Dark Oasis

by Tabitha12

Carolyn Muir can't sleep. Can Captain Gregg, and the rest of the Muir family help her?

Title: Dark Oasis

Authors:Mary

Rating: PG

Summary: Carolyn can't sleep... Can Captain Gregg and her family help her? Please read and review with kindness.

Disclaimer: The characters from 'The Ghost and Mrs. Muir' belong to 20th Century Fox and David Gerber productions. No infringement is intended, no profit is made, and the characters will be returned unharmed from whence they came. This story is for enjoyment only.

All other characters, plots, story lines and development of GAMM characters belong to the authors and may not be used or changed without express written permission.

Thank-you to all those who helped me on this story: To Judy, who thought it sounded like a terrific idea for a story and got me started, To Chantal and Kathy who provided feedback during various stages of the writing process, and to Susan G., who managed to inspire me to finish it when I was about to give up on it — and for providing me with a much-needed Welsh translation, and to Amanda, who helped me re-write the ending when I had to take out the lullaby.

Mary

Dark Oasis

In its early stages, insomnia is almost an oasis in which those who have to think or suffer, darkly take refuge . . . Colette.

Carolyn Muir sat at her desk early that morning in May, staring at the calendar, a slight frown on her beautiful face.

"Good morning, Mrs. Muir!" Martha bustled into the room with a coffeepot in one hand and a dust rag in the other. "Last of the pot — I thought I'd bring it up to you!" The older woman stopped, seeing her employer's frown. "How's the article coming?"

"I'm not working on it at the moment," Carolyn sighed.

"Anything wrong? Trouble with a story again? Not suffering from writers' block, I hope?"

"Oh, nothing like that!" Carolyn smiled. "Thanks for the coffee. I could use another cup. No, nothing's wrong. I was just thinking of how many things I have to do before we leave for our vacation in Philly next month. I know it's a little way away yet, but I still have several articles to finish, all of which need loads of research, I was hoping I could get at least two more short fiction pieces written and submitted before we leave, and I still have to go shopping for vacation with the kids. Just too much going on, and too little time to do it in, that's all! How quickly time seems to go by!"

"It does, doesn't it? How I do know the feeling!" Martha grinned. "If it's not one thing, it's another. I promised I would put in a little extra time next week with my quilting circle, I have a cake to bake for the church bazaar, Ed Peavey is begging me to come and root for him at his bowling tournament next week, my ironing is starting to pile up again and Reverend Farley asked me if I could please play the organ for Sunday services for the next two weeks while Maybelle Gilbert is in Pripet with her family visiting her sister. I didn't have the heart to say no, but it does mean I will need to spend a little extra time at the church to practice!"

"Not to mention all of Candy and Jonathan's activities! Well, we'll muddle through, I suppose!" Carolyn said, giving her housekeeper a grin. "I always run around like crazy this last month or so before vacation, but I do look forward to going to Philly and seeing the folks. They always have a ball with the kids, and I love having the extra time alone with Mom and Dad, and seeing my old friends while Candy and Jonathan go and visit with Ralph and Marjorie Muir."

"June vacation and the hassles getting ready for it have become something of a tradition!" Martha smiled, "But look at it this way, you can relax a little this year! The Captain's memoirs are done, the book has been accepted, you received a nice advance, and all the Schooner Bay-ites love you for putting Captain Gregg on the map, as it were, so this year you can actually do nothing but relax instead of wondering how soon you need to get your next article out, and another paycheck in the bank!"

"All quite true, Martha!" Carolyn ran her hands through her hair and smiled. "But still, in all, as much as I love going to Philly, I am entirely ready to get back home to Gull Cottage when the time comes."

Martha waived her dust rag in front of her. "I'll second that. I'm getting to love this old place, this little town, and all the people in it, human or otherwise, more and more all the time!"

"Why, Martha! I had no idea you cared!" said Captain Daniel Gregg, materializing into the room.

"Well, MOST of the time I love them!" Martha said dryly. "But definitely NOT when they eavesdrop on private conversations!"

"Oh, come now, my good woman!" said the Captain, with a wicked grin on his face. "Admit it! I'm not nearly as much of an ogre as you first thought, am I?"

Martha flushed slightly, turned, and carefully dusted the nearest piece of furniture at hand, not looking at the spectre of Gull Cottage in the eye. "I keep forgetting that up until last year even though I couldn't hear or see you that you COULD hear and see me!" She turned back toward him. "No, Captain. You aren't an ogre. You are, however, delightfully disarming and distracting and definitely keeping me from getting my work done!"

"I rest my case," the seaman said, smugly.

"The eternal male ego!" Martha snorted. "Give them an inch . . ." She started laughing, making her way toward the door. Carolyn and the seaman heard her still chuckling as her footsteps echoed down the hall.

Daniel Gregg turned back to the beautiful woman in front of him. "Good morning, my dear! You're up bright and early this morning!"

"Good morning, Captain!" Carolyn looked up at the tall figure from where she was still seated in her chair, grinning at the easy banter that had developed between her housekeeper and the seaman in the past year.

"So!" the seaman started again. "I . . . Uhm . . . happened to hear you mention your upcoming vacation. Are plans well underway? You are charting the same course as usual, I suppose. A visit with your mother and father, and then the children go on and visit with your in-laws?"

"I would assume so!" Carolyn smiled. "Actually, I've been busy thinking about vacation plans, but Mom and Dad haven't called to confirm anything yet, and neither have Ralph and Marjorie. I guess I better invest in a long distance phone call or two and make sure everything is okay, and then call Elmer at the garage so I can get the car tuned up before the drive to Philly."

At that moment, the phone rang.

"That must be Mom and Dad now," Carolyn perked up a little and reached for the phone. "Hello?"

"Carolyn, sweetheart, it's Mother."

"Mom! Hello! I was just going to call you!" The seaman smiled at Carolyn's delight and strolled through the open French doors to the balcony, giving Carolyn her privacy.

"Honey, I called to tell you something."

"Mom? What is it? Is there anything wrong? Is Dad . . . ?" She started, and, at the sound of her troubled voice, Daniel Gregg instantly materialized back into the bedroom and stood in front of the desk.

"Oh, no, Honey. Nothing at all. Dad's fresh as ever. I just called to tell you that we need to postpone our vacation plans this summer."

"Postpone them?" Carolyn sounded alarmed again. "What's the matter, Mom?"

"Nothing is the matter. In fact, everything is marvelous!" Emily Williams laughed lightly. "But it would seem that there is still a bit of the romantic left in your father after all. He's decided to take me to England and Ireland for a late celebration of our thirty-sixth anniversary! You know how often I've dreamed we could go, but he's never been able to get away before. This time he's decided 'business be hanged,' and he's taking me! We'll leave May twenty-eighth. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Wonderful, Mom." Carolyn said softly. "I'm so happy for you. England and Ireland! That's fantastic. I know you'll have a marvelous time, and we'll expect lots of postcards while you're away and pictures when you get back."

"Well, of course!" Carolyn could hear her mother smiling through the telephone. "And souvenirs too — like perhaps, maybe a real hand-knit sweater from Ireland for you, and I know I can find something for Candy, Jonathan, Martha, and maybe your Captain too! Do you still see him Carolyn?" Emily Williams paused for breath and then continued, without waiting for her daughter's answer. "But, as I said, sweetheart, this means postponing your Philly trip a bit. We were thinking the next best time would be in early August — you know, about the time the kids are starting to get bored with summer and are looking for something new to do. Isn't that a good idea?"

"It's fine, Mom. I guess we'll just have to plan on two shorter trips this year. The Muirs are still expecting us all right after school is out, in June." Carolyn said, after a moment.

"Oh, I forgot about that!" Her mother sounded anxious. "Are you sure two vacations won't be too hard for you to schedule?"

"Not at all," Carolyn shook her head. "You and Dad have already made your plans, and two trips to Philly in one summer will probably make Candy and Jonathan turn cartwheels." She shifted a few papers on her desk. "August will be fine."

"All right then, we'll plan on it!" Emily said. "I hate the idea of waiting two more months to see you, but . . ."

" . . . But I wouldn't dream of you doing anything else!" Carolyn inserted a fresh sheet of paper into her typewriter, holding the phone next to her ear with her shoulder. "I'll be talking to you before you go, Mom, and I can't tell you how happy I am for you. Give Dad a big hug and a kiss for me, okay?"

"All right, Darling! Love you! Bye!"

Carolyn waited for the dial tone and then hung up the phone.

"Ireland and England!" the Captain said. "How marvelous that sounds! How I would love to see those countries again!"

"Could you?" Carolyn asked, thoughtfully. "Could you go there if you wanted to? Or are you bound here? You know, a spirit thing?"

"Oh, I could go, if I wished to," the seaman said. And he leaned over the desk and looked deeply into her eyes. "But I'd really rather stay here. I am much more fascinated with the riches here at Gull Cottage, I dare say."

"Riches?" Carolyn asked, blushing in spite of herself. "Meaning . . . Uhm . . . me?"

"Meaning you and my house," said the Captain. "I am really much more interested in you than in seeing green fields, sheep, ancient buildings and castles. Unless, of course, I could be ALONE with you there. Now that would be riches, indeed." With that comment, the seaman disappeared, leaving Carolyn shaking her head and wondering if she would ever entirely unravel everything about the enigma that was Daniel Gregg.

The second telephone call came during dessert that evening — the phone ringing halfway through Martha's peach cobbler. "I'll get it, I'm closest," said Martha. "I'll go out here. It's quieter." The housekeeper headed for the foyer, but within a minute or two, she was back in the kitchen doorway. "Mrs. Muir, it's for you. Long distance."

The seaman glowered. "A blasted nuisance, that's what those contraptions are! Can we not finish one meal or conversation in peace around here?"

"I'll only be a moment," Carolyn admonished him, and she left the kitchen quickly.

"I never should have let Claymore install the blasted thing," he muttered, adding a bit more sugar to his tea.

"Well, Captain," Jonathan pointed out. "If we didn't have a telephone, people would be sending telegrams and Martha would have to answer the door. Then you would be blasting about too many people, not too many phone calls!"

"Excellent point, lad!" The Captain smiled and took another swallow of his tea.

About five minutes later Carolyn was back, shaking her head.

"Trouble, Mrs. Muir?" Martha asked, as she stood and began to clear the dessert plates.

"Yeah, Mom," asked Candy. "Who was on the phone?"

"Grandma Muir. She called about the Philly trip."

"I think it will be cool, taking two trips this year," said Jonathan. "It'll make the summer twice as much fun."

"Well," Carolyn said slowly. "It looks like we're back to one trip again."

"Why?" queried Martha.

"Grandpa and Grandma Muir have decided to take a special vacation this year too," said Carolyn. "That's what they called to tell me . . . us. They're going to the Bahamas, and they'll be gone more or less the same time Mom and Dad will be gone — the last part of May and most of June. I told the Muirs about Grandpa and Grandma Williams' trip, and we agreed it would be easier to just let our vacation wait until August." Carolyn looked over at her housekeeper. "This really puts a monkey-wrench in all the plans we were talking about this morning, Martha. Are your sister and brother-in-law going to be okay with you coming in August? I mean, if you don't mind waiting, that is. You could go in May, if you want to. We can manage for a week or two weeks, if you need to go."

"Of course we could," the Captain interjected. "I believe I have proved I am not entirely helpless in the galley, and I know Candy and Jonathan would assist, also."

"I wouldn't dream of it!" Martha grinned. "Truth to tell, May, June vacations are great, but I would just as soon visit Evelyn and Harry when it's cold here, like early November, maybe, before Thanksgiving. What's the sense of having relatives in Florida and California if you can't escape the cold weather once in a while?"

"What about you two?" Carolyn asked, still looking troubled. "Candy? Jonathan? Sorry about the change kids. I know you have your volleyball team, Candy, and Jonathan, you . . ."

"It's fine with me, Mom." Candy answered quickly. "August in Philly will be cool. Well, the weather won't be, but it won't be that different from June, and I remember last year Grandpa Muir said that if we had been there later in the summer that there were a couple of festivals that we could go to, so August will be fun."

