Disclaimer - I own no rights to the vintage TV show 'Ghost and Mrs. Muir' and make no profit on my stories.
Sleigh Ride
Mid December
It was not his favorite place to be. No, not at all. Not even the lovely presence of his wife, Carolyn, could make Daniel Gregg feel any less uncomfortable than he was feeling at that moment.
Eyes followed him at every turn like thirsty bloodhounds on a hot trail. Alone on a mission, he walked up and down, back and forth, feeling the unease within him increasing. Tension constricted his shoulders, crawling into the thick of his neck.
All at once, he rounded a corner, and there she was. He stole behind her in the frozen foods and he touched her on the sleeve.
"Oh… Daniel," Carolyn spoke turning expectant green eyes on him. "What did you find?"
Hands coming out from behind his back, he fingered a corner of the box before giving it a toss into the buggy.
"I believe that it was cherry jello that you wanted, dear?"
"Umm, I didn't, but Martha did," she admitted. "Thanks for finding it."
Jutting out his chin a little further, Captain Gregg snapped her a nod. His obvious discomfort gnawed away at her holiday cheer.
"I know coming to the grocery store isn't fun for you, Daniel," she crooned, interlocking her fingers with his, "but I'm so glad that you came with me to run errands. I only need to stop by the music shop to purchase that album for Candy for Christmas and we can go home."
Any tension that he had felt minutes ago melted away at her touch. Crowds of people, chattering voices, squeaking shopping carts, and a warped recording of Christmas songs played over the store's intercom, wracked his commonplace sense a stoic calm. But now, somehow it seemed less frantic and all was right in Daniel Gregg's world again. Well, almost all.
—
Arriving back at Gull Cottage, a collection of brown paper bags from the grocery advanced into the kitchen like a troop of Brownie Girl Scouts.
Cans of peaches clinked together at the bottom of a paper bag heavy with an assortment of canned goods and all were set on the large island space which had been claimed as Martha's culinary domain.
The busy hands of Carolyn and Martha emptied the many bags and Carolyn once more felt grateful that her husband had constructed a large pantry cabinet for the growing needs of their family.
"I'll help Martha finish putting these away, then go check on Ealasaid," Carolyn informed her seaman who had just ushered in a load of firewood from the outside lean-to.
"No need, Mrs. Gregg, I can put the rest away if you'd like to check on your baby girl," Martha said, nodding with her best smile. "She's in the nursery."
Captain Gregg, with his usual air of authority, addressed both women saying, "If neither one of you ladies has need of me, I shall be upstairs."
Looking at each other, Carolyn and Martha shrugged their shoulders and with a flat hand to their foreheads, issued him military salutes.
He rose one eyebrow high, turned on his heel, and strode from the room. Once clearing the kitchen, Daniel peered over his shoulder. No one appeared to be watching. Continuing into the parlor, his steps halted in front of the Christmas tree that stood alone as a tall regal sentinel aglow with lights and glittering with ornaments.
A tide of memory washed up on his shores sweeping him away from his warm home and into a cold sea of the past. Laughter and happy voices long absent from their flesh and bone bodies, called to him, reaching back through the years to be captured by the ears of a young Daniel Gregg.
Blue eyes that always appeared sharp and alert, grew dull and empty, with longing yet to be satiated. So uncharacteristic was his behavior, that the seaman was unsure as to how his family might react.
"Oh, Father," he murmured in a long exhale. "If only you were here, now."
Both eyes crushing shut, the Captain shook a head of waves and curls, rich in pomade, then proceeded up the stairs and into the attic.
—
Thud.
Crash!
Clinks. More clinks.
"Blast!"
More and more clinking.
Then came the patter of vintage clay and glass, like raindrops in a downpour.
Temper contorted his usually schooled features. A swipe of his hand and the shower of aged marbles froze mid-air. In silent instruction, Captain Gregg issued a course change bringing the airborne spheres to rest within an empty cardboard container.
