The Promise

by Tabitha12

When Daniel feels lost, a stranger helps him deal with a perceived failure. Please R & R.

This is a work of fiction. No profit is made by me in the telling of this tale — It is written purely for my enjoyment, and the enjoyment of GAMM fans, wherever they may be. The Ghost and Mrs Muir belong to Josephine Leslie (a.k.a. R.A. Dick) Twentieth Century Fox, ABC and NBC. Anything else heard or quoted in this story are obvious, and belong to their authors. More about that at the end, because if I tell you now, is SPOILS EVERYTHING, so don't peek ahead!

My eternal thanks to all those that helped me with research and or made suggestions along the way, especially what to do about the original GAMM writer's total disregard for time lines, history and geography, which nearly drove me to distraction and made me want to give up several times, and to Amanda, Kathy, Mara, Chantal, Susan and Judy, for providing information, and who wouldn't LET me give up after waiting for three years for me to get this idea down on paper, and any and all cheerleading along the way. One big thank you to Amanda for her continued support and a final beta on the finished product, and to everyone who has heard me chatter about this story, I hope it was worth the wait!

Mary

The Promise

Tuesday, August 4, 1970

It was a beautiful day — a day too gorgeous to stay inside. Candy and Jonathan had recognized this fact early on, and were even now enjoying another day of their summer holiday. They had risen early, for a vacation day, and after a quick breakfast, were off for a morning of beach combing together before meeting their respective friends in town that afternoon. Once Captain Gregg was sure that the children were safely occupied, he headed back inside Gull Cottage to see if their lovely mother was planning on joining them at any time in the immediate future. As the ghost popped inside, he noticed the lady of the 'manor' on the phone. The look on her face automatically dimmed the formerly bright day.

"Yes, Reverend. Yes, it IS terrible. Thank you for calling."

"Trouble, Madam?" he asked.

"Well, no, and yes," Carolyn sighed, her frown deepening as she nibbled on a thumbnail, distractedly.

"Carolyn..." The seaman materialized over to her side, wishing he could put a comforting hand on her arm. "What is it? What has happened?"

She shook her head. "That was Reverend Farley. He just received some bad news. Jimmy Freemont... Do you know who he is? A young man from town, he..."

The Captain was immediately interested. "Yes?"

"Well, you know, then, or, maybe you don't. Jimmy was drafted right after his grandfather died — that was a few months before he graduated high school. His grandmother had died two years before that... a heart attack." Carolyn pulled away and rose from her chair, pacing, for a moment, then continued her thought. "It was wonderful they could finish raising him after his parents died in that car accident while visiting Boston a few years ago. That was before we came to Schooner Bay. Betty Coburn told me the story a while back."

Daniel looked impatient. "Yes, yes, I know all about that. What has happened? What has you so upset?"

"Uh, well, the Navy called Reverend Farley just a little while ago. There was some heavy fighting last week just outside of Cambodia, and..." Carolyn seated herself at her desk again. Looking up and sneaking a glance at the ghost, she observed that he was doing his best to stay calm, yet somehow, he seemed agitated.

"Has the boy been wounded?" the Captain asked.

"No, No." She shook her head. "He... he's been killed. Instantly, they are fairly sure. Sniper fire." She drew another deep breath. "Reverend Farley said the body will be flown home to Schooner Bay in three days. Lucky, in an odd way, I suppose. Cargo and passenger planes don't leave from Nam on anything like a regular schedule. Anyway, the Navy called him with the news because Jimmy's..."

"Because he is the executor, as there are no other surviving family members," the seaman interrupted, a stormy look coming to his face. "I know that, also."

"Yes..." Carolyn turned to him in surprise. "It's very sad," she reflected. "He was so young! God, I hope that ridiculous… whatever it is will be over in the next ten years! The idea of Jonathan having to go..." She broke off, swallowing hard. There was a beat, then she continued. "Reverend Farley wants to make sure that everyone in Schooner Bay knows about the service. The funeral, if there are no setbacks, will be this Saturday, the day after the body is shipped home." Carolyn looked back to her desk, absently straightening a stack of papers there. Not turning back toward the seaman, she continued. "There will be no viewing, per Jimmy Freemont's wishes, and a closed casket, naturally. You know, Reverend Farley says his family has lived in Schooner Bay for more than one-hundred and fifty years," she added, then another thought came to her. "Daniel!" she started, looking up from her work once more. "You must have known his ancestors! I mean..." She turned to face him, but, looking around the room, she realized that the ghostly specter of Gull Cottage was gone. "Daniel? Hey! Where did you go?" Not receiving an answer, but being somewhat used to the mercurial temper and moods of Captain Daniel Gregg, she shrugged, puzzled, and returned her gaze to her typewriter, and new article, but Carolyn's thoughts did not immediately focus on her work.

Now, what's gotten into him? she wondered.

Thursday, August 6, 1970 - Evening

"I still don't understand why we're going to the funeral," Candy said that evening at dinner as she helped herself to more mashed potatoes. "I thought you only went to funerals if you were related to the person that died... You know, like when we went to Daddy's."

"Yeah," Jonathan added. "And it's on Saturday, too. We aren't related to Jimmy, and we don't really know..."

"It wouldn't make any difference if it were on a weekday, we would all be going," Carolyn said, gently. "I thought you understood all this yesterday when we talked about it. Jimmy was a citizen of this town. Sometimes you go to a funeral to pay your respects to the person that died. That's all. You don't have to be related to them."

"Besides, if that were the case, nobody would be at Jimmy's," Martha added. "And that would be sad, indeed. He has no family to be there, I mean, not blood-tie family, so the whole town will be his family on Saturday. Besides, I DID know him. I saw him every week! He was a bagger and clerk at the grocery store, and he also worked for Ollie Wilkins in whatever spare time he had. He did that from the time he was a sophomore in high school, after his grandmother died."

"I see... " Candy nodded. "Like at Daddy's funeral. I remember that, Sorta kinda. Lots of people came besides us, and Grandmother and Grandfather Muir, and Grandpa and Grandma Williams. If just relatives came, there wouldn't be many people, would there?"

"That's it, exactly," Carolyn smiled at her daughter. "Reverend Farley called me today and asked if I could help him by looking over his homily ahead of time, too. He's a bit nervous about it, and wants a second opinion. And we'll be helping at the reception, also."

"So we'll be there for a while, huh?" Jonathan asked, still not looking entirely thrilled about going, but resigned to the idea.

"I think we ought to count on that," Carolyn nodded. "Episcopal Church funeral services aren't terribly long, but with the whole town in attendance, or at least, I HOPE the whole town, it's not exactly going to be short, either, just because of all the people."

"It's the only right thing to do," Martha interjected. "Louise Farley has already called me about cooking a little something to bring for the reception after. Jimmy having no relatives is sad, but just because there aren't any, doesn't mean the service can't be a beautiful one. He was a nice boy."

There were a few moments of silent reflection at the table, then Jonathan spoke. "I guess we should go," he said softly. "I just remembered something."

"What's that, honey?" Carolyn asked, as she observed the suddenly pensive look on her son's face.

"A little while back, right before school was out, remember, you let us ride our bikes to school?"

"I've let you do that plenty of times," his mother smiled. "What does this have to do with Jimmy?"

"Oh, well, it was the first time we could, this spring. Candy had stayed after school to help Miss Drew with putting away art supplies, I think, so I started home, and I found out I had a flat right in front of Ollie's, and..."

"A flat!" Carolyn stared at him. "Jonathan! Why didn't you call home?"

"I didn't have to," Jonathan shrugged. "Jimmy saw me. He was outside, bringing in boxes, and he stopped what he was doing, looked at my bike, and said it wasn't a nail or anything like that, but a leaky valve. He replaced it in like five minutes, pumped up the tire, and said I should get on home, you might be worried."

"That was nice of him," Carolyn smiled.

"Yeah, and not only that, he said I didn't have to pay him for it," Jonathan went on. "He told me I should just do a favor for someone else sometime, and we were square."

"Sweet, and it sounds like him." Martha commented. "Jimmy was always doing little extra things for people at the grocery store, too. If you ever needed to find anything, he would take you to it personally, not look disinterested, and wave a hand in the general direction."

"I remember something about him now," Candy cut in. She stopped for a moment, a cloud coming over her pixyish face.

"What, sweetie?" Carolyn asked.

"Do you remember when you and the Captain got Claymore to buy the new fire engine?"

"Commissioner Lilly and the Captain were more responsible for that than I was," Carolyn grinned, recalling how Daniel Gregg had sabotaged the fire engine testing the previous November.

"Yeah, but you wrote the article for the paper, and after everything that happened with rescuing Scruffy, you know how you were the one that got him to donate Old Seventeen to the school to use on the playground?"

"Yes. How can I forget? Claymore fought me tooth and nail on buying a new one, donated the old one to the school as a tax deduction, and STILL managed to take that trip to Bermuda in January as a member of the Town Council."

"Well," Candy continued. "I guess Claymore wasn't thinking, and..."

"That's not unusual," Martha interjected, and Carolyn shot her housekeeper a look.

"You, Martha Grant, are starting to sound like a ghost I know."

"His attitude must be catching," the older woman shrugged. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Candy. What about Old Seventeen?"

"It was kinda cool," Candy reflected for a moment. "I guess the brakes, or something weren't good, and one day, soon after Claymore had parked it on the playground, we came out for recess and Jimmy was there, working on the fire engine."

"Don't tell me he was trying to fix it!" Carolyn looked surprised.

"Uh-uh," the little girl shook her head. "He was worried that we would accidentally put it into gear, or something, and it would roll, with us in it," Candy went on. "He said it could do that even when the engine was bad. But anyway, he took some time off from his job, and made little concrete... what-you-call-em's... braces? That fit around all four wheels, and then filled them in with cement, so Seventeen was kinda mounted into place. He said he didn't want to see any kids get hurt. And I heard Mister Hampton say Jimmy paid for the wood frames and the cement himself, but wouldn't take any money for it."

"Well, if that isn't sweet!" Carolyn exclaimed. "Did all the kids remember to tell Jimmy, 'thank you'?"

"Yeah," she nodded again. "Both for doing that, and for the candy he brought for everyone to say he was sorry, but we couldn't play on the fire engine that day."

"I remember that, too," Jonathan smiled slightly. "He saved me some gumdrops because he knew they were my favorites." He looked over to Carolyn. "He was nice. And now he's in heaven, right?"

"Definitely," the adults nodded.

"Mom, why are we fighting way over there in Vietnam?" Candy asked. "I asked Miss Drew, but she never really answered me. Just said we might get to that in Social Studies next year."

Carolyn took a deep breath. "I don't know," she said slowly. "The whole thing is sort of confusing to me, to be honest. Vietnam isn't the same kind of war as World War Two was, and I was younger than you two were when that war was happening. Let's see… Vietnam is divided up into two parts – the north and the south. The two parts are at war with each other, rather like the north and south fought with each other here in America during the Civil war. Vietnam's war isn't about slavery, though. I think it is about what kind of government they want everyone to live under. Anyway, then another country nearby — China, decided to get in on things, and started helping North Vietnam with the fight, so the United States government decided they would help South Vietnam by sending them guns, ammunition, and supplies. Then our troops... men in all branches of the service, started going over there to stand behind the guns, and they are STILL going over there." She looked a bit abashed. "It's so far away... until something like this happens, I just, don't think about it. I do know there are a lot of people that think both the United States and China shouldn't be involved, and that if we would both keep our noses out of it and go home, that it won't last much longer. I can try to find out more, if you'd like me to."

"I dunno," Candy shook her head. "I mean, I guess I should want to know more now because Jimmy died fighting over there, but it kinda scares me to know, too."

"I hope we aren't still having a war when I'm grown up," Jonathan spoke out. "I don't want to go way over to that place. I wouldn't mind being in the Navy, like Captain Gregg, though…" he finished thoughtfully. "…But I never thought about being in a real war."

Carolyn shot a horrified look at her housekeeper.

"Canada is an option," the housekeeper muttered, her eyebrows lifting, then Carolyn changed the subject, hurriedly.

