“You should. My sister does,” he said matter-of-factly, not thinking of how rare it would be for Bettina in 1917, and considered quite racy for her as a woman.
“At sixteen?” She looked shocked. “Did you teach her?” she asked hopefully, and he didn’t want to explain about driver’s ed in school, so he said yes. Bettina didn’t go to school—she was twenty-one—but when she was younger, she had been tutored at home in languages, history, literature, and the feminine arts, such as drawing and needlework and writing poetry. Her father had said proudly at dinner that she wrote very well, and might write a book one day. She wanted to write a family history, she said, even if she didn’t publish it. It jolted Sybil to realize she had just read it.
“If she does, she’ll wind up an old maid,” her grandmother predicted. “Women do not need to write books. Men don’t like it.” She was very definite about it, although there were women authors of their day.
Eventually the time came when Phillips appeared with the tray of after-dinner drinks, and they followed him into the living room, as Blake explained to Bert the concept of the company he was running. Gwyneth and Sybil talked about their children, and the young people followed, talking and laughing, with Augusta and Angus bringing up the rear. And just as they had the night before, when they reached the living room, which Sybil had filled with flowers for them, the Butterfields disappeared and the Gregorys stood looking at one another, alone in the room. They had done it again. No one was surprised this time, and they walked slowly upstairs, talking about their new friends.
“This is really strange, Mom,” Andy said, turning to his mother on the stairs with a troubled expression. Sybil didn’t attempt to deny it.
“I know it is. Things like this happen apparently, but they’re hard to explain.” No one disagreed with her, but they had all enjoyed the evening, even more than the first one. And being appropriately dressed had made them feel more at ease.
When Blake and Sybil got to their room, he took off his dinner jacket and stared at her, as though seeing someone new. She looked exceptionally beautiful, and he hadn’t seen her in an evening gown in ages. It was very romantic.
“You look spectacular tonight,” he said, as he took her in his arms and kissed her. And Sybil smiled as he held her.
“You look very handsome too.” She had always loved seeing him in evening clothes, and thought he was very dashing.
“Maybe they have the right idea, dressing for dinner every night,” Blake said, as he unzipped her dress and she stepped out of it. He admired her body in the soft light in the room, with the moonlight coming through the window. He wanted to say how strange it was to be dining with ghosts, but the odd thing was that it didn’t feel wrong, just different. It felt right to both of them, and they were both happy in their new home and new city. But all he could think about now was his wife, whatever century they were in. It really didn’t matter to him, he loved her whatever year it was.
Chapter 6
The day after the Gregorys’ second dinner with the Butterfields turned out to be hectic. Sybil had to do errands with Caroline to buy things she needed for school, Blake needed her to do some things for him, The New York Times had called her and wanted an article on short notice, and there were details to organize for the Brooklyn show. A museum in Chicago called her about a show they were considering and wanted her to curate in November. Alicia, the housekeeper, was sick, and Sybil had to go to the supermarket, since there was nothing to eat in the house, in case the Butterfields didn’t appear that night.
She encouraged them all to dress for dinner again, but Blake couldn’t find his second tuxedo shirt, and Andy had misplaced his studs and cuff links the night before. And she realized that the dress she wanted to wear was in New York. It also occurred to her that if she had to wear an evening dress for dinner every night, she was going to run short. She didn’t have that many, and had few occasions to wear them.
“Do we really have to do this again?” Blake complained, as he put on the same shirt as the night before, after she pressed it for him. “I brought work home from the office.”
“I have work to do too,” she said, after lending a set of Blake’s cuff links to Andy. “This is fun. And I don’t want to hurt their feelings and not show up. That would be rude.”
“Sybil, they’re ghosts, for chrissake. They’re not going anywhere, and they can’t expect us to do this every night. They’ll get tired of us too.” Blake felt strongly that they needed a real life too, with living people. He had met several men he liked at work and wanted to have over for dinner.
She rushed them downstairs, and they arrived right on time. There were no sounds from the dining room, and when they reached the doorway, the room was dark, there was no fire in the grate, the table wasn’t set, and the Butterfields were not there. All of the Gregorys were unhappy as they walked into the kitchen, and Sybil scared up something to eat, grateful that she’d made it to the supermarket that day.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Magnus hadn’t come to play that afternoon either, and Charlie looked glum.
They didn’t come the next day either, and the morning after that, Sybil called Michael Stanton.
“They disappeared,” she said sadly, and described the evenings they’d spent together, and the two nights they hadn’t shown up. “Do you suppose they’ve moved out?”
He laughed at the idea. “Not likely. They’ve been in the house for over a hundred years. Spirits do that, they fade away and get weak for a while, and then they come back stronger than ever. They need to recharge. Don’t worry. They’ll be back.”
The Butterfields were gone for another week, and all of the Gregorys started to miss them. The children talked about them at dinner, and Blake said it might be for the best, although he missed Bert too. Sybil wrote her next article, but thought about them at night. And she went through the box of old photographs. They felt like old friends now. The Gregorys had gone back to eating dinner in jeans and old sweaters, moccasins, flip-flops, and bare feet. It wasn’t elegant, but their meals in the kitchen were casual and brief, and they talked about what they did daily. They also had dinner with a couple from Blake’s office. Sybil wasn’t crazy about them, but it was a good thing to do. Andy and Caro were busy with their homework, and she and Blake were both catching up with work after dinner. Only Charlie was bored without Magnus to play with. He looked unhappy, and even Alicia noticed it with some concern.
“I think he has imaginary friend. I hear him talking to him when there’s no one in the room with him,” she said, concerned. “He no play anymore with him, though,” she reported to Sybil, and she smiled.