The Ghost (39 page)

When she'd gone to bed, he and Francesca sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee and eating cookies. She's a great lad, he said, and meant every word of it, and Francesca smiled appreciatively. She was crazy about her daughter. Did you ever think of having more? he asked, wondering about those feelings, and thinking of Sarah.

I guess so, a long time ago. And then everything fell apart. Pierre wasn't exactly interested in me when his little cupcake was having twin babies. And now it's too late, so it doesn't make any difference. She sounded almost depressed as she said it, and it intrigued him.

At thirty-one, that is crazy, he scolded her. Stop saying it's too late for everything. Sarah Ferguson was twenty-four when she came to this country, at a time when that was middle-aged or worse, and she managed to have a whole new life with a man she loved, and get pregnant.

I'm impressed, she said semi-sarcastically. I think she's becoming an obsession. But listening to her, he made his mind up. He hoped he was right, but he trusted her, and she needed it more than he did.

There's something I want to give you to read, he said thoughtfully, and she laughed.

I know, I know. I did that too for the first year. I read all the psych books, all the how-to books, how to recover from your divorce, how to set the past free, how not to hate your ex-husband. But there are no recipes in there for learning to trust someone again, for finding someone who isn't going to do it to you all over again. There are no texts for finding courage.

I think I have one, he said mysteriously, and then asked her if she'd come to his house for dinner on Wednesday. It was a school night, but he planned to feed them early. She looked hesitant at first, but he told her that he wanted to show her the house, and she said she wanted to see it. Besides, Monique would love it. She hesitated, but he was so insistent that she finally accepted, and when he left her that night, he said very little but he could hardly wait to see them again.

And he spent two days dusting and cleaning and vacuuming, fluffing up his couch, buying wine and groceries, and baking cookies for Monique. He didn't even have time to read the journals, but he wanted it to be perfect.

And when he picked them up on Wednesday night and brought them there it was obvious that Francesca was impressed, not by his decor, which was nonexistent so far, but by the house itself, and the trouble he'd gone to. And like him, she was deeply moved by the mood she felt there. It was almost as though you could feel a loving presence in the house, even if you knew nothing about her.

Whose house is this? Monique asked, as if she felt it too, and she looked around with interest.

He explained to Monique that the house belonged to a really nice friend of his in Shelburne Falls, but it belonged to someone very special, a woman named Sarah, from England, a long time before that.

Is she a ghost now? Monique asked, undaunted, and Charlie laughed and denied it. He didn't want her to be frightened. He had bought some coloring books and some crayons for her, and he offered to put the TV on, if her mother didn't mind. And Francesca said she didn't. Then he and Francesca took a walk around the house, and he showed her everything he'd found himself, except for the journals. And just as he had, she stood at the window, looking out over the valley. She looked like a painting as she stood there.

It's beautiful, isn't it, he said, pleased that she liked it.

I can see why you fell in love with it, she said, admiringly, and grateful for all the little things he'd done for them, the coloring book for Monique, a cake he'd bought, the wine he knew she liked. And he was making Monique's favorite pasta. In spite of herself, she had to admit, he was terrific.

And they had a wonderful dinner in his kitchen that night, as he told them some of the things he knew about Sarah. But after a while, Monique lost interest. Francesca didn't.

I'd love to see some of the books you've found about her, she said casually. Actually, I tliink some of it interweaves with some of my Indian research a little bit. Francois de Pellerin was very instrumental in negotiating some of the treaties around here at the end of the eighteenth century. I'd love to know your sources, she said as he smiled. He couldn't wait to tell her.

He waited until Monique was engrossed in a television show, and then he went up to his study where he kept the journals. The trunk was still there, safely stored, and he took out the first one and held it lovingly for a moment. These books had become incredibly precious to him in the weeks since he'd been there. They had filled his days and his nights, and his life with wisdom. They had given him the courage to go on, and meet Francesca, and even face losing Carole, and he knew Francesca needed them as badly as he did. They were a gift not from him, but from Sarah.

