A Haunting Love

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17

Chapter Three

Ramona Franklin's emotions were almost at as high a peak as her childrens' had been as she drove home from the bank. She'd known this day might come. She'd dreamed that this day might come. But another part of her had dreaded this day coming. It was all tied up with her past, a past she'd tried to leave behind her like a bad dream. She'd gone to college, looking for and hoping to find a man to share her life with so that her life could be normal. Up to that point in time her life had been anything but normal.

Ramona had found a man, whom she had fallen in love with, and who had presented her with two beautiful, normal, happy children. That he had been someone she knew long before she ever stepped upon a college campus was as much a surprise to her as it was to him. They had gone to High School together, but had traveled in different social circles. She tried to fade into the background and he was involved in every extra curricular activity he could fit into his schedule. She had gone home to study each day, doing extra work on the weekends, while he dated all the popular girls.

When they bumped into each other at a Freshman mixer at Welsley College, she was amazed to see him. It was an exclusive school, so small that most people didn't even know it existed. He had been from a blue collar family, with limited means. And he had smiled at her.

"Hey, is it a small world or what?" he said, walking up to her.

She hadn't thought he'd recognize her. "I didn't think you'd even know who I am," she replied.

"Are you kidding? It's great to see a familiar face. I thought I was going to be all alone here," he said.

Their chat had turned into a pledge to study together. He had obtained an academic scholarship and needed to keep high marks to maintain it. He was also the first person in his family to go to college, so a lot of hopes were riding on him. His manner was so easygoing that Ramona had pushed away her fear of letting someone close to her.

By the time they had finished the first semester they were not only study mates, but they were lovers. He never questioned why she had no virginity to make their first time uncomfortable, or that she seemed to know what to do, perhaps even more than he did. She never talked about her past, and he never questioned her about it, seeming to know that she didn't want to that subject broached.

They married while they were seniors, when it became apparent she was going to have his baby despite the precautions they had taken. Both welcomed the marriage and the baby. That was what young people were supposed to do. His family welcomed her into their lives. She had no family to ask questions, and her guardian was happy to see her married so that he could begin to finalize certain arrangements and his task would be complete.

When Richard had taken her back to Nettleton, to show her their new house, a time she should have been overjoyed, she was almost crushed. She couldn't believe it was right next to the house that inhabited her bad dreams, the house in which her parents had been slain, the house that she never wanted to see again in her life. Right next door to the Nettleton mansion.

Her husband didn't know, of course, because she hadn't told him. All he knew was that her parents were dead in a tragic incident. He didn't know she was Elizabeth Nettleton, or that, upon marriage, she would receive her portion of a trust fund that would make them wealthy beyond almost anyone's wildest dreams. He didn't know because Ramona didn't want the money. She wanted a normal life, free from her past. The irony of having to live next to the one place on earth she never wanted to see again was almost palpable, but she didn't say anything. She didn't want him to know. And when she was summoned one last time to her guradian, who handed her the legal letter informing her that an account had been established in her maiden name, which she was now free to draw upon at her will, she burned the letter, and the account number with it.

Her mind drifted, against her will, to the history she wanted to forget.

When Ramona and her brother had first been carried out of the crime scene, there had been chaos for a while. They had been separated at first, having been placed in an orphanage where boys and girls were not allowed to mix, whether they were related or not. Most four-year-olds don't remember much about what happened to them at that age, but the changes in Ramona's life were so tumultuous that they were imprinted in her mind forever.

It had taken six months for her father's will to be found and executed. That will had very specific provisions in it about who would take care of the children, and provided funds from the estate to do so. Ramona's reunion with her brother was joyous, but relatively short-lived. The woman her father had specified as guardian only had charge of them for a year before her tuberculosis wasted her away. The court then gave over their care to another family, a family that the judge classified as "temperate and stable" and which made their living by fostering children such as the two.

