JEANETTE DID NOT CARE ONE bit that her romantic fantasy had been dead for over fifty years.

“He be here. I just know it, Caitlin.” The girl’s eyelashes fluttered as she pretended to swoon.

Caitlin knew a ghost was present from the moment she entered the crumbling South Boston tenement. Not because it reeked of mildew or because an icy breeze wound its way around the hem of her skirts, but because of the humming sensation throughout her body. Distinct and high-pitched, it was as if static electricity built up from her feet, to her neck and rippled through her arms until it reached the end of her fingertips. When she held her hands up to her face, Caitlin saw tiny sparks dance on her nails. The sensation made her aware of everything around her; especially her friend Jeanette breathing down her neck.

“Well, do ye see him? Do he be as handsome as they say?” Jeanette squealed in delight. The fourteen-year-olds curly, auburn hair bounced around her shoulders as she rocked back and forth on her heels. The threads from the hem of her long, plain, brown wool skirt whooshed across the splintered and cracked wooden floor. Swatches of black wool cloth were sewn neatly over worn and threadbare patches on her skirt and overcoat, unlike on Caitlin’s well-worn but higher quality gray wool skirt and jacket. Both girls wore plain white cotton blouses that buttoned from their waist to the top of their neck. To dress any other way would have been unseemly.

Caitlin brushed a lock of her burgundy hair from her eyes as she closed her eyes and concentrated on calling the ghost to her. After a minute she opened her eyes, sighed, and took Jeanette’s hand. “Come along. He be near.”

A thumb width taller than her friend and a year older, Caitlin had known she was a Medium since she was a child. She inherited the gift from her father, Andrew O’Sullivan, and knew he would disapprove of her using her abilities to entertain her friend if he ever found out. But there was little fun to be had in her neighborhood and besides, it was harmless. Jeanette was the only one who knew of her special abilities and was sworn to secrecy.

The two girls pulled up their skirts, hopped over a section of loose floorboards, and scooted past a wardrobe around which fragments of a mirror were scattered on the floor. The four-story building once belonged to a Milner, who like many before him, fell victim to the “hatter’s madness,” as the locals called it. He set the second floor on fire to stop the voices he claimed were coming from the walls. His workers fled in time and only he perished. Most of the building was still intact, but no one in the South Side wanted to rebuild it, fearing the ghost would take revenge. The Irish were a superstitious lot, but they were wrong about who the ghost was.

As Caitlin tiptoed through the glass, trying not to damage her short leather boots, she saw the reflection of a handsome man in his thirties with hair blacker than coal and amber eyes. The scars across his neck told her she had found the ghost Jeanette was infatuated with.

His name was Marcus O’Reilly, and after being caught in a compromising position with the mayor’s wife, he had been dragged back to the South Side and hanged. Jeanette believed he haunted this particular building because it was where his true love had died. Other stories claimed he had been a flagrant womanizer and families hid their daughters whenever he ambled across the street. Caitlin suspected he haunted this building because the irate mayor had him hung there.

“Jeanette, he be here,” Caitlin announced as the ghost gave her a secretive smile.

“Oh, I wish I could see him. Is he as handsome as they say?”

“Aye,” Caitlin replied. “And I bet if he could he’d be bedding the first lass that crossed his path.”

“How can you be sayin’ that?” Jeanette protested. “He just be lonely. Missing the love of his life.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Silly goose. Let’s be going before me ma finds out we be wandering through these old buildings.”

Jeanette picked up a piece of the broken mirror as a token and held it to her breast. “Can’t you release him, Caitlin? Can’t you send him to be with his true love?”

“No. I don’t be askin’ ghosts no questions about the why of it all,” Caitlin scoffed. “Callin’ them just be for fun.”

“But your da— ”

“My da wants me to be a teacher. Not traipsing after ghosts and murderers and other beasties.” Caitlin replied. She glanced out a broken out window and saw the sun was setting. “Oh no. We’re late. Ma will be furious.”

Both girls ran toward the front door, but not before Caitlin gave one more glance back to the mirror shards to see Marcus give her a wink. It took all her strength to keep from laughing.

 

 

CAITLIN’S MOTHER WAS ANGRY, BUT Erin O’Sullivan was always angry for reasons that Caitlin never understood. Sometimes she thought her mother was jealous of her, but the thought was so ridiculous that Caitlin felt ashamed for even thinking it. Every once in a while a hint of sadness crossed her mother’s face. Caitlin noticed it when she and her father laughed about something only they understood. A few times Caitlin had tried to include her mother, but Erin just became more hostile. Caitlin could not imagine why her father had married her but she was told that her mother’s hair was once as vibrant as her own. Her figure, now stooped, had been the envy of the other girls in the neighborhood. Caitlin knew years of scrubbing floors had taken their toll even though her mother no longer had to do it with da’s new job. She had hoped her mother would enjoy her new found freedom, but the older woman spent much of her energy hounding Caitlin.

“You be late, girl.” Erin groused in her thick Irish brogue as she cut up fresh potatoes and onions on their small wooden table. “If I hear you be with some boy, I’ll smack ye ’til ye be black and blue.”

“I got no interest in boys, ma,” Caitlin insisted. “Jeanette and I… well, there be better things to do.”

“With that twit of a girl? You don’t be needing friends like her. She’s likely to pull up her skirts for the first boy who looks her way.” Erin spat.

“Ma!”

“That be enough, Erin.” Andrew’s curt Irish voice cut through the air. “Jeanette may be a silly girl, but she’s a good and well-behaving one.” Caitlin’s father always thought the best of people though he had seen the worst.

Andrew had worked as a photographer in Ireland before landing in Boston with Erin right after the war between the Great Northern and Southern Houses. The conflagration had devastated much of the Southern States of America in the late 1860’s, leaving a nation still hostile and divided. Though a gifted photographer, Andrew’s true talent lay in his ability to sense ghosts, demons, and other supernatural creatures. He had educated himself on the nuances of spirit photography to capture and catalog those paranormal beings while working with a homicide detective until the gentleman’s unfortunate death. Andrew then found employment with a former Pinkerton detective by the name of Samuel Hunter. He never discussed what he did for Mr. Hunter with Erin or Caitlin, but she sensed it was more dangerous than taking pictures and ferreting out ghosts. However, it paid well for a South Sider and Caitlin knew they lived better than most which was a constant source of embarrassment to her mother. Caitlin heard the phrase “knowing your place” daily.

“And what do you know about that girl?” Erin mocked him.

“If you spent any time talking to the lass instead of scaring her, you’d find out.” Andrew shook his head in disappointment. “It wouldn’t hurt you to be agreeable to Caitlin’s friends.”

“Friends? She has no friends except for that girl.” Erin’s tone turned accusatory. “And everyone knows the whys of that.”

Husband and wife glared at each other until Caitlin broke the tension.

“Do you need any help with supper, ma?” she asked, knowing full well what her mother referred to. Everyone in the neighborhood knew what Andrew did for a living but dared not speak of it for fear doing so would bring evil to their doorsteps. Parents refused to allow their daughters to befriend Caitlin because of him and Erin’s few friends would always find excuses to not come over. The only exception was Jeanette, who thought having a friend who spoke to ghosts was far more interesting and useful than the nattering neighborhood girls were.

Erin growled and looked away from Andrew as she dumped the vegetables into a pot of boiling water on the wood burning stove. Like most of the furniture, it was of good quality but well used. “Bah! Don’t be wasting me time, girl. Sit and eat.”

Caitlin thought she glimpsed a flash of sadness across her father’s face but then as he turned toward her his face brightened. “Sweet Pea,” he said as he pulled out the bench for his daughter as he always did for dinner. “May I do the honors?”

Caitlin grinned as she gave him a brief curtsy, then swept her skirts underneath her with one hand before sitting down. Then in her best Beacon Hill imitation, she said, “Why thank you, sir. You are quite the gentleman.”

Her father gave her a bow before he walked over to the other side of the table and sank down onto the other bench.

Erin slammed a large wooden spoon on the edge of the stove. The sound made Andrew and Erin jump.

“Why do you go on putting on these airs and fillin’ this girl’s head with nonsense?” She pointed the spoon at her husband. “She’ll never amount to nothin’ and you know it.”

Andrew’s face darkened in rage. His whole body shook. “Erin…,” he hissed.

The brief truce between the two vanished in an instant.

“You think becomin’ a teacher is goin’ make people forget she’s Irish? That some Middle District man is goin’ to make her his wife?” Erin waved the spoon around as if it were a magic wand. “Dress her in riches and silk? She’ll either marry an Irishman and be plagued with children or die a spinster.”

Caitlin watched as her father’s hands clenched into fists until his knuckles went white. His voice shook the small room without him even standing up.

“Woman, do not ever speak of my daughter that way again.”

Erin opened her mouth to retort, but the expression on his face frightened her enough to back off. She turned to the stove and stirred the stew. “The girl still has work to do. I found her a position with Jeanette cleaning a Middle District house over on Devonshire. The family’s name be Kage.”

“But what about school?” Caitlin asked. “I can’t stop now.”

Andrew looked as though he would launch into a tirade, but Erin stopped him.

“Now before you get yourself into a tizzy, it be after your schoolin’.” Erin looked Andrew straight in the eye. “No shame in workin’ a few hours a day like her ma has done all her life.”

Caitlin watched as her father sat in silence for a full minute before he nodded. “Aye. No harm in that.”

Erin gave him an almost imperceptible nod of agreement.

“But da, that be the only time I have to myself and to take care of your… workshop.” Caitlin gestured to the space Andrew used as his darkroom.

Andrew frowned at her, knowing full well she was referring to Duncan, a ghost who had inhabited this building for longer than they had lived there. Caitlin often used the excuse to clean his workshop just so she could spend time with him. Andrew did not mind, but he often told her that dealing with the dead at so young an age was not good. “Mind your ma. She be right in this matter.”

