The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

stop pacing, please. I’m getting dizzy.” Ambrose glared at her, but perched on the edge of the dressing table. “Thank you, that’s much better.” Abby stood and faced him. “I’m not hard, Ambrose. I’m really very sympathetic. My mother has a drinking problem, too. She doesn’t always make good decisions when she’s had a snoutful, so I understand, I really do. And I know it’s horrible when your feelings are one-sided.” She was thinking of Sam. “If you didn’t mean to commit suicide, it’s extremely sad that you shortened your life for nothing.”

      “Thanks, Abby,” the ghost responded, softening.

      “The person who you loved, who couldn’t love you, was that person hurt, too?”

      “Yes, indeed. I don’t think he had any idea, though.”

      “Of what?”

      “That it was his attention I was trying to get. I loved him with all my heart, still do, but I don’t think he ever knew.”

      “Really? That’s sad, too.”

      “No. I don’t think it is. You see, if he knew he’d think it was his fault, and it wasn’t. He was married. He couldn’t become what he wasn’t.”

      “You mean he was straight, and you weren’t?”

      “To put it bluntly, yes.”

      “You must have thought you had a chance, though. I mean, for you to love him so much, you must have had some encouragement.”

      Ambrose sighed. “The mind is a curious thing, Abby. We see what we want to see, we hear what we’re hoping to hear. The one thing we all do well is fool ourselves.” He tried to cross his legs, but the tin wouldn’t accommodate the movement, and clanked loudly. “He was a dear friend, and treated me well. It was all in my head from there.”

      “Oh, Ambrose, it must have been awful for you. To be so desperately in love, with no chance of fulfillment.”

      “If I’d had more sense, I would have gone away. Made a new life for myself. But I didn’t. And here I am.”

      “Why are you here, Ambrose?” asked Abby. Hoping not to offend him again, she quickly added, “I’m glad you are, but why are you?”

      “To be near the one I love.”

      “The one you love is here?”

      “It’s been twenty years,” Ambrose said, evading the question. He shook his head and smiled. “Twenty years of haunting this place. I’m getting tired. Maybe I’ll be allowed to rest soon.”

      “Who decides that, Ambrose?”

      “There’s not a rule book, no matter what the occult ‘experts’ say. It drives me nuts, cuckoo, crazy in the head to hear what those crackpots say.” Ambrose was on another rant. “As if they have any idea!”

      “Ambrose, I’m sure you’re right. Unless you happen to be dead yourself, how could you know how it is on the other side?” Abby felt she’d sufficiently appeased him. “Then how is it decided when a ghost gets to rest?”

      “It’s individual. Different in every circumstance. Each ghost decides for himself, on his own terms, for his own reasons.”

      “If it’s up to you, then, what’s the problem?”

      “You make it sound so easy!” he flared. Immediately, he calmed. “I’ll rest when I’m assured my love is happy. And the way it’s looking now, that will be soon.”

      Abby was itching to ask the logical question, but she didn’t want to pry, or seem too presumptuous. Ambrose had a mercurial temper.

      Suddenly the answer came to her. “It’s Robert Wick, isn’t it?” she blurted out. “It’s Robert Wick whom you love!”

      Ambrose said simply, “Of course.” And he disappeared.

      14

      THE HOMECOMING

      ABBY CONTINUED TO STARE AT THE PLACE where the Tin Woodsman had stood just seconds before. Robert Wick? This was heavy stuff. What would he think if he knew? How tragic, that Ambrose had mistakenly killed himself trying to make Robert love him.

      Abby’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She pulled herself together, turned back to the mirror, and began smoothing foundation makeup on her face.

      “What are you doing here?” asked a chilly voice.

      Abby looked at the mirror. It was Margaret Small. She turned. “Hello, Miss Small! Are you feeling better?”

      “Yes, and I’m here for the rehearsal.” Her eyes were bloodshot, and her nose was all stuffed up. Her voice sounded hoarse. She didn’t look well.

      Abby blushed. “Oh! Wonderful. I didn’t know, so I came to stand in for you today.”

      Margaret continued to look down her nose at Abby. “So it would seem.”

      The woman was intentionally making Abby feel uncomfortable, and Abby knew it. She said, “I came because Mrs. Featherstone asked me to help you out, not because I’m trying to steal your role.”

      “That’s not what I hear, Abby Malone.”

      Abby stood and faced Margaret Small. She was getting upset.

      “I’ve heard that you’re acting your heart out for Robert and Joy, who’s living in your house, by the by. You want them to think you’re better than me so they’ll give you the part.” Margaret spoke harshly. “I see your plan.”

      “I’m doing my best because it’s more fun that way, and so the other actors have something to work with. So shoot me.” She borrowed Ambrose’s line. “But there’s no great plan. I was your stand-in while you were sick, and that’s all I ever expected to be.”

      “Good. So you can go.”

      “You’re welcome! No thanks necessary! So glad to have been of assistance! Any time!” Abby was furious. She felt insulted and wronged. Gathering her things as fast as she could, she ignored the other actors who were streaming into the dressing room. She couldn’t trust herself to speak.

      “Hi, Abby! Hey, what’s eating you?”

      “You got here early again, Abby. Abby?”

      “What’s wrong with the Blue-Winged Fairy? She turned her tongue into a toad?”

      Abby rushed up the stairs, pushing people aside until she was safely outside and alone. She hoisted her knapsack on her back and pedalled away from the theatre as fast as she could, shadowed reassuringly by Cody.

      When Abby got home, she unlocked the kitchen door and threw her knapsack on the floor. By force of habit, she checked the answering machine. There were four messages.

      She pressed PLAY and the first one began. “Abby! It’s your dad. It’s noon on Saturday. Your mother is doing so well that they’re letting her go home next week. We should be arriving for dinner on Saturday night, so throw another couple of shrimps on the barbie. I love you, sweetheart. Say hello to Joy from us, and keep up the training. We can’t wait to see you ride Dancer next Sunday. Joy told me that you’re an actress, too! Hope you’re having fun. Love from us both. Bye.”

      Abby wiped a tear from her eye. The sound of her father’s voice created a lump in her throat. What a baby I am, she thought.

      The second message began. “Abby, it’s Hilary. Mom says you’re doing great things with Dancer. I’m so excited. Sandy and I are coming home for the Invitational, so I’ll call when we get in. See you next week. Bye for now.”

      The next one was Christine James, for Joy. “Hi, Mom. Just checking in. Call me about when you want to move over here. Hilary