Ramona's life had been good with the woman, and her relationship with her brother had been close. Their new guardian sent them to boarding school, paid for by trust funds established in their father's will but they saw each other rarely, in arranged formal "sitting room" meetings, where they were expected to drink tea and have light conversation.

The house and grounds in which they had lived was also put into trust, to be turned over to Robert upon reaching his majority. Money was set aside to ensure that the property was maintained. Other funds were put into trust for the children, but conditions were attached. For Ramona, she would receive access to her trust when she married, or finished college, whichever came first. For Robert, his trust could not be touched until he graduated from a university.

Roger Nettleton had planned well, and his will had been very detailed and specific. But, without an advocate keeping a close eye on things and, people being what they are, things didn't always go as he had planned. The money was guarded by banks and the law, and though people tried to get at it, they failed, for the most part. Their new guardian didn't care about the house. He signed off on authorizations for its upkeep, but didn't actually check to see what was happening. Those funds were skimmed and pocketed most of the time.

The boarding school presented inflated bills and expenses associated with the Nettleton children, and the finite amount of money legally set aside for that purpose, which should have taken care of their education through High School, was depleted by the time they were in the eighth grade.

When their guardian couldn't find a way to extract more money from the estate, he was forced to take them into his own home, where they were, for the most part, unwelcome mouths to feed. The other fosterlings in the house had an established hierarchy of "rank". Ramona and Robert were at the lower end of the scale, getting only hand-me-downs and the last helpings of food.

Their new guardian had had some success in the past at getting money by having the children take his name. It wasn't adoption - that would have ended outside financial compensation - but sometimes a child's trust fund could be penetrated in the legal twists and turns of such a procedure. Ramona, in a vain effort to exorcise the horrors of her past, accepted that suggestion, adopting her middle name and the last name of her guardian.

Robert did not.

While the man's dream of getting access to Ramona's trust failed, she was glad for her name change when they entered the public school system. As they went through school, teachers always perked up when the Nettleton name was called in class. No one paid any attention to Ramona Shanks, though, and she preferred it that way. People knew she lived in the same house, and that there was "another Nettleton child", but never put the two together.

Robert, knowing the travails of bearing the Nettleton name, did not publicly acknowledge that Ramona was his sister. He protected her as best he could at "home", where they shared a room that was big enough for one child. They both tried to keep a low profile, both at home and at school and, for the most part, succeeded.

There was a price to pay, however, and that price was that the only people in the world who loved the Nettleton children were ... each other. Their forced proximity at home, sleeping in the same bed well into puberty, and their reliance on each other for all of their emotional needs, led to a closeness between the siblings that polite society would have been horrified at.

Their guardian, a man with zealous religious convictions, was not aware of their relationship and the effect that entering puberty had had on that relationship. He worked ceaselessly to convince Robert that service to mankind as a missionary was the only way to extinguish the evil that had hounded the Nettleton family in the past. He tried to convince Ramona of that as well, encouraging her to become a nun. There was, in the back of the man's mind, the thought that if she never married, and Robert never went to college, all that money would remain in the bank, and he might find some way to get it.

Ramona had resisted the man's brainwashing.

Robert had not.

He was tortured, not only by their family history, but by the fact that the only real joy he experienced was when he was in his sister's welcoming embrace, as they writhed naked in the dark of night, performing their sinful dance of lust together. The thought of receiving forgiveness for what he couldn't control drove him to follow their guardian's plan. After High School he joined a group of missionaries, turning his back on wealth.

He hadn't told Ramona of his decision until the night before he was due to leave. She didn't know this was the last time she'd feel his weight pinning her to the lumpy mattress as he probed her depths with his manhood and she felt the warm rush of his love spewing into her womb.

He gave her that one last moment of bliss before he turned her world on its ear once again.

Then, he disappeared overseas somewhere, being chased by his own demons.

She cried bitterly for weeks after he left. Her loss was assuaged to some degree by the letters he sent, addressed to her through their guardian.

