A Ghost of a Chance

She turned to look at me guiltily.

"I have a key." she said. "I used to do for the old man who lived here. I like to keep an eye on the place."

Suddenly, something made sense to me.

"You're the one who's kept it so clean." I said. "I wondered why there was no dust anywhere."

She looked even guiltier and said, "I couldn't have stood to see this place go to rack and ruin. The old man who lived here was a gentle soul. I've kept it like he'd have wanted me to."

"And that's why you were concerned about what I'd do to it."

If possible, she looked even guiltier.

"I'm sorry." she said. "I didn't get a wink of sleep last night worrying about what might happen to this place. It would have ripped my heart out to see it torn down."

"Well, you can go home and get plenty of sleep so you'll have energy for tomorrow." I said. "In fact, I'm leaving it up to you what ought to be thrown out and what should stay. Just don't go hog wild. I like everything exactly as it is."

I could see the burden lift from her and she said, "You and me think alike. When I get done, things will be brighter but nothing will have changed."

The two of us walked through the house together, remarking on whatever caught our eye. When we reached the living room, Ida said, "I suppose there is one thing you should get rid of."

She gave me a long look and then said, "That sofa. The old man, when he died, that's where I found him. I've scrubbed it several times but I keep thinking that it still has an odor. And, it gives me the creeps."

"I don't mind." I said. "Besides, I can't just bring in a brand new sofa. I need something from the same time, something that will fit in."

We both had to leave, then, me to do my errands and she to rest. As I stepped outside I paused on the porch and looked over the sand at the sea. It was one of those spring days that are warm even though the breeze is cold. The sky was a uniform light gray and the sea a darker shade of the same.

"It's a pretty place here when the sun shines." Ida said, watching me.

"I think it's a pretty place, now." I replied. "It suits my mood."

We walked up the path to our autos and at the top I turned to look back at the house.

"It's a house that makes you feel welcome, isn't it?" I said.

"It's like the old time folks are still there, just out of sight." Ida replied. "I've felt that many times there. It's a house to be happy in."

"I have to go back to the city and pick up some things and make my arrangements. I'll be gone a couple of days. Let me know when I can come home."

I gave her my cell phone number, and then turned back again.

Looking at the house I asked, "Is there anyone in town who does painting?"

"My Tom does." Ida replied. "Just stop at the hardware store and pick your colors. And open up an account. Tell the owner that Tom and Ida will be picking up whatever you need to get this place in shape. That way you'll have an accounting for your taxes, too."

"I want it just the same." I said. "White clapboard with that dark gray trim. It just needs spruced up."

Ida was smiling, her face a net of creases.

"You and I are going to get along better than fine." she said.

My power, it turned out, could be turned on that afternoon. I paid a deposit to make sure. Then, I went to the hardware store and did as I'd been instructed. I paid a deposit on that account, too, just for goodwill and to set the owner's mind at ease.

The trip back to the city took forever it seemed, mainly because I didn't want to go there. I wanted to be back in my house by the sea.

My first stop upon reaching the city was at an auction house. I told them that I wanted to get rid of the entire estate, nothing held back except my clothing and then made an appointment for them to start cataloging the next morning. Next. I called our cleaning lady and arranged for her to meet me at the condo.

Once we were there, I explained that would need her to do a final thorough cleaning after the place was emptied. She was sorry to see me move so far away but agreed it was for the best. I gave her all of Casey's clothing, hoping that some of her family or church members might want some of it. I also gave her a variety of items that she liked and that I wanted her to have to remember Casey by. We had a tearful parting.

I then left and procured a pile of boxes and packing tape. As I filled each box with my clothing and few possessions, I felt as if I were shedding the past. I worked until well after dark.

Standing at the wall of glass in the front room overlooking a maze of square concrete buildings and the deep canyons in between, I felt the weight of depression slowly stealing over me again. I packed a suitcase and checked into a hotel. I wanted a new start, not a trip to the past.

The next couple of days flew by, packed with chores and errands. On the third day around noon, I received the call I'd been awaiting from Mrs. White.

