And Then There Was

by Tabitha12

By Amanda and Mary. Day On story. A new face comes to Schooner Bay, causing a surprising reaction from a highly unlikely source. However, the show must go on.

2. Chapter 2

And Then There Was…

Mary and Amanda

Disclaimers from Chapter One still apply

October, 1982 Gull Cottage, Maine

Tristan Matthews would be the first to admit that his relationship with his brother had always been somewhat… problematic. When his sister had married at sixteen, he'd hied off the family farm immediately thereafter, unable to contemplate being trapped there with only Sig for company. Their reunion nearly two years before had been — stormy. However, the two ghosts had reached a truce and become not just brothers, but friends. Though they still needled each other and Sig was hard on the younger man, Tristan was worried about the other Matthews. When the crew scattered for Sunday afternoon, Tris went in search of Siegfried, thinking to offer counsel or at least fraternal support. He was sure that Sig would be at the local riding stable. It was his favorite place in the world, after all. No one had seen him all day. He wasn't back at the doctor's house or visiting Adam and Jess. He tried focusing on his brother, but just got — the best word would be static, as if Siegfried was deliberately blocking anyone from finding him. Fine. He'd give up, for that day.

Early Monday, before Linden's clients began coming in, making his presence as office manager necessary, Siegfried was found at the stables.

"And just where were you yesterday afternoon? I came to help you with the horses. I couldn't find you anywhere," Tristan's tone of voice was somewhere between being annoyed and worried. Silence met his frustrated query. "Siegfried..."

Still, the older ghost was mute as he fiddled with the tack.

"Sig!"

"I'm not deaf, you know." Siegfried turned an irate glare onto his brother.

"Dash says it better," Tristan snapped. "I was worried. Don't bother giving me that look. I'm immune to glares, stares, and — nothing else rhymes. Sig, c'mon. What is up with you? Please."

Siegfried sighed. "Very well. You'll pester it out of me. Once upon a time, Bronwyn and I were in love, or I thought we were. In fact, I was all set to run off with her and join her father's acting troupe."

Tris nodded. "I remember you telling me you wanted to go on the stage, when you first came here. What...?"

"Remember, Tris? I told you this part. I had already packed and left and gone into town with Bronwyn, but then..."

"Dad..." Tristan breathed out. "The riding accident…"

"Indeed. My plans altered, and she... went out of my life without so much as a good-bye. She was running an errand for her father when I got the message at the theater about what had happened. I left her a note, and asked her to at least do that much, come see me to say farewell, but she never came. Never. Not only did I lose my father and my dreams, but I lost... her. Seeing her again, it… it has opened up a few old wounds."

Staggered by this revelation, it was now Tristan's turn to be silent, then, very quietly, he said, "Okay, look... here's my advice as someone very old and wise..."

"I'm STILL older than you are, Tristan," Siegfried reminded him. "Old and wise, indeed."

"But not very wise at the moment, and I have been a ghost longer."

"Well, then, speak your mind. If there is anything I have learned in the last two years is, you won't shut up as long as you think you have something to say." He sighed. "I'm too depr... tired to argue with you."

"How gracious of you. You know, if you'd try my trancing method, you would not be so tired, if tired is really the problem, that is. Sig, first let me ask you something. What is her side of the story?"

"Her side?" The older ghost was truly startled. "What HER side? I told you. I left Bronwyn a letter, I explained what happened and said please come say goodbye... I know she would have had time. The accident happened in the middle of the afternoon. There was still plenty of daylight left, and the troupe wasn't leaving until late that evening. No… She just couldn't be bothered. And she got married... I heard it from her own lips. Obviously she didn't care about me as much as I thought she did."

"Her getting married does NOT mean she does not — did not — whatever not, care about you. Trust me on that." For a second, his eyes blazed. "And a hundred things could have happened. Maybe your phrasing left something to be desired. Maybe she thinks you didn't care about her. Or, sometimes death makes people act strangely. She might not have known what to say to you about losing a parent. It could have scared her."

"My phrasing was perfectly clear," Sig growled. "And we talked. And she knows how I felt about her. Besides, if it were that, why has she been so… stand-offish since she came here?"

"To quote my Captain, she is eternally, inexorably, infernally, FEMALE. They speak a different dialect from us. Maybe she thinks you hate her, with good reason, it would appear. I don't know. Carolyn's complained about the mail service losing letters. Maybe your note got lost. If you didn't hand it to her, maybe she didn't get it until after they had gone? And coming back was impossible. We didn't have cars back then."

"Lost. Ineverthoughtaboutthatbefore." He sighed. "Still, she..."

"Sig, I… look, I'll be breaking a confidence if I say too much, but I know well that mis-communication can profoundly mess up one's life or afterlife. When I left that time… Look, I'm not saying go marry her. But, glaring and all at each other just puts all of us in the middle. The others really like her, but they love you as well. Moreover, you've lost a lot of years. Those can't be regained, and you can't change what happened, but like Blackie said in the sermon, Sunday, you can change what the past means to you. If Thom can get to the point of not glaring at me, you should be able to get there with Bronwyn."

"I have been making everyone feel awkward, haven't I?"

"Yes, and Bronwyn too, no doubt. Maybe she has some perfectly reasonable explanation and even if she doesn't… I know you two should talk. Nothing is getting accomplished like this."

"But, after the last few days... how would I start?"

"I think Molly is going to bring her to the rehearsal tomorrow. Kinda sneak her in and see if she has any opinions. I understand she helped Blackie and Miss Drew out immensely after church yesterday. And since he's tagged me to help work with the children closer to time…"

"Little wonder. You are so close in mentality. Sorry, reflex."

"Be that as it may, if I am working with the lady, it would be easier if loyalty to you does not obligate me to despise her."

"Youareundernoobligationto…"

"You know darn well that if you and she keep this… glaring up, nobody will feel comfortable. Look… you and I got our differences ironed out, at least, most of them, and that was after I avoided you for a hundred years and some. You really want to be put in that position again? Knowing she is… around, and not being able to at least be friendly? Or, if friendly is too much of an imposition, try for polite. Not polite as in "I'm not biting your head off," but… decent. Not radiating animosity."

"I'm really radiating that much?"

"Are you kidding? If Molly looks lavender-blue when she is unhappy, right now, when you are around Bronwyn, you look downright ochre."

"I will… consider it."

"Consider it STRONGLY, Sig. If you don't, it will just continue to eat you up and make you and everyone else miserable. Now..." Tris slapped his brother on the back. "...About the horses. What can I help you with?"

"That black horse is un-rideable. See if you can gentle it."

"I'll whisper in her ear. See what I can do. That one's a beauty."

"Whisper in its ear? It's not a girl, it's a horse — ride it."

"Ah — but like I was telling you, a calm voice, a soft tone can work wonders on man, beast, or a woman. Think about it, Sig." He saluted. "I think I'll go talk to that horse now."

"Please do."

Siegfried needed to think, and it was impossible to do with one's kid brother, particularly THAT kid brother, being so blasted… no, he was not right. That was impossible. But his wrong-ness was bloody uncomfortable.

XXX

After her meeting with Blackwood and Miss Drew, Bronwyn popped out to Gull Cottage. First, she mentioned The Other Wise Man project, asking if she could either borrow the typewriter and do her best to adapt it, or would Carolyn or Daniel consider helping write the play? Of course, they were happy to.

Then, gathering her nerve, the newcomer said, "I'm sorry that my being here is causing your family tension. I never imagined it would. I like you all, but…"

Carolyn looked at the newcomer with alarm. "But what? What tension? There's..."

"There has been," Bronwyn insisted. "You can't deny it."

Daniel listened, but did not comment, merely scratched the rim of his ear and maintained an interested expression. It seemed the safe thing to do.

Finally, Carolyn nodded. "I don't want to pry, but yes, it is apparent you and Siegfried have something of a past, and he's… upset about it. I can sympathize to some extent; old flames have turned up around here before... but... but... we are out of high school. I think we can be friends with both you and Sig. Though I wish there was some way you two could make a truce."

"That's hard to do when he won't speak two civil words to me," Bronwyn sniffed.

"You should have seen the row he and Tristan had when they reunited. This is going much better," Daniel commented at last. "Or at least a bit more quietly."

Bronwyn's eyebrows went up again.

"Siegfried and Tristan... they have just recently reunited? I wasn't aware they were separated for any length of time. Somehow I got the impression... I... I don't know exactly what I thought. I know he arrived later than Tris, you told me that the other night, but... They argue a good deal?"

Daniel chuckled. "Arguing is perhaps too strong a word, but they don't see eye to eye at all times. I might add that Tristan gets most upset when Siegfried uses the phrases "baby brother" or "little brother"."

"Oh." Bronwyn had the grace to look abashed, recalling how she had initially met Tristan, in this lifetime.

"Of course," Carolyn mused, "it's very understandable that they clashed, at first. They'd had over a century to build up the… flawed impressions they each had of how they parted. Each of them feeling, well, slighted and hurt over something that turned out to be only partly what either of them thought."

Daniel smiled to himself. He recognized this tactic of his lady's.

"Yes... I can see that could happen..." Bronwyn frowned. "How did they finally come to see each other's point of view?"

Daniel shook his head. "That's not for us to say. That's their story. One that both, or at least one of them, need to tell you, if it seems right."

