make sure none of them were lecherous for the fun of it.
"Mr. Robinson."
"Call me Albert, please."
"Okay, Albert. I'm Emma." She smiled at the ghost. The gesture was more to put herself at ease than for him. After all, this was his hotel, and he appeared quite at home.
He tilted his head in polite acknowledgment.
"I'm related to Granny Apples-I mean, Ish Reynolds. Do you remember her from when you were alive?"
"That I do." He smiled. "She and my wife always had a friendly competition over pie baking." He gave Emma a conspiratorial wink. "Don't tell Margaret, but I always preferred Granny's pies over hers. Margaret's were a little heavy on the cinnamon for my taste."
She gave a little laugh. "You're secret's safe with me."
In spite of her initial discomfort, Emma was enjoying chatting with Albert Robinson. He appeared to be intelligent and charming. She sat on the edge of the iron bed and faced him, thinking that Phillip Bowers could take etiquette lessons from this ghost.
"Albert, were you still alive when Ish Reynolds died?"
"You mean when she was hung?" His words were as blunt as the final yank of a rope.
"Yes, I mean when she was hung. It was for killing her husband, wasn't it?"
As easily as a flicked light switch, the ghost's demeanor changed to troubled. "That happened a long time ago, but I remember it well." He paused to think. "Ish Reynolds was never convicted of killing Jacob. She never received a trial. She wasn't even arrested."
"Then why was she hung?"
"She wasn't hung properly. It was done by vigilantes-by men who thought she should die for something she might have done but probably did not do." He looked out the nearby window into the tree tops. "Shook up the whole community. Brought a lot of bad memories back to some of us folks."
A respectful silence fell between them. Emma was sure Albert was thinking back to when he was a slave and the things he'd seen and experienced. She waited a moment before speaking again.
"Albert, do you think Ish killed Jacob?"
He turned back to face her. "I certainly do not. No one did. Ish could be a difficult woman. She was independent and feisty, even bossy." His face grew stern with conviction. "But she was an honest woman and fiercely loyal to her family and friends. If a neighbor took sick, she was the first there with soup and help. Jacob was a good man, but he was not as smart as his wife. She was the backbone of that family."
"Who do you think killed Jacob? And Ish?"
"Not rightly sure. No one was ever caught. There were rumors, but that's all."
"How did Buck Bowers and his kin get our land?"
The voice came from behind Emma. She turned to see Granny standing near the door. It was then Emma noticed that it had gotten a lot colder in the room. She was still wearing only her thin robe. She pulled up an edge of the quilt on the bed and wrapped it around her.
If Albert Robinson was surprised to see Ish Reynolds, he didn't show it.
"Buck never owned your property," Albert told her. "Buck Bowers was just a mine worker. Spent all his pay in saloons on whiskey, women, and gambling. Never had no money for nothing, let alone land."
"His people own it now."
Albert Robinson stared once again out the window. He seemed to be thinking, digging into his memory with an imaginary shovel. Soon, he turned back around.
"As I recall, Ish, your boy sold the place to Big John Winslow." As if to underline his words, the spirit of Albert Robinson nodded his head up and down as he spoke. "Yes, I believe that's right. John Winslow bought it."
"Winslow." Emma said the name more to herself than to the ghosts. She looked from Albert to Granny. "Last night at the cemetery, I met the spirit of a young man who called himself Billy Winslow."
"That would be Big John's boy," Granny said. "He and my Winston were good friends."
"Granny, did you notice Billy last night?"
Granny shook her head.
The ghost of Billy Winslow had been young, only in his early twenties, if that. It suddenly
"Mr. Robinson."
"Call me Albert, please."
"Okay, Albert. I'm Emma." She smiled at the ghost. The gesture was more to put herself at ease than for him. After all, this was his hotel, and he appeared quite at home.
He tilted his head in polite acknowledgment.
"I'm related to Granny Apples-I mean, Ish Reynolds. Do you remember her from when you were alive?"
"That I do." He smiled. "She and my wife always had a friendly competition over pie baking." He gave Emma a conspiratorial wink. "Don't tell Margaret, but I always preferred Granny's pies over hers. Margaret's were a little heavy on the cinnamon for my taste."
She gave a little laugh. "You're secret's safe with me."
In spite of her initial discomfort, Emma was enjoying chatting with Albert Robinson. He appeared to be intelligent and charming. She sat on the edge of the iron bed and faced him, thinking that Phillip Bowers could take etiquette lessons from this ghost.
"Albert, were you still alive when Ish Reynolds died?"
"You mean when she was hung?" His words were as blunt as the final yank of a rope.
"Yes, I mean when she was hung. It was for killing her husband, wasn't it?"
As easily as a flicked light switch, the ghost's demeanor changed to troubled. "That happened a long time ago, but I remember it well." He paused to think. "Ish Reynolds was never convicted of killing Jacob. She never received a trial. She wasn't even arrested."
"Then why was she hung?"
"She wasn't hung properly. It was done by vigilantes-by men who thought she should die for something she might have done but probably did not do." He looked out the nearby window into the tree tops. "Shook up the whole community. Brought a lot of bad memories back to some of us folks."
A respectful silence fell between them. Emma was sure Albert was thinking back to when he was a slave and the things he'd seen and experienced. She waited a moment before speaking again.
"Albert, do you think Ish killed Jacob?"
He turned back to face her. "I certainly do not. No one did. Ish could be a difficult woman. She was independent and feisty, even bossy." His face grew stern with conviction. "But she was an honest woman and fiercely loyal to her family and friends. If a neighbor took sick, she was the first there with soup and help. Jacob was a good man, but he was not as smart as his wife. She was the backbone of that family."
"Who do you think killed Jacob? And Ish?"
"Not rightly sure. No one was ever caught. There were rumors, but that's all."
"How did Buck Bowers and his kin get our land?"
The voice came from behind Emma. She turned to see Granny standing near the door. It was then Emma noticed that it had gotten a lot colder in the room. She was still wearing only her thin robe. She pulled up an edge of the quilt on the bed and wrapped it around her.
If Albert Robinson was surprised to see Ish Reynolds, he didn't show it.
"Buck never owned your property," Albert told her. "Buck Bowers was just a mine worker. Spent all his pay in saloons on whiskey, women, and gambling. Never had no money for nothing, let alone land."
"His people own it now."
Albert Robinson stared once again out the window. He seemed to be thinking, digging into his memory with an imaginary shovel. Soon, he turned back around.
"As I recall, Ish, your boy sold the place to Big John Winslow." As if to underline his words, the spirit of Albert Robinson nodded his head up and down as he spoke. "Yes, I believe that's right. John Winslow bought it."
"Winslow." Emma said the name more to herself than to the ghosts. She looked from Albert to Granny. "Last night at the cemetery, I met the spirit of a young man who called himself Billy Winslow."
"That would be Big John's boy," Granny said. "He and my Winston were good friends."
"Granny, did you notice Billy last night?"
Granny shook her head.
The ghost of Billy Winslow had been young, only in his early twenties, if that. It suddenly
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