"Candy's right, Mom." Jonathan added. "It doesn't matter when we go. Gramps and Grandma and Grandfather and Grandmother will keep us busy."

"Well, I guess that settles that!" Carolyn smiled. "August, it is."

"Hey, Captain . . ." said Jonathan, changing the subject. "Can you help me with my model after we finish dinner?"

"Wait! That's not fair!" Candy interrupted her brother. "Captain Gregg said he would show me how to play One-Eyed-Jacks tonight!"

"Don't squabble, children!" Carolyn scolded them. "Could you please start by helping Martha clear the table? Candy? Have you finished your composition? Jonathan, I want to check over your math homework. There'll be plenty of time for models and games later."

"Aw, Mom!" the two children chorused, "do we hafta?"

"Yes, you do!" She smiled, and ruffled Jonathan's hair. "Now, let's get cracking. You get your homework done, and I'll start on mine, too. I still have that lighthouse article to finish."

The little family dispersed for the evening, each going their own way.

Daniel Gregg first noticed something was amiss a few nights later. Three years of having mortals in the house had more or less forced him to make a few changes in his nightly routine. Around midnight he would check all the doors and windows, and then he spent a few hours walking the grounds of Gull Cottage and surveying the beach. Sometimes he would go into Schooner Bay and peruse the local library for new books, and if the mood struck him, he might pop in on Claymore and pester him for a while, just for the sheer sport of it. And sometimes, as he had done since the first night the Muir family had arrived at Gull Cottage, he would indulge in a private fantasy or two of his own and watch Carolyn sleep, daydreaming and wishing that his life, or afterlife could be different. He would then follow those activities by writing in his logs, or updating his sea charts, until dawn when the house and its occupants began to wake for a new day. It was his quiet time, and after one hundred years of solitude, it was a time he still greatly needed, and expected, after learning to adapt to mortals' habits and foibles, including their need for company and outside visitors, and sleep each night. Being a spirit, and incapable of sleep, this last was a need he envied, but nevertheless had gotten used to doing without. So it was a great surprise to him a few days later to come in from one of his late night rambles and hear the sound of piano music coming from the parlor — at three o'clock in the morning!

Could someone have left the record player or the radio on in the living room? He wondered. Surely not — I distinctly remember Martha shutting it off before she sent the children upstairs for their baths . . .

Silently, he glided through the house to where the piano was, and found, of all people, Carolyn Muir sitting there in front of it, playing a pretty tune. She had the damper pedal on, he noticed, as to soften the noise and not waken the rest of the household. Quickly he materialized upstairs to the nursery, where Candy and Jonathan were sleeping soundly and then to Martha's bedroom on the main level. Hearing her soft snores through her closed door, he nodded, and returned to the parlor, and watched Carolyn finish playing the piece.

"That's a lovely tune. What is that?"

Carolyn jumped. "I didn't know you were here," she said. "You startled me."

"I didn't mean to. Really though, it is beautiful."

"It's the theme from a movie called 'A Summer Place.' It came out a few years ago," Carolyn explained.

"I didn't know you could play the piano."

"That's because I play the piano, by ear, very badly," Carolyn said, sounding a little peeved. "I don't advertise it a lot. Why are you eavesdropping on me, anyway?"

"I'm not eavesdropping, and you do not play that badly," the seaman defended himself. "But it is rather hard to miss someone playing the piano at three o'clock in the morning. Why are you down here anyway? Let alone playing the piano?"

"Oh, I was working late on a story and needed a break. I was just . . . clearing my head a little." Carolyn stood up and headed for the stairs. "Well, if you'll excuse me, Captain, I don't think I am going to get anything else done tonight. I think I will go to bed now. Goodnight."

The Captain nodded, knowing perfectly well that he hadn't heard the sound of typewriter keys in well over four hours.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Muir."

The next night was no better. Or the night after that, or the night after that. The Captain watched quietly as Carolyn would work for a few hours in the early evening, stopping at times to help her children with homework questions, or, if there was no homework, it being so close to the end of the year, play a game. But after the Candy and Jonathan were in bed and Martha had retired, her new pattern would continue. One night he found her ironing at two a.m., and when he appeared and asked why, she explained that she had drank too much coffee at dinner and thought she would help Martha out. The next night she stayed in her bedroom and worked very late, leaving strict orders not to be disturbed. The night after that, he found her polishing his Georgian tea service, as well as all the other silverware in the house, and the night after that, she was outside, very late, with a flashlight, weeding her pet flower garden in the front yard. Another night, he watched her read until four in the morning.

Each succeeding night was no better than the last. One night he popped in as she was watching the late, late show, Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein, and when he asked her "what on earth she is doing," she insisted that she was completely caught up in the movie, and asked him to "please leave her alone so she can watch the end."

Most recently, he observed her leave the house in the wee small hours of the morning, carrying a flashlight. Curiously, he invisibly followed her, wondering where on earth she could be going. He watched invisibly as Carolyn walked the beach, thinking she had managed to leave without rousing the household, and when she finally made her way back to Gull Cottage several hours later, she retired to her room and read, finally dropping off a little before dawn. Not at all satisfied with this latest adventure, the Captain willed himself to the widow's-walk to do a little nocturnal pacing of his own. Much to his surprise, when he materialized into the kitchen the next day to wish the children good morning, Carolyn was there, looking pale, drinking what was obviously NOT her first cup of coffee and talking to Martha and the children in monosyllabic tones about their plans for the day.

Another few days went by and Carolyn was still no better — if anything she was worse. Her insomnia was starting to tell on her now and she was becoming short tempered and irritable, and everyone did their best to stay out of her way. But still, the Lady of Gull Cottage stoically refused to discuss her problem with anyone. Daniel Gregg continued to observe Carolyn silently, knowing instinctively not to challenge her, and hoped against hope that she would come to him with her trouble or that somehow, magically, things would go back to the way they were.

But Carolyn remained close-mouthed, and the situation did not improve.

"Captain? Captain Gregg? Are you in there?" Martha knocked on the door to the attic, clutching a small stack of papers in her hand, wondering if she should really be doing what she was about to do.

"Present, Martha," the seaman answered. "Come in, Dear Lady!"

"If you're busy, I can come back another time," the housekeeper said, opening the door. "You're not working on your sea charts, or anything, are you?"

"Just my log, actually — nothing that won't wait another fifty or sixty years, if necessary!" The seaman smiled at her and continued to write. "You have something on your mind?"

"Yes . . . no, not really . . . well . . ." The housekeeper's voice trailed off. And she looked embarrassed. "I've come to talk to you about . . . about . . ."

"Yes, Martha?" The Captain frowned, and put down his pen. "Out with it, my good woman. Something is obviously bothering you. Say your piece. Do you have a sudden driving need to clean up my wheelhouse? I'll have you know I am trying to keep some semblance of order up here, and I do try to dust regularly, for your sake."

Martha shook her head, "No. It has nothing to do with you. It's about Mrs. . . ."

The seaman looked at the housekeeper sharply. "Mrs. Muir?"

Martha nodded her 'yes.' "Forgive me for asking, Captain Gregg, but is there something wrong between you two? Have you two been fighting again, or anything? I know it's not really my place to ask, but . . ."

The specter shook his head. "No, Martha. On my honor as a gentleman, we have not been fighting, nor do I know of anything I have done that would be causing Mrs. Muir unhappiness in any way . . . or ANY crew-member of this ship, that I know of!"

"Oh." Martha shrugged. "I see. I was just wondering. Forgive me for asking, Captain. Go back to your work. I won't bother you again." And the woman turned to leave.

"Martha, wait . . ." the seaman said suddenly. "Please, come and sit down. I think maybe we need to talk more about this."

"Are you sure you aren't too busy?"

"My dear Martha, I am never too busy for a member of my crew . . . family. I would have thought you would have known that by now."

"Well, if you're really sure . . ." she said doubtfully.

"Positive," the seaman insisted, rising and dusting off another chair nearby. "May I offer you something to drink? Some Madeira, perhaps?"

"Maybe another time, Captain!" Martha smiled for the first time since entering the attic. "Thank you for asking."

"You don't mind if I do?" Martha shook her head. Silently, the seaman poured a glass. "Now then," the mariner said, pushing his charts aside. "About Ca . . . Mrs. Muir?"

"Well, I think something is bothering her, and if the problem isn't between you and her, than it's something else, and I think it's time we figured out what it is."

Daniel Gregg nodded his head, slowly. "You're right. There is something bedeviling her, and I will be blasted if I know what's going on! I cannot think of anything that would put her in the funk she has been in lately."

"It's her insomnia that interests me, Captain," Martha said quietly, rolling and unrolling the papers in her hand.

The seafarer looked at the woman in front of him carefully. "You are much more observant than I gave you credit for, Martha, and I do apologize for thinking that no one but I would catch onto Mrs. Muir's behavior. You have noticed she hasn't been sleeping well either?"

"Hard to miss, Captain, when I make the beds every day. I know the difference between a bed that has been slept in all night and one that has been messed up for effect!" The woman snorted. "I haven't been a domestic for twenty years without learning something!"

"A fair statement, my dear woman," Daniel nodded. "What else put you onto it?"

"Oh, hearing feet pacing at three o'clock in the morning that I know darn well isn't you, piano music coming from the parlor, pixies getting my laundry and ironing done, thinking I won't notice — little things like that," the woman said dryly.

"You are correct, Martha, there is something wrong, and I think it is high time we got to the bottom of it," the Captain nodded. "I must say, the whole situation is bothering me enormously."

"But you haven't confronted her, Captain Gregg?"

"Only in a roundabout way, my dear," the seaman answered. "But I felt this situation was different from the troubles we have faced in the past. Mrs. Muir has not said anything directly, nor has she come to me and asked for my advice or opinion. Indeed, she has been much the opposite — almost going out of her way to appear normal, but I know that something is amiss."

"Well, she hasn't told ME anything either, if that's any comfort," Martha answered. "That little mite of a woman can be so stubborn sometimes! I wish she would say something. I'm worried for her."

"She can indeed be mulish," he agreed. "Tell me, Martha, what made you decide to seek me out on this? You haven't often looked to ME for guidance . . . In fact. It is infrequent that I see you ask anyone for advice."

Martha shrugged her shoulders. "I just knew I needed to talk to someone, and I trust you. You're the best choice. Who would I talk to? Claymore? I certainly would not willingly discuss this matter with the children, although I do wonder if they realize that something isn't right." Slowly she handed him the papers she had been holding.

"What are these, Martha?" the seaman asked, giving her a questioning look.

"Just look at them," Martha said. "Now mind you, I don't make a habit of going through wastebaskets, but these scraps weren't IN the wastebasket, they had fallen OUT of Mrs. Muir's wastebasket, so I decided what falls under my eye, falls under my eye, and I had a right to look at them if I wanted to."

Daniel Gregg scanned the pages briefly. "This is a sample of what Mrs. Muir has been writing for the past few days?"

Martha nodded. "Not quite up to her usual par, is it? I don't like this, Captain. Whatever is bothering her and keeping her from getting a good night's rest, is affecting her work, and that's not good."

"It would seem so," the seaman nodded. "But these . . . these are mere scraps of stories — and the writing! Well, it's just not very . . . and look at all the mistakes! Mrs. Muir's first drafts are usually much better than this. I've read enough of them to know!"

Martha nodded. "That's what I thought. She can't be getting much more than two or three hours of sleep a night, and it's starting to play havoc with her entire system — she's eating even less than she usually does and she's losing weight, and . . ."

Suddenly, the spirit cocked his head, and put his finger to his lips, shushing Martha, then he signaled her to go to the almost closed door of the attic and be very quiet.

"Shh, Jonathan!" a voice hissed. "They'll hear you!"

"It wasn't me! It was Scruffy!" another voice whispered back. "Aren't you going to knock?"

"I thought YOU were!" Candy said, "You've known the Captain longer than me!"

"But you're OLDER . . ." Jonathan answered. "You do it!"

