Gram and I do this to a certain extent when we’re first looking at their applications, but with Roger’s murder, I thought I should look deeper.”

  “Huh. What have you found?”

  “Not much of anything yet, but I’ve only started with Freddie O’Bannon.”

  I gave Jerome a quick summary of the students and what little I knew of them and the impressions they’d made on me and Gram. I told him about Freddie’s surprise arrival and how wonky his references had seemed, though they looked like they could still pan out.

  “I can venture out and watch them all a little. Maybe that would help,” Jerome said. “It’s not what I’m here for, but I’m happy to do so if it will help you.”

  I sighed. “So, if you’re here to warn me to be careful and I promise to do as much—I don’t want you to leave, don’t get me wrong—but why are you still here?”

  Jerome pushed his hat back on his head. “I don’t know exactly, Isabelle. I’m worried about the Cylas problem, though. I feel like I need to be here as long as Gent and his family are here. Something’s not right about their visit.”

  “You’ll go away after they’re gone?”

  “Can’t be sure.”

  “You’ll come back again someday?”

  “It seems likely.”

  I swiveled away from the computer and looked at Jerome. “What if I have a kid or kids? Will they be able to communicate with you?”

  I thought Jerome blushed. “You and that Cliff fella going to have some kids?”

  “I don’t know! This is hypothetical. Just wondering.”

  “I see. I don’t know, Isabelle. Seems it skipped a generation between you and Miz, though.”

  I wanted to understand the ghosts, their true raison d’être, so to speak, but at that moment, I thought I felt Gram’s frustration more than I ever had. There might not be clear answers, or if there were, those answers might also change over time. Would I ever just be able to go with the flow?

  “Mary,” I said as I faced the screen again.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Loken, Gleave, and Silk. Those were three Marys that Gram remembered. I came to the library to use the computer, but I had another reason, too. Sarabeth’s library has the one form of archives that Jake hasn’t been able to collect yet: Broken Rope High School yearbooks. I thought I’d look there as well as try the Internet.”

  “Yearbooks. Now that’s something I can understand,” Jerome said.

  “Let’s go.”

  I led us back behind the reference desk, crossing a boundary I wouldn’t dare cross if Sarabeth was in the building. I would have asked for her help if she was still there, but I liked that I could explore on my own. Sarabeth didn’t like us commoners invading the reference desk space, and I didn’t blame her. This is where she kept the good stuff, some of the more rare books the library held, some signed books, and, of course, a copy of each year of the high school yearbooks from when they first started printing them in the late eighteen hundreds. Gram had graduated in 1952 when she was eighteen. She’d once told me that many of her classmates were a couple years younger, but since she’d lived in the country for so long, she got a late start on an organized education. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t ever looked at her yearbooks, but I made a beeline to the back shelves behind the desk and easily found 1952 and the three previous years.

  I carried them back out to a table next to the computers and turned to Gram’s senior picture.

  “I’ll be, I remember Missouri perfectly,” Jerome said with a smile. “Look at her, Isabelle. You and she could be twins.”

  Gram was lovely in her uplifted chin pose. Her smile was brilliant, and though I knew they touched up these pictures sometimes, her teeth had always been straight and white. Her thick hair was poofy and bobbed into a style she would never make the time for now. It wasn’t possible to see the auburn color, but I’d been told that it matched mine. Of course, I never felt comfortable commenting on her beauty. I didn’t think I looked that much like her but everyone else seemed to.

  “Pretty,” Jerome said.

  I looked at him and his half smile.

  “Hmhm.” I blushed and then looked back at the book. “Gram remembered a Mary Loken.” I turned the pages back to the Ls and found Mary Loken immediately.

  Even in the bust-only picture, it was obvious that Mary Loken was petite. Her blond hair was styled like Gram’s but the rest of her features added up to som
eone adorable, not someone beautiful.

  “Any chance you know anything about her?” I said.

  “Nothing at all. If she and Miz were friends, I don’t remember anything about it.”

  “What about Mary Gleave?” I turned to the Gs but there were no Gleaves listed. I looked quickly through the smaller underclassmen photos, but there were no Gleaves there, either.