And she responded to those letters. The letters were forwarded to him by the people who administrated whatever mission he was assigned to at the time. When she went to college he was able to send his letters directly to her, but she still had to respond by routing her letters through the mission center, because many times he could collect his mail only every six months or so. She told him, over the years of her new life, college, Richard and her children. She informed him her desire to keep her past secret from her new husband. She knew he was in Africa somewhere, after having been stationed in several other exotic locations.

His letters grew fewer and fewer, and hers to him as she found love and emotional support from Richard replacing that of her distant brother. When she and Richard had moved into their new home, and she no longer had a private mail box in which to receive letters from a man her husband knew nothing about, she made the gut-wrenching decision to stop writing. She had cried about that for weeks too.

They had not communicated for the past five years.

She had tried to ignore the unhappy place next door to her new home, and concentrated instead on loving her husband and raising her twins. She hoped that Robert could find some happiness too.

Then, as if the dark miasma of her former home had sniffed around and found her, seeping through the iron fence to continue its assault on normalcy, her husband was killed. A truckload of paper products was too heavy, and the brakes of the truck failed as it came down the mountain side. Richard had seen what was happening and drove for the shoulder. The truck driver, thinking to avoid hitting any cars, also headed for the woods at the side of the road. Neither could adjust and Richard was killed instantly.

Had her twins not been there ... not needed her ... she would have taken her own life. But she had to go on. There was only one other person she could turn to ... her brother Robert, but the one human in the world who might be able to fully understand how she felt was beyond her reach. She didn't even know where he was any more. The thought of what it would take to write a letter, which might not even be read by him for months, caused her to leave pen and paper lying unused.

She got a job at the bank, ironically the same bank that still guarded a fortune that was hers, but which she still thought of as blood money. She was aware that, while he was involved in his missionary work, Robert had somehow obtained a college degree. Access to personal accounts gave her the information that he drew from his own fortune from time to time, but not in large amounts. He used less than the annual interest his account earned. She took comfort in seeing those small transactions, though, because that told her he was still alive.

Life had eventually settled back down for Ramona. Her twins and her job filled her days for her, as well as her love of reading and quilting. She made a half dozen intricate, huge quilts that adorned the beds in the house and filled several storage containers.

In honor of her brother's life work, she made a large number of plainer ones that she donated to Robert's missionary headquarters to be sent wherever they were needed. She also gave them to the Salvation Army, dropping them off as simple donations packed in paper sacks recycled from grocery shopping. A woman who worked at the Salvation Army center had wanted to know her name, but she demurred, simply saying "These are for whoever needs them."

Toiling over the quilts gave her satisfaction that she was doing something worthwhile with the time she had wanted to throw away when Richard was killed.

And she was proud of her children. They were smart, and strong and happy, untouched by the ugliness of their heritage and unearned wealth that might have corrupted them. She knew she'd have to dip into her unwanted trust fund to send them to college, but that was for a good cause too, and she didn't want them to have to scrimp and work, like she had breren forced to do, herself in school. True, her tuition had been taken care of by the trust fund, but her living expenses she earned herself, never responding to letters asking how much she needed for such things.

She had been tempted, when, after Richard died, her guardian contacted her and suggested he knew worthy charities that could benefit from the money she wasn't spending, but she ignored him. He was a cold and loveless man, who dominated his wife mercilessly, as if she were chattel. His attitude toward the children under his care was also cold and distant. She had suspicions about where the money would have gone. Even though he had been handsomely paid for his duties under the court appointment that gave him dominion over the Nettleton children, he had made it quite clear that he deserved more, and they deserved nothing.

That she didn't want her children to ever face such a life was a lesson she learned the hard way. Her will was up-to-date and even more specific than her father's will had been when he was murdered in his bed.

All had been mostly serene. She found happiness in her children, and the things she used her time for. There was an emptiness in her heart since Richard had been taken, but that pain was less severe than others she could recall.