A disappointed Caitlin sank into her chair. “Aye. When do I start?”

“Tomorrow.”

 

 

JEANETTE AND CAITLIN CARRIED STRAW baskets filled with cleaning rags as they stood on the sidewalk and stared up at the four-story brick house with flower boxes hanging from the first-floor windows. Lavender and peach colored pansies pushed their way through a tangle of small-leafed ivy that hung over the sides of the wooden boxes. In fact, each of the neighboring homes had window boxes, though they each contained different kinds of flowers. It gave the neighborhood a sense of springtime in the countryside. The large oak front door was framed in brass vine leaves around its edges. Behind them a mix of horse-drawn carriages and steam-powered buggies chugged by. Paved with smooth stone, the street was unlike the dirt roads on the South Side where most everything was covered in ash and soot.

When a Middle District woman and her young daughter strolled by each carrying a dark gray parasol to shade their fair faces, both girls couldn’t help but gape at them. Their clothes were nothing like what people wore on the South Side.

The woman wore a cashmere-and-wool skirt and short jacket the color of roasted coffee with a silk blouse that reminded Caitlin of black Irish tea doused with milk. The girl’s attire matched her mother’s in all but color; her skirt and jacket were light rose, and her blouse the color of cotton candy. What set them apart as upper-class Middle District was the copper-wire trim around their hems and cuffs. They even had tiny copper wire appliques woven through their lapels.

Caitlin had never seen such dresses up close but had read about them. Jeanette left her mouth open so long, drool leaked out of the side.

“Do those be Beacon Hill folk?” Jeanette could not tear her eyes away.

Caitlin shook her head. “They just be rich Middle District. I heard the Great Houses dress even finer.”

“They be so beautiful. How much do you think a dress like that cost?”

“Way more than we’ll ever make in our lives. Even then the likes of us could never wear such things, and you know it.” Caitlin poked her in the arm. “Come on. They be waitin’ for us by the servants’ entrance.”

The girls hustled toward a side alleyway. Four oak trash barrels each three and a half feet tall sat at the back entrance of every house, their lids held shut by large clamps to keep vagrants and varmints out. Messenger boys on bicycles rode past while delivery carts and steam-powered trucks parked and unloaded food and other sundries.

The servants’ entrance to the house swung open right before they reached it. A boy, around six years old, ran out laughing. He wore brown fine woolen knickers edged in copper filament and a white cotton shirt covered in swatches of blue and red paint. A woman in her thirties flew out the door after him, exasperation written on her face. Her dress was one step above a maid’s, so Caitlin assumed she was the boy’s nanny.

“Matthew Q. Kage! That is no way for a proper gentleman to act!” she yelled after him.

The boy turned and plastered his paint covered hands right in the middle of the woman’s skirt. He shrieked in delight as he smeared the paint over the pristine dark blue wool.

Caitlin and Jeanette huddled together trying not to laugh, but it was hopeless and they fell into a fit of giggling.

Clearly furious at what he had done, the nanny appeared to want to take it out on him but held herself back. When she overheard the girls laughing, she focused her ire on safer targets.

“How dare you laugh at me? I’ll have you beaten for such disrespect.” Her eyes narrowed as she picked up her skirts and marched toward them.

Caitlin realized they might be in trouble and backed away.

“Miss Simpson. Don’t you think you should be taking the young master back inside?” a matronly voice boomed from the open alley way door. “If he gets a chill, then no one will be getting any sleep tonight.”

Miss Simpson stopped in her tracks and turned around to face a stout woman with her arms crossed over her ample chest. “Yes, Mrs. Trask, I’ll see to it right away.” The nanny marched back to the boy and took his hand to lead him back inside. Before they disappeared, he turned and waved at Caitlin.

All of a sudden, Caitlin had a queer feeling inside her head and couldn’t speak. It was something she’d felt once or twice before, but couldn’t remember when or why. Jeanette nudged her, snapping her out of her revere just as Mrs. Trask loomed over them.

A bit shorter than Miss Simpson yet broader in the shoulders, Caitlin noticed every strand of the older woman’s charcoal hair stretched back into a bun. She wore a severe black dress which buttoned from her collar to her hem. It bore little resemblance to the stylish women the girls had just seen. The woman examined them like they were two chickens waiting to be plucked.

“Which one of you is Mrs. O’Sullivan’s daughter?” she asked.

Caitlin raised her hand.

“I knew your mother. A hard worker. I expect you to be the same.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Caitlin squeaked out.

“You will address me as Mrs. Trask. I am the head house keeper. The Kages are not part of a Great House, but they are a fine family and you will treat them and the rest of the staff with the respect they deserve.”

Both girls nodded.

“Come along.” Mrs. Trask gestured for them to follow her. “Most of the staff does not live in, but they each have their assigned duties. You two will do light cleaning on the lower floors in the afternoons and help elsewhere whenever it is required.”

“Aye, Mrs. Trask,” the girls said in unison.

As they followed her, Caitlin couldn’t help but ask, “What about the young master?”

Mrs. Trask stopped in her tracks and glared at Caitlin. “Whatever do you mean?” Her voice was low and threatening.

“Will we be looking after him as well?” Caitlin stammered, not understanding how she had provoked such a reaction.

“No,” Mrs. Trask replied, her face softening. “Miss Simpson and one of the maids look after him.”

She turned on her heel and marched back to the house without any concern as to whether the girls were following or not.

As they hurried to catch up, Jeanette tugged on Caitlin’s elbow. “What you be asking those questions for?”

“There be something about him,” Caitlin mused. “Something familiar. Though I cannot quite remember what.”

 

 

IT TOOK THE GIRLS A good week before they settled into the routine of working at the Kages. Mrs. Trask had assumed they had worked in a Middle District house before, but Jeanette was so afraid to touch anything, Caitlin thought they would both be sacked. Each room displayed artwork and fine china from parts of the world neither girl had even imagined existed. The ladies’ parlor had a wall pattern of delicate roses and lilies, while the furniture looked so fine, they wondered if anyone ever sat in it. Though the maids claimed the throw rugs came from Australian sheep, Caitlin knew Irish wool when she felt it. She and Jeanette were responsible for dusting, cleaning the fireplace, airing out rugs, and general tiding up. They always started with the parlor, then worked over to the sitting room and finished in the library.

Both girls felt more comfortable working in the library as it contained few breakable objects. The library appeared to be the gentleman’s room with its framed maps on the wall, shelves full of books and large leather chairs fit for a king. They always took their time in the library, and when they thought no one was around, they hopped into one of the big chairs and pretend they were ladies from another time and place. The best part was that the room smelled of copper polish and wood lacquer with just a hint of stuffiness.

While dusting the bookshelves one day, a small voice piped up. “I can read to you while you clean, if you like.”

Much to the girls’ surprise, young master Matthew peeked around a large rosewood arm chair upholstered in sienna leather.

“You better find Miss Simpson before you get us into trouble.” Jeanette tried to shoo him away, but the boy refused to move.

“He can stay, Jeanette. It be his house.” Caitlin turned to the boy. Her voice took on a sterner tone. “But he has to read quietly and with no yelling or jumping about.”

“Gah!” Jeanette dusted the mantle with even more vigor. “It be on you.”

The boy pulled a book out from underneath the chair and handed it to Caitlin. “It’s my favorite.”

Caitlin stared at the cover and almost dropped it for fear of being burned by hell fire on earth. The book was none other than Samuel Clemens’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. She knelt down and handed it back to the boy.

“Who gave this to you?” she asked, fearing dismissal or arrest at any moment. She had overheard her da say the writer had fled the country when one of the Great Houses claimed his books insulted them and wanted him hanged.

“It was hidden away. Regina showed me where it was. She reads to me before I go to sleep,” Matthew said without a hint of guilt or remorse.

“Is that the maid who takes care of you?”

The boy giggled. “No, silly. That’s Sally. She can’t talk or read.”

Caitlin looked at Jeanette not knowing how to respond.

Jeanette shrugged. “These Middle District folk have odd ways.”

“Aye, that they do.” Caitlin nodded, then turned her attention back to the boy. “Well, you have to promise to put it away if you hear anyone coming.”

Matthew nodded as he opened the book. “I promise.”

 

 

CAITLIN RETURNED HOME THAT NIGHT to find her father out and her mother fast asleep in the small bedroom she shared with him. A pot of stew simmered on the stove, and fresh bread sat on top of the oven. Caitlin leaned in to take in the aroma. Everything smelled heavenly. Her mother may not be the kindest of people, but her bread was the envy of their neighbors.

She tiptoed toward the darkroom and opened the door in such a way as to make sure it did not squeak. As she entered, Caitlin glanced back to see her mother turn over, still fast asleep. She closed the door behind her without making a sound except for the soft click of the door latch.

Caitlin’s favorite place in the whole world was her father’s darkroom. With its chemical smells and soft lighting, it felt comfortable. Shelves lining one wall held small glass vials of the chemicals he used for developing his photographs. On the far wall were two shelves that held six different cameras, three on each shelf. A few were in pristine condition while others showed cracks and missing pieces. When he had time, Andrew instructed her on the mechanics of each camera as well as how to develop photographs. She fingered his latest pictures, which he’d hung on a string to dry. The paper ones were something he was experimenting with, but Caitlin did not care for them. She always preferred the daguerreotype. The detail and the silvery image made the subjects appear magical, but the real work went into the glass plates.

Glass was the medium on which Andrew O’Sullivan could capture the images of ghosts for a small bit of time. Caitlin looked over at the various stacks he had covered with a plain cotton cloth and wondered how her father did what he did. What was it like? Were all ghosts like the ones she and Jeanette had met or did he face ghosts that attempted to harm him or other people? Or was there something else out there he battled that he never spoke of? She suspected it was the latter since her father had grown more secretive since working for this Mr. Hunter. A soft breeze wrapped its way around the top of her head to tickle her cheek. Caitlin grinned and remembered why she had come in here in the first place—Duncan.