Silently, Daniel Gregg waived his hand, and the door to the attic swung open. The children glanced first at the seaman and then at the housekeeper and then looked at each other, guiltily. Suppressing a smile, the seaman gave the children his best 'Captain Look,' and waited for them to speak.

"Scruffy was coming up to the attic and we thought we would follow him to see what he was doing," Jonathan said, staring at the ceiling.

Martha frowned. "Is that right, Candy?"

The little girl squirmed and shot a glance at her brother. "Well, not really, that is, kinda . . ."

"Kinda?" the seaman said, softly.

"Well, yeah, and we saw Martha come up here, so we thought we would come up too, and ask you something," Jonathan blurted out.

"You didn't have to SNEAK up here, children," Daniel Gregg spoke again. "All you needed was to ask to . . . "

"Can we come in?" Candy asked, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Of course," the seaman answered, gesturing them inside, Scruffy following, and shutting the door behind them. "Can you find a place to sit?"

"Sure," they answered, sitting on top of the Captain's sea chest. Scruffy settled himself companionably near the Captain's feet.

"Now then, my dears," the Captain said gently. "What can I do for you?"

"Captain, what's the matter with Mommy?" They both blurted out at once, "Why isn't she acting the way she usually does?"

Suddenly it was the Captain and Martha's turn to exchange furtive glances. The spectre of Gull Cottage was the first to speak. "What makes you think that something is wrong?" the Captain hedged.

"Oh, come ON, Captain!" Candy spoke first, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "We're kids, but we aren't dumb. Mom's not acting like Mom and we want to know what's up."

"She doesn't ever want to do anything fun anymore, and she acts kinda like she did when she was so sick two years ago," Jonathan offered. "She's really grumpy, and . . ."

"And she acts like she needs a nap most of the time," Candy added. "Are you two mad at each other again? Have you and Mom been bickering like Jonathan and I do sometimes?"

"Yeah," Jonathan agreed. "Mom's so tired all the time, and it's no fun to be around her. Can you make Mommy act like Mommy again?"

Daniel Gregg gazed at the children he had come to think of as his own silently. "Oh, my dears . . ." he said gruffly, "I can't 'make' anyone act any differently than they would normally, especially your mother!"

"She's not sleeping enough," Candy said firmly. "Any dope can see that. Do you know why, Captain?"

"Or do you, Martha?" Jonathan turned to the housekeeper, hopefully. "Maybe it's all the coffee Mommy drinks. Suzy Peterson's Mom said that Suzy's dad can't drink regular coffee, he needs to drink the kind with the green label. Can you get that kind for Mom?"

Martha shook her head. "I switched Mrs. Muir to decaf without saying anything to her more than two weeks ago. It hasn't made a bit of difference in her sleeping habits."

"I should have known you would have done that," the Captain looked at Martha with even more admiration.

"And it's not money problems, bothering her, I don't think," Martha added. "We were talking only a few weeks ago before all this nonsense started, and she told me the first installment on the royalties is safely in the bank. Your memoirs should be out in September, Captain," she added.

Daniel Gregg nodded. "Mrs. Muir mentioned that more than a month ago." Silently, he glanced at the children, and then again to the housekeeper. "So where does all this talk leave us?"

"Up the crow's nest without a spyglass," sighed Jonathan.

"Navigating without charts," Candy agreed.

"You have definitely been an influence on these two, Captain!" Martha grinned.

"That leaves us still looking for answers, I suppose!" The ghost smiled slightly at the housekeeper, and turned back to Candy and Jonathan. "This situation cannot go on forever. Please try to be patient, and try not to worry, children. I'm sure in time either your mother will tell us what is wrong, or we will figure out something to do to help her."

Carolyn's voice came from the floor below. "Candy? Jonathan? Where are you? You have chores to finish!"

The four of them jumped, startled, and Martha started for the door. "Come on, you two. You better get busy. The Captain is right. Don't worry. We'll all work this problem out together." The three human residents of Gull Cottage started for the stairs, and Daniel Gregg slowly disappeared.

Carolyn stared at the blank sheet of typing paper in front of her.

Think, Carolyn, think! All you are trying to do is put together a nice, sweet, two thousand-word romance for a Sunday supplement — you've done this before! Concentrate! What if . . . well, yeah, that could work . . . Hurry Carolyn, before it flies out of your empty head again . . . Carolyn started typing furiously — for about two paragraphs, and then, angrily, she ripped the paper out of the typewriter. Stupid, stupid, Carolyn. You did a first person story for the Boston Herald last time . . . you can't do another one! What if . . . ? Yeah, it could go to third person . . . She reached for her coffee cup, which was empty. Sighing, she quickly inserted a new sheet of paper in the typewriter and began again.

Carolyn typed steadily for about half a page, and then rolled the paper back to reread what she had written, and she moaned softly. Four typos and two misspellings in the first paragraph? Blast. She grabbed her eraser, and savagely started rubbing out her errors, only to rip a hole in the paper. Blast . . . Carolyn bit her lower lip, inserted a new sheet, and started to type again, a bit more slowly, but stopping several times to correct her mistakes — each time reaching for her still empty coffee cup. At the bottom of the page, Carolyn pulled the sheet out of the platen and started to read what she had written, yet again.

" . . . Oh, my darling, Donovan, my scheming great-uncle simply refuses to grant me permission to see you again, for I am promised in marriage to Sir Gaylord Deveraux, one of my deceased father's business partners. He is not a young man, and my life will not be happy, but what am I to do? I will not be an adult in the eyes of the law until my next birthday and . . ."

"My God, this is dreadful . . ." Carolyn whispered. "It sounds like some awful Harlequin thing! Claymore could produce a better story than this! Whatever gave me the idea that I could write?"

Frustrated, she reached for her coffee cup one more time, and once again, she realized it was empty, and HAD been empty for over an hour. Carolyn whirled around in her chair and faced the French windows and the beautiful day outside mocking her, and, enraged, she threw the coffee cup, still in her hand, hard, straight toward the window, where it went through a pane of glass, sailed over the balcony banister and landed with a crash on the flagstones below, smashing into a thousand pieces.

"Oh, now look what I've done . . ." Carolyn whispered.

"What the BLAZES is going on?" The Captain asked, materializing into the master cabin, "What happened here? Did Jonathan hit another homer . . . ?" Silently he took in the scene — the broken window glass on the outside the French windows. He then dematerialized and reappeared out on the balcony, and, hearing the exclamations of the children in the yard below, peered down, and observed Martha chasing the children away from where they were inspecting the shattered remains of the obliterated coffee cup.

"It was an accident . . ." Carolyn explained, lamely.

"Coffee cups do not fly across the room, through windows and over balconies by accident," he said firmly. "Would you care to tell me what happened?"

"Well, I . . ."

Then Martha burst through the bedroom door, out of breath, followed by Candy, Jonathan and Scruffy.

"Great wall-eyed Sharks, Mrs. Muir! What happened here?"

"Wall-eyed sharks, Martha?" Carolyn asked. "Uhm . . . well nothing happened . . ." Daniel Gregg shot Carolyn an "I know better" glance and she quickly amended her statement. "I . . . well . . . this story of mine hasn't been going well, you see and I finally thought I was getting somewhere, and then I kept making mistakes and then what I was writing looked really stupid and then I was out of coffee and . . ."

"Gee, Mom," said Jonathan. "It looks a little like throwing a tantrum, to me!" The small boy turned red. "Golly, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" He looked at his mother, pleadingly. "You aren't going to send me to my room again, are you?"

Carolyn shook her head. "No, Jonathan, you're right. I was throwing a tantrum. I'm just so tired, and have so much to do and it's not going well and . . ."

"Well why don't you take a nap, Mom?" asked Candy, reasonably. "That's what you make US do when we're tired."

"I don't have time for naps right now, sweetie." Carolyn forced a smile. "Besides, I'm not sleepy."

"You just said you were tired," Martha pointed out. "Come on, kids, you go downstairs. I'll be down in a few minutes and we can call Claymore about the window and clean up the broken glass outside."

"I'll come down and help you," Carolyn said, heading for the door.

"You are supposed to take a nap," Daniel Gregg said, firmly.

"I TOLD you. I can't sleep right now. I'm . . . busy. That's right. I'm busy. I need to finish my story."

"Mrs. Muir . . ." Martha began.

"Mommy . . ." Candy and Jonathan joined in.

"Dear Lady, I really must object," the Captain added. "Something is obviously wrong with you. For heaven's sake, you need to tell us what the problem is! Do you want some help with your story? Do you need money? Has Claymore threatened to raise the rent again? Mrs. Muir, I am putting my foot down here. I really am going to insist . . ."

"No, No, No, and you have no right to insist on ANYTHING, Captain Gregg, but since you won't leave me alone, I'll tell you — I've just . . . just been having a little trouble sleeping lately, that's all. I used to have trouble with insomnia a long time ago. Nothing major. It will go away by itself. It always does."

The seaman nodded slowly. "I figured as much. Well, that explains your actions of the last few weeks. Now then, what can we do to help?"

"Nothing. I can figure this out for myself."

"Nonsense. If that was the case, you would have done it before now — is that not so?"

"Possibly, but . . ."

"We'll help, Mommy!" Jonathan cried, racing for the door. "C'mon, Candy — let's go see what my encyclopedias say about insonia, okay?"

"Insomnia, Jonathan," Candy said, starting after him. At the doorway she stopped and turned back to face her mother. "Don't worry, Mom. We'll figure out how to make you sleep! You need to start acting like you again. You're no fun when you don't feel good!"

"Yeah, Mom," said Jonathan, poking his head back in the door for a moment. "Remember when you got the Ague?" And the boy turned to his hero. "Maybe that's what Mommy needs, Captain Gregg! Want me to go pick some foxglove?"

"Uhm . . . that won't be necessary, Jonathan," said the seaman, dematerializing — giving Carolyn a doubtful look as he disappeared.

"You three stay OUT of my kitchen!" Martha shouted, heading for the bedroom door. "Don't worry, Mrs. Muir. I'll get everything straightened up and then make you a nice cup of tea. That should help you relax."

"I can't relax NOW," Carolyn called out after her, "I still have a story to rewrite. You better make that coffee . . ."

Scruffy whined and stared up into his mistress's face.

For the next week and a half or so, Daniel Gregg, Martha, Candy and Jonathan tried everything they could think of to help Carolyn sleep. Nothing was overlooked, from old standards like drinking warm milk, which Carolyn gagged at, and vetoed immediately, to listening to soft music at bedtime on Candy's transistor. Martha suggested a bedtime snack, which everyone liked the idea of except Carolyn. The Captain opted for herbal tea, which did send Carolyn to sleep a mite earlier than usual, only to wake up two hours later, making a run to the bathroom at top speed and then stay awake for the rest of the night. The next night Martha thought a nice warm bath would be a good idea, and indeed it was, until Carolyn dropped off to sleep in the tub, waking up sputtering, having slid down too far, covering her head with water and thoroughly waking herself up. Candy read that going to sleep on your back was supposed to help, so they tried that the next night, but Carolyn found it impossible to do. The Captain suggested opening more windows for ventilation, which he approved of anyway since his accident with the gas one hundred years before, but a short cold spell put an end to that idea. In short, nothing was working. Carolyn had taken to sitting up in the easy chair in her bedroom and reading until she was so exhausted she couldn't see straight, or taking long walks, alone, on the beach in the middle of the night. Both Martha and the Captain were at their wit's end.

"Martha?" Carolyn popped her head into the doorway of the service porch where the housekeeper was sorting laundry. "I need to go into town and mail my story. I finally finished it! I think the fresh air might do me some good, too. Do you need me to pick anything up while I'm there?"

Martha shrugged. "I can't think of anything — wait, I take that back. Have you picked up suntan lotion for the kids yet?"

Carolyn shook her head. "No, and I don't think we have any left over from last year, either."