"Correct," Carolyn nodded, taking her husband's hand. "But, speaking of not seeing eye to eye, and misunderstandings, I think Daniel and I can both tell you of a few things that happened the first two years we lived here — that is before we were able to declare our feelings to each other." She paused and looked up at her handsome husband. "You know the stories as well as I, Daniel. May I tell Bron one or two?"

"You don't need to ask, love," Daniel smiled. "I'm afraid some of our first disagreements are now legendary. Tales of monkey-puzzle trees and chart racks..."

"And sprinklers… twice! Sabotaging newspapers, PTA meetings, and political campaigns..."

"…Shoes and ships and cabbages and kings, more or less," Daniel finished. "And at least half of the arguments we had could have been avoided, if we had only talked to each other more, instead of assuming we knew what the other of us wanted, or needed..."

"...Or was thinking," Carolyn finished. "You were prepared to hand me over to Blair Thompson and Mark Helmore, as I recall."

"And you nearly walked out of here to make way for Vanessa," he countered.

"What about the time you…"

XXX

Bronwyn was fascinated by the Greggs' stories. "Goodness! You two certainly had to overcome more than the obvious obstacles to your romance. I'm not sure that's what I want with Siegfried, but I would like to get past the grudges, if possible. Civil. I would take civilly, at this point."

"I think it is possible, Bronwyn," Carolyn said gently. "You both have a lot of pride, and rightly so, for different reasons. Anyone can see that."

"But 'pride goeth before a fall'," Daniel added. "You can't let it ruin the rest of your life, or afterlife."

"But, I'm not sure where to start, at this point," Bronwyn faltered.

"Are you still planning on attending a rehearsal of the play tomorrow night with Molly and Sean?" Carolyn asked.

"Yes. They both seemed quite anxious about it. Said it wasn't going very well, and Mister Gregg doesn't seem to know what he wants, and..."

"Unless it's something to do with finance, that "Mister Gregg" seldom does know," Daniel commented gruffly. "And Siegfried will be at the rehearsal," Daniel went on. "He is playing William Blore, you know."

"And he played Pickering before," Bronwyn remarked softly. "Quite ably, from the few comments I have heard. I understand you both have trod the boards. It's a pity you won't be in this one."

Daniel looked pleased, but Carolyn rolled her eyes. "Daniel was an excellent Henry Higgins. I... prefer to forget my stints as Claymore's 'star'."

"They were most memorable, my dear," Daniel smiled. "However, I can hardly blame you for wishing to forget. Especially your first experience. You did not have much to work with, until 'someone' turned it into a comedy."

"You modestly say," she teased fondly. "I think Claymore has a good cast," she continued, turning back to their guest. "And right now we've got a lot on our plate. Writing, family obligations, helping our daughter as needed with Thom's recovery…"

"Perhaps another time," slipped out, then Bronwyn amended, "If I come back."

"You haven't even LEFT yet," Carolyn smiled. "Anything can happen."

"And around here, it usually does," Daniel added. "Are you staying for supper?"

"I'd like that," Bronwyn smiled.

XXX

When the O'Caseys and Bronwyn arrived at the theatre, everyone else was already there. Michael Post was helping paint scenery; Darlene was doing some sort of exaggerated breathing exercise. Abner and Norrie were chatting. Siegfried was near them, glancing impatiently at his grandfather's pocket watch at intervals, clearly bothered by the wasting time. Over in a corner of the stage, Tristan was cheerfully plunking away on the piano, encouraging Fontenot, who was leaning against the spinet, to sing along. The older ghost merely lifted his brows and contented himself to observe.

Finally, Claymore began trying to get everyone's attention. In a rather feeble voice, he called out, "People, let's get started. Excuse me, please. Let's get on with things. Er, someone? Can we get going?"

Hearing this, Fontenot slapped the piano and roared, "Time to get a move on, people! Places, NOW!"

Gratefully, Claymore muttered, "He's almost as good as the Captain."

A half-hour later, things were moving steadily from bad to worse. Everyone was getting frustrated, and as Bronwyn sat in the audience with Martha, Tristan and Abner, whose characters had already been 'killed off,' Martha murmured, "Why, oh, WHY did I ever let this man talk me in to doing another play?"

"You are a glutton for punishment?" Tris answered softly, just as Abner asked if anyone had any aspirin. Up on stage, Molly/Vera, Sean/Lombard, Norrie/Judge and Fontenot/Dr. Armstrong were standing, waiting for Claymore's next instructions. Darlene Hassenhammer was seated on the couch, trying to practice knitting, as Emily Brent's character demanded, and mangling the prop piece of knitting that Martha had started for her.

"Okay, Norrie… Judge," Claymore was saying, "Now, I want you to walk upstage, right, then turn around as you say, 'Against each other. We are all in grave danger…' and so on. Then, Vera, you are downstage center, for when you go into hysterics, Sean, I mean, Phillip, you are stage right by the fireplace... Jane/Emily, you are on the couch."

"I already am," Darlene pointed out with a sigh. "And I'm DARLENE, not Jane!"

"Well, you'll get to die there in a few minutes, then you can leave," Norrie drawled. "I have at least another ten pages before I can do that."

"Wait a minute, Claymore," Fontenot/Dr. Armstrong spoke up. "Claymore, if you do that, that puts the Judge on the opposite end of the room. There's no way he could stick the hypodermic into Miss Brent's shoulder."

"Oh..." Claymore sneezed. "Yeah... I guess that won't work... Vera, Molly, you go stage left..."

"But..." Molly said softly. "You are pointing stage right, Claymore."

Claymore sniffled, drew out a handkerchief and blew his nose, loudly. "Left, right, you know what I mean... go where I point. Judge, you move over here by the couch, so you can get Brent with the hypodermic..."

"But, Claymore," Norrie protested, "if I do it from here, the whole audience can see me. They can't know who did it yet. And even if they do, it has to be plausible, you know."

"Aye, more like within the realm of obvious," said Sean.

Then Fontenot asked, "Claymore, where did you want me?"

'Mister Director' sighed, frustrated, then sneezed again. "You are off stage, finding Rogers, who has already been killed with the axe."

"Claymore, Armstrong doesn't find Rogers, Blore finds Rogers, remember?" Fontenot pointed to his place in the script.

Claymore mopped his forehead, where he was sweating profusely, and stood up, weaving. "No that's... no... I guess that's right... sorry…"

"Blasted right, it's right," Sig called out, coming in from his place off stage, where he was supposed to be finding Rogers' body. "And I've been 'finding him' for ten minutes now. Clay, are you all right?"

Then Tris spoke up from his place in the audience where, for once, he had been sitting quietly. "No... He most assuredly does NOT look all right!"

Sean O'Casey stepped down from the stage and gave the lanky man a closer look. "Clay, are you ill? You're not having another... heart attack, are you?"

"No, I just feel awful," Claymore coughed. "I shouldn't have tried coming tonight. I guess I better sit down..." and he did so, heavily.

"You need to get home, NOW," Fontenot growled. "Before the whole cast gets exposed to… whatever it is you have."

"I CAN'T!" Claymore wailed. "We need to get something going here, or we're never going to be ready to go by show night. We still have the rest of the second act to block! We haven't done one complete run-through yet!"

"Excuse me..." Bronwyn, who had been sitting quietly, finally said, her voice slightly raised, "If I wouldn't be intruding..."

"NO!!!" eleven voices answered.

"You wouldn't be," Sean continued, a bit more quietly.

The ghost smiled. "Actually, Mister Gregg…"

"Claymore."

"Claymore, this scene is probably the most difficult one in the whole play to get right. So many people on stage, for a straight play, that is. So much is happening; it's easy to get confused. I remember the first time I directed it, I had all kinds of trouble... but if I may offer some advice..."

"Please…" Claymore whimpered.

"Really, this won't take long," she said, coming forward toward the stage. "If you trust me, maybe I could help out and offer a suggestion or two here and there. You could go home and get some rest, then I could show you tomorrow, maybe, when you are feeling better, what ideas I have, and what we were able to accomplish, and all this… traffic control will be done in no time."

"I think that sounds great," Claymore answered, relieved. He stood again, swaying slightly back and fourth, then sneezed. "Oh, my poor ears, my poor face..." He sat down again. "I feel horrible. Can somebody please take me home?"

"I will," Tris volunteered. "Well, since I'm already dead…" He paused as the sick man gave him a horrified look. "That is, my stage part is already set, I'll be your escort. Anyway, I can drive you, and come right back." He gave Bronwyn an aside wink to say just HOW fast he could get back.

"I only live five blocks away," Clay whimpered. "Are you sure you…?"

"I'll get you there," the young ghost said firmly.

"Okay," the landlord said quietly, without further argument, and leaned on the arm Tris offered him.

"Bronwyn, start without me. I'll be back in a few minutes," Tris continued, looking very much like he wished he could pop the older man home.

"Claymore must be feeling awful if he is willing to let Tris drive," Ed drawled, and the two men headed toward the door.

"I heard that, Ed!" Tris called, but didn't stop. "I still want to learn to drive your truck…"

"Not likely!" the handyman called back.

Bronwyn watched as Claymore and Tris made their way up the aisle of the theater, and out the double doors, then clapped her hands. "All right, everyone on stage, and bring your scripts and a pencil with you! I have a few changes here."

