Beginning of novel here…

Part One

Which Makes the Ghost Seem Nigh Me….
Of A Something That Came and Went

CHAPTER ONE CONTINUED (second section)

The phone rang as she returned to the living room, pulling wavy dark hair into a loose knot with a gray hair looper. She checked caller identification then answered her daughter’s call, finding out about Haidee’s new job and that now all their girls wouldn’t be far across Indiana state line, just into southwest Michigan. Life did work out.

Lindsay was still smiling from Haidee’s call as she took the leftovers into the white wainscoted backroom she and Sam dubbed the mudroom.

A scowling woman with floppy gray hair stood outside the back door. Lindsay gaped at her through the glass pane. The woman didn’t look at her, she just walked away. Now that certainly was spying. Shocked at the nerve, Lindsay checked the door. Locked.

The instant Lindsay read the real estate description that just hit the Internet’s multiple listing service, she sensed this was exactly what Sam needed. Towering oaks and a place to fish. A miniature farmhouse-like cottage that truly infatuated her. White with a picket fence. Goodness, what were the chances to find a place with a mother-in-law rental where finances were manageable.

When she told Sam, he said, ‘Whatever you decide.’ So they placed their house on the market and purchased on land contract. Time felt like oxygen now. Time, a precious energy.

They were stuck here, awaiting the first real breath of spring. And the last breath of life.

Only Sam was familiar, especially the morning they finished unpacking and sat by the east window.

The corners of Sam’s small brown eyes crinkled both from smiling and concentration. His grizzly crew cut and eiderdown fur made him brown bear cuddly with a tee shirt over his soft tummy. Only the softening of his square jaw dated him. The brown wolf tattoo on his forearm, which he chose at sixteen after dreaming of a village, was more sacred to him than she could understand.

“When I’m gone, you can use the insurance money to buy a house right on the lake,” he said.

“When you’re gone, I will be content right here where you were.” But she was more likely to move soon after he passed. No need to worry him. She was worried enough for the both of them.

“Plant an English rose garden,” he said as she stood, picking up his mug. “Clara Rose.” He used her given name. “Clara Rose in a rose garden.” 

She smiled. “Now hon, just worry about how we’re going to fit our grown Newfie rescue in a Crown Victoria tomorrow.” She remembered their first Newfoundland puppy and reminded Sam. “When we drove to Michigan to pick up Jonah, we took that box he was three times too big for. I hope Rex won’t be too big for the back seat,” and they laughed, excited as two kids, then he stared out the window again.

In the quiet, their new archaic furnace sounded off like popcorn in a kettle, steaming away the last of the morning chill.

“Hon–” she had said, and he took her hand. “Sam, you realize I’m going to be just fine, don’t you?” She had to tell him that a lot.

“No,” he had said.

Next morning, headed for the rescue, Lindsay noticed pines and oaks embroidered against the white morning sky.

Then the antique mall complex and adorable attached cottage on the highway with newspaper on the windows. As Sam pulled to the stop sign, she leaned past his shoulder. “Closed?” she said, wondering what happened between Saturday and Sunday. “Look, Sam. ‘For Sale’ bulletins.” He drove on and, if she could maneuver that well, she would have been on her knees to see. “It was open over twenty years.”

“The only real shopping in town,” he said.

All the way to northeastern Indiana her mind rambled over what would have brought more traffic through the antique mall. Briefly browsing an antique shop near the rescue rewarded her another broken clock. Pale gray crocks for shelves by the phone. Five large, softly grayed baskets of flat, woven New England ash for the shelves and floor beneath.

And thirty business cards of antique dealers from her area so she might find booth consigners.

What was she thinking?

The lanky man at the rescue led them to a run where a rippling furred, blue-black Newfoundland giant intelligently beheld them. No threat, no question. As if he knew.

“This one’s owner died, like I told you” He opened the gate.

He’s a Garth, Lindsay thought. Broad shouldered, well-mannered. She held out her hands for him, eager to comb his feathery fur. The dog stayed inside, with his giant head nudging the smaller Newfie beside him.

“Who’s that?” Sam asked.

“A female. She was in a supposed animal shelter in Ohio. They were going to put her down. She was lost, maybe stolen. No chip to trace.”

“She have a home yet?” Sam asked as Lindsay thought she looked like a Susanna. She took Sam’s hand when the rescuer shook his head, saying, “Nope, not yet,” and Sam looked at Lindsay and she grinned at him. “Well hell,” Sam said. “She does now.”

That evening, Lindsay and Garth had walked the half-mile to see the antique mall. She had left Sam curled up on the living room floor, his head on Susanna’s side. He was extremely tired lately. Stubborn man. ‘This is it,’ he had told her. ‘When it’s done it’s done, and I seem to be done.’ That’s what he said even before there were two hundred and forty-four days left. If Dr. Schalen was exactly accurate.

A lady straddling a Harley was in the parking lot so Lindsay nonchalantly strolled past, avoiding the woman’s stare, then moving deeper into the dusk where she checked every detail of the three long buildings. Brown brick to the bottom of four wide windows. Double doors useful when moving larger furniture.

Nothing ever had been so clear.

Sam was sitting with his back against the sofa when Garth and Lindsay slipped in the front door, so she spent an hour outlining convincing ideas on how to bring customers all year long. Birdseed, Wyann’s cocoa, vanilla and seasonings, natural products. Antiques. Used and new furniture. Cottage, cabin, camp, rustic and vintage. Attracting retreat dwellers in summer, regional customers the rest of the year. Internet customers across North America.

“Great ideas,” he admitted. “But the house hasn’t sold.”

The million-dollar question. “Goodness, I just don’t know about the financing.”

Sam yawned, scratching Susanna’s head. “But if it’s supposed to happen, it will.”

“Will it?” She felt surprised, nervous. A unique way to support herself, better than being on a systematic payroll when she didn’t hold a degree worth a serious wage. She kissed Sam on the cheek and headed for bed.

Garth lumbered after her to massively thud onto the ivory wool rug. Lindsay closed the door, cringing at images of endless black fur, but the dog harummed a bass-tone that pleased her heart.

“You can shed all you want.” Lindsay happily stretched out beside Garth with a blanket from the closet and her head on a pillow. His shampoo scent reminded her of the meadow near Miramichi Bay, sun on wild raspberries… Uncle Herron. Itty snuggled Lindsay’s neck. Fern burrowed under her skirt.

She fell asleep, wishing she’d been home when Daniel called during her walk. She heard a high-pitched bark, decided it was Susanna. She hadn’t heard the sound again, so prayed. No dreaming. But as she drifted into deep sleep, she had known a seal was on her bed. A seal.

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