Keith. I arrived on the front porch just as Peg opened the door…” I talked fast, concluding with a description of the after-dinner gathering this evening in the living room.
There was no response.
I took a deep breath, brushed back a vagrant curl. The easy part was over, if announcing one’s arrival in a ghostly state can be considered easy. Now for the hard part. “You see”—and my voice was gentle—“you died tonight. Now it’s time for you to leave.”
“I can’t.” Yet her voice was fainter. Was she slipping away?
“You must.” I wanted to reassure her. “I’ll be here to guard Keith.”
“I don’t believe this. You aren’t here. I’m not sitting here on the bed beside me. None of this is happening. It’s a dream.”
“You aren’t dreaming.” I spoke with finality, then rushed ahead. “Don’t be frightened. Heaven is waiting for you. You’ll be with Mitch and Ellen and Tom.”
“Oh.” Her voice was soft. “That will be wonderful.” There was longing and hope in her voice. Then, sharp and decisive, she announced, “Not yet. Not until I take care of Keith.”
A sharp pinch stung my arm. “Ouch.” I stepped farther from the bed.
“You weren’t here. Now you are.” Her voice wobbled. “I’m here, but I can’t see me, and I’m floating and on the bed—” She broke off.
“Susan, don’t be upset.” How useless bromides are when someone is caught up in intense emotion. Of course she was upset, and an unknown redhead appearing next to the bed where her body lay was surely not calming. How could I reassure her? I tried again. “Look at it this way. Dying changes everything.” In fact, I was puzzled. Clearly Susan was dead. She shouldn’t be tethered to earth. “I don’t know why you’re still here. It’s time for you to leave.” I gestured toward the golden glow above us.
“No.” The word was abrupt and determined.
“No?” Oh dear. If ever I needed a helping hand, it was now. Where was Wiggins? Oh, of course. Tumbulgum.
“I haven’t made provision for Keith. If I die now, he will receive nothing. There will be no one to care for him. I must take care of Keith.” She stifled a sob.
Abruptly I understood what was happening. Sometimes a spirit in great travail is bound to earth in mourning until past wrongs are righted, grievances settled. “I see.” I began to pace.
A dead hand was lifted, shaken. “Wake up!”
“Susan, there’s no going back.” I was firm.
The bed creaked as she rose. “Then how can you be here?”
We were getting into dangerous territory. “I’m here on temporary duty.” After all, I was an official emissary.
Strong fingers gripped my arm. “I’m not asking to stay long. Just long enough to take care of Keith. If you can be here, why can’t I?”
Oh. And oh. And oh. “I suppose…” I broke off. Wiggins would forever bar me from future missions. I would be regarded as the Benedict Arnold of the Department of Good Intentions.
“Is there a way?” Her grip tightened. “If there is, I beg you to tell me.” The pressure of her fingers made clear her urgency and despair and determination.
Down the hallway, a dear little boy slept cuddled next to his bear. Peg would take care of him, but he should receive his heritage and his grandmother should have peace.
I pushed away all thoughts of Precept Two and Wiggins. If this were to be my last adven-mission, I would do what I felt should be done, no matter what. “We can try.” I was in uncharted territory. “I’m not sure if it will work.” I pointed at myself. “Watch. If I decide to disappear…” My reflection in the mirror vanished. “Now, I’m going to become visible.” Once again, I swirled into being. “
The pressure on my arm ceased.
“Picture yourself in an emerald green turtleneck and cream slacks and green boots.” I held my breath.
Suddenly Susan was there, staring at the mirror in astonishment. She touched her cheek. “I look young. I feel wonderful. I could dance or run. My chest doesn’t ache. Oh my.” A lovely smile curved her lips. The skin of her oval face was unwrinkled, her complexion soft as magnolia petals, her hair glossy as ebony. Decisive dark brows arched over intelligent dark eyes. Her lips were a bright coral. She was beautiful, the beauty of classic features joined with good character.
I’d not been certain Susan would be able to appear. I
She turned and gazed at me in awe. “Who are you?”
I explained the Department of Good Intentions as well as I could. I didn’t get into the Precepts. “…and I used to live in Adelaide. I’m Bailey Ruth Raeburn.”
She laughed, a quick, gay, lilting laugh. “Oh, of course. I thought you looked familiar. I saw you this afternoon at our tree party and that’s why I thought I knew you. You were directress of the Altar Guild the year I joined. Your portrait is in the hall outside the parish hall. You were famous.”
“Famous?” Was that in my dossier at the department?
Her appealing laugh sounded again. “Definitely. Every time a new directress of the Altar Guild was installed, this mantra was passed along: Remember Bailey Ruth and Proverbs. Whenever you encountered resistance, whether over linens or candles or service assignments, you smiled and exclaimed, ‘Sweetie, you are an angel to think of that, but we all must remember Proverbs 15:18.’ Since no one wanted to admit they had no idea what
