The GAMM is the brainchild of Josephine Leslie (R.A. Dick) and the TV series, on which the characters in this story are based, belongs to Twentieth Century Fox. I make no money from this work of fiction. Thanks to Mary for the beta. — Judy
Mistletoe Madness
Judy Moore
The Boy Scouts were selling mistletoe this year in a grand effort to raise funds to buy toys for the underprivileged children in the Schooner Bay area. So, Carolyn Muir, always sympathetic and dedicated to a good cause, bought herself, not one, but several, good size clumps of the legendary green leaves, not being at all sure what to do with them. Should she hang the blasted mistletoe and risk the Captain's teasing, for she knew he would, or, tuck it safely in the back of a drawer until the holidays were over? With a sideways grin to herself, she listened to the little voice in the back of her mind telling her that no matter the circumstances, 'M' stands for 'mistletoe,' but it also stands for 'mischief.'
One week before Christmas, Jonathan and Candy laid the last strands of tinsel carefully onto the Muir family tree and stepped back to admire their work. Both agreed nothing else could possibly be done. The tree was perfect.
"Mom! Come look at the tree! We're done!" Candy pulled her mother into the parlor and watched her face light up in pride.
"Kids, you've outdone yourselves this year. You've both done a wonderful job!" she pulled them in close.
"Indeed!" came a familiar voice beside them. Captain Gregg stepped forward to inspect the tree's web of garland's and ornaments with the amusing thought, that if the tree's lights were on, the blasted thing could be seen for miles, making the lighthouse on the point obsolete. His eyes then traveled up to the paper mache angel atop the tree. Ah…His angel. This was the seaman's one and only contribution to the holiday decorating. Very happily, he was allowing Carolyn and her brood to use the delicate angel he purchased long ago, in an era, which seemed now to be more of a dream.
Jonathan tugged at his mother's sweater to get her attention, "Mom, you haven't hung the mistletoe yet. When are you going to hang it?"
"Well, honey…" Carolyn swallowed hard in the awkwardness of the moment, "Uh, I think we should put it up in the kitchen, over the table. How about that?" She hoped the kids would go for it, but the Captain spoke up before they had a chance to respond.
"Nonsense, Madam. The foyer is an excellent location for mistletoe, and, of course, a shiny red ribbon tied in a taut bow will be required to lash it securely to the chandelier, so as not to let it . . . fall." The Captain looked at Carolyn's smirk then added, "Merely a gracious tradition from a time gone by, Madam. What would the holidays be without mistletoe?"
A little less stressful? Carolyn thought, and finally conceded to the Captain's wishes, making the children jump and clap for joy. Jonathan and the Captain exchanged a clandestine 'thumbs-up', and the Captain winked to top it off.
"Jonathan," the Captain kept his attention, "While your mother fetches the mistletoe, you and I shall bring the ladder in from the parlor, and I . . . " He put his hand to his chest, " . . . Yes . . . Me, will hang the mistletoe myself."
"Wow!" Jonathan exclaimed, "Neat!"
"And Candy, you run off and find the shiniest red ribbon in all of New England, but be back before supper," he wagged a finger at her.
"Sure thing, Captain! I know just where to find one!" Candy skipped away as the 'men' went to get their equipment.
When everyone gathered back in the foyer with their items for the task at hand, the men immediately went to work. In no time at all, the mistletoe was fastened to the chandelier and sparkled in the glow of the light, making strange shadowy patterns on the wood floor.
"Ooohhh . . . It's beautiful, Captain." Candy remarked as they all looked up staring fondly at their accomplishment.
"How does it work, Mom?" Jonathan asked innocently. He knew the mistletoe was important to the Captain, so it must be special for some reason.
"Yes, Mrs. Muir," urged the Captain, "Tell us what makes mistletoe such a delight."
"Well, traditionally, if a lady is standing under the mistletoe, any man is welcome to come over to kiss her and she can't refuse." She finished and glanced at the smug-faced Captain, "Is that reasonable enough?"
"Oh," Jonathan said, having realized the true gravity of the tradition, "You mean if Candy was standing under it, I'd have to kiss her? Yeechh!"
"Only if you wanted to, dear."