Another mishap. Another minor inconvenience. Another reminder that he, Daniel Gregg, a non-corporeal spirit of over 100 years, now aligning himself with humans in corporeal form, had once again not remembered to revert back to his spirit self before embarking on a task in an attic crowded with odds and ends from both the past and present.
One misstep of his boot brought down an early cast iron floor lamp to collide with a jar packed of marbles perched on a shelf. The jar fractured, sending dozens of the glass and clay balls spilling to the lower shelves where stacks of metal plates loudly announced the invasion. Pouring from the plates, marbles rained down, hitting the tired painted surface of a wood plank floor.
Index finger extended, he righted the old floor lamp. Then taking the same finger, and swirling it in a corkscrew fashion, a cyclone of the remaining marbles all rushed into the current container.
Cracks spread like crooked smiles on the sad broken jar that he ordered into a nearby trash can along with stray pieces of glass.
A puff of air billowed into his cheeks and then released when he turned his attention back to an old trunk lazing in a corner like a sleeping bear in a cave.
Chips, scrapes, and scratches hid under a thick layer of dust from a trunk full of more stories than the Captain himself knew. From his father's house, he recalled seeing it whenever the man left for sea and then again upon his return. Large hands loaded the hulking storage with treasures from far away lands that a young boy like Daniel could only dream of exploring. With his father newly home from a voyage, the return gave promises of nights in front of the fire where items pulled from the trunk meant tales pulled from destinations beyond his imagination.
Growing from a young boy to a young man, the trunk was passed on to Daniel enabling him to pour in his own stories of adventures gleaned from far-off territories and continents. A continuing legacy of seaman extending from one generation to the next and to the next and so forth is how his father described his aspirations. However, in the case of Daniel Gregg, all of those possibilities turned to ash with his unexpected and early passing. No wife. No children. No legacy of Greggs would go on. That door was closed and sealed, but the wound it left behind never did.
Shadows enveloped his face anew as he recalled that fateful night when all options for the future vanished like the ghost he became. A callous, thick with regret, grew layer by layer over his spirit heart leaving in its wake a sea of bitter resentment. Inevitably, what emerged from that tainted sea manifested in the form of haunting the home that he had built, relentlessly chasing off any who would dare attempt to inhabit his kingdom of isolation.
But that was then. A different time. A different man. That past was laid to rest.
Clouds of gunmetal gray amassed in the afternoon sky, holding hostage the sun's precious light. Though, as if in rebellion, intermittent shafts of sunlight thrust between the dismal layers, illuminating through the attic's single window.
Daniel Gregg turned his angular profile into the momentary pillar of light giving thanks that he was no longer that dark spirit of old.
For he and Carolyn, love bridged a canyon of the impossible, but could he resurrect his father's hopes within his modern family? Could he rekindle the stories and traditions of old from his childhood family so long ago? Would one of the children hear the calling of the sea in their future?
Perhaps the old could be woven into the new, which was why the seaman sought the attic's hold in the first place.
His father's trunk, massive in girth and height, could swallow a grown man whole. Levitating from out of a dark and webbed corner, it dropped to the floor at Daniel's feet, sending high a storm of dust like a great cloud of smoke. The seaman sneezed, then magically fanned a hand to clear away the worst of the airborne dirt.
He ordered the beast to open and it yawned wide its submissiveness. His search began in earnest and a myriad of items rose to the surface, but none were what he sought. He would need to exercise care for his treasure could indeed be fragile.
His mouth pulled to one side in a grimace. This would require that he do it the old-fashioned way.
Bent at the waist, he dug with careful fingers, remembering how deep the bottom was. Past a layer of the family's cloth-wrapped silver, and past his father's nautical paraphernalia, he stretched his long fingers further, reaching for fragments as he would reach for fragments imbedded into the darkest recesses of his memory.