He walked slowly downstairs, holding it, and she was standing in the empty formal living room that looked so much like a French drawing room. Looking at the parquet floor, the graceful ceilings and long windows, it was easy to believe she'd been a Countess. Francesca smiled at him as he crossed the room, and he could tell that she felt the magic of the house all around her. It was impossible not to. The love they'd shared must have been so strong that it had lasted two hundred years, and was still everywhere around them.

I have a present for you, he said as they stood in the moonlight, a loan actually, but it's something very special. No one else knows about it. She looked puzzled as he stood smiling at her. And if he would have dared, he would have taken her into his arms and kissed her. But it was not time yet. First, she had to read the journals.

What is it? She smiled at him expectantly. She felt warm and comfortable here with him, so much so that it surprised her. She hadn't expected to feel this way about his house, or about him, but it was difficult to deny the attraction.

He held out the small leather book to her and she took it from him, and looked at it. It had no name on the spine, and it was obviously very, very old. She handled it gingerly, and her love of old books shone in her eyes as she examined it, and then opened it and saw Sarah's name on the flyleaf. It was the first one. The one she had carried with her from England. Charlie had realized long since that she must have had others she left there. But this was the one she had started before her voyage on the Concord.

What is this, Charlie? Francesca looked puzzled, and then as she turned the first few pages, she realized what she was holding. My God, it's her journal, isn't it? She spoke in a whisper.

It is, he nodded solemnly. And then he explained how he'd found it.

How incredible. Francesca was as excited as he was, and he was thrilled to see it. Have you read all of diem?

Not yet, he confessed. I'm working on it. There are a lot of them. And they cover her whole life from before she came to America until she died, I think. They're fascinating though. I thought I was falling in love with her for a while, he grinned, but she's a little old for me, and she's so crazy about Francis, I don't think I would have had a chance. He was smiling, and Francesca still looked a little awestruck as they walked back to the kitchen. Monique was still happy with her coloring books and the TV show she'd been watching, and Francesca and Charlie sat and talked about Sarah. I think what's impressed me most about her is how brave she was, how willing to try again. I think she felt just like we did at one point, that she'd been so badly burned she could never try again. And this guy even makes your husband look like a sweetheart. He beat her, he raped her, he forced her to have one baby right after another and they all died, or six at least, but she still started a new life, and gave Francois a chance. I know it sounds crazy about a woman I've never met, who's been dead for nearly two centuries, but she gave me hope ' and she gave me courage ' and that's what I wanted to share with you.

Francesca was so touched she didn't know what to say as she held the journal in her hand and looked at him, and then she couldn't help asking him another question. But this time, she thought she knew the answer.

You've seen her, haven't you? she asked in an undertone, so Monique wouldn't hear her. But she could sense something as she looked at Charlie. He returned her gaze for a long time, and then slowly, he nodded, and she almost squealed with excitement. Oh God, I knew it! When? Her eyes were a brilliant green as she asked him, and she looked so beautiful he could hardly stand it.

When I first moved in. On Christmas Eve. I hardly knew anything about her then. I just came in from dinner with Mrs. Palmer, and there she was in my bedroom. I thought someone was playing a trick on me, and I was really annoyed. I checked the whole house, and the snow outside. I thought someone was having a laugh on me, I looked everywhere for her, and then I figured it out. I've been hoping to see her ever since, but I haven't. It was incredible ' she was so beautiful and she looked so ' so real ' so human ' He felt a little crazy as he said it but Francesca was drinking it all in, and she could hardly wait to get home and read the journal. He hoped it would do for her what it had done for him. Sarah had done so much for him.

They went on talking about her for a while, and at ten o'clock he drove them home again. It had been a terrific evening. Monique said she'd had a great time, and Francesca's eyes were sparkling from what he'd told her, and what he'd given her. He hoped she felt for it what he did.