Candy had run to get the dictionary and came back to read from it, "Mom, the dictionary says 'mistletoe' is a 'paradise.'" . . .
"Ah, indeed sometimes it is . . . " The Captain remembered, fondly stroking his beard.
Carolyn laughed, "I think she means 'parasite,' Captain. Honey, the seeds are carried by the birds, or the wind, and when the seeds land on a tree, they start to grow, getting their food source from the tree."
Candy wanted to know more.
"Mom, if you were standing under the mistletoe and Uncle Claymore came over, would he have to kiss you?"
"That parasitic porcupine? Over . . . my dead body!" the Captain shot out.
"Captain, you keep forgetting . . . You are dead." Mrs. Muir reminded him.
"Oh, quite."
"To answer your question, Candy, 'Yes' if Claymore wanted to, I couldn't refuse." She again glanced at the Captain.
"E-e-e-w!" Candy grimaced, "I think I'll keep away from the mistletoe. Come on, Jonathan. Let's go up and tell Martha we finished the tree." They dashed up the stairs, having lost interest in the quaint tradition, which had been fanciful to them one moment and disgusting the next.
"Oh!" Candy suddenly popped down to the stair landing, "Captain Gregg, if mom was under the mistletoe, you'd kiss her, wouldn't you? You'd want to right?" The Captain turned his eyes from the young girl to the woman standing near him.
"If I could, and your mother would so honor me, I'd consider the privilege a most pleasurable gift of the season."
"Then, I guess it's okay," Candy reasoned from above, then with an impish smile, she went back upstairs leaving the Captain and her mother to fend for themselves. Mrs. Muir glanced up at the mistletoe, relieved to find she was not directly under it, knowing the Captain was watching her closely as the blushing heat in her face subsided. If he only knew how she longed to feel his kiss on her lips and the warmth of his heart next to hers.
"Mrs. Muir?" Martha interrupted, clambering down the stairs, "The kids say they finished decorating the tree. Not as bad as last year, I hope," she whispered with her hand cupped to her mouth, "There was so much tinsel, looked like a rocket ship ready to launch" she laughed heartily.
"Well," Mrs. Muir enlightened her housekeeper, "This one's definitely a strong candidate for an Apollo mission."
"Ah, well, as long as they enjoyed themselves, hmm? That's what counts."
"Quite so, Martha" the Captain spoke suddenly, "Only a few moments ago, Mrs. Muir and I were discussing the merits of making sure we enjoy ourselves. Our duty, of course, as the season is upon us." At this remark, Mrs. Muir moved toward the parlor.
"Fancy enjoying yourself by helping to clean up the living room, Captain? Duty calls."
"Oh, Madam, I am but a mere illusion. If I could ease your burden by simply snapping my fingers, you know I would be pleased to do so, but I must go aloft now and see what mischief the children are up to." The seaman bowed his head and vanished.
Up the mizzenmast is where I'd like to put him, Carolyn mused at the Captain's quick retreat.
"Just like a man, never around when there's work to be done." Martha pined teasingly.
"Hear, hear…" Carolyn reached for the ladder, and snapped it shut to start the cleaning.
The next day, Claymore stopped by to deliver two packages. He'd volunteered to take the packages sent from Mrs. Muir's in-laws, up to the house, but his real reason was to wangle an invitation to the Muir household for Christmas. Claymore would never admit to the loneliness he felt, especially during the holidays, but he enjoyed the Muir family and despite their business dealings, he and Mrs. Muir were friends.
"Oh, Claymore, it's good to see you!" Mrs. Muir invited him into the foyer.
"Hello, Mrs. Muir. I took the liberty of delivering these packages to you. They could be very important gifts for the holidays, you know." He patted the tops of the packages. "Wouldn't want them to get lost or anything." Claymore gave the packages to her, and waved a searching finger, "Is h-h-e here?" he whispered while looking around. When she didn't answer, he yelled out to the air around them, "I'm here doing a favor…No harm done, see…? I'll be leaving now." He waited for thunder to strike, crouching his head into his shoulders and squeezing his eyes shut, but nothing happened.
"Maybe he's out for a walk?" Carolyn offered.
