The Ghost and Katie Coyle Read online

  Katie squinted at the trees and saw nothing that even remotely resembled a person. The dark trunks and leafy branches blended into a seamless crazy quilt of all shades of green and brown. Anything even remotely human would stand out against such a backdrop. She rolled her eyes. “Cut it out, Josh. You’re not going to scare me like that. And besides, maybe there’s a path through there that goes down to the beach. So what if you saw someone walking through the woods?”

  “He wasn’t walking. He was right against that tree.” Josh pointed. “Right over there. He was watching us.”

  Katie shook her head, and in that moment a flash of white against the shadowed greens caught her eye. “So someone was passing through and stopped to look. So what? The beach must be close by—I can smell the salt air. Come on, let’s go look at the house. Do you have the key?”

  Josh nodded. “Yeah. You’d better let me try first.” He shot one more look in the direction of the woods, and walked away, muttering, “vagrants” under his breath. She followed him up the flagstone walk, determined to ignore his bad humor, marveling at the tiny purple flowers clustered around the stones. The whole place seemed to pulse with energy, rich and dense and green. The light was intense, an even golden glow in the late afternoon. What must the place look like in the morning, she wondered. She waited, trying to curb her impatience as Josh fiddled with the lock.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked when she heard him swear under his breath.

  “I can’t believe you think you’re going to manage out here, Kate. How are you even going to open the goddamn door?” With a grimace, Josh turned the key in the lock and shoved the door open.

  “Maybe…” she said as she stepped past him over the threshold, “maybe I just won’t lock the door.”

  Josh groaned, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. He handed her the key, then wiped his hands on a handkerchief he pulled from the back pocket of his khakis. He wiped his hands deliberately as if he’d touched something dirty. Katie slipped the key inside the pocket of her jeans, paused just inside the door and smiled with delight.

  “Look,” she said, more to herself than to Josh, “Look how beautiful it is, Josh.”

  “I wish you’d stop telling me to look,” Josh said. He reached for the wall switch, jiggled it, and snorted. “Not even a goddamn lightbulb. And I wish you’d stop saying that word.”

  “Which one?”

  “Beautiful. “

  Katie glanced at Josh over her shoulder as she walked further into the room. A wide bay window looked out over the ponds and the waterfall, and through the panes of glass it was possible to hear the babble of the water over the stones. Facing the window was a low couch, covered in cheap imitation brown leather, and in front of it a coffee table with battered legs and a ring-scarred top stood on a scrap of threadbare red rug. An ancient floor lamp with a yellowed shade had been left in the corner near the window. Filling one wall was a huge fireplace. Sunlight streamed through windows on the opposite side of the room, and through a doorway, Katie could see a cozy white kitchen.

  Katie turned around, staring. The place smelled of fresh paint. If the outside had been neglected, at least the university had seen to the upkeep of the interior of the cottage. The wooden floors gleamed, the brass andirons by the fireplace shone. Even the windows looked as though they’d been freshly washed. The furniture might be sparse and cheap, but it looked clean.

  “I don’t understand you, Josh,” she said. “This place is beautiful and you know it. I’ll have plenty of peace and quiet to work on my application for the Clancy grant I was telling you about. Can’t you be happy for me?”

  Josh didn’t answer. Instead he walked into the kitchen. “There’s a bad smell in here, Kate. You’d better get someone out here to check the drains.”

  It was Katie’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yes, Josh. First thing.” She followed him to the kitchen, where a tiny table with two rickety white chairs had been pushed into a corner. She sniffed. “I don’t smell anything but fresh paint. And look, at least I’ll have a place to eat.”

  “I think it’s coming from over here—probably from the sink. Something must have crawled in one of the drains and died. And I’d think twice about sitting in one of those chairs. They look like they’ve been here since World War II.”

  Katie came closer, sniffing. “I still don’t smell a thing. And try to be nice, okay?”

  Josh shook his head. “Okay. It’s just me, then.” He yanked open a drawer. “Probably mice in here.”

  “Josh!”