"Well, Candy and Jonathan are spending tomorrow at that fair in town with the Gilbert's, remember? You might want to pick up some Coppertone. You don't want a couple of little lobsters on your hands! Oh, and we could use some aspirin, now that I think of it." The housekeeper frowned. "You look awfully tired, Mrs. Muir. I could go into town later, if you'd any rather — "

Carolyn laughed uneasily. "Martha, I'm fine. I did get a little more sleep last night, really. I think that maybe my insomnia is starting to get better, at least a little bit. Don't worry about me. I'll be okay. Didn't anyone ever tell you that mommies aren't supposed to get sick, or wear out?" She headed for the door. "I'll be back in an hour and a half or so! Bye!"

Daniel Gregg appeared in the kitchen and watched Carolyn's retreating figure. Martha came back in from the service porch, scratching her head. "Well, she sounds better this morning, Captain!" She looked up at him. "What do you think? Do you think insomnia can go away, just like that?"

The seaman rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "I suppose it could, given the proper circumstances, Martha. The only thing is, I know for a fact that your employer didn't get any more sleep last night than she has any other night recently."

Martha raised her eyebrows. "And how, precisely, would you know that?"

"I watched her walk the beach again, of course," the Captain growled. "She left Gull Cottage about one this morning and didn't come back until after five a.m." He ran his hand through his curls. "You don't think she looks any better, do you?"

"I certainly don't. I think she looks worse." And the older woman sighed. "No, not any better at all." Then her face brightened. "I know! I'll make turkey pot pies for dinner tonight. Mrs. Muir loves those, and maybe a nice, big, dinner will make her sleepy."

"I hope so," and Daniel frowned again. "It certainly couldn't hurt. The longer her problem goes on, the less she seems to eat. I honestly think that right now a good gust of wind could blow her into the middle of next week, but —" The seaman stopped and gave the housekeeper a grin. " You're right. Pot pies sound like a good idea and . . . Martha? Will you save a bite for me for later tonight? I love your pot pies."

Martha blushed like a schoolgirl. "Thank-you, Captain! Spirit or not, I'm glad you like my cooking! I love cooking for men! They're so appreciative!" And she beamed at him.

"A pleasure, my dear woman!" he said, giving her a wink. "Let's hope your dinner is a success — in more ways than one!" Daniel Gregg vanished, leaving Martha to her afternoon activities.

Despite Captain Gregg and Martha Grant's hopes, dinner that evening was a somber affair. Carolyn was there, in body, but definitely not in spirit. She only halfheartedly joined in on the dinner table conversation, and worse yet, she just made a small dent in the dinner that Martha had so lovingly prepared. Candy and Jonathan, catching their mother's general mood, ate quietly, finishing in record time, then asked politely if they could eat dessert out on the front porch, as long as they remembered to bring their plates in afterward.

"So can we, Mom?" Jonathan inquired for the second time.

"What?" Carolyn asked, not bothering correcting his 'can' to 'may.'

"Eat dessert outside, Mom," Candy offered. "Mommy?"

Carolyn bit her thumbnail and stared off into space.

"MOMMY?"

"I HEARD you, Candy!"

"Oh. Well . . . ?"

"Go ahead," she said, tiredly. "Just be careful with the dishes."

"Thank-you, Mom!" Candy and Jonathan each gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and scooted toward the back door — determined to vacate the premises as quickly as possible. "Thanks, Martha!" they chorused again, as they grabbed their desserts off the sideboard and took off through the back entrance.

"Now then, Mrs. Muir," Martha coaxed. "What about you? You certainly didn't eat too much dinner, and you definitely don't need to watch your figure like I do! How about some nice Blueberry Slump? I made it just for you!"

"I don't think so, Martha." Carolyn started to rise from her seat. "Maybe later. I still have work to do. If you need me, I'll be up in my room."

"But . . ."

"Martha, I love you, but you're fussing. Really, I . . . I'm just not hungry right now."

"Madam . . ." Daniel Gregg materialized into the kitchen.

"And what did YOU want, Captain?" Carolyn snapped, "You don't like my dietary habits either? I told you. I'm just . . ."

" . . . Not hungry, I know," he said quietly. "Ca . . . Mrs. Muir, Martha and I are concerned about you, that's all. Your insomnia isn't getting better. It's getting worse."

"Right!" Interrupted the housekeeper, firmly. "If you'd just call a doc . . . "

"And I told you I'm fine, and I WILL get better, no thanks to all the home remedies everyone has been suggesting, which, by the way, are not helping me at all," Carolyn cut in. "I just need to be left ALONE to handle this in my own way, and I don't need any more opinions!" She started for the stairs again, then turned back to the two in the kitchen. "Look, really, I'm sorry. I really don't wish to sound mean, but I know what is best for me. I just need to figure this problem out for myself. But . . ." and she smiled, looking only halfway cheerful. "Really, I do appreciate your concern. Look. I have work to do. I'll come down later and get some dessert, all right?"

"All right, Mrs. Muir," Martha said doubtfully. "Whatever you say."

"Wonderful, Martha," Carolyn said. "And you, Captain?"

"I won't bother you again this evening, Mrs. Muir," The seaman said quietly. "I'll shove off and leave you alone."

"I'd appreciate it," Carolyn said. "I'll call you if I get done, and maybe we can take a walk, or something." And she headed for the stairs again.

"I doubt THAT," the spirit commented quietly to Martha, as they watched Carolyn leave. "We haven't taken a walk together in weeks."

"Any more ideas, Captain?" Martha asked as she started to clear the dirty dishes. "I guess mine flopped."

The seaman shook his head. "Not yet, but I'm working on it. However, something tells me that Mrs. Muir isn't going to get much work done this evening. I have a feeling that something is going to break soon. She looks like she is almost at the end of her rope."

"Good morning, Martha!" said Daniel Gregg, as he popped into the kitchen the following day. "Or, should I say, good afternoon? It's almost, what? Noon?" He looked at her hesitantly. "And how are you today?"

"I'm fine, Captain!" Martha said dryly. "But aren't you really asking me how Mrs. Muir is?"

The seaman shrugged and looked at her sheepishly. "I suppose so. Truth to tell, after talking to her yesterday, and her lack of cooperation, may I say, I thought perhaps I better clear the decks and do as I said I would and not bother her for a while. I've been down at the beach — surveying the area. I still have sea charts to update, you know. So where is she, by the way?"

"Still asleep, as far as I can tell!" Martha said, her brows knitting together. "Quite unusual, come to think of it, especially after the last month or so. At least I THINK she is still asleep — I've walked by her room a few times and I haven't heard a sound. Her door is closed, and the car is still here, so I assume she is there. I suppose we should be grateful. Maybe she HAS figured out how to cure her insomnia by herself. I hope so, anyway!"

"And the children? Where are they?"

"At the fair with the Gilbert's, remember? Mr. Gilbert picked them up over an hour ago. They'll probably be there most of the afternoon." She paused. "Say, Captain, I don't suppose you could double check and make sure Mrs. Muir is in her room, could you? It's really unlike her to sleep this late, even under normal circumstances, which haven't been normal at all lately. You could do it without making a sound — if I try she might hear me, and if she is sleeping, I don't want to wake her."

The seaman drew himself up and looked affronted. "Martha! Are you suggesting that I should go into Mrs. Muir's room unannounced and . . . ?"

"Keep your shirt on, you old goat!" Martha grinned. "I am merely suggesting that you stick your head through the door and take a quick peek. With one eye if you want to! If she is still in bed and asleep, then that's fine. If not — if she has left the house for one of her midnight rambles, well, then we can set up a posse and go look for her. Now will you please go check and make sure everything is all right?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't know why you are getting your dander up, anyway. It's not like I didn't know you keep watch on us all night."

"My good woman!" The seafarer looked even more appalled. "I have never invaded your 'space,' as Candy calls it — "

Martha gave him another look. "No, but after REALLY knowing you for a year and some, I am becoming more aware of your little habits. Your night watches, for instance. I know THAT routine of yours quite well. Don't worry, Captain. I don't mind. Actually, I think it's quite comforting, knowing you are here keeping guard over us at night. I always have felt warm and secure in this place — even with it being two miles away from the rest of town. You know, more secluded."

"Why, thank-you, Martha! I must say, it's nice to know that you feel that way. For a long time, I thought, perhaps, you might want to leave if you knew about me, which is part of the reason I didn't make myself known to you sooner!"

"I wish you had, Captain. I feel like I have missed out on a lot, but Mrs. Muir and the children have caught me up on things, pretty much."

"Well, I did threaten Mrs. Muir that I was going to show myself to you after that business of Claymore giving away those antiques I had stored in the basement." The Captain's voice was amused, but inwardly he was thinking about how many times a routine part of his night WAS normally spent watching Carolyn sleep. "And not only that, but . . ."

"Well, I'm glad I know about you, too, Captain!" the housekeeper interrupted him, smiling again. "You know, there were times during the first two years I lived here I thought I was the one going nuts, not the rest of this family! "Now, about Mrs. Muir, don't you think you really ought to . . ."

"'Morning, Martha, Captain . . ." Carolyn stumbled into the kitchen, dressed in Capri's and a simple top, bumping into the doorframe as she entered the room. "Martha, is there any coffee left? I really need to wake up . . ."

"Why, Mrs. Muir!" Martha looked at her in surprise. "Mrs. Muir, it's almost noon! You need to wake up? I know you finally got enough sleep . . ."

"Martha, please!" Carolyn said brusquely. "I don't feel like arguing with you right now — Or you either!" She turned to Daniel Gregg, who hadn't said a word since Carolyn had walked into the room. "Blast it, I have a horrible headache, I'm still tired, and I have an article to finish. I just want some coffee."

"Breakfast, or lunch, actually, might not be a bad idea either, Mrs. Muir," said the Captain, mildly. "A good meal might . . ."

"I don't WANT anything to eat, Captain! I want some coffee, and not the blasted bilge water I have been getting around here lately! I might as well be drinking Kool-Aid!" Carolyn's voice was rising.

Martha slapped her hand down on the counter. "Now, look here, Mrs. Muir. We are only trying to help you!"

Carolyn looked at her housekeeper in astonishment. "Martha!"

"Martha is right, my dear," the Captain said, quietly. "We only want to help, and we cannot do that unless you tell us what is wrong."

"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!" Carolyn shouted, in a louder voice than either the housekeeper or the spirit had ever heard before. "The only thing WRONG with me is I have a killer headache, I'm still tired, I can't get a decent cup of coffee and everyone keeps HOVERING over me!" Angrily, she started for the door and then turned back to face the two. "And since I can't get any peace and quiet in my own home, I can see I will have to go elsewhere!" Carolyn turned on her heel, left the kitchen and made her way to the foyer, where she grabbed her purse and headed to the car, slamming the front door behind her.

"Well, 'lumme,' as my grandma would say!" said Martha. "Captain, shouldn't we . . . ?"

Silently, the seaman shook his head. "No, my good lady — I do not think so. Let her have her head for the moment. I can find Mrs. Muir when I need to. What we NEED to do is get to the bottom of this. Blast it, that raving woman who just left here is definitely NOT Carolyn Muir!"

"Captain. This situation is getting out of hand. Look, I hate to say this, and as Mrs. Muir's employee, I could get fired for even suggesting what I am about to suggest, but I'm her friend, too, and as her friend, it is MY opinion that you need to go and search her room." Martha gave another worried glance toward the doorway Carolyn had just stormed through. "Maybe you can find something there that will help us solve this mystery."

"Martha! Search her room?" The Captain was truly shocked. " How can you suggest such a thing? In the last three years I have never come close to . . ."

Martha sniffed. "Oh, come now, Captain! You have too!"

"Martha, I have NEVER searched her room, your room, or anyone else's!"

The housekeeper gave him a narrow look. "Okay. Maybe 'searching' is too strong a word. But are you going to stand there, Captain Gregg, and tell me you have never observed members of this house invisibly, read a note or telegram that wasn't intended for you, or tried to listen in on a conversation that wasn't meant for your ears? Come now, I don't believe it! What about how hard it was to keep you from finding out about your surprise party last year? After I found out about you, Mrs. Muir told me that the only reason you couldn't get away with listening invisibly then, was because Scruffy could sense you, whether you were visible to the rest of the family or not." The Captain shrugged. "And didn't you listen in on my telephone conversation with my sister, too?" the housekeeper continued her questions, "When I thought I would have to move to Florida permanently? When I thought no one cared that I was leaving, and I was going to leave a day early?"

