Slow Dance in Purgatory

“Shad was teasing Miss Margaret about a boyfriend.”

“I don’t understand what you are insinuating, Gus.” Irene was starting to get frustrated. Gus was growing agitated as well, but not for the same reason. He stood and began to pace the floor, still worrying his worn hat brim.

“Shad and I were able to get Miss Margaret up, and I asked her if she had the keys to the car. She kind of pointed towards the ladies’ locker room, and I sent Shad off after her things. She was pretty disoriented and shaky. I helped her along and just as we were about to the doors, she said his name again…Johnny.”

“This is bizarre!” Irene cried, her hands trembling again.

“I kind of felt strange, like someone was watching – you know the feeling – and I glanced over my shoulder as I held the door for Miss Margaret….and…I saw him. He was standing there, watching us.”

“Who??”

“Johnny Kinross. It was him, clear as day. He looked….terrible…just terrible.”

“Terrible how?” Irene had an image of a skeletal face peering out from a hooded black robe or a red-eyed demon sneaking up on her defenseless niece.

“There was so much sorrow in his face. I’ve never seen such a sad face.”

“What does this all mean, Gus?” Irene asked softly, believing her friend and wishing she didn’t.

“Tell me, Miss Honeycutt, has Miss Margaret ever mentioned seeing…ghosts?”

“Goodness, no!” Irene huffed. “She’s the most down-to-earth girl I know...“ Irene’s voice trailed off. Her eyes grew thoughtful, and she tipped her head slightly as if remembering something from long ago.

“My younger sister, Lizzie, Maggie’s grandma, used to tell me the strangest stories when she was a girl. At least I thought they were stories….” Irene lost herself in the past once more. After a moment she resumed speaking.

“She wasn’t very old when our mother died – maybe five or six. The women in our family haven’t had much luck in life.” Irene’s brave little smile cracked around the edges. “Early death, very few children, difficult marriages – or maybe I should say difficult marriages, very few children, early death.” Irene laughed humorlessly at herself.

“Anyway, Elizabeth, my little sister, came into my room about a week after my mother died. I was about thirteen at the time. Lizzie was crying and saying she wanted Momma. I tried to comfort her, but she kept insisting Momma was in the kitchen, but that she wouldn’t talk to her. It was so strange. I had forgotten all about that.” Irene looked up at Gus, a perplexed frown on her face. He had stopped pacing and was listening intently.

“There were several other times Lizzie claimed to see our mother, always doing mundane things. Except for once, when Elizabeth was nine and fell out of her tree house and broke her leg. She told me Momma had waited with her until our nanny found her.

“Our grandfather passed away not long after that. I remember because Lizzie’s leg was still in a cast. We pushed her around in this awful wheelchair for months. After the funeral, we went to our grandfather’s home for the wake. Lizzie started laughing and pulling on my skirt. She pointed to the rocking chair my grandfather always sat in and said, “He’s not dead Reney. He’s right there! Daddy was teasing us!” My father was not amused. In fact, he punished Lizzie pretty severely. After that, I don’t remember her ever claiming to see someone who wasn’t there. At the time, I thought she had just grown out of it….but maybe she just stopped telling us.”

Gus moved to where Irene was perched, her hands clasped neatly in her lap. “Miss Irene, I think we need to consider that maybe your sister saw ghosts, and her granddaughter, our Margaret, does as well.”

“You think Johnny frightened her in some way….frightened her enough that she….what? Spent the entire night in a haunted school? That doesn’t make any sense. Wouldn’t she run shrieking for home?”

“I don’t know what happened, but I think it is more in line with romance than with haunting,” Gus suggested gently.

“She’s…. in love…. with a ghost?”

“That’d be my guess, yeah. And he’s in love with her.”

***