"Do you two have any more homework to finish after dinner?"

"Mom, it's SUMMER!" Jonathan protested. "Not even Miss Stoddard gives homework in the summer!"

"Right. Of course," their mother blushed. "Well, how about...?" She searched her mind for some project.

Perhaps sensing her mother's confusion, Candy suggested, "Want to play Monopoly with us, Mom?"

"After the table is cleared and the dinner things are put away, maybe," Carolyn answered. "Monopoly takes a while, though. How about Scrabble, instead?" she asked, relieved that the subject of funerals and Vietnam was at an end, at least for the moment.

"Okay!"

XXX

"There!" Jonathan said, plunking five tiles down on the board. "I've been waiting three turns for this!" he added, "I'm adding an 'S' to where you have 'ghost,' Candy, making it 'ghosts,' and then going down I have 'BLAST' and I'm out of letters!"

"Good one, Jonathan!" Candy grinned. "But you only caught me with three points to give you!"

"Ten points from me," Carolyn grimaced. "Nowhere to play the 'Q' without an open 'U'."

"I was wondering which one of you had it," Jonathan smiled broadly.

"I drew it two turns ago, Jonathan," his mother said. "No time to do anything with it."

"I still won by seven points," Candy said, matter-of-factly. "That makes it one game for each of us."

"Nice when it turns out that way," Carolyn smiled.

"One more game for a tiebreaker?" Jonathan queried.

"Not tonight," Carolyn shook her head. "I still have some work to do."

"Okay," her son sighed, disappointed.

"You had some good words tonight, Jonathan," Candy consoled her brother. "I made 'ghost,' but 'blast' was better." Dumping the Scrabble tiles into the box, she looked up at her mother. "Speaking of 'blast,' where's Captain Gregg, Mom?"

"Yeah," Jonathan chimed in. "It'd been more fun tonight if he was playing, too."

"He knows great words," Candy agreed, nodding her head. "Why didn't he get in on the game?"

Carolyn looked at her children for a moment, first startled, then thoughtful.

"Yes, he has been quiet the last day or so, hasn't he?" She shrugged. "I imagine he is just busy with something or other, and didn't have time to join us tonight."

Jonathan shook his head.

"I don't think so, Mom. He hasn't said a word to anybody in two days. Candy and me..."

"Candy and I."

"...I. We went up to the attic, I mean his wheelhouse, after we got home from swimming this afternoon. We knocked, and there was no answer, so we opened the door, and he was just sitting there. In the DARK! He said "hello," and then we asked what he was doing, and he said "thinking," and that he wanted to think alone, and could we please go. He was nice about it, but Mom, he looked sad."

"REALLY sad," Candy added, looking troubled. "Did you two have a fight?"

"No," Carolyn answered, matching the pensive look on her children's face with one of her own. "No. Honest. Not a cross word. The last time we talked to any length was right after Reverend Farley called me about Jimmy. Then he popped out. I think I have only seen him once or twice since then, up on the widow's-walk."

"Us, too," the children nodded, observing Martha, who had returned to the kitchen to put away some clean dishtowels.

"I did talk to him for a moment when I was hanging up laundry this afternoon," Martha interjected. "But no more than a few words, and then he was gone again."

"There must be something on his mind," Carolyn shrugged. "Whatever it is, he hasn't told me, and you know he hates it when I pry. He makes remarks about curious females."

"You always know about when something is wrong with us, and you know what to do..." Candy started, and then Jonathan interrupted her.

"Yeah, like when I was having trouble with the Oysters. You know, when I was trying out. You didn't know how to make me a better hitter, but you didn't say I had to be on the team when I didn't want to be, like Danny Shoemaker's mother did, either."

"I didn't know she made him try out!" Carolyn said, surprised.

"She did, kinda," her son answered. "Danny's really more interested in football, but he couldn't let her know that, I don't think. Graham Gilbert told me. Danny didn't. He hasn't liked me since I won those encyclopedias."

"You interrupted, Jonathan," Candy chided her sibling. Then she looked at her mother again. "Mom, you know what to do most of the time. You didn't with Mark Helmore, but only because he's a creep. Nobody could figure HIM out."

"You finally know you were being dumb?" Jonathan giggled, and then his face turned serious. "Mom, you gotta go find out what is wrong with Captain Gregg."

"Please, Mom?" Candy added, ignoring her brother's 'dumb' comment and looking pathetic.

"I agree, Mrs. Muir," Martha added, sitting down at the kitchen table. "The house feels funny when the Captain isn't happy. I didn't know what these feelings were before I knew he was living... I mean, haunting here, but I do now."

"Yeah, it's starting to feel like when he left after you chopped down his tree," Jonathan added.

"Uh-huh, exactly like that, even though I didn't know why the house felt like that then," Candy sighed. "Mom, go talk to him. He'll listen to you. And even if he doesn't right away, maybe he can tell you what is wrong and you can fix it."

Taking a deep breath, Carolyn stretched out her hands and took each of her children's hands in hers.

"Okay, kids," she agreed. "If the Captain isn't acting more like himself, tomorrow, I'll have a word with him."

XXX

Friday, even for a beautiful summer day, dragged. The whole household felt "out of balance," Martha maintained when she had brought Carolyn, still busy in the master cabin finishing her article, her lunch.

"Some days are really a bear, Mrs. Muir," she added, stopping for a moment. "Nothing is going right today. Captain Gregg hasn't popped in to watch me bake, and he LIKES to do that, and the kids were downstairs all morning, staring like zombies at the TV, and when they weren't doing that, they were just mooning around like lost souls."

"You should have chased them outside, if they were in your way, Martha," Carolyn said tiredly, erasing yet another mistake she had just made. "Blast! It is beautiful out there. I don't want them spending their vacation inside glued to the television."

"They weren't in my way, exactly," the housekeeper answered. "They've just been droopy today. Moping around the house, wandering through the kitchen, sitting in the yard, but not DOING anything... you know, just not acting the way they normally do."

"Do they look like they are coming down with something?"

"No. It's my opinion what they need is a little attention from a certain seaman," the older woman answered. "Around eleven, I heard Candy say she wondered if Jonathan or she had hurt the Captain's feelings in some way, because he hadn't shown up this morning to take them fishing. They've had it planned for a week now."

"That's right! What did Jonathan say?" Carolyn looked up from her work, concerned.

"Only that he was sure he hadn't said anything to hurt Captain Gregg's feelings because he hasn't been around to have his feelings hurt," Martha shrugged. "And then he asked Candy if she had done something."

"Did they start bickering about it?"

"No, just looked unhappy. Candy did finally offer to help me bake — Jonathan too, but I could tell their hearts weren't in it. Finally I gave them each a sandwich and an apple and said go outside and DO something, and don't come back until at least three, then they could go into town and help me shop for a few things we need here, and help me fix dinner."

"They didn't have a problem with that?"

"No, and that's not like them either. Neither of them is that fond of helping out in the kitchen, unless cookies or cake is involved, but that's what I was doing this morning, and they were so morose they couldn't have cared less. They didn't even ask if they could lick the mixer blades."

Carolyn shook her head. "I take it Captain Gregg never made an appearance?"

"Not officially. I did see him for a few moments, up on the widow's-walk again when I went outside to put the empty soda bottles in the car so we could cash them in this afternoon, but just as I started to wave at him, he disappeared, without a word."

"That's not like him."

"He hasn't been like himself almost all week. Look, Mrs. Muir, it's really not my business, but if you two are tiffing, why don't you talk it out? Fighting and/or giving each other the silent treatment won't help. Gull Cottage hasn't felt this dreary since that Miss Peakskill visited here."

Carolyn looked at her friend in surprise.

"Gull Cottage felt dreary then? I mean, to YOU?"

"Yes, it did. I just didn't know why. And I don't like it, I must say, so if you to are fighting, I..."

"But we're not!" Carolyn protested, crossing her heart. "I absolutely am not upset with Daniel... Captain Gregg! I'm starting to be, because he won't tell me what is bothering him, but Martha, I swear, there is nothing I want more than to get things back to normal around here, believe me."

"Well, all right, but if you have anything you want to talk about... about anything bothering you, I'm here."

"I know you are, Martha," the blonde smiled. "But really, I'm not angry or upset with anyone."

"Will you tell me if I can help you in any way?"

"Of course. Now really, I need to get back to work here. This story is giving me fits, for such a short one, and I have to get it finished by this afternoon. Tomorrow is going to be busy, with the funeral and all."

"Mrs. Muir, are you going to talk to that ghost tonight? I hope you do. I just know there is something bothering him."

Carolyn nodded. "I will. I promise. Just let me get my work finished, and I'll see if I can find out what is on his mind."

XXX

Daniel Gregg had still not made an appearance by Friday evening, and the mood around Gull Cottage was bleak. As Martha had planned, Candy and Jonathan did help her with a few projects after they returned to the house that afternoon. Carolyn had finished the article she was working on, but somehow she took no joy in it — not when the whole house was out-of-kilter. Finally, after dinner that evening with no Captain, and after getting several pointed looks from her children and housekeeper, Carolyn shrugged her shoulders, put down the book she wasn't reading anyway, and made her way to the door of the wheelhouse, where she tapped lightly.

There was no response.

"Hmm..." she mused. The kids didn't get any answer when they knocked yesterday. Maybe he is here, and not letting on? I don't want to push...

After knocking twice more, and still not getting a reply, Carolyn squared her shoulders, turned the knob, and entered. With a start, she saw the Captain sitting on the love seat, reading an old logbook. One small candle burned on the table beside him.

"Captain?"

He looked up, obviously pulling himself away from the book in front of him with some difficulty.

"Madam? You startled me."

"Daniel, didn't you hear me knock?"

He shook his head. "No, I can't say that I did. You must not have been very loud about it."

"Daniel, I knocked three times," Carolyn protested, "Why didn't you answer me?"

"Carolyn, I didn't hear you," he almost scowled. "I don't make a habit of ignoring people."

"Daniel..." She came closer, and, without waiting for an invitation, sat down on the love seat next to him. "Daniel, are you angry with me? Something I said, or did?"

"Why must females always assume the worst? No, I'm not angry with you. Why? Should I be?"

Carolyn elected not to respond to his "females" comment.

"Captain, is it something the children have done, or Martha, to put you so out of sorts?"

"No, nothing. I told you. I'm not angry with anyone." Contrary to his words, his face darkened.

"Yes, you are," she answered calmly. "I know there is something..."

"No, I'm not," he cut her off. "But I will be, if you don't stop asking me questions I can't answer."

"Can't, or won't? You are angry with someone around here. Or some THING."

"I can't discuss it. Not right now, my dear." His face softened. "Now, please, no more questions."

Carolyn looked hurt. "I thought we had a better relationship than that, Daniel Gregg. Won't you...?"

"We do, my dear," he said, holding up a hand and waving her to silence. "Please believe me when I say I don't want to talk about my problems at the moment. Maybe later, sometime, but not now."

"All right," Carolyn acquiesced, seeing that her questions were only irritating the spirit. "But I miss talking to you, Daniel. You didn't keep our Thursday date, yesterday. Can we talk for a bit now without you just popping out on me, like you did in the kitchen three days ago?" She gave him a look.

"Very well," he sighed, and reached for a bottle and two crystal glasses sitting on a low table behind his head. "Would you care for a small glass of Madeira before you retire, Madam?"

"That's better," she smiled. "Yes, Daniel. I'd love one."

A touch of life returned to the seaman's eyes for a moment as they met hers, then he poured the wine and handed her a glass.

"Cheers," he smiled slightly and raised his.

Smiling back at him, she touched her glass to his, and as they sipped on the wine for a few moments, the tension that had been in the air at her entry to the attic dissipated somewhat.

"So, how have you been doing?" he asked, not volunteering a reason for being out-of-pocket for the last three days.

"Not too badly, Daniel. I finished my story, finally."

"That's excellent," the spirit only half smiled, and it took very little to see that his face did not match his words.

Carolyn's eyebrows raised slightly as she continued. "Yes. I thought so. I had trouble concentrating on it. I couldn't find you to give it a final proof, so I made do."