There had been overtures from men from time to time. She didn't consider herself to be beautiful, though many of those men would have disagreed. Their attention had appealed to the little vanity she had left in her ... had made her feel warm and good. But the idea of laboring toward a relationship that was more than just dinner now and then, or that included passion, was something she avoided. There had been too much loss in her life to risk more. Nothing gained meant nothing could be lost, as far as she was concerned. That passion still lurked in her, she knew. She tried to keep a lid on that, succumbing to her infrequent sexual yearning only in-so-far as using her fingers to bring release now and again.

She convinced herself it was enough.

Yes, life wasn't so complicated that she couldn't enjoy it, all things considered.

Until she received a registered letter, in her married name, addressed to her at the bank.

It was from her brother.

She had no idea how he had tracked her down, but he had. She had read it so often that its contents were committed to memory now:

"Dearest Rami,

I have done what I could to comfort the bereft wherever I found them. I have missed you more than I would have thought possible. Living among the needy has illuminated my own emptiness.

I have decided to return to our house ... to restore it to its former grandeur, and try to make of it a place of happiness and light. I know you want nothing to do with that sad place, but this is something that is driving me. I know not what I'll do with it once its darkness is expelled. I know I may not even be able to do that. Perhaps I'll donate it to the county as a museum. But I know this is something I must do.

I want to see you again too, dearest sister. I know you are happy with your husband and family, and I will not intrude upon that happiness. Please find it in your heart to let me see you again when I return, if only briefly and in secret, and then I shall retreat again, leaving you to your well-deserved wonderful life.

The image of your face in my mind has lifted me from despair on more occasions than I could count. I know I was never a good brother to you, but I have learned much about the world and myself in my years abroad. I'm not the man you knew so long ago.

I don't know exactly when I'll be done with this commitment. I'll contact you when I return.

All my love"

His signature was simple script, spelling "Bobby"

That had been a rough day for Ramona. Memories and fears had come rushing back, affecting her so much that another employee had become alarmed, asking if she were okay and offering to call for help. She had folded up the letter and gotten control of herself, stammering that everything was fine ... that it was just a bit of unsettling news. She had thrown herself back into her work, concentrating on each of her customers as if they were the only people alive at the time.

Later she had re-read the letter, and many times since then. Her emotions had undergone a roller coaster-like journey within her mind. She was filled with questions. How could Robert want to have anything to do with the mansion? True, he owned it, according to the provisions of their father's will, but how could he want to restore it? Could it even be restored? What did that mean for her and her children, living in the shadow of the place? How would she feel when she saw him? What would she say? How would all this change her life?

And then, there was their former relationship to think about. As children they had clung to each other, orphaned by cruel circumstance, living in a cold and loveless place with foster parents who cared but little for them. They had naturally bonded much more closely than most siblings ever did. That bonding, over the years, had led to things their guardian would have raged at ... would have called an abomination. He had never known what they did together. Those times were the few memories Ramona had that were joyous and happy. She loved her brother and he loved her, and nothing could take that love away. There was bitterness there too, though, for the fact that their love could not be consummated publicly. Society forbade that. Never mind thousands of years of historical precedence. Never mind that their love was true and pure. Never mind that they could be happy together. That was not to be ... not if the powers of "propriety" had anything to say about it.

And, knowing that, Robert had foresworn their love and separated from her, tearing her heart from her chest. Once again, the only love they had known was ripped from them by events beyond their control, leaving wounded, bleeding survivors to make their way in that hostile world as best they could.

And now ... that wound would be reopened. Robert made it clear that he didn't intend to interrupt her life, but he didn't know of the changes that had taken place since her last letter to him. He made it clear that their former relationship was a thing of the past, and that he didn't intend to resume it. But Ramona's feelings on that point weren't so clear.

All in all, Ramona was as upset about the "stranger" who had opened the gates of the Nettleton Mansion after all these years as her children were. Ironically, their fears were remarkably similar. Their lives had been turned topsy-turvy, and the result was an emotional storm of doubt, fear, and anguish over forbidden love.