A few stray tinkles of a bell birthed a smile. Squinting with one eye and tongue poking slightly through his lips, he dug deeper until his fingers curled around a rough leather strap. With the same gentleness he had used when Ealasaid was a newborn, Daniel eased the item out from under mounds of recollections. One look and he sank to the floor along with his countenance.
"Daniel, are you up here?" Carolyn opened the attic door and asked. "I was in the hall and thought I heard bells."
Soured by his recent revelation, her husband grunted an answer and covered his eyes with one hand.
"Daniel, dear?" she questioned cocking her head slightly to one side. "What's wrong?"
His forehead puckered. Worn, cracked, and splitting he held his childhood memory in the air before her as if it were his flag of surrender.
A warm smile spread over Carolyn's face and she said with a lilt in her voice, "Are those… sleigh bells?"
"Well, my dear," he sulked, "Originally coming from my father's father's house, they were. But now I'm afraid…" Daniel let the words fade from his lips.
Affection and sympathy laced the soft tones in her voice. "I'm sorry, Daniel. Were you hoping to use them with the sleigh you restored?"
"More than that," the sea captain eluded. "I suppose that we could always purchase new sleigh bells, but these I had hoped," Daniel enlightened while closely scrutinizing brass bells scarcely attached to the worn rotting leather strip, "Could act as a tangible bridge between the years of memories and traditions that I had as a child with those of our new family. If we could use them as my father did and as his father did, to tell the story of how they have been passed down, then perhaps our children could do the same."
Blinking back the wetness in her eyes, Carolyn Gregg knelt beside her husband, directed her gaze to him, and encouraged him saying, "There is so much more to you, Daniel Gregg, than just being a cantankerous old sea captain."
He pulled her closer with an arm, and pressing his lips to her skin, he whispered against her forehead to say, "For goodness sake, don't tell anyone, darling. I have a reputation to uphold."
Giggles fluttered in her throat. "Don't worry," she said, giving him a reassuring smile, "Your secret is safe with me." Then she added a half teasing, "For now."
Lightly, he released an almost jovial laugh, before it occurred to Captain Gregg that his wife was speaking in all honesty. The realization cut his humor short and he raised a quirking brow her way.
"I'll tell you what, dear," Carolyn began to negotiate, "Let me take the sleigh bells and wrap them carefully in tissue paper, while you cut fresh pine boughs for the fireplace mantels and window sills."
Remembrance rekindled his appreciation for the clean outdoor scent of cut pine. Chin held high and shoulders thrust back, he rose to his feet as if preparing to embark on a task of vital importance. Sliding a firm hand under his wife's elbow, Daniel helped Carolyn to her feet.
Mischief brewed in his eyes. He crushed her body against his own until he could feel the warmth of her flesh and the beating of her heart. And sporting a rather dangerous smile he stated in a serious tone, "If you ask Martha to make more of those Snickerdoodle cookies, then I believe we have a deal, my dear."
Riotous wells of laughter emptied into the attic space room from deep inside Carolyn's belly.
Swiping tears from beneath her eyes, she fanned her flushed face with a hand and enthusiastically agreed saying, "Deal!"
Now a deal this sweet can only be sealed one way between a man and wife, and that would be with an equally sweet kiss.
And so it was.
—
The following day in town.
Carolyn cupped a hand around her eyes, pressed them against the pane of glass frosted white, and squinting, she watched for movement from the outside looking in.
Behind the glass, in a room lacking light, a single shadow bobbed in and out of view. Tapping knuckles gently, Carolyn palmed a rust-darkened knob and twisted. After giving a light push to the door, a tinkle sounded, and peering up she spied a small silver bell.
"Well, that's new," she remarked to herself.
A sudden shaft of light from above flooded in to reveal a room old and familiar to Carolyn. With one hand she pulled her gaping wool coat shut remembering that the room would be just as cluttered and cramped as the last time she was here. Under her other arm, she hugged a cardboard box to her side.
The room was crowded with furniture, mostly, but other oddities were welcomed like reunited friends. Chairs of all kinds hung from the walls and ceiling in the likeness of oversized insects collected and put on display.