"Oh, well, in that case," he straightened up his demeanor, "before I go, Mrs. Muir, I just want to let you know, that I'd be happy to put all of my very important appointments aside next week, should you, by chance, happen to extend an invitation for me to join you in the holiday spirit, you know, for a steady hand to cut the Christmas goose and all that. I can be very helpful." He finished by wringing his hands together.
"Why Claymore, it just so happens you came here at the right time. I was just about to call you and invite you over for Christmas."
"Oh, you were! Ha-ha! Thank you, Mrs. Muir. Just let me know what time and I'll have my butcher knives ready to go."
"Okay, I'll give you a call later in the week." Carolyn put the packages down on the entry table and started to walk back to usher Claymore out the door. When Claymore turned to say goodbye, something caught his eye. Mrs. Muir looked up, and to her horror, she saw the mistletoe dangling from the chandelier at a much lower height than before.
"O-o-o-h! It's mistletoe! Why, I'm so sorry Mrs. Muir, I hadn't noticed it before and you've probably been standing under it all this time. Ha-ha! Well, what's a kiss between friends?" Claymore stepped forward to plant an innocent peck on her cheek and suddenly found himself hovering two feet in the air!
"A-a-a-u-ugh!" He gasped at the Captain's antics, "Let me go! I didn't kiss her, I swear. Please, Captain, put me down!"
"I'll put you down! The Captain growled invisibly as Mrs. Muir watched incredulously, "You're a miserable excuse of a man, you loose-lipped libertine. You invite yourself over to cut the goose, when any decent gentleman would know it is his duty to bring the goose!"
"A-a-a-g-h! My goose is cooked! Oh, please, Captain, I'll bring the goose that laid the golden egg! I promise," Claymore pleaded, then thought about what he said, "A-a-g-h! U-m-m, on second thought, how do you feel about ham?"
"The only ham we'll see is the back side of you!" Claymore fell limp in the Captain's invisible grasp and gave up.
"Mrs. Muir, does this mean dinner is off?" He managed weakly, still floating precariously near the parlor's double doors.
"Of course not, Claymore. Don't worry, we'll see to everything. You just show up."
"Thank-you, Mrs. Muir." Claymore folded his hands together not knowing what else to do. Carolyn addressed the Captain.
"Captain, aren't you getting a little tired holding Claymore up there? You're behaving as if you were a child!" she admonished him.
"Quite right, out you go!" Claymore knew what was coming and held onto his hat and glasses as he was unceremoniously booted out the door.
Carolyn closed her eyes and sighed. For all the Captain's teasing, she was quite furious at the way he had treated Claymore.
"Captain, Captain?" She called out and he appeared in front of her, "That little episode wasn't about Claymore coming for Christmas at all, it was about him trying to kiss me, wasn't it?"
"I wasn't about to let that sponge-faced wart slobber all over you."
"He was going to kiss my cheek! Where's the harm in that?" Carolyn was flattered that the Captain was jealous, but she always detested the way he antagonized poor Claymore. Her heartstrings took a sudden twist. Something in the back of her mind gnawed at her, something intangible and deep, which was much more upsetting than what she had just witnessed and it was all because of the mistletoe.
"Blasted mistletoe!" she cursed, "It's been nothing but trouble from the start. I wish I'd never bought it."
Carolyn ran up the stairs leaving behind a very puzzled Captain Gregg.
For the rest of the day, the Captain knew better than to upset the lady of the house any further, so he steered clear of her until later that evening when he could wait no longer to find out what the devil was wrong.
He knew what Mrs. Muir thought about his pestering Claymore. He'd never do the leech any harm; he just enjoyed rousting him up a bit now and then. Could he help it if that was more often than not? Surely he was allowed to have some form of recreation in his afterlife otherwise eternity would be as dull as a stick, except for Mrs. Muir, of course. But, oh, when that oversized octopus of a landlord tried to kiss Mrs. Muir, the Captain's cosmic spring came unwound. Hanging Claymore from the rafters was the easiest and quickest solution, but he should have made him walk the plank! In a pool of sharks!