She pulled into her driveway, stopped the car, and laid her head gently against the steering wheel as she wept quietly.

Ten minutes later, providence preventing her children from realizing she was home already, the woman who entered the Franklin household was a completely different woman.

"I'm home," she sang, expecting and getting an excited welcome from her children.

"Thank goodness you're home!" Debbie said excitedly, skipping into the living room, where her mother was dropping her purse and keys on the sideboard where she kept them.

Ramona held up her hands. "Be patient a little longer. We're having a visitor for dinner tonight. All will be explained."

"But Mahhhhhm" came the drawn out protest. "You have to tell us what's going on!"

Ramona, had she stopped to think about it, would have recognized that her daughter's response to the current "crisis" was out of proportion to what it should have been. As far as Ramona knew, her children lived next door to, but had no interaction with, the sad property next door. To them, it should have just been a moldering old house with a mysterious past, quietly rotting away in the midst of an untended forest of unruly vegetation.

But her own emotional state prevented her from recognizing that her children were much too interested in her old home. She had never told them about her past. When they asked about grandparents she simply reported them dead and buried long ago. She had never mentioned the uncle they didn't know they had, or the fact that Nettleton blood flowed in their veins. She assumed they were curious about who had re-opened the Nettleton place in the same manner as the rest of the town would be when they learned of it. The gossip would fly ... no doubt about that.

And so, lacking a plan to inform her children of everything she had omitted from their family history, she had decided just to let Robert explain it. Thankfully, he had called her at the bank when he got to town and began hiring contractors.

Just hearing his voice had made her so weak she almost couldn't have a conversation with him. He'd wanted to see her, but at that time she couldn't trust herself to be able to stand, let alone conduct civilized verbal discourse. Instead of trying to bring him up to date, she had just invited him to dinner. She anchored her hopes for rational behavior in the familiarity of preparing a meal in her own house, with her children nearby. There would be hours in which they could figure out what to do and how to explain all this to the twins.

She hoped it would work. She had no earthly idea whether it would or not, but she hoped events would take care of themselves and that she wouldn't burst into tears or have a complete breakdown.

Now, though, she faced her daughter, who was by then backed up by her son. "I have to fix dinner. Our guest will be here at seven. In the mean time you two need to pick up the house. It's a pigsty and I won't have guests in our home with it looking like this."

There were moans of discontent, but she insisted on keeping to her "plan" as it were.

Part of the moans were because the house was already spotless. Oh, there was the odd magazine lying here, and an empty glass sitting there, but Ramona kept a trim ship all the time, and had required her children to do the same. In truth that was one reason they were attracted to the manor. There was no hope of cleaning that place up and, while there, they could relax and be as comfortable as they wanted to, leaving things lay wherever they wanted to. Their mother's training had sunk in, though, and they had, unthinkingly, slowly straightened and dusted things, at least in a few rooms, and they usually removed any trash they generated from food waste they brought into the place.

So, while they went through the fruitless motions of "cleaning", which mostly meant picking things up from where they belonged and then putting them right back where they belonged, the teens tried to communicate without words about what they thought might be going on. Anyone else would have thought it was comical to see them miming and mouthing things at each other as they did things that didn't need to be done.

They noticed that dinner was going to be special. Their mother was making Lasagna in that special way of hers that meant it was for somebody important. Then there were hot rolls, also a special occasion food. Finally there was asparagus, which was expensive, and there was a relish tray with black olives too, along with tiny sweet pickles, and carrot sticks and even deviled eggs. She was going all out and that raised the bar as far as how important this dinner guest was.

Debbie tried again, while offering to help in the kitchen. "Who is this mysterious man?" she asked casually.

"I told you to wait until our guest gets here. He'll explain everything."

"No, not the man next door. Who is coming to dinner?" Debbie prodded, not having any idea that their guest was the man next door.

Ramona smiled to herself. "I don't recall saying our dinner guest was a man," she said.

