by Nancy Moser
“I don’t. Not really. I have the couch Sim almost slept in, and there’s a love seat in the living room. If you curl up…”
“We’ll take it.” Claire glanced out the window again. “I have a bad feeling about staying here.”
“I’ll get my pack,” Sim said.
“I’d better get a few things too.”
While they were gone, Merry plucked the fallen petals from the counter. At least the ghost had good taste.
Claire came back with a shoulder tote. “You know those are from Bailey, don’t you?”
“How do you—?”
“He came in this afternoon when Stu and the gaggle of ghost-busters were swarming. He told me.”
“Why didn’t he leave a note?”
“He said he did.”
“Why didn’t he come over and tell me?”
“You were busy.”
The whole day had been a fiasco.
“You have a nice home.”
Claire meant what she said. Merry’s home was nice. Warm. Cozy.
Merry made one last stir of the spaghetti sauce and put the spoon on a spoon rack. “It’s small but all I can afford. Being the sole breadwinner is new to me.”
“Didn’t your husband…? I mean, wasn’t there insurance money?”
Merry shook her head and tipped the lid on the boiling pasta. “What did two twentysomethings need with life insurance?”
“So you got nothing?” That didn’t seem right.
“I got a little from selling our house, but I used that money to buy this one. And someday I may see some cash from the lawsuit.”
“Lawsuit?”
Merry handed Sim a loaf of French bread. “Would you slice and butter this, please?”
“Sure.”
Merry opened the cupboard and handed three plates to Claire. “There’s a class-action suit going on against the airline, but it will take years. And Sun Fun Airlines has declared bankruptcy, so even if we do get a settlement…” She shrugged.
“I didn’t get anything from my parents’ crash.” Sim’s words were matter-of-fact. “But it was Dad’s fault. He was drunk.”
“How awful.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got plenty of money. We were rich. Now my aunt and uncle are rich, thanks to my trust fund.”
Merry exchanged a glance with Claire. “Since they’re using your money, maybe you should go back and—”
Sim spun around, her shaking head spurring the movement. “I don’t care about the money.” Crumbs fell from the knife. “Not really.”
“But the money can assure you of a future. College.”
Sim turned back to the bread. “I’ll get to college on my own. I’m smart. I’ll get a scholarship or something.”
“But you need a home, Sim. It’s summer now, but school will be starting and you need to go back and—”
Sim put the knife down and faced them. “Why can Claire give up her money but I can’t give up mine?”
There was a pause, and Claire grappled for an answer. “Because I’m supposed to give up mine.” It sounded more like a question.
“Because God asked you to?” There was derision in Sim’s voice. Claire’s throat was dry “Yes.”
“Maybe God’s asked me to give up mine too. You’ve said you were brought here for me. Then maybe I was brought here too. Maybe God brought me here. Maybe He wanted me to leave my aunt and uncle and be out on my own.”
“You can’t be on your own. You’re only fourteen.”
“But I’m not alone. I’m here with you two.”
Claire moved to touch the girl’s shoulder. “It’s not the same. I haven’t called the authorities because I’m trying to figure out what God’s up to, but eventually you will have to go back.”
Sim knocked her hand away. “So this is all a ploy? You’ve been pretending to be my friend while planning to betray me?”
“Claire’s right, Sim. There are rules.” Merry sounded as dismayed as Claire felt. “Rules to protect—”
Sim moved so the kitchen table stood between them. “Protect me from who? Bad people? Those rules chose bad people as my guardians. They gave me over to an aunt and uncle who made me stay in a basement without any windows, with no bathroom—”
Merry’s eyes widened. “They locked you in the basement?”
Sim looked away. “Not locked. But it was dark.”
“It didn’t have a bathroom?”
“Well…there was a toilet, but the room wasn’t finished.”
