Back to Madeline Island by Jay Gilbertson Page A

it.
    â€œLord have mercy,” Sam whispers. “Sure do.”
    We lean in closer and watch Sam.
    â€œUnrest…I see…there’s two. One’s familiar, why her name’s same as my great-aunt—Adeline. She’s there trying to help the other. Trying to…funny, but I can’t see the second spirit too good, but there’s definitely two that’s stuck on this side.”
    â€œThat was Ed’s gran, Adeline,” Ruby explains. “This was her dance studio and they used to live back there. Poor dear. But two spirits?”
    â€œThat just creeps me out!” I say. “If you’re saying there’s not one—but two —ghosts on this property—well, that just plain sucks!”
    â€œ Ghosts never hurt nobody,” Sam explains with a snort. “Besides, I may have just caught something that’s done and long gone, seeing as this model was made a while back.”
    â€œWhat,” I counter, “like dated impressions ?”
    â€œYears ago,” Ruby half whispers, “Ed and I poked about that old place and I felt something there—we both did. It gave us the creeps. I felt like I was being watched.”
    â€œChild,” Sam says, “we always bein’ watched.”
    Â 
    â€œWe don’t spend,” Ruby remarks, indicating the long, narrow room with a sweep of her arm, “near enough time out here on the porch any longer, do we?”
    â€œI can’t imagine,” I say, laughing, “what in the world anyone would think if they caught us like this, it’s so un economical.”
    â€œOh dash it all, if it weren’t for all these heaters—why, we’d catch our death out here.” She reaches over to an ancient space heater, its red coils pulsing expensive heat, and cranks it up a notch.
    â€œI do love this wraparound porch,” I comment. “Or is this a verandah?”
    â€œEither is correct, darling. Pour me some more tea, would you?”
    I do. “Must have taken years to collect all this wicker and the cushions are too cool. What crazy patterns. Wish we could find some old art deco fabrics like these, to make aprons out of.”
    â€œThat would be cool, dear.”
    â€œIt’ll be nice to see Helen again,” I mention. “Haven’t heard from her in a bit. I didn’t expect that we’d be, like, calling every day, but you’d think that—”
    â€œEve, darling.” Ruby turns off the rackety heater and sets her cup down. “I know this must be a strange and rather emotional time at present. What with meeting Helen and finding her a grown woman and what not, well, certainly not a baby any longer, well, it must be rather shocking, I should think.”
    â€œIt was…when we first laid eyes on one another, but not now. I’m realizing all my wondering couldn’t compare with how wonderful she is. Can’t seem to shed the guilt, though, of not realizing the enormous impact of, of young lust. They really should teach that in high school.”
    â€œTrue, so true. Somehow…” Ruby sits back, considering. “You have to let go of that. Oh, don’t look at me like that, all wounded. Listen.” She pats my hand. “I can’t imagine what this all feels like, but this is now, and you’ve so much to be to her—now.”
    â€œYou’re right, I know. I just seem to need to wallow a little bit. I can’t just be thrilled right off the bat and not expect to have some guilt in there somewhere.”
    â€œEve Moss, God forgive you if you ever forget to feel guilty about something.”
    We laugh. But it’s true. I have a really hard time accepting things in my life without feeling guilty. Like I have this huge scoreboard and if one side gets all filled up with good stuff, well, you better believe that any ol’ day now the shoe’s gunna fall and bam ! Sure as hell it does, and then I feel