The question has come up, among GAMMies from time to time, what would have happened if Daniel Gregg had let Carolyn Muir leave Gull Cottage that first night after they argued instead of turning the car around and convincing her to stay? Would the Ghost and Mrs. Muir ever have gotten together then? Well, of course they would. But if so, how?
The first part of this story, down to the point where Carolyn leaves, is based on the original GAMM pilot. It also includes some moments from the original GAMM pilot script that were not filmed, and/or left on the cutting room floor. Added to those scenes is quite a bit of dialogue made up out of my own head. If you can't tell which parts are which, that's good! The rest of the story (except for one scene, also expanded) after that first memorable night, is mine.
I thank the late Jean Holloway for her fantastic original script. Also a big thank-you to all GAMMies whoever said anything about what might have happened that day that was NEVER in the script. And an even BIGGER thank you and hug to Amanda for helping me over the rough spots when I got stuck.
Standard disclaimers still apply. The original characters in this story, Daniel Gregg, Carolyn, Candy and Jonathan Muir, Martha Grant, Ed Peavey and Claymore Gregg, etc. do not belong to me. They belong to Josephine Leslie, Jean Holloway, Bill Idelson & Harvey Miller, and Twentieth-Century Fox. If there are any character names you don't recognize, they are made up for this story, and may not be used without my consent.
Another Life
Mary
September 18, 1968
An ancient car, bearing the words 'Schooner Bay, Real Estate, Sales and Rentals, Claymore Gregg, Proprietor, on the side door panel made its way slowly up the unpaved road. The car trembled, almost as if it were afraid as it came over the crest of the hill, steam coming from under the hood, and came to a heaving stop in front of the old, two-story house. The driver's door opened. A figure appeared and exited the vehicle, heading for a small wooden gate in the stone wall in front of the house. Somewhere, an owl hooted.
Claymore Gregg's eyes darted from the gate, to his car, to the monkey-puzzle tree in the yard, and finally to the front door of the two story cottage. If anyone was looking at his harried face… Was anyone? They would have seen him grow even paler than he already was. Taking a deep breath, the nervous-looking man reached into his pocket, took out an old-fashioned key, and made his way up the flagstone walk, past the lions guarding the porch, up the stone steps leading to the front door and reached to insert the key into the lock. Before he could do so, however, the door squeaked open without his aid.
The nervous man gasped, standing stock-still for a moment, then gathering his wits and his courage together and, inhaling deeply, he stepped bravely inside. Once inside the doorway, he hesitated and looked about, fearfully, as if expecting someone, or some thing, but all was quiet, at least for the moment, and Claymore Gregg surveyed the very dark hallway and rooms in front of him.
The house had been neglected for years, that much was obvious. Dust and cobwebs were everywhere. The Georgian staircase's paneling was gray with layer upon layer of dust and grime. More cobwebs dangled from the old-fashioned light fixture hanging from the ceiling in the foyer and from the doorways — the ones on the left leading off toward a study and living room, with even more covering the doorways leading to the kitchen and the maid's room on the right. The lanky, nervous man peered nervously into the doorway of the living room where yellowed, dingy sheets covered the furniture.
A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the room, highlighting with sudden clarity, the portrait over the mantle in the parlor — the portrait of a sea captain, in full naval uniform. The eyes were not the lifeless ones of an old dingy portrait, but piercing blue, and seemed to glare at the man who was cowering before it. Claymore emitted a small squeak and his knees grew weak. Closing his watery blue eyes for a moment, issuing a silent prayer, he opened them again and managed to croak out the words:
"Captain? Captain, Gregg, I've... I wanted to let you know, I... I've leased the house..."
Claymore jumped as another bolt of lightning flashed outside. There was a sound of thunder, and he jumped again, as the front door slammed shut behind him. Terrified, the man tugged at the door, but to no avail, and then, as the entire house started shaking, he whirled around. A clay mug on the mantle beneath the painting started moving sideways by itself, falling and landing on the stone hearth of the fireplace, smashing into a hundred pieces. Gulping, once more, the nervous man continued.
"Captain, be reasonable! It's the only way I can meet the taxes! Yeah, I know I should have paid them, but I... you see, I had the paperwork all set aside in January, and then I lost the forms, and then I forgot about it... and nobody even contacted me about it until two weeks ago, and they aren't being fair! I've paid them some of it, but the government wants all the money now! I'm... I'm doing it for you! You know what will happen if I don't pay! They'll seize this property, and then you know what they'll do, don't you? They'll tear the house down!"
Somewhere upstairs a door blew open and Claymore could see a shaft of moonlight shine in on the stairway landing. A small sea chest came tumbling downstairs, all by itself. Nervously, Claymore went on.
"I... I know I should have taken care of it before, but I'm sorry, but I really did forget... I do my best not to think about this house at all! I don't like bothering you either, you know! I could have paid them IF you'd let me rent this place before, but no... Now the bottom has dropped out of the real-estate market..." Thumping footsteps came from the floor above and Claymore watched as footprints appeared in the heavy dust, coming closer and closer to the landlord. Resolutely, Claymore continued.
"I... I was lucky to get a tenant — fortunately I was able to work out the entire transaction by mail — a Mrs. Mu-Mu-Muir... A widow, from Philadelphia. She should be arriving Saturday with her housekeeper, a Miss. … maybe it's Mrs., I don't know... Grant, and two children. SMALL children... boy and girl. They won't take up much room..."
Thunder boomed again and six more footprints appeared in the dust on the last stairs descending the stairway. As the footsteps grew louder, and closer, Claymore crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.
"Coward..." Another rumble of thunder, much softer, seemed to say, and out of nowhere, a pitcher of water appeared over the prone figure. Claymore choked as the contents hit him, bringing him back to full consciousness, and he cringed as the pitcher was hurled to the floor, smashing not five feet away from where he was still sitting. Then an unseen hand yanked the hapless man to his feet by his shirt collar. The front door of the little cottage opened again by itself, as it had earlier, and Claymore found himself on the receiving end of what is politely known as the 'bum's rush,' and went flying out the door and down the stairs.
"Hey, w-w-watch the glasses! They're my only pair!" the man wailed. Reaching the car, he was inside in record time, starting the engine even before the door was closed. He looked up to the cottage's widow's-walk and saw the imposing figure of a man wearing a captain's hat in the darkness, shaking his fist. Claymore blinked and shook his head as he shifted the car into gear, as if making sure he could believe what his eyes were telling him, but when he looked again, the figure was gone. Not waiting for another not-so-subtle hint from the unseen master of Gull Cottage, Claymore roared down the road and out of sight.
XXX
"Aaaugh!" Claymore Gregg squealed as a tall, good-looking, bearded man, bearing a very menacing expression appeared out of thin air and leaned over his desk.
"What was the idea of that visit of yours last night, you scurvy skinflint!" the apparition bellowed, his handsome face not three inches away from Claymore's bespectacled one. Claymore's watery blue eyes clamped tight shut, but when he opened them, the ghost was still there.
