"You said what?"
The Captain tried to muster an aggrieved look, but Martha's wrath was greater than his feigned arrogance. He sank weakly into the kitchen chair, head in hands, defeated.
"Looks like the weight of the world rests squarely on your shoulders, Captain Gregg, and I'll be damned if you don't deserve every ton of it." Martha's pokerface showed little sign of emotion. "If I have to move back to Philadelphia because of your 19th-century sense of honor, I guarantee you'll die a second death – at my hands!"
Martha rose and retrieved the coffee pot from the old stove. Without asking, she poured them each another cup of rotgut, brewed to Carolyn's preferred strength.
She extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray and paused to light another. Smoking in the house seemed acceptable, with the children gone. She exhaled slowly, grateful for the angry relief nicotine afforded. "The Muirs placed all of their faith – and all of their future – in you, and you betrayed that trust as surely as Bobby Muir did."
"Yes, Bobby Muir." Daniel Gregg raised his head much faster than he'd lowered it. "Seems that's about the only topic you and Mrs. Muir didn't discuss in the last year. If she wouldn't talk about it, I'm not going to divulge much either except to say she loved him, he cheated on her, and then he died, tragically. Leaving her guilt-ridden. Worried the kids someday might blame her for not driving that night. "
Martha leaned forward.
"I warned Carolyn it was a mistake to let Jonathan bond with you so strongly. To allow Candy to view you as a confidante. You've left them bereft, too. A second father, gone – just like that. Only they knew this one, and loved him. Secretly hoped their mother would fall for him, too. What happens when she did? He leaves, just like their real dad. Guess who they're going to blame, and twice? Not you, Erroll Flynn."
Thunder rumbled, as the summer storm threatening the coast made good on its heavy promise. A gust of wind hit the house with enough force to bang shutters, upstairs. Rain lashed the house right behind it, followed by a lone tear from the ghost's eye.
"You've got some real, unfinished business on your plate this time, mister, and that's all I've got to say." Martha's coffee cup rattled noisily as she sat it cockeyed on the counter. The spoon clattered noisily into the sink. Martha stared out the kitchen window.
"She was so happy, you know? Mrs. Muir loved – loves Schooner Bay, loves Gull Cottage and absolutely adores you. I'm not blind, just because I dusty your moldy old furniture for a living. There's no doubt she's an independent, strong-willed woman. Very competent, very successful in a man's world. Undaunted. I hope to God at least you haven't taken that from her. Shaken her confidence so profoundly that she stays in Philadelphia, holed up with her rich parents. And it won't be long before the Muirs get their hands on that boy. Mark my words."
Martha shook her head, and turned to face the ghost. He was gone. Vanished, into thin air – literally, Martha thought, disgusted.
Behind the Captain's chair, she saw Mrs. Muir's favorite beige purse sitting forlornly on the windowsill. With the exception of flowers the young widow had cut in the garden yesterday, the Coach bag was one of the few signs of 1970s feminine sensibility anywhere in the house.
One so alive, bright, beautiful and evanescent doesn't need objects to clarify and define her existence, Martha thought. Even in her bedroom, the lingering scent of perfume and several rouge pots were the only signs of her passage there. The real spirit had left the house.
She stripped the sheets from Mrs. Muir's bed, wondering exactly just how far the Captain's sense of honor really extended.