Jennifer By Moonlight by Clarissa Ross

Author:Clarissa Ross [Ross, Clarissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4405-7424-5
Publisher: F+W Media, Inc.
Published: 2013-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Raising herself on an elbow, Lucy stared into the dimness. And there, outlined against the window, was a vague figure. She could not make it out plainly but it seemed to be a woman with a shawl over her head and shoulders. And the strong fragrance of roses which accompanied the weird apparition made her almost certain she was seeing the ghost of Jennifer.

The scent of the roses and the spectral shape lasted for only a few seconds. Then everything was normal again. Lucy’s heart was beating rapidly as she lowered herself back on her pillow and stared up into the darkness with frightened eyes. Fred had slept quietly through the eerie materialization, and she knew he would never believe her if she told him about it.

That was what made her plight so impossible. She had no one to turn to, at least no one but the venerable Dr. Matthew Boyce. Fred was no help at all. He seemed to feel that he had to be skeptical. That to show a belief in phantoms would be unmanly. It was too frustrating. She lay there for a long while again before sleep finally came.

It was fine and sunny the next morning when she went down to the kitchen to prepare her husband’s breakfast. One of the things she most enjoyed were their breakfasts together. It gave them a chance to chat before he left for what was often all day and most of the evening. It was the one time she could count on his having the meal she’d prepared, and on not being alone.

Fred came into the kitchen a little later with the morning paper. He gave her a knowing smile as he sat down at the table. “I know what happened to your roses last night,” he said.

She turned from the stove where she was frying bacon, upset that he should bring the roses up again. Anxiously she said, “What do you mean?”

“I went into the living room just now out of curiosity and I found them,” Fred said.

“But you couldn’t have,” she protested. “I’ve already explained to you I discovered them upstairs strewn over those old portraits.”

Her husband showed a smug reaction to this. “You are sure they were spirited up there by ghostly hands?”

She took the frying pan from the stove and transferred the bacon to some paper napkins to sop up the fat. “If you want to put it that way, yes.”

Fred was sitting back in his chair with the folded newspaper in one hand. He pointed the newspaper at her. “Yet when you took me up there to show me the roses they were not in evidence.”

“I can’t help that,” she said despairingly. “I saw them there earlier.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t. That was more of your nerves.”

“No!”

“I say yes,” her husband said with stern emphasis. “I went into the living room just now and I found the roses in a vase just as you had described them. But they were on an end table at the opposite side of the room to where you looked for them.

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