Resurrecting Harry Read online

  The shutter proved to be an easier fix than he first thought. He replaced a few screws and put the ladder away within twenty minutes. Starting for the front door, he changed his mind and reversed his path. A hired hand would enter through the kitchen. As much as it hurt, that was all he was to her at this moment. Angering her with inappropriate behavior wouldn’t help their relationship progress, so walking on eggshells and remembering his manners were the orders of the day.

  With each step he took, he added another item to the long, mental checklist of what needed to be done, surprised that so much could go by the wayside in a few months.

  Approaching the southwest corner of the house, the smell of smoke hit his senses. His eyes darted around the yard, and he wondered if one of the neighbors had lit their fireplace. As he stepped on the wooden deck, the scent grew stronger, and he realized it was coming from inside.

  Seeing black smoke billow from the cast iron pot on the stove, Erich called out for Bess. As he pulled the screen door toward him, it hit the hook lock and snapped back closed. He called her name again.

  It wasn’t like Bess to abandon the kitchen while she was cooking. Preparing food was an act of love. She held the responsibility of nourishing her and Harry dear and always worried something like this would happen if she neglected her duties.

  He tapped his foot as he waited for the clack of her shoes against the hardwood and the sound of her skirt bustling around her legs. The smoke billowed up, black as coal, and there was no time for caution or concern for manners. His hand against the frame, a quick, hard jerk ripped the hook-and-eye lock away, and the door broke free.

  Inside, he grabbed a towel off the counter, pulled the pot from the stove and turned off the gas. The water had evaporated, and the beginnings of a soup stock blackened the bottom of the pan. With a twist of the faucet, the water popped and sizzled against the cast iron. He lifted his arm to shield his face.

  The smell of charred chicken and vegetables filled the air, but the crisis was averted. His mind flashed to the reason. Was something wrong with Bess? He pushed open the swinging door between the kitchen and the living room to find her in the rocking chair. Her head rolled back on her shoulder, she was motionless.

  His heart dropped to his stomach like a cinder block. On the table next to her, the radio blared but not on any station. Static rattled the room. How could she sleep with all of the racket? Erich fell to his knees in front of her and picked up Bess’s hand, calling her name. “Wake up, Bess.”

  She startled awake, pulling her hand from his and rubbing her eyes. “What happened?”

  “You fell asleep with the stove on!”

  “Oh dear, supper!” She tried to jump up, but he gripped her arm and guided her back down.

  “It’s burnt, but it’s you I’m worried about. You’re very pale. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She shook her head and flipped her attention to the radio. With a spin of the knob, the static silenced. “There’s a technique in that book that I was trying to mimic. Instead of going into a trance, I must have fallen asleep.”

  A trance? Communicating with the departed! Was she really so fixated she might have burnt the house down around her if he wasn’t there? “You must be deaf to be able to sleep through that clamor.”

  She pointed to the book on the table. “It’s not just noise. Spirits have been known to use empty radio frequencies for communication.” She shook her head as if trying to brush away the cobwebs. “Gail said the brandy would help clear my mind, but I’m afraid it just makes me sleepy.”

  He picked up the flask off the coffee table and sniffed the opening. “Brandy? How did you get this with prohibition?”

  “My friend, Martin. He makes it himself.” She motioned for him to move away. “Let me up. I’ll see if I can salvage dinner.”

  “It’s ruined,” he said to her retreating frame, working to keep the disappointment clear from his voice, even though it soured his stomach. Bess had ignored Harry’s lectures on the importance of a clear mind and body and found hope in foolish stunts. It didn’t matter how farfetched success seemed. She also treaded a dangerous slope by listening to the Coopers, but a desperation that he’d never known in her while he was Harry pulsed inside her.

  “I’ll come up with something,” she mumbled.

  A master of making full meals out of a scrap of this and a piece of that, he didn’t doubt she would, but his stomach was the last thing on his mind. Bess’s fall — head over heels — into the world of spiritualism, a world Harry had tried to convince her was nothing but a huge con-game that damaged not only her spirit, but her body and mind, troubled him more.

