The Ghost (9 page)

I have. I'm getting divorced. We were married for ten years, but we never had children.

I'm sorry to hear that, she said gently, sounding almost like a mother to him, and he felt tears fill his eyes as she said it. Divorce must be a terrible thing, the tearing asunder of two people who loved each other once, and have lost their way. It must be unbearably painful.

It is, he said, nodding his head thoughtfully. It's been very difficult. I've never lost anyone I loved, other than my parents, of course. But the two experiences must be very similar. I feel like I've been in a trance for the last year. She left nine months ago. The incredibly stupid thing is that I always thought we were blissfully happy before that. I seem to be unusually ignorant about Other people's feelings. It's not much of a recommendation, he said with a sad smile, and she looked warmly at him. They felt like old friends, although they had only known each other for a few hours. He could have sat and talked to her forever.

I think you're being hard on yourself. You're not the first man to think everything was fine, and then discover it wasn't. But still, it must be an awful blow not only to the heart ' but to the ego. She had touched on the crux of it. He was not only feeling the loss and the pain, but his dignity and pride were also mortally wounded. It sounds cruel to say, but you'll get over it. At your age, you have no choice. You can nurse a broken heart for the rest of your life. It wouldn't be right. You'll need time, I'm sure, but eventually you'll have to come out of your shell. Even I had to do that. I could have closed my doors and sat in this house for the rest of my life, waiting to die, when Jimmy and Kathleen and Peggy died ' and then again after Roland. But what good would that have done? There's no point wasting the years I have left. I remember them, of course. I still cry sometimes. There isn't a day or an hour or a moment that I don't think of one of them, and sometimes I miss them so much I think I can't bear it ' but I'm still here. I have to go on. I have to give something back, to make my time here worth something. If not, the time I've been given here would have been totally wasted. And I don't think we have a right to do that. I think we only have a right to so much time for mourning. She was right, of course, and listening to her say it hit him hard. It was exactly what he needed to hear at that precise moment. And as he thought about it, she looked up at him and smiled again. Would you like to join me for dinner, Mr. Waterston? I was going to make lamb chops and a salad. I don't eat very much, and it's not as hearty as you'd like, I suspect, but it's a bit of a distance to the nearest restaurant and it's snowing awfully hard' . Her voice trailed off as she looked at him, keenly aware of how handsome he was, and in an odd, subtle way he reminded her of Jimmy.

I'd like that very much. Could I help you cook? I'm not bad with lamb chops.

That would be very nice. She smiled at him, and Glynnis wagged her tail, as though she understood what they were saying. I usually dine at seven. Come downstairs whenever you like, she said formally, and their eyes met and held for a long moment. They had exchanged valuable gifts that afternoon, and they were both distinctly aware of it. In a way that neither of them fully understood, they both knew they needed each other.

Charlie lit the fire in his room, and sat on his bed looking at it for a long time, thinking about her, and what she'd said, about what she'd experienced when her son died, and he was touched to his very soul, and filled with admiration for her. What a remarkable woman she was, and what a gift it had been to meet her. He felt lost in the beauty of her small world, enveloped by the warmth and kindness he had found there.

He took a quick bath and shaved, and changed his clothes before he went back downstairs. He was tempted to put on a suit for her, but that seemed too extreme, and he settled for gray flannel slacks, a dark blue turtleneck sweater, and a blazer. But just as he always did, he looked impeccable in perfectly tailored clothes and hair that had been recently barbered. He was a handsome man, and Gladys Palmer smiled the moment she saw him. It was rare for her to make a mistake about the people she took in, and she already knew that she had not made an error with this one. She hadn't met anyone she liked as much in a long, long time, and like him, she sensed a deeper purpose to their meeting. It seemed as though she had a lot to offer him, the warmth of her home at a difficult time of year, if nothing else, and he brought back the memory of her son for her, and the family she had loved so much and lost years before. The hardest time of year for her was always Christmas.