"Wha-what's the meaning of what?" he whined. "Last night, you mean? I... I told you... I leased Gull Cottage so I could pay the back property taxes."
"How dare you cross my threshold at all? Let alone with news like this!"
"T-technically it i-is muh-my th-thr-thresh — doorway, Uncle, Sir," Claymore quaked out.
"For the twelve-hundredth time, I am NOT your uncle." One fist slammed into the desk. "Now, what IS the meaning of this? How dare you let Gull Cottage? And don't you DARE faint on me again!"
"Well, I know you don't like me, much..." Claymore began to explain, shoving his askew glasses back into place. Somehow, they had become dislodged in the last few moments. "But I did have to tell you... I wanted to leave a note, actually... I mean Gull Cottage legally belongs to me, and you actually have no right to — "
"Gull Cottage is MINE, you dolt. How often must I repeat that to get it through your worthless, yet oh, so thick skull!"
"Just as often as I have to remind you that I'm your great-nephew," Claymore muttered under his breath.
"What's that?" the seaman growled, menacingly.
"N-nothing, sir. Erkk... As I was saying, I felt it only decent of me to let you know that I've rented out Gull Cottage to a widow — "
"So you said last night. Well now, I'll have the old girl skittering down the beach in a trice," the ghost vowed. "And just what makes you think you can do this? I've been telling you for the last twenty years. I forbid you to rent my home."
"The law gives me the right, Captain!" Claymore protested. "I'm your legal heir, since you didn't leave a will, and I had to rent it, or the county would claim it for back taxes... I told you that last night..."
"You barged into my home, uninvited last night, you worthless sea-slug," Daniel Gregg interrupted.
"But... but Gull Cottage will be torn down or something," the little man argued. "I told you... and I don't think Mrs. Muir is an 'old girl.' You don't listen to me. She's a young widow, with two small kids, and a dog. And a housekeeper..."
"It just gets worse. Call them. Tell her not to come. If you don't, I'll have the lot of them fleeing in terror — and what will that do your reputation as a real estate agent in Schooner Bay? Mark my words, Claymore."
"You can't do that! They've already paid!"
"I said, call her. Tell her not to come, and send her back her money. I won't have some scrawny, mealy-mouthed widow, her brats, and her domestic help cluttering up my ship."
"I can't!" Claymore wailed again. "I called this morning, just to see... she's already left Philly and is on her way here, I have no WAY to reach her and tell her not to come. Besides, I need her deposit to pay the taxes. I can't give her back her money, so she has to lease the house."
"You find some way to stop her from setting foot on my property, Claymore. You know blasted well you can get that money from somewhere else. Stop holding out on me! If you don't, I will handle things, and you won't like the way I do it!"
"You... you wouldn't..." Claymore paled, and looked up at the tall figure in front of him. Mentally he started calculating. It would be tight, and he didn't want to, and he might live on tuna fish for a month, but MAYBE giving Mrs. Muir back her money could be done... but, oh, how I hate this! he thought.
"Wouldn't I?" his uncle asked rhetorically, before vanishing with a definite pop.
"YOU BIG BULLY!" Claymore yelled to the empty air. "One of these days you are going to scare me once too often... my poor heart can't stand this abuse..."
The only answer he received was an echoing laugh.
Claymore's fit of bravado passed off quickly, leaving him to ponder how to best resolve the situation without getting hurt, or worse, losing the money he valued so highly. He shook his head and looked at the free calendar the bank had given him that past January. Saturday. Mrs. Muir and her family would arrive Saturday. What on EARTH was he going to do?
XXX
The ghost had a feeling his nefarious would-be-nephew would fail to carry out his instructions. Therefore, when he estimated the interlopers were due to arrive on Saturday, as Claymore had said, he went on watch, keeping an eye out. Sure enough, shortly after nine a.m., an automobile began making its way up the road. Grimly, he observed their progress. The aging station wagon, laden to the brim with luggage and other paraphernalia, including two children's bicycles strapped to the roof, seamed to pant as it came to a halt in front of his home. Curiously, he watched as the car doors opened. Two small children, boy and girl, exited the vehicle, followed by a stout middle-aged woman from the front door passenger's side, then a small wire-haired terrier exited and began to yap immediately, and last but not least, an attractive blonde emerged from the driver's seat. He saw her beautiful smile as she gazed up at the house — HIS house.
"Oh Martha..." she cried. "It's ever MORE charming than I imagined! It's perfect! I even like the name! Gull Cottage!"
"Well," Martha responded acidly, "Now that we know where the gulls live, where do we stay? Gull Cottage... why do you suppose it's called that? Gulls roosting... laying eggs on that..." She gestured. "...What is it?" she continued, pointing to the white-railed structure on the roof.
Carolyn glanced up, and for a split second, it looked like a figure was standing there, but when she blinked it was gone. Trick of the sun, she thought.
"That's a widow's-walk," she answered. "They're very common in this area of Maine."
"Why do they call it that?" asked the little girl now standing next to her. "Widow... that's what you are, Mom," she added, matter-of-factly.
"It goes back to... oh, anyway, a hundred years ago, Candy," Carolyn Muir answered. "They were built onto a lot of the houses here near the ocean. Women, wives of sailors, used to walk and observe from walks like these. From them, they could see the entire shoreline, and they could watch and wait for their sailor-husbands to return home, either from a day at sea, or much longer voyages."
"I still don't understand," Candy began. "Why were they so worried?"
"Being a sailor back in those days was a rather wild, dangerous profession," Carolyn continued. "It was… well… very likely that he could be washed overboard, or have any kind of other shipboard accident, like falling from a mast, or getting tangled in a line, or the entire ship could hit a reef, or hit by a wave and sink, and the woman would suddenly find out that they had become a widow; Hence the name, 'widow's-walk'."
"I think that's sad," Candy said, glancing toward the walk once more.
"Hey, there's a ship's wheel on the balcony up there," Jonathan pointed. "I've NEVER seen a house like this before."
"Nobody's ever seen a house like this before," Martha answered. "Of that much, I am sure. Stop pointing, Jonathan," she added. "It's going to take a lot of work to get it all clean and tidy, Mrs. Muir," she continued.
"Where's the beach?" Candy asked, looking around. "Let's go to the beach. You said we could, Mom."
"There'll be time for that, later, sweetie," her mother answered. "We have a lot of work to get done first."
"But, Mom!" Jonathan protested. "We never had a beach practically in our front yard before! You promised we could build a sand castle!"
"Make it three bedrooms and I'll live in it, Jonathan," the housekeeper retorted, reaching over to open the station wagon tailgate.
"Oh... pooh," Carolyn smiled. "This is exactly what I had in mind when I read Mr. Gregg's ad. It's a dear, sweet, gentle, lovely little house. It's perfect. I can't wait to get settled and..."
