k
weariness, but his dark blue eyes were kind and empathetic. “I came as soon as I heard.” He walked to her, hands outstretched.
Judith sagged against the chair, her face crumpling, scalded by tears.
This was not a moment for me to observe. I looked away from Judith toward Father Abbott.
As I left, I carried with me an indelible memory of the man most important to Kathleen. Faces reflect character. Even in a quick glance, I saw grace and intelligence, purpose and commitment, sensitivity and determination.
I also saw deep fatigue, perhaps mental as well as physical. A slight tic fluttered one eyelid. His shoulders slumped with weariness. The immensity of life and death and the gulf between was mirrored in his eyes. He was there to offer solace and hope, peace and acceptance.
What a gift that was and what a burden to bear.
C H A P T E R 7
Idrifted deliciously between sleeping and waking, luxuriating in the comfort of the downy feather bed. I stretched and wiggled my toes. Heaven, of course, is always comfortable. Everything is in perfect harmony, so there is never a sense of mental or physical unease. On earth, minds fret, hearts grieve, muscles tire, bodies ache.
Achieving the right balance is a never-ending quest.
My eyes popped open. Was I perhaps being too much of the earth?
I flung back the covers and came to my feet. Quickly I imagined a rather formal blue flannel robe and slipped into it. Just in case. Gradually my tension eased. Wiggins wasn’t here. After all, even Wiggins wouldn’t frown on enjoying the moment. Joy is surely Heaven-sent.
I gazed happily around the charming bedroom. I was sure—
almost sure—that Kathleen would have been delighted to invite me to stay in the guest bedroom upon my return last night. I hadn’t wanted to bother her and certainly morning was time enough to bring my presence to her attention.
Last night I’d prepared for sleep by envisioning pink satin paja-mas. Comfortably attired, I’d slept the sleep of the just. I looked at the mirror. Oh, of course. I wasn’t here.
G h o s t at Wo r k
I was uncertain how to dress for the day. Nothing too formal, but should I need to appear, should my actual presence be unavoidable and essential (Wiggins, are you listening?), it was important to be appropriately dressed. It wouldn’t do to be garbed in the styles of my day, attractive though they were.
When I observed the church ladies last night, I was enchanted by the new fashions, although a little puzzled that most wore slacks.
Their outfits were quite charming. Except for the shoes. The shoes appalled me, especially those with long upturned toes like an elf or blocky heels that brought Wiggins’s sturdy black shoes to mind. I prefer jaunty shoes with shiny buckles or bright bows.
I wafted to the sewing room. It was rather cold. I rose and pushed up a register, welcoming a draft of warm air and the enticing scent of bacon. I was eager to reach the kitchen, but first I must dress.
I found a stack of clothing catalogs on a worktable. I would have enjoyed looking at everything, but I hastily made a selection, a double-breasted jacket and slacks in gray wool with a herringbone pattern and a Florentine-gold silk blouse. Matching gray leather pumps (with a reasonable heel) and small gold hoop earrings completed a tasteful ensemble.
I’d no more than made my choice when the door burst open and a slender form catapulted inside. Bayroo skidded to a stop halfway across the room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here.” Her quick smile was warm. “Your pantsuit is beautiful.” The child had excellent taste. “Good morning, Bayroo. Thank you.” I smiled though I was disconcerted. Once again, even though I wasn’t here, Bayroo saw me.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I need to get my costume out of the closet.” She gestured across the room. “We’re having our class Halloween parties today.”
Bayroo would very likely mention seeing me when she went downstairs for breakfast. “Bayroo, can you keep a secret?”
Ca ro ly n H a rt
She folded her arms in an X across her chest. “Sure. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Your great-grandmother and I were very close”—I was counting on Bayroo having a very fuzzy idea of how long ago that might have been—“and I’m visiting here to lend your mom a hand, but it’s a secret from everyone because it might be complicated to explain.” She stared at me, her gaze startled, then thoughtful, finally eager.
She clapped her hands. “I know exactly who you are. There’s a painting of you in the hall outside the parish hall. All the past directresses of the Altar Guild are there.” She looked puzzled. “You were a lot older then. You have red hair just like mine. Mom told me you were my great-grandmother’s sister. I’m named after you.” She smiled, a curious smile that radiated mischief, excitement, and certainty. “You’re a ghost and I guess you’re young and pretty now because that’s how you are.” Trust a child to understand. However, I had a conviction that Kathleen would not be pleased. I didn’t even want to think about Wiggins.
She gave an excited hop. “This is so cool. How did you do it?”
“Do what?” I hoped for inspiration.
“Come back.” She looked at me eagerly.
“On a wing and a prayer.” Of course the reference meant nothing to her.
Bayroo nodded solemnly as if everything were explained. “Way cool. So”—she looked thoughtful—“you’re here to help Mom? That’s swell. She’s been pretty blue lately. Dad’s too busy to notice. You know my dad, don’t you? He’s the rector and he works all the time. He left before seven this morning. Men’s early-morning Bible study. He has to do most everything and he only has a retired military chaplain to help out on Sundays and with some of the hospital visits and everybody on the vestry has plenty of ideas of more for Dad to do but there’s never enough money and he’s worried about the roof on the church and the winter heating bills. The heating bills are