"Your house is all ready." she told me. "When are you coming?"

I was so happy that I told her I'd be on my way as soon as I checked out of the hotel.

"I'll leave some lights on for you." she said. "And some cold dinner in the icebox."

I called the freight company and requested delivery of my boxes on the following day, got into my little Ford and hit the road. I was almost breathless with longing to get there.

I arrived in town late that afternoon and I was surprised when the real estate lady and the hardware store owner both waved to me as I drove down the main street. The short drive to the house felt longer than the trip from the city.

When I pulled up and parked, I felt like crying. In the short time I'd been gone; the exterior had been painted to look like new. The windows sparkled and a soft warm light glowed behind them. If I had ever had any doubts that this was the right thing to do, they vanished in that instant.

I slowly walked down the path, reveling in the sight of my first true home. After climbing the concrete porch steps, I turned and looked out at the vast sea to where it met the horizon. It made me feel that anything was possible.

I inserted my key in the lock and turned it. Even the door lock had been oiled and it clicked as I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The house was like a time capsule. Everything that I could see looked fresh and clean, the soft colors jewel like and the wood shining in the dimness. Mrs. White had turned on several of the lamps in the living room and dining room and their soft diffused light made the rooms feel like I was dreaming. I walked from room to room, trailing my fingers over the freshly waxed furniture, reassuring myself that it all really existed.

There was a big old table model radio in the living room and when I turned it on, it hummed to life and the dial lit up. It was tuned to a nostalgia station and the strains of a big band from 70 years ago floated through the house.

Going to the kitchen, I opened the door and turned on the light. In the center of the table was a bottle of wine, a stemmed glass and a note from Ida that read "Welcome Home". At that point, I did cry.

The huge old refrigerator in the corner hummed and when I opened it I found that not only had she left me supper, she'd done some grocery shopping so that I wouldn't need to leave to find breakfast in the morning. Cold fried chicken, potato salad, sliced tomatoes and a green salad washed down with wine tasted better than any restaurant meal I'd ever eaten in the city. Sitting at the kitchen table with the protective shell of the house around me, I ate my first meal in my new home.

After I'd eaten and washed the dishes (she even remembered to buy dish soap!) I wandered into the living room and sat down in one of the comfortable old chairs with my wine. The living room had heavy velvet drapes of a deep wine color that were pulled back from the window and I could look out over the ocean as I listened to the soft music coming over the airwaves. One might think that having the night and ocean and nature so close by outdoors would feel frightening but it didn't in the least. I felt so calm and at peace that I didn't even notice the time passing.

After what must have been hours, I became aware of the photos of the wall in front of me and I rose to look at them more closely. In heavy old fashioned frames there were several pictures of the same two men. Most of the photos were individual studio shots; only the one in the center showed both men together, one seated and the other standing to his right at his shoulder.

Obviously, one of the men had lived here into his old age. I wondered if the other man was his brother. There was a resemblance.

I sat back down and watched the moonlight on the sea for a few hours more before I caught myself dozing off. The third or fourth time that my head snapped back on my neck, I decided it was time to call it a night. I turned off the radio, turned off all of the lights except one small lamp in the living room and climbed the stairs.

I opened the door on the left. The room smelled soapy and clean and the window had been left cracked open a bit so that fresh air flowed in. I turned on the bedside light and looked around. The room somehow seemed warmer than before, not nearly so forsaken. The moon shone in on the braided rag rug on the floor almost as bright as daylight. I took off my clothing, climbed between the sheets and turned out the light. The old horsehair mattress on the bed was as comfortable as a cloud. I watched the moonlight as I lay there but not for long. I was asleep before I even knew it.

The next morning I awoke early, completely refreshed. I showered in the old claw foot tub with curtains all around me suspended by a ring affixed to the ceiling. The heavy cotton towels smelled freshly laundered and I made a note to myself to locate the washer and dryer, if they existed.

I made myself breakfast and ate heartily, did my dishes and then went out to sit on the porch steps with a cup of coffee.

I had just finished it when my phone trilled.