Caitlin had first discovered Duncan when she was almost two years old. As a small child, she had thought he was her father’s semi invisible friend, but it wasn’t until she was a few years older that she realized Duncan was a ghost. Her father had tried to hide his disappointment when he discovered she could talk to Duncan, but Caitlin knew better. He said he’d hoped she did not possess his gift since it would make leading a normal life difficult. Andrew had warned her never to tell her mother about Duncan. Caitlin understood that if her mother found out she had her father’s gift it might be more than their fragile relationship could bear.

Duncan never strayed beyond the confines of their apartment or so they believed. Both Caitlin and her father felt something terrible had happened here that permanently bound his spirit to this place. Caitlin wanted to ask Duncan who he was and why he was there, but she feared if she questioned him, he might disappear into the aether, or worse, never speak to her again. Though the term speaking was not accurate, Duncan had the ability to communicate by leaving messages in the dust and being able to move objects around. He appeared semi translucent, but his image was solid enough to be able to discern that he was a young man of no more than twenty years of age. Other than Jeanette, Duncan was her only real friend.

“Ah, Duncan,” Caitlin spoke to the air. “I know you be there.”

Dust swirled in the air, and the opaque form of a young man appeared within it. His translucent fingers moved across his face as if to encourage her to smile.

Caitlin plopped down on a stool in a huff. She faced the rows of chemical-filled glass jars up on the shelves.

“I miss my da, Duncan. He’s always gone now with this Samuel Hunter, but there never be time for me anymore.” Caitlin sighed. “I know it don’t be fair as he’s bringing in a good wage, but all the same… I don’t be supposing you could tell me what he’s doing with that man.”

The dust settled and the words, Good things. Hard things appeared on the floor.

“Is he in danger?” Caitlin became worried.

The air moved again and Duncan vanished. Caitlin sighed, knowing full well what that meant. Her mother was up.

“Caitlin! Get out here!” Erin yelled. “I can hear ye talking to yourself again.”

Caitlin sighed. “Yes, ma.”

She opened the door to see Erin scooping out stew from the pot into a wooden bowl. The fresh bread was on the table.

“Eat.” Her mother plopped the bowl on to the table as Caitlin sat on the wooden bench. That table must have been as old as she was, but her mother refused to get a new one even though they could afford it. Caitlin just didn’t understand her sometimes.

Erin gave her a good long stare. “You don’t be tellin’ anyone about talkin’ to yourself, do ye?”

Caitlin shook her head as she picked up the wooden spoon her mother had laid out for her. “No, ma. No one. Not even Jeanette.”

“That be good.” Erin gave her a curt nod. “No sense the world knowin’ you’ve lost your senses… or worse.” She went back to stirring the stew with more vigor than was necessary.

“Ma? What do you mean, worse?” Caitlin asked, not knowing if she wanted to know the answer or not.

“I may think Jeanette Collins is a silly twit, but she be your only friend. Without her you’d be moping around here all day.” The lid to the stew pot clanged as Erin set it on top of the boiling liquid. “And that I could not bear.”

Caitlin leaned over and stared into her stew, trying to hide the hurt her mother’s comment caused her, but it did not work. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw Erin standing over her.

“Now ye be moping.” Erin shook her head.

“Why do you say such things to me, Ma?” Caitlin refused to look up from her stew.

Erin grabbed her by the chin and forced Caitlin’s head up. “I be preparing ye for the future. Your real future. Not the fantasy you and your da put on.” Her mother released her. “Now finish eatin’ and go to bed. You’ve work to do in the mornin’.”

 

 

EVERY TIME HE HAD THE chance Matthew continued to read to Caitlin and Jeanette while they worked. If the girls had to split up, he always stayed with Caitlin much to Jeanette’s relief.

“God help me if I ever have little ones,” Jeanette whispered as if someone were listening. “I can’t stand the smell or the sight of them.”

“Then you best hope you don’t be getting married anytime soon,” Caitlin declared.

“Aye. Maybe I’ll go be a teacher like you.”

“Girls.” Mrs. Trask stomped in. “I need one of you to clean up the young master’s room. Sally has taken ill.”

“I’ll do it, Mrs. Trask,” Caitlin volunteered.

Jeanette heaved a sigh of relief.

“Come along, then.” Mrs. Trask turned on the ball of her foot and marched out of the room.

Caitlin mimicked Mrs. Trask’s stiff walk and severe upright posture before she followed her out. Jeanette could not help herself and had to bury her face in her skirt to muffle her laughter.

Upstairs, Caitlin entered a room filled with a messy bed, toys, books, and boys’ clothing scattered around the room. The walls had dark wood paneling, and the floor was covered with fine wool rugs. Amber velvet curtains were tied back to reveal large bay windows that overlooked the park across the street. The young master’s bed had four cherrywood posts and an eggshell-colored canopy with matching linens. A matching cherrywood desk and chair sat near the window. It amazed her that this finery belonged to Middle District folk. She could not comprehend what life must be like on Beacon Hill. When she touched the sheets they were so soft she had to resist the urge to rub them against her cheek. It wasn’t that she’d never been in a Middle District house before, but she had never been inside a bedroom. General house cleaning girls were normally relegated to downstairs.

“I presume you know how to tidy up a room. Make sure you strip the bedsheets. You can find clean linens in the hall closet.” Mrs. Trask exited without another word.

“Stop your gawking and get to work,” Caitlin said to herself while pulling off the bedsheets.

After a half hour of remaking the bed, picking up clothes, and putting toys away, Caitlin began the tedious job of dusting. She’d stepped over Matthew’s rocking horse to reach the window when she became aware of the humming sensation inside her body. The feeling of electricity running through her happened so fast she knew it meant one thing—a ghost was present. She whirled around, tripped, and crashed into the wall with a thud. Her head spinning, Caitlin turned to see the cause of the feeling.

Unlike the translucent nature of Duncan, this ghost could have been mistaken for a real person. It was a young woman of approximately twenty years with dark auburn hair and gray eyes. She wore a dress of cobalt-blue wool with inserts of turquoise silk. Tiny brass buttons and filigree wound around its hem. Whoever this ghost was, she had evidently lived a privileged life when she was alive. Caitlin was struck by the feeling the ghost carried a mantle of grief about her like a well-worn shawl.

Matthew stood in front of her grinning, from ear to ear. “This is Regina. She’s my friend.”

“You be seeing her?” Caitlin asked.

“Of course, silly.”

Stunned, Caitlin realized that the odd feeling she’d had when she first met Matthew meant the boy was a Medium like herself.

Caitlin closed her eyes to calm herself, took a deep breath and concentrated. When she opened them, the sound of a woman’s voice echoed around her until it settled into soft feminine quality so sure and true she could have been still alive.

“Hello, Caitlin. My name is Regina Gill.”

Caitlin hesitated, not knowing what to say. No ghost had ever communicated to her through actual speech, not even Duncan. Her father had taught her how to hide her abilities and protect herself if a ghost pestered her, but he had never mentioned this could happen.

“What do you be wanting here?” Caitlin demanded.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Regina smiled. “I’m lonely.” The visage of Regina placed a possessive hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And I’m drawn to Matthew. His presence makes me feel alive again.”

Agitated, Caitlin paced across the room.

“You are upset. Why?” the ghost asked, in a concerned tone.

“None of this be right. You be haunting a child. A little boy. How long has she been here, Matthew?”

Matthew pranced around. “A few months. I don’t mind her here. Really. Mother and Miss Simpson never let me go out. How else am I going to have any fun? Regina’s fun. Please don’t make her go away.”

“I don’t be likin’ this.” Caitlin frowned.

“Please,” Matthew begged.

“I would never harm Matthew.” Regina’s voice echoed around the room. “I give you my word.”

“Have you told anyone else about her?” Caitlin asked Matthew.

He shook his head. “I didn’t want them to take her away from me.”

Caitlin knew that no one could, but the boy could be locked away for claiming he could see a ghost.

“Good.” Caitlin turned her attention toward Regina. “You don’t remember your death? Or why you be here in this house?”

Regina shook her head. “All I remember is being sad and hearing a woman crying. I don’t know who she is. I keep trying to remember, but I just can’t. And when I try, I—”

“I still don’t—” Caitlin heard someone’s shoes clicking down the hall and the voices of two women arguing.

She straightened up the bed blanket to make it look like she had been working. “Matthew, go sit there like a good boy.” She pointed to the chair by the small oak desk.

Matthew obeyed without hesitation.

Mrs. Trask and Miss Simpson walked in and stopped arguing at the sight of Caitlin.

“What are you doing in here?” Miss Simpson growled at Caitlin. “Get out.”

“Calm down, Miss Simpson. The girl was given instructions to clean the room.” Mrs. Trask’s dark eyes bored into Caitlin. “Isn’t that correct?”

Caitlin bowed her head and did a swift curtsy. “Aye, Mrs. Trask.”

Before Miss Simpson could retort, Mrs. Trask waved her back. “Isn’t it time for Matthew’s afternoon lessons?”

Still angry, Miss Simpson gave the older woman a slight nod. “Yes, ma’am.” The nanny exited the room as if leaving were painful.

With Miss Simpson’s not so dainty footsteps traipsed down the hall, Mrs. Trask surveyed the room as if she were looking for something. “I don’t want any mischief going on.”

“The boy and I be keeping each other company, Mrs. Trask.” Caitlin nodded to a prim-looking Matthew, who sat up straight as a board except for his legs swinging back and forth under the chair. “No mischief here.”

Mrs. Trask’s eye’s narrowed as her hand grasped the doorknob. “Come, Matthew. It’s time for your lessons.”

The little boy sagged as he sighed and climbed off the chair. “Yes, Mrs. Trask.” He walked out of the room dragging his feet.