"It wasn't about the sea, or men of the sea... I'm sure it was fine," Daniel answered quietly.

"Maybe," Carolyn gave a graceful shrug. "But I do value your opinion. And I am still learning on the other, I mean sea-lingo and such, you know."

"Yes, you are. You won't need my advice, or help, for what it's worth, too much longer if you keep learning at the rate you are."

"Your help is worth a lot to me, Daniel!" She looked over to him, appalled. "I'll always need it! And even if I don't actually need it, I want it!"

"I think you underestimate your talents, my dear. I'm not a writer, after all. I'm only a seaman."

"A very special seaman, and any number of writers started life as something else," Carolyn said gently. "James Michener was a teacher, Samuel Coleridge, your favorite poet, was supposed to be a career military man."

"I hardly think anything I might come up with can be compared with their like," the seaman answered quietly, taking another sip of wine.

"Oh, I don't know..." the beautiful woman in front of him protested. "Anyone who could write something like... like..." she paused, trying to remember the words she had read in his old letters while Cousin Harriet had visited only a few months before. "Beloved, the loneliness in my heart is the loneliness of a single ship adrift on the endless ocean... I wait, suspended on the silence of the windless sea..."

She broke off, seeing the vacant, distracted expression on the spirit's face.

"Daniel, are you in there?" she whispered, and abruptly, he pulled out of his reverie.

"Yes, Carolyn."

"Captain, we haven't seen you for days..."

"Only three days, Madam. And I have been here. I'm always here."

"Here, but not... HERE. Not communicative. Daniel, what's wrong? I thought maybe we could get back to your Memoirs..." She stopped for a moment, took a sip of her wine, then continued. "Look, I know my contracted assignments have been taking priority, lately, and I know we were both hoping we could have a semifinal copy ready by July, but I just couldn't pass up paying work, and..."

He raised his free hand, tiredly. "That's fine, Carolyn, I understand. Paying work is paying work. We'll get back to it. They aren't that important. They will keep. What else has been going on?" This last question slipped out of sheer habit — for the seaman DID take an interest in the lives and doings of his crew.

"Your Memoirs ARE important and don't you forget it, Daniel!" she said sternly. "As for tomorrow, it will be a full day, what with Jimmy's funeral and all. Martha has been asked to help with refreshments, and, as I told you the other day, Reverend Farley asked if I could give his homily a look before the service begins, so we'll be leaving a bit early for the service, I imagine and everyone..."

She watched as his face darkened slightly, and for a moment he seemed more... transparent, and she forgot what else she was going to say, then recovered her thought. "Oh — I did help design the leaflet for the service..." she continued, a bit more slowly. She stopped again, remembering something. "Daniel, you never did tell me — The Freemont family lived in Schooner Bay for more than a century and a half, Reverend Farley says. Did you know them?"

The seaman nodded, reluctantly. "Yes... I knew Jimmy Freemont's great, great-grandfather... and mother."

"I thought maybe you might have. This is a small town, still. It seemed logical, and..."

"Yes," he said shortly.

"Yes..." she echoed, then waited for the ghost to continue, but he remained quiet, alternately staring off into space, and sipping his drink. Then another idea hit her.

"You know, Daniel, you could come to the funeral with us tomorrow. Reverend Farley told me that pretty much the whole town is planning on attending. I know you have a famous face, but you could change your appearance — You know, into that lobster man face you finally got around to showing me, or another one, even, so no one will recognize you. That way you could pay your respects, and keep us company. You know. We could go as a ... a family. The children asked me to ask you..." There was a crack of thunder at that moment, and she stopped, seeing the look on his face.

"I have better things to do with my time," he began, "than to attend the funeral of a young man I have never met, Madam. I thought you wanted to talk to me about what I have been doing — or what is going on in your life. Not about blasted funerals!"

"But Daniel," she protested, "the funeral is PART of what has been going on! I..."

"I won't be attending any funerals," he went on, furiously. "Tomorrow, or any other day! Frankly, I think you could find better things to do with your time, also!"

"I happen to think paying last respects IS important," she bristled. "What's the matter with you?"

He flared back at her. "Nothing!"

The beginnings of tears filled her eyes, but did not spill over, and Carolyn regarded the spirit closely.

"Daniel, what's wrong? Can't you tell me?"

"No." He shook his head. "Don't ask me, my dear, it hurts too much."

"But, I want to know! I might be able to help..."

"I said no, Carolyn." He glanced down at the now empty crystal wineglass she was still holding. "It's late. You should be asleep."

"Daniel, it's only ten in the evening. You're changing the subject. What's bothering you about THIS funeral? Please, tell me."

"Perhaps later, my dear," he answered sadly. "Not now. Goodnight, Carolyn."

He dematerialized, leaving her alone in the attic.

"Daniel!" Carolyn cried out, looking around the dark room. "Don't vanish on me! Please! What is it?" She wiped away a frustrated tear that had trickled down her cheek, in spite of herself. "Blast, I wish I could shake some sense to you! But I can't! I can't touch you, let alone, shake you!"

Her only answer was no answer.

Saturday, August 8, 1970

Looking at her children and her dear friend Saturday morning, Carolyn reflected that at any other time, their finery would seem merely festive. Jonathan, in his dark, though not black suit was the most traditionally attired member of the family, while Martha was in a tasteful aqua dress, Candy wore a pale pink frock, and she herself had chosen a light green suit.

"Mrs. Muir, are you sure what we are wearing is appropriate?" Martha inquired, coming out of the 'maids' bathroom' downstairs after taking one more look at her attire. "I don't think I have ever taken part in a funeral where black wasn't the color of the day."

"Positive," Carolyn answered. "Reverend Farley mentioned it when he called to read me part of his homily. He said Jimmy mentioned the possibility of not making it back from Vietnam, and if he should die, that he didn't want sad hymns or dark colors at his funeral — That a funeral should be for the celebration of a life well lived, not for the mourning of one gone."

"Healthy attitude," Martha sighed. "I did wonder a little at the list of hymns that Reverend Farley gave me, but they are pretty, and easy to sing, and I especially like the idea of using Turn, Turn, Turn — modern, but it is Ecclesiastes after all, so it fits nicely." The housekeeper reached for her purse. "The kids are outside by the gate — are you ready to go?"

"Almost," Carolyn nodded. "I thought I would go up and say goodbye to Dan... to the Captain."

"You mean to Daniel," Martha smiled. "It is a perfectly good name — you should call him that more often — I can't! It humanizes him a bit more. Not that he has been acting civil for the last few days though. He keeps up, and I'll go back to calling him an ogre again."

"Oh, don't do that," Carolyn protested. "I know he has something on his mind. I just don't know what. You go on out to the car. I'll be back in a few minutes, and we'll get going."

"All right," the housekeeper nodded. "Tell the Captain, if he decides not to come, that we'll miss him."

Carolyn climbed the stops slowly, finally approaching the attic door, where she knocked quietly. There was no answer. She reached for the door. Much to her surprise, when she opened the door, ready to give ten reasons why the spirit should come with them, there wasn't a soul to be seen. Irritated, she glanced around the room, once again.

"I don't know why you are being so... so pig-headed, Daniel Gregg! If you would just tell me what's wrong, I might be able to help you!"

The silence was deafening.

"Daniel?" She tried again. "There's still time. I don't know why, but somehow I feel it's important you come with us today. Please?"

Still, there was no answer.

"I know you can hear me..." the beautiful woman said softly. "Won't you please answer me?"

From the corner of the attic, where he stood watching the woman in front him, invisibly, the ghost of Captain Gregg almost appeared, then a voice came from downstairs.

"Mrs. Muir! We need to get going!"

Carolyn glanced around the 'empty' room again.

"I don't know why you won't talk to me, Daniel! We've always been able to talk about anything! Almost..." She paused. "WHY won't you answer me?" More silence greeted her ears, and Daniel Gregg watched as a more irritated one replaced the unhappy look on the woman's face. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but just to let you know, the funeral is in two hours at the Episcopal Church. I hope you decide to come. We all want you to, I know it would be good for you, and..."

She was cut off by another call from downstairs.

"Mom! We're late!" Candy yelled.

"I'm coming!" Carolyn answered, and, turning around, headed for the door. Once there, she turned around and looked about the empty room once more. "Daniel?" she called softly, "Martha and the kids wanted me to tell you they'll miss you not being there today." She paused. "I'll miss you, too, Daniel..." She stopped, and the spirit could see the unshed tears in her eyes. Resolutely, Carolyn turned around once more and left the attic.

As soon as she was out of eyeshot, Daniel appeared.

"Carolyn, I..." He stopped, realizing she could no longer hear him and his expression grew bleak, then angry. "Curses! Blast and damn, fate, wars, and..." He broke off, and with a crack of thunder, vanished from the attic and reappeared on his beach, a mile away.

XXX

Daniel did not know how long he walked, or what he thought about as he did so. His thoughts were jumbled cacophonies that he could not silence. After a while, he became aware of his surroundings. The weather could not have matched his mood better if he had tried to manipulate it; gray and dismal, with the mournful sounds of sea and wind creating a wordless lament. Finally, with a sigh he leaned against a large beach rock and stared out to sea. Endless seconds ticked away.

BLAST, he thought. Nothing is right here. I know I shouldn't have snapped at Carolyn, or ignored her these last few days, but... His thoughts broke off, as he perceived that he was not completely alone. A lone figure was walking toward him. An annoyance, mingled with moroseness, filled him as he watched the man stroll down the beach. I'm in no mood for company, even if I do wish Carolyn were here, he thought. Ah well. It's a good day to be a ghost. This fellow can't see me. I may as well let him pass... though this is MY beach he's visiting. Besides, I don't think I could work up a good thunderstorm at the moment if I tried.

Much to his surprise, instead of passing on by where Daniel was standing, the man stopped in front of him.

"Good afternoon, my dear chap," he began pleasantly. "Nice to see someone out here, I must say! I was beginning to feel a bit like Robinson Crusoe! Though of course I'm sure Daniel Defoe had a much more desolate place in mind than a beachfront in Maine!" He smiled at the spirit, pleasantly. "Tell me, where am I, exactly?"

Shocked, Daniel Gregg stared at the man in front of him in disbelief, and said nothing.

The stranger gazed back at him for a few moments, and then finally he shook his head. "Well, don't answer me. I just thought I would ask. I'm just visiting here... vacation, you know. If I am bothering you, I can move on about my business, that is unless you have some objection to that," he continued, looking directly at the ghost.

Floored, Daniel started to say something, stopped, then waved a hand in front of the other man's face.

"You can see me?" He almost whispered the question.

"Why, of course I can," the stranger answered briskly. "I have eyes, you know. Why shouldn't I see you?"

"But... I'm a spirit!" Daniel protested, not sure he liked this at all.

"You are?" The visitor looked at the seaman closely. "Really? I say! You are! Almost didn't catch it! How perfectly marvelous! Now this is certainly a plus! Imagine, seeing an American ghost while I am on vacation here! Splendid!"

"You really can see me?" Daniel repeated his question. "No one, sir, can see or hear me, unless I wish it, and I most definitely did NOT wish it with you!"

"Oh, that..." The other man waved his hand, as if pushing Daniel's words away. "Well, of course, I'm English! Any number of my countrymen can see ghosts, my good fellow. England is loaded with them, you know! Why, it's almost normal in my area of the world! No self-respecting castle or country home back where I come from would be without a ghost! My own home has a few, though, I must say, they don't visit with me much. Still, they are there."

"Vacation... England..." Daniel repeated, nonplused.

"I suppose I can also blame it on my mother's side of the family," the stranger mused. "Always been rather adept at seeing spirits and such. My name's Webster... just visiting these parts. Vacation… oh, I said that. I'm from England. Birmingham, England. I'm a silversmith, by trade. I have a small shop there. And you would be...?" He stopped, waiting for the ghost to say something.

Daniel looked at the man suspiciously. "Well, I..."

"Oh, come on, man, answer me. I'm not going to tell anyone I saw you. Besides, who would I tell?"