The roar of a car motor interrupted her as Claymore roared up in his ancient jalopy. Barely putting the car in park at all, he was out of the automobile and near her side almost before the engine stopped.
"Mrs. Muir? Carolyn Muir? I'm your real estate agent, Claymore Gregg..."
"Mr. Gregg!" Carolyn's face brightened even more as she looked at the overstrung-looking man. "I'm very happy to meet you! We just love the house."
"You can't possibly love the house, you haven't even seen it," Claymore answered, barely taking time to shake her hand and Martha's. "Claymore Gregg," he murmured to the housekeeper. "Happy to make your acquaintance." Reluctantly he reached into his pocket and started to hand her a small piece of blue paper. "Here's your deposit back, Mrs. Muir."
"What a wonderful housewarming gift, Mrs. Muir," Martha cut in. "Quick, take it before he changes his mind."
A bewildered expression came over Carolyn Muir's face. "Mr. Gregg, I don't understand."
Claymore gave a quick glance at the house. First to the widow's-walk, and then to the second floor balcony and then turned back to his would-be tenants. "I've... I've taken the house off the market. There's no deal."
"No deal?" The green-eyed blonde repeated blankly. "What on earth do you mean? You can't do that!" She glanced at the house nervously, and then back at the agitated looking man before her. "You've had a better offer! That's it! Right?"
"No-no-no... It isn't like that at all, Mrs. Muir... I..."
"Well, I can't afford to pay any more," Carolyn interrupted. "Besides, we have a signed lease. You can't MAKE me pay more than was originally agreed."
"B-b-but, I simply CAN'T let you rent this house!" Claymore protested.
"Why ever not?" she fired back.
"W-w-well, for one thing..." Claymore started slowly, trying frantically to think up anything to say but the truth, "It's very isolated... way out here... with just the gulls to keep you company. You'll be terribly alone..."
"THAT'S why they call it Gull Cottage," Jonathan added to Martha, as an aside.
"Mr. Gregg, I'm a mother," Carolyn interrupted, giving Claymore another dazzling smile. "I'm almost never completely alone! Besides, this house is perfect. I need a little solitary-ness. I'm a writer. I almost, demand isolation at a certain point, don't I, Martha?" she added, turning to the older woman. "I need it to concentrate."
"She gets darn right fussy about it," the woman nodded. "Mrs. Muir, should we start with the suitcases? Candy and Jonathan can help with those without any problems."
"But, Mrs. Muir..." the landlord dissented again, "Nobody else lives out this way, not right now, and it wouldn't be safe here for two women and two small children!"
"Safe from what?" Carolyn asked, looking around at the vast open area around the house, "Seagulls? Besides..." she added. "We have a dog." She nodded at the terrier, who was cowering by the front gate and staring up at the front porch, looking anything but ferocious. "That's Scruffy, Mr. Gregg. And he is, too." Ignoring further protests, the blonde waved away the check still in Claymore's outstretched hand and started making her way toward the front porch. Looking back at the housekeeper, she added, "Yes, Martha. Suitcases first. Then we can start with any cleaning that might need to be done. We do have to have a tidy place to sleep tonight."
As Jonathan and Martha started pulling suitcases from the car, Candy lingered, and knelt down, trying to soothe the nervous pooch. "Come on, Scruffy, come on! There's nothing here! What is it, boy? The lions? They won't bite you... They're friendly lions."
Claymore followed the other three members of the family as they made their way up the stairs and stood by the front door and waited, loaded down with suitcases.
"Really, Mrs. Muir, you won't be happy here," he continued, reaching for the old-fashioned key in his pocket. "The house really does need a lot of repairs, and I did say, anything that has to be fixed is up to you. I never should have leased it! What if..."
"Nonsense," the new lady of Gull Cottage replied. Claymore swung the door open and the small group burst into the foyer. Pale shafts of light, shining through the windows at the top of the first floor landing illuminated the gloomy interior.
"Oh... Martha!" Carolyn inhaled sharply and then exhaled with a small sigh. "Look at it! It's enchanting!"
"Is it?" the housekeeper retorted. "It doesn't look it from where I'm standing."
"It is!" Carolyn insisted, pointing. "Look at those windows! Why they're just like the windows on a ship! They're beautiful!"
"They won't be easy to clean," said Martha. "I hope there's a ladder somewhere around here."
"Uhm... I don't know..." Claymore looked nervous again. "I must admit. It is gloomy and musty."
"Well, that's easy to fix," Carolyn smiled. "We'll just open the windows and air the place out — that's all it needs."
"Oh, never do that!" Claymore gasped. "Never-never-never!"
"Why not?" Martha began. "That's..."
"Well, uh, the winds blow here all the time, and..."
"That's the only way to get rid of the musty smell…" Carolyn began.
"But they blow at more than a hundred miles an hour," Claymore exaggerated.
"Well, then, that's the way to get rid of the house," Martha grinned, clearly not believing the antsy man.
Crossing over to the right, Carolyn reached another doorway. "Nonsense. I know what is good for a house. This much be the kitchen?" she questioned, pushing open the swinging door.
Jonathan regarded his mother and Martha as they disappeared into the next room with Claymore Gregg and wondered idly, but not for very long, where his sister was. Adults can be so silly... he thought. Who cares about kitchens? I want to see the upstairs... find my room and go look for the room with the ship's wheel on the balcony! Maybe there's even a telescope up there! On the third step leading upstairs, he stopped. The wind made a soft whistling sound and suddenly he was feeling a light breeze on his face where there shouldn't be a breeze — they hadn't opened the windows there yet. A door on the second floor landing swung open slowly. Resolutely, Jonathan started climbing the stairs once more.
XXX
"This kitchen is GREAT!" Carolyn exclaimed, gazing around the large, old-fashioned, New England room. "It's really lovely!"
"Maybe, if you happen to be a Pilgrim," Martha sniffed, opening the oven door. "Bit on the rustic side, Isn't it, Mr. Gregg? Tell me, you were planning on replacing these old appliances, weren't you?"
"You see?" Claymore started to say, glancing at Carolyn, "Nothing works… nothing…"
"Now, we don't know that yet!" Carolyn answered, refusing to think in anything less than a positive manner. "This kitchen isn't THAT old, and Martha can perform miracles."
"You have the wrong Martha," the housekeeper grinned, pleased with her employer's complement, but not quite so sure of what else was in store. "For this kitchen, you'll need Martha WASHINGTON."
Carolyn grinned back at her friend. "Martha Washington was two-hundred years ago. This house is more like… what? A hundred and ten years old? I'm sure some improvements have been made since it was originally built."
"What's a hundred years?" Martha shot back. "Mr. Gregg, this place DOES have running water, doesn't it?"
The landlord looked insulted. "Of course. My grandfather had plumbing installed. I had the water turned back on the other day… of course there will be probably be problems… buildup in the pipes… maybe a few leaks… I'm sure you won't be at all happy…"
"We'll make do," Carolyn insisted. "I wonder where the children are?" Giving the kitchen another look, she turned and made her way back to the foyer where her daughter was standing in the doorway. Candy looked up at her mother, puzzled.