He cooked the lamb chops for her, and she made salad and mashed potatoes that were delicious, and for dessert they shared bread pudding. It was the land of meal his own mother would have made for him, and not unlike some of the meals he and Carole had eaten in England. He wished, as he listened to Mrs. Palmer tell her tales, that Carole could have been there and he had to remind himself that it was a waste of time to think that. At some point, he had to stop wishing he could include her in everything. She was no longer a part of his life anymore. She belonged only to Simon. But still it was always painful to remember, and he had begun to suspect it always would be. Looking at Mrs. Palmer he wondered how she had survived, losing her son, her daughter-in-law, and her only grandchild. The agony of it must have been brutal. And yet, she had gone on. He could sense easily that she still felt the pain, like a limb long lost but still remembered. And he knew clearly now that he just had to go on, whatever it cost him.

Mrs. Palmer made him tea again, and they talked for hours, talking about local history, stories of the Deerfield Fort, and some of the people who had lived there. Like his father years before, she was incredibly knowledgeable about the legends and the historical figures of the region. She talked about the Indians who had lived there too, and listening to her revived some of the stories he had long since forgotten, told to him by his father. It was nearly midnight when they both realized how late it was. But both of them had been starving for some warmth and human contact. He had told her about the fiasco in New York too, and she was amazingly sensible in her analysis of the situation. She suggested he go on about his life, use the time well, and see if he even wanted to go back to them at the end of the six months. She thought it might be a great opportunity to explore new avenues to express his talent, perhaps maybe even open his own office. They talked about his love of Gothic and medieval castles and the remarkable work they'd achieved, in his view, and his passion for old houses, like this one.

There are so many things you can do with your architectural talent, Charles. You don't need to confine it to office buildings or superstructures. He had also confided in her that he had always wanted to build an airport, but for that he was going to have to stay associated with a major firm. For the other things he loved, he could easily have done them through a small one-man office. It sounds as though you have some serious thinking to do in the next six months ' and some fun to have as well. It doesn't sound as though you've had much fun lately, have you? she asked, with a twinkle in her eye. Everything he described about New York, and even the months before, sounded dreadful. I think skiing in Vermont sounds like a fine idea. Perhaps you'll even have time to get into some mischief. He actually blushed at the way she said it, and they both laughed.

I can't imagine it, after all these years. I haven't looked at another woman since the day I met Carole.

Then perhaps it's time now, she said firmly.

He did the dishes for her, and she put away her silver and her china once he was finished. And Glynnis slept by the fire as they talked. It was a cozy scene, and when he said good night to Mrs. Palmer finally and went upstairs, he barely had time to brush his teeth and get undressed before he fell asleep in the huge, cozy bed. And for the first time in months, he slept like a baby.

It was after ten o'clock when he awoke the next day, slightly embarrassed by how long he'd slept. But he had nowhere to go, no duties, no obligations. There was no reason for him to leap out of bed at dawn now to dash to the office. And as he got dressed, he looked out the window. There were several more feet of snow on the ground than there had been the night before, and he was amazed to see that it was still snowing. The idea of driving to Vermont didn't appeal to him much, but he also didn't want to overstay his welcome. He thought maybe he'd best move on, even if it meant staying at another inn or bed and breakfast in Deer-field. But when he got downstairs, he found Mrs. Palmer bustling around. The kitchen was immaculate, Glynnis was once again asleep by the fire, and he could smell cookies in the oven.

Oatmeal? he asked, sniffing the extravagantly delicious fumes emanating from her oven.

Exactly. She smiled at him, and poured him a cup of coffee.

That's quite a storm outside, he said, looking at the snow swirling up against the window, and she nodded. The skiing ought to be terrific, if he ever got there.

Are you in a hurry to get to Vermont? she asked, looking worried. She didn't think he was meeting anyone, from what he'd said, or perhaps he hadn't told her. There could have been a young woman he was too discreet to mention, but she hoped that there wasn't. She was hoping he would stay a little longer.