"How do I know I can trust you?" Daniel asked, still not introducing himself, but not disappearing, either.

Sensing the seaman's reticence, the stranger pulled a pipe out of his pocket and proceeded to fill it in silence, staring out to sea as he did so, Finally lighting it, he took a satisfied puff.

"It's really quite beautiful here. I can't say I blame you for picking such a prime location to haunt, if you must haunt, that is."

Dumfounded, Daniel pulled his own pipe out of his jacket pocket, then reached for his tobacco pouch.

"Here," the stranger offered, holding out his pouch toward the spirit. "Try this. Latest English blend! Probably been a while since you tried something new, eh? And you don't mind me saying so, I think my tobacconist puts together much better blends than anything I have seen here in the states... well, at least Maine."

"Thank you," Daniel shrugged, taking the pouch, still too puzzled to protest. He then proceeded to fill his own pipe, remaining silent.

"And you are?" Webster repeated. "I don't normally offer my good tobacco to someone I don't at least have SOME acquaintance with."

"Daniel Gregg. Captain Daniel Gregg. This is MY beach, by the way. Was, rather."

"Daniel Gregg!" Webster looked entranced. "Schooner Bay's most well known ghost! Well, crikey! That's good, I must say!"

"You've heard of me?" The seaman's eyebrows shot up.

"Heard of you? My dear fellow, one can't be in Schooner Bay for more than a day without hearing about the famous

Daniel Gregg! At least three people in town told me all about you! It's said, after dying here, you still haunt Gull Cottage, now occupied by Carolyn Muir, her two children, Jonathan and Candy, and her housekeeper, Martha Grant. You're a hero around these parts. I saw your statue in town, also. Tell me, sir, how long have you been haunting this area again?"

Daniel stared at the Englishman in disbelief. Webster looked like he was going to grab his hand and shake it any moment.

"A little more than a hundred years," he replied slowly. "Are you sure you aren't bothered by me?"

"Not a bit of it," the man answered. "Thrilled to meet you. Thrilled. Now your house... Gull Cottage. You do still haunt there?"

"Habitate, would be a more preferable term," Daniel answered. "Yes. I have been there since I died, in 1869. Carolyn Muir and her housekeeper and children LIVE there."

"I don't suppose I could meet them, too? See the house?" Webster asked quickly, "Now THAT would be an added perk to this vacation! No..." he glanced at Daniel's face. "I suppose not. I'm sorry I asked, dear fellow. Some things should be private. Man's home is his castle and all that."

"I think not, indeed. Touring my house! You aren't having a good trip here? Surely you have better things to do that see my home."

"Oh yes, of course," Webster nodded. "But, today, well, I wasn't really looking forward to beach combing today. It just sort of worked out that way."

"Why?" Daniel asked. "Schooner Bay is a small town, I admit, but for a visitor, there are things to do. And there's always..."

"Oh, no... I like it here," the Englishman interrupted, him, then he stopped for a moment and relit his pipe. "I was looking for a nice, quiet place to spend a vacation, here in the states, but near the seashore. Just a different perspective, is what I wanted, really. I was set on America this year, but my budget is limited."

"Then why aren't you in town, enjoying what there is to see?" the spirit asked.

"Can't, old fellow. The entire place is closed up! Funeral for that boy, you know. I suppose Mrs. ... Muir? told you of it." Daniel stiffened suddenly, and Webster observed the ghost closely, somehow knowing he had hit a nerve of some kind. "I heard the tale," he went on, gravely, shaking his head. "Old family here, a young lad, Vietnam, the last of his line... It didn't seem right for me, a tourist here, to attend. I was sure someone would think I was there to gawk." Daniel nodded in agreement. "Rather surprised you didn't go, though," Webster went on. "At least invisibly. I heard tell that his ancestors lived here when you would have been alive. You could pay your respects... all that."

"What I do is my own affair," Daniel said softly, the formalness back in his voice.

"So it would seem," Webster answered, a bit unsure.

Daniel tapped his pipe against a beach rock and watched as the embers and tobacco hit the ground. Almost savagely, he ground the tobacco and ash into dust in the sand. Then he started to dematerialize.

"Wait!" the Englishman cried. "Don't!"

In a millisecond, the ghost was back.

"Why?" Captain Gregg bit the question out.

"Look, my dear fellow," Webster began. "I'm sorry if I have offended you in some way. How you spend your afterlife is none of my concern — strictly your own affair. I just met you, after all. No offense taken?"

"I would say so," Daniel growled, but he didn't dematerialize, curious as to what else the fellow had to say.

"But..." Webster continued. "If you'll pardon me for saying so, you do look like you are carrying a rather heavy burden, for someone in your position, at any rate." He chuckled slightly.

"That, sir, was not in the best of taste."

"It is, if you think about it for a moment," Webster answered swiftly. "Who should have fewer problems than a ghost? I mean, unless you have a good reason NOT to be a ghost. Now that's a whole different problem."

"I suppose you have a point."

"As for whatever your trouble is now..." Webster continued. "It might do you good to talk about it. You know we'll probably never see each other again, and you look like you need to talk. Sometimes an unbiased party is the best ear."

"Like a bartender?" Daniel asked, a thoughtful look coming over his face.

"Perhaps," Webster smiled again. "And I have been told I am a good bartender. A stranger here, I am infinitely patient; wise, in my own way; have nothing but time on my hands — at the moment, anyway. You also have the added advantage that I don't know a soul here to expose you to, and I don't pass judgements haphazardly."

"Well, I am not doing anyone any good at the moment," Daniel sighed. "No one... my family… not even Carolyn knows what is bothering me."

"Well, what is disturbing you?" the other man queried.

"You have the time to listen to all this?" Daniel answered. "And you truly don't mind talking to a ghost?"

"I told you. I'm on vacation. I have plenty of time," the Englishman said briskly. "And I have absolutely NO problems with those in another realm. Now then, Captain Gregg. Would you care to perambulate, or just stand here and smoke for this tale of yours?"

"Walk, I think," the spirit answered, suddenly looking grave again.

"Very well. Are you ready?" Webster answered, looking off to his right. "The clouds have cleared... It's a beautiful day for a walk. And a talk."

"I don't know why," Daniel sighed. "But I think I can trust you. Very well."

XXX

Mortal and ghost walked along the shoreline with neither saying a word for more than ten minutes, but finally Webster spoke.

"I thought you wanted to talk, Captain. If you don't, I understand, but for heaven's sake, tell me to go away and mind my own business if you have changed your mind."

"I haven't changed my mind," Daniel frowned. "I was just... organizing my thoughts. Trying to remember so I could tell you some history without being all day about it, that's all."

"Well, you know the saying, Begin at the beginning, and then go on till you come to the end, then stop," Webster smiled. "It seems like a good idea in this case. Especially as it would seem the beginning was so long ago... in your time, I take it?"

"You're quoting Lewis Carroll, and I suppose so," the seaman said, pulling his pipe out of his pocket, once more and stopping to fill it.

"And why shouldn't a good Englishman quote another Englishman?" Webster queried, doing the same.

"No reason at all," the ghost shrugged. "Other than, I suppose my tale goes back to over a century ago, and..."

"Then you'd best begin," Webster answered, now lighting his own pipe.

"Well," the ghost started slowly. "As I have told Carolyn, and that no good sea-squid passing himself off as my great-nephew, I have often said I am... was... the only son of an only son, and I was, but Andrew Freemont was the older brother I never had."

"Freemont..." Webster mused. "A relation to the boy being buried today?"

"Yes," Daniel nodded gravely. "His great, great-grandfather." Daniel stopped and took a breath. "Are you sure you have time for all this?"

"I'm on vacation, Daniel," the Englishman chuckled. "What I said before still stands. I have nothing BUT time. Do continue."

"Well, to backtrack, so you understand, I was orphaned, quite young, and though I remember my father vaguely, I lacked someone to fill that role after his death until I met Andrew Freemont. Andrew was sixteen when we met, officially, I mean. He and his father ran the general store. His mother had died a few years previous, I found out later. Owning a store was quite a respected position. I was eight at the time, and I admit it, a bit of a scrapper. As I said, my parents had died when I was young... first my mother went, in childbirth, when I was five. Neither she nor my younger sister lived."

Webster's eyebrows went up. "I see you were being... literal, about being the only son of an only..."

"I was the only child," Daniel answered softly. "The only son. My sister was born dead, and my mother soon followed. My father died about a year later. There was an accident at sea. I was parceled out to my father's sister, Violet, a maiden aunt, at age seven, after my father died, and it was she I was still living with when I first became truly acquainted with Andrew Freemont." Webster nodded, and the two men continued to walk.

"Aunt Violet was a long time member of the community," the seaman continued. "But she was really unsuited for taking care of a young boy, and I am afraid, despite her best efforts, I ran a bit wild, and the situation was not helped when I knew the other boys in town looked down on me for being an orphan."

"Hardly your fault, that," Webster commented.

"Children are often blamed for things that are not their fault," the ghost answered roughly. "Anyway, I knew who Andrew was, naturally, but I had no real dealings with him until this one particular day. I was in town, running an errand for my aunt, rather unwillingly, when two boys, slightly older than I, cornered me, and started knocking me about a bit. Out of nowhere, Andrew stepped in, cuffed the other boys, and essentially pulled me out of a fix. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I was not exactly thankful for the rescue, at first."

"Why not?" the Englishman asked, puzzled. "You didn't want to be beholden to anyone, even at that tender age? It sounds like you did have an aunt who cared for your well being, and..."

"I wanted to be on my own, not indebted to anyone."

"Ah, well, I can see your position, perhaps. Great losses at a young age can make one hard. What happened then? Obviously this Andrew became an important person in your life, after all."

Daniel scratched his beard, and his stride slowed somewhat as he became a bit more thoughtful. "After that, looking back on it, I know better," he continued. "Despite my protests that I didn't need his, or anyone's help, I realize now, of course, that Andrew kept an eye out for me. Word got around. Somehow the older lads in town didn't seem to bother me as much after that. Then Andrew's father offered me a job in his store as an errand boy. It gave me a bit more to do, and put a bit of change in my pockets. Naturally, Andrew and I got to know each other a bit better, and between him and his father, they, in a way, filled the roles of a big brother, and in an unobtrusive way, father. Andrew told me once he had no brothers, no siblings at all... and rather liked the idea of having a 'kid brother' to entertain." The ghost stopped, and looked troubled.

"Yes?" Webster gave the ghost a look and raised his eyebrows. "Are you all right?"

"Mrs. Muir and I have been writing my memoirs," the spirit said. "I have never mentioned Andrew to Carol... her." He scratched his ear, thoughtfully. "Perhaps I never wanted her to see me as someone in need of defense?"

"Possibly," Webster nodded. "But then you wouldn't be the first... my lady often accuses me of the same thing, and I'm not even a ghost. What happened with you and Andrew? I am rather curious, you know, as obviously, something about the events in town today are bothering you. From what you have said, so far, it sounds like matters were turning a bit more in your favor."

"Aye, for about two years, they did. Then, when I was ten, Andrew went to sea. Flat up left, leaving behind a note to his father, and his girl, Sally, was her name, that he would be back when he had made his fortune — at least a name for himself."

"Did he?"

"Yes, he did. About two years later, when I was twelve, he came home for a while — full of tales of life at sea on a merchant ship. I admit it; I was enthralled with his stories. He stayed home only for a short time, and then he was due back on board his ship. How I wanted to go! I had become disillusioned with life in Schooner Bay at the time, and knew if I could leave, I, too, could make my fortune. Before Andrew left, however, he and Sally, who had waited for him, were married. She was an orphan, and Andrew's father, who was not terribly well himself, had no objections. Andrew was home for another week, then he went back to his ship, leaving Sally, who was now to live with his father and help him. Andrew was back again eight months later, full of tales to tell of his adventures, and when he left again, much to Sally's sorrow, I made up my mind once and for all — the sea was where I wanted to be. After all, it seemed to be serving Andrew well, and as the saying goes, it must have been in my blood — I was my father's son."

"So you left?"