Nevertheless, something was bothering Mrs. Muir, and this attitude simply wouldn't do for the holidays. Instinctively, the Captain also knew he was the subject of her concern, but he couldn't fathom her dilemma. What had he done, or not done, this time? He surmised that the simplest method of discovery would be to go and ask her.
That evening, Carolyn was sitting down at her desk, in her room, addressing her Christmas cards. As always, the Captain had invisibly scouted the room to make sure Mrs. Muir was decent before he made himself known. He appeared next to his telescope keeping a safe distance.
"No need to post mine, dear lady, hand delivery is much more preferable."
"Good evening, Captain," she said, not turning from her writing.
Ah! At least she was talking, that's an improvement. Relieved, he asked, "Is there anything I can do to help? Stuff envelopes? Lick stamps?"
"I'm afraid not, Captain. I'd like to get these cards done, and you're just making things more difficult by being here."
"Oh, I see." Captain Gregg tried to guess at the reason for her foul mood. "Why on earth are you so cranky, woman?"
Carolyn laid down her pen. She pushed her chair away and went over to warm her hands in front of the gas heater. The Captain felt she wanted to tell him of her problem, but couldn't understand her reluctance to do so. He wanted desperately to hear the nature of it, considering he was probably the source of her anguish, as was typical these last few days.
"You aren't coming down with an illness, are you? I remember you being like this . . . "
"No! I'm fine!"
"Is there something that I've said, that's set you off?"
"No!"
"Something I've done then?"
"No…yes!" She changed again, "No!" Carolyn felt she was being trapped into revealing feelings she didn't want to expose; yet she knew the Captain was only trying to help.
"So, I have done something!" What, pray tell? That scene with Claymore? That libidinous toad is nothing but a leech. He deserves to be boiled in his own pudding. He may irritate and infuriate me, but, from the look on your face just now, I don't think Claymore is the root of your distress."
Carolyn moved to the telescope and recalled how, earlier in the day, she saw the Captain become jealous of Claymore, as he had similarly done many times before. If only she could tell the Captain she was jealous too! Jealous of the way the Captain touched other people, like Claymore. He kissed Madame Tibaldi. She even remembered the Captain telling her how he had guided the little boy into the closet at Jonathan's birthday party. She didn't know how, but he could touch other people. She'd seen him move things, drink wine, smoke a cigar and lift a pen to write poetry. How was this all possible? He had the ability to touch others, why did he never touch her? The thoughts were too personal and she wanted to be alone.
"Really, Captain, I am busy and I'd like to finish tonight."
"Yes, you'll finish, Madam, and I'll leave, but not before you've finished telling me what's going on. Apparently, I have reason to be at fault. The least you could do is clear the air and tell me what I should be apologizing for. It's only fair, don't you think?"
"Fair! Fair! It's unfair! She threw up her hands.
"What's unfair?"
"You! Blast it all!" The seaman's mouth fell open at her last words.
"Mrs. Muir, your language!" Carolyn went to the bed, picked up a small pillow and through it at him. He caught the cushion instead of letting it sail through him, most likely to avoid knocking over the table lamp.
"My dear, no need to get rough." He cautioned her, surprised by her behavior, though he had to admit he was enjoying the skirmish. "I'm sure we can settle this matter, whatever the blasted matter is, if we discuss it calmly." Carolyn pointed to the pillow he was holding.
"That's what's unfair!"
"What . . . this?" He rolled the cushion around seeing nothing, "You don't like the color?"
"No!"
"Then, we shall find a new one!"
"No! Don't you see?"
"See what?" He was really confused now. Mrs. Muir came to him and put her hands on the pillow too. She tugged and he let go, then she hugged the pillow to her torso and looked at him squarely, saying simply, "You caught the pillow."
"Of course, if I hadn't, we'd have been cleaning up broken glass by now." He squinted his eyes to find the reasoning behind her little test and spoke softly, "My dear, what's this all about?"
Carolyn's harshness softened as she leaned on the jamb of the French doors. She knew she must find out why the Captain was selective in his abilities to touch or there would be no peace between them for the holidays…at least for her anyway. The Captain, on the other hand, feared Mrs. Muir was finally going to ask the question he had long hoped to avoid answering. But the moment was appropriate for her to ask and he would let her do so in her own way.
