Free Ancient Spirits (Daisy Gumm Majesty Books) by Alice Duncan Page B

that if I didn’t want my food, he’d be delighted to eat it for me.
    “But you’ll only get fat, Spike, and then Missus Bissell will never forgive me. And neither will Missus Hanratty.”
    Spike took that opportunity to sit on his hind legs and wave his paws at me. I caved in, plunked myself down on the floor and hugged him. “I do love you very much, Spike. And so did Billy. I think you were the very best present I ever got for him.”
    With a lick on my chin, Spike agreed with me.
    I tried to gussy myself up a bit for Harold. I didn’t need another lecture on how skinny I was getting from Harold, of all people, who was supposed to be one of my best friends. My choices were limited since I was still in mourning, the weather remained hot, and I hadn’t felt like sewing lately. But I managed to find a lightweight navy blue suit with a long, straight jacket that went quite a way to disguise the fact that I actually had a waist by that time. Not to mention ribs that stuck out like a skeleton’s. With any luck and a dab of powder and paint, Harold wouldn’t notice the change in me.
    Then I recalled that he’d seen me only the day before.
    But he hadn’t said anything then, and it wasn’t like Harold not to tell me when I looked like hell—not that I ever did. As a rule, Harold only complimented me on my attire. I was a darned good seamstress. I also, as I’ve said once or twice already, kept strict tabs on the fashion magazines for the sake of my image as a spiritualist. None of your nonsensical Gypsy-type trappings for me, thank you. I not only dressed to perfection, but I’d studiously cultivated the pale-and-interesting look—and that was even before I’d begun avoiding daylight like Count Dracula. I’d also mastered the art of wafting. I tell you, I was good at my job.
    At least I had been.
    But I didn’t want to think about that. The doorbell rang at about five minutes past one, and Spike and I raced each other to get to the front door. I didn’t want Pa to have to bestir himself. While Dr. Benjamin had recommended him taking walks with Spike, he still had a bum ticker and I didn’t want him having any heart attacks on my watch. After losing Billy, I couldn’t even bear the thought that Pa might be next.
    “Spike, sit,” I told my dog. God bless the dog, he sat. It was no fluke that he’d come in first in Mrs. Hanratty’s dog obedience class. “Good boy. Stay.”
    Spike stayed. He was such a wonderful dog.
    I opened the door, said, “Hey, Harold,” and stepped aside so he could enter the house.
    He did. Then he said, “Daisy Majesty, you look like hell.”
    As he bent to pet Spike, whose tail swished across the floor like a dust mop, I felt like applying the sole of my foot to Harold’s hind end. “Thanks a lot.”
    Harold straightened. “I’m serious, Daisy. You’re not eating, are you? You must have lost fifty pounds.”
    “In a little more than a month?” I said, huffy as all get-out. “I don’t think so. But thank you so much for the compliment.”
    “It’s not a compliment,” Harold said with a frown that appeared more worried than mean-spirited. Harold himself was a bit on the plump side and had been for as long as I’d known him. “I know you’re grieving, but you have to take care of yourself, Daisy. You won’t do your family any good if you fall ill, you know.”
    My shoulders slumped. “Oh, Harold, don’t you lecture me, too. Please. I’ve heard it all from my mother and father and aunt and Sam. The thought of food makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t help it.”
    “You can, too, help it,” said Harold firmly. “If you can’t, who can?”
    It was a good question, I supposed. Hanging my head, I whispered, “I don’t know. But it’s the truth, Harold. I can’t seem to force myself to eat. Ever since . . .”
    He hugged me. “I know, sweetheart. You miss your Billy.”
    I nodded, unable to speak.
    “But he’d hate it that you’ve let yourself go so