"Scruffy won't come inside, Mom," she said. "I've been trying and trying. He comes so far, and then stops. I think he's scared of something. Either that, or he just hates the house." She reached out toward the little dog. "Come on, Scruffy, come on!"
"Don't be a snob, Scruffy," Martha added for good measure. "I wonder what's bothering him?"
"Well, see…" Claymore interrupted, clutching at straws. "If your dog isn't going to be happy here, Mrs. Muir, I wouldn't want to hold you to our agreement, besides I do have another little house I am sure you and your family will just love, and it's…"
Carolyn waved his words away. "He'll get used to it. Scruffy isn't a great traveler and animals always take a while to get used to a new place. Besides, nobody is going to tell me what to do. Now let's go see the rest of the house."
XXX
They made their way into the living room, where Carolyn stopped suddenly, gazing at the oil painting over the mantle. Claymore cringed slightly, but Candy, Carolyn and Martha didn't notice. Carolyn looked up at the somehow illuminated painting, almost hypnotized.
"What a magnificent man."
Candace stared up, almost as fascinated with the painting as her mother. "Yeah… Who IS it? He's… cool."
"That is the original owner of Gull Cottage. My ancestor, Captain Daniel Elias Alexander Gregg," Claymore answered, reluctantly.
Carolyn glanced at him, her eyes saying clearly that she found it almost unbelievable that the same bloodlines could be flowing through the handsome man in the portrait and the jumpy man in front of her.
"He's a relative… of yours?"
"Oh yes," Claymore replied. "He's my great… or maybe it's great, great… uncle." There was another slight rumble of thunder that stopped abruptly as Carolyn answered.
"He's very handsome…"
"Handsome is, as handsome does," Claymore said severely. Why is it that beautiful women never say anything like that about me? he wondered. After all, it's true… the Captain and I are related…
"Well, I am quite sure that Captain Gregg did VERY handsomely," Carolyn answered, giving the portrait another look.
"Yeah, he's mentioned it…" Claymore muttered.
"Hmm?" Carolyn remarked absently.
"Nothing…" Claymore sighed.
"Maybe the Captain would like a little fresh air," Martha remarked, throwing open the shutters.
Candy's blue-green eyes widened as the room brightened a bit more and she made a dive toward the window. "Look, Mom! It's a window seat!" she cried, and immediately she lifted the seat lid. Satisfied that she had missed no treats inside, she closed it again and plopped herself down on it, as if claiming it for her own. "I LOVE this house!"
Meanwhile Carolyn, now that there was more light, was looking around the room a bit more.
"We'll paint these walls sea green… and I can just see some nice frilly curtains at those windows…"
"Captain Gregg isn't… wasn't exactly a 'frilly' kind of man, Mrs. Muir…" Claymore began.
"He WOULD have been, if he had lived with me," Carolyn smiled, then, looking down, she saw her son, Jonathan, quietly making his way into the room, where he stared up at the magnificent portrait. "Jonathan?"
"Yes, Mom?"
"What do you think of him?" she asked quietly.
"Well, he's kinda cross…" Jonathan started. "I'm not sure he wants us here."
Claymore jumped again, realizing that the little boy was speaking in the present tense… that the ghost WAS cross, not LOOKED cross, but Carolyn didn't seem to notice it. She was still gazing at the painting.
"Don't be afraid of the portrait, Jonathan," Carolyn said, smiling. "He just looks that way because he was standing in a stuffy little room, waiting for a man to paint his picture... they didn't have cameras back then. I'm sure what he really wanted was winds in the tropics on a south sea island somewhere — or maybe just a ship's deck rocking under him."
Jonathan shook his head again and stared. "I don't think he likes us."
"But, Jonathan, darling..." Carolyn began again, kneeling in front of her son and sweeping his blonde hair away from his forehead gently. "He's not alive anymore, sweetie. He died a hundred years ago — before any of us were born — even before Grandpa was born."
"I know that," Jonathan said, matter-of-factly. "He told me."
Claymore jumped. "Wha... who... when...?"
Carolyn smiled again, indulgently, and glanced at her landlord. "I encourage my children to use their imaginations... who knows? We may have a best-selling writer in another twenty years."
"But..." Claymore started again, but Jonathan, who seemed to be listening not to him, or to his mother, suddenly shouted out: "The Captain said he wants to see his blasted house shipshape and Bristol fashion!" Breaking away, he scampered out of the room, Candy following.
Martha stared after the little boy, astonished. "Shipshape! Bristol fashion? Jonathan's here ten minutes and already he is trying to sound like an old salt!"
A rich chuckle seemed to fill the room suddenly as a gust of wind came through the now open windows.
"What was that?" Carolyn asked, listening to the sound.
"What was what?" Martha answered, puzzled.
Claymore suddenly looked more alert than scared, and after glancing around the room, he turned back to his would-be tenant. "That's another thing," he said, desperately, grasping at straws. "...The wind... coming down the chimneys... it makes strange noises... it will keep you up all night! You'll never get any rest..."
"The sound of wind, and the wind bringing in the smell of the sea will be a most welcome change from city noises," Carolyn answered. "I can't tell you how tired I am of smog and sirens and honking horns! I'm sure we'll all sleep marvelously."
Scruffy appeared in the doorway at that moment, emitting a low growl, and as the adults listened, they heard the voices of the children outside.
"I better go get those two before they make a run for the beach without us," Martha grinned. "We'll start by getting the kid's bikes untied from the roof of the car, and then you can decide what we'll go after next... cleaning or unloading. We need to do both, but there's more cleaning... Excuse me, Mrs. Muir, Mr. Gregg..." Martha turned and headed for the hall.
"I want to look upstairs," Carolyn said, starting for them. "I really need to see what's there and I need to get my office set up. I have a couple of writing assignments, and..." She was interrupted by Martha's voice, calling to the children.
"Kids! Candy! Stop playing on the lion! It's time to start unloading the car! Jonathan, get out of that tree, immediately!"
Claymore followed Carolyn as she made her way up the steep, cobwebby stairs to the second floor landing, protesting all the way. "Mrs. Muir... slow–slow down..." he panted. "Really, This part of the house should have been condemned years ago... Sheesh... Why don't they make houses with elevators... these stairs are so steep... they're awful!"
"You can't condemn a house just because of the stairs," Carolyn smiled indulgently. "Just yell at the architect. Besides, it will keep us all in shape! It's great exercise." She started toward an open door across the hall and went inside, her eyes making their way around the room. "Well, it needs cleaning," she began, "But this is lovely... the children have never had a fireplace in their room before... I hope it's more for ambiance than warmth! And the lovely built-in bookcases... I brought as many of the children's books as I could... and twin beds, and a double-decker bunk! Great! That means they can have an overnight guest some day, if they want... Tell me..." she glanced back at Claymore, "Was it designed as a nursery?"
