When the Spirit Is Willing Page 6

She smiled and held out her hand. Laura clutched his arm as if to hold him beside her, but he smiled at her reassuringly and said, "I knew her before, remember?" and she let him go.

  Priscilla's hand felt like any other hand formed of bone and muscles, tendons and flesh, veins flowing with blood. It was as warm as Laura's hand, though without Laura's calluses.

  "She feels real, all right," he said with a sigh, returning to sit with Laura.

  Jessica looked at him with some scorn. "She is real."

  "No, I'm not, Jessica," Priscilla corrected her. "I've explained before, remember? I can make myself appear real, but I'm not the same as you."

  "Okay," Jessica said, accepting.

  "So," Laura said. Her voice sounded a little hoarse. She cleared her throat slightly before going on. "What happened to your husband?" she asked. "Mr. Burbage?"

  "Randall Burbage," Priscilla said. "I have no idea where he is now." She hesitated. "He died some years after I did."

  "He's not a ghost?" Laura asked, glancing around the room as if expecting him to appear.

  "Not as far as I know," Priscilla said.

  "Why not?" Laura asked. "I mean, if you stuck around, why didn't everybody? Do you have a special purpose in being here?"

  "My special purpose is in being here."

  Laura squinted at her. "That sounds sort of Zennish."

  "Zennish?" Priscilla's face cleared. "Oh, you mean as in Zen. I've read about that. The previous owner of this house had an extensive library." She smiled. "Most philosophical questions are as simple to understand as my statement. People make them seem more difficult than they actually are."

  Evidently as confused as Carter, Laura shook her head and changed the subject. "Why haven't I seen a ghost in any of the other old houses I've remodeled?"

  Priscilla closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "Really, Laura, you must begin to see why I don't show myself to adults as a rule. So many questions. I am not here to discourse on the nature of ultimate reality or to answer the riddles of the universe. I imagine there are other ghosts extant in various suitable places, but as far as I know I'm the only one in this neighborhood." She frowned. "Most people do go on to other levels, I believe, but that's all I can tell you."

  Laura didn't look satisfied, but she didn't ask any more questions. Had she been thinking about her late husband? Carter wondered. Had she hoped he might have lingered somewhere on earth?

  A memory popped up in his brain. "Randall Burbage founded the theater on Third Avenue!" he exclaimed, then frowned. "Didn't he have a pretty stormy marriage?"

  "He did indeed," Priscilla said with a sigh.

  She paused. Watching her, Carter thought about his grandparents' marriage, which had lasted sixty years, until death parted them—a remarkable feat considering they had bickered constantly.

  "I was twenty when I married Mr. Burbage," Priscilla continued. "Randall was thirty-two. A comely man, but eminently sober. His great interest in life was his work—he was a stockbroker. He spent much of his time in his offices in Tacoma. Naturally I had to look to my friends for companionship. But Mr. Burbage cared for my friends no more than I cared for his. This was the cause of much dissension between us."

  "What did he have against your friends?" Carter asked.

  Priscilla shrugged and averted her eyes. "I can't remember."

  Carter wasn't sure she was telling the truth there, but why would a ghost lie? He swallowed, suddenly losing all sense of reality in this implausible, impossible situation.

  Judging by the dazed expression on Laura's face, she was undergoing a similar crisis. About to make some comforting comment to her, he realized he'd forgotten his original mission here. "Why the hell did you run in front of my car last night?" he demanded.

  Priscilla blushed prettily, then smiled. "You must remember, Carter, that I developed a certain fondness for you when you were a child. I thought of you as my small brother. Before Jessica came, you were quite my favorite child." She shuddered. "The people who moved in after you left were impossible. He belched all the time. She was drab, boring. The children were barbarians."

  "You're not answering my question, Priscilla," he said.

  She shrugged. "Occasionally I go out to the porch to watch people and cars go by. It adds interest to my day. After you moved out, I saw you ride by on your bicycle many times. Later, you made a habit of driving by. And you came visiting when the last tenants were in residence."

  "Ed and Jane Mallory," Carter said. "They were the people who painted everything."

