Clara

20

I first learned of Cecilia Lawrence’s return at breakfast, while trying to catch a particularly slippery melon ball. I was so intent on this task that I might not even have noticed the tall, pale woman who stood next to the dining room table—the very one she had called her own—if she hadn’t used her gray ghostly fingers to flick the spoon right out of my hand.

I let slip a curse and was already out of my chair to fetch the stray piece of cutlery before looking up to see her standing there, wearing her old pink cotton nightgown, with her hair up in a bun. She looked a little younger—and honestly, better—than she had the last time I had seen her alive. Her pallor left much to be desired, though. It was ashen and quite ghastly. The blue half-moons under her eyes—a permanent fixture for as long as I knew her—had deepened to a solid black.

There was no doubt that the woman was dead.

“That’s a mug I had not expected to see again,” I told her, straightening up with the spoon in my hand. “What on earth compelled you to come back?” It had been bad enough with Timmy, and now the old hag was here? What was happening to my life? What was going on in my house?

Cecilia didn’t seem to have heard me. She just stood there, still as a statue, looking with burning eyes at nothing at all. I blinked, twice, just to make sure that she wasn’t a hallucination brought on by my anger and a profound lack of sleep.

The woman stubbornly remained, though.

“What?” I asked her. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me eat?” I added a brief laugh, which came out broken and brittle. “Well, be my guest. It’s not as if I didn’t have to suffer through your meals a thousand times.”

I sat back down and wiped off the spoon with the napkin. Then I aimed for another melon ball, scooped it up, and lifted it to my lips, but she was there again at once—quick as a desert viper—and flicked the luscious melon ball off the spoon to roll across the table.

“What nonsense is this?” I rose to my feet and aimed to stare down the ghost, but she was back in her statuesque state, just staring into the wall. When I had stood there for quite some time myself, I sat down again, determined not to let her see how unsettled the whole thing had made me. But more than unnerved, I felt angry.

“What is this, Cecilia?” I said before even attempting the egg. “Are you trying to get back at me? Is this your way of saying that I treated you poorly?” I laughed again, and this time it came out a little stronger. “You were a demanding lady,” I told her. “Nothing but a hassle…You just made it so hard to be sweet to you.” Now I did embark on the egg, and put it down on the napkin. I placed my palm on top of it and applied just enough pressure. Then I started rolling it back and forth, and the eggshell gave way with satisfying cracking sounds. I looked at the ghost all the while. When the egg was all naked, white, and perfect in my hand, I gingerly lifted it to my mouth while watching Cecilia all the time.

She still got the better of me, though, and before I even knew it, she had lashed out with her wrinkled talons and whipped the egg right out of my hand.

I stared at my empty fingers, utterly surprised, then turned back to the ghost again. Cecilia stood as before, just staring at the wall. “I must say, you are a lot quicker in death than you were in life.” I was begrudgingly impressed. “Is this about the porridge?” I asked, though I was no longer expecting an answer. “Or the raisin soup?” I folded the napkin over the empty eggshell. “What else was I to do, Cecilia? You wouldn’t sign the papers!” I just couldn’t help but berate her a little. Whatever had happened between us back then, none of it would have come to pass if she hadn’t been so incredibly stubborn. “It brought me no pleasure to deny an old lady her food,” I said. “Nor her medication,” come to think of it. “If only you had signed a little sooner, those terrible weeks would never have happened, and I treated you well after that, didn’t I? I cooked your broth myself and had Dina make that pudding you liked. It all worked out, don’t you see?”

Cecilia didn’t seem to see anything at all. Her eyes were as black and slick as oil and night, and there appeared to be a fire burning deep within them. I didn’t think she was happy with me.

“And I gave you ample medication in the end,” I couldn’t help but point out. A smile was tugging at my lips. “All the medication you wanted, and then some. You should be grateful, really.”

Just then, Dina arrived at the door to break up our little tête-à-tête.

“Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed. “Miss Lawrence?” The water pitcher she carried promptly fell to the floor; I could feel cool droplets hit my calves even under the table.

I rolled my eyes a little. “Yes, Dina, I’m sorry to say it appears that we have acquired another guest.”

“Oh my goodness!” the housekeeper said again, and came closer to inspect the apparition. She nearly stepped on the peeled egg. “Miss Lawrence?” she asked. “Is that you?”

Cecilia didn’t answer her either.

“It seems like the afterlife has devoured whatever was left of her sparkling wit,” I informed her. “Perhaps hell is overbooked and is sending people back—”

“Miss Lawrence would never go there!” Dina looked at her former mistress with adoration. The sight annoyed me to no end. “I’m surprised that she didn’t come back with white wings attached to her shoulders.”

“Well, she didn’t. And we have to get rid of her.”

“But why is she here? What does she want?” Dina couldn’t take her eyes off the dead woman.

I shrugged. “Who knows? But she cannot stay, that’s for sure.”

I gave up on breakfast after that, and when I looked in on the dining room a few minutes later, Cecilia was finally gone. Since Timmy’s return, I had learned a little something about the nature of ghosts, however, so I wasn’t stupid enough to think it was over. I had hoped she would give it a rest for a while, though, seeing how she had so brazenly made herself known that morning, but I was sadly disappointed on that score.

It was the very same thing at lunch. I pierced a piece of fish; she whipped it off the fork. I picked up a slice of cucumber; she promptly flicked it away. Her fingers left behind a reek of upturned dirt, formaldehyde, and the chalky scent of crushed pills.