Sweeping her view from one side of the room to the other, she stood on tip-toes, raised her voice, and called, "Mr. Tuttle?"
From behind a band of towering tarnished brass instruments, a man's friendly speech called out, "Be right there."
Coming out from a place past a tuba's dented bell, a middle-aged man of slight stature and mildly hunched shoulders appeared in a black bowler hat. Thin as a table leg and blue eyes that nearly bulged from their sockets, the man strode up to Carolyn and quizzically said, "Well hello, Mrs. Gregg. Wouldn't have thought that I'd see you come into my shop today."
"No?" she responded.
"Nope," he stated simply and stared for a moment in the quiet.
While large circular eyes behind small round spectacles gazed at her, Carolyn believed that the man was about as odd as the many items he stocked in his shop.
She had surmised after living in the ocean community the very first year, that most of Schooner Bay's population could be considered odd.
A smile eclipsed her mouth, for now she had married their ghost, Captain Daniel Gregg, so that must make her the oddest of them all, she reasoned.
Breaking Carolyn from her reverie, the odd thin man's voice asked, "What can I do you for, today, Mrs. Gregg?"
"Oh, yes," she responded feeling her cheeks start to pink, and retrieved the box from under her arm.
She removed the lid, placed it underneath, and tilting it up for him to see she said, "These have been in my husband's family for many years, but as you can see, Mr. Tuttle, they have deteriorated over time and no longer seem usable." Inhaling a deep breath, optimism burned bright in her green eyes and she added, "I was very much hoping that you could maybe fix them somehow."
The large eyes gaped wide at her, their resemblance coming closer to a fish than a human being.
Time-worn fingers with a light touch reached over and curled around aged splitting leather and dull brass bells that jingled in his hands as he turned them from one side to the other under an inspecting gaze.
"That's what I was afraid of," Deke Tuttle remarked, shaking his balding head. "Look at this, Mrs. Gregg," he continued while pointing a finger. "This here's rot and there's no fixin' rot."
Half-heartedly shrugging her shoulders, Carolyn breathed an audible sigh. "Isn't there anything that can be done, Mr. Tuttle? I wanted to have them repaired and then wrap them up for Christmas."
"Well," said the man who was stroking his whisker less chin, "I can remove the bells, shine em' up, and attach them to a new strip of leather that you can buckle on a horse. They'll look kinda like them new ones that they sell at the hardware."
She gave herself a stiff hug, gripping at the elbows of her coat.
"No, that won't work," she muttered, dropping her eyes to the bells. "They need to look old, tarnished, and used. They need to be what they are… well-loved."
She lifted the empty box to him and Deke placed the bells back inside to lay in a coffin of white tissue paper. He removed his hat in his hands conveying, "I'm real sorry, Mrs. Gregg."
Eyes wet and with a weak smile, Carolyn's ache became all the more evident in her tone when she relayed to him softly, "Thank you, Mr. Tuttle, for taking the time to see me. I appreciate it."
Slipping the lid over the top of the box, she tucked it back under her left arm and stepped to the side, making her way to the frosted glass door.
She was greeted by a burst of icy air to her face when Mr. Tuttle turned her way and exclaimed, "Wait, Mrs. Gregg!"
Marching over to where Carolyn stood, he shoved the windswept door closed, looked at her with his widened blue eyes, and with knuckles on his hips said, "Now I ain't makin' any promises, Mrs. Gregg, but I'm told that there's a feller' in Keystone whose a real good leather smithy. Folks tell me that he makes leather goods for them civil war reenactments they have. Says he can take new leather and make it look real old, sorta like I do here in the shop, so they tell me. Now, let me see if I can talk to this smithy and hear what he's got to say and I can call you on that telephone."
White teeth gleamed between two parting lips that slowly spread into an ear-to-ear smile, her eyes ablaze with excitement.
She went to hug him and she spilled her purse and they laughed until they cried.
