Page 70 of Frankly, My Dear

“I could retell that one, or I could tell you a ghost story. Oh, don’t look at me with those wide eyes of yours. It’s not a scary story. This one is about Casper, the Friendly Ghost.”

By the time she’d finished one story about Casper and made up two more adventures for the Friendly Ghost, specially tailored to the bayou setting and a little boy with a big dog, Etienne’s eyes were closing.

“I like your stories, Selene…Mam’zelle Selene.”

She started to smile.

“I hate you, but I like your stories.”

Well, one for one, Selene figured. “Does your father usually tuck you in at night, Etienne?”

“I’m not gonna answer you anymore if you don’t use my nickname.”

“Does your father usually tuck you in at night, E.T.?”

“Sometimes. When he’s not too busy, or when he remembers.”

Selene inhaled sharply at the hurt in the little boy’s voice.

“Actually, I think he prob’ly comes up all the time, even after I fall asleep. One time I woke up and he was just sittin’ by the bed watchin’ over me. I liked that.”

Her throat constricted. “Goodnight, E.T.”

“G’night, Mam’zelle Selene.”

A wave of self-satisfaction at his polite response swept over Selene. She must be making progress with the incorrigible child.

But then he added mischievously, “Hope the ghost don’t getcha.”

Later in her room, after Selene had removed her clothing and washed herself with a cloth and rose-scented soap in the china bowl, she slipped into a thin nightgown Iris had given her. It belonged to the older Mrs. Baptiste and was too short, but it would have to do.

She could hear the house settling down for the night. All the servants slept in the quarters, even the free ones, except for Blossom, who had a bedchamber off the kitchen on the ground floor.

Slipping into bed, Selene pulled the mosquito netting around her. Now that she had the privacy to break down and cry over James’s devastating news, she couldn’t do it. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. It wasn’t so much what James had done, but how.

Her heart told her James had dealt her a crushing blow by planning to send her away, but her mind recognized the logic of his actions. He knew she was going to return to her time, possibly any day now. And he had no time in his life for a new relationship, even if he hadn’t been burned so badly by his wife, Giselle. Why start a relationship that couldn’t go anywhere?

James was right.

But why did it feel so wrong?

Over and over, Selene pondered all that had happened to her since coming back in time, trying to find rational explanations for an irrational occurrence. She didn’t think there was a scientific explanation, but she did believe in miracles. Perhaps God, or whatever Being existed up there, had a purpose in sending her back in time. Perhaps He wanted her to help James.

But how could she help James if she were no longer with him?

Or perhaps God felt it was she who needed saving. Maybe He’d seen the collision course her life was on, and He’d sent her here to learn a lesson about redirecting her life. And maybe James wasn’t the one He wanted to do the redirecting.

That last thought made Selene feel even more miserable. For some reason, she wanted James to be “the one.”

Between the coffee Blossom had given her and the voodoo drums that began softly after Selene had lain down, she couldn’t sleep. For what seemed like hours she lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady beat-beat of the muted drums, and the rhythmic tapping of rain on the rooftop.

If she hadn’t been awake, she wouldn’t have seen the figure flit by the gallery outside her open bedroom doors. A figure clad from head to ankle in wispy material, not unlike the gauzy mosquito netting. A ghost?

No, Selene didn’t believe in ghosts. She climbed out of bed and grabbed a poker near the cold fireplace, going out the door to the gallery. The ethereal figure had just turned the corner. Selene followed and saw it look both ways before it entered James’s bedroom.

Suddenly she remembered Etienne’s words about the ghost threatening James. With her exceptional night vision, Selene realized that the shining object in the hand of the “ghost” must be a knife.

Rushing forward with alarm, she entered James’s bedroom. Oh, my God! Please, don’t let him be dead. The “ghost” was raising the dagger above the heart of the sleeping body on the bed. Cackling in a demonic female voice, it shouted, “Die, James! Finally you shall die, mon amour!”