As the older woman closed the door, she glanced back at Caitlin. “When you’re done here, you can go home.”

Caitlin rushed through the rest of the dusting with dozens of questions running through her head. Why was Regina here? How long had the boy known he was a Medium? Was he in any danger? She did not think so, but the only person who could answer that question for certain was her father.

 

 

BY THE TIME CAITLIN ARRIVED home, darkness had turned the street into a place inhabited by those who had nowhere else to go. Small fires burned in an abandoned building where the homeless had found a brief respite. The building next to it, though inhabited by families, had chunks of mortar missing from between the bricks and trash overflowing the bins outside. Unlike on the clean and smooth streets of the Middle District, Caitlin often had to walk through filth and hop over cracked cobblestones. She skirted by a dirty decrepit old man who grabbed for her, only to run into a young woman whose blank face and crusty eyes and mouth made Caitlin shudder. The local parish helped those they could, and Caitlin had delivered food to the needy with her mother and a few neighbors. However, it was never enough, and the police found someone dead on the street every day.

Caitlin suspected that Beacon Hill and the Middle District wanted to keep the majority of the population of the South Side somewhat healthy in order to keep them working. A few South Siders saved up enough to move up into the Middle District, but the result served to give the rest of the Irish a vague hope of a better life. With her father’s new job, he was saving enough money to move out in a few years, but her mother was dead set against it for reasons Caitlin did not understand.

Caitlin suspected that was what they were arguing about when she arrived home. She couldn’t hear them well as she stood outside her front door, but Caitlin thought her name came up once or twice as well as the words “Middle District.” When she gathered up enough courage to walk in, they stopped talking.

Erin stood in front of Andrew red-faced and with her fists clenched as he threw a small duffel over his shoulder. Her father looked angry and apologetic at the same time.

“Caitlin, luv.” He rubbed his hand over his face as if he could wipe away his anger. “I be going up north with Mr. Hunter for a few days. So I need you to take care of ye ma while I’m away.”

Erin stomped back over to the stove in and shoved more coal in the burner.

“But da, I need to talk to you.” Caitlin’s looked at him, silently pleading with her eyes.

Andrew shook his head. “I’m sorry, luv. When I get back we’ll have a ‘nice conversation,’ as the Middle District folk would say. Now I best be off. Mr. Hunter be waiting.”

Caitlin grabbed his arm as he headed toward the door. “Da, this be important,” she said in a voice just above a whisper.

“I trust ye, girl.” He patted her hand. “I know whatever it is, you’ll be doing the right thing.” With that, he left.

Erin shoved a loaf of bread in the oven, making as much noise as possible to show her displeasure.

Caitlin wanted to run after her father, but she could not bear to burden him any more than he already was. Instead, she decided the next best thing was to placate her mother.

“Ma, is there something that needs doing?”

With her back toward Caitlin, Erin slammed the coal bin shut. “What’s done is done. Go tend to your studies.”

“Aye.” As Caitlin turned, she saw a few tears running down her mother’s cheek. Confused and bewildered at the unexpected sight, she fled into the workshop hoping Duncan would have some answers.

 

 

“DUNCAN,” SHE WHISPERED. “DUNCAN, ARE you here?” The question seemed absurd since she knew he never left. The concept of “leaving” was reserved for those who left this plane of existence forever. But she asked anyway just to be polite. “Duncan,” Caitlin said, a little louder.

Impatient, she picked up one of her father’s box cameras. The weight of it in her hands made her feel secure as if a part of her father was trapped inside. “Duncan, I know you’re here.”

Caitlin wondered how Duncan retained his sanity. Many of the ghosts she had run across growing up were deranged. Her father had taught her how to block them out by focusing on the humming in her head and not their ranting. Caitlin liked to think she and her father kept Duncan sane.

A breeze swirled from the top of her head down to the floor, tickling her feet inside her old leather shoes. Caitlin put her hands over her mouth to stifle her giggle.

She first saw the top of Duncan’s head form as a dust-filled mini-tornado filled the middle of the room. Soon his entire form took shape. After Regina’s more substantial image, Duncan seemed diminished.

“I saw another ghost, but this one be different,” Caitlin said, keeping her voice low. “She be almost like a real person that you can touch. And she can talk. Just like da and I. Have you heard of such a thing?”

Duncan shook his head. He etched the words No see others like me in the dust.

Caitlin frowned but refused to give up. “Did da ever talk about a ghost such as her?”

Again Duncan shook his head, while his body slouched as if disappointing Caitlin made him sad.

“Don’t you be worrying about it. I think da never bothered to mention it,” she tried to reassure him. “I’ll be askin’ him as soon as I get a chance.”

Caitlin walked to the door, but a flurry of dust particles blocked her way. She turned to where Duncan drifted over the wood flooring. Beneath his feet were the words Don’t go. I miss you.

“I’m sorry. I have to or ma will be… well, you know.”

The ghost gave her a small nod then dissipated as though he was never there.

 

 

WHEN CAITLIN AND JEANETTE ARRIVED at the Kage House the following afternoon the ever mischievous Matthew waved at them from his bedroom window on the second floor. He had a wicked grin on his face.

“That boy is going to get us into trouble,” Jeanette remarked as the girls waved back.

“He’s a good boy and you know it,” Caitlin chided her.

“Mark my words, something be going on.”

Jeanette was right.

Matthew had insisted that Caitlin be allowed to read to him since Sally could not and Miss Simpson, according to the boy, ruined everything. When Mrs. Trask refused to submit to the child’s whims, his tantrum was so violent and alarming that his face turned purple and his shrieks echoed across the street. The head housekeeper then gave in, knowing that if his parents returned with the house in such a state that she, and most of the staff, would most likely be dismissed.

Grabbed by the arm and almost dragged upstairs then shoved into the room by Mrs. Trask, Caitlin stumbled over Matthew who was prancing around the room.

“Matthew Q. Kage! Stop running around like a drunken Irishman,” Mrs. Trask snapped at him. “It’s not gentlemanly.”

Caitlin tried to hide her annoyance at the comment, but was unsuccessful as the older woman shot her a look that sent shivers down her spine.

Mrs. Trask closed her eyes and put her hand to her forehead. “This noise in my head. It will not stop.” She opened her eyes and glared at Caitlin. “You girl, will read to him for one hour then return to your duties downstairs. You can read, can’t you?”

“Aye, Mrs. Trask.” Caitlin bobbed her head.

“What a relief. Get on with it then.” Mrs. Trask swept out of the room slamming the door behind her.

Matthew stopped spinning and jumped on top of the bed. “Regina! Regina, where are you?” When the ghost did not appear on command, the boy pouted. “Why isn’t she here?”

“There be one thing I learned about ghosts, young sir. They do as they please.”

“I’m here, Matthew.” A soft feminine voice echoed throughout the room. “I’m always here in some fashion.”

Caitlin and Matthew turned and faced one of the inner walls to see Regina emerge. The ghost radiated joy at Matthew as she drifted over to him. She caressed his face with a hand as the boy beamed at her.

“Don’t you think I should be readin’ just in case Miss Simpson or one of the servants happen by?” Caitlin asked. “Wouldn’t want them to be thinkin’ strange things be going on in here.”

Regina blinked a couple of times, then laughed. The sound reminded Caitlin of gentle rain on a window. “You mean talking to a ghost?”

Matthew giggled, hopped off the bed, and ran around the room. “I don’t care. This is fun,” he chanted.

Caitlin put her finger to her lips. “Shush. You want to get me dismissed? Ma would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Quiet, Matthew. And do sit,” Regina said. “We do not want to cause Miss O’Sullivan any trouble, do we?”

He stopped running. “No, Regina. I like Caitlin.” Matthew slid his hand underneath his mattress and pulled out a dog-eared copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He shoved it at Caitlin. “Read this.”

Caitlin gasped and backed away. “I can’t. It be bad enough that I be reading you one forbidden book, but two?”

“Where are your manners, young man?” Regina reprimanded him without a hint of terseness.

“Please?” Matthew gave Caitlin a pouty that was so cute, she had to smile.

“Where did you get them? Not your parents, I be thinkin’.”

“I knew where they were,” Regina answered before Matthew replied. “I don’t know how I knew, I just knew.”

“Maybe they be yours?” Caitlin asked.

“Perhaps.” Regina looked lost in thought. “If they are mine, wouldn’t that mean I used to live here? And if I did, then why wouldn’t Matthew remember me or I remember him?”

“He’s young. You most probably died before he was born. I know Duncan died long before me ma and da ever moved into our apartment.” Caitlin shrugged. “It not be too unusual.”

“I wish I remembered what happened to me. I try, but if I think about it too hard I… ” Regina’s image faded in and out, then flickered. She cried out as if in pain.

“Stop it.” Matthew whimpered. “Don’t do that. You’re scaring me.”

“Quiet, Matthew.” Caitlin grabbed the boy and hugged him to her. “What will Mrs. Trask think if she hears?”

Regina settled back into her more substantial form. “I’m so sorry, Matthew. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Please forgive me. Both of you.”

“Whatever happened to you Regina, it must have been… awful.” Caitlin tried to release Matthew, but he insisted on clinging to her.

Regina drifted across the room. “I won’t do that again. I promise. It’s just that…”

“What?” the boy squeaked.

“Sometimes I see images of this place, yet it was different. These emotions: rage, hurt, betrayal. They take over. But yet when I look at you, Matthew, all I feel is love.”

“My da says that ghosts often form a connection from something in their past to what is here in the present.” Caitlin pushed Matthew away from her so she could look him in the face. “When did you first see Regina?”

“I fell and hurt my arm. It hurt so I cried. Miss Simpson told me I was being a baby and wouldn’t let Sally come sit with me.” Matthew scowled.

“That be it, then. You must have had a boy in your previous life and Matthew’s cries drew you out.” Caitlin nodded rather satisfied with herself. “It all makes sense.”