When I answered, Ida said, "What are you doing?"

"Drinking coffee and admiring the view. What are you doing?"

"I'm in town and I have something to show you. Can you come?"

"As soon as I lock up." I replied. "Where shall I meet you?"

"Just drive downs the street, you'll see me." she said and hung up.

The drive to town only took minutes and as soon as was on the main street I saw Ida. She was standing on the sidewalk in front of storefront with large plate glass windows on either side of the doorway. Painted on the glass was "Betty's Bargain Barn".

I parked and Ida said, "Let me do the talking." and led me into the establishment. It was jammed full of furniture, clothing, pots and pans and anything else you can think of. She led me through a narrow aisle to near the back.

Sitting there, recently unearthed judging from the piles of items around it, was a sofa. It wasn't exactly like the one I had at home but it was a close cousin. It was covered in the same rose colored prickly mohair, had a dark wood frame along the back and the same spindly curved legs. It looked dusty but in almost new condition for something so old.

Ida sat down and motioned for me to sit beside her. The sofa had the same soft, enveloping feel as my own.

"I knew I'd find a replacement." she said as she stood up. "Lie down and see how it feels for naps."

I did as told. The sofa was soft yet firm and the armrest was perfect as a pillow. Add a few old throw pillows and the sofa would look as if it had always been in my living room.

"How much?" I asked and Ida held her finger to her lips to silence me.

Turning to the back of the store she yelled, "Betty, I have a question."

Betty, when she appeared between the piled wares, was a woman of about the same age as Ida. They even looked somewhat alike except Betty had a flowered apron tied around her waist.

"How much do you want for this old sofa?" Ida asked.

"Do you mean that antique sofa?" Betty replied. "It's in excellent condition; I bought it from the original owner."

"And it's been sitting under these piles of junk since Moses was a pup. How much?"

"I can let it go for fifty dollars." Betty replied.

Ida assumed her most outraged face and said, "It's not worth twenty."

"They don't make them like this anymore." Betty said. "Reupholstered and in a fancy shop, they'd probably charge you a thousand dollars."

"And it's not reupholstered or in a fancy shop and it will probably cost a hundred dollars to get the dust and moths out of it. I'll give you twenty five."

"Since it's you, I could probably go down to forty five." Betty said.

"And I could maybe, just maybe, go up to thirty."

"Let's not dicker in front of your friend." Betty said. "I can take a sacrifice at thirty five."

Ida glanced at me and I vigorously nodded.

"Well, I'm not sure it's a bargain but I guess you win." Ida told Betty.

"May I look around?" I asked Betty.

"Help yourself." Betty said with a smile. "I'm open till six and you'll probably be my only customers all day. If you decide you want the whole shop, I'll give you a hell of a deal."

Ida and Betty drifted toward the front and I saw them each take a comfortable chair, probably part of a regular ritual. There were actually several things that I saw that I liked. There was a vase made of pale blue frosted glass with sprays of flowers painted on the front that I could envision on the living room mantel. In a corner, I found a framed print of a dog in snow, surrounded by a blue night sky, his head back and howling. We had had the same print on the stairway in the house where I grew up.

Best of all, there was a wooden porch swing made of slats of weathered gray. The arms had metal eyes where a chin could be attached on each so that it could be hung from the ceiling. I suddenly remembered noticing the pair of hooks in the ceiling of my front porch that very morning.

"Ida, may I ask a question of you?" I called.

When she appeared I showed her the swing.

"A coat of paint and that will look like it was always on your porch." she said. "My Tom can get the chain and help you hang it."

"I have a few other things I'd like to ask about, too." I replied.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with the soft chimes of a clock striking the hour.

"That's my treasure." Ida said. "Come and see."

She led me to the very back of the shop and against the wall stood a tall grandfather's clock. It had to have been at least a hundred and fifty years old. The case was dark wood and had scrolls and finials at the top. A glass door showed the large brass pendulum swinging inside and another glass door showed the painted face which had flowers painted in a garland around the edge.

"Some day, I'm going to buy this." Ida said. "The old robber wants a thousand dollars for it."

