Ariel's Crossing - Bradford Morrow [157]
“I never thought about it that way.”
Time passed—hollow, absentminded, tranquil—as she wrote never believed in ghosts in the ledger and sketched a willowy phantasm next to it. “By the way, I don’t,” she said, breaking the silence.
“Believe in ghosts?”
“Not on your life. I love ghost stories but I come from a family of scientists and lawyers and atheists and none of them believe in ghosts. My grandmother’s a Rock of Ages Christian, and I’m sure the only ghost she believes in is the Holy Ghost.”
“Too bad.”
She liked Marcos. “Maybe so. But what about Delfino. You think he’s trying to get himself converted into a ghost? Some words from you could make a difference. Tell him you prefer a living uncle to a dead ghost.”
“Aren’t you worried about Kip?”
“Talk to Delfino and I’ll get to see Kip.”
“You could leave right now.”
“Something tells me Kip would want me to stand in for him here with you and your uncle. Does that sound crazy?”
“Probably. No, yes, definitely it does.”
“Maybe the sun’s getting into my head, too. I don’t know. Why is it too bad not to believe in ghosts?”
“Let me ask you a question. It’d be a way of responding.”
She noticed the shadows lengthening.
“What are you doing sitting in the dust by a fallen-down ranch house with the likes of me and my uncle, caught in the middle of something you hardly know a thing about?”
Ariel folded her hands on the open ledger.
“I’m asking in all innocence,” he added.
“Nothing’s innocent.”
“Ariel.”
“You really want me to say I’m chasing a ghost?”
Delfino was calling them, his voice interrupting the larger silence that had strangely settled in over Dripping Spring.
Ariel finished, “You’ll have to tell me about your ghosts sometime.”
“There’s just one.”
He stood and extended his hand to her, which she took.
“You’re serious, aren’t you,” coming to her feet. She brushed the dust off her dress after dropping the pencil in the ledger to mark her place. “Man, woman, or child?”
“A woman,” he said. “Are you coming?”
They walked side by side into the dirt yard. Delfino extended the field glasses to Marcos with some urgency.
“They’re behind there, too,” he blurted, his chin raised toward the Oscuras.
The younger man trained the glasses on granite terraces and pediments whose capitals still shone in slantlight even as their bases were beginning to swim in pale muddied purple. More rangers. Of course they’d surround them. Made perfect sense.
“What’s your thinking, Uncle?”
Delfino pursed his lips. “Same as ever. Except I think you two oughta clear out. You did a kindness helping me get here, and I’m grateful. But you should turn yourselves in and go be with Kip.”
“But what about you? “Ariel said.
“Like I say, I’m right where I need to be. You’re not.”
Marcos looked at Ariel. “I think he’s right, at least about you turning yourself over. I sure as hell have to stay, though.”
“You’re eating my food, Marcos. You’re in the way now.”
Delfino’s nephew pushed his hands into his back pockets. He understood his uncle’s comment wasn’t selfish but rather a spin at protectiveness. Ariel’s idea that he talk his uncle down from the ledge, so to speak, was a good one. He’d wait for the right moment and give it his best shot.
As if materializing out of thin air, Jim abruptly added his thoughts to their deliberation. “I think Mr. Montoya’s got a good point.” The three turned to face the sergeant who had climbed the rise with nonchalant stealth and now stood thirty paces from the rampart returning their stares, though with immeasurably greater composure. Instinctively, Delfino grabbed his shotgun and just as instinctively Jim unholstered his handgun, saying, “Easy there. Why don’t you set down the musket—”
“Twelve-gauge Remington.”
“—and I’ll do the same.”
A quiet breeze mussed the sand at their feet.
“You first,” Delfino said.
Knowing he was covered, Jim played the gambit, laying aside his weapon on a bench of stone.
Delfino followed suit.
“There’s someone on the field phone who wants to have a few words with you.”
“Am I coming to you, or you to me?”
“Either