“Will you read now?” Matthew sniffed as though he might cry if she failed to perform this small task.

“Aye.” Caitlin shook her head in defeat as she took the book from him. She opened it and began to read. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Regina move over and stand behind Matthew; her gaze never strayed far from the boy. Caitlin felt a twinge of jealousy. Never in life did she recall her own mother looking at her in such a way. Maybe as a babe, but how would she remember that? It made her sad, but there was such happiness in Regina’s face, she could not stay that way long.

And then there was Matthew. He was so willing to accept Regina. There was no doubt the child had a joyful heart with no one to share it with. His parents were never here, so naturally he attached himself to someone who loved and cared for him. Caitlin thought he yearned for a mother, any mother, who loved and adored him—even if she was a ghost.

 

 

SEVERAL DAYS LATER, DAWN HAD just broken when Caitlin walked into Andrew’s workshop to see him packing his camera and a stack of photographic plates as quickly as possible without breaking them.

“Da! You’re back!”

“Not for long, Sweet Pea. You can talk whilst I pack, as Mr. Hunter is not one to be kept waiting,” Andrew replied as he wrapped a glass plate in between two layers of cotton cloth.

“Well, there be this ghost at the Kage’s and—”

“Caitlin!” Erin yelled at her. “Get some apples from the bin for your da.”

“In a minute, ma,” Caitlin yelled back. “Da, this ghost be not like any others you told me about.”

“What did I tell ye about dealing with ghosts?” Andrew stopped his packing and stared at her.

“Not to talk to any but Duncan.” Caitlin looked at the ground and shuffled her feet. “But da, what if they can talk to us? Really talk.”

“Duncan talks to us after a fashion, luv.”

“Not like her. I can see her. Like she was standing right here.”

“Caitlin!” her mother yelled again from the kitchen. “Say your good-byes and let your da go. And get those apples!”

Caitlin could see the anger simmering deep within him rise to a slow boil. He took her by the shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. “I don’t quite understand what you be sayin’ but you must stop talking to this ghost, or whatever it is, right now. Now what have I always said?”

“Don’t make friends with any ghosts except Duncan.”

“Why?”

“We know he’ll do me no harm,” Caitlin recited by heart.

“And…?”

“Ghosts are like the people they once were, only more so. Some seek to hurt while others seek solace. But even those who were once kind can hurt without meaning to.”

“Good girl.” Andrew’s ire receded as he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead then he picked up the pack and hefted it over his shoulder. “Promise me you won’t be involving yourself with anymore ghosts. At least not without me around.”

“I promise,” Caitlin replied, keeping her head down.

“Now go do as your ma says before we both pay the price. Go.” He shooed her away. “I’ll be needing those apples.”

“Aye, da. How long will you be gone?”

“A few weeks.”

Erin walked in carrying another duffle bursting with food. Several apples peeked out of the top. “As usual I had to get them myself.” She handed the pack to Andrew.

“Sorry, ma.”

“Gah. Useless girl.” Erin turned on her heel, never saying good-bye. “Either get to school or get to work.”

Andrew kissed her on the forehead again, then hurried out.

“I’ll clean up in here before I go, ma!” Caitlin called out to her mother.

Erin ignored her as she marched into the small bedroom she and Andrew shared and pulled the sheets off the bed.

Caitlin knew her mother had dismissed her and closed the door to the workshop. She turned up the lamp to illuminate the room just enough to not fall over any of her father’s equipment. The light from the lamp flickered on the walls as if a tiny fairy could not decide where to land. She opened her mouth to call for Duncan, then changed her mind. She’d had enough of ghosts for a while.

 

 

“I BE AWFULLY SORRY, MATTHEW, but I can’t be talking to Regina anymore. I promised me da.”

Matthew burst into tears and wailed as if the world were ending. “I don’t understand. You said you spoke to ghosts all the time. Why can’t you talk to Regina?”

Regina tried to hug the distraught boy, but her arms swept through him which caused him to cry more. Her only recourse was to hover over him.

“It be hard to explain. Da has known Duncan since before I was born. He trusts him.”

“But you and Regina are my only friends!” Matthew cried. “Who will read to us?”

“Caitlin, I mean you and the boy no harm. You must know that,” Regina pleaded with her. “And besides… other than Matthew, you are my only friend. Please, for both our sakes, don’t turn your back on us. I think it would leave me a little undone.”

Regina drifted away and faded a bit.

“Regina!” Matthew cried out. “Caitlin, look what you’ve done. She’s going away. Don’t let her!”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” Caitlin turned to leave, but Matthew blocked her path.

“If you won’t talk to Regina anymore, then I’ll tell Mrs. Trask that you were mean to me.” Matthew jutted his chin out like the petulant child he was.

“Matthew!” Regina scolded him as her image flickered. “That’s not true and you know it. Caitlin will lose her position here and may not find work anywhere else.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want either of you to go. So Caitlin has to stay,” he ordered.

“You’re becoming quite the Middle District man, aren’t you?” Regina glowered at him. “Shame on you for threatening Caitlin.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “But I mean it. I’ll tell Mrs. Trask.”

Backed into a corner, Caitlin did what every South Side girl did in this situation. “I’ll stay, young master, but it won’t be as it was before.”

“I don’t see why not.” Matthew jumped up and down in joy. “It will always be like this. Forever”

Every afternoon for two weeks, Monday through Saturday, Caitlin continued to spend one hour reading to Matthew and Regina. Jeanette was becoming jealous seeing Caitlin being paid for sitting around while she ended up cleaning an entire room by herself. When Matthew overheard Jeanette grousing one day, he sneaked her pastries from the kitchen to take home. She still groused, but always with a hint of a smile after that.

One afternoon, Caitlin and Jeanette entered the kitchen through the alley to find the kitchen staff boiling water, making soup and heating towels. The head cook, a tall, lean woman with a slight hump in her back, ordered the staff around with military precision. When she spotted the girls, she jerked her head toward the door to the hallway. “Mrs. Trask and Miss Simpson be looking for you. Don’t keep them waiting.”

Maids ran up the stairs muffling the rumbling of the dumbwaiter as the girls walked towards Mrs. Trask’s office. Caitlin saw the door was ajar. Not knowing what to expect, she hesitated.

“Are you going to knock? I certainly don’t want to be the one interrupting her ladyship.” Jeanette crossed her arms and sat back on her heels.

Caitlin gave her an annoyed look, then knocked on the wooden door.

“Come in or not.” Mrs. Trask’s firm voice gave them pause. “But do not waste my time.”

The girls entered to see an office that was plain but well maintained. With an exterior brick wall, the only accents were a woolen throw rug on the stained oak floor and closed blue serge curtains with an embroidered leaf pattern around the edges. The only light came from two electric lamps: one on Mrs. Trask’s desk and another on the ceiling.

Miss Simpson slumped in a chair weeping. A delicate porcelain tea cup contained a murky brown substance that Caitlin thought could be cold tea with milk sat on the end table next to her. Mrs. Trask leaned her elbows on a walnut desk that had several small stacks of boxes on one side, each labeled with the names of the rooms in the house.

“It’s about time,” Mrs. Trask growled. “Matthew is ill and has been asking for you, Caitlin.”

Miss Simpson looked up through teary eyes that reflected pure hatred. “Why he would want the likes of you, I do not understand.”

“Enough, Miss Simpson,” Mrs. Trask reprimanded. “All that matters is that the boy recovers.”

“What be wrong with him?” Caitlin asked.

“The doctor says it’s a kind of melancholia.” Mrs. Trask stared at nothing for a moment. “How could a child be so sad when he has everything?”

“But he doesn’t,” Caitlin blurted out.

“What do you mean?” Miss Simpson jerked up, knocking over her tea cup. It smashed on the floor, sending shards everywhere. “How dare you! Look what you’ve done!”

“Sit down, Miss Simpson,” Mrs. Trask ordered.

The nanny sat down with a thump.

“What do you mean, girl?” This time Mrs. Trask’s eyes bored into her.

“She didn’t mean anything, ma’am.” Jeanette nudged Caitlin with her elbow. “Did you?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. Trask, but the young master misses his mother,” Caitlin said, trying to make her words sound like an apology.

Mrs. Trask sucked in her breath and trembled for a moment, then recovered. “That’s nonsense. His mother has him kiss her goodnight every evening they are in town.”

Stunned at her response, Caitlin stammered, “May I see the young master?”

The older woman stared at her unblinking then nodded. “Only for a few minutes. I don’t want anything else to upset him.”

“Aye.” Caitlin gave her a quick curtsy then, rushed out the door. Jeanette followed.

“Are you daft sayin’ those things? Do you want to get us both dismissed?”

“Mrs. Trask will not be dismissing anyone today. She cares for the boy in her own way and doesn’t want to see any harm come to him.” Caitlin took the stairs up two at a time while Jeanette stayed behind.

“She sure has a peculiar way of showing it,” Jeanette yelled up at her.

When Caitlin made it to the second floor, she headed straight towards Matthew’s room, but a maid gestured her to the far end of the hall. Puzzled, Caitlin followed her and soon discovered Matthew had been moved to another room.

As soon as she entered Matthew’s new room, she saw drawn curtains and noticed a stale pungent odor. Unlike the other bedroom, the velvet curtains here were a middling brown, and the wool rugs had tiny tears in them. It was if the boy had lost his social standing overnight.

Matthew lay in his bed weeping and thrashing as several maids tried to comfort him but the boy ignored them.

“What is he doing in here?” Caitlin asked one of the maids.

“I don’t know, Miss.” The girl shrugged. “Mrs. Trask gave the order to move him last night.”

“Caitlin!” Matthew cried out.

She ran over to him, climbed up on the bed and took his hand. “Shush, Matthew. No need to be yelling.” Caitlin gave him a soft smile. “What be wrong with you? Have you got a fever?” She put her palm on his forehead.