"That is a museum piece." Betty said, popping up from nowhere. "You know I had that looked at and it's made by a famous clockmaker. A thousand dollars is a give away price. Young people don't appreciate fine things anymore or that would have flown out the door the day I got it."

"Well, it didn't and you've always said you'd give me first refusal if anyone asked about it. Some day I'll come into a fortune and that will be what I spend it on."

"I ought to just donate it to a museum and take a tax write off." Betty said as she turned and walked away.

"This is my time machine." Ida told me. I must have looked mystified because she continued, "I keep thinking about how it was made all of those years ago and about how many people must have looked at it. Maybe even my own grandmother saw it in her day. So, it's come through all of those years and all of those times and yet, here it is. The very same clock. Still telling the same hours, still keeping the same time. It was all the way back there and here it is now, an actual link to that time. It just keeps on."

"But if you don't wind it, it stops and all of that is gone." I said. I was thinking about Casey and how he had suddenly disappeared from my life.

"That's the magic part, though. You wind it up and set it and it starts right in again, keeping the same time as it always had. It can't stop because it can always start up again."

"You're too much of a philosopher for me to understand that, really." I said.

"I'm a crazy old woman who thinks too much is what you mean." she replied. "Let's go see what kind of bargain we can get on your other things."

She led the way up to the front and had a good haggling session with Betty. As I paid for the purchases, Betty looked at me side eyed and asked, "Are you new in town?" knowing all of the time who I must be.

"He's the fellow who just bought the Martin house." Ida told her.

"The murder house?" Betty asked.

"Oh, hush, you old fool. That's a bunch of hogwash and you know it."

Betty was looking at me with heightened interest as I picked up my items and prepared to leave.

"Tom will be by later to pick up the sofa and porch swing." Ida told her. "Try not to lose them or resell them before then."

I followed her to the door and I could tell she was in a hurry to get away but before she could escape I said, "Ida?"

She gave me a look of such innocence I almost fell for it.

"The murder house?" I asked.

"That's just a bunch of crazy gossip." she said. "You shouldn't listen to garbage like that."

I stood looking at her and she knew I wasn't going to let it go.

"Oh, come on." she said, indicating a bench a little bit up the street. "You may as well hear the whole story so I know you get the truth."

When we were seated side by side, she began her story.

"First of all, there was never any murder. There was an accident and a bunch of old busybodies embroidered it into a whole other story. A long time ago, in 1950, there were two young men who lived at your place. Henry Martin had inherited that place and his friend Peter Quick moved in there with him. They were both sweet young men, no one ever had a bad word to say before the accident.

Anyway, back in those days, your house didn't have central heating, it had wood stoves. You had to stock up before winter and hope you didn't run out.

The boys had been living there less than a year when disaster struck. They were outside and Henry was splitting wood while Peter stacked it. Henry had just sharpened his ax and it cut like a razor. He was whaling away and had just swung to split a log when the ax head came off somehow. It flew through the air to where Peter was working with his back turned and hit him in the back of the head, just at the base of his skull. The doctor said that he died instantaneously, didn't even know what hit him."

"God, how awful." I said.

"Henry never did get over it. And the vicious gossips in this town started making up stories, that Henry and Peter were more than just friends."

"You mean gay?"

"They didn't call it that back then. They just said they were 'involved'. Then, the story was that they'd had a fight and Henry had murdered Peter. The sheriff at the time tried to shut people up, said that he could think of a lot of easy and more convenient ways to kill somebody besides flinging an ax head across the yard and hope that it hit exactly in the right spot. The old biddies started looking at Henry funny and eventually, he just stopped going out of the house. You could have your groceries delivered back then and he didn't need much else. He became a recluse."

"You knew him, didn't you?" I asked.

She looked at me for a few minutes before she spoke again.

"When I was a young girl, my mother introduced me to him. She checked on him regularly, just to see he was alright. I started coming by and doing some cleaning chores for him, now and again. He was a gentle soul who never overcame what happened. When Peter died, his life stopped, too."