"Captain, I have to ask you about this . . . concern of mine."
"Yes?"
"We've lived together under the same roof for some time now and I've seen certain things happen. I've tried so hard to ignore what I've seen, but I just can't anymore, I have to know."
"Go on . . . speak your mind, that's always the best way," he encouraged her.
"I know you can move things around . . . objects, and you can touch things . . . " her voice began to crack as she continued, "You can catch a pillow." Her voice became barely audible as she whispered, "But I also know . . . you can touch . . . people."
The Captain knew she wanted to know why he never touched her. He saw the yearning in her eyes, which were now misting and melting his perplexed, ectoplasmic heart. He couldn't let her go on.
"Oh, my dear, you're asking, that if I can touch others . . . why haven't I touched you?" Slowly, he walked over to her and brought his hands up to frame her face as if to kiss her, leaving only a breath between her skin and his. She squeezed the pillow harder as her eyes closed. She knew what would not happen. Tears of despair and longing stung her eyes and streamed warmly down her face. She did not feel his touch, nor did she expect to, nor did she realize he backed away quietly, until she opened her eyes.
"As much as it pains me to say this, Madam, we have rules in my world as well. Quite simply, my dear, I can explain this in no other way, other than to say that your are not a 'necessity'."
"A necessity? I don't understand." She sniffed. Now it was her turn to be thoroughly confused. She set the pillow down and wiped the tears from her eyes.
"Oh, what I would give to be able to wipe away your tears." The Captain walked over leaned against the bedroom mantle. "In the past, each time I've come in contact with a mortal, the reason has been because of a necessitate nature. For instance, I throw out that gouging misfit of a landlord, Claymore, to save you from grief and more often than not, to save his hide from himself. On Jonathan's birthday, it was necessary to guide that wee little one to the safety of his sister's arms. And, there have been other times too, that you're unaware of. But, my dear, I'm afraid you're considered . . . 'Cosmetic'."
"Cosmetic! First I'm not necessary and now I'm cosmetic! What about Madam Tibaldi? You kissed her."
"Indeed, had I not, she might have had doubt as to my presence here and returned for another séance to bring me back! The peck on the cheek was necessary to send her packing. I assure you, Mrs. Muir, I do these things with you in mind always, to assist you with your peace and privacy, which you so strongly desire."
"But, there were times when I could have used your help. I'm here too."
"And I've always done the best I could under the circumstances, Madam. Though I seem to remember early on that you didn't want or need my assistance in any way."
"What about the children?"
"What about them?"
"Have you ever . . . ?"
"Made contact? Yes. I must confess I have. A little nudge here and there to guide them along. Even Martha, for as we both know, she's getting on."
"Martha! . . . Martha, too?" Carolyn couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"Yes, very discreetly, of course, and quite unbeknownst to them all, I assure you. Encounters are very result specific . . . Madam." The Captain explained carefully, "And depend upon if I'm at the right place at the right time. On some occasions, I'm not. In the end, though, it wouldn't do to let Martha and the children know the truth at this stage, though that bilge-rat, Claymore has known for years." He paused, and then added, "Our little secret then?" The Captain studied Mrs. Muir's face for a hint of comprehension. He had tried to be nonchalant and treat the matter as straight forward as possible to warrant the least emotion from her. For as much as she wanted to know the truth, more often than not, the truth hurt and at this point, flaring emotions could prove to be horribly disastrous.
He wanted to keep this a secret? This was incredible! Carolyn surmised. Her difficulty with absorbing the Captain's reality shone bleakly on her face. And the truth was, that Carolyn felt very left out. Everyone had been the recipient of the Captain's helpful hand at one time or another, except her. She was not, as the seaman phrased it, a 'necessity', she was purely window dressing and not worthy. Ironically, what hurt the deepest was that it was she, who most of all, longed for his touch.