I'm not really in a hurry, he explained, but I'm sure you've got other things to do. I was thinking I could move on to Deerfield. But as he said it, she could barely conceal her disappointment. I'm sure you have things to attend to before Christmas, he said politely, and she shook her head, trying to hide how bereft she felt. It was foolish really, she reminded herself, she scarcely knew him, and he would have to leave eventually. She couldn't keep him prisoner in Shelburne Falls forever, though she might have liked to.

I don't want to interrupt your plans, she said, trying not to sound desperate, because she wasn't. But she had been so lonely for so long, and she was so grateful for his company. Talking to him had been like a gift from heaven. But I'd be more than happy to have you stay here, she said politely, it's no trouble. In fact ' she looked very vulnerable and oddly young. He could easily imagine what she'd looked like as a young woman, and he could see clearly she'd been very lovely, It's good company for me, Charles. I really enjoyed our dinner, though I imagine you'd have a better time with younger friends ' but you're more than welcome to stay ' I have no plans at all ' Just surviving Christmas, her heart whispered.

Are you sure? I wasn't looking forward to driving on, but I don't want to be a nuisance. It was the twenty-first of December, four days before Christmas, a day they were both dreading, though neither of them said it.

You shouldn't go anywhere in this storm, she said firmly, seeing that he was already convinced, and enormously relieved not to lose him. She wished that he could stay forever, but even a few days were a welcome interruption. She hadn't been this happy in years, and there were things in the area she would have loved to show him, houses she knew he'd be interested in, an old bridge, a remote fort, less well known than the one at Deerfield. There were Indian monuments she would have liked to show him too, because she knew he'd be interested in them, from what he'd said the night before, but it was impossible to show them to him now, with the bad weather. Perhaps, with luck, he might come back to visit again in the summer. But in the meantime, there was lots to do, and she beamed at him as she served him breakfast, and he was embarrassed letting her serve him. She seemed more than an innkeeper. Being with her seemed far more like visiting a friend's mother, and it was almost as though he had known Jimmy, and had come back to see her.

She was talking about houses in the area, and he was asking questions after stoking the fire in the kitchen for her, and then she turned to him with a look that intrigued him. There was a light in her eyes he hadn't seen there before, something happy and young, as though she were keeping a secret.

You look extremely mischievous, he said with a smile. He was about to put his jacket on to go out and get more wood for her. Usually, she waited until one of the neighbors' sons offered to do it. But as long as Charlie was there, he wanted to do everything he could to help her. She deserved it. And as he looked at her, she was still smiling at him, and he wondered what she was thinking. You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.

I just thought of something ' something I want to show you. ' I haven't been there in a long time, but it's very dear to me. It's a house my grandmother left me, her grandfather bought it in 1850. Roland and I lived there for a year or two, but he never loved it as I did. He thought it was too remote, and a little too impractical. He preferred living in town, so we bought this house nearly fifty years ago, but I could never bring myself to sell the other. I've just kept it, like a jewel I keep hidden away, with no chance to wear it. I just bring it out occasionally, polish it off, and look at it. There's something very special about it' . She looked almost shy as she said it. I'd love you to see it. She spoke of it as though it were an object, or a work of art, possibly even a painting, or a piece of jewelry. And he could hardly wait to see it. She said it was in the hills, and she wondered if, with the snow, they'd be able to get there, but she wanted to try it. She seemed to feel sure he would love it, and he was more than willing to go there with her. He had nothing else to do that day, and if it meant so much to her, he wanted to see it. Old houses always intrigued him.

She said that this one had been built around 1790, by a well-known Frenchman in the area. He was a count, and a cousin of Lafayette's, and he had come to the new world in 1777 with Lafayette, but she said very little else about him, except that he had built the house for a lady.

It was after lunch when they set out finally, and they took his car because it was bigger than hers, and she was happy to have him drive her. She pointed out various landmarks on the way, which fascinated him, and she told him still more tales of local legends, but she said very little about the house where they were going. It was five miles from where she lived, in the hills, as she had said, and looked down on the Deer-field River, and as they approached she told hin(i stories about going there as a little girl and loving it. None of her family had ever actually lived in the house before she inherited it, but they had owned it for nearly a hundred and fifty years now.