"Yes. My aunt had died not long before, her house had been sold for a pittance. Andrew's father had not been well, I hadn't wanted to bother him, and I really held no help with all the details that come with death. The money from the sale was held in trust for me until I turned twenty-one, and there was also some property of my father's in that trust, that I hoped to build a house on some day."

"Gull Cottage?" Webster asked.

"Yes, but there was no house at all there, then. I designed and built that much later. But as I was saying, at the time, there was nothing to keep me in Schooner Bay, so on my thirteenth birthday, I left, and signed up on the first merchant ship that would take me — deciding that what worked for Andrew would work for me."

"It sounds like a well-thought out plan to start a nautical career," Webster said. "Daniel, can we stop for a moment? You don't get tired, but I do," he panted, leaning against a nearby beach rock.

"I do beg you pardon. Of course," Daniel nodded, standing next to him.

"Now go on with your tale, old man," Webster's eyes squinted a bit against the noonday sun. "My ears aren't tired."

"I served on several ships while learning my trade," the ghost continued. "Then, at sixteen and a half, I joined the Navy, and served on several more ships, rising in rank. Then, when I was nineteen, in 1844, the day I was stationed on the Marlin, Horatio Figg's ship, as a passing midshipman, there was Andrew! He had just made the grade to Lieutenant!"

"Ah, so you ended up serving with your old mentor?"

"Yes, and seeing him again was marvelous. It almost cancelled out having to serve under Horatio Figg — a more incompetent man I have never run across in all my life, or since, as it turned out! Andrew caught me up on his life a bit — Sally was a mother by then, and they had a one-year-old son, Jason."

"I see," said Webster, nodding his head. "And... Sally? Was she used to her husband being at sea for long periods?"

"Aye. Something of a norm in those days, and it was Andrew's profession, after all. He got home often enough. Sally understood."

"I see," the Englishman nodded. "Go on. There is more to your tale, I take it?"

"James Huntington was Commander, a good man, and under him, Phillip Chadwick was Lieutenant Commander. Then Andrew was Lieutenant, with me following directly as Midshipman, for what that was worth," Daniel said, not bothering answering in the affirmative, and his face growing dark.

"But I take it all did not go well on board the Marlin?" Webster asked, frowning.

"Hardly," Daniel snorted. "We called his ship the Herring. Horatio Figg was the poorest excuse for a captain as I have ever known. Inconsiderate of his crew, belligerent, yet somehow always on the defensive — and incompetent! Lord only knows how he rose to the rank he did. He was an early incarnation of the Peter Principle — the theory published not long ago that Carolyn was telling me about."

Webster nodded. "Read about it. In a hierarchy, and some would say, in the military, everyone tends to rise to his level of incompetence."

"It was certainly true in HIS case! That, and I swear, that... that bilge-bellied barracuda had it in for me. I know that sounds paranoid, but he and I clashed from the first. That man went out of his way to give me the dirtiest jobs, and the oddest watch schedules imaginable. I in turn, I admit it, thought I knew everything, and could be a smart aleck at times, but only with people I didn't respect, and I do recognize that didn't help matters. The only thing that made it bearable was Andrew, who was still older and wiser, kept reminding me that Horatio Figg was not a normal Captain, that no one in the fleet liked him, that he was known for his cowardice and sloppy ways, and that sooner or later he would step over the line, and that would be that. He also reminded me that NO ONE else on board the Marlin respected him, either."

"Daniel, this is all very interesting," Webster started, "but what has put you in such a funk today? I have trouble believing that you are still smarting over Figg's treatment of you one hundred years ago. What is happening NOW to put you in such a mood? The anniversary of your death, or something?"

"No," Daniel shook his head. "That was last November, and oddly enough, it was... all right. But if you don't mind, I'd like to finish my story now that I have started it, unless you have somewhere else to be." He frowned. "I am still not sure how much good telling it all will do though."

"Anywhere else I need to be can wait, Daniel," Webster smiled. "But I must say, when I came to Maine for holiday, I never counted on anything like this."

"It's not my fault you can see ghosts," Daniel retorted.

"No, but you are the one getting off the subject. I'm just listening here. You aren't done yet, I can tell."

"No, I'm not. Let me see... as I think I was saying, Figg was a poor excuse for a commander, and he and I never got along. And in the ultimate scheme of things, there was very little I could do but bear it. He went out of his way to belittle me in front of my shipmates every time he got the chance. Why — a hundred years later I read in his log, documented for everyone to see, that he looked upon me as an 'impertinent good-for-nothing'." The ghost looked thoughtful. "True, I may have been impertinent, but I was NEVER a good-for-nothing."

"And there was no one you could really complain to?" Webster asked, filling his pipe again and then holding his pouch out to Daniel, who did the same.

"Not anyone who could do anything about it," the ghost shrugged. "The only thing that kept me going was Andrew."

"He could report Figg?" Webster asked, his eyebrows raising again.

"No," said Daniel. "But he kept telling me to just hang in there and give the military structure time. That good would win out, and sooner or later, Figg would be uncovered as what he really was — a lazy sot and an unspeakable coward... that everyone on board the Marlin knew it, and it would only be a matter of time before the rest of the military would recognize the fact."

"Did that happen?" Webster asked, as they continued to walk along the beach.

"In a way, I suppose," Daniel sighed. "But not immediately. We were stationed in Cuba when the Marlin was badly damaged, and we went to Grand Cayman to make repairs. We remained quite some time — months, it seemed. The area is not exactly known for it shipbuilding talents, then or now."

"Hmm," Webster mused. "Were you bored, not being at sea?"

"For a short while," Daniel said, remembering. "But, if one had to be land-bound, but not at home in Schooner Bay, I couldn't have picked a better spot, really. There was plenty of wildlife, including a fascinating, rare blue iguana that lives nowhere else in the world, and even better than that, the best, clearest water — perfect for fishing and swimming, which I loved! Add to that waterfalls, friendly natives... and at the age of twenty-one, which I was by then, I fell in love with it."

"It does sound beautiful."

"Aye. It was. Things had, in no way, eased up regarding my working relationship with Figg, etcetera, and all I could think of was how much I wanted at that time, to stay there — forever. I was due for release soon, and I knew I could make a career, have some kind of profession. I prayed every night that repairs would keep me on that island."

"But you didn't?"

"No. Andrew kept encouraging me to stick with the Navy — went out of his way to relieve me of whatever extra duties Figg still heaped on me that he could, saying I couldn't let one bad officer get to me, that the Navy was a fine career for a man, that he never saw anyone better suited that me for the seaman's life, and that he knew I would never be truly be happy elsewhere. And he continued to remind me that all officers were not Horatio Figg, and that I held great promise and not to give up."

"And did you listen to Andrew?" Webster asked.

"Yes, and no," Daniel sighed. "I respected Andrew, but..."

"...But obviously you did not end up staying in the Cayman's," said Webster. "I told you. I saw your statue. The bronze plaque under it said you were a hero at the battle of Vera Cruz. What happened?"

"War," Daniel shrugged. "All my dreams of staying in that beautiful place ended quite abruptly when we heard the news that the U.S. was in a hellishly wicked war in Mexico, and we had to leave to join the battle the next day. I could almost see it in my mind already. Andrew was kind enough to take my watch, and with the ship was rigged and ready in the harbor, and I took one last walk on the islands, to smell the sweet air I did not know if I would breathe in again, to imprint its unspeakable loveliness on my mind. My heart was heavy with tears as I said farewell to the islands... the sunshine... Don't get me wrong, I was not afraid of death; there was no one to sorrow for me, now that my aunt was gone. I just knew that I would never return, whether because I had died, or because war would change me, and it would simply not be the same any longer. I wish I had words to describe it, but no words can tell how I felt that evening."

"So you returned to the ship?" Webster asked softly.

"Aye," Daniel answered, briefly. "I DID do the honorable thing."

"Yet, somehow, I don't feel this is the end of your tale," the Englishman prodded slightly, and Daniel shook his head.

"No... The worst is..." the ghost swallowed heavily. "The next morning, Captain Figg gave the order to cast off."

"For Mexico?"

"California, actually. That was what we all expected. Instead he ordered us to set sail for Jamaica — one-hundred and eighty miles west of Grand Cayman."

"Odd, that," Webster commented, taking another draw off his pipe. "I would have thought Mexico would be next."

"No — California, for a sneak attack, and yes, one would think," Daniel sighed. "James Huntington, Commander under Figg, if you remember, questioned the order, but Figg told him to scuttle his opinions or he would end up in the brig, and that he had his reasons. Then, for three days, Figg alternated between pacing the deck, half inebriated, snarling at anyone who so much as raised an eyebrow in his direction, or hiding out in the bilge with his customary bottle."

"Couldn't you just..." Webster started, but Daniel interrupted him.

"Mutiny?"

"Well, yes. I suppose you could call it that."

"Aye, though no one on board ever said THAT word," Daniel said quietly. "But Figg never lost his senses long enough, or tipped over the edge to the point that any of the senior officers felt quite comfortable enough to just do it — lock the drunken louse up and take command. He was just being a bit more of his usual self."

"So, what happened next, Daniel?"

"We docked in Jamaica at twilight. Figg still wouldn't tell us why we were there at all... the next morning we knew, however! He had jumped ship during the night."

The Englishman's eyes grew wide. "He left? Just... left? Abandoned his own ship?"

"Yes. We never did figure out quite how he managed to slip away with none of us seeing him, including our lookout, James Stacy. I am convinced he was in no way involved! It was all a complete mystery. Search parties looked for Figg for two days, but the man had simply vanished. Finally, everyone reassembled, Huntington took command, and everyone else, Phillip Chadwick, the Lieutenant Commander, and Andrew, the Lieutenant, moved up a step in rank, field promotions, I suppose you would call them, meaning I was now acting Lieutenant, and we set sail."

"Were there any more problems on the way?" Webster asked, fascinated.

"None," Daniel shook his head. "The trip itself went rather quickly, as I recall. We reached Vera Cruz in early March — in time for us to take part in the first amphibious assault the United States would ever launch. There were thousands of men there. Andrew had told me to stick close to him, probably intending to keep an eye on me, but we were separated in the general melee of battle. After that, my mind goes blank — other than nothing I ever heard of, or read, could have prepared me for anything I thought the battle could be. Things intensified mid-month. When Andrew and I met again, he had been shot, a gut wound, and was dying."

"You are leaving something out, aren't you, Captain Gregg?" Webster interrupted. "I think you are being a bit modest, sir. I told you before. I saw your statue in town. You were a hero of Vera Cruz, were you not?"

"Every man who fought there, or in any war, was a hero, whether it is said or mentioned or not," Daniel said, darkly. "I simply did my duty."

"Agreed," Webster nodded his head. "What happened to Andrew? You said he was...?"

"...Dying," Daniel cut in. "There was nothing to be done. Thank God I reached him in time to say goodbye. As I sat there, seeing him writhe in agony, and as his breath grew short as the fever overtook him, he made me promise to take care of his family... his wife, Sally, and his son, Jason. As I recall, his exact words were almost scolding — he said, 'Daniel, you have to make it through this war — for yourself, first and foremost, and for my wife and son. Promise me you will always keep an eye out for them... For my family... Always'."

"And you did, of course."

"Naturally. I gave him my sacred oath. Then, with a smile on his face, Andrew died right there in front of me."

"I'm sorry, Daniel," Webster said softly. "That couldn't have been easy for you, despite what horrors I am sure you saw prior to that."

"So I did..." Daniel went on, not acknowledging Webster's sentiments. "For my entire life, I looked out for them, as a brother and uncle. Sally never remarried, but her son Jason grew up, and married, and produced only one child, a boy, Joshua, of his own. Odd for that time. Jason, Andrew's son, lived to be sixty-four. In time, Joshua grew up, married and only had one son. The whole line was only-sons of only-sons."

"And you kept an eye on them all?" Webster asked, "Helped out where you could, and all that?"