XXX

When Bronwyn finally called a halt, at ten, apologizing for the late hour, she was answered, not by groans, but by a round of applause from the cast. Together and organized, they had managed to block most of the second act. The only thing really left to do was the redone last scene of the play when the audience was finally let in on who-dun-it, and even that was fairly clear, and had been discussed, per Claymore's notes.

"Rehearsal tomorrow night? Same time?" Abner asked, as he reached for his coat. "You are coming back tomorrow, aren't you?"

"I certainly HOPE so!" Norrie cut in. "Please say you will, Miz Tegan… we still have my big scene to go and…"

"Oh, I'm sure Mister Gregg can handle that," Bronwyn demurred, a slight flush coming to her cheeks.

"I'm not!" Darlene Hassenhammer said, coming up behind Norrie. "Bronwyn, you entirely too modest. I don't know what we all would have done without your assistance, and if Claymore doesn't have you come back to help with the rest of this play, he's a fool. Thank-you, Michael," she added, as the younger man helped her put on her coat.

"You can take over entirely, as far as I am concerned," Michael added. "Personally, I think you might end up doing that anyway. Old Claymore sure didn't look good when he left! I think you've been drafted!"

"We'll see," Bronwyn answered, but she looked pleased at all the mortals' appreciative comments. Abner, Michael, Norrie and Darlene were soon out the door, but the rest of the clan lingered for a few moments more, then Martha and Ed Peavey said their good-byes and thank-you's, promising to arrive promptly the following evening.

"Good night, my dear," Fontenot added, lifting Bronwyn's hand to his lips and kissing the back of it. "I can't tell you how good it is to have you with us."

"It is nice to be here," she answered, glancing toward Siegfried, who had been remarkably cooperative the entire evening — taking direction well and not bristling at any instructions she had given to him or the rest of the cast.

"Tomorrow, then. Goodnight, all," he added, then vanished.

"Before I forget," Tris cut in. "Here…" He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. "Claymore said I should give these to you. Keys to the theater."

"Keys?" Bronwyn asked, a blank look coming to her face.

"You, Madam Director," Tris grinned, and popped them into her hand. "I'd say that makes you in charge."

"But, really, I…"

"I need to go now," he added. "I just remembered something I need to tell Dave before he goes to sleep. He hates it when I leave big notes… and I do have to say goodnight to the munchkin… goodnight, ladies!" So saying, he popped out.

"I think I'll be leaving in a minute also," Sean said. "I'd like to go check on Claymore before Molly and I go home. Darlin', why don't you and Bron lock up and I'll meet you outside Claymore's office?"

"All right, love," Molly smiled, and gave Sean a kiss on the cheek. Then Sean O'Casey dematerialized also.

Molly turned back to where Bronwyn was still standing, and Sig was surveying them both, quietly, from a slight distance.

"Bronwyn, I can't tell ye how grateful we all are — every one of us. You were wonderful tonight. I feel ever so much better about the show now! Your plan for the ending of the play is fantastic. It's not nearly so silly as the ending of the play they rewrote from the book in 1945! But it doesn't change the feeling of the story at all. I'm sure everyone will love it."

"I'm sure, too," Sig said softly. "My dear Bronwyn, you did a remarkable job tonight. You have an amazing talent. And I should tell you, having worked with Clay before, he doesn't hand over the keys to this place to just anyone."

There was an awkward, yet not uncomfortable silence, but finally Bronwyn spoke.

"Thank you, Siegfried." She looked around. "Well, I suppose we should lock up and get home…"

"Bronwyn?" Sig asked quietly.

"Yes?"

"Could… could you please stay a few more minutes or so? I… I need… I'd like to talk to you for a moment, if I may. Molly, I…"

"I… just remembered some place I need to be," Molly said in a rush. "Will ye two be all right closing the place if I go take care of it?"

"Certainly," Siegfried nodded.

"Yes," Bronwyn agreed.

On that note, Molly vanished.

"Well, I'm not sure that much needs to be done..." Bronwyn said. "You don't need to stay..."

"Bronwyn, could we please talk?" Sig cut in.

Uncertainly, the other ghost nodded. "I've hoped we would have a chance to speak… privately."

Despite initiating the conversation, it took a few moments for Sig to begin. He paced the theater restlessly.

Feeling just a little annoyed at his silence, Bronwyn asked, "Sig, I think I'm missing something. Why are you angry with me?"

He cleared his throat. "Because I felt rather abandoned when you left without saying goodbye, after that was the one thing I asked of you."

"Asked of me? When? I thought you were going to meet me at the theater… be there when I got back from the errand Father sent me on, but I never heard from you! Do you know how foolish I felt? How much that hurt?"

Whirling to face her, Siegfried exclaimed, "What do you mean? I left you a letter explaining why I could not join you!"

"I received NO letter! Left? With whom?" Bronwyn demanded.

"That uptight fellow... Zachary... Lee... no..."

"Leland?" Bronwyn asked, very quietly.

"Yes! Zachary Leland! I handed him the letter and asked him to give it to you immediately, it was very important... he didn't, then?" Siegfried paled as over a century's worth of anger and betrayal began to fizzle.

"What a blasted coincidence," the woman bit out. "Three years later, he and I were married. He never even mentioned seeing you before we left Yorkshire."

"BLAST the man!" Siegfried thundered. "Of all the gall!"

"What was in the note?" Bronwyn asked, cutting past the storm of anger.

"I explained that... my father had pursued me, to stop my leaving," Sig replied, speaking more slowly than she had ever heard him. "But, there was an accident, he was thrown from his horse, and I barely reached him in time to make peace and to promise to take care of the farm, and of Tristan and Isolde. They were orphans... I could not leave them... not to chase a dream."

"Did you… ask me to stay with you, to help you with them?" Bronwyn's voice held a repressed sob.

"No. I could not expect you to deal with two frightened, confused, hurting children, especially those two. Issy was something of a tomboy, and Tristan… has always been Tristan. I just wanted a chance to see you once more, to say good-bye. I would not ask you to give up your dreams."

"Silly man, you were my dream," Bronwyn chided. "I would have liked to have had the choice of staying or going, and I would have stayed. Love is for the bad times… not just the good. I should have seen why you were delayed, not just believed the worst."

"I should never have trusted that shifty-eyed — er—"

"He wasn't that bad," Bronwyn sniffed. "He wasn't you. But, our five years were not terrible. They were — pleasant enough. Then, there was an accident with the sets one night. A platform gave way, and I was a widow."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to kill him for betraying me in that way!" she snapped, then paused. "Sig, is that a — tear?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, turning away. "Just — a few too many memories, stress..."

Crossing the room, to where Sig was now standing, she placed a hand on his arm. "It is okay if it is. I find it takes a strong man to shed a tear, and you certainly do have cause."

For a time, they were silent as old grief was finally vented, then Bronwyn smiled. "Better? So, would you perhaps like to kiss and make up, old friend?"

"Not that old," he snorted. "But, yes." With a tiny smile, he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"That is a start," she nodded, returning the gesture.

Siegfried looked rueful. "Bronwyn, the other night, I should not have said what I did about you not wanting children... Over the last hundred years or so, I've spent considerable time wondering what went wrong, and one of the theories I imagined was that perhaps instant motherhood, since you would be the closest thing the twins had to one, was what frightened you off. Forgive me? Please."

"Of course. Perhaps it would have been daunting, then. I can't for certain know. It's past. Walk me home?"

"I believe that was our first 'date'," Siegfried mused, extending his arm.

"To new beginnings, then."

XXX

Martha came into the kitchen of Gull Cottage the next morning, ready to begin her day's work and eager to tell her friends/employers about the rehearsal. Despite the early hour, Carolyn Gregg was already on the phone. The housekeeper waited quietly for the lady of the house to finish.

"Yes, Claymore, I'll tell them. Yes, yes. Just get to feeling better. Yes. Good-bye." Hanging up, Carolyn, a little unnecessarily said, "That was Claymore."

Her husband entered, conventionally, as he had just returned from giving the animals a run on the beach. Dakota's kittens were growing up to think they were pups, except for the standoffish TJ. "What did that weasley whelk want?"

"Since Molly and Sean don't have a phone, he wanted one of us to tell them, and Bronwyn, that he is deathly ill and can't continue directing the play. Tristan is supposed to drive him to Lynne's as soon as she opens for business today."

Daniel shook his head. "I take it back. He's not a whelk; he's a crab, always backing up. I'll not trouble Sean with this, I'll go roust Claymore out of bed and he'll be fit in a snap."

"Hold the phone there, Captain," Martha said, lifting her hand. "Claymore being down for the count would be the best thing that could happen to this play. He's a miserable director."

"Nonetheless, the man is a Gregg, in name if nothing else, and he gave his word. A Gregg's word is binding and I won't have him sullying it by—"

"He'll sully it more if he keeps on, and someone will kill him, and then you'll have to deal with a spook worse than Elroy," Martha maintained. "Besides, he really is sick. A horse that sounded as bad as he did last night would be shot."

"At least let's see what Lynne says. You trust her word," Carolyn suggested.

"Without question," the Captain agreed. "But, how will the play continue without any director at all? I realize he's not much, but is not something better than nothing?"

"Let me get breakfast on the table, and I'll tell you all about it."

