Chapter 21

There was nothing to do while I waited but to rattle around the house. Having to wait for Reverend Putnam's call meant I couldn't use the telephone. I peeked out my window and saw the low clouds. In the distance, lightning flashed followed seconds later by thunder.

It had been weeks since I listened to the news or weather reports. I didn’t need a weather report to tell me what was coming. Growing up on the coast meant recognizing certain weather events, and I knew I was looking at a Nor'easter. Returning to Danielsford tomorrow would be out of the question unless it veered further north. It didn't appear that was going to happen. The storm was coming straight for us.

The phone rang. I raced back to the kitchen and grabbed it on the third ring. George gave me his phone number. I told him what was happening.

"I'll hang up," he said. "Call me after. Anyway, from what the weather is saying, we won't go back for a couple of days."

"Nor'easter coming," I said. "I'll be in touch as soon as I hear anything."

When we finished talking, I put on coffee and sat at the table, patiently waiting for it to perk. It didn't take long to run out of patience. I grabbed my cup while the carafe was barely a third full. The coffee would be stronger, but that was fine. When it comes to coffee, strong is good.

Knowing we couldn't get back to Danielsford didn't lessen my desire to get things over with. I wanted to give Mary peace. More important, from my perspective, I wanted to stop the evil one from getting to me and killing me.

Halfway through my coffee, Reverend Conant called. He had mixed news.

"Do you wish the good or bad first?" he asked.

"Let's get the bad out of the way," I said.

"I'll start with the good. I have a Priest who will perform the funeral," he said. "He was dubious until I told him of my conversation with Reverend Putnam. I'm still not absolutely sure he believes me. We know one another, however, not well but well enough. He's young, in his thirties, and can make the hike of, what did you say, a mile or two?"

"Roughly a mile and a half or two miles," I replied. I wasn’t sure how far into the forest the town sat. My guess was a couple of miles. It could as easily have been half a mile.

"Now the bad. He cannot do it until Thursday at the earliest."

"The storm is going to keep us away for a couple of days," I said.

"So it isn't an inconvenience," Conant said. "Is his being Catholic a problem?"

"Not to me," I said. "Catholics are Christians, aren't they?"

"So they wish us to believe. I was thinking of the woman. Her religion did not look kindly on Rome."

"She only said a Christian burial."

"You mentioned you tape recorded her voice? May I hear it?"

I found the recorder and played it for him. He listened in silence and asked me to play it again, then a third time.

"Thank you," he said after the third playing. "I have often wondered at their dialect and pronunciation. The accent makes her a bit difficult to understand."

"More than a bit," I said, “but you get used to it.”

"I shall call Father Maloney and give him your number," Reverend Conant said, apparently done thinking about accents and pronunciation. "I don't know if he'll call tonight or tomorrow."

"I'll be here," I said.

"Good. I will make the call immediately."

Thanking him, I put the phone in its wall cradle, turned and came face to face with Mary, standing silently just on the other side of the table, about six feet from me.

"I wish you'd give some warning," I said more to myself, trying to swallow my heart, which was stuck high in my throat.

"Romish clergy will do my funeral?" she asked.

"He's Christian," I said. Again I noticed, as in the forest, I could hear her without the tape recorder. For a moment, I tried to think what had changed to allow me to hear her voice. I also wondered how long she had been there before appearing, and whether she was always nearby.

She looked past me to the telephone on the wall. "Aye. I suppose. It will be soon?"

"Thursday," I said, adding, "I think."

She turned her attention from the phone to me. "What be this day?”

"Monday," I said. "Three more days." I stopped for a second and blurted a question. "What are you?"

I caught a hint of a smile and heard her soft laugh. She looked directly at me, brow furrowed. "I am a woman, Frank Jackson. What think you I am?"

“A ghost. I thought you were a ghost.”

“I am the same as are you.” The faint trace of a smile appeared again. “I do not be a ghost.”

I wanted to keep the conversation going, to find out a thousand details. I also realized she wouldn't stay much longer. She either couldn't or wasn't inclined to talk.

"How can you be alive after all this time?"

She shook her head. The movement was nearly imperceptible. "There be things of which you know nothing or have forgotten."

I nodded, not sure what she meant.

"What year does it be?" she asked.

“It's 2020,” I told her.

Her eyes widened for a moment. I don't think it occurred to her that so many centuries had passed. After a moment, she nodded and slowly faded away before I had a chance to ask about the other woman.

"Things I don't know or have forgotten." I repeated her explanation. "That covers almost everything."

Before I got the words out of my mouth the phone rang, nearly sending me to the ceiling. Even knowing Mary had no plans to harm me, her appearances still shook me to the core.