  As I thumbed back to the senior pictures to search for Silk, I thought I might have seen the name flash by. I flipped back again.

  On the page before the sophomore class pictures were small pictures of the sophomore teachers. The high school had never been big, but it was even smaller in 1952. There were only five sophomore class teachers, and the one who taught English was Mary Silk.

  She was young, couldn’t have been much older than high school age herself. I didn’t know the requirements for being a teacher back then, but she must have had to attend some college.

  “How about her, Jerome? Do you have any memory of her?” I pointed to the picture of the striking young woman with the short, short hair. Everything about her was severe; her sharp nose, her straight mouth, her small eyes, and her boyish haircut. She looked very teacher-like. “Jerome?”

  “I might recognize her. I’m not sure, though. There’s something familiar.”

  “I’ll ask Gram.”

  I switched on the copier and carefully made copies from the books. I found a few activity pictures as well as some from other years. Before long, I had a thin file that I would show to Gram with the hope that something helpful would jog loose from her memory.

  The last picture I searched for was Gent’s. Apparently, he hadn’t made it to school on picture days and he was dead by what would have been his senior year. I thought I might have found a picture of him and Gram sitting on the front lawn in a 1949 book, but I wasn’t totally sure because the figures were small, the picture taken at a distance. I made a copy of it, too, and as I pulled the copy from the machine I thought I saw something else.

  “There, right there, Jerome. Is that you?” I pointed to the shadow behind the seated woman I thought might be Gram—a shadow that looked like an outline of a cowboy hat.

  “Shoot fire, Isabelle, I don’t think so.”

  “It’s in lots of pictures of Gram.”

  Jerome shrugged. “Maybe a part of me has always been with Miz. Maybe, but I don’t know . . . Let me say that differently: I don’t have a clear memory of watching her or watching over her, or being around her all the time. Nothing distinct.”

  I plugged in the Mary names for an Internet search and came up with only one interesting item. Mary Silk, the teacher, was still alive according to a listing at the Broken Rope retirement center, The Benedict House. There were no pictures, but I wondered if she still looked stern.

  “How old do you suppose she is?” I asked Jerome.

  “She didn’t look old in her teacher picture. She might not be much older than Miz.”

  “I’ll talk to Gram, but I think I’d like to talk to Mary Silk. The possible connection would have to be the long shot of all long shots, though.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Jerome said.

  “Very true.” I laughed as I looked at him.

  And then looked away so he wouldn’t see my eyes give way to the hollowness carving through my chest.

  We can be fine friends. We can be friends just fine.

  I returned everything to its correct spot, making sure all items were a little neater and a little less dusty as I went along. Sarabeth’s sharp intuitive librarian instincts might make her notice that I’d looked at the yearbooks, but she’d also quickly determine that I hadn’t caused any harm and I’d left things better than I found them.

  I searched for interesting Internet tidbits on our other students, but nothing stood out. I did note that I was able to find at least a little something about all of them—addresses, social network pages—except for Freddie.

  Finally, I switched off the computer, stood, and then pushed in my chair. As I left the reference room, I flipped off the light. I was so lost in my own meandering and overlapping thoughts, it wasn’t until we were outside the building that I realized how late it had gotten. The sun had almost set all the way.

  After I locked the doors and swung around to head to the Nova, I realized Jerome had transformed into his fully dimensional self. As I swung, my hand grazed his hand.

  I gasped and then felt immediately foolish.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “It’s all right. It’ll take more than that to hurt this old man,” Jerome joked, but he’d felt it, too, I knew he had. Not the touch, the spark that went with the touch.

  He was suddenly so real, too real, too much like a living man to be a ghost. I stood and stared, the files fortunately filling my arms. If they’d been empty, I doubted I would have been able to resist touching him. On purpose. And with purpose. This sense that I had was beyond curiosity, beyond reason, beyond normal.

  “Jerome,” I whispered.

  “Isabelle,” he said as he put his hands on his hips and looked at the ground in between us. For a moment, all I could see was the top of his cowboy hat, and I wanted to touch even it.

  “This is wrong, so wrong,” I said.