Aha. If Sim exaggerated about one thing, perhaps she’d exaggerated about the rest. Perhaps her aunt and uncle weren’t horrible people, stealing her trust fund. Maybe they were nice people who’d used the money to care for her. Maybe Sim’s complaints had to do with her parents’ wealth compared to the more middle-class position of her relatives? When you’re used to bottled water, tap water is a hardship.
I need to contact the aunt and uncle. I’ll call—
Claire suddenly realized she didn’t even know Sim’s last name. All she knew was that the girl was from Kansas City. Before she could formulate a way to ask, she found herself saying aloud, “What’s your last name?”
Sim shoved a hand between them as if it could keep the question from finding its mark. “Uh-uh. No way. I see where this is headed. You are not calling my uncle. I won’t let you.”
“But maybe if you talked—”
Sim’s face crumpled. “I thought you were my friends!”
“We are—”
“I get led here, just as much as Claire gets led here, but I’m not allowed to have any time to figure out why.” She pointed at Claire. “You talk the big talk, but when it comes down to it, you only think the lofty God-stuff belongs to you. You’re hoarding Him.”
“I am not!”
“You are!” Sim began to pace. “All the stuff about how God sent you here, how He told you to give up everything and follow Him. Well, maybe He told me to give up everything too. Isn’t that what I’ve done?”
“You ran away, Sim.”
“And you didn’t?”
The words were like a wedge being driven into a log. A fracture split Claire’s carefully formed decision. She looked at Merry and Sim. They were waiting for her answer.
“I didn’t run away. I was offered the chance to go away, voluntarily. As an act of obedience. As a chance to discover my purpose.”
“So you can discover your purpose, but I can’t discover mine?”
Sim was making things difficult. Claire needed to get things calmed down. She lowered her voice. “Everyone has a unique purpose, Sim. I do. You do. Merry does. The trick is to find out what it is. But in order to do that, you have to be tuned in to God. He’s talking, but if we’re not listening…”
“I am listening.”
“Sim…” Claire looked to Merry for support, but Merry’s face was drawn tight.
Sim’s breathing was heavy. “At least I’m doing something to help people since I came here. At least I’m not sitting around waiting for something big to happen. Where’s God’s purpose in that? At least I’m doing something.”
“Sim!” Merry’s eyes were wide.
“Name one thing you’ve done since God got you here.” Sim’s blazing eyes threw a clear challenge at Claire.
She didn’t like being on the witness stand. “I’ve helped you.”
Sim’s eyebrows raised. “Really? I found the library on my own, and I’m not staying in your attic. In fact, I found the shower for you. I got myself a job at the library, I’ve helped Harold and Blanche and Ivan, and I’ve gone out in the town and met new friends. What have you done but hide out or work on your stupid paper?”
Merry intervened. “Sim! That’s enough.”
“Yes, it is.” She spun on her heel. “I’m going to my room.”
She left the two women to suffer the silence. Finally Merry said, “I’m so sorry, Claire. She shouldn’t have said that.”
Claire sank into a chair. “Even if it’s th
e truth?”
Claire noticed that Merry couldn’t think of any words to dispute her. Claire pointed to the stove. “The sauce is bubbling over.”
Sim didn’t come down to dinner. Merry and Claire shared the meal in silence. When Claire begged off having dessert on the front porch, saying she was tired, Merry helped her make a bed on the love seat and withdrew upstairs to read.
Claire was left alone to ponder the awful truth.
Maybe she should walk away. It wasn’t too late to accept the mural commission.
Her brain was mush.
Fourteen
I fear that there may be quarreling, jealousy, outbursts of anger,
factions, slander, gossip, arrogance and disorder.
2 CORINTHIANS 12:20
CLAIRE LET OUT A SIGH OF RELIEF when Sim came down for breakfast. She hated that they lived with the possibility Sim would bolt. Living one day at a time—in uncertainty—was a new experience.
“Hi.”
Sim took a seat on a stool. “Hi.”
Merry shook a box of Life cereal. “Gourmet eating at the Cavanaugh residence.”