  Priscilla shuddered again. "I wanted to speak to you, but I'd kept to myself since they'd purchased the house. They weren't the kind of people I wanted to know. Such execrable taste." She smiled at Laura. "I'm grateful to you for restoring the house to its former glory. The wallpaper in the parlor—which you call the living room—is exactly right. I chose that pattern myself."

  Laura looked pleased. "I scraped off four layers so I could check out the original," she said. "I've found a mailorder place that can duplicate just about anything Victorian—" She broke off, looking dazed once more. Reality intruding again, probably.

  Carter directed her attention to the bed, where Jessica had pulled her braid over her shoulder, curled her fingers around it and collapsed into sleep. Nodding, Laura stood and gent-ly straightened Jessica's small wiry body, carefully removed her shoes and covered her with the comforter.

  Carter watched the luminous expression on her face, marveling at the love that showed whenever she touched her daughter, the gentleness with which she spoke to her. Mother love. It glowed as beautifully on Laura's face as the patina on precious wood. He wasn't sure he'd particularly noticed it on any other woman, though he'd known a few mothers. He wondered why he was noticing it now.

  "I always regretted that I had no child," Priscilla said softly. She was also watching Laura.

  "You still haven't explained why you ran in front of my car," Carter said to her, lowering his voice so as not to disturb Jessica but keeping the tone firm so Priscilla couldn't go on ignoring his question.

  "I had gone to sit on the porch glider," she said. "Laura was making screeching noises in the kitchen, like chalk on a blackboard. So I thought to sit outside for a while. I recognized your new automobile. You drove past in it last week."

  "But why run out like that?"

  "To make you stop. How else would I command your attention?"

  She had a point there.

  "Why did you want me to stop?" he asked with dogged patience.

  "I wanted you to meet Laura."

  Laura's color was back with a vengeance now, flaming up from her throat to the roots of her hair. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

  "I have noticed something about you, Carter," Priscilla went on with some acerbity, totally ignoring Laura's question. "Including that rather flamboyant young person who was with you last night, I have rarely seen the same female in your automobile on more than two or three occasions. Which indicates to me that even though you must be thirty-five years old by now you are a single man, a carefree bachelor."

  Laura was looking at him suspiciously. Was it the "carefree" she objected to or the "bachelor"?

  "That's my job description, all right," he said, deliberately speaking lightly, while at the same time wondering what else Priscilla was going to reveal about him.

  But she didn't seem inclined to continue.

  "So?" Laura said finally.

  Priscilla raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. "I should have thought the conclusion was obvious. You are a widow. Carter is a bachelor. You are lonely. You would like to get married again. I thought perhaps if I brought you and Carter together you might fall in love, have an affair, perhaps even get married if it all worked out." She fixed Carter with her direct green gaze. "It really is time you settled down, Carter. Laura would make you a wonderful wife."

  Carter stared at her, suddenly flooded with memories. The Priscilla he'd known had been very strong willed, he remembered. She had
been the one to decide what they were going to do, and he had always ended up doing it. And getting into trouble for it. She'd taught him how to climb the Sitka spruce out front and he'd torn his new jeans. She'd persuaded him to bring her his mother's jewelry to play with and he'd been caught stealing it. Then there was the time they'd almost set fire to the living room sofa because Priscilla had wanted to find out if she could smoke a cigar.

  No doubt about it, he had been helpless to stand in the way of whatever Priscilla had wanted him to do. If she wanted him to have an affair with Laura Daniel, he might end up doing it. Actually, that was a prospect he could consider with a certain amount of pleasure. Falling in love and getting married, however, was out of the question. The very thought made him shudder.

  "Every damn woman in this town has tried to marry me off one time or another," he said to Priscilla. "There's not a ghost of a chance of it happening." He laughed shortly. "Pun intended," he added. He leaned forward to give his words weight. "I made up my mind a long time ago that I would never marry," he said firmly. "Never, Priscilla. You can forget any plans you have for interfering in my life. I'm not interested."

  "Me, neither!" Laura exclaimed. "A matchmaking ghost is the last thing I need around here. I'm quite capable of planning my own life, thank you." She was still flushed and obviously annoyed. "For your information," she said hotly, glaring at Priscilla, "I am not at all lonely. And I am certainly not interested in having you choose a husband for me."