"That was different, Martha! I was concerned about you."

"You know, Captain, I really do wish, only once in a while, mind you, that I could give you a big hug." Martha gave him a look that was almost tender. "I know you were worried about me, and you hadn't even MET me yet, and I know you are VERY worried about Mrs. Muir now. Well, for the record, I worry about Carolyn . . . Mrs. Muir . . . just as much as you do. She is my friend as well as my employer, and I am scared to death for her. Look. This whole thing is getting really weird. This isn't spying. It's helping. I would do it myself, but you need a lookout down here in case she comes back, and you can search her room better than I can because you can be invisible. I can't."

"I see your point, my dear woman, but I cannot say I am thrilled about this. Maybe we should just confront her and make her tell us what is going on. I am convinced there is something she is not telling us — something she is trying to be brave about, and I wish to blazes she wouldn't be."

"Captain, we've been waiting and waiting for Mrs. Muir to say something, and we have TRIED asking her what's up, but things just aren't working out. Nothing has happened. You need to do this NOW. Something is wrong, and we need to find out what it is. Besides, I think this whole situation is really starting to scare the kids. It's not good for them. Do you really want them to suffer further also?" Martha gave the spectre another searching look. "Come now, Captain Gregg! Please!"

The spirit raised his hands in resignation. "You're right, Martha. This has to come to an end. Very well, you can be my watchman . . . watch-woman, and I'll go upstairs and look for anything unusual."

"Make it quick, Captain. We have no idea how long she'll be gone."

Hurriedly, Daniel Gregg began to search the master bedroom — stopping only briefly when the phone rang. Hearing no call from Martha, indicating it was Carolyn, he continued his search. A half an hour later, the seafarer popped back into the kitchen with a small medicine bottle in his hand. Silently, he held it out to the housekeeper. "Is this anything?"

"It is," Martha nodded. "Where did you find these?"

"Under her pillow," the seaman replied. "What are they, exactly?"

"Tranquilizers. Sleeping pills . . . Over-the-counter stuff. You can get them in any drugstore." Martha smiled slightly. "I used to take one occasionally right after we all came here. I used to have trouble sleeping with no city noises, and I had heard about the place being haunted. I haven't seen any of these around since I put the last of mine in the mashed potatoes and fed them to Duke and his gang." She shook the bottle in her hand. "Mrs. Muir must have bought them yesterday when she was in town. I don't think she has taken more than two or maybe three. Late last night or early this morning, probably. That would explain her sleeping late all of a sudden, how draggy she was when she woke up, and her headache. It can be a side effect of these darn things. That's why I never took them except as a last resort, and never than for more than one pill, one night in a row. I don't think they are good for you on a regular basis." The older woman looked at the seaman with alarm. "What's bothering her is definitely making her desperate. Mrs. Muir doesn't even like to take aspirin."

"All right, Martha," the Captain said, pacing the kitchen floor. "We are making advances here, but our problem still remains. I could MAKE Mrs. Muir sleep without these drugs, like I did with that wharf rat, McNally, but that is a temporary solution, like these pills. Blast it, I need an answer, and I am completely flummoxed. The person I lov — care for most in the world is suffering and I don't know how to help her." Helplessly, the Captain sat down at the kitchen table. "Martha, what on earth are we going to do? How are we going to talk to her about this? Sleeping pills aren't a solution. We need to get to the root of the problem. Blast, blast, BLAST! WHY is she not sleeping?"

Wearily, the housekeeper took two coffee mugs from the cabinet by the stove, placed one in the seaman's hand and held the other in her own. "Avast, there, Captain, Stop blasting and listen to me."

"Martha?" His eyes were two question marks, but he did as the housekeeper asked without further comment.

"I think I know what the trouble is now." Martha filled the mugs, seated herself at the kitchen table alongside the seaman, and continued to speak. "Well, I guess a little background information is in order here — "

"Background, Martha? About Carolyn?" He looked interested.

Martha raised her eyebrows at the Captain's open use of her employer's Christian name, and then nodded. "About Mrs. Muir, but about me, too, I guess. The two are sort of intertwined." Martha paused and stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee and watched the whirlpool in her cup until it settled. "I started working for Mrs. Muir in July of 1960, part-time. She was pregnant with Candy then, and still working, and her husband, insisted that if she couldn't, or wouldn't give up her newspaper job, that she needed to hire a maid." Martha grinned at the seaman. "That was wonderful, as far as Mrs. Muir was concerned, because she never really liked housework that much to begin with. An employment agency found me the position. I have worked as a domestic all my life, and back then I really needed the job. My husband was in the hospital, dying slowly of cancer, and even with insurance, there were bills to pay. Mrs. Muir was gracious enough to let me make my own hours, more or less, so I could be with my husband at the hospital when needed."

"Martha! I didn't know you had ever been married!" the Captain said, amazed.

"That's because I've never told you. Yes. His name was Charles, Charlie. He was the love of my life, and we were married only five very short years."

"But . . ." The Captain objected. "You're a widow? You don't wear a wedding ring, like Carolyn, and you don't ever . . ."

Martha smiled. "You're letting your 19th-Century sensibilities show through again, Captain! My private life, and who I choose to tell about it is just that — private. But if you must know, I did wear my wedding ring for quite a while after Charlie died. Then, when I knew I was coming to Maine with Mrs. Muir, I decided that as long as she was making a fresh start, I wanted a new start also, and I took it off. I can't explain why, exactly. But it was time. I still have my wedding ring, Captain. I might want to give it to one of my nieces some day. I'll show it to you sometime, if you care to see it."

"I would be honored, Madam," the seaman said gravely. "And, may I give you, albeit belatedly, my condolences for your loss? I am truly sorry."

The older woman's face clouded over for a moment, then she said gruffly: "Thank you, Captain Gregg," and she reached for a handkerchief in her pocket and blew her nose. "We're getting off track, here. I have more to tell you, but we haven't much time. Remember. We don't know when Mrs. Muir is going to get back."

"I beg your pardon for the interruption, Martha," the Captain said, contritely. "Do go on."

"Well," Martha continued. "My job went to live-in, full-time a couple of years later after Jonathan was born. He was a tiny little thing — premature, and very delicate. Mrs. Muir needed more help then. Candy was two, of course, and into everything. Mr. Muir was traveling for his father on business a lot at that point, and they had moved into a new house. The situation was perfect for me — Charlie was confined to a sanitarium by then, and I had to sell our house to pay the medical bills, so I had a home and a job and a family all at the same time."

"Martha . . ." the Captain interrupted again, in spite of himself. " . . . This is fascinating, and I am honored that you want to tell me so much about your past, but what does this all have to do with Carolyn?"

"I'm getting to that, Captain." Martha wrinkled her brow. "Just let me finish, here. It's important that you know what was going on back then, in order to understand what else I need to tell you."

The seafarer nodded, but said nothing, and waited for her to continue.

"As I said, first I became a live-in housekeeper for Mrs. Muir. Then, in '66, after Robert Muir died, I stayed as long as I could, and I helped her pack up everything and move into Ralph and Marjorie Muir's house."

"You know, I never have quite understood that." The Captain said. "Why did she need to move in with her in-laws? Didn't her late husband leave her well situated? Why was there no money?"

Martha sighed. "Well, I suppose I have said this much, and there is more to come, so I guess a few more tales out of school won't hurt anything at this point. The truth is, from what I have been told and have found out over the years, Mrs. Muir's husband left a number of debts. Large ones. He loved her, of that I am sure, but a practical man, he was not, and spent more than he made, and never let her in on anything about their finances. He thought that such things were strictly a husband's responsibility. Anyway, Mrs. Muir ended up having to sell their big, beautiful house to pay off what they owed. She wouldn't have been able to afford it on her much smaller widow's pension and income anyway, and rather than rent an apartment, and live by herself with Candy and Jonathan, the Muirs insisted that she come and live with them. They felt responsible for her, you see, and although they meant well, it is my personal opinion that the years between 1966 until she moved to Maine in 1968 were the worst years of Mrs. Muir's life."

The Captain nodded again, and refilled his coffee cup. "I remember her telling that blasted Thompson that she wanted to make a fresh start."

"Let me make this clear, Captain," Martha continued. "The Muirs are really very fond of their daughter-in-law. You met them . . . saw them, I mean. I think you know that in their own way, they do love her, and they wanted to do everything they could for her. Maybe MORE than they should. And of course, they doted on the children. Rather too much, at times I think. Mrs. Muir used to call me and we would meet for coffee and talk, or sometimes, we'd just talk on the telephone. I had moved to another job, at that point. Ralph and Marjorie Muir had their own housekeeper. They didn't need me. But anyway, we stayed in touch. She was very fond of me, and, in some ways, Carolyn Muir has been the daughter I never had. She told me she hated not having control over her own life, her own children . . . Bobby's children, and that as long as she lived under the Muir's roof, and accepted their charity, well-meaning or not, she could never have an independent life of her own, or one for Candy and Jonathan."

"I can see that." The Captain frowned. "It would be rather difficult to be in a dependant position after being in an independent one for so long. So what finally happened? How did she finally manage to make the leap — move out, and come to Maine?"

"Well, despite Ralph Muir's objections that it wasn't necessary, Mrs. Muir found a job at another small newspaper, and she worked there for a year-and-a-half or so after Robert Muir died," Martha continued. "She spent that first year being asked to cover every boring assignment there was to cover. That's par for the course for your average newspaper, by the way, so don't get yourself ruffled. She was sort of starting over again, you see. Anyway, as luck would have it, when she had been at the paper for about a year, she was sent to review the road show of a play that was in town, and somehow, she managed to snag a personal interview with the star . . . a rather well known actor, actually. It was a great interview, and quite a coup, and the Associated Press picked up the story, and she received statewide recognition for it. Her boss was thrilled because the interview appeared in his paper first, she got a raise, and he encouraged her to work more on her feature writing, even to the point of submitting articles and stories to other magazines. The day she got word that she had sold two stories in one day was the day she decided that she could write for a living and support her family and herself. She was determined to move away from Philadelphia and make a fresh start. She found Claymore Gregg's advertisement offering Gull Cottage for lease, and she made the decision to move to Maine. She called me the day she signed the papers and mailed them back to Claymore. My Charlie had passed away some time before, but I, in my way, was still at loose ends too, and I made the decision to come along." She smiled and refilled the Captain's cup again. "I must say I had a few doubts! More after getting here and hearing the place was haunted!"

"You are a woman of many facets, Martha," the spirit said gravely.

"A girl's gotta do something to keep the mystery going, Captain! But, I'm sorry . . ."

"What do you have to be sorry about?"

"Well, I should have figured this out — told you sooner. After knowing Mrs. Muir for as long as I have, AND her history, I should have remembered . . ."

"Told me what? Blast it, Madam! If you know what is going on . . ."

"Hold your horses, Captain Gregg! I think I DO know now, but I didn't know I knew until you were up in her room . . ."

"What, Martha? For heaven's sake, tell me!"

"Think back Captain. When did all this insomnia business start?"

Captain Gregg closed his eyes, and concentrated for a moment. "About a month ago."

"And what happened, or precisely, DIDN'T happen a month ago?"

The seaman snapped his fingers. "Mrs. Muir got the phone call about the June vacation in Philadelphia being postponed."

"Exactly." Martha gave the seaman a significant look.

"Is she THAT upset about not seeing her parents and Ralph and Marjorie Muir until later this summer?" the Captain asked, wonderingly.

"Oh, no, Captain. It's not that, it's something else . . . like I said, I only figured it out when Mrs. Williams called here long distance from Europe about a half-hour ago."

His voice quieted. "Ahh. That's who was on the telephone . . . Martha, what did Carolyn's mother want?"