  Erich picked up the flask and sniffed it again. The scent almost knocked him off his feet. Much stronger than the occasional wine she used to sip now and then, it was no wonder it had knocked her out cold. Martin was to blame for this near tragedy, and there was no way Erich was going to let him get away with it.

  He lowered himself to the rocker she’d just vacated and surveyed the room. An open pack of cigarettes sat next to an ashtray full of butts and ash. Had it not been the stove, she could have fallen asleep with a cigarette burning. Harry always hated that disgusting habit, and for years she’d abstained, but he was gone and grief consumed her. He could hardly blame her for a vice or two.

  But alcohol-induced trances and listening to radio static? What spiritualist games was she willing to play in hopes of connecting with Harry once more? If she would only look with her heart instead of her eyes she’d see he stood right in front of her.

  This séance needed to be stopped, and it wasn’t about winning a bet with Jaden or holding Bess in his arms anymore. It wasn’t about preserving his image and his legacy. He needed to save Bess.

  Chapter Nine

  What if Erich hadn’t been here?

  Would the house have burnt to the ground around her while she slept? With each rhythmic clink of the butcher knife hitting the wood cutting board, Bess’s eyes blinked. Though she tried to immerse herself in slicing the tomato and onion, she couldn’t shake the images of just how bad it could have been. What if she hadn’t invited him into her home?

  Erich Welch and his appearance on the street yesterday had been like an anchor, something steadfast she could cling to as life tossed her around like a ship on stormy seas, but Bess questioned her compulsion to trust him. They’d only just met and there was the age difference, but there was also a familiar ease with Erich she didn’t understand.

  In other ways, he was like a hurricane force wind, spinning her emotions until she was dizzy. He changed everything by awakening the part of her heart that had died with her husband and forcing her to question the devotion she’d vowed to one man. It was wrong. She should be distancing herself from him instead of making excuses to be close. Even if it was the real reason she’d asked him to stay. Lucky for her, she’d acted on that impulse.

  Bess could feel him standing in the doorway, his eyes focused on her as she pushed the sliced vegetables to the edge of the cutting board.

  The silence becoming more than she could bear, she kept her attention focused on the meal, but said, “At this late hour the best I can come up with is some sandwiches and coleslaw. It’s not fresh, I made it yesterday.”

  “That’s fine,” Erich answered. “I don’t expect you to work your fingers to the bone for me.”

  She gripped at the counter as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Her body weaved to and fro on unsteady knees. A couple sips of brandy shouldn’t make her feel so wobbly, but add in her stretched thin emotions, and it was as if she’d drank the whole flask. “I promised you a meal—”

  “And you’re providing one.” He paused and again the silence loomed like a chasm between them. Something she wasn’t sure either of them could cross. “I broke the hook-lock. I’ll stop by the hardware store after work and pick up everything I need to fix it.”

  “I’ll leave money on the table.”

  “Nonsense. I broke it. I’ll ta
ke responsibility.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. What you did saved me and my house.” She stopped making the sandwiches and pivoted, looking at him for the first time. She’d been right to avoid him. Every aspect of him was strong and made her oh so weak. “Thank you.”

  “Anyone in my shoes would have done the same.”

  She could tell he meant the words he said, but knew from experience that true heroism was in short supply in this world. Few men put the welfare of others before their own. “Seems you’ve been saying that a lot lately, Mr. Welch.”

  “I thought we had this all sorted out and you were going to stop with this mister nonsense.”

  “We have,” she said, returning to the meal preparations. Calling him by her husband’s given name was just too painful, even if no one had called him anything but Harry for years. It was more than just the name, though. When Bess looked in Erich’s eyes, she had to struggle against that unexplainable pull, drawing her away from the life and love she knew before.

