Time Well Spent as a Ghost

Chapter 3

The problem with returning years later to the place where you grew up is that you're a different person after being in other places. The combination of having oblivious, trusting parents and going to high school in a college town had led me to raise some hell once upon a time. I took off right after graduation, though, determined to get serious for a change and to be thankful that my A-minus average had been accepted at MIT. Myles landing a teaching position here was pure luck, but a bit of a relief given the competitiveness of academia. And with a three-year-old in tow, finding a house just outside of town was a blessing too. But this is just temporary, I kept telling myself. That's the only reason I actually agreed to live in the old Crickler place.

Even before the beds were made I was tearing bubble wrap from the computer components and getting the offices set up. His and hers. One advantage to a drafty old farmhouse is the infinite number of rooms. I pushed to the back of my mind the idea I'd had when I'd gotten pregnant, that I'd start a web design business and be a stay-at-home-mom. Never mind the competition of other designers, some half my age. As it turns out potential clients are simply downloading the software and designing their own sites. So what if the degree on the wall was the end of a chapter. One thing I knew for sure is I had to get creative and find an income – soon, so we could buy a house in the village or maybe even build a place.

***

Sunday afternoons are the one day when Myles and Cody are awake at the same time. They were playing on the living room floor while I was in the cellar stowing away boxes and plastic storage containers. It was true what Tricia said. The Crickler's had lived here for generations, building the farmhouse in the late 1800's and through the years adding electric lighting, indoor plumbing, and heating. The basement foundation looked solid but it consisted of quarry stone and cement mixed more than a century ago. Many of the previous owners were frightened away by the cost of expensive renovations.

Looking around, I had the thought that some of the dusty old lanterns, frames, bottles, and unrecognizable contraptions might be salvaged and brought to the Antique Keep on Route 45. My rational, busy mind was focusing on a list of tools, tarnish removers and hardware I'd need to repair some of the items, but I had to admit it was in the back of my mind to look for the basket I'd seen her holding. How is it that I can recall it in so much detail? The handle and ends were solid, like wood or metal, and the front and back were some sort of mesh. An egg basket? Was she a farm wife who had lived here? Was she looking for something lost or left behind? I guess I'd read somewhere that ghosts do that. Anyway, there was nothing like that down here and the only other sounds in the house were of small metal cars being thrown around on the smooth plank floors above my head.