Martha Grant's voice was low, husky, almost embarrassed. "The anniversary of Robert Muir's death is today. Mrs. Williams remembered and called to talk to Mrs. Muir and see how she was doing. I forgot all about it. I feel like an idiot! I was there when it all happened; that's why I told you about it — and her years in Philadelphia."

"Are you telling me all this not sleeping, this insomnia, is a preliminary to remembering today? The day her husband died? Blast! But, that was what? . . . five years ago? She's never . . ."

" . . . She doesn't talk about it, much," said Martha. "But remember, Captain, For the last two years, that is in 1969 and 1970, you wouldn't have noticed it. We're usually vacationing in Philly right now, remember?"

The Captain nodded. "I see. And she has had these same sleeping problems every year when she visits her parents?"

Martha nodded. "Looking back on it, yes, I think so, but not as much. Her parents and the Muirs keep her and the kids pretty occupied, of course, and she is HOME. That helps a good deal. It helps get her through her bad time a little quicker. That's my opinion, anyway."

Captain Gregg gave Martha a bewildered look. "Helps WHAT, Madam? I don't understand. She has always seemed so happy here . . . from the very first. From the day you all first came to Gull Cottage, and may I say, met me. I thought she considered Maine . . . Gull Cottage her home now. Blast it, Martha, maybe she needs to talk to someone about this . . . this depression that comes over her. Especially if it leads to this blasted insomnia of hers. A doctor? A psychiatrist perhaps? Not like that idiot McNally — Someone reputable. After all, it has been five years . . ."

"There's no timetable on grief, Captain." Martha interrupted him again. "It's not that easy. I've been watching Phil Donahue — you know, the talk show. He had a doctor, a psychiatrist on the other day, and they . . ."

"Martha, what does some actor on the television . . ."

"He's not an actor. He's a talk show host. He has lots of people on his show. Actors, writers, doctors . . ."

"So you agree with me? Do you think Carolyn needs a doctor? A psychiatrist?"

There was a beat. Then the housekeeper spoke again, hesitantly, almost reluctantly. "I think there may be more involved, in this case. Tell me, Captain Gregg, in the last three years, has Mrs. Muir ever told you about how Robert Muir died?"

Daniel Gregg shook his head. "No, and I must admit, I have wondered from time to time. But since Carolyn has never talked about it, I assume she wanted it to remain private — a closed subject."

"Well, I think I have it figured out. I think Mrs. Muir feels guilty about the car accident. I really think she has been feeling guilty all this time about having lived when her husband died."

"What do you mean?" The seaman asked. "Why should she feel that way? She wasn't there, and automobile accidents do happen."

"You really don't know, do you, Captain?" Martha asked quietly.

"Know? Know what, woman? Tell me!" he demanded.

"Mrs. Muir . . . She was in the car that night, the night Mr. Muir died. It was a freak thing, not her husband's fault, in any way. There was an oil slick in the road. The car skidded, went out of control and crashed. Robert Muir died on impact. Mrs. Muir was thrown clear."

"Dear God!" he replied, thunderstruck. "She was in the car with him? Damn it all to hell!" Suddenly, Daniel Gregg was standing and pacing the floor in long angry strides. He stopped and turned back to Martha Grant. "Was she injured?"

Martha shook her head. "That's the rub," she replied. "She survived without a scratch. Some really good bumps and bruises, yes. But no permanent scars, stitches, anything like that. Not even a broken bone. The accident was horrible. It was a miracle she made it out alive, and for all intensest purposes, unharmed. I don't think she has ever truly understood why."

"I don't understand, Martha. Why hasn't Mrs. Muir told me this before? Why has she kept this a secret? It is certainly nothing to be ashamed of."

"Well, I guess I just assumed she'd told you by now. I suppose she has had her reasons for not telling you, but I am sure now that's why she's been so edgy lately . . . not sleeping. This time of year is always a hard time for her. I'm just so VERY sorry I didn't remember sooner! But things have been so wonderful for all of us here. She's been so happy. Maine, this house, has been so good for her . . ."

"Oh, The poor lass!" The Captain moaned. "All these years, harboring a hellish, guilt-ridden nightmare . . ."

"Well, since you know, Captain, and now that we both have finally figured out what the trouble is, maybe you can talk to her? Say something? Do something? She's stubborn, but she'll listen to you. Can't you cheer her up and get her out of this slump she's in? She has got to get back to a normal routine! I know I could be in deep water for spilling the beans, but I think Mrs. Muir will be relieved that you finally know. Please, talk to her, Captain, seeing her like this, well, it breaks my heart. I'll do anything I can to help you."

"I'll do what I can, Martha, you have my word."

"Oh, and Captain, for what it's worth . . ." Martha added, ". . . Knowing you has made all the difference in her. I see it in her every day, and if anyone can help her get through this time, you can."

"Thank-you, Martha. It is caring friends like you who make life worth living."

"That's quite a statement, coming from YOU, Captain!" Martha said gruffly, "I've gotten quite fond of you, myself." She gave him a sideways glance. "Now then, do you have any ideas?"

A few hours later, Daniel Gregg reappeared in the kitchen.

"Martha?"

The housekeeper jumped slightly and turned to him. "Can't you learn to rattle a chain, or knock, or something?"

The seaman grinned. "Carolyn said the same thing to me once." And his smile turned to a sigh. "Would that we were back in those circumstances again, and only had something THAT easy to solve!"

Martha sighed along with him. "It would be a little easier than what we are facing now, wouldn't it?" She turned and looked out the kitchen window. "She hasn't come back, you know. Did you find her? Have you talked to her?"

"Yes, and no," the Captain replied.

"Which?"

"Oh. Yes, I have located her . . . and I know where she has been all afternoon, and where she is now. No, I haven't talked to her. I didn't think it was wise, at the moment."

Martha nodded. "That's probably a good idea, in this case. What has she been up to all this time? No accidents, or anything, I take it?"

Daniel shook his head. "No, she's all right — and as well as can be expected, I suppose."

"So, are you going to tell me where she is, and what she has been doing, or do I have to call your Spectral Fraternity, or something?"

The Captain gave the older woman a superior smile. "My good woman, you wouldn't know where to begin to look! Now then, would you like an update, or not?"

"Yes," she answered. "Sorry, Captain. I'm just concerned. That's all."

"I know, my dear." For a moment the mariner looked like he wanted to give the housekeeper's arm a comforting pat, then he continued. "Well, it did take a little doing to find her. I found her car immediately, of course, but no Carolyn. Then, after popping in and out of almost every store in town, I finally located her at the Schooner Bay Movie Theater. I watched her view the last half-hour or so of a film . . . Airport, I think it was, then she left and went to the coffee shop."

"Hmm . . ." Martha said. "I guess if you are upset, watching a nice escapist movie is really a very good idea. Airport's not bad at all. Ed and I saw it last week. Helen Hayes was great. I missed it when it first came out. One of the disadvantages of living in a small town! What did Mrs. Muir do then?"

"As I said . . ." the seaman continued, ". . . She went to the coffee shop, got rather snippy with the waitress, demanded a cup of extra strong coffee; black, and a muffin. I guess she decided she was hungry after all. She ate it and drank her coffee while she read the newspaper, and then left the restaurant, got in her car, and went to the beach."

Martha looked startled. "That's only a half a mile from here. I didn't hear her drive up!"

"She didn't," the Captain said, briefly. "I sat in the back seat of the car, invisibly, of course, when she drove back this way, just for security, you know. She stopped the car up the road a piece, and walked down the path to the beach. She's there now."

"I guess she's not ready to talk to us yet, then," Martha said thoughtfully, and she lifted an eyebrow in the Captain's direction. "You didn't stay and watch her?"

He shook his head. "I did, for a while. I think she will be all right. She's troubled, I think, not suicidal. She's just walking and looking at the clouds and the gulls playing on the water. I think she just wants some time to herself. I'll still be keeping watch on her, until she returns home. Now . . ." He asked. " . . . What's happening here? Where are the children?"

"Well, we got lucky, there, Captain!" Martha really smiled for, what seemed to the Captain, like the first time in days. "Candy called me about a half hour ago. Both she and Jonathan have been at the fair with the Gilbert's, you know. She said they had been asked to supper, and then if they could go to the drive-in up in Pripet and stay overnight. All things considered, and since I couldn't reach Mrs. Muir, anyway, I told Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert it would be all right. Figured if Mrs. Muir really has a problem with it, which I doubt, I can call them later. Anyway, they won't be home until tomorrow, around noon, I imagine! I think it will do those two good to get away from all the tension around here too."

"You have a most beautiful smile, my good woman, when you are pleased with yourself!" the seaman said, giving Martha a curious look. "Something tells me you have a plan. Would you mind letting me in on it?"

"Still quite the charmer, aren't you, Captain?" Martha grinned. "Well, okay, I was just thinking. From what you have said, it looks like Mrs. Muir won't be back for a while. After ten years, I know Carolyn Muir, Captain. If she has something she needs to work out, she can spend hours walking — the beach, or anywhere else. For heaven's sake, she can walk the beach for hours when there ISN'T anything bothering her! We have some time yet before it gets dark, and she HAS to come home sometime! Why don't you and I put our heads together and see what we can do to make her homecoming just a little sweeter, shall we?"

Carolyn parked the car in front of Gull Cottage at seven p.m. — worn out, but not sleepy. Hesitantly, she looked up past the front porch, where the porch light was burning softly. She could see a soft light glowing through the front window in the living room, but no signs of life — ectoplasmic, or otherwise. Quietly, she made her way up the flagstone walk, past the stone lions, and up the porch stairs. She reached for the doorknob, half-hoping that the door would open without her aid, signaling the presence of Daniel Gregg, but the door was locked.

"Blast," she murmured, fishing for her key. "Well, I can't say I blame anyone for not wanting to be around me. I'm a mess. I wonder where everyone is?"

She found the note on the kitchen table.

Dear Mrs. Muir —

The kids are having dinner and then going to the drive-in with the Gilbert crew. Since I couldn't reach you, I told them it would be all right. I hope that was okay! I have a date with Ed — probably won't be home until late. Dinner is in the fridge. I hope you are feeling better.

Love,

Martha

Carolyn dropped her purse on the kitchen table and sighed. "Guess I'll skip supper . . . no sense heating everything up for just me . . . I don't think I deserve it tonight! I'm just so tired! I know I shouldn't take my problems out on everyone else! Why do I do that, anyway?" she asked herself, remorsefully. Slowly, Carolyn headed for the stairs, still wondering where the Captain was.

As she opened the door to her room, the first thing that hit her was the smell . . . Roses! The smell of roses was everywhere . . . from roses scattered in vases throughout the room and from the candles burning by her bedside table, on her desk, and next to the divan. Along with the divine scent of roses, the room also smelled pristine and clean — as it did after one of Martha's thorough airings and dustings. Her bed was freshly made and turned down, and both her nightgown and the caftan the children had given her the previous Christmas were laid out at the foot of her bed, and her favorite pair of bedroom slippers was on the floor, near them. But the spirit was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, Daniel . . . " she whispered, his Christian name rolling off her tongue as naturally as if she had been saying it for years, "I AM sorry! I know you and Martha meant well, it's just that . . . " Slowly, she pushed open the French doors, already slightly ajar, and walked through the doorway out onto the balcony. ". . . You can't possibly understand . . ." she continued, heading toward the ship's wheel.

Quietly, Daniel Gregg stepped out of the shadows. The seaman looked her in the eye, then without a preamble, said softly, "I know what happened."

Suddenly the tears were streaming down her face. "You do?"

"Yes, Martha told me . . . My only question at the moment is why, after having lived with what happened for five years, and me for more than three years, you didn't feel you could talk to me about this sooner, and if not to me, at least to Martha? Do you have any idea how worried we have been about you!"

"I'm an adult. A grown woman . . . and the head of my family . . . " she started. "And as you said, everything happened five years ago. I'm not supposed to cry any more. I'm supposed to go on with my life. I'm supposed to think of my children, and the fact that I have a living to make . . . and I don't have time . . ."