Claymore rolled his eyes. "Hardly... Captain Gregg is... was a confirmed bachelor."
"But the silhouettes of the children on the wall..." Carolyn murmured. "I thought... well... what a waste." She gave a small sigh. "Maybe the Captain had planned on having a family and just never found the right woman..."
Claymore followed as she headed down the hall, making her way to another doorway.
"WAIT!" Claymore cried. "Uhm... you can't go in there... that was the Captain's Cabin."
"WAS being the operative word," Carolyn answered. "Thanks for letting me know... It will be my bedroom and office. It's handy to the children's room."
"But..." Claymore cried, now stepping in front of her, barring the door. "Look, you just can't..." His voice was now verging on hysteria. "I've made an awful, DREADFUL mistake... This house is just never going to do for you..."
"It's PERFECT," Carolyn protested, as she ducked under his arm and started to push the door open. "And I want to see my bedroom, please!" Opening the door, Carolyn stepped into the room, Claymore following her like a hurt puppy. "Mrs. Muir, I..." he gulped, hating to say the words. "...I insist you take your deposit back."
"I'll take it back if you insist, Mr. Gregg," Carolyn began. "But you can't talk me out of living here. I love this house. It's a little shabby and dirty at the moment, perhaps, but it can be fixed — you'd be surprised what a little soap and water and elbow grease can do. Besides, it's ideal for Candy and Jonathan..."
"But it's a mile and a half from the school..." Claymore protested, realizing he wasn't getting anywhere. "And the school bus doesn't have a route out this way. Surely..."
"I DO have a car, and they have good bicycles," Carolyn insisted, looking around for a light switch. Not finding one, she opened the curtains in front of the French windows leading to the balcony. "The exercise will be good for them, and I understand Maine doesn't get too much snow before December... at least not very often."
"Mrs. Muir, you aren't listening..."
"What a wonderful, wonderful room!" Carolyn cried, getting a clear look for the first time. "Marvelous! I knew I would love it!"
The room WAS wonderful. Wood paneled throughout, but somehow it did not feel cramped, despite the darkness of the walls. Even at a glance, Carolyn could see all the recessed cabinets for storage. A large double bed with an intricately carved, double-pegged headboard stood at one end, facing the windows, and toward the other end of the room was another fireplace with a gas heater, and a massive desk made of teak. Carolyn smiled, remembering the small desk she had sold back in Philadelphia. I can fit everything on this desk, she thought. Typewriter, notes, research material... LUNCH if I need to… a coffeepot... She continued looking around. A small leather-covered couch stood over to the side, and an oversized, wing-backed chair faced the open windows.
"MRS. MUIR, THERE HAVE BEEN DISTURBANCES HERE!" Claymore said desperately.
"Disturbances?" she answered, puzzled, looking around.
"Noises..." he whispered.
"All old houses have noises," Carolyn soothed. "Creaks and groans, too."
"...And happenings... things that can't be explained..." he accentuated.
Carolyn sighed and glanced at the nervous man. Honestly, she thought. He's worse than the kids are after a bad dream! "Now you mustn't let your imagination run away with you," she began gently, as if she were talking to her almost six-year-old son. Hoping to distract him, she continued, reaching the window and the telescope and binnacle she found there. "Does the telescope go with the house?" she paused. "Now why does it look...?"
"Y-y-yes..." Claymore interrupted, nervously. "It's stood right where it is now for more than a hundred years..." There was a slight rumble, and he glanced around the room again. "I wouldn't touch that, if I were you..." But he watched as Carolyn ran her fingers along the telescope and stared at them.
"Why, of course! That's it! It's clean!" She looked at Claymore, who was now almost at her side. "There's not a speck of dust... Someone must have polished this..."
Lowering her arm, Carolyn moved toward the bed and looked about at the room that was going to be hers. Surprised, Claymore peered into the telescope, gingerly, and a second later he was walloped by the whirling wand, clunking him on the back of his skull. With a gasp, he grabbed the small end of the telescope, and, peering into it, beheld not the vew, but the vision of a very angry bearded man's face, scowling. He could see the man's lips start to move and a booming voice filled his head, but not his ears: "Get that blasted female away from my telescope, out of my room and out of my house!"
Claymore made a mad dash for the door, babbling hysterically. "Cancel the lease! Cancel the lease!" Another chuckle, like the one downstairs, filled Carolyn's ears. She turned, startled. The wind again... she thought, and the laughter became louder as she followed Claymore, just in time to see him skid down the stairs, and run smack dab into Martha as she came out from the kitchen from where she was bringing in a load of her favorite pots and pans. Claymore gasped once again and collapsed in a dead faint at the housekeeper's feet.
Astounded, Martha Grant bent over the prone man. "Mr. Gregg! Mr. Gregg! Claymore!" Getting no response, she lowered him to the bottom stair, propping him against a newel post. Carolyn, who by this time was also at the foot of the stairs, took over as Martha made a move once more toward the kitchen.
"Mr. Gregg?" Carolyn started, patting the man on the cheek. "Mr. Gregg..." Claymore moaned slightly and a look of relief passed over Carolyn's face. God forbid they get an overnight guest yet! "Mr. Gregg... you're all right..."
Claymore's eyelids fluttered and he moaned again, then shouted as Martha Grant hit him full in the face with a pitcher of water. "There! Now! Did you here him laugh?"
"It's wind in the chimney," Carolyn said firmly. "You said so yourself."
"It's NOT wind in the chimney. It's HIM in the chimney!"
"Who, him?" Martha asked, bewildered.
"Captain Gregg!" Claymore shouted, jumping up and rushing to the front door. "Mrs. Muir, you haven't got a moment to spare. Get your children and leave!"
"We are NOT leaving," Carolyn said, reaching him.
"Mrs. Muir," Claymore tried again, desperately. "I BEG of you, LISTEN to me! This house is HAUNTED!"
"Nonsense," Carolyn said, unwaveringly. "All it needs is soap and water, and some fresh paint — I even know the color — and we'll soon have this blasted place shipshape and Bristol fashion!" She held out her hand. "The key to my house, please?"
The housekeeper gave Carolyn a startled look at her words, and Claymore's eyes bugged out in horror. Uttering a strangled cry, he fished the old-fashioned key out of his pocket, slapped it in her outstretched palm and leapt out the door, almost falling down the stone stairs again.
Candy and Jonathan looked up in astonishment from where they were putting their bikes on the porch. In moments, he was in his car with the motor running.
"Do-do-don't say I-I didn't warn you, Mrs. Muir... I'll see you in the morning... I'm sure you will have changed your mind by then!" A second later, he had roared off.
"What's the matter with him?" Candy asked, mystified.
"Captain Gregg says he's full of..." Jonathan started, but his mother cut him off.
"JONATHAN!"
"...Bilge and sea water!" the little boy concluded triumphantly.