“He didn’t have one earlier.” One of the maids stood there wringing her hands.

“He does now. Bring me cool wet cloths,” Caitlin ordered.

The maids ran out to do her biding looking torn between fear of being dismissed and fear of catching whatever might ail the boy.

“Caitlin,” Matthew croaked. “She’s gone.”

“Who be gone?”

“Regina. She’s gone. I can’t see her anymore.”

Caitlin lowered her voice. “Can you hear her?”

Matthew wiped the tears from his cheeks. “It’s like she’s calling for me from far away, but I can’t make out what she’s saying.”

She smiled and patted his hand. “Ghosts can be a bit queer, Matthew. We don’t always know what they want. But if she be here, it be odd that she couldn’t just come to this room unless….”

“Can you go back to my room and check?” he asked. “They won’t let me go back in.”

“Why not?”

“I woke up last night, and Mrs. Trask was in my room. She was crying. It scared me.” Matthew sat up and hugged her. “Why did they make me move?”

Caitlin hugged him back. “I don’t be knowing, but you need to rest.”

She eased him back on to his pillow and stroked his forehead as if she were his mother. His face relaxed under her touch, and he closed his eyes. Caitlin wondered why separating him from Regina caused him such physical distress. She adored Duncan, and if he left, she would miss him, but not be sick over it.

The boy opened his eyes and gave her a small smile until, in a huff, he threw the covers over his head and hid. Caitlin turned around to see what might have caused this. It was Mrs. Trask.

“How is he?” the older woman asked, her voice cracking.

“Can he go back to his old room? I think this one scares him.”

“Nonsense. He stays here. The other room had a draft. I do not want him to catch a chill.”

Caitlin stood up to face her. “But he be sick here, Mrs. Trask. A fever’s got a hold of him.”

Mrs. Trask looked alarmed, then recovered her composure. “He’ll be fine. I’ll call for the doctor to take a look at him again.” The older woman glanced over Caitlin’s shoulder to see Matthew still hiding under the bedding. “Do what you can for him.”

The doctor arrived soon after. Caitlin watched as he poked and prodded Matthew who grimaced, whined, then fell into fits of crying and wailing. The poor man did not know what to do with a hysterical child, but tried to be as kind and gentle as possible. After the examination, Caitlin overheard him tell Mrs. Trask that Matthew had a slight fever, but the problem appeared to be more with his mind. Mrs. Trask took exception to that and ordered the doctor out of the house. As a professional, he ignored her complaints and told her to get the boy fresh air, exercise, and good, wholesome food. Mrs. Trask bristled at his obvious recommendations, then had one of the under-butlers escort him out. Caitlin suspected they would not be seeing that doctor in the house again.

“Caitlin!” Mrs. Trask barked at her.

“Ma’am?”

“I will need you to spend the night with the boy since the maids are worthless and he won’t let Miss Simpson near him,” the older woman announced. “See to it. You’ll be paid accordingly.” Mrs. Trask marched out without waiting for her to respond.

Caitlin sagged against the bed post. “But I’ll be missing school in the morning.”

Matthew peeked over his bedsheet. “You can bring your books here. I don’t mind.”

“You, young sir, must get well. Then I be betting they let you back into your old room.” Caitlin nudged him. “You must show them how strong you are.”

“I’ll try. But I miss Regina.”

“Ghosts have strange ways. I’m thinkin’ it might be time for her to move on.”

“She’d never leave without saying good-bye,” Matthew insisted.

Caitlin tucked the covers around him. “We don’t be knowing such things. Best to let it go.” She kissed his forehead. “You be getting some rest now. I need to see to your dinner and let ma know that I won’t be coming home tonight.”

“Okay. Don’t be long.”

Caitlin lingered at the doorway and watched as Matthew settled into bed. She knew he was right—Regina would never leave him without saying good-bye.

 

 

JEANETTE OFFERED TO STAY OVERNIGHT with Caitlin, but Mrs. Trask refused to pay for her time. Annoyed at what she perceived as Caitlin’s good luck in earning more money without doing much of anything, Jeanette walked out in a huff before Caitlin could tell her what was going on. However, she made a promise to herself to make it up to her friend.

The maids brought in a cot for her to sleep on next to Matthew’s bed. He grinned and looked much happier than he had all day, but his melancholy still hung over him like a rain cloud waiting to burst. She read to him until he fell asleep, then crept out to use the water closet.

On her way back she decided to peek into Matthew’s old room just to see if she could call Regina. Caitlin did not know what to expect, but if the ghost was still there the knowledge would give comfort to the boy. She touched the knob to open it and found it was locked. Caitlin felt relief for now she could keep her promise to her father. She’d begun to walk away when the sound of weeping caught her attention. Caitlin put her ear against the door and tapped her fingers against it, trying not to be too loud.

“Regina?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

The weeping stopped.

Caitlin backed away from the door and stared at it, half expecting it to open, but it did not budge. After a minute, she walked back to Matthew’s room and lay down in the cot. She fell asleep pondering if she should tell Matthew about what she’d heard.

 

 

BY THE TIME CAITLIN FINISHED breakfast with the staff in the kitchen, she had decided not to tell Matthew about the weeping in his room the night before. If he were still ill, it might make him worse. If he were better, it might make him ill again. Lucky for the boy, his fever had passed.

Mrs. Trask informed Caitlin that she would be required to take care of Matthew for at least the next week. When Caitlin tried to protest, the older woman agreed to allow her to study in Matthew’s room as long as it did not interfere with his care. Matthew responded to the news by jumping up on his bed, then falling into a coughing fit.

Caitlin ran home to get her things and tell her mother. To her surprise, Erin smiled when she heard the news.

“Finally you be doing something useful,” she declared. “Never mind that schoolin’ and teachin’, this be a good solid house with a future. That boy will grow up and most likely take you with him to care for his children.”

“But I don’t want to be taking care of him or his children forever,” Caitlin protested.

“Bah! You don’t be knowing what you want, girl. What is that word your da like to use… opportunity? This here be an opportunity. Even that fool of a girl Jeanette knows better.”

“What do you mean? What’s happened to Jeanette?”

“Oh, so you don’t know everything, do ye?” Erin smirked. “Her da found her a right good match with the grocer’s boy on Gibson Street. The banns be posted next month.”

“That can’t be true.”

“Go ask her for yourself.” A very smug Erin turned her back and left the room.

 

 

CAITLIN FOUND JEANETTE CLEANING OUT the fireplace in the parlor when she arrived back at Kage House.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the grocer’s son?” Caitlin asked.

“Too busy doing your job.” Jeanette scooped ashes out and dumped them into a bucket. “Why these folks keep burning wood fires when they could use those steam heaters is a fine question.”

Caitlin sat on the floor across from her friend. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been a very good friend.”

Jeanette shrugged. “You be busy with the young master.”

“That shouldn’t matter.”

“But it does, and I don’t want to be shoveling ash all me life.”

Caitlin stopped Jeanette from shoveling. “Don’t be marrying him. That boy be daft and short and has no sense. And folks say he be nothing but a mama’s boy.”

“Fine thing for you to say.” Jeanette shook off Caitlin’s hand. “You’ve got schoolin’. What could I be but a house cleaner?”

“You could be a lady’s maid or even a teacher. Those are fine positions. You don’t have to depend on him or live under his ma’s thumb the rest of your life.”

“Oh, Caitlin. I can barely read and have no time for book learnin’.”

“I can teach you. Let me help,” Caitlin implored. “Postpone the banns. At least for a little while. Please.”

Jeanette sat back on her heels and considered what Caitlin had said, then nodded. “Aye. I’ll postpone the banns if you promise to tell me what goes on upstairs. No secrets. I want to hear all the gossip. And you teach me to read better.”

“I promise,” Caitlin responded with feigned exasperation. Jeanette reached over and hugged her. As Caitlin hugged her back she thought about Regina and decided it was best not to burden her friend with that right now.

 

 

MATTHEW HAD FALLEN INTO ANOTHER fit of depression by the time Caitlin got back upstairs. He rocked and moaned on his bed as if something deep within him ached. Caitlin rushed over and held him.

“Don’t be telling me this be over a ghost,” she said.

“I miss Regina. Can’t you find her? I know you can. Please?” the boy insisted.

“Let me read to you.” Caitlin settled him back into his bed.

He shivered as he huddled back under the covers. Caitlin touched his forehead with her palm. His fever was back. As she poured him a glass of water from his bed stand, a shuffling noise startled her. She turned to see Mrs. Trask staring at Matthew as if he were the most precious thing in the world. The moment fled in an instant, and Mrs. Trask was back to her usual terse self.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded.

“He be feverish again, Mrs. Trask.” Caitlin held his head up and urged him to drink a few drops of water from the glass. “He’d be much better in the other room. I be sure of it.”

“No. He stays here. Now, go to the kitchen and bring him some broth,” Mrs. Trask ordered. “And make sure he eats all of it.”

Caitlin hurried downstairs to do as she was told. She did not waste any time so as not to incur Mrs. Trask’s wrath. As she left the kitchen with a bowl of broth on a tray, Caitlin noticed two of the kitchen girls whispering behind their hands and glancing her way. When they saw she had noticed them they blushed.

“Sorry, miss. We don’t be saying anything bad about you,” one of the girls piped up. “We think you be brave.”

“I just be caring for the boy. What’s so brave about that?” Caitlin asked.

“He be a strange one.” The girl’s voice took on an ethereal quality.

“I’ve got work to do,” Caitlin replied in a huff as she marched back up the stairs.

The girls mocked her, then burst into giggles. Their laughter was cut short by a harsh reprimand from the head cook. Although Caitlin was pleased the girls had gotten the punishment they deserved, what they had said worried her. How many other people thought Matthew was odd? And worse, what if the wrong people found out about Regina? What would happen to the boy then?