Over the years, she had accepted his spiritually limited companionship as the truth, and now she found he had been lying to her. Many times she had needed him, and sought him out, always understanding the barriers that lay between them. Never asking for more. She didn't know there was more to give! Now, she supposed, those instances in which she need him must have lacked the proper criteria to qualify them as 'necessary.' What did she have to do to become necessary in his blasted rulebook? If she made him break a rule, would he be hit by lightning and sent to the back of the class? Or, cast forever into a world of limbo where she'd never see him again? She gripped the Captain's telescope and spun it around as the Captain interrupted her thoughts.
"I don't know if you've ever noticed, Madam, but after making contact, I've needed to retreat. The process does take quite an effort on my part. My ethereal energy depletes enormously and I have to re-charge, so to speak. Gas up, if you will."
"I always thought you had a tiger in your tank" She teased a bit too sarcastically, "But the fact is, Captain, that you've been lying to me all along."
What she said stung to the core . . . if he had one. "On the contrary, Madam, my rules, which I must obey, are on a 'need to know' basis. You didn't need to know."
"Well, I'm sorry I failed Ghost 101. You knew I'd seen you touch people. You should have told me the truth a long time ago, and you didn't."
"I couldn't," he went on, "Tell me, Mrs. Muir, would your life . . . our lives . . . here in Gull Cottage, be different now if I had?"
"I'll never know, because you didn't tell me!" In angry defeat, Carolyn sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to hold back the second wave of oncoming tears.
"Now, you're not making sense." The Captain began to pace, not wanting to lose his composure as his emotional barometer began to rise dangerously into the temperamental zone, "You're being a . . . blasted woman!"
"I am a blasted woman!" Carolyn shot back, "The complete package, right here in front of you, with thoughts and feelings and wants."
"Madam . . ."
"Stop calling me, Madam!"
"Very well then, Mrs. Muir. You do not need to remind me of your femininity." Did she think he was blind? "And . . . blast it all, I thought you understood!" The Captain spun around to face her with a steady stare, "I've explained our predicament thoroughly, and I'll explain it again if I must. You want what I can't give you."
"You freely gave to everyone else!"
Captain Gregg clenched his fists and looked up at the heavens.
"Give me strength, that's all I ask!"
"That's it, ask for help from the Almighty or whoever your pals are up there, and I'm sure you'll get what you want because it's in your silly little rule book." she supplied sarcastically.
Suddenly appearing calm on the surface, the Captain spoke, standing as if he were on the deck of a ship.
"One thing I am sure of, Mrs. Muir, this bickering is leading nowhere. What is . . . simply is. And if I had a ship right now, I'd take her out and not come back until you've cooled down. In fact . . . " The seaman's eyes lit up, "That's a splendid idea. Who needs a ship! Merry Christmas, Mrs. Muir!"
"Bah, humbug!" She shouted back and threw the pillow at him as he disappeared. This time the pillow knocked the lamp over and cracked the shade. Carolyn ran over and knelt down to pick up the pieces. Now see what you did! The reprimand was aimed more toward herself, than at him as she slumped against the big leather chair and sobbed.
In the days left before Christmas, Carolyn had the solemn task of telling Martha and the children that the Captain had gone away and she was not at all sure when he would return. She tried to reassure the children that the Captain wouldn't miss Christmas; he just needed some time alone. The children's wish that he come back in time for the holiday was seemingly not to be. One gloomy day rolled into the next until Christmas Eve fell upon Gull Cottage, a lonesome ship without a Captain. Christmas would not be 'merry' this year.
With an aching heart on Christmas Eve, Carolyn watched her children head upstairs for bed with their heads drooped and long, serious faces. She tried to excite them with the thought of Santa and the gifts he would bring, but they only wanted Captain Gregg back. And she did too. She missed him terribly, and she'd take him any-which-way she could if he would just come back so she could tell him so! That night, she cried into her pillow as she had the night before. It was the blasted mistletoe that triggered this whole mess, she thought.
With a determined anger, she got up and marched downstairs to the service porch bringing the ladder into the foyer, and placing it under the chandelier. In her nightgown, she climbed the ladder and reached high for the mistletoe. She couldn't reach it, so she stepped up one more rung. Ah! She grasped the clump and gave it a good yank. In doing so, she lost her balance, teetered a moment, then started to fall. She let out a small yelp, certainly not a loud enough sound to be heard upstairs above Martha's snoring. Incredibly, she was caught before she hit the floor! What the . . . she thought.