  Just as Katie spoke, the drawer seemed to jerk away from Josh’s grip. He gave a startled cry, and then a louder one as the drawer slammed shut on his fingers.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Damn,” he muttered, rubbing his fingers together. “What a dump. Must be a truckload of grease on that. You’ll have roaches for sure.”

  “Maybe it’s the ghost.” Katie said, and winked at him. “Fran said this place had a history—whatever that means.”

  “Probably it means nobody can stand to live here once it starts to snow.” Josh shook his head and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving her to cast an appraising eye around the small room. The white appliances were all twenty years old or more, but very clean. They looked to be in good repair. The floor was black-and-white squares, and the windows were bare. Katie imagined red-and-white-checked gingham curtains. She gingerly leaned against one of the chairs. It felt more sturdy than it looked. She smiled once more, thinking she would have to make a list of things to buy, when she heard Josh yell again.

  She followed the sound down the narrow hallway, until she came to the tiny blue tiled bathroom. “What happened?”

  He pointed to shattered glass, strewn all over the countertop. “That’s what happened. I touched the goddamned light switch and the next thing I know, the whole bulb’s exploding. I don’t think this place is safe, Katie. The wiring, the plumbing—I think the house needs a complete overhaul. It’s just been vacant too long.” He crossed his arms. “Why don’t you let me drive us back to town? I don’t like the feel of this place and I don’t like the thought of you living here. We’ll find a nice place to stay the night, and in the morning, you go tell them you want something better to live in.”

  “And if they don’t give it to me—I quit?” Katie crossed her own arms over her chest.

  “Sure,” Josh answered. “That sounds like the smartest thing you’ve said all day.”

  Katie bit back a retort. She mentally counted to ten, then said, “It probably is a good idea to have everything looked at, Josh. But the electricity’s working fine. I heard the refrigerator. And I didn’t smell anything in the kitchen at all, so I doubt there’s much wrong with the plumbing, either. I think you’re just imagining things because you don’t want me to stay here.”

  Josh pursed his lips. “You’re right, Kate. I don’t like the idea of my girlfriend staying in some ramshackle cabin in the middle of nowhere when she could be staying with me in a brand new co-op in Manhattan. Or a nice apartment in Fairfield, close to stores and schools and—”

  “Oh, Josh,” Katie sighed. She looked at him sadly. How was it possible they’d been together for the last three years? “You sound like a real estate agent. Don’t you understand? I want to stay here. You’re right—the house has been empty a long time, and the grounds are a mess. But I’ll be spending most of my time on campus, don’t you see that? I want this job—I’m really thrilled to be here. Can’t you try to be happy for me?”

  “Happy for you, Kate?” He pushed past her, his feet crunching over shards of glass. “It’s kind of tough to be happy when my girlfriend is going to be a four or five-hour drive away. You know there’s no way I’m going to be able to get up here. They’re going to expect me to bust my butt, especially the first year. And once the winter starts, you aren’t going to be able to get down the goddamn driveway, let alone 1-95. How often do you think we’re going to see each other?”

  “But, Josh, we’ve been apa
rt before. All the summers I spent in Dublin—”

  “And you think I liked it?” Josh shook his head. “You just aren’t hearing me, Kate. You wouldn’t be the first woman to put her career on hold to establish a family. “

  Katie swallowed hard. What was he saying? “Are you telling me you want to get married, Josh? Start a family’?”

  Josh shrugged. “Well, maybe in a year or two. After I’ve got a couple years under my belt at Tyler, Harris. In the meantime—”

  “In the meantime, why can’t I do what I want to do?” Katie stared up at him. His jaw was clenched and he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring down at his shoes, now heavily coated in grass clippings. Her own feet, practically bare in strappy sandals, were clean. Suddenly she felt very sad. Three years was a long time. She tried to remember if he’d ever acted this way before. He’d always been opinionated, and she often gave in rather than argue. But she wasn’t giving in now. And if it meant that their relationship had come to an end, so be it.

  She took a deep breath. “Will you help me bring my stuff in?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.” Without another word, he walked down the hall and out the door.

