SECOND CHANCES
Part Six
Captain Daniel Gregg suddenly found himself standing at the waters edge on a familiar beach, in the distance was Gull Cottage. With rage in his eyes he turned to Digby, who was standing beside him.
"Why have you summoned me here? To torture me? I did what you expected, now can't you leave me in peace? Must I spend eternity at the mercy of your sadistic whims?"
"Hardly, Captain. If you'll let me explain..."
"What possible explanation can there be?" He became aware of the faint sounds of the children playing in the front yard of the house. He looked longingly up toward his former residence. "To bring me back here, of all places, is the cruelest form of torment imaginable."
"You know, if you can't keep that temper in check, Captain, perhaps you are not yet ready for the next step. That's no sort of behavior from a family man."
"What in blazes are you talking about?" As the tides lapped gently at the waters' edge, the Captain tried to place a vague sensation he had not felt in some time. It was not until he followed Digby's downcast gaze that he fully recognized it. His feet were getting wet. Almost instinctively, he quickly stepped away from the rising water. It was another moment before he noticed that he was clad in unfamiliar clothes. Khaki slacks and a blue denim shirt, open at the collar,and of course, newly wet leather shoes.
He took in all the new sensations around him. Beside the damp feet, he felt the warm June sun on his face and the familiar sea breeze in his hair. In the air was the smell of the ocean and on his lips the taste of the salt water.
Realizing that Digby was still beside him, he whirled on the distinguished older gentleman and greeted him with a surprising mix of hostility and anguish.
"What is all this, Digby? More torture, another 'mistake'?" He was breathing heavily causing his voice to break slightly.
"No, Captain. Everything is as it appears. You are alive and, I believe, you have ruined your shoes. Tsk , tsk, tsk." Digby clucked his tongue and shook his head in a 'shame on you' fashion. His whole demeanor was one of I-know-something-you-don't-know.
"If this is some sort of joke, I swear to you, emissary or not..."
"No need for threats, my man. I understand your confusion, now if you'll permit me to explain?" He held his hands out, seeking permission to continue.
The Captain nodded impatiently, his mind racing.
"Good. Well, if you recall, Captain, when first we met in the attic I said that there were events of which you were unaware, events involving you. To be honest, Captain, your death was untimely..."
"You're telling me," The Captain interrupted sarcastically.
"No, what I mean is that it wasn't your time. Your accident was not part of your intended life pattern."
The Captain rolled his eyes, "Can't you chaps get anything right?"
Digby turned defensive. "Well, it's a big world, Captain. And let's not forget that it was your own clumsiness thatstarted this entire chain of events. You would think that a grown man left alone in his bedroom could somehow manage to make it through the night!"
Digby forced himself back to the issue at hand. "But, in any case, you were no longer a part of the living world and you were still unsuited to full participation in our spirit world. Your stubborn temperament and your resistance and anger at your death precluded us from accepting you entirely. However, rather than cast you out, it was deemed that there was hope for you, although I admit I had my doubts." His expression told the Captain that he still held that same opinion, but before the Captain could provide an appropriate response, Digby continued. "And so, upon your death I remanded your spirit to Gull Cottage until such time as a suitable solution could be worked out. It was not until the Muir's came along that our hopes for you were realized.
"As I also indicated, we did underestimate the role you would play in their lives. A regrettable error on our part. We felt that serving out your penance, that is, experiencing your one true love but having to endure waiting for her to join you, would be enough for you to eventually ascend fully to our plane when the time came. Recently we reached a crossroads, the unrest in your house had caused us to re-evaluate your presence there. We had a decision to make; your spirit would either stay or move on. Either choice would have caused the family pain. That is, of course, unacceptable. We considered removing you from their conscious memory, but that would undo the good you have done them, especially young Jonathan. And we would still have the problem of what to do with you. This led us to consider our one other option, rare but not without precedent. However, you had to prove yourself once more. Your final selfless act, leaving the very people you came to love, convinced us that you had finally earned your true destiny." He met the Captain's inquiring eyes and nodded. "Yes. You and Carolyn should have been together all along. We also came to realize that the entire family deserved a better future than they faced with you as a spirit."
The Captain stared at the elder spirit, trying to comprehend all the information he had just been given. "You can do this?" He held out his arms, re-familiarizing himself with the feel of his own body.
"Oh, really, Captain. We can do anything." Digby looked very smug and self satisfied, barely tolerating such a ridiculous question. "And so, the wrongs of the past have now been righted, and you have all been awarded your second chances." As he finished, he gestured toward the house atop the hill.
"Congratulations, Captain. Try not to muck it up."
Staring up at the home that housed his destiny, the Captain took a shaky deep breath. "A second chance...I never even considered that to be a possibility."
"It is hardly something we advertise, Captain. And please remember, it is their happiness that takes precedence, not yours. And it was their love for you that made this...necessary."
