A Ghost, a Graveyard, and a Girlfriend – Part 2

Read Part 1!

Adela got up and I accompanied her to the door.  As I paused for an instant, idly watching the street after she disappeared, my attention was suddenly drawn to the graveyard and I caught sight of a filmy white… thing… with a dark blue scarf… and I must confess, when I glanced in the mirror a minute later, I looked like I had seen a ghost.  But appearances are deceitful, as I told James Gregory.

What with the graveyard on the one hand, and Adela on the other, I really began to waste away those next few weeks.  I slept little and ate less.  Of course I do not believe in ghosts – certainly not – especially not ghosts from a “graveyard” where no one has been buried.  Still, it was not exactly canny to look up from your dinner table and see the long shadows of the tombstones trailing on the grass, or to wake in the middle of the night with a pervasive consciousness of unexplored mystery next door.  But Adela throve on it.

Thankfully, the graveyard did not begin to encroach on our property. Yet it was much too close for comfort.  Even had I been able to forget about it – which I wasn’t – I would never have been permitted to.  James Gregory had a cheerful habit of asking, “How’s the graveyard getting on, dear?” before dinner every day, and Adela would drop by at least twice a week to grumble over her unsatisfied curiosity.  Each time I was left in fear and trepidation lest her rashness lead her into some terrible predicament.  I warned her flatly that she needn’t look to me for relief!

Apparently, Adela had no idea where to begin.  Opportunities for investigation were evidently not forthcoming, and she was plainly getting desperate.

“Carol, my dear” – I straightened in alarm, knowing that when Adela called me a dear, it was a sure sign that she intended to ask me to do something I would find disagreeable – “really, you have so many more opportunities than I do.  What with my job, and then picking the kids up from school… and Tim is so particular about his suppers, too.  Now – there’s a dear, Carol – no, it’s nothing much… nothing specific even.  Just promise me that you’ll keep your eyes – and your curtains – open and not let an opportunity slip.  You’ll promise, won’t you, Carol?  Dear?”

In the end I promised ungraciously, knowing that Adela would not leave me in peace otherwise.  And, truth be told, I was getting tired of leaving the curtains shut all day.

James Gregory came home, one evening two weeks later, in an unusually tired state.  He flung himself onto the couch without even tasting my delicious dinner and began to snore vehemently.  This happened, I knew, once every few months and was a sign that James had been on a tour of inspection which, as the faculty he supervised was quite large, required a great deal of walking and stair climbing.  James Gregory had contracted a horror of elevators in his early childhood and had never set foot in one since.

With James snoring on the couch I was left to my own devices for the evening and decided to finish sewing a little outfit I was working on for my daughter Mary’s first child.  I dragged out the machine and soon its mechanical hum was the only sound in the room as I sewed away, recalling with a smile the old days when Mary used to accompany me and whistle for all she was worth the whole time.

Into this idyllic peace broke, suddenly and without warning, a piercing and high-pitched scream.  I did not think of it at the time, but later on it occurred to me that the scream had really sounded just like a baby pig being thrust alive into boiling water.

Be that as it may, the scream was most assuredly one of utter and unfeigned terror.  Say what you will, there is a certain quality in a scream of terror – whether in man, bird, or beast – that is quite recognizable and equally inimitable.  I have never been able to believe “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” for that very reason.  A scream of real terror would have commanded attention, regardless of prior counterfeits.  “The Girl Who Honked the Horn,” on the other hand… now that would be reasonable.  The sound of a car horn does not reflect the emotions of the honker, as my daughter has some reason to know.

At any rate, I rushed outside without even stopping to turn the sewing machine off… and a pretty mess I returned to afterwards!  But there, I don’t grudge such trivialities in the cause of neighborly kindness… and, I must admit, the sight that rewarded me was such as I would not willingly have missed!

That the scream had come from the graveyard I knew by intuition.  It would have been flatly absurd for a scream to issue from any other place when it had such a perfectly dismal graveyard ready to hand.

Without thinking about where I was about to go – indeed, I may truly say, without thinking at all – I flew out the door, across the yard, and into Iakobo’s pet idiosyncrasy as fast as my short legs would carry me.

Well, the tableau viviant in that graveyard was a sight for tired legs and winded lungs, I tell you.  It clean swept me off my feet and what little breath I had left was gone entirely.  I’m sure I would have plumped square down if an old fashioned stone bench hadn’t come handy.  Fortunately, it did.

Iakobo stood… knelt, rather… smack between two gravestones.  He was on one knee, but evidently prepared to spring to his feet instantly should the party of the second part show any signs of fainting.  A ring and ring case lay neglected on the grass where Iakobo had dropped them.  As for the party of the second part, she it was who had screamed, that much was obvious.  She was a slim, attractive looking girl, at that moment extremely pale, her large blue eyes dilated to a very alarming degree.  She clutched both Iakobo’s outstretched hands much as the proverbial drowning man grasps his straw.  Her gaze was fixed far beyond us at the furthest gravestone, behind which, as I saw to my utter astonishment and no little alarm, half stood, half crouched the ghost of the blue scarf.