  Katie looked around. Shards of broken glass sparkled like diamonds on the tile floor, the countertop and in the sink. What if that had happened while she was getting out of the bath? She shivered. Josh was probably right about one thing, at least. She should insist that the university send someone out to go over the place. Living alone out here could be dangerous. And she didn’t like unexpected surprises. At least, not unpleasant ones. A cool breeze ruffled her bangs and she suddenly noticed that the window was open a fraction of an inch. As she placed her fingers on the sash to shut it, a big brown spider dropped from above. It landed on the back of her hand.

  She gasped, more surprised than frightened, and the insect scuttled away. That was nasty, she thought. And fleetingly, she wondered what other surprises Pond House might have in store for her.

  • • •

  The car slipped down the long driveway into the fading afternoon, disappearing beneath the trees. In one fluid motion, the tall man stepped out from the shadows of the oaks. They were ancient; unlike so much in the world he found himself in, the trees were one thing that had been there even before he’d arrived. He padded over the moss-covered ground, slipping silently over the bridge. He drifted toward the house. The August afternoon was warm, and through the newly opened windows he could make out the boxes that contained the young woman’s possessions.

  The young woman. Emotion surged through him. Could it be that Caitlin had returned to find him? He was trapped—caught in the flow of some energy field that emanated from the Stones within the forest. But her soul was free—could it be that after two hundred years, she’d finally found a way to come back to him? That same face, that upturned nose and the huge dark eyes framed by long thick lashes and delicately arched brows. He hadn’t been able to get close enough to see if she had the freckles he’d loved to kiss. But he’d seen clearly as day the lush waves of her upswept curls and the slender lines of her body beneath the outlandish clothes.

  Hope swelled, and just as quickly another emotion rose to crush it. Fate had played more than one cruel joke upon him—why should he think the woman’s resemblance to Caitlin could be anything else? The accumulated pain of two hundred years of longing crashed over him.

  But who was she, he asked himself as he gazed from box to box. A colorful swirl of fabric peeked out of one, a statue’s slender arm from another. Most, though, appeared to be labeled “Books.” Who was this woman who so resembled Caitlin, and seemed, if the glimpse of her possessions was any indication, so completely her opposite? Caitlin, to his knowledge, had never read a book in her life. Or maybe she had, he mused. Who knew what her life had been like in Australia? Who could tell him? The silent boxes taunted him with their secrets, tantalizing as the face of the newcomer. Unlike the other occupants of Pond House, most of whom had come and gone almost without his notice, this woman had definitely caught his attention. Who was she? Was there any other connection to Caitlin besides the physical resemblance? And what did her arrival mean? Musing, he drifted back across the lawn, over the bridge, and slipped back into the shadows beneath the trees to await her return.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The last rays of the setting sun lent the living room a warm glow as Katie opened the last of her boxes. The movers were bringing the rest of her possessions tomorrow—or so they’d assured her, at least. She didn’t have enough to comprise a full load, and so she’d had to wait until they had another household moving to the same area. Fortunately, the meager furnishings of Pond House were all she really needed for the moment.

  She rocked back on her heels, sorting quickly through the contents of the box. It contained her copies of the texts she had decided to use for her first semester survey course of Irish literature, and the notes from a couple of her graduate courses. As she lifted the yellowing sheets of paper from the dog-eared folder, a random breeze blew through the window, scattering the pages. She scrambled after them. Her notes were too precious to misplace. Sitting cross-legged on the threadbare rug, she shuffled them back into order lovingly. Had Josh always been so dismissive of her work? The history and the language and the literature of Ireland from the arrival of the Tuatha De Danaan to the most recent troubled times had always held an endless fascination for her.

  For Katie, heroes lived in the pages of Irish lore, from Finn, the fair-haired giant who’d founded the Fianna, the elite company of warriors who guarded the borders of Eiru, to Oisian, who lived among the “Other,” to Hugh O’Neill, the fighting Prince of Donegal, who’d gone into exile rather than live in defeat, to Redmond O’Hanlon, the outlaw who’d ridden into history from some of Ireland’s darkest years. An outlaw rapparee, like the one from the song. The words ran through her mind:

  My spurs are rusted, my coat is rent, my plume is damp with rain.