  He looked up and I saw the pain in the lines around his eyes, his tight-set mouth, and the mustache that took up way too much space to be fashionable but seemed so perfect to me.

  “I don’t know what this is,” he finally said. “But it isn’t wrong. Don’t call it that. It’s not natural maybe, but it isn’t wrong.”

  “How do we . . . I mean, I don’t even know what to do.”

  Jerome smiled slowly and sadly. “There’s nothing to do except enjoy each other’s company when we’re able to.”

  “Platonically?” I said, not able to hide the disappointment in my voice.

  He laughed then, a deep barrel of a laugh. “You are something, Isabelle Winston, but, yes, I’m afraid platonically is the only way to go here. Otherwise, this could step right on over to the world of wrong.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said, “but . . . well, I gotta say, if it weren’t all so strange, I’d wish for more.” I turned and walked toward the Nova.

  Leading questions, leading statements. These sorts of things weren’t the hardest part of law school, but they’d been my favorite. And I’d just used a statement to fish for something from Jerome. It was pretty elementary, and if Jake had been in the area, he would have pointed out my bold behavior and tsked at me.

  “Isabelle,” Jerome said when I was halfway to the Nova.

  I turned, inwardly knowing that I’d gotten his attention just as I’d intended.

  He was a vision to behold. Perfect with his slew of imperfections. The mustache, the somewhat uneven but bright blue eyes, the messy hair that could have used a brush and a pair of scissors, the rip in the right shoulder of his shirt—of course, in this form I could also see a patch of muscled skin through the tear so it wasn’t so imperfect after all—his dusty pants and boots. He took my breath away.

  “Yes, Jerome?” I said casually.

  “I can see right through what you’re doing and I’m not giving in that easily. I’m . . . well, I was a man of few words. I’m dead, I can’t have feelings. I can’t say the things you want me to say.”

  I laughed this time. “If you don’t have feelings, then why are you looking at me like that?”

  He rubbed his finger under his nose, but I suspected it was a stall tactic.

  “I have to go, Isabelle. I’ll check on your students and get back to you.”

  And then he was gone. I really hoped he couldn’t see what I did next.

  I dropped the files onto the Nova’s passenger seat and myself onto the driver’s seat. I started the engine but I kept the windows up and the doors locked as I blinked back tears of frustration and tried to catch my breath. No matter what, I couldn’t let anyone see me this way. No matter what, Gram, Jake, and certainly
Cliff could never know that I was this confused, this emotional, struggling so much with whatever these feelings truly were.

  It was not natural, and though it might not have been wrong, it certainly wasn’t right. And it made no sense at all. I barely knew him, had spent less time with him than I probably had with Cliff the first week we were dating. How did this happen? I wasn’t shallow, or so I thought. Besides, though Jerome was attractive to me, so was Cliff, so were many other men, and I didn’t fall in love with them just because they were nice to look at.

  And no matter what he said about not having feelings, about “wanting to be friends,” and whatever other noble comment he thought he had to add, I knew he felt the same way about me. I just knew it.

  How had this happened?

  And how was I going to get myself out of it?

  “Damn,” I said as I drove the car away from the library.

  “Damn.”

  Chapter 17

  I soon decided that the quickest way to get over confusion regarding way too intimate feelings about a ghost is to get a call that some of my cooking students need to be bailed out of jail.

  I hadn’t been in the car five minutes when Cliff called. I wasn’t going to answer at first because I thought he’d hear the disloyalty in my voice, but I was glad I did. It was better I handle this than Gram.

  “Betts, I had to haul in some of your students. You want to come get them out?” he said. “I can call Miz, but I thought I’d try you first.”

  “I’m glad you did. What happened?”

  “Disruptive behavior, but they’re claiming it was all a misunderstanding. I’m not going to hold them for long, but I thought we should make a bigger deal out of it so they get the message that they can’t behave this way. If you come down and let them know that you know what they’ve been up to, they might shape up from here on out.”

  “Good plan. I’m on my way.”

  Main Street was open for parking, but there was a wedding reception being held in the saloon, and the attendees had taken all the prime spots. I squeezed the Nova into a space at the end of the street by the small stagecoach museum and then walked to the jail.