"Never you mind about bilge-anything," Carolyn scolded, wondering again at Jonathan's sudden penchant for sea terms. "We need to get organized, here. I'll call the hardware store and ask them to send us a painter... I can't wait to see what the walls will look like then! Martha, why don't you see what you can do in the kitchen? That's your territory... Candy and Jonathan, you two start unpacking your things."
"Sweepers, man your brooms!" Jonathan cried. "Clean sweep-down fore and aft!"
"Thank-you, mate," Carolyn grinned. "All hands, turn to!" Everyone rushed for the door, with the exception of Scruffy, who was now back out by the stone gate, growling. Giving the dog an impatient glance, she added, "Scruffy, come on!"
XXX
Housekeeping made the day fly by. Each member of the household did their part to make the house as neat and tidy as possible. Of course, cleaning such an old house did allow for certain moments. Carolyn felt at one point that she was being nudged back down the stairs when her arms were full, carrying in luggage. Martha had to take a short break to soak her fingers in cold water after the mousetrap shut on them while she was cleaning out the cupboards in the kitchen, and Carolyn was doused with soot while she was cleaning the front of the fireplace. However the only real snag in the process, was Mr. Peavey. At first, Carolyn wasn't sure she'd even get the recalcitrant New Englander in the house; then, even after she increased his hourly pay to a formidable two-seventy-five an hour, for some reason, he got 'spooked' and ran out of the house only slightly less hastily than Claymore Gregg!
Carolyn sighed as she watched the unfortunate handyman barrel down the road. Calling to him had done no good whatsoever. Scratching her head, wearily, she came back inside to the living room to where Martha was waiting for her.
"Now, I wonder why he left without saying goodbye? And so quickly? I can't imagine him turning down two seventy-five an hour. Maybe he needs more paint..." She peered at the supplies and the ladder he had left behind on the floor. "No... There's plenty here... surely he said something though... Martha, did he say anything to you?"
The housekeeper shook her head. "Not to me... just seemed to be in a hurry to get through here, that's all."
"Jonathan?" Carolyn turned to her son.
"No, Mom," the boy answered. "He just asked me if I liked the color of the room now and said that sea dogs don't scare him."
"Sea dogs?" Martha questioned, puzzled. "Maybe he meant Scruffy?"
Carolyn shook her head. "I don't know, but surely he'll be back. He's not finished. Why, he still has half the wall over the mantle to do. I suppose I could do it, but there's so much else to do, and I really need to get started on my lighthouse article... that's due in two weeks, and..." The woman stopped, realizing she was panicking over things she had no control over. That's the ticket, keeping control over my life, she thought. "Much improved, though, what he has done," she nodded, looking around the room once more and tapping the cap back on the almost full can of paint. "Well, Martha," she said out loud. "How do you like what he's done so far?"
The housekeeper nodded, amiably. "Oh, I love it. Hate the color, but I love it."
"Now what does that mean?" Carolyn laughed.
"I just think a nice yellow would have been better, that's all," Martha answered. "But I love it. The room needed painting, badly."
"I think sea-green suits him," Carolyn said thoughtfully.
"Painter Peavey?" Martha said, only half-listening to her employer.
"No, Martha," Carolyn answered, amused, and nodded to the portrait. "The Captain... Captain Gregg."
"Oh, him... His portrait, you mean."
"Whatever else could I mean?" Carolyn asked, puzzled. Looking up, she gazed at the portrait again for a few moments, and a dreamy look came into her eyes. "I wonder what sort of a man he REALLY was..."
Martha sniffed, looking at the portrait with a jaundiced eye. "Oh, I'd say strong, tall, handsome, knows it, too... courageous, independent, bachelor, rat..." her voice trailed off.
"I think he looks fascinating..." Carolyn continued. "I wonder if there is much written about him in the library? Or maybe I could do a story on him... you know... on spec..."
"I can't imagine who would be interested in an old sea captain," Martha answered. "You must be tired, Mrs. Muir, if you find fellas like these fascinating. Why don't you go upstairs and take a little nap? Your Captain will be here when you wake up."
"Good idea," Carolyn nodded, still staring at the portrait.
"I think I'll round up the kids and see that they take a nap, too," Martha added. "After a little break, we'll be ready to make another small go-round on the house... but I know I can use a rest."
"Thanks, Martha," Carolyn answered, finally tearing her eyes from the portrait. "They'll hate it — they think they are too old for naps, and they wanted to go exploring, but do that, please." Now in the foyer, Carolyn heard Scruffy's whine coming from outside. Opening the door, she stared down at the terrier, amused. "Well, Scruff! It's about time you deigned to make an appearance! Come in and join the family!" Giving a small bark, the terrier complied. Reaching down, Carolyn picked up the little dog and made her way upstairs.
Sighing softly, she opened the door to the master cabin. It truly IS beautiful, she thought, seeing her own comforter and linens on the double bed. I'm sure I will have no difficulty writing here... Despite the fact that it was only mid-afternoon, a chill had settled over the room and a slight bit of fog from the sea had actually crept into the windows.
"Can't have this, now can we, Scruffy?" the tired woman murmured. "Down, boy." Obediently, the little dog jumped out of her arms, up on the ottoman by the wing-backed chair next to the fireplace, turned around three times and curled up there.
Deciding not to mess the freshly made bed yet, Carolyn closed the French doors, turned up the gas heater in the fireplace and sank into the wing-backed chair, and covered herself with a small afghan. She drifted off to sleep almost immediately.
Only Scruffy saw what came next. A few moments later, the dog rose from his seat on the ottoman, his hair bristling and teeth bared into a snarl. The dog's growl caused Carolyn to stir slightly as the tall figure of a man appeared in front of her. One gesture from the specter and Scruffy was silent. Waving one hand, the sea captain unbolted and opened the French windows slightly, then turned off the gas heater that Carolyn had so recently turned on. Scowling, he looked down at the sleeping woman in front of him.
"Rest well Mrs. Muir," he rumbled. "You, my dear, will need all your strength. It's high winds and uncharted reefs ahead for you, your salty maid, your unmanageable children and your cowardly little mongrel." Giving her one last contemptuous look, he slowly disappeared.
XXX
Carolyn woke an hour later, clenching her teeth against the cold, and shivering.
Forcing her eyes open, she called out to Martha, who appeared almost instantly, bearing a pot of coffee on a tray.
"I wasn't sure if you would be awake yet," Martha said, putting the tray down on the low table in front of the chair. "You could have slept a while longer. The kids woke up about twenty minutes ago. Jonathan is working in the living room and Candy with me, in the kitchen."
"I could have slept longer," Carolyn mumbled, taking a cup from the tray. "I had a nice dream..."
"You did? What about?"
"I can't remember..." Carolyn answered, a bit dazed. "I feel like I've only been asleep a few minutes... the cold woke me up."
"No wonder, going to sleep with the windows open," Martha scolded her. "What were you thinking of? You don't want to make yourself sick."
"I thought I DID close them," Carolyn answered, puzzled. "I was almost sure I did..."