“Cereal’s fine with me.” Sim filled a bowl, poured the milk, and dunked the cereal with the back of her spoon.
Too quiet. Way too quiet. Claire had to take the initiative. “I’m sorry about last night, Sim. I never want to imply that I understand what you’re going through or that I have all the answers.”
The girl glanced up. “You sure have enough opinions.”
Claire smiled. “We both seem to have plenty of those.”
Sim took a bite. “Touché.”
Claire fingered her coffee mug. “And your point about not doing anything was valid. Guilty as charged.”
Sim finished chewing. “Sorry if I hurt you.”
Claire shrugged. “Sometimes a little hurt is necessary to get on the right track.”
“So you’re on the right track now?”
Claire wished she could answer definitively, but truth made her say, “I haven’t a clue.”
Sim laughed. Merry joined in, then Claire. It was nice how laughter made everything seem a little more doable.
Sim ran ahead and grabbed the newspaper off the library stoop. Merry and Claire hurried up the steps after her.
“What’s it say?” Claire asked.
Sim positioned the front page so they all could read the headline: “Love Notes and Licorice: The Saga of the Library Ghost.”
“Stu followed through with his alliteration,” Merry said.
“Read on.”
It did not get better. Stu had turned what should have been a story about anonymous good deeds into a sensationalized account of the supernatural and how the ghost was giving people presents, acting like a paranormal Santa Claus. A quote from Merry was taken out of context, and Blanche was misquoted to have said she’d seen the ghost.
Sensationalist journalism at its worst.
Claire stepped back. She’d read enough. “I was up half the night worried that people would connect me and Sim being new in town and the sudden activities of the long-dormant ghost legend. But good old Stu didn’t take that tangent. He presents the ghost as a ghost. I’m not sure whether we should be relieved or annoyed.”
“It’s all my fault.” The edges of Sim’s mouth sagged.
“Why is it your fault?”
She looked at Merry. “Because I’m the ghost.” Sim told her about her part in the ghost-activities.
Merry unlocked the door. “Stu’s to blame, not you. But I do wish you would have told me sooner.”
They went inside and were greeted by a ringing phone. Merry answered it, listened a moment, then said, “You’re welcome to visit the library anytime, ma’am, but honestly, there’s no ghost to see. None.” Merry jerked the receiver away from her ear. “She hung up.” She put a hand to her forehead. “This is not a good sign.”
Blanche and Ivan burst through the front door, Blanche waving the newspaper in the air. “Did you see?” She slapped the paper on the counter.
Merry shoved it away “We’ve seen it, Blanche.”
Ivan pointed at Merry’s face. “You look way too serious for a person who’s just been quoted in the paper.”
Merry took a seat behind the counter. “We were all misquoted, and I plan to express my displeasure to Stu. I’ve already had one phone call from someone wanting to know when the ghost was scheduled to show itself. They’re taking the ghost tag literally.”
Blanche smoothed the paper on the counter. “Why shouldn’t they? We don’t know for sure that it isn’t a real ghost.”
Ivan poked her arm. “But that didn’t give you the right to say you’d seen it.”
Blanche shuffled her shoulders. “I didn’t lie, I merely implied—”
Ivan crooked a thumb in her direction. “She said it plain as day. I heard her.”
“Blanche, how could you?” Merry shook her head. “Here I’ve been blaming Stu for false reporting, when you were the one who led him astray. On purpose.”
Blanche stuck out her lower lip. “I was just trying to make things interesting. This is the most exciting thing that has happened in Steadfast since old man Briscoll claimed to see an outline of Frank Sinatra on the side of his barn.”
Ivan squinted his eyes. “It did look pretty real if you squinted and the sun was hitting it—”
Merry stopped his words with a hand. “This is hardly the same. There is no ghost. For anyone to tell people otherwise is a downright lie.”
“Well!” Blanche crossed her arms. “I won’t tolerate being called a liar.”
“Now, now, Blanche.” Ivan patted her hand. “You are a liar.”