  Bess swayed, her vision blurring to white. She gripped the counter again. A few moments alone, without his masculine scent and imposing presence clouding her senses would make a world of difference; give her time to clear her head. “Did you want to take a shower before you eat?”

  “I’m fine, Bess. Are you?”

  She couldn’t stop the laugh, not because what he said was funny but ironic. Up until eleven months ago, she’d been a caregiver to most, but in the time since Harry’s death every bit of her reality became twisted and mangled. Just when she thought she was moving forward, her reality shifted again. Fate, or whatever ruled the universe, dropped things like her uncanny attraction to Erich and the way she’d passed out cold in the living room on her. “It’s just what my life’s become.”

  “Chasing Harry’s ghost?”

  She almost missed the whispered, tender words, but they pricked at her flesh. “That seems a little absurd now. Doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t think so.” He took two steps closer to her, but then stopped.

  Did he feel it too, this big void between them, pushing them apart? Absurd! She imagined the cavity same as the magnetic pull. How could both forces be working between them, let alone either one? How could she feel such desire, yet need the distance? “Honoring someone you’ve loved for most of your life—”

  “Is fine, but that’s not what you’re doing.” Erich pushed his fingers through his hair and exhaled a haggard breath. “You’re so stuck in what was that you can’t even imagine a tomorrow.”

  The force of his accusation pushed her back a step. What was he trying to say? That she wasted her time being true to Harry? “Are you insinuating I should just forget my husband?”

  “No! I’m sure that’s impossible, but it is time to move forward.”

  Her brows rutted together and her jaw set. “I didn’t invite you into my home to preach to me—”

  Erich bit his lip, tried to find tactful words to say and then spoke them with a weight and purpose. “I’m not the kind of man who’s going to hold my tongue if I think I can help.”

  “When it comes to honoring my husband’s memory, I’ll ask you kindly to do just that. I know better than anyone what Harry would want me to do.”

  Stumbling toward the chair, Bess reached out to grab the back. Erich leapt forward and wrapped one arm around her shoulders while taking her elbow with the other. “Are you okay?”

  “Just so woozy,” she mumbled, her words running together and her voice soft.

  “I think you need to lie down. No doubt your head is swimming from the brandy.” Erich’s strong arms wrapped tight around her, and her head found his shoulder. His comforting voice caressed her ear. So right, yet...She braced her hands against him and firmly pushed back, leaving a dark, empty hole where her heart had just fluttered. “I only had a couple of sips.”

  “It’s hard to tell with anything homemade. It could be stronger than what you’re used to, or tainted—”

  She shielded her face with her hand, abruptly stopping him. “I trust Martin. He wouldn’t give me anything that wasn’t safe.” As another wave of nausea hit her, she reconsidered. “But you could be right. Possibly, it is stronger than I’m used to.”

  “Go rest in the living room while I finish making these sandwiches.”

  She smacked her hand against the table in defiance. “Erich! I promised you I’d provide the meals.”

  “And you are. Everything is ready. I just have to put it together. Please. Take a moment to collect yourself.”

  The weight of the world settled in, and she couldn’t argue, didn’t even want to. A few moments on the couch might be just what she needed to unburden her heart. Once again, she conceded and allowed Erich to save the day, wondering if a pattern was developing.

  ***

  The hours at work passed at a glacial pace. Bess didn’t visit, and without the distraction Erich could only count the minutes until quitting time. Now that he had a place in her house, he didn’t need the job. It had served its purpose and brought them closer together. Resigning seemed like an obvious decision, but he knew it would set him back. He’d look lazy, a trait both Bess and Harry had frowned upon.

  Erich explained to Will that he needed to pick up a few things at the hardware store for Bess, and was granted an advance on his first week’s pay. It wasn’t a lie. Not really. He did have to fix the lock. Will didn’t need to know she’d left plenty of money for Erich to buy what he needed for the chore. Nor was it any of Will’s business how badly Erich needed antiseptic and bandages to tend to his wound. He also kept to himself just how the incision had grown from a tender annoyance to downright painful, swollen and oozy.