  "I didn't exactly apply for the job," Carter said, stung by Laura's implied rejection.

  She looked at him apologetically. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kincaid. I'm just so tired of people taking it for granted that because I'm a widow, I must be aggressively looking for a man. Mrs. Wilmer next door is a very nice person, but she scowls at me every time I say a polite good-morning to her husband. When I asked Mr. Castlewood across the street a simple question about mites on my Shasta daisies—he has such a terrific garden, I was sure he'd know what I should do—his wife came running out in her robe with her hair half-dried, acting as if I was going to drag him into my black widow's web and devour him."

  She turned back to Priscilla. "If your marriage was so stormy, I don't see why you feel having a man around is such an advantage."

  "Marriage is the most workable relationship for a man and a woman, Laura," Priscilla said. "Whatever those liberated persons on television say. Especially when it's the right man and the right woman. Someone to tell your sad-ness to, someone to share your joys and triumphs, someone to hold you when you need to be held. A companion for all seasons." Her eyes flashed, bright as a bird's. "Obviously you should have dumped Brady long before he died, but you didn't, which leads me to believe you're not so averse to having a man around the house yourself."

  "But I loved Brady, in spite of—" Laura broke off, suddenly realizing three things: Carter Kincaid was listening with great interest to every word; she was actually arguing with a ghost; and there was no way Priscilla could have known anything about Brady, unless… Suddenly horrified, she glanced at Jessica, who was still lying on the bed, her cheeks rosy with sleep.

  "Jessica didn't tell me about your problems with Brady," Priscilla said, obviously interpreting Laura's glance. "I'm quite sure she doesn't realize he had… shall we say flaws? She adored her father." She glanced down at her hands, which were folded demurely in her lap. "I heard you talking on the telephone to your friend Barbara in California. That's also how I knew you wanted to get married again and that you were debating taking poor sensible little Jessica to a psychologist."

  "You've been spying on me," Laura shot back.

  "Well, I did tell you I was a spook." She giggled. "Spook, spy—I love wordplay, don't you?"

  "I thought someone was watching me," Laura muttered.

  "I know you did," Priscilla said with another bubble of laughter in her voice. "I always know when people sense my presence. They get very still and look over their shoulders, then shake their heads and say, 'Nonsense.' It's really quite amusing."

  She assumed a grave expression. "I do apologize for digressing. As I said, there are limits to what a ghost can do. I have to have some interests, hobbies. Nothing wrong with a little harmless matchmaking. According to television there are still official matchmakers in some countries. I've always thought the role would be rather agreeable."

  Carter Kincaid was looking mildly embarrassed, Laura realized. For which he could hardly be blamed. She was embarrassed herself.

  So, okay, maybe she had told Barbara she wouldn't mind getting married again, if the right man were to turn up. And maybe there were times when she was conscious of empty spaces in her life; times when she woke up at three in the morning with an aching feeling inside her; times when she wished, momentarily, for someone to hold her, someone older than five to care about her. Not just anyone would do, however. She had some very strict criteria. The man must be kind, sensible, loyal—a solid, serious-minded sort who would always be faithful, the kind of man who might never turn other women's heads, but would appreciate a loyal, hardworking woman and love her without faltering until death did them part. She sighed. How much chance was there of finding a man like that?

  She wished she could talk to Carter Kincaid privately, perhaps he'd have some idea of what she could do to get Priscilla to move somewhere else. She certainly had no intention of sharing her home with a ghost. Especially such a mischievous ghost.

  "Perhaps we could go out to dinner sometime," Carter said as if he'd read her mind.

  Laura looked startled, which was hardly surprising after his comments about not volunteering to be a husband. Priscilla, as was to be expected, looked smug. Carter gazed meaningfully at Laura, trying to communicate with a couple of quick sidelong glances at Priscilla that he thought they should discuss this peculiar situation in private. Gazing at her, he also admitted to another motive. He'd liked holding her in his arms. He wanted to do it again. His always creative mind was already painting a seduction scenario—a long romantic dinner, candlelight, soft music, wine. At some point in the evening, he would take her into his arms…

  "How about tomorrow?" she suggested.