"While I was alive. Actually I died before Jason did, but I did, nonetheless. As a ghost, I could, you know. I remember it grieved me terribly when Jimmy's parents died suddenly — A car accident in Boston. I wasn't there, but I could still look out for their son. The boy went to live with his grandparents. They died about two years apart. First the grandmother, and shortly before his high school graduation, his grandfather. Then, then the boy was drafted and sent to Vietnam."

"A dreadful situation there, I understand, with no end in sight." Webster nodded. "And...?"

"And, I got word three days ago, through Carolyn, not that I wouldn't have figured it out for myself, eventually, that the boy was killed in Cambodia," Daniel paused and leaned against a nearby beach rock, his head bowed. "Blast it! I could do nothing to save him!"

"Ah, I see... And you are taking the lad's death as a personal failure?"

"How else can I take it? I didn't keep my promise. The lad is dead. Dead before he even had a chance to really live. I've failed." Staring out to sea, he added, "You wanted to know who I am. I am a man who did not keep the one promise his best friend asked of him."

Webster was silent for a moment, considering Daniel's last remark. Finally, he spoke.

"I think I am a bit confused, here. How, precisely, did you not keep your word? From everything you have told me so far, you not only kept your promise during your lifetime, but long after it."

Daniel shook his head.

"Aye, I tried, but Jimmy is dead. I can only hope, with him dying so far away from his home, that he is resting in peace."

"You have no way of knowing?"

"Not to be absolutely certain, no."

"He was from here, I would think if Jimmy wasn't at peace, if he became a ghost, like you, he would come back here, don't you?"

"I suppose so..."

"So, we can assume the boy is at rest, and with his family, then."

"I still failed," Daniel fumed. "That boy should be alive, and..."

"And if he was alive, he would still be fighting in Cambodia, or worse yet, perhaps a vegetable somewhere in a foreign aid station or hospital. Or worse, a prisoner of war, being tortured. Would you wish that on him?"

"No, but I should have been able to..."

"...To what?"

"To be there for him. I promised to look after Andrew's family..."

"Daniel, you DID look after them. I'd say you went above and beyond the call, actually. Do you really think Andrew meant that you were to look after his family — his descendants — for eternity?" The Englishman stopped speaking for a moment and shook his head. "If he did, I think your friend was no friend, but a very selfish fellow, and a coward."

Thunder cracked.

"Andrew Freemont was one of the most giving people I have ever known — and he was NOT a coward!"

"Just making an observation, no offense," Webster shrugged, and drew on his pipe, letting the silence stretch out for a moment, then he glanced at Daniel. "I could be wrong, in my assumption, but you seem so determined, after doing what sounds like your best for the last hundred and twenty-five years or so, that you failed him. I'm new at this talking to ghosts concept, so I don't know much about what all you lot can do. Can you be in two places at once?"

Daniel shook his head. "No, of course not. Ghosts can move quickly, but we aren't magic in that way."

"Do you have what they call... The Sight? ESP? Could you have predicted this young man's death?"

The ghost shook his head again. "It seems inevitable in a war that such things would occur, as it did with his great, great-grandfather, but beyond reasonable probability, no."

The stranger nodded. "And, you have a commitment to the Muir family, to your Carolyn?"

"Yes, though not in so many words. We haven't..."

"Still, if, as you say, ghosts can't be in two places at once, or predict the future precisely, unless you hung around the boy in Cambodia, like some guardian spirit, all the time, you might not have been here when and if your family here needed you. It seems like that would make you feel even worse than this, if something had happened while you were off playing guardian angel. You aren't an angel, are you? I know some folks think angels are just dead people..."

"That's balderdash. I have never been an angel," the Captain stated firmly, a trace of humor in his dry tone. "Though some people, Claymore Gregg, for instance, the man passing himself off as my descendant, has accused me of coming somewhere south of heaven." Daniel almost, but not quite chuckled.

"And, do ghosts have super powers? Like deflecting bullets or anything?" Webster waved his hand as if to capture all possible magical gifts in one phrase.

"I do... did like to think of myself as a super spirit, but I do not have any of the talents that I have seen portrayed on the cartoon shows the children watch."

"Hmm. And did your friend Andrew know you would be a ghost at all, and watch over more than, say, his widow, his child, and perhaps his grandchildren?"

"Of course not. I was alive, but he was dying. I am sure he had no way of knowing I would be a ghost... and I lived for another... twenty-five years or so after Andrew died."

"Well then, forgive me, Daniel, but I fail to understand how you could have prevented any of this from happening, any more than you could have prevented his parents from dying young, or his grandparents from dying. Nobody likes to think of death, but it is the way of the world — of God, of nature of mankind... all of it. Life has a very high mortality rate. One out of every one person dies, sooner or later. It's how we LIVE our life that counts." Webster looked at the ghost thoughtfully for a few moments as he saw the spirit considering his words. "And again, I say, what if your family here had needed you, and suffered a hardship because you weren't here? No man is God, God is, and it seems to me that is Who's shoes you are trying to fill here — God's."

"I have been accused of having an oversized ego, but never to the extent you have just indicated," Daniel chuckled in spite of himself. "I'm just a ghost, not the Almighty."

"Good. We have that clear. And if you will concede that if you are NOT God, nor do you want to be, then you must grant that God has His reasons and a plan, and if it was time for the boy to die, then there is nothing you could have done to stop it, any more than you could his parents, his grandparents, or any other ancestors."

"Aye, but they were older, and the boy was left then. I could have figured out a way to keep him from going, or I could have watched over him, and…"

"Daniel, you are talking in circles — no, you couldn't. Jimmy was in Vietnam. You were here, watching over your other family — Carolyn, the children, your housekeeper. That's the sad part about war — it is a waste of lives and property and often changes lives. And the saddest fact of all is that not everyone lives through a war: not Vietnam, not the Mexican War, or World War One, or Two, or Korea — any of them."

"But Vietnam is a waste," Daniel growled. "Just as much as the Mexican War was. Jimmy's life was wasted. And I couldn't stop it any more than I could keep Andrew from dying."

"No, you couldn't, that's really your trouble," Webster nodded. "You want to save all of them, Daniel, all in that family, and you can't, plain and simple. What it really boils down to, is you are just a ghost, and you have entirely too big an ego, thinking you can fix everything. You can't control fate, why try?"

"Aye, but I'm a spirit, I have some powers..."

"Yes, you do, but they aren't designed to fix everything," the Englishman said, then continued thoughtfully. "Daniel, think about what you are saying. I have not been in town long, but I have heard something about this boy, and the nearest I can comprehend, his life was far from a waste. Surely you don't mean that."

"I didn't say he wasted his life, I said his life was wasted."

"No life is wasted, Daniel. You know that. Captain, somewhere in the Good Book, it says that God has appointed every man or woman a certain number of days, and He figures that whenever you get to that last day, there's no way to avoid it, and no way to get there before the exact day either. Now so far, I think that is true. I've seen it all my life, and based on what I have heard about you personally, and your story today, it still holds true."

"Hmm?"

"Well, I know how you died — could you, or anyone you know at the time, have changed that? And if they could, now, knowing what you know and having done what you have done the last hundred years, would you want someone to change it? Would you WANT someone... your housekeeper, or your best mate to have felt guilty to their dying day for not being able to save you from inhaling that gas a hundred years ago?"

For a few seconds, Webster feared he had gone too far in his honest assessment. The ghost had gone absolutely still, enigmatic thoughts darting in his 'haunted' expression. Then, Daniel's head bowed. "You are correct. There was nothing I could do. I cannot even touch anyone, much less save them."

"Well, I don't know about that," the Englishman mused, looking at the ghost. "It seems to me you are a bit more solid... no, a great deal more solid than some other ghosts of my acquaintance. Regular wraiths, they are — not nearly as lucid and earthy as you, but then you are, I mean, WERE a seaman. Maybe that has something to do with it." He stared at the ghost, keenly. "I mean, Daniel, see here — you are smoking, for heaven's sake, and I don't see anything seeping out of your body anywhere. If I didn't know better, I would think you WERE solid. And you CAN touch things — my tobacco pouch for instance — and you are leaning against this rock..." he gestured. "...And not falling through it. It seems to me you might be able to touch people... live things... with time and practice. It still doesn't mean you could stop a bullet, though, so don't get started on that circle thinking again."

With a start, Daniel looked down at the rock he was leaning against. The dawning realization was so profoundly startling that he forgot to correct Webster. He was still a seaman, albeit without a ship. "I am touching it! And I have touched other things, too. I never thought of that... I didn't know..."

"Well, you do now — and maybe you should try a bit more, Daniel!"

"Yes?"

"One other question, sir. Have you told your lady...?"

"Who?"

"Carolyn Muir. The lady you haunt. The one writing your Memoirs — the story you just told me?"

"No. I told you. I didn't want to seem... weak, or soft-hearted, about — well, anything."

"You haven't told Mrs. Muir — the lady writing your history — about this? In heaven's name, why not? She needs to know. For one thing, I think it belongs in your book. For another, I do believe she might need to know why you have been out of sorts, the last few days, perhaps?"

"I hadn't thought... maybe she does..."

"No "maybe's" about it — I'd say she does, without a doubt! Tell her. Then, if you wish, you can always work on the touching thing, later. It might be prudent to get those Memoirs of yours finished first!" Webster chuckled and then looked at his watch. "Right now, I'd say there is somewhere else you need to be?"

"Aye," Daniel answered, looking determined, then his face took on a slightly defeated look as he glanced at the noonday sky. "But perhaps it is too late. Surely the service has started already?"

"I think seamen — or maybe ghosts of seamen, do better telling time by the stars," Webster smiled. "According to my watch, it's only five after one. The service was due to begin five minutes ago, yes?"

"Yes..." Daniel nodded.

"Well, it is my personal experience..." the Englishman answered, looking out toward the waves. "...That these things never start on time — not exactly on time, anyway. And you are a ghost. It wouldn't take you but a jiff to think up a suitable disguise so the townspeople don't recognize you as the famous Daniel Gregg, and pop down to the church, find your lady and join the congregation."

"Maybe..."

"And I am sure she saved room for you, just in case," Webster concluded.

"I think you could very well be right about that," the ghost said, looking a bit more cheered.

"Why, of course I am," the other man responded, then looked the spirit in the eye. "Daniel, I need to get going. I have a bit more of this beach to walk before I return to town."

"You're not coming?"

"Well, I can't materialize there, now can I?" Webster retorted. "Besides, I told you, for me to attend would strike as being a gaping tourist, and we can't have that."

"I suppose not."

Webster smiled. "I'd shake your hand, Captain Gregg, but as that is not possible, at least for now, I will just say goodbye. Who knows? Our paths may cross again some day. And if they don't, I can't tell you when I have enjoyed a conversation more."

"Or I," Daniel nodded. "A pleasure meeting you, sir."

"Likewise," the other man nodded, looking at his watch again. "Daniel, the funeral will be starting, soon..."

"I know," the specter nodded. "And I will be there. To celebrate Jimmy's life."

XXX

"Mom..." Candy whispered, looking up at her mother. "When is the service going to start?"

"Probably in just a few more minutes, Candy," Carolyn Muir whispered back, looking first at her watch, and then back to her daughter and son, both seated to her left. Carolyn glanced toward the center aisle from her seat next to it. "They are still seating people." Abruptly, the organ music switched to what was marked in the leaflet as the opening hymn, and Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty, Jimmy Freemont's favorite hymn, according to Reverend Farley, started. "That's it," Carolyn whispered as everyone in the congregation stood, ready to begin.

"Excuse me..." A soft, familiar, voice came. "Is there room for one more here?"

Carolyn looked up and beheld a man, dressed in full navy dress whites, and as she gazed at his familiar, yet different face, she whispered again.

"Daniel, is that really you?" she asked quietly, and quickly.

"Aye, my dear."

"I was hoping you would come."

As the family moved over to make room, Candy and Jonathan stared at the ghost, wide-eyed.

"Hey — You look different!" Jonathan observed, quietly. "You still have a moustache, but your beard's gone!"

"Yeah, you're a whole different Captain, Captain!" Candy added.

"Shh," Carolyn admonished them softly. "Eyes front. We'll talk about this later."