I use the word ghost advisedly.  Of course I didn’t really think it – perhaps I ought to say, she – was a ghost, but I had gotten into a bad habit of calling her that in my mind… just as I had got into the bad habit of calling Mary “Andrew” before she was born.  The switch had not been an easy one.

Iakobo turned as I plopped down, and caught sight of the ghost.  Thereupon he stood up, startled and annoyed, but not afraid.  “Excuse me, but I don’t recall sending out invitations,” he said sarcastically.  “If you would disappear…”

The ghost cleared her throat.  “Sorry.  I’ll disappear.  Go on, please,” she said.  There was something funny about her voice, I decided.  It was unnaturally gruff and disguised.  But she made a pathetic pretense of “disappearing” behind the tombstone.

Apparently it takes quite a lot to faze Iakobo.  He simply bent over, picked up the ring, and began again.  “Tiffany, will you…”

“Wait!” Tiffany interjected.  “I… I… really don’t know – I need to think about this…” her voice trailed off.  “I… I thought you said… your graveyard…”

“Why, yes.  My graveyard.  Haven’t we been over this a hundred times?  Every time I pull a tooth, I add a tombstone.  Just my way of keeping track of progress!”

“B…but… a – ghost…” Tiffany had sunk onto a handy log and was shivering with genuine terror.

“Probably the tooth fairy.  I’ll warn her off the premises next time I see her, I promise you.”

Tiffany laughed rather hysterically.

“Confound it!” Iakobo exclaimed with annoyance.  “I suppose this was what Jason’s veiled hints meant.  Look, Tiffany.  Your brother dared me to propose in a graveyard.  And he bet ten dollars that you’d not say yes.  So just say yes, please, and we can deal with the ghost later?”

“My brother… Jason?  Are you saying… this is all for a bet?”

Iakobo growled impatiently.  “Yes – I mean, no!  Of course not!  But I figured I might as well…” he growled again.  “That Jason!  Look, Tiffany, bet or no bet, I love you!  But – you know – if you’d just say yes now!  It’s not the ten dollars,” with an impatient wave, “but it would be such a pity to lose to Jason.”

Tiffany looked as though she thought there were more in this last argument than in all that had gone before.  At any rate, she recovered her self-possession, probably in part because she had jumped to the conclusion that the ghost was not really a ghost at all.  “I don’t mind saying yes, just to disappoint Jason, as long as you don’t take it as an actual yes…”

Mr. Ian looked very much as though he couldn’t believe his ears.  “What?!?!  You’re missing the point!  Won’t you marry me?”

Tiffany changed the subject with provoking coolness.  “Who was the ghost, anyhow?  It certainly wasn’t Jason.”

Iakobo pondered an instant, drumming his fingers on the nearest tombstone.  “Really, I don’t know who it was.  I wasn’t paying attention.”

Until now I had remained a silent and very confused spectator – also a totally ignored one – just doing my best to piece together all the loose threads that were suddenly dangling before me.  But when the question turned to the ghost’s identity, I had a sudden eureka moment that scattered the threads to the four winds once again.  I scrambled to my feet and rushed towards the tombstone where I guessed the ghost was still in hiding, without even thinking about the effect my sudden entrance on the scene might have.

I don’t know what Iakobo and Tiffany did when they saw me stumbling over roots and brushing past branches, but I do know that the ghost – who had evidently been peering through a nearby bush – decided not to wait around.  She bounded to her feet and took to her heels, disappearing promptly behind the tall weeds.

I have no hesitation in admitting that I would never have caught her, had she not kicked her shins against a low tombstone and half-fell, half-limped forward.  “A nice mess you’ve got me into, Carol,” she said a little wrathfully, sitting up.

“Me?  You got yourself into the mess, Adela Daniels!”

“Hmm!”  She stood up and brushed the dirt and dead leaves off her filmy white dress.

“Won’t you go explain now?”

“Explain?  What is there to explain?  Or do you expect me to go tell them that I’m their snoopy neighbor?  No, thank you!”

“Don’t you see that you’ve messed everything up?”

“Not at all!  Rest assured, Iakobo will squeeze a yes out of her before the day is done.”  She broke off into smothered laughter.  “Did you ever see such a persistent fellow?  Just tell them that the ghost promises never to come back… and that Jason will pay his ten dollars on Monday.”

“So you are in league with Jason?” I asked curiously.

Adela sniffed.  “That’s my concern.  Just take them your message!”

And, in effect, when I returned with Adela’s promise, Iakobo lost no time in proposing for a fourth or fifth time, and Tiffany, after a moment’s consideration, said yes – if Iakobo did away with the graveyard.  I must admit that she seemed about to forget that provision, but I stepped in with a pointed hint.

Whether Mr. and Mrs. Ian actually managed to live happily ever after I can’t say, but at any rate they had no excuse not to.