"Mr. Jackson?" a male voice said. "This is Father Maloney."

"Reverend Conant told me to expect your call," I said, willing my heart to slow down.

"He filled me in on your situation," he continued. "Honestly, if it was anyone else telling me I'd recommend psychiatric help."

"So would I if it wasn't happening to me. How much do you know?"

He spent a minute or two reviewing what the Reverend told him. I filled in the gaps. There weren't many. For someone who wasn't directly involved, Reverend Conant hadn't missed much.

"The town sits in the wildlife refuge near Wenham," he said.

"About two miles in," I said, wondering how far off I was on the distance.

"And this ghost wants me to do the funeral service?"

"She wants a Christian service."

"A ghost," he said again.

"She isn't a ghost. I'm not sure what you'd call her." I hesitated a moment. “She's a flesh and blood person. I can't explain it.”

He was quiet. "Thursday?"

"Can you make it then? Mid-morning?"

"I can. Where shall I meet you?"

"Give me your address and I can pick you up."

“I’ll drive,” he said. He thought for a moment and gave me the address of the rectory. His church was barely five blocks from my home.

“You're close,” I told him.

"Do you attend?" he asked with an undertone of humor.

"I'm lapsed," I said. "Very lapsed."

"It's never too late. Tell me about the other one, the evil one."

"I know less about her than Mary Bradbury, except from nightmares." I explained what Mary told me.

"So she can't keep her away much longer."

"She seemed okay with Thursday. I guess I'm safe until then."

"I hope you realize how insane this entire conversation sounds," he said. “You’re telling me a three-hundred-year-old woman who was hanged as a witch is back, alive, and wants a Christian burial.”

"Believe me, Father, I do know how it sounds," I said and offered to let him hear the tape. If nothing else, it might help convince him.

He listened silently and had me play it again.

"I'm not sure what to say," he said after the second playing.

"She calls you Romish," I said.

"I've never heard that word. I assume it isn't flattering. Thursday morning then," he said.

I told him how to find the Wenham Tea Room and we hung up.

***

I called George Masters and gave him the news. It didn't seem to trouble him.

“I expected we wouldn't be going back for a few days with this storm,” he said.

He told me that he would go home and return on Thursday. Meeting at the tea room was fine. It was the only place in town we both knew.

"Let's say the same time," he said.

"About ten. I think we've got a plan."

"See you on Thursday," he said. “I'm kind of looking forward to it. Something tells me it could be interesting.”

“I'm sure it will be,” I said. I wasn’t quite as excited as him. After a week and a half, I'd had all the excitement I wanted.

I put the phone up and slowly turned, half expecting to see Mary standing silently nearby. She wasn't, or wasn't visible. I was alone, I think. It was almost nine o'clock.

***

I grabbed the phone and walked into the office. After carefully letting my eyes wander over the room, I punched in Jackie's work number. She answered on the first ring.

"How did it go?"

"We found the town." I then proceeded to tell her what we would be doing when the storm was over.

"The weather says it's supposed to be bad."

"Nothing yet, but it's building over the water," I said.

"The town," she said, getting back on track. "Tell me about it."

"There isn't a lot to tell." I described what we found.

"So, you've got a priest willing to go in there?"

"On Thursday. He'll do the service and she'll be at rest."

"There's a cemetery out there?" she asked.

"Somewhere," I said.

For a long few seconds, she was silent. "That's kind of sad."

“I've got an idea,” I said.

She had the same feeling that hit me and that George Masters had felt. Mary was making an impression on all of us.

"So she won't be forgotten.”

I told her what I planned and said I would continue with it for as long as I could.

"I think it's kind of nice," she said, her voice soft. "I think she'd like it. I would if I was her."

"I'm sure I'll find out. She could be hovering someplace nearby, listening." I reminded her about Mary's appearance at the end of the conversation with Reverend Conant.

She giggled. "There’s nothing like an invisible woman listening in on your conversation."

"Especially some of our conversations," I said. "It's kind of erotic when you think about it."

"Why am I not surprised you'd say that?"

"Because you're thinking the same thing."

"I was, actually," she replied, with a short laugh. "What if she'd been in the bedroom?"

"Would that turn you on?"

"As I recall, I was pretty turned on anyway." Her voice was soft, silky smooth and wanting. She hesitated. “Maybe."

"Like now," I said.

"You're a pervert," she whispered. "Tell me."

We spent the next half an hour fulfilling a fantasy that soon I hoped would be reality.

"God I want you here," she said when we finished.

"No worse than I want to be there," I replied. "You've got work to finish?"

"Always," she said. "Call me tomorrow?"

"If I can," I replied.

When we hung up, I walked to the window and stared out at the building storm.