After Martha had told her tale, Carolyn asked, "Did Sig handle HER being in charge all right?"

"Remarkably well," Martha nodded. "I wonder what turned him around?"

"I think Tristan was going to give him a talking to, but I find it hard to believe that a few words from his younger brother would do so much," Daniel pondered, reflexively tugging his ear.

"Well, I do admit to praying that they'd make a truce," Carolyn blushed.

"That explains it then," Daniel declared, coming over to kiss her cheek.

XXX

A couple of hours later, the phone rang again, just as Tristan popped in. Martha answered it this time.

"Martha, Lynne here. Claymore begged me to call and vouch for him. He thinks his uncle will be upset because he is confined to bed for at least a week, pending my judgement, two weeks, and will therefore have to shirk his duty in an un-Gregglike fashion. I promised to calm the Captain down. I'm also asking him and all the other ghosts to see that Clay is taken care of. We have a baby in the family and Thom's immune system can't be compromised now, so I need people who can't be infected to give him a hand."

"I'll pass on the word. What does he have?" Martha asked.

"Walking pneumonia and bronchitis. I'd put him in the hospital if there weren't ghosts in the family. You and Ed did get all your shots this year, right?"

"Having a doctor in the family does help one keep up with that," Martha returned dryly.

"Okay, then. I think the fever just started overnight, from what he said about waking up feeling hot. Anyway, I've passed on the message. I have patients, and a remarkably cheery assistant today. Whatever fixed his sour mood, I'm happy."

Martha hung up and turned to give her employers the news and Carolyn gave Daniel a look.

In response, he sighed. "Very well. He is not faking or shirking. I misjudged him." He paused. "This time."

"I think I'll go make a pot of soup," Martha announced, then glanced at the Captain. "If you really feel bad about it, I'll let you take it to him when the cooking's done."

The ghost looked to the ceiling in a "what did I do to deserve this?" gesture, but nodded.

XXX

Early that afternoon, thanks to some heavy medication, Claymore was drowsing when the Captain popped into his office/living quarters. Thanks to Sig's frequent visits, it was a bit more habitable than it once was, but even a ghost can only do so much.

With a wry smile to himself, Daniel cleared his throat, hoping to wake his 'nephew' easily.

Startled, Claymore roused. Upon seeing the ghost, he started to make one of his usual unintelligible screeching squawks, but broke off into a cough. "Am I dead? Dying? And you've come to take me — there?" he got out when the fit passed.

Shaking his head, the Captain set the soup down on a clear space on a table. "No, Claymore. You are not dead, dying, or even close. I have brought you some soup from Martha."

"I must be dying. You're being nice."

"I am always… nice," Daniel snapped.

"No, no. I'm dying... I've accepted it. I just hope..." Claymore paused to cough again.

"You are not dying," Daniel growled, then added, "but what is it you hope?"

"If I come back, it's like… well… you."

The spirit's brows lifted. "Handsome and happy?" he chuckled. "Death is not a miracle drug, Claymore. And for the last time, you are not dying. I refuse to allow it. Now, I'm going to fix you a bowl of this soup, and you are going to eat it and get well, forthwith."

Feeling he had little choice, Claymore gulped, "Aye-aye, sir."

Once Daniel had the meal situated and the little man had begun eating it, the ghost proceeded to tell him that according to Martha, Bronwyn had managed things well at the rehearsal.

"I knew she would," Claymore sighed, now looking depressed, as well as ill. "Bronwyn's a pro... she can take over directing for me and do a marvelous job. She has a hundred years more experience than I do."

"Are you blaming her for that?" Daniel's eyebrows went up.

"No, I'm grateful," the landlord said, humbly, and, reaching for a handkerchief, blew his nose again and coughed. "Captain, you will give my apologies to her? I didn't want this to happen, but..."

"...But it did." The Captain finished. "But right now, you need to get well, Claymore."

"You mean you aren't mad at me? And you'll talk to Bronwyn... Miss Tegan?"

"No..." the seaman rubbed the space between his eyebrows. "I'm not… and yes, we will talk to her. Though personally, I think she knows after last night, that the idea of her taking over command from you, as it were, is entirely feasible. Now then... is there anything else you need for right now? I'll be sending someone by in a few hours to check up on you."

"Just new ears... a new face... a new nose... mine hurt something terrible," Claymore wheezed.

The ghost smiled. "I can't provide any of those things for you, Claymore, only the assurance that you aren't ready to shuffle off your mortal coil yet, as the saying goes. But I will talk to Bronwyn. I believe Carolyn mentioned that the O'Casey's and Bronwyn would be coming over this morning. They might even be at Gull Cottage now, actually."

"Then can you go talk to her?" Clay whimpered. "I want to suffer in silence for a while."

"You have improved, my dear fellow!" Daniel grinned. "Time was you would have wanted to be fed like a potentate and babied like a child."

"That comes once I am on the road to recovery," Claymore sniffled again. "Just do me a favor, please. Have someone, I don't care who, check up on me once in a while and make sure I haven't died, okay?"

"Perish the thought!" Daniel shuddered, and popped out.

The Captain reappeared in Gull Cottage, where he found Martha and his wife speculating on what had turned Sig's bad mood back to normal. Of course, they had an idea or two that tended to be rather romantic and… sweet.

Female. Eternally female. But, I wouldn't have her any other way.

Somehow sensing that Daniel had returned, Carolyn turned, her face lighting up when she saw him. "You're back. How's the patient?"

"He is — Claymore. Convinced he's dying and simply hopes to come back as wonderful as I. Of course, that is impossible," the Captain snorted. "However, I do think he will live to whine another day. He is showing some good sense and is ready, willing, and in fact, has handed the reins of the play over to Bronwyn and would we please keep a check on him to make sure he hasn't died and tell her she is in charge now? I promised to do both."

"Praise be!" Martha exclaimed. "Captain, you have just improved my day at least fifty-percent."

"Always happy to be of service, Martha," he chuckled. "I'm glad Claymore is willing also, but Bronwyn hasn't said she will take on the mantle of leadership yet."

"Heavens!" the housekeeper gasped. "I hadn't thought of that... but she was so in her element last night! Do you think she will refuse it? I know she has been sparring with Siegfried, but last night... I don't know. Like I was saying, they did seem a bit more friendly."

"Friendly as in not glaring at each other?"

"Yes, and no veiled comments, either."

Daniel cocked one brow, but did not remark or speculate. "It should be simple enough to ask her if she will accommodate this situation. My dear, would you like me to pop over, for us both to walk to Sean's, or I can summon them?"

"Oh, lets take a walk over there," Carolyn said, putting down her coffee cup. "It will do us good. Besides, we are about to ask Bronwyn a whopper of a favor. I think we should go to her."

"Excellent point," her husband nodded. An edgier note came into his voice as he added, "What do you think she will say?"

Carolyn considered. "Well, I wouldn't do it if I were she, but I'm not really into the theater, darling. If it's something that's natural to her, then she probably will. I know I'd rather write a book than see Claymore… er… anyone… mangle a subject I care about."

"Excellent point, dear lady!" Daniel smiled. "Writing... You must have found it difficult at times to sit on your hands and let Candy and Jonathan write their own school assignments over the years."

Carolyn smiled back at him and reached for a sweater, conveniently hung over the back of her chair.

"Aye, my dear! At times, yes... going all the way back to Jonathan's Adams/Franklin incident."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Let's not get into that one." He took his wife's arm. "Lets go see what she has to say. We won't know until we ask."

"If she says no," Carolyn sighed. "I don't know what Plan B is."

"Nor do I," Daniel shrugged. "I don't think hiring a director from the outside is an option, but we may not have a choice."

Martha planted her hands on her hips and, in a tone that brooked no dissension said, "As our friendly doctor says, let's jump off that bridge when we come to it, not before. We'll worry about plan B if she says no, not before."

Suddenly the Ghost of Gull Cottage was at the housekeeper's side, and had placed a kiss on the older woman's cheek, causing her to blush like a rose.

"What was that for?" There was almost a giggle in her voice.

"For being a voice of logic when we need it most, my dear lady!" Daniel said, popping back to his wife. "Thank you!" Then to his love he added, "Lets get going, my dear, or the 'vibes' I am sending out will most assuredly draw the O'Casey's and Bronwyn here."

XXX

"Come in, come in," Sean beamed, opening the door for his friends. "I don't suppose you've heard how Claymore is doing? He looked fairly rocky last night. I'd have popped over by now, but in case he was sleeping, I didna want to wake him. Your aunt always insisted sleep was the best cure for most minor ills."

"That she did," Daniel smiled fondly.

"Actually, Claymore is partly why we're here," Carolyn added, spotting Molly and Bronwyn coming into the front room.

"How is he?" Molly echoed her husband.

Briefly, Carolyn recounted Lynne and Daniel's reports.

"Oh, dear," Bronwyn frowned. "You still need a director, but I don't think he should continue."

"I've been saying that since before this," slipped out from Sean.

"Sean!" Molly chided.

"Darlin', 'tis the truth," he maintained. "Bronwyn, I know it's asking a lot, but perhaps you'd consider taking over for him? Last night was the best rehearsal we've had."

"Please?" Molly chimed in.

"Martha said the same thing," Carolyn said.