  Aha! In spite of her protestations, she was as interested in him as he was in her. She was even eager. Happily, he met her gaze. Reality intruded. She was frowning, gray eyes cold as steel, lips pressed tightly together. Apparently, she'd just as soon not pencil him into her appointment calendar, but recognized the need for a private conversation concerning the bombshell that had exploded in both their lives. He shook his head regretfully. "Tomorrow won't work, I'm afraid. Actually, I have several parties to go to this week. Best I can manage would be Friday."

  Laura managed not to wince. There was no reason a bachelor in his mid-thirties shouldn't go to as many parties as he wanted to, of course, but the reference was too vivid a reminder of Brady. Maybe she'd be better off solving her own problems, rather than involving Carter Kincaid.

  Evidently misinterpreting her hesitation, Carter said, "Friday doesn't work for you?"

  "It just occurred to me that I'd have to find a babysitter," Laura said, seizing on the first excuse that came to her mind.

  "I'll be happy to take care of Jessica," Priscilla offered.

  "I will not leave my daughter alone with a ghost," Laura said firmly.

  "She's been alone with me many times," Priscilla protested. Her eyes were suddenly moist, looking at Jessica. "You surely don't think I would harm this lovely child?"

  Now she'd hurt the woman's feelings. Could a ghost really have feelings? Laura took a deep breath. "Of course I don't think you'd harm her. Obviously you're fond of her. Just as obviously she thinks the world of you. But when-ever she was alone with you, I was at least in the house. It just doesn't seem.. .right to leave her completely alone with a ghost."

  Priscilla continued to look miffed while Laura considered for a minute. "I could leave her with Mrs. Wilmer next door, I suppose. Jessica and Michelle Wilmer get along fairly well, though Miche
lle's a couple of years older." She shook her head. "I hate to do that. Mrs. Wilmer would probably expect me to reciprocate, and with all the remodeling going on, I'd worry…" She sighed. "I'll have to get one of the local teenagers, I guess."

  "As long as you don't hire Shawna Westby," Priscilla said.

  "What's wrong with Shawna? She seemed a perfectly nice girl, very polite. Jessica liked her."

  "Jessica didn't know that the minute she was asleep, Shawna telephoned her boyfriend to come over and they both canoodled on the settee until close to the time you were due home."

  Aghast, Laura stared at her. "Are you serious?"

  "Perfectly." She raised her arched eyebrows. "They even went beyond canoodling—they…"

  "I have a suggestion," Carter interrupted.

  Both women looked at him, Laura appearing dazed, Priscilla smiling fond encouragement, as though he were still the bright little boy she used to know.

  "The young woman who was with me last night," he said to Laura. "Tiffany Starling. She's a nice young—"

  "Hardly the role model I'd choose for my daughter," Laura said with obvious sarcasm.

  About to explain that Tiffany wasn't quite what she appeared to be, Carter decided it was probably wiser not to pursue the topic. "How about my Uncle Simon, then?" he suggested instead.

  "Your uncle?"

  "A sweet old dear," Carter said without even blinking. Sometimes good results justified devious means. "He loves children." Well, that part was true—the old boy doted on kids of all ages, always had. And children loved him. When Carter was a child he had adored his uncle, looked forward to his visits with great excitement. "He's staying with me for a few days," he added. Sly had actually said a day or two, but Carter knew his habits well enough to be fairly sure he'd still be in town by the weekend.

  Laura was frowning. He felt sure she was about to turn his offer down. And even though she'd accepted his invitation, it was becoming clear she regretted doing so. The thought of not seeing her again was depressing. He wanted that romantic dinner, candlelight and all.

  "How does this sound?" he asked, trying to be casual about the whole deal so she wouldn't take fright. "I'll bring Uncle Simon along a half hour early so you'll have an opportunity to talk to him. That way, Jessica will have a chance to get to know him a little, as well. Then, if he seems okay to you, we'll be all set." Sly would be okay. Carter would threaten him with immediate eviction if he wasn't.