—
A week later.
Kicking a leg in her baby walker, Ealasaid clutched a rubbery giraffe in both of her hands that squeaked as she gnawed on it with a teething baby's vengeance. Had it been cloth, the toy would have drowned.
Carolyn, kneeling close to the Christmas tree, held the walker just far enough away, that the toddler's hand was out of reach of any adornments. It had been a long time since she had to concern herself with a young child who, mesmerized by the lights and ornaments, craved what could prove to be unsafe in little hands.
Feeling reflective, she recalled Candy and Jonathan when they first became mobile and how she had followed them everywhere they ventured.
Then she recalled being married to Robert and wrinkled her nose. She would have liked to say she loved the man, but she didn't like to lie. Compared to the bond she and Daniel shared, all else paled. Marriage to Robert had not been what she had envisioned at all.
Shaking off the memory like Scruffy shaking off after a bath, Carolyn focused on her appointment with Deke Tuttle the following day. The resale shop owner was able to obtain the skills of the Keystone leather smithy and together they had worked on the project with great diligence.
Nibbling on the cuticle of her thumb, Carolyn wondered if Daniel would empathically sense that she was keeping something secret from him. If so, he had not brought it up with her. Some emotions, she had noticed, remained private with each of them, while others glared to the point of distraction.
Three times, the antiquated clock positioned on the fireplace mantel chimed. Three times, she turned her face to the empty foyer. Three times, she chided herself for her impatience.
Daniel had challenged Jonathan to a sledding contest that afternoon and both were expected home at any moment. An invitation from a girlfriend for movies and popcorn had Candy staying the night away.
"Ealasaid, honey," Carolyn asked light-heartedly, arms extended to pick the child up, "How about you and I go into the kitchen and get some of the applesauce that Martha made?"
Spittle oozing from her curved lips, Ealasaid showed off her tiny-toothed grin.
Whether or not her daughter understood the words could be debated, but what she did seem to know was that they were heading to the place where tasty things go into the mouth.
—-
Boots, white with snow, stomped to a nondescript beat on the back porch of Gull Cottage. Thatches of blonde hair peeked out from under a red knit toboggan hat and rosy cheeks accentuated a broad smile when Jonathan greeted his mother and Martha in the kitchen.
"Did you have a good time, dear?" Carolyn inquired, holding Ealasaid to her chest, jostling the sleepy young child.
"Great!" he announced while peeling off his outerwear as if it were a banana skin. "But I could really go for some of Martha's hot chocolate."
Bringing a single elongated finger to her lips, Carolyn issued her son a wordless directive.
"Coming right up," Martha relayed in a hushed voice wrestling with the lid of a Hershey can.
—-
Her footsteps fell softly coming into the parlor, brightened by Christmas lights and the smell of pine. Ealasaid asleep on her shoulder, Carolyn stooped over the playpen, not far from the Christmas tree, and laid her down, covering the child with a fuzzy yellow blanket.
"She looks so innocent, doesn't she?" Came the soothing baritone from behind.
Pivoting at the sound of her husband's voice, Carolyn reached for the goblet of Madeira glistening in Daniel's extended grip. He guided her to the sofa with a gentle hand to her elbow, and together they sat, drinking in each other's presence.
"She always looks innocent when she's asleep," Carolyn replied in answer to his question.
He smiled at the tease in her words and the glint of humor in her eyes. Raising aloft his goblet, he proclaimed, "To the child of impossibility."
They drank a toast to innocence. They drank a toast to time. They drank a toast to the future of their family.
Taking the seaman's hand in her own, she gave it a squeeze asking, "Would you tell me about your family and the sleigh bells?"
A fire in the hearth crackled and snapped. Sounds of Bing Crosby's White Christmas floated through the air, and the clicking of Scruffy's nails skittered over the floor as he joined the couple in the parlor.
Carolyn fingered a tendril of her blonde hair, then sipped Madeira from the goblet that Daniel had just refilled.