"And, all the cast did want you to come back tonight," Sean put in with his most charming grin. "Even Fontenot, and he's not free with compliments unless they are truly deserved."

The actress shook her head. "Implying something when it is in the 'might' stage, and going through when it becomes real are two different things. Their feelings could be different at the prospect of a stranger actually taking over."

"No one had a problem with me taking the part of Eliza Doolittle right after I arrived here," Molly pointed out.

"Well, THAT'S true…" Bronwyn frowned. "I remember you telling me…"

"If they all agree, will you do it?" Carolyn asked.

"I'll speak to Tristan," Daniel added. "I know he is loyal to his brother, but he is reasonable. Now, I am not Siegfried's superior officer, however, I believe he will see the wisdom..."

Bronwyn held up one hand. With a slight smile, she corrected him. "Captain, you don't need to. Sig and I have put aside our differences."

The two couples reflexively exchanged glances.

"So, if the cast does still want me, I will stay and help out," Bronwyn concluded.

XXX

The rest of the cast was waiting for Bronwyn when she and the O'Caseys arrived at the theater Wednesday evening. She was greeted with unbridled enthusiasm, answering the question immediately as to whether her promotion to director was a permanent one. As they made their way inside, everyone expressed their regrets at Claymore's illness, but also their belief that what happened was for the best in this case, and all said they would do anything possible to make the show a success.

"Probably won't be as big a success as Lady," Abner said, "But straight plays never are, from what I have seen."

"No reason for us not to TRY and make it as good," Norrie pointed out. "Now I'm actually looking FORWARD to it!"

"Will you be ready to look at the sets before too long, Bron?" Michael Post asked. "Claymore has been putting it off, and what I have done so far doesn't look quite right. I'm getting a little nervous about what they are going to cost, too, and we still need to go to Keystone and find the plaster of Paris Indians..."

"I wanted to ask you a bit more about my portrayal of Emily Brent," Darlene fussed. "Claymore, he..."

"One at a time," Bronwyn laughed. "We need one more night to finish blocking the second act. Then we can start working on more of the details."

"Not to say I told you so, but I DID tell you so..." Tris grinned. "You ARE the boss now!"

XXX

By the time rehearsal broke up that night, the second act was blocked, barring unforeseen technical changes which would be determined as the cast started full run-throughs on Friday, the day after Lynne's birthday party.

"Full schedule after that, people," Bron continued, looking at her notes. "Rehearsal Friday, rehearsal Saturday. By then, absolutely no holding scripts! Sunday, no rehearsal, but if you want to ask me anything, I'll be at the church for services. Rehearsal Monday, then dress rehearsals Tuesday and Wednesday, with all props, including the gun, and Thursday, full dress, no stopping for anything. Friday and Saturday, the show, and…" Bronwyn stopped for a moment and peered at a bedraggled note pad she had found at the theater, filled with Claymore's almost undecipherable handwriting: 'Find out F's name for programs.'

"Fontenot?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Claymore's notes… I see he doesn't have your first name. You know, for the theater programs."

The ghost sighed. "That blasted man has been pestering me about this for a month now!"

"Well, it's a legitimate question…"

"My name is Fontenot, JUST Fontenot."

"I'm with Claymore on this one. We can't print only that in the programs. What is your FIRST name?"

"I just told you."

"Fine, then. Your name is Justin Fontenot," she said, making another note on the pad.

The old ghost grinned, and the rest of the cast let out a shout of laughter. When the noise died down, Bron asked, "Anyone have any more questions?"

"Just one…" Ed drawled.

"And that would be?" the spirit queried.

"Why in blazes didn't you show up weeks ago?"

Everyone laughed again, and they called it quits for the night.

XXX

At six the next evening, the entire crew descended on the Avery household for Dr. Lynne's birthday party. She would have attempted to dissuade the 'planning committee,' but it clearly meant a lot to Thom to have this event for her, so she gave in with grace.

Fontenot was the last to arrive.

"We thought you'd be late," Siegfried chided.

"Sir, I am always on time," the senior spirit informed him. "If I'm late, I'm dead."

"You ARE dead!" Thom blurted out.

"That's beside the point," Fontenot insisted. Then, turning to Lynne, he bowed slightly. "Many happy returns of the day."

With a tiny grin, she thanked him. "Nice outfit, by the way," Lynne added, glancing appreciatively over the black pirate's blouse and matching pants he was wearing that looked simply stunning.

"I second that," Carolyn added.

"Third it," Candy and Jenny said in unison. The other ladies also clearly were enjoying the sight.

Dash, the Captain, Dave, Thom, and all the other men exchanged chagrined looks.

Seeing this, Mrs. Gregg took her husband's arm. "We all have working eyes, darling." She kissed his cheek. "Something you guys should be glad of; since none of you are exactly hard to look at. I wouldn't mind seeing YOU in an outfit like that."

Appeased, he nodded. "I will consider it."

Between Candy, Martha, Molly, Jenny, and Jess, there was quite a spread laid out. The music lovers in the family had contributed cassettes as background music, and there were, of course presents. These were kept hidden until Carolyn gave the signal for the ghosts to pop them into the room.

Seeing the bright boxes suddenly appear, the doctor gaped in astonishment. "What is this?"

"Just an educated guess, but I think they might be birthday presents," the Captain suggested.

Flushing, she attempted to protest. "You've all done too much. Everyone's going overboard. You all, Jeff…"

"What'd Doc Gideon give you?" Thom asked.

"Coffee and a card," his mother said matter-of-factly. "And he was in trouble with Lori because he totally forgot until this morning. But, he already gave me the best gift." She looked directly at Thom. "Patching you up after that horrible wreck. Yes, Blackie, don't say it — it was God who did it; I think Jeff would say that's exactly what I said when I gave him credit, sometimes, but Jeff did do the manual labor part. I'm grateful."

"Indulge us. We like doing things for people we care about," Carolyn smiled.

"Yeah, Sis. When Adam and I argued, I think that was one of the points you guys used to make us accept our home," Jess pointed out.

"And none of it's more than trifles. You aren't easy to buy for, my darling aunt," Blackie grinned.

"See, it is not just ghosts who are hard to buy for," Daniel murmured with a sidelong glance at his wife.

"Lynne, we love you, and only did what we wanted to, so be quiet," Martha said, "and open your presents."

Fumbling, she worked her way through the bright pile of packages. Most of them were only small gifts; lotion, dust catchers, a sketch from Jenny, tapes of the musically inclined crew members. Of course, Dash had to outdo them all with a locket containing a photo of Thom on one side and Blackie, her favorite of her oldest sister's kids on the other. An opal was embedded in the center of the heart, since it was her birth-stone.

When the gathering began to break up, the nobleman pulled Linden aside on her way to the spare room where the coats and jackets had been dumped.

"Doctor, there is one more gift," he said uncertainly.

"You already—"

Her protest was cut off with a kiss. "It wasn't a gift for you, my dear. But for me. Even if I'm not as snazzy a dresser as some of us."

Before she could think of a comeback, the ghost vanished.

XXX

Gull Cottage became something of a home port, (as if it wasn't enough already) in the days that followed Lynne's birthday party that led up to the play on October 29th. Since neither Carolyn nor Daniel were performers, but almost everyone they were closely associated with was, it seemed like there wasn't a day that some ghost, or human, didn't pop by with an anecdote to tell, or a favor to ask.

From listening to Sean, Molly, Martha, Ed, Fontenot, Sig, and Tris recite their lines over and over, Daniel wondered, in private of course, whether they actually NEEDED to attend the play. It seemed as if they'd heard it already. Tristan was particularly nervous, although he did wonder why he should be. All he had to do was sing, (the song was not hard, and he loved music) and die, at which he was an expert.

"I really can't offer you too much advice, Tris," Carolyn said as she poured the ghost a cup of coffee, which he obviously didn't need, he was so antsy, the morning of Thursday the 28th, the day of the cast's full dress rehearsal. "I've only set foot on the stage twice since high school, and honestly, the only reason I did Claymore's first play was because Daniel, forbade me to, and the second time, playing Elvira, was to win that New Year's bet we made. I'm really no expert." She frowned. "You are happy with Bronwyn as the director, aren't you? No problems? She and Siegfried aren't back to arguing, are they?"

The ghost took a swig of coffee and shook his head. "Well, she is much better than Claymore, and she has not called me Sig's baby brother, little brother, or any other possible variant of the phrase. And she and Sig are getting along just fine. He's even talking under the speed limit."

"You MUST be kidding me!" Carolyn grinned. "I don't believe it! What does Bronwyn use to direct? Whips and chains?"

"Not that I've seen," Tristan said very slowly, enunciating every word. "If he starts to speed up, she just gives him a… look. The kind I thought Martha had a patent on, but softer."

"Tris..." Carolyn asked, timidly. "Do you see... is there... could they be...?" She sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't be asking this."

"Maybe..." Tristan hesitated. "There is some history there... and I'm not sure of anything but... that... could potentially slow down Sig." He frowned. "It could be a defensive measure. I'm sure that since Lynne and Dashire are "not dating" a bit more openly, don't take this wrong, but your mother might start matchmaking for my brother on her visits... Something that would completely mess up his mind. More so."