The Captain looked back at the tidy spirit of Digby and shook his head slowly. "I hardly know what to say."
"Just seeing you left without a smart remark is enough for me, Daniel. Now, I believe you will find things of your estate in order. The house is once again in your name and your nephew has been compensated. As far as anyone outside the family is concerned you are a descendant of the original Captain Daniel Gregg. Oh, and you will find a wardrobe of suitable clothes in the guestroom closet."
The Captain shot him a look. "Guestroom?"
"Considering your history with women, I should have put you in a hotel on the far side of town! There are children in the house, Captain." Digby's disapproving eyebrow returned and the Captain bowed to his elder. "Anyway, I assume it won't be too long before you and Mrs. Muir have things...sorted out."
Digby returned his attention to his mental checklist. "You have been provided with identification and a verifiable history. As I am sure you have no interest in active naval duty at this time, you are listed as retired from the service. There will be other details which shall fall into place as time goes by. Otherwise, you are as they say, on your own." Digby smiled and toyed with his mustache. "Now I'm quite pleased to say that I must take my leave of you."
The Captain smiled, still hardly believing his good fortune. He clapped his hands in front of him and rubbed them together, reveling in the feel of his own flesh. "Alive again. Thank you, Digby." Before he could realize what he had done, he extended his right hand to the older man.
The spirit of Digby just looked at it, stiffened and clasped his hands behind his back. The Captain withdrew his hand and nodded a respectful goodbye.
"Until we meet again, Captain Gregg. Let's hope we both get it right this time, eh?" And he was gone.
Standing alone for a moment at the shoreline, Daniel Gregg took in a deep breath, filling his nostrils and lungs with the fresh smells of the sea that he loved so much. Closing his eyes and turning his face skyward he said a silent prayer of thanks. With a smile breaking across his lips he laughed out loud and started up the beach, toward Gull Cottage. His pace quickening with every step, it wasn't long before he was practically at a dead run. He chose to forsake the longer footpath in favor of the more direct route up the bluff. Carelessly climbing up the rocky hillside, he stumbled on a loose stone. Placing his arm out to break his fall he caught his shirtsleeve on a jagged edge, piercing the skin slightly. Muttering a half-hearted curse, he continued up the hill. His heart soaring, he did not even notice the small amount of blood trickling from under his torn shirt.
Coming over the crest near the house, he paused watching Candy and Jonathan tossing a ball to Scruffy. Almost instantly the little dog sensed his presence and cocked his head and perked up his ears. The children stopped playing and looked to see what had caught Scruffy's attention.
"Look!" cried Candy. "It's Mr. Callahan!"
As she spoke, Scruffy bolted from the front yard and bounded over the stone wall. He ran across the roadway and, barking and wagging his tail, jumped into the arms of the tall bearded man.
The Captain ruffled the small dog's fur and gently put him back down on the road. "Hello, boy, it's good to see you again, too." Scruffy continued dancing around, jumping and yapping, following him as he walked closer to the house.
As Jonathan watched his dog greet the familiar man, his face lit up with undoubting joy. "No, It's Captain Gregg! It's Captain Gregg!" And he, too, fled the yard, instinctively running into the Captain's strong arms, knowing in his heart he would be caught.
The Captain bent down to meet the boy and caught him as he jumped off the stone wall. With Jonathan's thin arms wrapped around his neck, the Captain buried his misty eyes in the boy's shoulder, holding him tighter than he could ever remember holding anyone in his life.
"Hello, lad."
"Hi, Captain! I took good care of your sword!"
"You mean your sword. It was meant to be a gift."
"Gee, thanks!" Jonathan tightened his grip around the Captain's neck.
Candy, being old enough to doubt her own eyes, approached more cautiously. "Captain Gregg?"
"Yes, Candy." Still holding Jonathan, he reached out with his free hand and cupped her chin in his hand.
Candy smiled broadly and said, "Where've you been? Mom was worried." Then, noticing his bloody shirt sleeve, she added, "Hey, you ripped your shirt and ...you're bleeding!"
The Captain looked at his arm and laughed. "So I am. Wonderful, isn't it?"
"Heck, no!" said Jonathan. "I usually get in trouble!"
"I didn't think ghosts could bleed," said Candy.
"They can't," laughed Jonathan, wise beyond his years.
Candy took the Captain's hand and led him to the front porch, calling for Martha as she dragged. Scruffy still yapped happily behind them.
"Martha! Martha, guess what? It's Captain Gregg!"
The Captain stopped short. "Martha? Where is your mother?"
Before the children could reply, Martha appeared at the front door. "What's all the racket? You kids are going to sag my soufflé!" Wiping her hands on her apron, she looked at the sight before her. The kids, the dog, the Captain. The Captain!
"Look, Martha, he's come back," said Candy.