"Well, they're closed now," Martha said, shutting them with a bang. "Just in time, too... the wind has been blowing like crazy and there's a storm brewing. If this keeps up..." Thunder boomed, and both women jumped. "...Like I said, this keeps up, we could all have trouble sleeping later on tonight... I don't do well with thunderstorms."
"Maybe it will pass quickly," said Carolyn, glancing outside. "It is windy, though! Just look at the branches on that ugly old tree sway! It looks like the top could break right off..."
"Maybe," Martha nodded. "Well, why don't you freshen up a bit and come downstairs? Supper will be ready shortly. Much as I hate it, I did bring along a few cans of canned clam chowder... mine is better, you know... and I'm planning on grilled ham and cheese to go with it."
XXX
The next two hours were taken at a more leisurely place than the ones before dinner. Jonathan finished dusting the living room, while Candy did the foyer. Then he and Candy together folded the drop cloths and rags that Mr. Peavey had left behind while Martha cleaned the brushes with turpentine and Carolyn moved the ladder to the alcove. Martha especially seemed confident that the painter would be back the next day, or surely by Monday to finish the job he had started. Carolyn worked a little more, straightening, and Martha herself finished what she could in the kitchen, announcing that laundry would have to wait until the next day, as the washer seemed to be broken. Carolyn read to the children for a while, Jonathan demanding Treasure Island or Robinson Crusoe, but by seven, their eyes were drooping, and without preamble, Carolyn announced bedtime. There wasn't much argument.
Jonathan perked up a bit when they all went upstairs and Carolyn began the tucking-in process. Of course, the weather, as Martha pointed out earlier, was not helping. Rain hit the windows in sheets and thunder boomed. Privately, Carolyn wondered if the kids would make it through the night in their room, or would they come running into her room to "keep Mom company," as they had done so often in Philadelphia, especially right after Robert had died.
"Well, you two are going to sleep wonderfully tonight," she said, giving Jonathan's sheet another tuck, and then kissing him on the forehead. "You've had a big, big, day… and I want to thank you for all your hard work! You did a great — "
Suddenly, the lights went out.
"It's Captain Gregg! It's Captain Gregg!" Jonathan whooped in delight, popping up from his pillow once more,
"It's only a power failure, Jonathan," Carolyn said calmly, moving over to the side table. Taking a book of matches from her pocket, she struck one and lit the candle there. "You have to expect things like this in an old house… that's why I put so many candles around."
Jonathan nodded at the candles approvingly. "Captain Gregg hates electric lights."
"Now, how would YOU know?" Candy asked, propping her head on her hand and elbow and giving her brother a look that said 'I know more than you do.'
"He TOLD me," Jonathan answered simply.
"When?" Candy asked.
"Today," the little boy answered. "We visited in the attic for a little bit when you were busy helping Martha."
"Yeah, right," said Candy. "You were ducking out on chores, and now you're just trying to scare me. Well it won't work. Mom, make him stop!"
"Stop trying to scare your sister, Jonathan," Carolyn said reprovingly.
Jonathan looked immediately contrite. "I'm sorry… Good night, Candy."
"Good night, Jonathan," his sister answered, leaning back on her pillow, but a moment later, her head came back up again. "And I'm not afraid of ghosts… I just don't want to talk about them right before bed… not with all that thunder out there." Another boom punctuated her last word, and Jonathan looked up toward the ceiling.
"Goodnight, Captain Gregg!"
"M-o-o-o-m-m," He's doing it again!" said Candy.
"Jonathan, stop it!" Carolyn pleaded. This day was never going to end.
"Don't tell me, tell the Captain!" Jonathan answered, reasonably. "He's doing it!"
"Stop it, Captain, wherever you are," Candy chimed in, deciding to humor her brother. "You can make it rain when it's time for school… then we won't have to go."
"Not a chance," Carolyn smiled. "You've already missed a week because of our moving and all. Come Monday, school. Now, enough. I want you both to go to sleep!" Giving her daughter a kiss, she headed toward the door. As an afterthought, she looked up toward the ceiling. "You, too, Captain Gregg!" Another boom of thunder answered her and Jonathan turned to his sister.
"Ghosts can't sleep… Isn't that sad?"
"Uh huh," his sister answered. "It is… but I can, and I'm sleepy, Jonathan… you can tell me more about Captain Gregg tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay," her brother agreed.
Within minutes, both were asleep.
XXX
Carolyn descended the stairs and was greeted by Martha, announcing that Claymore Gregg was on the line. Bidding the housekeeper goodnight, Carolyn picked up the old-fashioned phone. Within minutes, she had been disconnected, and she shook her head wonderingly as she hung up the receiver. How on earth could it be raining and storming at Gull Cottage when Mr. Gregg said that it was completely clear in town? Something isn't right here… and… and what if Jonathan…? I need to batten down the hatches, she thought, making her way to the living room. Now, where did THAT expression come from? She found herself staring at the Captain's portrait again. It seemed… illuminated somehow, which was odd, because with the power being out, she held the only light in the room… a candle.
"Someone must be trying to scare me for some reason," Carolyn said out loud, crossing to the open window. "Blasted storm… I thought I closed that…" Could there be? No… maybe... Taking a deep breath, she turned and faced the darkness. Maybe… "I know you're there…" she started, but her only answer was the sound of the wind. "I said… I KNOW you're there!"
Turning around toward the window she just latched, she watched as the lock turned and the window slid open. The wind and rain rushed in. Gasping, she forced the window closed again and turned the latch once more.
"Stop that!" she cried. "You'll ruin the furniture!" Reaching into her pocket for matches, she re-lit the candle the wind had blown out. Within seconds, the window was open again, and her candle out once more. Heaving an exasperated sigh, she faced the darkness. "You are behaving like an adolescent! Stop it. If you have something to say, just say it." Reaching for her matches, she added; "If there's anything I hate, it's a COWARDLY ghost."
BANG.
Carolyn gave a small cry as the window slammed shut, and a voice came straight into her head.
"Light the candle."
Carolyn stared at the portrait, dumbstruck, and the rich, deep voice came again.
"Blast it, woman! I said, light the candle!"
Fumbling, Carolyn started to do as the voice commanded, and as she lit the match, a tall figure stepped out of the darkness. There was no sound in the room at all until the flame on the match reached her fingers. "Ouch…" Hurriedly, she blew it out and lit another match, and then the candle. Holding it out toward the spirit to get a better look, she managed to croak out: "C-C-Captain… Gregg?"
"Aye," the spirit answered an icy tone to his voice. "Madam, you called me cowardly. That was not only rude, it was inaccurate."
"Well…" Carolyn started, embarrassed. "I didn't really expect you to hear me, I…"
"I may have been a scoundrel, but I was never a coward," the spirit went on, as if Carolyn hadn't spoken at all.
"Your nephew, Claymore Gregg, SAID you were here, but…" Carolyn started, but the ghost interrupted her once more.