"You don't have time NOT to talk about this." Daniel stopped her again. "It's time to lay this to rest, my dear. Especially now that you know that you have a very sympathetic ear to listen to you, and a shoulder to cry on, if you need it . . . figuratively, if not physically," he added, with a small sigh.

Carolyn smiled slightly. "I appreciate it. And I thank you for not taking me to task over my abysmal behavior over the past few weeks."

"Never!" the seaman looked affronted. "Now, listen, Dear Lady. You are tired and you need to relax — clear your head. I think that's part of what has been bothering you."

"Suddenly you are an expert, Captain Gregg?"

"Daniel . . ." he said softly. "You called me Daniel a few moments ago. If you would continue doing that it would make me very happy — Carolyn."

Carolyn blushed and turned away from him. "I often call you that — to myself anyway. I'm glad you don't mind . . ."

"Mind? Ha! Not very likely! Of course not, my dear! What I WOULD mind is if you were to go back to calling me 'Captain.' I really do think it's time — PAST time — to make that change, don't you?"

Carolyn turned redder, but she faced him again. "Yes . . . I would like that very much."

"Good." He rocked on his heels for a moment and looked satisfied. "Now, Dear Lady, I would like to suggest you change into something more comfortable while I am downstairs fixing your dinner."

"I'm not hungry . . ."

"Nonsense!" he sniffed. "Blast it all, woman! How on earth can you expect to fall asleep if you are hungry? Of course you are hungry. All you have had to eat today is a muffin and a cup of coffee." Carolyn gave him an astonished look. "You knew I was keeping an eye on you, didn't you? Now then, you get changed and I will be right back. I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

"No . . ." Carolyn said, reflectively. "I don't believe you are!" And then she really smiled. "All right, Daniel," she said slowly, "You win . . ." And another tear trickled down her cheek. "Okay. Get out of here and let me get out of these clothes." And she picked her pink caftan up off the foot of the bed. With a bow, the seaman vanished.

There was a tap on the door of the master cabin twenty minutes later.

"Are you decent, my dear?"

"Yes, Cap . . . Daniel. I'm out on the balcony," Carolyn called. "Please, come in."

"The balcony! An excellent location for dinner!" Captain Gregg rolled in a small food cart, on which were several covered dishes. "Marvelous! There's a little table here — We can eat out by the ship's wheel and watch the sun set." Deftly, he wheeled the cart through the balcony doors, and whisked two small chairs into place at the table.

Carolyn peered at the still-covered dishes. "I'm really not that hungry, Daniel. You've made much-to-much here. Tea and toast would have been plenty."

"Martha told me she would give me what-for if I didn't make sure you got something decent to eat," said Daniel, lighting the two tall taper candles that he had also placed on the balcony table, and he uncovered the first dish. "Don't get me in trouble with her!" he added, in mock horror. "And now — Voila! Martha's homemade tomato soup. Now don't tell me you are going to pass that up! She told me you love it as much as Red-Flannel Hash."

Carolyn smiled. "I do, Daniel! Actually, I love it more. She made this before she left?"

"Yes, and as I said, I promised her that I would talk you into eating it. You wouldn't make me a liar to Martha, now would you? Allow me, milady . . ." and he pulled out her chair and motioned her to sit. "Have I mentioned how lovely you look? Pink is definitely your color."

"Thank-you, gallant sir!" Carolyn smiled again and sank into her seat, and he noted that her face seemed to have relaxed somewhat. "Daniel, have I thanked you for the beautiful roses? I meant to. They're lovely."

"You're welcome. But they are nothing, compared to you, Carolyn," he said softly, clearing his throat. "Now then, about dinner . . ."

"What else have we here?" She looked with interest at the other plates on the cart.

"Ah. I see you are intrigued! Tell me, my dear, what goes best with tomato soup?"

"I haven't a clue!" Carolyn grinned, "But I have a feeling you are going to tell me!" and she looked on as the seafarer lifted the lid on the next dish.

"Why, grilled cheese sandwiches, of course! And here . . . " He lifted the cover on the third dish, "Fried egg sandwiches! Candy told me they are her favorite thing to eat when she is unhappy."

"Of course!" Carolyn said, snapping her fingers, dramatically. "Now, why didn't I think of that? Uhm, Cap . . . Daniel . . . Martha made these too? You — heated them up?" She tried not to let him see the dismayed look on her face. "This should be . . . um . . . interesting!"

"Of course not!" Daniel sniffed. "Warmed over sandwiches, are, I believe, according to Jonathan, to be thrown over the side and left for the sharks. I made these."

"You? No! I don't believe it!" she said, amazed.

"You doubt my word, Madam?" The seaman looked hurt. "There are any number of things I can do when the occasion arises . . . " He looked at her tenderly. "And this is such an occasion. I would do anything in my power to bring back your smile, my dear."

Carolyn flushed. "Thank-you, Daniel! I'm very grateful, but I really don't deserve this special treatment. I know I have been behaving strangely . . . illogically these last few weeks. You're being . . ."

" . . . Yes, but now I know WHY you have been behaving 'strangely,' as you put it, and that makes all the difference!" And he gave her another intense look. "Let's start, before this gets cold, shall we?" he said, and they began to eat.

"I love grilled cheese sandwiches. When I was little, I could always eat one and it would make me feel better . . ." During dinner, Carolyn talked incessantly about everything that came into her head — the weather, the sunset, the children's plans for the summer, the volleyball squad that Candy had started, Jonathan pitching for the Schooner Bay Oysters again for the summer league, Martha's quilting circle, the movie she had seen that afternoon — everything but the subject at hand. It was as if someone had turned on a spigot, and her words kept pouring out.

When Daniel and Carolyn finished with their soup and sandwiches, the seaman disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with a covered platter in one hand and a decanter of Madeira and two glasses in the other. "Dessert," he bowed.

"Oh, Daniel . . ." Carolyn protested. "I just can't! I'm just too . . ."

"Martha's other company special? German chocolate cake?"

"Well, maybe I'm not too full after all!" and she grinned. "But, Madeira? With chocolate cake? A rather an unusual combination, wouldn't you say?" Carolyn took a bite of dessert and followed it with a sip of Madeira. "Hey! This is good! Really good!" She dug in with gusto. "Daniel, did you know that the first time I ever tried Madeira was when you invited me for our first Tuesday afternoon?" She shuddered. "And then our afternoons almost ended before they got started! I'm so glad you were so sweet about the dishes and the vacuuming and all. I don't think I really ever thanked you for that, did I? Yes, I know you keep saying you aren't sweet, but you are . . . and we were able to work out our differences . . ." and she was off again, willing to talk about any subject except the one that needed to be discussed the most.

Daniel watched and listened the beautiful woman in front of him in silence for some time. Finally when Carolyn paused for a moment and asked the Captain if she might have some more Madeira, he rose and placed the dirty dinner dishes on the cart and wheeled it out into the hall. Then he turned to her. "So, my dear, don't you think it's time we discuss the real subject at hand?"

"Oh, I'm feeling much better . . ." she started.

"You are skirting the issue, Carolyn," he said softly, patiently. "Please, love. Please, talk to me."

Her tears started again. "Oh, Daniel . . . I don't know how."

"How do you go about writing a story when you aren't sure how to start?" he asked gently.

"I start typing," she said, hesitantly.

"Then . . . Dear Lady, why don't you just start talking? Together, we can get through this."

"What is there to say?" she hedged. "You told me you knew what happened."

"You're still afraid of facing this, aren't you? My dear Carolyn, the longer you wait, the bigger the hurdle will seem. What you need to remember is you aren't alone! I do know a few of the basics, now. Martha finally filled me in. She has been very worried about you, also, and thought that maybe I would be able to help if I knew too. What I don't know are any of the real details, or what you are feeling; I only know how your feelings are affecting you."

"I told you, I don't know how to . . ." Her voice trailed off, helplessly.

" . . . How to begin, Carolyn? What's that line the King has in Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland? 'Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop.'"

"Sounds deceptively easy," Carolyn sighed, then gave a small smile. "Okay, but if I start this, you need to stop me and ask questions, if you want, because I may mess up and say things out of sequence . . ."

"You aren't writing a story, my dear." He smiled at her again. "Just start. You will be fine."

Carolyn took another sip of Madeira and began.

"Bobby and I met in 1957 when we were seniors, in college. We dated exclusively for almost a year, and eloped six months after graduation. Bobby went to work for his father, and I found a job as a stringer for the Philadelphia Sun – a small weekly newspaper with offices near our apartment. Anyway, I found out in March of 1960 that we were expecting. Bobby was thrilled about being a dad, and insisted that it was time we bought a house of our own instead of staying in our little apartment."

"And that's when Martha came to work for you?" the Captain asked.

"I see Martha has caught you up on . . . things," Carolyn said, wrinkling her nose. "We moved into this big house . . . bigger than we needed, really, near Penn Circle. I tried being a full time housewife for nine months after Candy was born. I hated it. Things really hit the fan one day when Bobby came home from a week-long trip, dead tired, looking forward to seeing me and the baby and I greeted him at the door with quite a long tirade about the screaming fight I had gotten into with the diaper man."

The Captain grinned. "Really, my dear?" And he did his best to keep back his laughter.

"Yes. Well, that kind of put a capper on things, and we both agreed it would be best if I went back to work. So I called an employment agency and they sent me Martha." She smiled. "Probably one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Things went along on a fairly even keel for quite a while. Candy was about seventeen months old when I found out I was pregnant again. I loved the idea of having another child, but, well, given the way I feel about housework and stuff, I wanted to keep working while I was pregnant. It kept me busy, with Bobby traveling so much, and my ob-gyn said as long as I took care of myself and got plenty of rest and kept the work to part time, he didn't see a problem with it. Neither did Bobby . . . he wanted me to be happy. Besides, as I suppose Martha has told you, Bobby was traveling for his father on business more and more and he thought it would be better if I wasn't always all alone in the house, and he knew I would be happier working. So Martha graduated to live-in, full-time. Sorry if I am rambling here, but I need to give you some background . . ."

"Ramble all you wish, my dear!" said the seaman, taking another sip of Madeira. "So then?"

"Did Martha tell you Jonathan was premature?"

The seaman nodded gravely. "Yes. Amazing. You would never know. In my day, most early babies didn't live, and those who did often remained delicate for years. He was born in November of 1962, of course."

Carolyn nodded. "Yes. He was supposed to be born in early January of 1963, but it just didn't work out that way. My doctor did say that my working didn't have anything to do with it though, in case you are wondering. I had to leave my job after he was born, of course, but obviously I needed to be home because of Jonathan. Martha continued to work for us, though. Candy was two then, and could be a real handful at times! Anyway, to keep a long story short, I stayed home and was a full time Mommy again from November of 1962 to December of 1963. Then, in January of 1964 I went back to work, with Bobby's blessing, if not his father's. I got my old job back at the Philadelphia Sun. Actually; it was a better one. I was a full time writer."

"Bobby was still working for his father, at this point?"

Carolyn nodded again. "Yes, and his father had him traveling even more than before. I think he was out of town more days than he was home." She sighed. "I wanted him to quit, even if the money was good and find a job working sensible hours so he would be able to see his children more and spend more time with me. I loved Bobby, Daniel, and I missed him, and I was tired of being a married, yet single parent."

The seaman nodded again. "It really wasn't a wonderful life for you, was it?"

She shook her head. "No, and I suppose what made it doubly irritating is for a long time, Bobby refused to even discuss the issue with me. He wouldn't confront his father either. He insisted that he knew what was best for his family and that it wouldn't be forever and that I needed to be more patient. Every time I wanted to talk about it, he would bring home expensive presents for Candy and Jonathan, and me, thinking that would solve the problem."

"If you were MY wife, I don't think I could bear to be parted from you for more than a day," the seaman said calmly, as if he were discussing the possibility of rain. "What happened then?"

"You KNOW what happened, Daniel!" Carolyn's voice quivered. "It was exactly five years ago tonight. We were driving home from a party, late — the first weekend we had spent together in ages. It was a beautiful evening! We danced and laughed and had fun together for the first time in I don't know how long. Bobby had finally agreed to talk to his father about working closer to home and . . ." Her voice broke, and Carolyn dissolved into tears once more.