He renounced his silence and said, "As you well know, darling, my grandfather first owned the sleigh bells, bringing them here from overseas." Pressing his lips to the goblet's rim, the sea ghost savored the taste of the wine flowing over his palette. "Many a Christmas Eve, our families looked forward to the annual sleigh ride for church service. While being in the sleigh was always a treat, there was something special about the Christmas Eve journey." Nostalgia clouded the sea Captain's vision. "To hear those sleigh bells, to sing our songs, to arrive at the church and receive afresh the promise of God's newborn Son."
"Oh, Daniel," Carolyn shivered, "What a lovely family tradition."
Stretching his arms in a faux yawn, Daniel wrapped them around his wife and pulling her onto his lap, he kissed her nose asking, "Have I told you that both my father and grandfather proposed marriage to their wives on Christmas Eve, riding in a sleigh with the same bells?"
Her eyes flew open wide. "No, you didn't!" she exclaimed, giving him a solid thump on his chest.
Laughter rolled up from the depths of his corporeal being and he pulled her against his muscled chest until she gave up and snuggled her head under his chin.
The last thing that Carolyn recalled, was laying in the arms of her husband on the sofa, his voice humming a Christmas tune in her ear. Perhaps it was she who was in need of a nap.
—
Light from the rays of a morning's pink stained sun stabbed through skeleton finger branches left bare when old man winter made his grand entrance into the bayside community. Exaggerated shadows crept in silence along a glittering blanket of white powder snow until coming to rest against a shop's brick wall that wept tiny bits and pieces of old tired mortar.
Inside the shop, Deke Tuttle stepped back to inspect his work. Shifting from one foot to the other, he inhaled another swig of his black coffee and slammed down the weight of a heavy chain against his latest project. He slid his fingertips over the injured surface of an oak library table and wagged his head. About to take another swing, he stopped short when the tinkle of the door's bell came to his hearing.
"Good morning, Mr. Tuttle," Carolyn said affably. "How are you this morning?"
Sliding the chain into a drawer, Deke answered, "Oh, can't complain. Can't complain. And you?"
"I'm well. Thank you."
A box on the counter found its way into the reseller's hands. Erecting his slight frame to straighten, Deke's grin widened as he unfolded the flaps, spread the tissue paper, and introduced the finished product coiled neatly in the center.
"There she is, Mrs. Gregg," he stated, pride radiating in his face, "Just like I described over the phone."
Her breath catching, Carolyn laid a hand over her breastbone, fingers spread, and exclaimed, "Oh, Mr. Tuttle, I can't believe it's the same piece!"
He hooked a thumb in his vest. "Looks mighty fine, even if I do say so myself."
"However did you do it?" she asked, her voice quavering.
Picking up the bells in his hands, Deke ran his fingers over the aged brown leather saying, "I can't take credit for another man's work, Mrs. Gregg. That leather smithy in Keystone parted with one of his vintage strips that dates back about 80 years. Then he added on his own touches to make this here piece look even older."
Gooseflesh prickled her skin. "That's amazing, Mr. Tuttle."
"Mm… hmm, it surely is. What I did, Mrs. Gregg," he brought one of the bells up closer for her to see, "was clean each bell up just enough so you can see the patterns on them without removing what they call that natural patina that old stuff gets."
"My goodness," Carolyn touted, "I'm very impressed and I think that Mr. Gregg will be, too."
"Oh, I certainly hope so. We're mighty proud how it came out." Placing them deep within layers of tissue, Deke Tuttle said, "Just let me get these wrapped up for you. I put them in a bigger box."
"Thank you, Mr. Tuttle," she extended her appreciation while digging a checkbook from her purse. "You don't know how much this means to me."
"Well, I think that I might," he said with a sheepish grin.
The pen clicked in her hand. "How much do I owe you, Mr. Tuttle?"
Furrows plowed across his forehead and he scratched a finger along the edge of where his hair thinned the most.
"I really hadn't done all that much, Mrs. Gregg."