"We will indeed," Daniel answered, in a low voice, as the introduction music continued.

"I'm glad you're here, Daniel, but what changed your mind?" Carolyn whispered. "Can everyone see you right now?"

"Yes, and I'll tell you after the service," the ghost explained as the music swelled. "Someone just... showed me a different… perspective, that's all."

"Did Jimmy come back as a ghost?" Carolyn whispered again.

Daniel shook his head. "No, my dear, just a stranger passing through. I'll tell you later, I promise, Carolyn." For a moment he gazed into her emerald green eyes, then, moving his blue gaze to the front of the church, he stood straight and tall. "But for now... Now it's time to celebrate Jimmy's life... and say goodbye."

May 25, 1971

Candy looked out the window and sighed. The rain was still coming down in sheets. She glanced back to see Captain Gregg pacing.

"Captain, it's summer vacation. Couldn't you stop raining on it? Please?"

"Yeah. I know you're anxious for yours and Mom's advance reader's copies of the Memoirs to get here, and so are we, but we want to have fun outside, too," Jonathan added.

The ghost stopped his pacing about the living room. "I wish I could do something about it, but it is raining because it is raining, not because of my mood. I have noticed that our mailman does not like to get out in inclement weather, so I would refrain from causing it."

"What's inclement?" Jonathan frowned.

"Stormy, in a word," the Captain growled, once more seating himself by Carolyn. "I have half a mind to go down to that post office in town myself and find those books! I think the postman is just too lazy to bring them out here!"

"You can't do that," Carolyn smiled. "Look, Daniel, just because everyone thinks you are a great, great, cousin of yourself now, and you are "living" in Cleveland Hampton's old house, doesn't mean you can pop into town and interfere with the U.S. Mail. You..."

The doorbell rang at that moment, interrupting her thought, and the ghost started to dematerialize and head for the foyer.

"Wait, love..." she started, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "Don't be so impatient! Martha will answer it! People will start talking if you take to answering the front door of Gull Cottage at nine in the morning!"

Martha called from the other room. "Don't bother! I'm getting it, Captain!"

"She knows you entirely too well, my dear," Carolyn chuckled.

"Nonsense. She just heard what I was saying."

The housekeeper was back in the living room a few moments later.

"You'll have to stop badmouthing the mailman," Martha scolded the spirit. "He just came out, like the motto says, through rain, if not the rest of it. Just bills, but there's also a special delivery package here for Mrs. Muir."

"Fantastic!" Carolyn let out a breath. "It's about time!"

"It's here! Finally!" the Captain exclaimed, reaching for the parcel.

"Ah-ah," Martha said, moving the package away from the ghost. "Do that again, and I will slap your hand — and I can do that now!"

"Sometimes," the ghost winked. "When I'm concentrating, dear Martha. I would NOT concentrate so as to be slapped! Now be a love, and give me the package. I want to see our book."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Captain," the housekeeper shook her head, holding the package away from him.

"What do you mean?"

"This is a package, but it's not the Memoirs. One can hardly fit thirty advance publicity copies of a three-hundred page book in one little package this size."

"BLAST IT!" Daniel growled, and the sound of thunder was heard over the rain still pounding against the outside of the house.

"But it IS a package," Jonathan said, coming closer. "You had to sign for it, right?"

"Yeah," Candy added. "Who's it from, Martha?"

"Somebody... Webber... or Webster, it looks like, I think," Martha answered, handing the package to her employer before the sea captain or the children could take it from her. "The writing is kind of smudged — smeared in the rain, no doubt. The postage stamps are English, though, and the mailman said that's where it was from." She looked at her employer, curiously. "Do you know anyone from Birmingham, England, Mrs. Muir? Or maybe your parents are sending you something from their round-the-world tour?"

"I don't know anyone in England," Carolyn shook her head, still examining the package. "There must be some mistake."

"I don't think mailmen can make mistakes," Jonathan pointed out, now peering over his mother's shoulder. "They work for the government."

"That's no guarantee..." Daniel chuckled.

"Maybe not, but he said it was for you, and made Martha sign for it — I think you should open it. Besides..." he added, "I want the stamps for my collection."

"Then I get first dibs on what is inside if Mom doesn't want it," Candy said flatly. "Open it, Mom!"

A tinge of doubt still crossing her face, Carolyn turned to Daniel.

"And your vote is?"

"I think we better open it, my dear," the seaman smiled, glancing at the address once more. "We can always return it, if need be."

"Majority rules." The Lady of Gull Cottage smiled and pulled off the damp outer wrappings, handing the brown paper bearing the English stamps to her son, and pulled out yet another wrapped package with a familiar shape and a sealed envelope, addressed to Carolyn Muir.

"Webster," Daniel muttered. "Hmm. I know that name rings a bell... wait a minute..."

He was cut off as Carolyn opened the envelope — another envelope and a single sheet of paper fell out of it.

"That package looks like a record," Candy said, clinically. "Who's sending you a record, Mom?"

"I'd like to know, too," Martha said, eyeing it. "England is a bit far away for the Book and Record of the Month Club!"

"Can I open the record?" Jonathan put in.

"My dear, what..." Daniel started to speak, but Carolyn cut him off.

"Shush, I'm reading!"

"What does it say, then?" he huffed.

"My Dear Mrs. Muir..." Carolyn read. "I did not want to stir up rumors, addressing a gift to your ghost, Captain Gregg, but I just didn't think the local postal service would be sanguine about delivering a package to the same. I gathered, from my conversation with him almost a year ago, that you would be more than happy to convey my message and gift to him. So if you wouldn't mind, could you see that he gets this enclosed letter and parcel? I am sorry we never had a chance to meet personally, dear lady, Daniel spoke so fondly of you, but perhaps we will some day. Best wishes to you and yours — Sincerely, R.A. Webster." She turned to the ghost, seated next to her. "It would seem this package is for YOU, Daniel." So saying, she handed him both the second envelope and the packet.

"I don't understand," the mariner said, fingering the articles in front of him, puzzled. "I don't know anyone in England — that is, anyone alive, and everyone in Schooner Bay thinks my name is Daniel Lord — a distant relative of myself. No one knows me as Daniel Gregg, except all of you and Claymore! And that lily-livered landlubber would never mail me anything, especially with the cost of overseas mailing, much less of going overseas to mail it!"

Carolyn shrugged gracefully. "Well, Daniel, you won't know unless you open the package. I must admit, now I'm curious, too."

"I'm not sure I like this!" the ghost protested. "Still, Webster... where do I know that name from? I..."

"Open it! Read it!" Candy and Jonathan chanted, with Martha joining in.

"You might as well, Daniel, we won't leave you alone until you do. I mean that in the nicest way, of course." Carolyn's touch was feather light on the ghost's hand. "Go on, love."

"Very well," the ghost shrugged, "I suppose the most that could happen is that it will be some strange practical joke."

Slowly, Daniel opened the letter and started to read the note to himself, and a look of wonder appeared on his face.

"Out LOUD!" Jonathan moaned.

"Very well," the sea captain smiled. "How truly amazing this is! Now I remember!" In his smooth, velvety tone, he began to read.

"Dear Daniel, I hope this letter finds you well. I do not know how the rest of your afternoon almost a year ago turned out, but I will choose to think the best results happened; I know how very much they have affected MY life!"

"The story you told me that day last August and your speech haunted me, you might say, and I have never forgotten our walk and talk. I have fancied myself a writer, on occasion, and to make a much longer story short, after I returned to Birmingham, I entered a contest to write a song, and before I knew it, the story and words you spoke that day became just that. The title I gave it was my idea, and I did have to change the location, but the words, most of them, are really yours."

"Sad to say, I did not WIN the contest, but came in a close second. However, the radio announcer/songwriter running the contest and his associates liked our words well enough to write music to go with them and include the song on the album anyway. I understand the record will only be released in the U.K. and perhaps Canada, so you will never see it in the States, and, for that reason, I am enclosing this record with a copy of "our" song. It is the first cut on the second side. I do hope you give it a listen or two, and are as pleased with the results as I am, even if we didn't take first prize."

"Once again, dear fellow, thank you for the most interesting vacation I have ever had. Inspiration does, indeed, come it the oddest places, and the best!"

"I hope all is well with you and your family."

"Sincerely,

R.A. Webster"

"Well, now!" Daniel pulled his left earlobe, momentarily distracted. "Webster! Of course! Why, of all things! How kind of him to remember me!" A mildly chagrined look came over his face. "To think my temper squall and moaning about almost a year ago produced a song!" He frowned slightly.

"It wasn't a squall, Daniel," Carolyn said softly, "Just rough seas for a few days."

"I want to hear the song!" Candy interrupted her mother. "Please, Captain, can we play it?"

"May we," he corrected gently.

"May we." Candy rolled her eyes.

"And can we play it now?" Jonathan added.

"MAY..." The seaman raised his hands in acquiescence. "Very well. I suppose I won't get any peace until you do."

A few moments later, a beautiful musical introduction came pouring out of the speakers of the family's small stereo, and a rich baritone voice started to sing.

Almost unconsciously, Carolyn slipped her hand into Daniel's.

"Pretty," Martha murmured at a bridge in the music. "Marvelous lyrics, and a lovely melody."

"Daniel, you wrote those words?" Carolyn whispered. "They sound almost exactly like what you told me about..."

"Shh," he purred softly in his lady's ear. "I want to hear the rest."

When the song ended, the listeners played it twice more. As the music stopped for the third time, Candy spoke. "I REALLY like it, Captain. I don't know why, but that song sounds like you, even if I have never heard you tell a story like this. But now I want to! Can you tell us the same story you told Mister Webster?"

"Yeah, and can I take the record over to Conner's house tomorrow?" Jonathan demanded. "I bet HE doesn't have any records from England, and this is such a cool song, he..."

"This record is staying right here in the house," Carolyn said sternly. "We could never explain HOW it came into our possession — I mean a record not pressed here in the United States? Some English writer..."

"He's a silversmith, actually," Daniel interjected.

"Silversmith, songwriter... whichever, met the Ghost of Gull Cottage? I don't think so — we just figured out a way to explain the Captain so he doesn't have to stay at Gull Cottage all the time. Sorry, kids, I know you like it, and would love to show your friends, but no, sorry."

"Your mother is right, Candy and Jonathan," Daniel affirmed. "Though I am pleased you approve of this song as well as Rod Stewart's noise and..."

"It's a cool song," Candy nodded. "And really, Captain! Noise? We don't just like Rod and Cher, you know. Tim Seagirt's songs are always in the top-twenty, and his are cool! This is more like a Tim song. It almost sounds like you were talking about a lady," she added thoughtfully.

Jonathan made a face. "Girls! Nothing but boys on YOUR mind! It wasn't about a girl, was it, Captain?"

Daniel smiled. "No, Jonathan, no woman. Although..." the spirit hesitated. "...A woman who could capture my heart THAT thoroughly would be very rare, indeed... in fact, I have only met one in the last century or so," he concluded, giving Carolyn a long look.

"Are you two going to get mushy again?" Jonathan asked, rolling his eyes.

"Maybe."

"It's STILL a cool song," Candy insisted, looking dreamy-eyed.

"Only this time it's even cooler because it's about YOU, Captain," Jonathan added.

"I must say I agree with them," Carolyn added, her green eyes shining. "It's your song, Daniel, even if no one ever hears it, but all of us."

"And that's enough for me," the ghost said softly, as his family gathered closer around him.

From that day forward, the song remained a favorite in the Muir/Gregg household, and was played often. And when it was referred to, it was never called by name — it was simply "The Captain's Song."

Saturday, May 17, 1975

Jonathan entered the kitchen, blinking sleep from his eyes, noticing immediately that Candy was cooking breakfast. Making a face, the twelve-year-old asked, "Will Martha be back soon? I really miss her French toast."

Before his sister could snap a retort, Carolyn said, "I hope you didn't fuss this much, Jonathan, when the Captain and I were on our honeymoon last year!"

"Well, we were... are... really glad that the Captain's our official Dad now," Jonathan stammered, "But I still wish Martha was here to cook."

