Picking the Ballad's Bones by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough Page B

those ethnic rape-artists on
the Widah Martin, which, I want to tell you, I almost got myself
knifed tryin' to rescue her."
    He might as well take the credit for
his good intentions if not his actions. Julianne couldn't hear him
to contradict him and Gussie—now just where WAS Gussie?
    Torchy rocked her high heel back and
forth and looked at the towers and stones of Abbotsford with the
mist rising around it like it bored her half to tears. "Well, now
that we're all together and you've found each other, can we go
somewhere and get warm and have a little drinkee? This place is
creepy, don't you think?"
    She thought the last was a masterful
stroke. Of course, if anybody should know creepy, she
should.
    "We came here looking for
the ballads," Faron said. "Did you get a look at any of Sir
Walter's books, Willie? Did you notice a copy of the Minstrelsy or
maybe Percy's Reliques of Ancient English
Poetry ?
    Willie shook his head. "Naw, that
stuff's all under lock and key. There was a copy of Field and
Stream in the men's room though. No—wait—I think Gussie might have
gotten a copy of one of those books in the gift shop. Had something
to do with minstrels anyway. She was reading out of it as we looked
at the house."
    "You won't find out anything very
important about your songs here, ducks," Torchy said pettishly.
"Everybody knows the old scribbler was a terrible one for changing
things around. Why, they claim he made up ever so many of the songs
he 'collected' himself."
    The imposing front doors of
Abbotsford's hall swung open and Gussie stood framed in the
doorway, asking in an offended tenor with a broad burr, "Who in the
world would so besmirch my honor as to accuse me of such a thing?
It was that Ritson, wasn't it? Brilliant man but frightfully
literal-minded."
    And to their surprise, Gussie strode
forward in a lordly manner, knelt gallantly before Torchy Burns,
took her hand and kissed it. "Your Majesty. I can't tell you how
honored my home is by your visit."
    Before the nonplussed Torchy could do
more than nod majestically, Gussie had likewise kissed Julianne's
hand. "I'm so sorry for your recent tragedy, my dear," Gussie said,
still in the tenor that was much lighter and more quavery than her
own husky alto.
    Julianne stared down at her. "Gussie?"
she asked, then stared hard at her friend as Gussie's image blurred
and her white hair rearranged itself, her hazel eyes brightened to
blue, her sweat suit took on a more formal and tailored cut and her
bosom seemed to be merely the ruffling of a shirtfront.
    "I'm in here too, Juli," Gussie's
voice called, and the image wavered so that they saw Gussie through
the blur. "But I'm sort of giving somebody a lift. I know you may
find this a little hard to believe, but—"
    The banjo keened the chords to "The
Unquiet Grave."
    "Well, hell, if you can accept that
Sam Hawthorne is influencing that banjo, maybe you can accept that
Walter Scott wants me to get you to take us to Melrose Abbey to see
if we can't have a powwow with another spook who's not only a
relative of his but a wizard."
    "Oh, well, if that's all he wants,
darlin', we should humor him by all means," Willie said with a hard
glare at Gussie/Scott. "I was just a little concerned there that he
was going to make you throw up pea soup or some weird shit like
that."
     
    * * *
     
    Willie drove the van this time and
Gussie huddled in the passenger seat. Brose, Anna Mae, Julianne,
Ellie, and Faron were in the back. "Ah, my worrud, this carriage is
a marvel," Sir Walter's ghost said of the van. "And I can only
hope, my dear Mrs. Turner," Gussie said to herself in her tenor
voice, "that the personal nature of my intrusion isn't causing you
discomfort or embarrassment."
    "Oh, no, sir," Gussie's alto voice
assured him, "no trouble at all. You just come on in and make
yourself at home. If you got any questions at all, just
ask."
    "Most magnanimous of you," the ghost
voice said.
    "Shucks," Gussie's voice said. "We're
in a state of