The seaman's wife tipped her head to the side. "I must owe you something. What about the work the leather smith did? You drove over to Keystone at least twice."
The shop owner wiped the lenses of his spectacles with a wrinkled handkerchief.
"And as far as driving to Keystone goes, I'm over there about twice a week anyway, so it was no bother. Turns out that the smithy in Keystone is one of them history buffs, and when I told him these sleigh bells came from the family of Captain Daniel Gregg, he said that there would be no charge."
With a wrinkle of his nose, the spectacles were shoved back into place.
"I told him that your husband looks so much like Schooner Bay's Captain Gregg, that some folks might like to think you married his ghost," he leaned over and suggested with a wink and a smile.
Heat flooded Carolyn's cheeks and her eyes opened wide.
"Not that I would say something like that, mind you, but some folks might."
Her flood of heat began to recede.
"I don't know what to say, Mr. Tuttle. Your generosity is very kind. Are you sure I can't pay you somehow?"
With one hand he pressed the black bowler hat on his head that felt the chill of a winter's day.
"I suppose if you really wanted to, I'll always take one of Martha's pies. Of course, I would take it over to Keystone and share it with the smithy."
Eyes smiling, she put her hand out and said, "I think we can agree on payment, Mr. Tuttle."
Gently gripping her hand in his, he replied, "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Gregg."
—
The snow was falling Christmas Eve.
Inside of a scarred and faded red barn stood a horse as black as the night was long and tall as a gallows noose. One long-haired hoof pawed at the ground and his thick neck and head shook throwing the dark mane from side to side.
"Easy boy," Daniel coaxed, calming the great stallion with his hand while he strapped the animal into a harness. "We're taking the family out tonight, so no wild jaunts."
The horsed nickered in reply but continued to paw the ground of the old barn where a sleigh, restored by the seaman earlier in the summer, rested behind.
The sleigh was open and black with two rows of button-tufted red wool seating. Matching black shafts ran along each side of the restless stallion. The bulk of the restoration to the sleigh was finished, but the sea captain, having an eye for detail, would add finer touches once the winter snows were through.
"Wow!" Jonathan shouted, running up to the sleigh. This is gonna be great!"
Eyes aglow, Candy, wearing a suede coat, brought up the rear and behind her, Carolyn arrived in a long red hooded wool cape with fur trim holding a box under her arm.
"Everything ready, Daniel dear?" Carolyn asked, dropping her hood, and puffing out white clouds of warm breath.
Checking the shafts attached to his ghost horse, Goliath, Daniel answered saying, "Yes, I believe so. Is Ealasaid down for the night?"
Stroking her gloved fingers over the stallion's neck, Carolyn replied, "She is and Martha is there to watch over her."
"Very good," he smiled looking into her eyes. "What do you have in the box, darling?"
"An early Christmas gift. Here, open it."
Taking the box in both hands, Daniel raised it to his ears, shaking it with glee. Melodious jingles rattled against cardboard.
Lines crinkling at his eyes, he grinned and questioned, "New sleigh bells, perhaps?"
Something in the barn's rafters stole her attention and looking up, she shrugged her shoulders and remarked, "Maybe, maybe not."
Clear juices dripped from Goliath's mouth, savoring the sweet taste of cut apples from Candy and Jonathan's hands.
Package twine from the box fell away like prison chains, and cardboard flaps stood straight up. A white sea of tissue paper parted and Captain Gregg's eyes were apprehended by what lay inside.
"It can't be…" he muttered, carefully removing the leather strapping and bells. "Are these…" Emotion thickened his voice and words on his tongue failed to be completed.
"Yes, Daniel darling," her faint voice spoke, "These are your family's sleigh bells, only with a slightly newer leather strap that looks very old." Tears clogged her eyes and throat. "I'll explain on the way to church. Although, I think that it's safe to say that at least one Gregg family tradition can move into the future while still being connected to the past."