"You have two choices," Candy said sharply. "Learn to like my cooking, or do it yourself. Martha's married to Ed now. She won't be here the first thing in the morning to make breakfast for you, Mr. Bottomless Pit."

"Your sister has a point, Jonathan," Captain Gregg chuckled. "And, Candy's cooking is not at all bad."

"Not ALL bad?" Candy asked, grinning. "Thanks, Dad."

"Yeah, not bad, but it's not Martha's," the boy sighed. "Blast." On that note, he dropped into his chair.

There was a bit more cheerful banter as Candy passed the plates to her mother to set on the table. Then, the girl asked, "Could we turn on the radio, please? I'm hoping they'll play that song I keep hearing, but never catch all of, so I can... well, catch it."

"Music is fine," Daniel said from the stove where he was pouring coffee for Carolyn and himself. "But, let's not sully breakfast with noise that amounts to nothing more than 'yeah, yeah, yeah' to a...? What were the words Claymore used once? 'Hard rock sound and driving beat'?"

"Putting down our music?" Jonathan asked, "You're sounding more like a dad every day, Dad," he teased.

"And, I am grateful for it," the ghost said, with a smile.

"Fuddy-duddy's," the boy protested, and Candy gave her head a small nod of agreement.

Smiling, Daniel walked over and put a hand on both Candy and Jonathan's shoulders.

"My dear ones, as I have said, and will say again, I don't care to eat breakfast accompanied by rock and roll. It's abominable. My ears were not meant to be assaulted by noise at this hour of the morning."

"But, it's not noise!" Candy protested. "Not all of it!"

"Yeah, and your waltzes put us to sleep!" Jonathan added.

"Mates…" The seaman gave them a stern look. "No mutinies at breakfast. It's not a great way to start the day."

"Aye-aye," they both sighed. "How about some not-so-rock music?"

"I can agree with that, Just as long as I still have the right to scuttle it, if that driving beat I was talking about hammers too hard."

"Okay," the two nodded, and Candy stood up from her chair again to turn on the radio, sitting in the kitchen windowsill.

Smiling, Daniel walked back around the table and delivered a mug of coffee to his wife and then sat down and took a sip from his own cup.

"You handled that well," she smiled, laying a hand on his arm.

"Yeah, you sound just as fussy as Mom ever has," Candy added from the window where she was trying to find a suitable station. "Like Jon said — You sound more like a dad every day."

"I take that as a compliment," he grinned, giving Carolyn a quick kiss, and turning back to his children. "I think I like being a parent," he said complacently. "So far I'd say it's got elements of ship captaining involved, but is a lot more fun."

"You always were a dad, Captain, but it sure took you two long enough to figure out how you could get married and make it legal!" Jonathan laughed. "So we can live with your captain-style of parenting, anytime."

"There. I found one," Candy interjected, bringing in a top forty/easy listening station that the family usually settled on as a compromise. "And it's not a yeah, yeah to a driving beat," she promised.

"Still more of a 'put you to sleep' type, if you ask me," Jonathan grumbled, reaching for the bowl of scrambled eggs Candy had placed on the table. "Thanks for breakfast, Can."

"Welcome, bro."

"Actually, I don't remember anyone asking you, Jonathan," Carolyn smiled. "You can listen to any music you want to when you are cleaning house, or in your room, as long as the sound doesn't rise above the agreed on number of decibels."

"Yeah, but you won't let me eat breakfast — or any other food in my room," Jonathan protested. "And Mom, that thing with the shrimp was ages ago."

"Not long enough to quite forget, lad," Daniel smiled. "The smell of rotting seafood was terrible... it took ages to get the smell out."

"One little mistake..." the boy rolled his eyes heavenward once more.

"So what's the agenda for this morning?" Carolyn asked, mainly to get the conversation off rock music and spoiled food.

"You mean, after I have cleaned my room and washed the car?" Jonathan asked. "Conner, Kyle and I want to go to the movies, I mean, if that's okay with you. The Towering Inferno is finally showing — Danny Shoemaker rubbed it in our faces last year about how good it was."

"You'll like it, Jonathan," Candy nodded, sitting down at the table. "I saw it last night with Linda and Amanda. It was good — long, but good. I still liked Poseidon Adventure better, though."

"Isn't one disaster movie more or less like another?" Daniel asked, frowning. "How many has that Allen fellow done?"

"Only two, I think," Carolyn answered. "Also a few TV shows. It just SEEMS like more."

"I think he's doing one about an earthquake now," Jonathan added.

"Surely that will be enough," Daniel said bluntly. "Water, fire, earth... that is unless he has plans to go to do something with an airplane, thereby going through all the elements."

"I doubt it, Captain Dad," Candy grinned. "There's already been two Airport movies! I did read somewhere that he wants to do one about killer bees from Africa attacking the U.S."

"Cool!" Jonathan exclaimed. "I want to see that!"

"Heaven forbid!" Daniel moaned, looking at his wife, then back at his stepdaughter. "And what are your plans for the day, Candy?"

"Get my chores done, and then I need to ride into town. Uncle Ed has a delivery scheduled from on his suppliers. He couldn't move it, even when he said he would be on his honeymoon. I told him I would open up the store long enough for them to get it all inside," the girl explained after she took a swallow of milk.

"He is paying you something for doing that, isn't he?" the Captain queried. "Honestly Candy, I think it's marvelous that you have a part time job, but I think you are working too hard, and..."

"Oh, sure he is, Captain!" the girl assured him. "Uncle Ed's a fair guy, besides I can't imagine him making you mad, especially since he knows who you really are now! Actually, I was thinking about opening the store for a couple of hours. I know how to do all the important stuff like take calls and write up repair orders — not like I will get a big run of people, even on Saturday. Most people will probably wait until he and Martha get back from California. It's really no big deal, I..." She stopped suddenly as she heard a tune playing on the radio.

"Ooooh, I hear laughter in the rain — walking hand in hand with the one I love..."

"That's it!" she shouted. "Laughter in the Rain. Pretty, isn't it? That's the Captain and Tenille singing. Neil Sedaka wrote it."

"Captain?" Daniel asked. "This singer was in the Navy?"

"I dunno," Candy shook her head, smiling at the seaman. "I don't think so — he just likes wearing a skipper's hat. I can find out, if you want me to."

"Do… I'd like to know."

"Neil Sedaka..." Carolyn said absently. "Didn't he do Song Sung Blue?"

"That's Neil DIAMOND," Candy giggled. "I'm proud of you, Mom. At least you are paying SOME kind of attention to what music we like! Linda Coburn's mom still listens to Patti Page and Paul Anka."

"They aren't so bad," Carolyn defended her age group.

"Some of your modern music is rather appealing, indeed," Daniel cut in. "But you know, you two..." He reached out and tousled Jonathan's blonde head and gave Candy's hand a squeeze across the table and winked a blue eye at her. "You can always see if the record store has any Stephen Foster, if you get truly bored, and you want to make ME happy!" Daniel laughed, and the rest of the family joined him, the song ending as they did so, and after a pause for station identification, another strain of music started softly, this one more familiar.

"Bum da da bum bum, bum da da bum — Bum da de bum..."

Daniel's head snapped up, instantly. "Wait a minute," he started, letting loose of Candy's hand, taking Carolyn's instead and floating the portable transistor radio over to the middle of the kitchen table with the other. "What did he just play? Blast! The music stopped..."

Before the seaman could get out another word, the DJ was speaking. "We'll be back in just a moment, to introduce a new tune, and tell a very cool story, guys and gals, but first, these commercial messages from Fred's Cheese Barn and Andy's Car Land..."

"Daniel," Carolyn looked puzzled. "What did you hear? I must admit, I was tuning out the radio. I usually do..."

"Yeah," Jonathan agreed, glancing at his mother, "You do, Most people tune IN a radio, but that's okay." He turned back to his 'father.' "What did you hear, Captain?"

"I thought I heard..." Daniel shook his head. "I must have been mistaken," he continued, still half-listening to the announcer's chatter and looking, suddenly, a bit doubtful. "No, it can't be..."

Candy stared at the radio. "I thought I... but I was only sort of listening... I was talking to you guys... I thought I heard... just for a second, YOUR song, Dad."

"Impossible," Daniel frowned. "It must have just sounded like it. My record has never been released here in the United States."

"Uh, uh." The girl shook her head, then looked at her mother. "I know your song backward and forwards, Captain. It's..."

"Shh..." the seaman said, interrupting Candy, gently. "I think the announcer is coming back on."

"And now..." the announcer was saying, "...As I promised, a brand-new song, just officially released in the U.S. today. Now I gotta tell you folks. The story behind this tune is fascinating. It all began back in 1971 when an Englishman decided to take a vacation to America. He ended up vacationing in..."

"Dad..." Jon said quietly. "He's talking about..."

"I know," Daniel said hoarsely. "Let's listen!"

And the family did, hearing basically what they already knew, about Webster entering the contest, writing the words that became lyrics to a song, Daniel's song, and coming in second in a contest, yet Daniel's name and ghostly status was never mentioned.

"Yes, yes..." Daniel muttered, now levitating the radio into his outstretched hand, and almost shaking it — his other hand still clasping Carolyn's. "Yes, man! We know this part!"

"But now, so long after, how did Daniel's song get on the radio here?" Carolyn chimed in, asking the radio, as if it would answer her.

"Almost four years went by..." the DJ continued his story, "...and then, this beaut of a song that had been languishing away in England all this time, virtually unknown to anyone here in America, finally got another chance. The song was rediscovered, if you will, by the wife of radio station programming director. She first heard the song while driving — when vacationing in Canada. Finding a payphone, she immediately called the radio station to get the name of the author or authors, and then called her husband. He called the writers, one of which also turned out to be the singer, requesting permission to broadcast the song on his radio station, WSB, in Atlanta, Georgia. Well folks, History was born that day. In a matter of weeks, the tune was the top requested song on WSB's play-list. After being released again here in the states, it is now fast on its way to becoming a chart breaker!"

There was a pause as the inhabitants of Gull Cottage held their collective breaths, and then the familiar strains they had heard so many times before came through the tiny speaker of the transistor radio clear and strong.

"And now," the announcer's voice continued. "The overnight success of a song, four years in the making, ladies and gentlemen, R.A. Webster and Roger Whittaker's: The Last Farewell."

There's a ship lies rigged and ready in the harbor, tomorrow for old England she sails
Far away from your land of endless sunshine, to my land full of rainy skies and gales
And I shall be aboard that ship tomorrow, though my heart is full of tears at this farewell

For you are beautiful, and I have loved you dearly, more dearly than the spoken word can tell
For you are beautiful, and I have loved you dearly, more dearly than the spoken word can tell.

I've heard there's a wicked war a-blazing, and the taste of war I know so very well
Even now I see the foreign flag a-raising, their guns on fire as we sail into hell
I have no fear of death, it brings no sorrow — But how bitter will be this last farewell

For you are beautiful, and I have loved you dearly, more dearly than the spoken word can tell.

For you are beautiful, and I have loved you dearly, more dearly than the spoken word can tell.

Though death and darkness gather all about me, my ship be torn apart upon the seasI shall smell again the fragrance of these islands, in the heaving waves that brought me once to theeAnd should I return home safe again to England, I shall watch the English mist roll through the dale

For you are beautiful, and I have loved you dearly, more dearly than the spoken word can tell.
For you are beautiful, and I have loved you dearly, more dearly than the spoken word can tell.

Author's note/Disclaimer #2:

Part of the history, as written, behind this song is true. The words were indeed written by a British silversmith named R.A. Webster for a radio contest. He did come in second place, and the song was originally released only in the U.K. in 1971. It is also true that the wife of the programming director at an Atlanta radio station "discovered" the song in 1975, when she was vacationing in Canada. That IS when the song became a hit in the States, but sadly, it was not Daniel Gregg that inspired Webster to write the words. For me, I think I will continue to think it WAS!

So two more thank-you's are due, of course, to Roger Whittaker and R.A. Webster, for creating one of my favorite songs — a song I STILL call "Captain Gregg's Song," after thirty years!

Mary