  After the deli closed, he rushed through the hardware and drug stores, purchasing the needed items before making a beeline for home. Anxious to see Bess again, he didn’t care if her greeting was warm or cool. As long as he could be with her, it didn’t matter.

  Instead, he found a note on the kitchen table telling him she was napping and prescribing a list of chores. The living room smelled of stale cigarettes. No doubt she’d spent the day chain smoking and reading the book on spiritualism that was now abandoned on the end table. All in the name of honoring Harry. Yet again, he was seeing with his own eyes how accurately Jaden had painted the picture of what her life had become. A truth he’d denied and a reality Harry had caused. A wave of nausea bubbled up from his gut as guilt settled in the void.

  In the guest room, he found a stack of shirts, pants and undergarments — all from Harry’s closet and dresser. Thankful for the gift, despite the fact they were his belongings in the first place, he put them in the chest, dressed his wound and began shortening the list of chores she’d given him.

  He fixed the lock and then began pushing the hand-powered mover to and fro through the overgrown lawn. Up and down over the uneven terrain, he often had to stop and move the large rocks that littered the lawn to the edge of the flowerbeds that surrounded the house. He also noted the patches of weeds that had taken up residence in his absence. If the herbicide usually stored in the shed was gone, he’d have to pick some up in town.

  He’d hoped Bess would venture outside to keep him company, or at the very least bark some orders at him. Time in the evening air would do her a world of good, but he didn’t have a clue how to invite her without angering her. He wondered if she’d been drinking that brandy Martin gave her. Instead of napping, maybe she was passed out? Harry screamed at him from inside, ordered him to go check on her, but Erich knew she’d set boundaries for a reason. He’d respect them. For a little longer, anyway.

  Erich hosed off the blades of the lawnmower and pushed it back to the shed. His body ached, but the hard work felt good — he was blessed to be alive. Jaden’s torture had focused on mental anguish. Erich remembered sensing heat and cold in the afterlife, but it didn’t compare to the sun beating down on him and the cold water splashing up and hitting his face. A ladybug crawled up his arm. He paused, enjoying t
he tickle and then brushed it back into the grass.

  Erich now understood that how his soul and his body experienced sensations were very different. What he’d wagered — his afterlife — hadn’t meant all that much to him in the moment, but now that he’d experienced life again, giving up a body seemed too much to endure.

  As he set the lawn mower in its proper place, Erich noticed a wooden cabinet. It had escaped his attention earlier and had to be a recent purchase. He reached to open it and found a padlock dangling between the two bar handles. Upon closer inspection he discovered the lock was one of Harry’s favorites, used in numerous escapes. He could pick it blindfolded — and, in fact, quite often had. All he needed was the proper tools. If not his set of master keys or his picks, a needle, sewing pin, or hair pin would do the trick. Turning back to the work bench, he started rifling through the draws, looking for anything suitable.

  Harry’s memories, his very soul, pulsed inside with each beat of Erich’s heart. Was it even possible for him to use those memories to accomplish the skills Harry had worked tirelessly to learn? There was much more to picking a lock or escaping shackles or a straight jacket than the mental know-how. In this moment, nothing seemed more important than proving those skills were not as dead as his previous body.

  Finding a hat pin, of all things, in the bottom of the drawer, Erich faced off against the lock. That piece of him that was all Harry stood tall inside, filling the void, making his head swell and swim. Squatting so he was on eye level, his fingers began their manipulations, driven by the memories of a past life. Pride welled as the lock popped open in just a handful of seconds. “My, my, I do believe that’s a new record,” he said in a voice that was more boastful and more Harry’s than the one he’d grown used to. The lock fell away from the handles.

  With his curiosity driving him, Erich moved to his feet and began to open the door. From behind, an arm extended forward, slamming it shut. Bess’s stern voice pierced the previous silence. “What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Welch?”