“I embellished. For the sake of the library.”
They all looked up when the first of a crowd of two dozen swarmed in the front door. Merry leveled Blanche with a look. “I’m not sure the library can take any more of your help.”
Blanche raised her chin, did an about-face, and headed out to greet the crowd.
The ghost enthusiasts poured into the library like water flowing through a break in a dam. Merry hoped they wouldn’t be as destructive.
“Forget the licorice,” one woman said. “I want a new washer and dryer.”
“Or a big-screen TV.”
“You can’t have that.”
“Why not?”
“Ghosts don’t have charge cards.”
Merry moved into the center of the crowd and raised her hands. “Come on, folks. There is no ghost.”
Jered Manson sidled forward, settling in beside her. “But you were quoted in the paper, Merry. You’re the one who called it the library ghost.”
She noticed Jered’s friends standing nearby and bemoaned the fact that the first time she’d seen them in the building had nothing to do with reading.
“I meant it figuratively. I mentioned the old legend, but I guarantee you, there is no apparition, spirit, or poltergeist.”
“But the paper—”
“Was misinformed.” When Merry glanced in Blanche’s direction, she saw her entertaining some stragglers, most likely with tales of love notes and ghostly sightings.
The crowd mumbled. Then a woman asked, “Hey, I have something practical to ask the ghost.” She grinned and poked a friend in the ribs with an elbow. “I need a babysitter Friday night, and if the ghost isn’t busy…”
The woman beside her laughed. “You’d need more than a ghost to take care of your kids, Sue.”
Then a man asked, “Are you sure we can’t leave a wish list for the ghost? Just in case?”
“I’m very sure.” Merry moved to shoo them out. “Go home, people. This is a library. You’re much too noisy. Besides, being greedy never got anybody anything.”
“Wanna bet?” The man headed to the chairs in the reading area. “I’m staying. I’m not going to miss the appearance of any ghost.”
“Joe’s right. This only happens once in a lifetime. I’m staying too.”
A swarm of people headed
toward the middle of the library. Merry moved between them, trying to stop the flow, getting a hint of what it must feel like to be in the middle of a stampede. “Please. Go home. There’s nothing here.”
Oscar from the motel put a finger in her face. “You just want the pickings for yourself, Merry. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“There’s no pickings to be had. It was just a bag of licorice, some love notes, and a vase of flowers. Nothing big. Nothing at all like what you’re asking for.”
Lyn from the grocery store stepped forward. “The point is, the gifts from the library ghost were just what people wanted. The ghost knew, it knew what they needed and gave it to them.”
“Exactly. Like I said, I know what I want. I want a big-screen TV.”
More laughter. A planter tipped over and dirt spilled on the carpet. A question came from a man who’d sat at one of the computers. “You got any video games on these things?”
Ivan edged through the crowd, waving. “Merry! Get these squatters out of here. Oscar’s sitting on my stool!”
Oscar crossed his arms. “This is a public library, Ivan. You can’t claim a spot.”
“I can too. I’m an artist. I’m recreating the mural.”
Oscar took a look. “What’s this red stuff in the middle of the blue?”
“Oscar! Out! You have no right to criticize my work, nor do you have the right to be in this library at all. You have to be able to read more than the Sunday funnies to come in here.”
Oscar got in Ivan’s face. “Don’t make me punch you, old man.”
“You’re calling me old? You graduated three years ahead of me.”
Blanche yelled from the sidelines. “Go, Ivan!”
The crowd roared.
Merry had had enough. But she was no match for a teeming mob. Her stomach threatened to do something nasty. Her face burned. Maybe if she splashed some cool water on it…she glanced toward the rest rooms. Jered and his friends were congregated around the storeroom door.
Oh, no! Not in there, boys. She hurried toward them. “Jered, what are you doing?”
Their three heads moved apart. “If there’s a ghost, we need to search the place, find where it’s hiding.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Your dad didn’t raise you to believe in ghosts.”