"Daniel teases me about being a matchmaker," Carolyn smiled. "Though really, I haven't much. I tried years ago with Claymore and an old friend of mine from college, then tried again to make Clay just feel better about himself a year later. That had a boomerang effect. He got the crazy notion he was in love with me instead… or maybe I was in love with him! By the time Daniel and I convinced him why it wouldn't be to his advantage to date me, I had pretty well given up the idea of matchmaking anyone. But my mother is another story, Incurable romantic. I'm still amazed she didn't try it more with me — even from Philadelphia! She loves matchmaking. It's a nervous habit. Sig's merely next on her list."

"Unless... he's found someone on his own," Tristan mused. "Which would leave Blackie, Fontenot, and me in her sights." He shuddered. "Of course, 'Justin' would be problematic enough to keep her occupied for sometime."

"Tristan Q Matthews!" A gleam came to Carolyn's eye. "Are you trying to tell me something, or NOT tell me something?" Then she did a double take. "Wait a minute! WHO is Justin? There's no one named Justin in the cast… I'm not even sure there is a Justin in Schooner Bay!"

Thrilled to get off the subject of romance, at least a little, Tristan recounted the incident in which Fontenot received his 'name' with glee, even mimicking the formidable ghost's Highland burr to a 'T.'

"You are making me wish I had a part in the play after all!" Carolyn chuckled. "I would have loved to have seen Fontenot's face when she pulled that line on him! What was his answer?"

"Nothing..." Tris laughed. "He just gave her a look that would have made Elroy think about disappearing."

"Most anything does that, Tris! And Bronwyn?"

"Didn't even see it. She had her head in her notes as soon as she said it and missed his whole unspoken retort."

"And Fontenot didn't offer a real first name after that?"

"Nope. You know it does make me wonder if there is a way to find out what his name really is, though."

"Might be best not knowing," said Carolyn. "You know, like some of the one-name characters on TV."

"Like Colombo," Tris nodded. "Or Spock."

"Exactly."

"It's probably something awful like Aggravaine, or Horace. Well, now he is Justin. There's witnesses."

"Think he'll adopt it permanently?" Carolyn giggled.

"He'd have to admit he liked it, in that case."

"Fontenot doesn't admit to anything, too often," Carolyn smiled. "Only that he seems to like the crew here. So… any other funny stories before you get back to work?"

"Nothing funny," Tris answered, scratching his nose. "We did have a big problem with the sets yesterday."

"Problem? What kind of problem?"

"One of the flats fell down... a prop was weak, and it just fell over — boom, landed on a piece of furniture, and punched a hole clean through it. We now have half a living room wall."

"Oh, no! Will it be fixed in time?"

"Nope. Even with ghost power, it could be iffy, and since Michael Post is doing sets, along with Kyle Gorden, Jonathan's old friend. Since he's also doing lights and sound, we can't pull, as Claymore calls it a 'ghostie' to get it fixed, or make a new one in a hurry. You know, though he had nothing to do with it, I'd watch the walls when Fontenot is around. First Adam and Jess's wall, and now this one? He was near both times, you know."

"Claymore. That reminds me, I promised to bring him some soup this afternoon. You don't seem too upset about half a living room biting the dust. Was Bronwyn?"

"Not at all. She said, while no humans not in the know about ghosts were within earshot, of course, that after a hundred years, nothing is new. And that included sets that fall apart, actors that get sick, temperamental or stuck up, and she said she thought the set looked a little overpowering anyway, but didn't want to say anything, as Claymore had made those decisions before she arrived."

"So what are you going to do?"

"She's decided to use strategically placed curtains for the walls with entrances and exits. We do have all those on ceiling tracks, and they are black, you know. Not sure why it works, but you hang a few pictures on them... kinda representational like, and it looks like a real living room. Then we'll still have the mantle above the fireplace where the little Indians are that keep getting broken as the number of murders increase, and the rest of the furniture, including the piano. Bron's changed the lighting and from the front, it looks pretty good. Kinda film Noir-ish. Like watching a black and white movie. Having just the curtains, instead of the flats makes the stage a bit bigger, too. Nice for the humans during the scene when the lights go off and Norrie gets 'killed.' They can't see in the dark as well as ghosts can."

"So, are you guys all ready for the full-dress tonight? Who did you get for your test audience?"

"Senior citizens from the retirement home in Pripet," Tris answered. "That was Sig's idea. The manager there is very excited about the whole thing. He has a bus all ready to get them there and back again, and even said he would make a pit stop and pick up whatever people from the Seaman's Home might want to come, and drop them off after."

"Marvelous," Carolyn said. "Speaking of Sig, is everyone ready for the 'play before the play' tomorrow night?"

"I have my part memorized," Tris said, rubbing his hands together. "As long as Bron can keep him busy, I think we're all set. I can't wait to see the look on his face!"

"Great," said Carolyn, also rising. "You about ready to fly? I need to take that soup to Claymore, and will probably stay and chat for a few minutes."

"I could take it, Mrs. Captain, if you're too busy."

Carolyn shook her head. "No thanks. I really do want to see how he is doing for myself. You know, make sure in my own mind that he is well enough to venture out to see the show opening night. He really has been ill."

"Gotcha," the ghost nodded again.

"Tris?"

"Yes?"

"Come by tonight after the rehearsal? I'd love to get one more report, and I know Daniel would. He's going to be busy until late, visiting with Thom."

"Aye-Aye!"

Tris saluted, kissed the Lady of Gull Cottage on the cheek, and faded out.

"Still wish I could do that," Carolyn smiled after him, then headed for the master cabin to change before her trip into town.

October 29

To soothe Siegfried's pre-performance nerves, Bronwyn decided the best way would be to keep him busy, and asked if she could see the famous stables. Around four, an hour before they were supposed to pop to the theater, Daniel joined the pair as they were stabling their horses.

"Ah, Captain, planning on a ride? It's a bit late," Siegfried beamed.

"Glad I found you two," Captain Gregg said. "Sig, Bronwyn, there's some emergency at the theater, you're needed there immediately."

"Emergency? Whatsortofemergency?" Siegfried blurted, reverting to his normal speech in the sudden panic that flashed through his soul.

"I couldn't say. Tristan was babbling so fast, I couldn't make heads or tails," the seaman shook his head. "Ah… no. Don't pop. At least not directly. There are mortals about. You'll want to appear at least a block away, and walk from there."

"I can't believe this. We don't have time to fix anything, not at this late hour," Siegfried began to say.

"Then, let's not waste time!" Bronwyn interjected.

XXX

Five minutes later, the three ghosts walked up to the former cod liver oil factory. Bronwyn fumbled with her key, and then they were inside the pitch-black room.

"SURPRISE!" a chorus of voices greeted them.

"Wh-what?" Siegfried gasped as lights came on to reveal the entire cast, crew, and his family.

"It's your birthday, OLDER brother," Tristan grinned. "We sorta forgot last year, thanks to the couch-crazy lady, no offense, Mrs. Miles..."

"None taken."

"So, this year, we had to do it up right."

"I can't believe it," the older ghost stammered. "This — is incredible. Simply being here, having my lifelong dream…" his eyes turned to Bronwyn. He paused, then went on, "…Acting in a great play, is a fine present, in and of itself."

"Don't be silly, Rob," she blushed. "Planning this was a delight for us all."

"Rob?" several voices asked in concert.

"Who's Rob?" Darlene Hassenhammer piped up.

"Er — it's mine. My middle name," Siegfried admitted. "I believe Tristan has mentioned our father had a penchant for mythology, legends, and so forth. My full name is Siegfried Robin Matthews. As in Robin Hood. Bronwyn always called me Rob."

"Siegfried is a lot to say," she said with great dignity.

"'Sig' isn't so long..." Tristan pointed out, mildly, and Bronwyn blushed again.

"You don't have to explain it doesn't mean Robert, or any other name that starts out that way," Siegfried retorted, but there was a big smile on his face. "You got to pick your own middle name, remember? You never have said what it is, brother..."

"I think 'Rob' is kinda cute," Candy said, quietly.

"I like it, too," Jenny added.

"Cute?" Dash asked, under his breath to Lynne, who was standing next to him. "Never thought of Sig as 'cute'."

"I'm NOT cute!" the older ghost protested, but the look Bronwyn gave him indicated otherwise.

"Right," Daniel added. "Like I'm not 'sweet'."

"This debate could go on for a bit..." Carolyn smiled. "But you guys have a show to put on tonight. We need to get this celebration underway before curtain time!"

The next hour went entirely too fast for everyone's taste. Most of the gifts Siegfried Matthews received were of the functional type — gift certificates to the local Schooner Bay stores, and the like. He was particularly charmed with Carolyn and Daniel's gift; a first edition of Anna Sewell's Black Beauty, bound in leather.

With only a little hesitancy, Bronwyn handed him a small box wrapped in blue. Opening it, he found a gold watch fob, engraved with the theater's trademark comedy/tragedy masks. When he expressed his delight, she looked almost embarrassed, as well as quite pleased.

"I meant to give it to you a long time ago," she said softly. "But, as you know, things got a little… tangled up in that area. I kept it, thinking maybe… well, we can talk more about that later, when we have more time." She flushed slightly. "So really, this isn't a birthday gift yet. I'm still thinking that over, but your day isn't officially over until midnight. I might manage something else — you never know."

"What I have received from you… from all of you tonight is already perfect," Sig said softly. "Just perfect."

