Chapter 20
I ran my fingers along the new countertop. “Isn’t it nice?” I asked Katie, who sat on a stool at my newly-installed island.
My daughter turned her attention away from her studies and looked at me. “Forest green goes nice with the white cabinets. You couldn’t have chosen better, Mom.”
“Thanks, honey.”
“And,” she shifted positions, “the island is a better idea than the peninsula.”
I agreed and wished I could take credit for it, but the salesman at the home center had suggested it. I swept my hand softly across the surface of the upper cabinets, feeling terribly pleased with myself.
“I think I’ll paint the walls a soft beige. Almond, maybe.”
“That’ll look nice.”
Keeping my mind off my troubles wasn’t a problem for me this past week. The contractors ran me ragged cleaning up after them. I did my fair share of putting them through their paces, too, though. Like when I decided the kitchen faucet wasn’t to my liking after the plumber installed it and making him wait while I exchanged it for another type — not once but twice. Like asking the electrician to install pot lighting in the ceiling above the cabinets and to put more outlets in the living room when he had one foot out the door.
Every contractor had done a professional job, but the carpenter impressed me the most of all. The opening between the kitchen and living room seemed like it was always there. He matched the wood trim with that in the rest of the house and thanks to Alex and some extra hardwood flooring he had milled to replace some stained pieces in his own home, the floor matched perfectly, too.
I strode over to the sink, lifted the lever of the faucet — one-arm bandit as the plumber referred to it — and watched clear water flow into my new stainless steel double sink.
Katie giggled. The sound was ambrosia to my ears. “What?” My hands instinctively went to my hair. “I’m too old for braids, huh?”
“That’s about the hundredth time you turned on the tap.”
“It is? I guess I still can’t believe we have taps that work right or water we can drink from them.” These were both treats for me, but what I appreciated more was the kitchen cabinets and drawers. I no longer needed to rifle through cardboard boxes. “Did I tell you that the guy who’s going to repair the walls will be here on Monday?”
“Yeah. Three times. But who’s counting?”
I returned her smile. “Did I tell you that he agreed to prime them, too, as part of the contract?” It pleased me immensely to wangle a deal.
“Uh-huh. And that Vinnie something-or-other is finishing the floors next weekend and that we can’t be here when he does because of the dust from the sanders and the noxious odors from the varathane.”
“Right.” I thought about taking the kids to Dhoon Mountain for that weekend. They would enjoy skiing, skating and sleigh rides. I’d also enjoy a weekend with nothing to do but play. I considered asking Alex if he would like to join us. Katie might resent his presence, though. But wasn’t she her old self again? She seemed sincerely contrite for her recent bad behavior. Or was it acting? Only someone schooled in manipulation and deceit would know for sure.
The front door slammed. “Mom. Mom.”
“We’re in the kitchen, Benjamin,” I called out and opened the oven door to check on dinner — baked ham and scalloped potatoes. Our first prepared meal since we moved in.
“Mom, I helped Mr. August put up their Christmas tree. A Scott’s Pine. Eight feet tall. He said this was the first time they put up a tree in years and years and years. Hey, sis. Whatcha doing?”
“Math homework.”
“It’s Friday. There’s no school tomorrow.”
“I know. I just wanted to get it out of the way.”
“I hate math,” Benjamin said, crossing his eyes.
“But you always get A’s.”
“Don’t mean I like it.”
I tweaked his nose, then leaned back against the counter. Judging by the twinkle in his eyes and the flush of his face, he had something to ask me.
“When we putting up our tree, Mom? It’s not too early. Mr. August said if you put molasses in the bowl that the trunk sits in, the tree’ll live to be a hundred.”
“I think we’ll stick to tradition and dress it Christmas Eve.”
He swatted his leg. “Bummer.”
“How are Mr. and Mrs. August?”
“Fine. We popped popcorn to string on the tree, but we ended up eating it all. And I got to use a hand saw to cut off some branches. At first Mr. August said no, but when I told him I watch home improvement shows all the time, he said that was a different kettle of fish and that I should have told him before that I had experience because he shuuure could’ve used my help when he was building shelves in the pantry last week.” He paused only long enough to take a quick breath.
“Look what he gave me for my hard labor.” He dug in the pocket of his coveralls and handed me his payment. “It’s a medal. It’ll protect us from evil. It’s blessed by the Bishop and everything. So there’s no need to be frightened in the house anymore, Mom. The Blessed Virgin Mary will keep us all safe. She’s the mother of per ... per ....”
“Perpetual help.”
“And lost causes.” He bobbed his head. “That’s what Mr. August says.”
I clutched the medal in my hand and crouched until my face leveled with his. “Sweetie, I’m not frightened living here, and you shouldn’t be either. Irwin and I came to an understanding. He promised not to hurt us if I find his parents for him, remember? That’s why I’m doing research at the library.”
“I never break a promise, but....” He bowed his head.
What he was too diplomatic to voice was that since this was a ghost, could we trust him?
“The Virgin Mother will make him keep his promise.” I forced certainty into my voice.
“How are you coming with your research, Mom?” Katie asked.
“It’s coming, but slowly, since I don’t know what I’m looking for. I think I’ll check newspaper articles for around the time this house was built. There must be a specific reason for Irwin to inhabit this place and not another on the street.”
Katie tilted her head, appearing deep in thought for a moment. “Maybe Irwin’s body is buried in the house.”
“Cool.” Benjamin said.
I covered my heart with my hand. Perish the thought.
“Or maybe,” she paused a moment, her face taking on the look of someone having a revelation, all bubbly and flushed, “or maybe this house was built over a graveyard.”
“Cooler.”
Katie watched too many horror movies, and Benjamin made me wonder again which branch of the family tree he stemmed from. “I don’t think that’s it,” I said, so hoping that weren’t the case, mainly because it wasn’t unique. I wanted spectacular. I wanted something unheard of, like I'd wanted the reason for Jonathan divorcing me to be something different than the usual adultery or irreconcilable differences.
“It could be, though. Think about it. The Micmac Indians were the first settlers, so there must be an ancient Indian burial ground somewhere.”
“Yes. On the reservation.”
“They didn’t always live on the reservation, though. Remember the history of Sheffield? All of this land belonged to the Indians until the white man,” she stopped to make quotation marks in the air, “fought them for it. What happened to their dead?”
Good question. I had no answer.