Someone to Love

8

In the morning, she woke with a start and threw the sheet from her body—something fell to the floor. A package of cigarettes, its yellowed paper partially disintegrated. She remembered something about smoking in the powder room with the ghost the prior night, and the urge to see him flashed over her like heat lightning.

"Ghost!" she shouted. She didn't even know his name.

Charlotte came from the hall holding a feather duster. "Did you need something, Miss?"

"Yes, I do. ..." Jasmine paused in an effort not to look overly eager. "Do you happen to know the ghost who lives in this house?"

Apparently Charlotte was one of those ladies who divert their eyes when friends (or acquaintances) say embarrassing things. "I can't say that I have," she said. "But of course, I've heard the stories."

"What stories?"

"About the smoke appearing out of nowhere. That and the howling."

The hair on Jasmine's arms stood like cactus spikes. He'd howled in front of her the previous day, when he'd spoken of Annie, the love of his life.

"I've never heard it myself, but some say if you hear the howling, you're doomed." She forced a chuckle, then looked to Jasmine to do the same.

Jasmine stared, blank faced. "Doomed in what way?"

"I'm not sure exactly." Charlotte seemed to want to ask why but probably considered it rude. Instead, she dusted the bedside lamp.

Jasmine continued with her interrogation. "Do you know the ghost's name or how he died?"

"It's Andre George Rittenburg," she said, nodding. "He died in a carriage accident."

"No he didn't. His wife died in a carriage accident."

"Oh, no, ma'am. His wife outlived him by fifty-some years. She's the reason he haunts—" Her cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry. Haunt is a childish word."

"I don't care what word you use," Jasmine said. "Go on."

"After Andre died, his wife married his best man, and she didn't wait long to do it. That's why he came back in spirit form. That's what they say, anyway." She paused in wait of a reaction.

So the ghost knew well the pain of betrayal.

"You haven't seen him, have you, Miss?" Charlotte looked about the room in a paranoid way.

Jasmine forced a smile. "I've just been reading ghost tales. ..."

This seemed to relieve Charlotte, who lifted a sock from the floor. "Any word on when you're shipping out?"

"To Peace Corp? Not yet."

"Is that something you look forward to, or dread?"

"Um—" The word dread dropped from her mouth without her consent.

"I see," Charlotte said, puffing up proudly. "Well, I suppose that's because you've been bitten by the bug."

Jasmine raised her brows. "What bug would that be?"

"Call it Southern hospitality, call it Charleston charm, once you Yankees get down here, you never want to leave."

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