Lastly, Tristan held out a giant, silver-wrapped box with a huge bow. Knowing his brother, Siegfried opened it gingerly, but nothing exploded, buzzed, or shot out at him. Inside, there was a second box, wrapped in Christmas paper. Inside that was one more box.

"How many boxes are there? We are time limited," Daniel remarked to his grinning crewman.

Tristan shrugged.

Finally, the fourth box was revealed — a shirt box in the same paper as the initial box. Looking half amused, half annoyed, Siegfried pulled out a T-shirt.

Lynne glanced at the younger Matthews. "Sig does not look like a 'T' kinda guy," she muttered.

"I think I can make an exception," Sig announced in a choked tone as he turned to so that all could read the print that took up the entire front of the garment.

Friend Shall I Be, Call Me No Other. This Vow I Make, Brother to Brother.

"From Knights of the Round Table. It played at the movies here last month," Martha noted. "I guess I'll have to quit griping that they only show movies that are sort of — old."

"Sometimes "older" is just right," Carolyn remarked, sliding a look to her very "oldest" friends.

"Couldn't have said it better," the doctor agreed softly.

Ice cream and cake followed the opening of the presents, and then, finally, Bronwyn looked at the clock on the wall.

"I hate to break this up, people, but we have a show to put on — I'm going to have to ask everyone not acting, or directly involved to take a seat in the audience. Curtain won't be for an hour, but we still have lights to check, and..."

"Say no more," Daniel nodded. "Most of us are aware of what it takes to get ready for a successful show... Right, Claymore?" He gave a look to his supposed great-nephew, who had been remarkably quiet, considering that the show had started out under his direction. The landlord hadn't called anyone honey, baby, or sweetie, since his arrival.

"Uh-huh," the little man nodded. He still looked sort of under the weather, though with the dedicated nursing he had been given for the last several days, combined with strong medicine had restored his health.

Daniel lifted one brow. He had expected a longer reply. Carolyn followed with a brow lift of her own, mirroring her husband.

"Claymore, are you all right?"

"Me?" He let out a small sigh. "I'm okay, I guess. Maybe still a little wobbly." He paused a moment. "Would it be okay if I come out and sit with you guys?" He glanced over to Lynne, Dashire and the other non-performers who were making their way to the door.

"Us?" Carolyn looked puzzled. "Aren't you staying back here to get the show on?"

Claymore shook his head. "Nah. Too many directors spoil the play — and I handed everything over to Bronwyn, anyway. Nobody needs me back here."

Thanks to ultra-sensitive spectral hearing, Bronwyn caught his woeful remark. Pausing, she stepped over to the Greggs. "But, Claymore, without your planning and kicking things off, there would have been no show at all. Of course, if you are still feeling not quite yourself, I do understand. The seats out in the audience are like as not more comfortable than the extra chair I'd set aside for you, backstage with me."

"You... you set aside a special chair in the wings, just for me?" He looked like he was about to cry.

"Of course, Claymore. I was counting on you watching the play from there, and sitting with me."

"You're sure I won't be in the way?"

"Of course not."

"Well, if you're sure I won't be a bother..."

"Claymore..." Tentatively, the woman put a hand on his arm, and much to the Greggs' surprise, he didn't flinch. "We... I want you here… with the rest of the cast."

"Okay..." he said, giving her a big smile. "Thanks. I'd like that."

Bronwyn smiled and nodded briskly. Then, she looked at Daniel. "Now, sir, I know that in most all matters you are the boss, but I really must clear the area now. I took the liberty of roping off the best seats in the house for your crew. They aren't much better than the ordinary ones, but..."

"It's the thought that counts," Carolyn assured her, looping her arm through her husbands'. "Break a leg."

XXX

Despite the problems that had plagued the show while in the rehearsal stages, And Then There Were None was a true success. It was little surprise that the members of Daniel's 'crew' performed admirably, but so did the four other human members, as well as all the technical help. The reviews published in the local papers after the first night's performance lavishly praised the cast, mentioning how they had recovered from a midway shift in directors, the expert handling and insight of the characters, the original twist put on the more dated ending, and the effectiveness of the simple sets. The second night came off even better than the first.

Thus, the good spirits that had begun with Lynne's party and were sustained through Sig's, and the two renditions of Agatha Christie continued on into Sunday when the local churches combined forces to provide an All Saint's Eve festival for all the children.

Naturally, Blackwood's family pitched in to help, though he really did have plenty of volunteers.

"I was hoping for a little more privacy for our annual… what is that term Jenny used when you mentioned it to her once?" the Captain spoke into his lady's mind.

"Mind meld," she answered. "Tomorrow is a school day, so it'll be an early evening. We've got tonight."

"I wonder if I concentrate, if I can speed up time slightly. Good grief, must these children be so noisy?"

"That's what happens when you get several dozen kids and a ton of sugar." Carolyn Gregg's mental voice contained a smile.

His sigh echoed through her mind. "I suppose. While there is much I wish to say that might lead to a need for privacy, I will say this, dear lady. Every day with you is a celebration. I do love you, my darling. You are my queen, not merely wife."

"Change the queen and wife to husband and king, and I say the same to you."

"Can we hurry this evening along, my dear?"

Across the room, Dr. Lynne watched the massive indulgence in unhealthy foods going on, shuddered as various squeals and high-pitched giggles pierced her ears, and wondered to herself what the Captain and Carolyn looked so delighted about.

"Probably just being together is enough to put that look on their faces," a familiar voice softly chuckled.

Linden blinked. She hadn't realized Dash was that close to her, it sounded like he was right in her ear. No, it sounded like he was there inside her mind. Testing, she thought, "Charlie? Are you reading my thoughts?"

"Ah, well, if it makes you feel better, you are reading mine as well." Several feet away, he turned to wink at her.

"What the blazes is going on?" she mentally yelled.

"Don't worry, it only happens on All Soul's Eve, my dear."

"WHAT only happens? You've never done this before. Can every ghost here listen in?"

"No... Promise to remain calm, doctor?"

"No promises, but explain before I lose it."

"Well... on Halloween, all ghosts who have a soul mate, can hear each other's thoughts for that day. It's very rare, actually."

There was deep silence, then, in a very loud mental voice, she snapped, "SOUL MATES? WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOUL MATES?"

"I did not plan it, you know. It just — happens. It's a great — er — privilege? Honor? There are only a few more hours to the day. I will try to think softly. It's not my fault, you know. I'm as startled as you."

"There is NO way you could be."

Before Dash could try to find some words that would soothe the doctor, Claymore edged over to Lynne. Seeing her annoyed expression, the little man gave her a nervous look and kept going.

"Claymore!" she said in a whisper-shout.

"Er — busy now. I feel too good to keep still," he replied.

"I could stop him, my dear."

"I'm not your anything! And stay out of my brain!"

"Should I stop him?"

"No."

At least now she knew why Carolyn and Daniel looked so happy, but it just felt — spooky. Or something. Spooky was — safer.

The rest of the family was suffering no problems. Thom was glad to get out again, though he did look like he might brain someone with his cane if they asked one more time if he felt okay. Dave was going nuts taking pictures of Amberly's first real Halloween. She was either an angel or a fairy, depending on whether you saw her before or after she had yanked off the taped on halo. Those crew members that had been involved in the play still basked in the glow of their success. More than one Schooner Bayite came up to Bronwyn to tell her again how much they had enjoyed the play and hoped she'd help Claymore again. Fontenot endured being called "Justin" with as good grace as might be expected.

Finally, parents began gathering their kids up to take them home. Blackie turned down all offers to help with the clean up, saying that his family had been pressed into service. So, with calls of farewell and thanks for the good time, the hall was left to the Gregg clan.

"Come on, guys. We've got a lot of work ahead," Martha ordered, assessing the mess with a practiced eye.

"Martha, please, after fourteen years, surely you know better," the Captain chuckled.

As she watched, the ghosts directed the debris to stuff itself into trash bags, the leftover to wrap themselves, and the brooms and mops to do a credible impression of the Sorcerer's Apprentice.

"Why don't you do that when it comes time for spring cleaning?" she asked.

"Because you do it so much better," Daniel answered.

"Right," Martha returned sardonically.

"It is true, dear lady," the ghost said earnestly.

"Thank you, Captain," Martha smiled. "By the way, I will be by Gull Cottage on Monday. It's not my usual day, but I got a little behind. Things got a little busy, what with the play, and all."

"Speaking of busy..." Linden cut in, turning a glare onto Claymore.

The reedy man blanched. "Really, it's not necessary."

"What's not necessary?" Carolyn asked.

Lynne continued to stare at Claymore. Technically, she could not say more, but she could push her patient a bit.

"It's nothing, really..." Claymore began, but he looked guilty.

Daniel's, cold, clear gaze turned to his 'nephew.'

"Claymore, after thirty some-odd years, I know that when you say "nothing," beware. Out with it. What's wrong now?"

"I'd like to know that, also," Fontenot rumbled. "Claymore, you've had something you are NOT saying all evening... What is it?"

Fiddling with his collar, Claymore hesitated, then mumbled something very fast.

"Oh, honestly, talking fast is Sig's department. We can't have two doing that. Now, speak up and say it slowly," Tristan shook his head.