"Oh come on Mommy," wheedled Debbie. "Okay, who is the mysterious woman who's coming to dinner?"

"I don't believe I said our guest was going to be a woman either," said Ramona, enjoying her teasing.

Debbie's ire was as instantaneous as it was explosive. "Mother! You tell me right now who's coming to dinner or I'm going to scream!" she screamed.

Ramona turned to her daughter with shock on her face. Debbie didn't act like this. These were unusual circumstances, but why could she care that much who was coming to dinner?

She started to question her daughter, but Robby danced in and pulled at his sister's arm.

"Come on Deb, I need your help in here for a minute."

Debbie shook off her brother's grip and took a breath to make her demand again. She was frowning horribly, obviously upset.

Ramona was astonished to see Robby grab his sister firmly by the waist and pull her bodily out of the kitchen as she slapped at him and tried to turn around.

"Drop it, Debbie!" he commanded, his voice suddenly deep.

Ramona was astonished as much by his assertiveness as she was by the fact that Debbie deflated and let him pull her out. She started to go after them, but the sauce began to boil and she had to stop and take care of that.

Outside the kitchen Robby shoved Debbie up against a wall and, instead of reasoning with her, he kissed her, pinning her to the wall between his arms, pressing his chest against hers. She tried to turn her head and he bit her lip gently. Then as she said "Ow!" into his mouth he let her go and stepped back. She looked at him with amazement and a little fear.

"What are you doing?" she hissed in a whisper, looking at the doorway to the kitchen only ten feet away.

"Stopping you from doing something stupid," he whispered back, leaning toward her. "Leave it alone or she's going to know something's up."

"Of course something's up you idiot!" whispered his sister, but the shock of what he'd done had robbed her of her anger and she slumped.

"Come on," he mouthed, reaching for her hand. She followed him, almost stomping, lifting her whole hip to let her leg swing forward, rather than just walking. She was pouting.

He took her to the living room and pushed her down on the couch.

"It's only forty-five minutes. What's done is done and you can't force anything to happen," he lectured her.

"You're not my boss," she said in a sulk.

"No, but I'm big enough to spank you," he threatened.

"You wouldn't!" she yipped.

"Yes I would," he warned.

"You can't," she reasoned.

"I will if you don't settle down." He leaned toward her and she shrank back from him. His hands kept coming though and he started tickling her.

She shrieked and twisted, her hands flailing at him, trying to tickle him back and they ended up laughing as their mother, done with things in the kitchen long enough to investigate her children's strange behavior walked into the room. Ramona stopped and stared at her completely normal acting children as they tusseled with each other. She shook her head, checked her watch, and, with a harried expression, turned back to the kitchen.

The twins had seen her out of the corner of their eyes, and when she went back in the kitchen they both felt a rush of relief. Robby snatched at his sister's breasts and squeezed them once before jumping back as she charged up off the couch, her hand low and open in a claw, obviously going for his jewels.

Now he ran to the kitchen, where she couldn't grab him in the place she intended to, laughing as she chased him.

"Mom! Debbie's being mean to me," he whined as he ran to his mother and tried to get between her and the counter.

Ramona's hands were covered with flour and her son's actions startled her. She spun in a circle as Robby got behind her and gripped her waist. He used her as a shield. Debbie tried to reach around her mother to pinch her brother and was laughing as Ramona stood, not knowing what to do, her hands out.

"Children!" she yelled.

They stopped, and she looked at Debbie, who was grinning. It was a moment where prior bonding asserted itself. As Ramona said, "Behave!" her daughter flowed against her for a hug. Then her son added his hug to it and they were suddenly a Mommy sandwich ... a group of hugging people.

Ramona was overcome with a sudden rush of love for her children. As their fears had evaporated during a sexual act, hers evaporated during a loving act and she hugged Debbie fiercely. Then she turned to gather Robby into one arm, while she gripped Debbie with the other.

"It's going to be all right," she said, her eyes almost overflowing with tears of mixed joy and apprehension. "Everything's going to be fine."