"Oh, Carolyn . . ." The seaman levitated a box of tissues from the desk over to where they were still seated on the divan, and handed one to her.

"Thank-you," Carolyn blew her nose. "Bobby was just promising me he would talk to Ralph when we hit the oil slick." Carolyn shuddered and her tears began again. "Everything gets sort of . . . hazy after that. You know the feeling . . . like things are happening in slow motion, but at the same time, everything's a blur? I think the car rolled at least once and . . ."

"And you were thrown clear of the crash and your husband wasn't."

Carolyn nodded and blew her nose again, wishing for the hundredth time that she could lean against the seaman's shoulder and stay there for a long, long time.

"I think I lost consciousness — when I woke up, the ambulance had just arrived. They told me that Bobby . . . "

"That Bobby had died?"

She nodded. "Yes," and turned and looked up at him expectantly, like a child looking for an answer.

"And?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that."

"Tell you what, Carolyn?"

"Why I still feel the way I do . . . why I feel . . ."

"You are feeling guilty, Carolyn."

"Well, not exactly but . . ." and her eyes started to cloud over again.

"Carolyn, Bobby died suddenly, and without warning — you didn't. It's only natural. It often happens to survivors of tragic situations . . . there is nothing strange or wrong about what you are feeling."

"Martha's husband died too, and I don't see her . . ."

"Martha's husband died in an entirely different way, and time. Yes . . ." he nodded. "Martha told me about her Charlie. But Carolyn, everyone handles these things differently. There is no 'right' way to deal with the death of a loved one. You can feel guilty about their death, or not. There are no firm rules."

Carolyn reached for another tissue. "Most of the time I can bury this . . . this hopelessness, this lost feeling that comes over me around the anniversary of Bobby's death. I have to. I have Candy and Jonathan to think of. Martha is my friend, but she is also my employee. She came all the way to Maine with us when she didn't have to. In some ways, I look out for her welfare too . . . But there are times, especially around the time of year he died, I think, why me? Why did I live and not Bobby? Bobby's life was over when he was twenty-nine years old! He didn't even make thirty! And every year, on the anniversary of his death, on his birthday, on my birthday, I am aware that life keeps going on for the children and me. My career, my LIFE is going well, for the most part, and this year I have a BOOK coming out for heaven's sake, even if that is mostly due to you, and I keep thinking, my life is continuing, and Bobby's isn't. That the wrong person survived. I didn't earn the right to live. It should have been Bobby that . . ."

"Carolyn . . ." The seaman interrupted her, his voice soft. "You are trying to make sense of a senseless situation. It's impossible. You can't make any logic out of who survived that night! It cannot be found because it doesn't exist. You cannot keep comparing yourself to Bobby! A comparison of the two of you is not realistic — or helpful. No one 'deserves' to die, but it happens. Your feelings are very common and normal. You need them in order to heal, but you must know — You cannot keep trying to deal with what you are feeling by yourself! You cannot keep burying your feelings, my darling. And you shouldn't feel guilty, and you definitely shouldn't feel like you are alone. Please, my dear, don't be ashamed of being here — being alive. I told you once that life is a great gift, and it should be appreciated!"

"You really don't think there is anything I could have done, or not done that night, Daniel? Maybe if Bobby hadn't turned his head to talk to me when he did, or he had his seat belt fixed differently, or if I had been driving . . ." she faltered. "I mean, I'm happy, of course, that I am alive and here to raise Candy and Jonathan, and live and fall in — meet you, Daniel, and share my life and my children with you, but still, Bobby . . ."

"Dear Lady, if Bobby was destined to die five years ago tonight, and you weren't, there is nothing either of you could have done to stop it, any more than anyone could have stopped my death a hundred years ago."

"Daniel, why was I allowed to live and not my husband? Why do I keep thinking about when he died over and over? Did God allow me to live so I could move to Maine with the children and Martha? Meet you? Make your life . . . afterlife better? Did God want me to meet you? Get to know you? Make our own version of a family with you?"

"Oh, my dear Carolyn . . ." the Captain paused and tugged his ear. "My dear, I am a ghost, and I have been a ghost for a long time. But prior to being a spirit, I was a man — an ordinary, human man. Not all of my 'issues,' I believe they call them now, were resolved when I died either! I can't begin to hazard a guess . . ."

"I don't think you were ever an 'ordinary' anything, Daniel!" Carolyn smiled through her tears.

"Well, I like to think I was a bit above the average!" the Captain chortled. "But I am a smart enough soul to know that I didn't, and don't have all the answers. If I HAD all the answers, I'd run for God."

Carolyn laughed. "You are trying to distract me, I think!"

"What I DO know, my love . . ." he continued, "is you are here, as am I, and we are here for a reason. I like to think it is to help each other, to raise Candy and Jonathan to be happy, healthy adults, for YOU to live a long and useful life, and for me, in some small way, be there to aid you in that. I also know my darling, there is a life after the death of a loved one, and you must discover it, and live it. Carolyn, because you lived, because I met you, I became alive again, emotionally, at least, which is the most important part of living. For that, my dear, for that I needed you."

Carolyn let out another a small sigh and swallowed the last of her Madeira. "Thank-you, Daniel. I'm glad we have had this chance to talk. I think I am seeing things a little more clearly now."

"Talking is all very well, my dear, but what are we going to do about you?"

Carolyn shrugged. "Well, tonight has been lovely, but I can tell you right now, I'm still not ready to go to sleep. I'm better, yes, but I know from recent experience, all that will happen is I will go to bed and stare at the ceiling and . . ." She stopped and gave him a helpless look.

"My dear, what can I do to help you? You need to stop trying to be brave. You have got to start asking for help, and try to solve everything for yourself. Please."

"Tell me I can call you in the middle of the night if I am scared or hurting," said Carolyn, looking straight into his eyes.

"You've got the right man for that, Carolyn."

"Okay. Tell me when I am going to stop grieving over what has happened. Tell me, when am I going to get through a day without thinking about Bobby and how he died and I didn't?"

"Carolyn, we learn to live WITH grief, not 'get over it.' You never stop thinking of a person you have loved being gone, but sooner or later, the hurt stops, and you only remember the time you had together and the love you shared." He looked at her closely. "Please, have some faith, my dearest." He paused. "Have I helped you at all tonight, Carolyn?"

Carolyn nodded. "Oh, you have Daniel! I feel better than I have for a month."

The seafarer nodded. "Good. Now then, it's late. The candles have burned down, and it's getting chilly. Don't you think it's time for you to pop yourself into bed? I have a feeling you are going to sleep like a baby tonight."

Carolyn shook her head. "Little babies don't sleep through the night. They wake up. I never have understood that expression! No — I do feel much better, but my mind keeps racing like a steam engine, and it doesn't go anywhere. Every time I go to bed and turn off the lights, I start thinking and remembering and the harder I try, the worse it gets! I just can't sleep any more!"

"Then I will read to you. Some Shakespeare, perhaps? What about some of his sonnets? Or I could go find Samuel Taylor Coleridge . . ."

Carolyn shook her head again. "It's no good, Daniel," she said vehemently. "I should be able to sleep, but I can't — I've forgotten how." She laughed bitterly. "Well, at least I can stop pretending that nothing is wrong, I suppose, and since you don't sleep either, we can always play chess, or go for walks . . . how do you manage Daniel? Never sleeping?"

"Tell me, my dear . . ." he stopped her, dodging her question.

"Yes?"

"Did your insomnia first start right after your husband died?"

"Yes . . ." she nodded "Well, yes and no."

"I don't understand," he said, puzzled.

"Well, for the first few days after Bobby's death, the doctor gave me a mild tranquilizer, and I slept through the night, albeit not always peacefully." She shuddered slightly and watched the seaman's eyebrows go up. "Don't give me that look, Daniel. Prescribing tranquilizers for someone after they have been through a traumatic experience is actually quite common."

"So, then . . . ?"

"So, then Mom stayed with me and the kids for a month or so after Bobby died."

"And . . . ?"

"And after my prescription ran out, my doctor wouldn't refill it. He said it wasn't a good idea, and I should be getting better. Unfortunately he couldn't tell me HOW to get better . . ."

"Blasted quacks! After all that you had been through? Then what happened?"

"And that's when I realized for the first time that I really wasn't sleeping well at all. I would either go to sleep, and then wake up, after having bad dreams about Bobby and the accident, or I couldn't get to sleep at all, unless I was completely exhausted, and then I didn't sleep for very long . . . rather like the last month or so has been around here."

"And . . . ?"

"Well, my mother . . ." She stopped. "This is too silly. I'm a grown woman . . ."

"What, love?"

"Well, I tried not to bother Martha or Mom or the children — being up so late, not being able to sleep, but, Mom . . ."

"But? Carolyn, dear, please tell me."

"I kept having trouble falling asleep, but Mom figured it out one night, and she started holding me, and rocking me to sleep, singing me lullabies, like she did when I was a little girl." Carolyn smiled reminiscently. "It helped. It really did. And after a while I was able to fall asleep normally again. It's one of my earliest memories — being rocked to sleep by my mother. I suppose because a part of you never stops being a child and outgrows that need. I wish she were here now."

Daniel started, and then turned to her. "Carolyn, my dear, I am not your mother, but I could do that."

"You can? No, you can't. We can't touch. How can you . . . ? Well, yes, I guess you could MAKE me to go to sleep, like you did Doctor McNally . . ."

"No, my dear, I could never force you to do anything . . . " He gestured, and the bottom drawer of Carolyn's dresser opened. "We'll need this . . ." and Carolyn watched as a cloth-wrapped bundle came flying across the room and into the seaman's hands. Slowly, he unwrapped the antique silk Moroccan shawl that he had given to her almost three years before, leaned back on the sofa and spread the shawl over his chest and arms — the large shawl covering him like a blanket.

"Carolyn, love, lean next to me. Lean on my chest, near my heart — like you would your mother's breast. I'll wrap you up in this shawl . . . I can hold you as long as the shawl separates us, and I will hold you and sing to you all night long, if it means you can sleep."

"But, Daniel, you've never said . . ."

"Please, love. Trust me."

Hesitantly, Carolyn touched the seaman through the sensuous silk of her treasured shawl. "It's . . . true, Daniel! I am touching you! It's like a miracle . . ."

"Not precisely touching, Carolyn, not as much as I have so often wished for, but it's as close to you, and to paradise, as I can get," he sighed, "For some decades yet, anyway! Now, my love, please. It's time for you to go to sleep."

Carolyn Muir leaned into her Captain gratefully, and just as gratefully, Daniel wrapped his arms, still covered by the antique shawl, around her, hesitating for only a moment to gesture with his hand — lowering the lights in the room. She leaned further into him, laying her head on his massive chest and softly, Daniel Gregg started to sing a long-forgotten lullaby, singing his love to sleep with the promise of angels from above to watch over her, as well as himself.

Lowering his voice slightly, the seaman continued his song, telling her with music that he'd be there for her through sadness, sorrow, and darkness with a love that would be a light of hope for those not fortunate enough to know that magical emotion.

"I know this song . . ." Carolyn mumbled drowsily, snuggling still deeper into the seaman's arms. "Daniel . . ."

"Shhh . . ." Daniel held her closer through the antique silk. "Rest, my love . . ." and he slipped into the Welsh.

"O mor siriol gwena seren, Ar hyd y nos. I oleuo'i chwaer-ddaearen, Ar hyd y nos. Nos yw henaint pan ddaw cystudd, Ond i harddu dyn a'i hwynrddydRhown ein golau gwan i'n gilydd, Ar hyd y nos."

"That's pretty . . ." she murmured.

"Shh, my darling . . ." Daniel whispered. "Tomorrow, love. Tell me tomorrow . . ." Until then, the angels and he would stand watch between her and the nightmares.

Carolyn fell into a sweet, dreamless sleep — knowing that Daniel Gregg would be there all night holding her and watching over her — and that when she awoke the next morning and all the mornings in all the years thereafter, her Captain would always be there.

End