Sighing heavily, Claymore grimaced. "Okay, okay. The doctor thinks that this bout of pneumonia and so on has weakened my system and if I overburden myself with too many activities, like running the theater company, I'm asking for trouble."

"Right here in Schooner Bay City," Lynne agreed.

"But, Doc—"

Her eyebrows shot up.

"Doc-TOR — I've already sold season tickets, and there's plans set in stone. I can't back out now. Greggs don't break their word, right, Uncle?"

"I'm not your blasted uncle, nor am I a doctor. If Lynne says you have to cut back, then you blasted well will cut back," the ghost growled. "And don't use my words out of context to justify your disobedience."

"But…" Claymore protested. "We can't cancel the season! What if I extend the rehearsal schedule? Then I wouldn't work as hard, and..."

"No..." Lynne shook her head. "Honestly, Clay, you get almost obsessed as some other people I could name around here. You'd be wearing yourself out again in no time."

"I've been trying to convince her for two days that I am capable, but..." Claymore shrugged. "She won't change her mind on this."

Jess, Blackie, and Thom exchanged knowing nods. "Yeah, that's Lynne. Once she decides..." Jess observed.

"Stop talking about me like I'm not in the room," Lynne snapped. "And no, I haven't changed my mind." The doctor looked around at the group of family and friends. "Claymore really has been doing too much... he has been eating better, however," she added.

"But I have to do it!" the man protested. "I told you, the season has already been announced, the money's been allocated, people have bought advance tickets, and the shows are fairly well known, almost could run themselves..."

"No," Lynne answered, her voice going up a notch.

"Absolutely, no!" came several other voices.

"Could I act, occasionally?" His voice was pitiful.

"If there is a part that would fit you, and a director cast you, and you took care of yourself, we might consider it," said Daniel.

"You haven't got a director," Claymore answered back. "That is, unless..." His watery blue eyes shifted to Bronwyn. "Unless... I can't believe I am actually asking another spook to stay in Schooner Bay, but, Bronwyn... that is, Miss Tegan, would you consider remaining here? Taking over as director?"

"I..."

"You might like it here, if you chose to, and everyone likes you, too..." He broke off, not saying the obvious. People don't like me.

Helplessly, her expression torn, Bronwyn said, "But, I can't continue to share Sean and Molly's haunting space. They deserve some privacy."

"We don't mind," Sean said automatically.

"You—" Claymore continued, "there's a kinda manager's apartment at the theater. You could stay there, and be the caretaker too. I wouldn't have to pay anyone then, so doing that would be like — your rent," Claymore suggested. "Help me out here, someone."

Adam raised his hand. "Bronwyn, first off, we like you. All of us." He glanced at Sig, who nodded. "Secondly, I think you like us, a little, most of us anyway, yes?"

"Yes."

"Third, Claymore does need the help. Fourth, it would save him hiring a caretaker. Fifth, you are very talented and your gifts are needed here. Sixth, if someone doesn't take the director's job, Claymore will do it, and hurt himself. It ought to be someone who is capable of filling the role, which you are. Seventh... ah…"

Siegfried spoke up. "I would like to know you again." His gaze held hers. "Please?" he added softly.

Bronwyn pursed her lips. "All right, at least for a while."

"So, I can't mention eight?" Blackie said in disappointment. "We do need you on the Christmas play."

"You have a mouth, it works, and you did mention it," Thom noted.

"Smart-aleck," the pastor frowned.

"...And TJ will be joining you, if you want him, that is..." Carolyn added. "He told us he wants to."

"You mean you spooks can talk to animals, too?" Claymore frowned. "I didn't know that."

"No, Claymore..." Daniel looked at his nephew, sternly. "And how many times have I told you we prefer the term, spirit? But, when it comes to animals... it's just something you know after a while. TJ and Bronwyn get along."

"Besides," Carolyn added. "I think the theater needs a cat in residence."

"Are you telling me my theater has mice?" Claymore Gregg looked hurt.

"No," Carolyn smiled. "I just happen to think that this theater needs a cat."

"And I am sold on the idea… and TJ, if you're all certain," Bronwyn smiled.

"We are," Carolyn insisted.

"Well, I never did aspire to being the phantom of the… theater, but I suppose I am now," Bronwyn quipped.

"Cool," said Tris, and he turned to Claymore. "You said there was a manager's apartment?"

"Yes," Claymore shrugged. "I think it is in fairly good shape. Probably needs a little cleaning… furniture, if you need it… but ghosts don't really need furniture, do they?"

"They do if they are acting as mortals, and everyone thinks Bronwyn is, already," said Candy.

"Right," Dave nodded. "I think my parent's bed is still in the barn… Love for it to get a good home. Jess and Adam decided to buy one when they got married."

Bronwyn's eyebrows went up. "Now what will I need a bed for?"

"But, you know, for when you are trancing?" Tris cut in again. "It's not hard… Sig… he learned first. He'd be glad to help you in bed..." The young ghost broke off, turning bright red. "I mean WITH the bed, of course, and… and…"

"Uhm, Tris, would you like some salt?" Blackie interrupted.

"Salt?" Tris looked at him, nonplused.

"It might make that shoe in your mouth taste better."

Tristan rolled his eyes as the sound of laughter was heard in the room. "In support of Claymore, I've adopted a low salt diet, when I eat. Pepper, perhaps."

Claymore wiped his brow and looked relieved, despite his earlier protestations. "Well, this is marvelous, marvelous!" He rubbed his hands together and turned to the new director/manager. "Has anyone told you what else has been announced for the season? All standards, of course — older shows. They cost less, royalty wise…" He stopped, and looked defensive. "And nobody say a word about me nickel-nursing. The less a play costs for royalties, the more money there is to spend on sets and costumes and the like. I don't want to TELL you what the rental on the Ascot costumes cost for My Fair Lady. We were just lucky that ran for TWO weekends. We made the money back."

"I heard how well that one went," Bronwyn nodded, looking about the room, first at Daniel, then Sean and Molly, then her eyes rested on Sig's for a moment. "I understand you all were marvelous. I would have loved to have been there."

"We could manage a repeat performance, at least of the songs," Claymore sniffed. "Did I tell you I acted in that as well? Yes, I did. Anyway…" he started counting off on his fingers. "Now that this show is done, Next comes Harvey — that's always an audience grabber… Then Arsenic and Old Lace. I think Sig would be a perfect, Teddy… Maybe Tris could be Mortimer... then I thought we'd try Reader's Theater and do Spoon River Anthology…" He paused, as all eyes turned to him. His choice wasn't exactly standard fare. "Well…" he added, flushing slightly. "All those people, talking from the graveyard about their lives… I figured that was kinda a natural, considering all the spooks — ah — ghosts — erk — spirits — we have around here…"

"I see…" Bronwyn nodded, and did her best not to laugh. "That's a great play… small cast, four actors, two musicians, no sets, just stools. I saw it in 1963 when it ran on Broadway with Charles Aidman, Betty Garrett, Joyce Van Patten and Robert Elston. It's a lovely selection, Claymore. What else?"

"You really think so, Bronwyn?" Claymore stood a little straighter, and didn't look quite so discouraged about giving up his director's spot. "I was kinda thinking, maybe I would try out for that one."

"That depends on how you are feeling by then, Claymore," several voices interjected at once.

"Right," Bronwyn nodded. "Was that all?"

"All what?"

"All the shows you had planned," she said gently.

"Oh! Uh, no." Claymore went on. "Actually… and you could change this, but the other two shows I have slated are I Do! I Do! The two-person musical about the story of a marriage, I figured…" He glanced at Sean and Molly. "You two would be perfect for that, and then close the season with Shakespeare. King Lear, maybe, or Macbeth."

Adam's eyes lit up. "Really? Macbeth? You have that one planned? It's one of my all time favorites!" The lawyer struck a pose. "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day. To the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools, the way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." He paused. "Macbeth. Act five, scene five. And, you know, there is a very cool sword fight in there."

All eyes in the room turned and looked at him in surprise.

"Adam…" Bronwyn said, thoughtfully tapping her chin. "I'd like to have a word with you..."

END

Stories in the Day On Universe in Chronological order:

BEGINNING OF A BEAUTIFUL FRIENDSHIP

CHRISTMAS PRESENCE

GETTING TO KNOW YOU

FROM THIS DAY ON

SERENDIPITY

ONE HALLOWEEN

RESOLUTIONS

CHRISTMAS BLUES

IN GOOD SPIRITS

THE BEST LAID PLANS

PAST SINS

TO EVERYTHING, THERE IS A SEASON

WHEN THE STARS COME OUT

I WON'T SAY GOODBYE

WHEN LEGENDS MEET

CHANGES

WEDDING CONSPIRACY

MARTHA'S WISH GRANTED

KNOWING THE TRUTH THAT HAUNTS ME

BROTHERLY LOVE

HEART'S MEMORIES

THE DUEL

SPACE BETWEEN, THE

CLAYMORE TO THE RESCUE

GHOST RIDERS AKA: EQUINE ELEMENT, THE

RELATIVITY

HELLO, GOODBYE, HELLO

GIFTS OF THE HEART

JANE SHOEMAKER STRIKES AGAIN

RETURN OF THE GHOST HUNTER

A WEDDING IN THE FAMILY

THE HEALING

ANOTHER LIFE

A SEASON OF CONFUSION

GARNETS

AND THEN THERE WAS…