"Yeah," added Jonathan, "and he's bleeding. Isn't it neat?"
Martha eyed the handsome, obviously human, man on the porch suspiciously. "Neat? I guess that's one word for it. I would have chosen 'impossible' myself?"
The Captain gently put Jonathan down on the porch. He bowed slightly to the older woman. "Martha."
"Go on in and get your snack, kids. There's cookies and milk on the table." When the kids were out of earshot she turned back to the Captain. "All right, Buster, what's going on here? What are you trying to pull?"
"Pull?" The Captain stifled a small laugh. "Martha, I assure you I am who I appear to be." As he spoke, the sputtering sound of Claymore's car drew near. They both watched as he approached, humming as he skipped down the flagstone walkway. The Captain smiled in delightful anticipation of meeting his nephew on even footing.
"Good day, Martha. Good day, Captain."
Claymore was obviously in good spirits, leading both to silently assume it had something to do with money.
"Claymore, lad, always a pleasure." The Captain spoke with disarming affection and extended his right hand to Claymore.
"Why thank you, Captain," said Claymore, genuinely surprised and pleased, absently extended his own hand. "May I say you are looking quite well today? Ahhhhh!" Finally, noticing the handshake he recoiled in horror and quickly placed himself behind an amused Martha.
"Don't you ever tire of hiding behind a woman's skirt?" The Captain teased, in much too good of a mood to be threatening, even to Claymore.
"All right, Captain. You've convinced me!" Martha laughed. 'I don't know what's going on, but I have a feeling it's going to get very interesting around here!"
Ignoring the shocked and cowering Claymore, the Captain got straight to the matter foremost on his mind. "Where is Mrs. Muir?"
"Boston. Won't be back 'till tomorrow."
They entered the house, steering in to the living room, away from the kids ears.
"Tomorrow?" asked the Captain, obviously distressed. "That will never do, you must summon her back, today...right now!"
"Captain, it's awfully late in the day for her to start that long drive," Claymore offered. Then, shrinking from the Captain's intense look, he quickly added, "Yes. Now, today...I think you should call her, Martha." He smiled hard to please his uncle.
"All right, but what'll I tell her?"
"Tell her..." The Captain paused, some things needed to be done in person. "Tell her she is needed at home, right away."
Martha left, heading for the telephone in the hall. She gently shook her head, smiling in disbelief at what she was about to do.
The Captain turned back to Claymore, who was staring at him. "What are you staring at?"
Claymore had become accustomed to the unbelievable happening at Gull Cottage, but this was over the top even for him. "Well, Captain, I mean...you're alive. Aren't you?"
"That's a brilliant observation You've obviously missed your calling, perhaps you should have attended correspondence medical school..." Then he remembered his nephew's high spirits when he arrived at the house. Playing a hunch, he said, "Tell me, Claymore, why were you in such a good mood when you arrived today?"
"Oh that," said Claymore, brightening. "Well, Mr. Anderson was so terrified by his visit to Gull Cottage that he practically cut the value of the house in half, sight unseen."
"Really?" The Captain was enjoying himself immensely.
"Yes. It seems Mr. Anderson feels that haunting lowers property values, Captain. It's like living near an airport or a toxic waste dump. Makes the house virtually unsellable in any market, thus causing the estimated value to plummet." He squealed in glee.
"Well, then I suppose that you will be happy to have Gull Cottage off your hands..."
"Oh no, Captain! Now, oh-hoh, I can finally begin to turn a profit." Claymore was so enthralled by the prospect that he failed to see the living Captain as an obstacle.
"Don't you have to actually own the property to realize a profit, Claymore?"
"Of course..." Claymore failed to follow.
"Have you checked the deed lately?"
"No, it's locked in the safe in my office." Then a sudden, terrifying realization. "Why, what have you done?"
"Do you really think that I am going to pay rent on a house I built with my own two hands?" The Captain's tone was syrupy sweet.
"No, the house is mine! You can't do that!"
"Why not? I did this!" the Captain spread his hands, referring to his current human form.
"No, it's mine! Alive or not, I've earned that profit, every nickel! It's not fair!" Claymore ran from the room, heading to his office to check the deed. The laughing Captain did not bother to tell him that he had also been paid for the loss of the property.
Martha returned with the children, saying that she had reached Mrs. Muir and that she had convinced her to come home.
"Marvelous," the Captain said to himself as he brought his hand to his ear.
"What's this?" said Martha, noticing the blood on his torn shirt for the first time. "Are you hurt?"
"No, I just stumbled coming up from the beach."
"The beach?" Martha now also noticed the waterlogged shoes on his feet. "Oh swell, you've been alive ten minutes and you've ruined a shirt and a pair of shoes. You're worse than Jonathan..."
Jonathan tugged on his sleeve. "See, I told ya you'd get in trouble."
The Captain smiled and shrugged at him, happy to be one of the boys.