 

 

THE SOUND OF SOFT FOOTSTEPS woke Caitlin from a fitful sleep. She had been dreaming she was running through the streets of South Boston looking for her father. Her mother had kept tugging on her arm, telling her to leave him, but Caitlin had struggled and kept insisting he was just up ahead. She thought she saw a glimpse of him just before she woke up.

Caitlin sat up from her cot and looked over at Matthew. His eyelids twitched, but otherwise he slept peacefully, the fever once again gone. She grabbed her robe and put it on over her night dress, then made her way to the door. She opened it and checked to see if anyone was in the hallway before she stepped out. No one was there.

Thinking she must have dreamed about hearing footsteps, Caitlin made her way down the hall toward the water closet. As she passed Matthew’s old room, she noticed a light under the door. Caitlin reached for the doorknob. It was unlocked.

Caitlin stepped back and considered what her father had said. Under no circumstances should she become involved with any ghosts other than Duncan. She did not want disobey him, but Matthew was suffering. The only way to help him was to find out if Regina was truly gone. Double-checking the hallway again to make sure no one was there, she entered.

The first thing she noticed was the pinpoint electric lamp that hung over the desk. Its brightness blinded her, then when her eyes adjusted she saw a woman sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over. Her body shook with silent weeping.

“Regina?”

The woman looked up with a start. It was Mrs. Trask.

Caitlin backed away in shock. “Mrs. Trask, I… I… be so sorry.” She reached for the door, but the humming noise in her head distracted her. It was as if a small swarm of bees had moved from the back of her head to the front. The static electricity built up within her body, and soon she saw tiny electrical charges dancing on her fingernails. They dispersed, leaving her with the knowledge that Regina had returned.

“Caitlin? Is that you?” A soft voice echoed from the wall as the ghost of Regina Gill emerged. She glided across the room and did not appear to notice Mrs. Trask, but Mrs. Trask saw her. The color drained from the older woman’s face.

“Where’s Matthew? Why isn’t he here? Has something happened?” The ghost’s voice took on a worried edge.

Mrs. Trask gasped for air as she stared at the apparition. “No. You’re dead. You can’t be here.”

Regina noticed Mrs. Trask and leaned over her as the older woman cringed in fear. “I know you. Don’t I?”

“You’re dead. I saw you die in this bed.” Mrs. Trask collapsed on the floor and tried to crawl away.

“You can see her, Mrs. Trask?” Caitlin asked, a little bewildered. “You be like me, then. A Medium.”

“No! This is a trick.” The head housekeeper used the bed to help her stand up as she tried to calm herself. “You Irish are always up to something. Did you think you could get me to pay you more money by hiring a lowlife actress to play my daughter? I’ll see you in jail for this.”

“Mother?” Regina’s voice echoed around the room. “Are you my mother?” The ghost glided over and reached out her hand to touch Mrs. Trask’s face. The head housekeeper backed up and tried to swat Regina away, but her hand met with nothing but air.

Mrs. Trask stumbled backwards into the wall. “What devil brought you here? Go away. You can’t be here.”

“Mrs. Trask, there be nothing to be afraid of. Regina be a kindly ghost. She and Matthew get along fine,” Caitlin tried to reassure her.

“He speaks to this… thing? And you let him? How dare you?” Mrs. Trask seethed.

“Mother? Why are you so angry?” Regina asked, clearly hurt by her words. “Do you know why I am here? I can’t seem to leave this room to see Matthew, but I hear him crying for me.”

Mrs. Trask put her hand over her mouth as if to stop herself from screaming. Her face contorted as she tried to hold back the horror she obviously felt.

Caitlin put her hand on the head housekeeper’s arm to try to calm her. “Mrs. Trask. It be all right. There is no evil here. She loves the boy like a son.”

Mrs. Trask shoved Caitlin away so hard, she fell and struck her head on the edge of a chair. The world turned red and black before she regained her senses and felt Mrs. Trask’s hand grab her foot and drag her across the room.

“You are the evil one. You brought this upon him.” The older woman attempted to open the door while still clinging to Caitlin.

“Let go of me!” Caitlin yanked her foot back and kicked Mrs. Trask in the knee.

The older woman crumpled in a heap, her face in her hands, sobbing. “I thought my grieving was over. Have you come back to torture me, Regina?”

“Stop this, Mrs. Trask!” Caitlin yelled. “This not be about you, but….” As the truth seeped into Caitlin’s mind, she looked back and forth between the ghost and Mrs. Trask until she blurted out, “It’s the boy. It’s always been about Matthew. He be her son. That’s why his crying brought her.”

If a ghost’s face could light up with pleasure, Regina’s did just then. “I have a boy? Matthew’s my son? Why do I not remember him?”

“None of this can be,” Mrs. Trask croaked in emotional agony.

Regina glided over to her mother. “Tell me what happened. Please. Why am I here?”

Mrs. Trask threw her hands up as if to protect herself. “Don’t get near me!”

Hurt by her mother’s reaction, Regina’s form fluttered and faded, then when she regained her confidence, the ghost’s presence became sharper. “Tell me what happened to me, Mother,” Regina spoke in a more threatening tone.

The older woman shrank away from Regina as if she could make herself disappear in the wall like her daughter.

“She don’t have to,” Caitlin spoke up. “I be guessing that this be where you died giving birth to Matthew. My da taught me that ghosts stay where they died or have a connection. Dying while giving birth be a strong pull.”

“Is that true?” Regina’s form pulsated with her increasing rage.

Mrs. Trask nodded. “Yes. You died right after Matthew was born.” The older woman trembled. “I used to come and sit on this bed and pretend you were still with me. But the last few months, every time I came in here it became too much. And now I know why. Matthew brought you back.” Mrs. Trask clawed the back of her hands. “Why did you have to sleep with that servant boy instead of your husband? You had everything!”

Regina backed away from her mother, looking at her with a mixture of anger and pity. “I want my son,” she demanded.

Mrs. Trask shook her head and threw her hands up as if to ward off evil. “No. I’ll not curse him with this knowledge. He believes Mrs. Kage is his mother, and I intend on keeping it that way.”

“But why?” Caitlin asked. “What harm can it do?”

“You ignorant girl. It would destroy him… and me,” Mrs. Trask spat at her. “No earthly person should be bound to the dead. What future would he have?”

“But I love him,” Regina shrieked. The room vibrated at the sound, sending the bed stand crashing to the floor.

“Regina!” Caitlin yelled. “Stop it! This be doing no good. And… you’re scaring me.”

The ghost composed herself and drifted to the other side of the room. “I’m so sorry, Caitlin. You’ve been so good to me and Matthew. I just don’t want to be trapped here without him.”

“You can’t change that, Regina,” Mrs. Trask growled at her. “Nothing change that.”

“I can try,” the apparition declared as she moved forward, menacing the older woman.

“Stop this. Please!” Caitlin begged them. “When my da gets home, he can help sort this out.”

Mrs. Trask stood up and straightened her dress. “You’ll do no such thing. You think I care about being a Medium? The Kages adopted Matthew believing he is the illegitimate son of a Great House and an upper Middle District girl. If they ever found out he was my grandson, we’d both be tossed into the street with nothing!” The head housekeeper’s voice wavered, then grew stronger. “You’re the cause of this, girl. Encouraging Matthew to talk to this… this… thing. I’ll not allow his future to be tainted by his past.”

With a swiftness that surprised Caitlin, Mrs. Trask opened the door and ran out, locking it behind her.

“No!” Caitlin cried out as she yanked on the doorknob, but the door refused to budge. “Mrs. Trask, Matthew’s all alone in the other room. He’ll need me there.”

“No, he won’t,” Mrs. Trask’s voice leaked through the frame of the solid oak door. “I’ll not risk you talking to him or anyone in the house. You will be removed in the morning when the staff is at church.”

The ghost sank to the floor, distraught and wailing. “My son! I’ve lost my son!”

Caitlin pounded on the door, but the sound was muffled and indistinct. “No! Please, don’t do this Mrs. Trask!” Defeated and not knowing what to do next, she crumpled to the floor, tears cascading down her face.

 

 

LATE IN THE NIGHT, CAITLIN fell asleep leaning against the door. She vaguely remembered Regina’s cries fading away. It wasn’t until someone tried to shove the door open that she woke up.

“Caitlin! I be lookin’ for you everywhere.” Jeanette scooted in and helped her friend up from the floor and onto the bed. “How the devil did you lock yourself in here?”

Caitlin shook her head, trying to wake up. “I didn’t. Mrs. Trask did.” She stood up and bolted for the door. “Where’s Matthew?”

“Caitlin! Wait!” Jeanette shouted after her.

She ran across the hall as fast as she could to see Matthew being carried over the shoulder of one of the under-butlers like a sack of potatoes.

“Caitlin!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, his face mottled in sheer terror.

“Matthew!” she cried after him as she followed him down the stairs toward the kitchen. Caitlin reached the landing, but Mrs. Trask grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

“You leave that boy alone,” the woman ordered. “You’ve done enough.”

“Where are you taking him?”

“Away from you and… her,” Mrs. Trask hissed.

Caitlin wrenched her arm away and fled down the stairs. Through the door she saw a steam-powered buggy chugging away. “Matthew! Wait!” She ran outside.

Matthew hung out the window, his arms flailing as if he could fly toward her. “Caitlin! Don’t let them take me away from Regina!” A man’s hands grabbed the boy’s shoulders and hauled him back inside the buggy.

She was about to run after him, when Miss Simpson stepped in the way and slapped her so hard across the face that Caitlin fell to the ground.

“I lost my job because of you.” The nanny spat at her and stomped away.

Helpless, Caitlin wiped the spit and tears from her face as she watched the buggy disappear around the corner.

“What the blazes is going on, and who is Regina?” Jeanette asked, alarmed at all the commotion. She helped Caitlin to her feet.