  But my rifle’s as bright as my sweetheart’s eyes, my arm is strong and free

  What care have I for your king or laws, I’m an outlaw rapparee

  An image of a tall, blue-eyed, dark-haired man clad in tight dark breeches, a billowy white shirt, and a plumed hat rose before her, and fleetingly, Katie wondered what it would be like to be that outlaw’s sweetheart. She laughed aloud as another gust from the window brought her back to the present. Silly fantasies. No wonder Josh didn’t take her work seriously. She rose to look out the window, thinking she’d always been a sucker for blue eyes. Blue eyes had been one of Josh’s main attractions. She drank in the lush view, now bathed in a purplish twilight. A cat was curled up on the footbridge, sound asleep. Sleep, she thought. That sounded like a plan.

  She dismissed the thoughts of Josh. and firmly set aside her daydreams. It would be easy to lose herself that way here, she thought. She sighed once more, and this time she caught the faintest hint of a scent, sweet and spicy and pungent, an old-fashioned scent she thought she recognized but could not immediately place. She breathed in again, and this time the fragrance was gone. There must be a hundred scents out there, she thought, as she watched the water flow across the wide rocks. Suddenly, she felt as though someone was standing next to her. She whipped around, half-expecting to see—to see what, you silly goose?—she scolded herself. Oisian? Hugh O’Neill? Redmond O’Hanlon?

  She shook her head. Enough nonsense. Focus, Katie, focus. She really needed a desk. She’d never be able to organize her materials without one. The Clancy grant she had in mind would mean recognition on an international scale, if she were lucky enough to win it. But she had to get organized, if she was serious about applying for it. She would have a lot to do this semester, and the application would never be ready by the January fifteenth deadline if she didn’t get busy.

  She glanced around the room, assessing where to put her bookshelves, and wondering if she had enough. Already she could visualize things she wanted to buy. If she wasn’t careful, she’d spend her ent
ire first semester’s pay furnishing the house the way it should be furnished. The way it wanted to be furnished. Immediately she was struck by the oddity of that thought. The idea that a house would want to be furnished in some way or another…‌well…‌she shook her head. It had been a long day, and the argument she’d had with Josh had only made it seem longer.

  The thought of Josh made her suddenly depressed. She wandered into the tiny kitchen and opened the refrigerator before she could stop herself. Some habits died hard. Katie’d been a chubby child, and now, daily exercise was a part of her routine. It helped maintain her size eight figure. But when the going got tough—the tough went out to eat, as her mother liked to say with a laugh.

  Katie shut the door. Suddenly she felt very much alone. Meg was in Dublin, which might as well have been the moon. And the rest of her family, all in Philadelphia, seemed a million miles away. The telephone company was coming tomorrow to hook up the land line, and it was beginning to sink in that cell service out here was pretty much nonexistent. A friendly voice would be welcome right now. And as for Josh—she pushed the thought of him out of her mind. He’d left right after she’d driven him back to campus, promising to call her when she was reachable. But of course, he didn’t know her new number, and somehow she didn’t think she’d be calling him any time soon to give it to him.

  She realized how tired she was—too tired to eat any of the food she’d bought after dropping Josh off. She’d take a hot bath, have some warm milk, and go to bed. There were three bedrooms in the house, and each contained a double bed and a dresser. Katie had appropriated the largest of the bedrooms. She’d bounced on the mattress a couple times, and it seemed comfortable enough.

  She wandered into the bathroom and cast a quick eye around, searching for the spider. But it was nowhere to be seen. She turned the taps of the tub. Anxiously she watched the water run, looking for any kind of discoloration, but the water looked fresh and clear. She uncorked a vial of bubble bath she’d been saving in her travel kit and poured it under the flowing spigot. As the fragrance rose on the clouds of steam, she sighed. She pulled her T-shirt over her head and stepped out of her jeans. She brushed out her hair, the thick, dark curls wild and unruly in the humidity. As she piled her hair back into a loose knot on top of her head, a cool breeze made a chill go down her spine, and raised gooseflesh on her arms.