"Poor, poor dear," Emily murmured softly as she closed the door softly behind her. "She's cried herself to sleep again."
"Now, Miz Williams, there's not a whole lot you can do for her just now. You've got to let her find her own way. I think some fresh sea air and a little distance will do her some good. Getting those kids away from the Muirs isn't a bad idea either."
"I know, but it's only been six months since he died," Emily mused, as Martha poured them each a cup of coffee. "Here, please have a seat beside me. It's not often we have a chance to use this patio, such a beautiful night, don't you think?"
"Indeed. Now if you'll excuse my saying so, we both know he dug that grave all by himself," her housekeeper continued dourly. "She needs to get on with living, and do her own thing, whatever that is."
"Why Martha, when did you become a women's libber?" Emily smiled. "Have you listened to a thing I've been saying?"
"That master's degree in English will carry her a whole lot farther than that gold ring she won't take off," Martha wagged her finger at her employer. "If I were her, I'd be crying tears of joy."
"You always were her biggest fan. She needs that right now, you know, our unconditional love and support." Emily smiled broadly.
"Well, she's got it," Martha said. "The nerve of Marjorie Muir, presenting Carolyn with the keys to that old, moldy mansion of theirs."
"While we're on the topic, I meant to give you these," Emily said. "They just arrived in this morning's mail from a Mr. Claymore Gregg."
"I'll make sure she gets them in the morning," Martha smiled, tucking them in the pocket of her robe. "She'll be so very excited."
"Martha," Emily said gently, reaching for her housekeeper's hand. "This is your set. I'm tripling your salary overnight and sending you to Schooner Bay with my daughter and grandchildren."
"Martha? I'll throw in three round-trip airline tickets a year . . .you've just got to go. With independence comes isolation, and Carolyn will need your love and support much more than I need a clean house. Promise you won't tell her I'm sending money to help with the bills."
"Promise? Wild horses couldn't drag me back to Maine. Why I left for Philadelphia –"
"As soon as we closed the summer house in Bar Harbor." Emily answered evenly. "It's not a life sentence, Martha. We're merely asking you to see Carolyn through the year. Surely even she will grow tired of the dullness of small-town life, and when she returns, your place here, with me, is ensured."
"Just a year?"
"I promise."
"What if she doesn't want to come back?"
"Dearest Martha, surely by then she'll have met some nice vacationing Philadelphia lawyer and will be ready to return by next summer."
"For a moment there, I thought you said philandering lawyer," Martha sputtered, wiping a tear from her eye.
The two women stared, then hugged, patting each other's backs both in sorrow and relief.
"There'll be no more of those in my daughter's life," Emily whispered into Martha's ear. "No more ghosts."