“A ghost,” Caitlin replied with a hint of despair. “Matthew’s ma.”

Jeanette’s face reddened as if she could contain the anger inside her, but it burst out in a torrent. “A ghost! There be a ghost in this house and you didn’t say a word to me? How long have you been cavorting with this mysterious spirit?”

“A month. A little more.” Caitlin winced at her friend’s ire.

“You kept this from me! Why? To look good in front of the boy?” Jeanette balled up her fists as if to hit Caitlin, but she restrained herself and backed away instead.

“No! No! It be nothing like that.”

“This be your fault. If you had told me, I’d have made you stop.” The girl’s eyes narrowed.

“Stupid girl,” the voice of Mrs. Trask cut through the air like a jagged knife. “You’re dismissed.” She glanced over at Jeanette. “You too. I’m sure you were both in on this abhorrent event.”

“Jeanette had nothing to do with it. She didn’t know.”

“Please, Mrs. Trask,” Jeanette pleaded, the panic rising in her voice. “I need this position.”

“Do you think I’d believe either of you?” She scoffed. “Go. Now!” Mrs. Trask crossed her arms across her chest. “Or do I have to send for the police?”

A horrified Jeanette backed away. “There be no need to be calling the police. I’ll be going.” Without even looking at Caitlin, she fled.

“Regina be your daughter. Matthew be your grandson. How can you do this to them?”

Mrs. Trask grabbed Caitlin’s chin, lifted it up, and stared her straight in the eyes. “If you ever speak of this to anyone, I’ll make sure you, and your friend, never work again.” She released Caitlin.

Devastated, Caitlin ran away.

 

 

CAITLIN HAD TO COVER HER ears her mother’s shouting was so loud. Overcome with anger, Erin then locked herself in her bedroom. Caitlin tried to stay awake and decide what to do next, but exhaustion overtook her and she fell asleep in a heap on her bed.

She slept until the next morning and discovered her mother had left by the time she got up. Hoping Duncan might be able to help, she fled into her father’s darkroom. Duncan hovered near the door and had written the word sad in the dust on the floor. All Caitlin could do was break down into tears.

“Oh, Duncan. I lost my friend and I don’t know what to do,” she babbled through her crying jag.

Caitlin saw his ghost fingers write in the dust Stop crying. Go apologize.

She wiped the tears from her face. “Aye, you be right. Time to stop feelin’ sorry for myself.”

Duncan nodded, then faded away.

When she arrived at the Collins’ building, the entire floor of apartments in her friend’s tenement building was abuzz. Neighbors laughed and drank, someone was even playing the fiddle somewhere. Puzzled at the activity, Caitlin wound her way through a small throng of people to the open door of Jeanette’s apartment. Unlike where she lived, Jeanette’s tenement was grossly run down with paint peeling off the walls, holes big enough for rats to pass through, and mold growing from leaky pipes.

Caitlin entered the Collins’ apartment and saw Mrs. Collins showing off a lovely but simple dress to a group of friends. It was made of hunter-green wool with tiny chartreuse silk inserts around the skirt. The bodice had a high neckline embroidered with tiny flowers with matching cloth-covered buttons. There were no metal accents as that would not be appropriate for anyone of their station. Caitlin stared more than was polite as she knew Mrs. Collins could not afford such a dress. When Jeanette’s mother saw Caitlin she frowned and all her friends went silent. She jerked her head toward her daughter’s room. As soon as Caitlin was out of sight, the group chatted and laughed again.

The door to Jeanette’s room was blocked by trunks and two of Jeanette’s younger brothers sitting on top of them. Caitlin edged her way around them to find her friend packing her belongings.

“Jeanette? What’s going on?”

Her friend gestured at her siblings to get out. “Get. Now!”

“No,” they both whined in unison.

Jeanette gave them a look that said she meant it, and the boys high-tailed it out of there. Once they were gone, she went back to packing. “What do you want?”

“Why are you packing? And why does your mother have such a dress? She can’t afford it,” Caitlin asked, confused at the whole situation.

“That dress is mine, and it was a wedding gift,” Jeanette replied, her voice flat and emotionless.

“What? Who are you marrying?” When Jeanette failed to reply, Caitlin knew the answer. “You’re marrying the grocer’s son? Why? How could you do that?”

Jeanette slammed her trunk shut, whirled around, and confronted Caitlin. “Why? Because I lost my position. And even though Mrs. Trask has said nothing about the whys of it, everyone is whispering we did something wrong. Now I can’t find another one. No one will hire me.”

“I’m so sorry, Jeanette. Please let me help. I can teach you to read. Find you something better.” Caitlin pleaded.

Jeanette shook her head. “No. You’ve lied to me once. Who’s to say you won’t be doing it again?” She locked the trunk with a violent snap. “Now go. There be work to be done before the wedding.”

“It’s not too late, Jeanette. You don’t have to be doing this. The banns—”

“—be posted this morning.”

“Jeanette, please…,” Caitlin begged her friend, “Don’t be doing this. You deserve better.”

“That’s why I be doing this. So I can have better.” Jeanette puffed out her chest. “I’m going to be a Middle District lady someday.” With that, she turned her back on Caitlin and began to fold up a stack of handkerchiefs.

Dumbfounded and distraught, Caitlin backed away a few steps, then fled the room, her heart broken over the loss of her friend.

 

 

CAITLIN WALKED THROUGH THE NEIGHBORING streets near Jeanette’s apartment for hours, not seeing or hearing the bustling city around her. Life became a blur as if she were a ghost walking among the living. Later, she found herself outside the door to her tenement building. Caitlin thought she could stand there forever until a freezing wind bit at her, forcing her inside.

When she opened the door to the apartment, Caitlin saw her father sitting at the kitchen table taking apart and cleaning one of his cameras. It was a job he did with deliberate care after he finished one of his longer trips. Caitlin thought his face looked peaceful and relaxed as he set each piece on a linen cloth. His serene countenance transformed to sadness when he noticed she had entered.

“You know?” her voice croaked.

“Duncan told me some. The rest I figured out by sorting through the gossip.” He gestured toward the bench. “Sit, Caitlin.”

She did as he asked while avoiding his eyes. “Where’s ma?”

“I thought it best she go visit the neighbors.”

“She’s mad.”

“Aye, but for not the same reason as I be.” He set the camera lens down. “Look at me, Caitlin.”

The thought of disappointing her father was almost more than she could bear. Caitlin took a deep breath and forced herself to look up at him.

His face had more lines and crags than she remembered. The circles under his eyes were deeper and had faint purple discolorations as if he had been hit a while ago and was just beginning to heal. It occurred to Caitlin that her father had gotten old and she’d never noticed.

“I see I made a mistake not teaching you more about being a Medium. Not that I want you to be doing what I’m doing, but to better understand what it means.” Andrew took her hand in his and squeezed it.

“Da, I’m so sorry. I didn’t….” Caitlin choked up.

“I know, luv. ’Tis all me fault that you got into the trouble you did. I’m sorry about the boy and Jeanette.” He shook his head. “Not all ghosts and the like are evil, but you cannot control how others will react. It can be a dangerous thing. You be scaring people with the truth and they not be likin’ that too much.” Andrew frowned. “This Mrs. Trask… she be a Medium?”

“Aye.” Caitlin became solemn. “She denies it. The boy thinks it be as natural as breathing.”

“It sounds as if this Mrs. Trask will be trapped in a hell of her own making. Neither being herself or like anyone else. The boy….” Andrew considered for a moment. “Life will not be easy for him.”

“After Jeanette be married and settled, maybe she’ll forgive me.”

Andrew shook his head. “No, lass. She’s taken a different path. One I’m fairly sure you’ll never go.”

“Being married might not be so bad, but not to someone like the grocer’s son.” Caitlin shuddered at the thought.

Andrew chuckled. “Aye. That wouldn’t have made for a good match. I’m thinkin’ someone a wee bit more educated.” For a moment Caitlin saw his eyes light up as if he saw some future happiness for her, then it faded away. “But the burden we bear often forces us to walk alone.”

“What do I be doing now?” she asked with a heavy heart.

“You already know a lot about making photographs, but I’ll teach you more about what it means to be a Medium. There be supernatural beasties out there I never dared talk about, but I guess it be time I did.” He sighed. “At least for your own protection.”

“Ma will be furious.”

“Your ma must never know what I… we do,” he insisted. “You study hard and be a teacher. That will be your way out of the South Side. Not doing what I be doing.”

“Aye, da.”

He shook his head. “No, say it to me properly. Like a Middle District lady would.”

Caitlin cleared her throat and sat up straight. “Yes, Father.”

“Aye. That be the ticket.” He stood up and gestured to the camera parts. “Now, gather up me things. Your lessons start now.”

 

 

WHILE RUNNING AN ERRAND A few weeks later for her father, Caitlin had no choice but to walk past Kage House. At first she began to march in a hurry, but then she wondered if by chance Mr. and Mrs. Kage had allowed Matthew to come home. Caitlin looked up at Matthew’s old bedroom window, and to her surprise she saw Mrs. Trask there instead. The woman stood so close to the glass, you could see her breath. Her eyes were distant and unfocused. She jerked her head, and a faint whisper of a smile appeared on her face, then lit up in joy. Behind Mrs. Trask, Caitlin could see a woman—it was Regina.

Caitlin’s body began to shake and her hands clenched into fists. She could feel her face flush, and all she wanted to do was scream and cry at the same time. Overwhelmed by these feelings, she moved off the side walk and leaned against a building to hide her face from passersby. Caitlin tried to control herself, but she burst into tears. That’s when she realized she was jealous of Mrs. Trask and Regina. Here was a woman who accepted her daughter even if she was a ghost, and her own mother could not stand her. It was time to let that hurt go.

With new-found resolve, Caitlin wiped the tears from her eyes. No matter what happened in the future, she would not let her mother dictate who or what she would be.

She was her father’s daughter after all.