I awoke to the aches and pains of a cold as I made my way to
the bathroom. The cat lay in front of the wood stove my husband had stoked
before he left, and in the darkness I almost stepped on her. She purred a
‘good morning’ to me and I purred back. It was a dark and snowy morning, and the
wind whipped around the old farmhouse like a cloak and dagger. Despite the many
layers of plastic on the windows, we never could completely get rid of the
drafts.
The clock on the wall said 8:30. It was one of those bird-call clocks, the kind that chirped on the
hour. I hadn't heard it go off yet, and was glad because it meant I was
able to sleep in. The past few weeks had been hard on me, what with my
daughter and the grand kids all having the flu, and I being the main caregiver.
It was time for Mama to get some rest.
I washed my hands in the bathroom sink with the warmest
water I could stand. The body aches responded, and I longed to lie in a tub of
hot water to ease my suffering. As I filled the tub, I poured in some lavender
and eucalyptus oils. The steam smelled heavenly and instantly cleared my stuffy
nose.
I slipped into the hot, steamy water up to my chin, took a
deep breath and allowed my body to completely relax; finally, a reprieve. I lay
there for a long time, thoroughly enjoying this moment. It had been weeks since
I took any time for myself, much less had any time alone with my husband. He
whispered to me just last night that he missed me right before we both drifted
off to sleep. I knew what he meant. I lay there smiling, thinking of the warmth
and strength of his arms, when suddenly I heard the front door; my husband had
forgotten something? I couldn’t muster the strength to holler out to him, and
figured he would stop in when he was finished doing whatever it was he was
doing. I waited. After about ten minutes, I began to worry that the front door
had blew open with the howling north winds. Either that, or an intruder was in
the house.
I forced myself out of the tub, donning my terry cloth bath
robe. I’d had that robe forever, my husband having bought it for me back in
1998 at a ski resort in New Hampshire. It was during our after-Thanksgiving-vacation when we
decided to go north to seek out snow, only to find it to be the warmest November
on record there! We eventually did find snow up in the mountains, specifically
near the Old Man on the Mountain range. I was sad to hear that that mountain
face had collapsed a few years ago, and the Old Man was gone now.
Walking into the living room, I saw the front door closed
tightly. No husband. No nobody. The front door had jingle bells on it, the kind
that horses wore on their harnesses and people hang at Christmastime. I hung them up the year I bought them and never took them down after reading an article about Feng Shui; bells on the door was supposed to clear negative
energy and stimulate positive energy. Besides that, I just liked the way it
sounded when the door opened and closed, and I KNEW I heard those bells while I
lay in the tub. I looked around the room and noticed the lamp was on. Had I
turned that on? No, I distinctly remember how dark the room was when I came through
on my way to the bathroom.
I padded down the hallway and peered into the bedroom; dark
and chilly. I made my way to the kitchen and it was empty, as well. The strong
smell of coffee that my husband had poured into his thermos still hung in the
air.
I was stumped. No one was here. I plodded back towards the
bedroom. Might as well get dressed, I thought. As I passed the wood stove, I noticed the
pan of water we always kept on top was empty, so I refilled it, adding a few drops of eucalyptus oil to the water. My grandmother
had always kept a pan of water on her stove, and I always had one on mine, too. It helped
keep some humidity in the house, and with this cold hanging on weather wise as
well as health-wise, I could use all the help I could get. It also reminded me of Mamaw. The wood stove was
the only heat source in the house, so I added another log to the fire and shut the door
with a clang. I rose and turned towards the hallway, and that’s when I saw
someone standing there...
“Do you need eggs?”
The room grew deathly cold. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t
answer. The shock of the apparition had me frozen to the spot. Now, I love
watching those ghost shows on T.V., and I’ve been privy to Indian ceremonies
where I have seen things that those ghost hunters chase with veracity, but I
have NEVER seen a ghost in broad daylight hours, much less had one speak to me.
I instantly remembered a story my friend Bev told me one
time after she’d spent the night. She awoke about four in the morning after
hearing someone knock on the door. She’d said she heard me get up and answer
the door to a woman asking if I needed eggs. It was a dark, cold and windy
night. A wind warning had been issued, and it howled til we thought the whole
house was coming down. Anyway, I invited the woman in, but she said she
couldn’t stay, that there were neighbors waiting for her eggs. I asked if she
were sure, she replied, “Yes, but thank you,” and then she left. We concluded
then that the woman Bev had dreamt about was the original owner of this house,
Mrs. Shelton. She and her husband Earl had built the place in 1904, and were
the only people who had ever lived here, well, besides us, of course.
I knew I was looking at the ghost of Mrs. Shelton, dressed
in an old-lady housecoat, the kind patterned with tiny flowers and ivy
tendrils, a light blue sweater, and a scarf on her head, tied under her chin.
She was short and chubby, with a wrinkled, grandmotherly face, and she held a
basket with a blue and white checkered cloth thrown over it. She was
transparent white, the type of apparition I had seen many times before, but the
details of her dress and other features were clear. The spirits I saw were
usually shadows or this white transparent color, but none had ever actually
spoken to me.
Intrigued, I said, “Why yes, I do need eggs. Do you have
some for sale?”
She smiled, “Yes, child, right here. The biggest and best
brown eggs you’ve ever seen! But they’re not for sale, I don’t sell my eggs.”
She smiled. “I’ll just sit the basket down here.” She placed the basket on the
coffee table, and floated toward the front door. “Thank you and your husband so
much for taking care of this place. Earl and I just love visiting and seeing
all the improvements.” With that, she disappeared through the front door. Yes,
you read that right, THROUGH the front door. I stood there in shock, not able
to move. The house was silent, with only the crackling of the fire in the wood
stove and the incessant howl of the wind outside.
Suddenly, I was choking and spitting, half drowned in the
tub. I sat up and shivered; I had fallen asleep. Mrs. Shelton was only a dream. As the fog began to lift in my mind, I realized I had been
in the bathtub for a long while. Disappointed, I pulled the plug and stepped
from the now-cold water, dragged on the terrycloth robe and opened the bathroom
door.
I mumbled to myself how real the dream felt, as I walked to warm my bones
by the wood stove. There, on the coffee table sat a basket with a blue and
white checkered cloth draped over it. As I stood there staring at it, I knew it
contained the biggest and best brown eggs I had ever seen.
It's Native American month, and what better way to celebrate than to support your local Native programs and events? 
It's Native American month, and what better way to celebrate than to support your local Native programs and events? 