Daniel turned his face suddenly to the side shedding a few ghostly tears of his own. Just as suddenly he pulled his wife into his strong embrace and with a sniffle he choked out, "You never cease to amaze me, Carolyn. Thank you."
"I think that we need to go soon, don't we?" Candy asked, buttoning all of the buttons down her long coat.
The ghost captain ran a handkerchief under his nose, and turning to look at the children said, "Indeed, we do."
The bells jingled and Carolyn cleared her throat. She offered them to her seaman in cradled arms as if she were offering royal robes.
"The honor is all yours, Daniel," she said.
He responded, "As you wish."
Captain Gregg stroked the wide nose of his black stallion conveying to him, "This is your lucky day, Goliath."
—
The light of a partial moon glimpsed in and out from behind the illuminated presence of night clouds, reminding Carolyn of peek-a-boo games played with Ealasaid. Heading home from the Christmas Eve candle light service, the snowflakes that fell earlier had tapered off and she marveled at how quiet the countryside had become.
Peering behind her, she saw that her two children had wrapped themselves in blankets, quietly taking in the majestic scenes of their winter wonderland. Shaking her head and smirking, she reminded herself that Candy and Jonathan were not simply hers any longer, but theirs. The long-empty years she had experienced came to an end upon meeting the handsome rugged seaman, or rather, meeting his ghost.
Hands laying comfortably in her lap, the steady rhythm of sleigh bells jingling lulled Carolyn into a peaceful rest. Her gaze drifted to her husband and he caught her watching and winked.
Holding the reins in his hands, Daniel Gregg chuckled when he realized his ghost horse left no hoof prints behind in the snow. Pulling the sleigh at a trot, Goliath occasionally tossed his head, longing to take a hard run, but Daniel kept him reined in for the sake of his family. Perhaps tomorrow the two might embark on a midnight ride.
"We'll be home soon," the Captain declared, turning to address the kids. "Martha will have hot chocolate on the stove and we can warm up by the hearth."
Hope emboldened his tongue when he asked them, "Would the two of you like to hear how the sleigh bells played their part in my family's history?"
"Yeah!"
"Sure!"
Carolyn hooked her arm through the seaman's elbow, laying her head to his shoulder. Leaning his head to hers, his faux breath stirred her hair and he whispered, "I have something for you, darling."
"You do?"
"Yes," he replied, digging a hand inside of his jacket. "Unlike my father and his father, I did not wait until we were riding in a sleigh on Christmas Eve with my family's bells on hand to propose to you."
A brief laugh escaped from her lips. "It might have something to do with patience, I believe."
"Be that as it may," he skirted the subject, "I would like to remedy that tonight. Here and now."
Surprise raised her head. "You're serious, aren't you?"
He opened his palm to reveal a jeweler's box. "Entirely."
"Daniel?"
"Would you marry me, again, Carolyn, if you could?"
The jeweler's box opened of its own accord. Inside the box, a diamond and gem-encrusted gold band glistened in the moon's bright light. A lump swelled in Carolyn's throat and tears brimmed in her eyes.
"This band represents our family, Carolyn," he informed her. "The diamonds at each end are for you and me. Between those two diamonds, each gem stands for our children. A ruby for Candy, a sapphire for Jonathan, and amethyst for Ealasaid."
Her bottom lip trembled and tears raced down her cheeks.
"Y-yes, of course, I would marry you again, Daniel Gregg," she stumbled the words out, sobbing."
"I'd hoped you would, my dear. I had the ring made for you to wear with your wedding band."
More tears and the ghost wife merely nodded her understanding.
Over the next hill, Gull Cottage came into view. Threads of smoke rose from the chimneys and the glow of their Christmas tree in the parlor window became their beacon lighting the way home.
The Captain stretched one arm around his wife and pulled her close.
"I love you, Carolyn Gregg," he said softly. "Merry Christmas."
"I love you, too, Daniel Gregg," she returned the sentiment. "Merry Christmas."
The End