I tried so hard not to get agitated. I had learned from my encounters with Timmy that he seemed to get worse the more upset I got, so I did my best to remain calm around him, even when objects went flying. I figured the same trick would work on Cecilia, but she made it so very difficult—and my belly was aching with hunger.

It didn’t make things better that Dina and the girls came in to gawk at the spectacle. They stood by the door that led to the kitchen and stared: Dina in awe, Lily appalled, and Violet seemingly thrilled. She even smiled and waved at Miss Lawrence.

I had to give up on lunch, too, and as a final indignity, when I sought the comfort of my secret chocolates in the living room, the Strawberry Passion was flicked right out of my fingers. I couldn’t even have a taste of a sweet! She truly didn’t mean to let me have any nourishment at all—and I could hardly begrudge her for that. In fact, I found some admiration for the old hag that I had never had in her lifetime.

Death had toughened her up.

But by dinnertime, I was starving, and—being ever the fool—I raced to the dining room as soon as the clock struck half past six. It was a meat day, too, and I had ordered Dina to serve me a fine piece of turkey on a bed of asparagus and salad greens. I had been looking forward to it all week, thinking it a fine reward for putting up with Timmy’s antics.

I had barely sat down, however, before she was there, silently standing sentry. Her ugly dead face hovered above me, and it didn’t take a genius to know what would happen if I dared cut into the delicious turkey breast that lay there so tantalizing on my plate.

Instead, I grabbed the food, rose, and went into the kitchen.

The happy chatter died at once when I entered the room. The rest of the household was already there, gathered around a steaming pot of turkey stew on the table. They all looked at me when I came in, clutching my plate with white-knuckled fingers.

When they were all done gawking, Dina pulled out a chair and said, “Take a seat, Mrs. Woods.” So I did.

It was doubtlessly awkward, and it felt like a defeat. I had prided myself on always taking my meals in the dining room, sitting by the end of the table. I had earned that spot; it was mine to keep, but now I had been evicted, and my nieces were there to see.

While the rest of them kept chewing their stew, I stared at my plate, reluctant to touch as much as an asparagus spear.

“You have to eat something.” Dina addressed me as if I was one of the girls. “I’m sure she’ll leave you alone in here. Just try.”

I gritted my teeth and grabbed the fork. It was true that there was no sign of Miss Lawrence—yet. I stabbed a little piece of raw spinach and aimed it at my mouth.

The leaf went flying.

Angry now, I went for a long green asparagus spear, but it didn’t go any better. The only saving grace of the moment was that she didn’t show her long-dead face but remained an invisible presence; I’m sure it was to save the others’ appetite. Cecilia had always been very careful not to bother other people—unless it was me, of course.

“Here, Aunt Clara.” Young Violet, to my left, leaned over and took the fork out of my hand. She stabbed another vegetable and lifted the utensil to my mouth. Her lips were curved in a gentle smile.

Slowly—nervously—I parted my lips and carefully nibbled the offered food.

It actually seemed to work.

I opened my mouth a little wider and took a bite of the asparagus.

No one stole my food.

As long as Violet fed me, it seemed, Miss Lawrence would stay her hand. As soon as I tried to lift the fork myself, however, she was there, lashing out.

The indignity was unbearable. If I hadn’t been so hungry, I would have marched right out of there. To be fed like a small child—or an infirm old lady!

Cecilia truly knew how to make me suffer; this was worse than any of Timmy’s pathetic attacks. It didn’t help that they all watched me: Violet, of course, but also Dina and Lily, the latter all but forgoing her own food to revel in my disgrace. She looked an awful lot like Iris just then, with the arrogant tilt of the head.

But I was hungry, so I ate.

When I finally retired to my room that night, I had barely had time to put my head on the pillow before Timmy started knocking at my door, accompanied by that horrid hissing. I had finally figured out why he knocked, after sifting through an unpleasant series of long-buried memories. He used to do this—relentlessly knock—when we had had a fight and he had been evicted from our bedroom to spend the night in the owl room instead. He never handled rejection well and would come late in the night, when his angry stewing had brought him to a place of rage, insisting that I let him back inside—as if he had a right to my company, and as if he could make me relent if he became a big enough nuisance.

It had been childish and pathetic and it absolutely never worked. I had stocked up on wax earplugs and kept a few bottles of wine in one of the wardrobes to get through those long and dreadful nights—but it had bothered me, it truly had…The knocking had been like a drilling in my head, and clearly, he remembered, even after death, just how much I despised this behavior. And clearly, just because of that, he had decided to keep it up.

Now that Cecilia, too, was back, I finally contemplated leaving. Why should I stay and suffer when I could just pack a few bags and be gone? I had gone to great lengths to be rid of the two of them, so why should I remain for their encore?

I had already lifted the phone off the hook to call Sebastian when my pride got the better of me. Timmy and Cecilia were in their current sorry state because I had put them there, and letting them get to me now would unravel all of my good work.

If they thought they could guilt me into a teary confession, they surely had another think coming. I was Clarabelle Diamonds—just as hard and indestructible as my beloved jewels—while they were nothing but spirits from the ashes, and I swore I would put them back where they belonged. I would be damned if I was to be scared or starved out of my own home!

You really would think they knew better than to mess with me by now.