"MY NEPHEW!" he roared. "That spineless toad? That miserable wart? Him? Related to me? NEVER! I'm the only son of an only son… I've never met his blasted grandmother in my life. I've tried to tell him that for twenty years, but every time he sees me, he faints… done it since he was a child!" He looked at the woman before him up and down, thoughtfully. "Well, that's one thing I'll say for you, at any rate. You haven't fainted… yet."
"You're disappointed?" Carolyn asked, sarcastically.
Folding his arms over his chest, the spirit stared at her. "Cheeky, too. Don't push me, Madam."
Mimicking his movements, Carolyn did the same. "Don't tell me what to do."
The spirit went on. "I've been easy on you, so far, because you've said a few... intelligent things since you've been here. Damned unusual thing for one of your sex."
Carolyn turned pink in the darkness, remembering her reaction to the spirit's portrait that morning. Blast good-looking men! she fumed. Bobby was the same way… handsome… and an ego two stories tall. Well, I won't be talked to like this…
"Obviously living alone you have forgotten a few things about being around people. Don't swear." She gazed at him defiantly for a moment, then added. "It's obvious you don't like women."
"It's impossible to LIKE women," he answered loftily. "Love them yes, like them, no. And my dear woman, if you think I am swearing now, it's a good thing you can't read my thoughts!"
"Ohhh!" she cried, "You must have been an aggravating man!"
"Perhaps, to women," he drawled, moving toward the fireplace. "I was never put by the fireside, like a pet poodle…" He paused. "Though many women tried."
Inwardly Carolyn's eyes rolled at the comment and the overwhelming ego of the specter before her. "Some men don't seem to mind… and I suppose you had a girl in every port, like most sailors I've heard tell of."
Captain Gregg's eyes lit up. "Ten — twenty — half a hundred, if I wanted them! I was a HELL of a man!" He scowled. "And it's seaman, not sailor! Sailor is a landlubber's word."
What a braggart! Carolyn thought, though, reluctantly, she could understand the attraction. "So you were murdered by a jealous husband, no doubt then."
"No…" the spirit said, turning back to the flames for a moment and holding his hands out to the blaze. Then he turned back to face her. "I kicked the blasted gas heater on in my blasted sleep. It was broken… There was a gale from the Sou-west, so I had the windows closed as any sensible man would. The gas didn't shut off, and I inhaled it and… well, you can guess that part. The damned coroner's jury brought in a verdict of suicide because Mrs. McLir, my blasted cleaning woman, testified that I always slept with my windows open." He shook his head and the thunder outside grew louder. "Now how the devil would SHE know how I slept? I never slept with her! Besides…" He paused and surveyed Carolyn's blushing cheeks, evident even in the darkness. "…Besides, she looked to be a hundred and ten years old, and she had a wart on her nose!"
"Please, don't yell…" Carolyn began, determined not to let the ghost embarrass her.
"Oh, the children can't hear me…" the spirit smiled. "But they can hear you… You're mortal. No one can see or hear me unless I wish it."
"I see…" Carolyn answered, moving quickly to close the living room door leading to the hall and Martha's room. "Well, now that we have moved in, I assume you will be kind enough to do your… haunting… elsewhere."
The ghost looked truly astounded at the woman's remark. "Elsewhere? ELSEWHERE?" he sputtered. "You do your LIVING elsewhere! This is MY house!"
"But… but…" Carolyn began, doing her best to be reasonable. "I've rented your house. I've signed a two-year lease and paid the first and last month's rent, and…"
"You didn't pay it to me," he growled.
"No, that's true. I paid it to your nephew, and…"
"HE IS NOT MY NEPHEW!" the Captain roared, furious. "Now see here. I put my life savings into this house! Designed and built it practically with my own hands! I planned on living in it to a ripe old age and then it was to be a home for retired seamen."
"Then you should have left a will saying so!" Carolyn retorted angrily.
"I DIDN'T LEAVE A WILL!" the ghost roared again.
"Why not?" she answered swiftly. "Most intelligent people do…"
"I AM intelligent!" the seaman bellowed. "But I hadn't planned on kicking the BLASTED gas on with my BLASTED foot!"
"It's not MY fault that you kicked the BLASTED gas with your BLASTED foot!" Carolyn shouted back. "And stop yelling at me! Everyone is always yelling at me and telling me what to do, and I'm not taking it any more!" Impotent with rage, she paced the room. "BLAST, BLAST, BLAST!"
The spirit had the grace to look startled. "Blast is NOT a lady's word, Madam."
"I don't care whether it is or not, and YOU can't tell me what to do!" she shouted. "And this is all too ridiculous. Ghosts do NOT exist! You are just a figment in some weird delusion I am having because I'm tired."
"I AM here, and this is MY house," the Captain continued, stubbornly. "And I am no delusion."
"It's your nephew's house, and he lied to me about you," Carolyn answered, equally stubborn. "I don't know who I am more angry at… you or him."
"For that you would have to stand in line," the seaman chuckled, and looked thoughtful. "Well, I suppose you could stay… on a trial basis, naturally. You keep your sails trimmed, and — "
The beautiful woman looked at the spirit, dumbfounded. "You're putting ME — my family on trial! Why that's ludicrous. I can't live here with a… a…" she broke off swallowing the word 'Man.' Collecting herself, she added. "Now, we are here. You need to go. How soon can you… um… pack?"
"Pack!" The Captain was shouting again. "Me? I'm going nowhere!"
"But…" Carolyn stuttered. "We can't all live here as one big happy family! What will I tell Martha? What will the neighbors think?"
"You are NOT turning me out on the beach!" The spirit was shouting again. "I said you could stay on trial. I am being reasonable and fair. You want me to leave my house… that is unreasonable and unfair! You'll be rearranging the furniture next!"
"I hadn't even thought about that!" Carolyn shot back. "But now that you mention it, that's a great idea!"
"This is my house and I am staying here… ALONE! Work out your petty problems about your petty deposit with Claymore. HE has your money, not I!" The ghost snorted. "The smartest thing I ever did was remain a bachelor! GOOD-BYE, MRS. MUIR!" With a hiss, the spirit was gone, and Carolyn looked around, startled.
"Captain Gregg! Captain Gregg! Don't you dare decompose… disappear… dematerialize… whatever you call it… on me!" No answer came, just the roaring of the wind and another flash of lightening. "CAPTAIN!" Carolyn looked about the dark room, frustrated, then looked up at the portrait of the seaman. His blue eyes now looked like they were mocking her. "Very well!" she said, frustrated beyond belief. "If this is your final word, we'll start packing right away!" As she started out of the room, she stumbled over something in the dark. "Urg!" she groaned. "You might at least have left a light on!"
As she left the room, a tear trickled down her cheek. So near… so darned close… She sighed to herself. This place felt so blasted RIGHT…Well, no one is going to boss me around, and no ghost is going to get the better of me… just wait until I talk to that Claymore Gregg!
XXX
END PART ONE