"At your service, Madam," The Captain materialized as he held her in his arms, "I happened to be passing. . . "
"Captain Gregg!" She exclaimed still holding the green clump, and not believing he was there, holding her close, her arms about his neck. They were touching! His wool blazer felt rough against her skin.
"May I ask what you're doing, Madam, skulking around at midnight doing men's work?"
"The m-mistletoe," She stuttered in a near faint, their faces were so close to each other she saw that his eyes were several shades of blue not just one, "I w-wanted to take blasted stuff down."
"Whatever for? What would the holidays be without it?" He smiled at her and set her feet gently on the ground, still hugging her close. She didn't know how, but pressed against him, she could swear she felt his warmth, his breathing, and his heart.
Her pent up tears made her throat catch as she said, "I'm sorry, Captain."
"Not as sorry as I am, Darling." This time, when he brought his hands up to frame her face, he kissed her once lightly, then held her tightly in his arms and covered her mouth with his. Hot tears of happiness flowed easily down Carolyn's cheeks as she found herself living a dream. And small moans of unbelievably escaped her lips between his languid kisses. Finally a moment of her own!
Carolyn didn't want to, but she pulled away, not understanding his sudden change of heart. The Captain, in the meantime, took the moment to run his eyes over her.
"By Jove, you cut a fine figure woman! Especially in that bit of cheesecloth."
"Captain . . . Captain?" She waved her hand in front of his face to get his direct attention.
"Hmm?"
"Why did you come back, Captain?"
"Simple, my dear, my return was necessary to pull this family out of it's holiday doldrums. How could I refuse the children's wishes? Or…yours?" Neither he nor she would admit as to how much they missed each other. The seaman then kissed her again, purposefully making it difficult for her to get any more sensible answers from him. She broke away again.
"But, we're touching now . . . how . . . " She stroked his beard to feel it's softness.
"Eh, fortunately, for the both of us, I happened to be in the area and found it quite necessary to catch you when you fell from the ladder. What you did was a typically female thing to do, I might add, and easily anticipated."
"Why I never . . . !"
"Of course, you have, my dear. Nevertheless, your time came and here we are." Carolyn was glad of her newfound situation, but a look of concern crossed her face as she noted the Captain's image wavering slightly. He did not seem to notice, but she remembered he would soon need to leave and re-charge his batteries. Her time with him was as limited as his time with her.
"How long will this last? How long do we have together, Captain?" She asked quietly, her face glowing in the soft light of the chandelier. "Is there something we should know from your little book of rules?"
"Ah! The book! Good thinking, Madam."
"Don't call me 'Madam!'"
"Oh, my sincere apologies, Madam." The Captain pulled out a small black book from his pocket.
"I didn't know ghosts carried little black books."
"They don't, this is just for effect." After a second, he found the appropriate passage and read aloud:
Article 32, Paragraph 3, Subparagraph 1A:
"ECTOPLASMIC RE-CHARGE: Take remedy. After initial dose, take as often as necessary, but not more than four times a day, get plenty of bed rest, if problem persists, immediately consult guardian."
When the Captain finished, Mrs. Muir asked, "Remedy? What remedy? Let me see that . . . " Carolyn tried to get the book from him, but he closed it quickly and slipped it back into his pocket.
"Remedy, eh?" he pondered, "Well, I'm not quite sure what's meant by that." The Captain scratched his head, "I suppose the remedy is open to interpretation, wouldn't you agree?"
"Oh, most certainly," she nodded.
"It definitely said, 'Take as often as necessary' . . . "
"I agree, Captain. Very clear to me, and I'm a writer."
They both turned their glances upward to the empty room that lay above.
"Then, my dear, what are we waiting for?" The Captain swooped Carolyn up in his arms and spun her around as they both laughed at their sudden togetherness. Carolyn snuggled her head into the Captain's shoulder as he carried her up the stairs.
"Oh, wait!" She had him pause on the landing. With a carefree motion, Carolyn flung the cluster of mistletoe over the railing – finding it's legendary magic quite unnecessary. In the Muir household, Christmas would be 'merry' after all!
End