Mickelsson's Ghosts by John Gardner (guided reading books .TXT) 📕

in the conversation. “You know, all our lives there was something about us,” she said. “Bad chemistry, I suppose. And then, once he gaht it in his mind that I’d stolen his property—” She looked around as if surprised by the recollection that this was the house. “Well, who’d believe it?” She smiled, finished her tea, and carefully placed the cup and saucer back on the glass-topped table. Mickelsson glanced down at his own tea, almost untouched. “You might laugh,” she said, “but there was a time I was actually sweet on him. Isn’t that something? It was a long, long time ago, a course.”

The light in the room had changed now, some of the brightness drawing back, losing power. The shadows on the walls had grown more vague and more extensive. On the road outside, a car slowed down, then sped up again. She too seemed to listen. Both Tim and Mickelsson were relighting their pipes.

“So what was it, that night, that frightened you?” he asked.

“Frightened me,” she echoed as before, visibly baffled. Then light broke, a queer, joyful wildness in her eyes. “I wasn’t frightened,” she exclaimed, “that’s naht the reason I was driving like that! I was furious!”

He stared.

Tim looked with interest from Dr. Bauer to Mickelsson.

She leaned forward, muscles tensing, her smile suddenly like a young girl’s, and said, “I talked with him, reasoned with him, tried to make him see that he’d end up despised and bankrupt if he didn’t just let go of it—believe me, he didn’t have a leg to stand on! But no, they kept on, both of them, screeching and complaining, making terrible accusations. … If I’d stayed a minute longer I’d’ve broken both their necks!” She laughed at herself. “Believe me, I wasn’t frightened—not of that little monkey! Believe me, if somebody’d put a knife in my hand, or a paper box of matches—” She laughed again, a laugh almost like music, acknowledging what a foolish child she’d been, and at the same moment, as if to be done with the embarrassing confession, she stood up, looming above him, raising her hands out to the sides for balance. Tim stood up too. “Oh no, I wasn’t afraid, heaven bless me! I was never that kind!” Then, getting her amusement into control, still blushing, she said, “Well, I’m sorry to have frightened you on the road, I must say. I guess it’s pure luck that we’re still here to talk about it. I really am so ashamed of myself.”

Grudgingly, Mickelsson said, “It’s amazing, the way you pulled out of it. Me too, for that matter.”

“Well, you know, something just takes over for you,” she said. “People have no idea what powers they have. I believe people really could just take off and fly if they set their minds to it—not that I say Tommy Sprague could do it.”

Surprised, Mickelsson said, “You sound uncertain about it.”

“Oh, well, you know, I like to leave things open.” She smiled.

It came to Mickelsson that he ought to be standing. They were preparing to leave. He got up, rising into the smell of Tim’s pipe, and abruptly remembered that his pipe tobacco had never reappeared after the night his house had been ransacked.

“And I’m so glad the howse has been no trouble,” the doc said, crossing to her coat. “You certainly have done well by it!”

“It seems odd,” he said, “that you should’ve thought it would be trouble. You’re sure it wasn’t the ghosts you were thinking of, or witchcraft or something?”

Tim was shrugging into his coat.

Dr. Bauer smiled, staring as if absently at where the hex had been, and seemed not to register his remark. “Ah, yes,” she said. She stood large and comically out of season in her bright pink coat, pulling her white gloves on, then reaching for her hat.

“I understand there’s some evidence that there really may be ghosts, or something of the sort,” Mickelsson said, stalling them. “Is that why you put up the hex sign?”

She blinked, coming out of her reverie, and looked at him. “That?” she said, pointing at the door as if the hex were still there. “I gaht that down at some restaurant just outside Harrisburg. It was one of those decals, you know.” Her expression was partly puzzled, partly apologetic. “I think it just means ‘welcome.’ ”

“But the black band around it, wouldn’t that suggest—”

“Heavens, I wouldn’t know, Prafessor,” she said with a laugh, patting her hat into place. “There was a paper that came with it, but I’m afraid I lost that years ago.” She came back toward the door. Tim, smiling, moved toward her.

Mickelsson frowned. It was his paranoia, he knew, that made the two of them seem conspirators. Obviously, Tim was just helping her out, driving her around during her visit. Mickelsson said, “I wanted to tell you, by the way, I’m very grateful for the way you came down in price. I was amazed, really—”

“That was because of the Mormons, of course,” she said.

No doubt he showed his surprise. Tim explained with a wide grin, “They wanted it real bad. There’s more and more of ’em arownd here these days. They pay tahp dahller.”

“You didn’t want to sell to them?” He studied the doctor’s face.

“I know it’s terrible to be prejudiced,” she said, “but I’ve always gahtten on so well with my neighbors. Right or wrong, I knew they’d just hate me if I sold to those people. How would they have liked it if I’d sold to the Mormons and they’d turned the place into one of their synagogues? Thank heavens I was able to find Tim, and Tim fownd you!”

“I see,” Mickelsson said. It was a slight exaggeration. Yet he felt oddly cheerful. The visit had done him good. “Well,” he said then, “I’m glad you could stop by.” He opened the door for her. “Have a nice trip back.”

She smiled again. “I will, I’m sure. I always do. Thank you!” Carefully she put her right hand on the doorframe,