Familiar Spirit

It was odd to see Brian in her new house—odd because it was wrong. He didn’t belong here in her refuge. Seeing him move through the rooms of the house she had rented, his boots loud on the bare wooden floors, his familiar voice echoing as he asked where she wanted the couch, Sarah found it too easy to fall into old patterns of thought, to forget what had just happened between them, to imagine all was right with the world and he was moving into this house with her. She had to stop herself from asking his advice on the placement of furniture. His opinion didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to live here, or even visit her here. She told herself that again and again, hurting herself, trying to get used to the pain. He would go away, and these walls would not know him again. Only she would—and as she gazed at Brian, unable to stop herself, Sarah imagined that he was leaving behind an image on the air which would remain to haunt her in the lonely nights to come. She would turn a corner, she thought, and catch a sudden glimpse of him; hear the distant echoes of his voice; and listen, heart pounding, as she waited for his return. Already, Brian was a ghost in her house.

The tears were too near the surface. Abruptly Sarah left her supervisory position and went outside. She walked around the house to the front, eyes on the ground, breathing slowly and deeply. She looked away from the weedy ground to the trees, and then up at the overcast sky. The day was cloudy and warm; the air moist and soft against her bare arms and face. A rainstorm, and colder weather, were expected that night. Sarah walked across the open expanse of ground, leaving the house and sheltering trees behind. A single tree, a low, spreading mesquite, stood at the far southwestern corner of the lot. She approached it, and then turned and looked up at her house.

Two red-brick chimneys thrust out of the black roof. Sarah frowned in surprise. She hadn’t noticed them before. Two chimneys, but no fireplaces. Then she remembered that odd, jutting corner in the living room, and the surprising shallowness of the kitchen pantry. The old fireplaces must have been covered up. A pity, but probably for the best, she thought. An old wooden house like this one would be a fire-trap.

As she began to walk back towards the house, Sarah noticed something else. There were windows at ground level, two of them on the front of the house, the glass grimed and revealing nothing, half-hidden by the bushes which crowded around the house below the high porch. She paused at the foot of the steps, remembering Valerie’s parting comment about a cellar. Perhaps she should have a look at it, but the idea of exploring a dark, damp, dirty space beneath her house was not immediately appealing. While she considered it, the front door opened and Pete came out onto the porch and looked down at her.

She mounted the steps to meet him, seeing the concern on his face. “Just surveying my domain,” she said lightly. “I just noticed there are chimneys, so there must have been a fireplace or two here back in the good old days.”

“The good old days,” Pete echoed. “Do you suppose this was a farmhouse? It was probably still outside the city limits in the Thirties, or whenever it was built. By the way, I noticed that your back steps aren’t too sturdy—the wood is pretty old, and one of the steps looks like it’s about to go. You should probably replace it.”

“I suspect the number of things wrong with this place will mount up as I get to know it better,” Sarah said. But her voice was cheerful. The thought of getting to know the house, finding out what repairs had to be made and then dealing with them was somehow appealing. It would give her something new to think about, something to keep herself occupied.

It didn’t take long to move, and by the time Sarah had made her last trip from Brian’s apartment it was still early in the day. Brian hurried away with obvious relief, eager for a friendlier environment, but Beverly and Pete stayed on, helping Sarah clean the house and put things away. They worked until after dark, papering drawers, unpacking dishes, nailing up bookshelves and filling them with books, helping Sarah plan and believe in her future in this house. When they finally rested, too hungry and tired to go on, the house was beginning to look lived-in. Only the bedroom was untouched, since Sarah had no furniture for it.

“You might as well come back and sleep at our place,” Beverly said, rubbing her face and leaving dirty marks on it.

Sarah shook her head. “I want to stay here, now that I’m moved in.”

“But you don’t have a bed!”

“I can sleep on the couch.” Sarah began to prowl the living room, assessing the look of her things in this new place. “I’ll check the newspaper ads tomorrow and find some sort of cheap bed, and I might be able to find a chest of drawers and other things at a garage sale.”

“But until you do, you stay with us,” Beverly said firmly.

Sarah shook her head, equally firmly.