Call me when you finish it, he said, and then teased her a little. There's more where that one came from. You'd better be nice now, he warned, and she laughed.

I have a suspicion this stuff is addictive, she said, her eyes alight with excitement. She was dying to start reading.

Reading them is practically all I've done since I got here. I should be doing a thesis. He teased her.

Maybe you should write a book about her, Francesca said seriously, but he shook his head.

That's your field. Mine is houses. Francois had already built a monument to her, and Charlie was living in it.

Somebody ought to write something about her, or maybe just publish her journals, Francesca said seriously.

We'll see. Read them first. And when we're through, I have to give them to Mrs. Palmer. They're technically hers after all. Though he would have loved to have kept them, but he wouldn't. It was enough just to have read them. They had given him more joy than a thousand books he'd read in a lifetime. And now he was sharing them with Francesca.

I'll call you, she said, and he knew she meant it. And as he left, she thanked him again for a lovely evening, but for the moment, she was no closer to letting him into the fortress where she was hidden.

And all he could think of as he drove home was how much he would have liked to have reached out to her ' how much he would have loved to have had with anyone what Fran+oois had with Sarah.

Chapter 20

BEFORE THEY LEFT the Iroquois, Fran+oois had quietly spoken to some of the wisewomen of the tribe to ask what they suggested he do for Sarah. They had given them several herbs, particularly a very potent one, and some sweet teas, and they offered to be there with her when she had the baby. Sarah was very touched by their kindness to diem, and she promised to take the herbs when they got back to Shelburne. And then she and Francois began the long journey home. They returned more slowly than they had come, and they slept under the stars at night, using the skins he carried for shelter. He wanted to be very careful with her, and be sure they had no mishap.

It was well into March when they got home, and at the end of April, she could feel the baby moving. It was a sweet, familiar feeling to her, but in spite of the herbs she took religiously, and Francois's constant reassurances, she was still terrified of the outcome.

By then people had begun to suspect they were living together. Several of the women from Shelburne had dropped by occasionally, and more often than not, they ran into Fran+oois. There was talk at the Deerfield garrison by then and she had even had a letter from Mrs. Stockbridge begging her to deny the terrifying rumor that she was living with a savage. And with a look of amusement, she had quickly written to her and assured her she wasn't. But even Colonel Stockbridge knew the truth by then, and although she and Fran+oois never said anything to anyone, people in the area knew that they were together. And by June, everyone knew she was having a baby. Some of the settlers were very kind about it, and a few of the women offered to help her when her time came, but many of them were outraged, and thought it was disgraceful. After all, they weren't married. But neither Fran+oois nor Sarah cared a fig about what they were saying. What they cared about was each other, and their baby. They had never been happier, and she felt surprisingly well. For her, the problems usually came later. In fact, she'd been far healthier this time, and she wondered if that made a difference.

Even in summer, they still walked to the waterfall every day. The Iroquois women had told her that it was important that she walk a lot, they said it would make her son's legs stronger, and the baby would come more quickly. But in August, she could hardly make the distance anymore, and had to walk very slowly. It touched Fran+oois's heart to see her lumbering along, and they stopped every few minutes so she could rest, but she seemed in good spirits, and insisted she wanted to do it. She would hold on to his arm, and they would talk all the way there. He told her whatever news he had heard when he went to the garrison, and she worried when she heard that things were still not peaceful in Ohio.

They'll want you to go out there again one of these days, she said unhappily. She wanted him with her all the time now, and even when he visited the forts, or the garrison, she worried. He knew it was because of her confinement. But he had also thought about what would happen when he ventured from home again, because they both knew that sooner or later, that would happen. And he would have preferred leaving her in a house in a less remote area than her farm, and considerably more solid. He had had a dream for a long time about building a small chateau, a tiny gem, and now he talked a great deal about building it for her. But she insisted that the house they had was good enough, and she didn't need a chateau. She had had one.