Debbie, her eyes also wet, said, "I love you Mommy."

Ramona returned it. "I love you too baby. I love you both more than anything in the whole world."

"I'll be patient," said Debbie.

"Thank you," said Ramona, unnerved by how much she meant that.

"Especially if you'll tell me who's coming to dinner," said Debbie, grinning and kissing her mother on the cheek.

Ramona barked a laugh and slapped her daughter on her behind, leaving a ghostly white handprint. "Now get out of here and get ready. It's somebody special. That's all I'm telling you. Go on now." She gave Debbie another whack as they disentangled themselves.

"And don't wear anything dirty or wrinkled!" called their mother as they left to go to their rooms.

Debbie stood in her room dressed only in panties. She was trying to figure out what to wear. Her mother's actions made it plain that whoever it was that was coming, he ... or she ... was somebody important. So that meant Debbie should wear something nice. She chose her favorite blouse, and a pair of hip-hugging slacks. She didn't want to wear a bra, but put one on anyway, since nice girls wore them. Looking in the mirror she frowned. Her hair was a mess. She grabbed a brush and a rubber band. A pony tail would have to do.

Ramona put the final touches on the dishes she had prepared. Her stomach was full of butterflies and her knees felt weak. She had a clear vision in her mind of her brother, but it was his image at eighteen. She knew he had to have changed, as she had. The last time he'd seen her she had mere swells for breasts, and was thin and bony. Good food and children had changed her body, making it full and rounded. Her breasts, swollen with milk for her babies, had stayed full, even when she stopped breast feeding. She knew there were a few wrinkles on her face too. She wasn't fat, by any means, but she didn't look anything like she had the last time her brother had seen her.

She hung up her apron and started for her own bedroom, where she intended to dress in a dark blue sundress that would be both comfortable and, she hoped, pretty. It only had spaghetti straps, so she wouldn't be able to wear a bra, but her breasts didn't sag too much. She thought it would be okay.

Ramona had taken only three steps when the front doorbell rang. He was here! He was early! She was a wreck!

Before she could make any decision about what to do Debbie flashed past her at a dead run.

"I'll get it!" she yelled excitedly.

Robby was close behind, shuffling down the stairs in that light bouncing way that only young people can descend a staircase.

"He's early!" squeaked Ramona.

The world went into slow motion for Ramona. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. She wanted to be the one to open the door, to usher in the man her children knew nothing about, to introduce him, dressed nicely.

"Wait!" she screamed.

Debbie skidded to a stop by the front door. Her face turned, questioning to her mother.

"I'm not ready!" said Ramona, her voice shaky.

"We can't just leave him out there!" said Debbie reaching for the knob.

"But ..." started Ramona, as Debbie turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Ramona's eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she gasped.

Standing in the door was a disheveled looking man. He was stooped, as if old. He had a wild nest for hair, and a long black beard. He was wearing a trench coat. He looked like a bum, searching for a handout.

"Hello," said the man in a modulated voice, somewhere between bass and tenor. "I'm Mister Smith."

The reactions from the members of the Franklin family were remarkably similar though slightly different.

Debbie gasped and stepped back from the door, away from the man.

Ramona gasped and stood stock still.

Robby gasped and took a step forward, his protective instincts on sudden alert.

Mister Smith appeared to smile beneath his beard. "Your mother has graciously invited me to dinner this evening. I'm afraid I'm a little early. I hope this does not inconvenience you too much." He spoke with a strange accent, like he wasn't from America, but spoke English fluently.

Ramona recovered first. The man's voice was the same one she'd heard on the phone, and recognized as her brother's. His appearance was completely unexpected and ... wrong somehow.

"Mister ... Smith," she said, her voice trembling a little. "Please come in. I apologize for my appearance, but ... as you said ... you are a bit early. Children!" she barked. "Get Mister Smith something to drink and take his ... coat." That seemed odd to say in the middle of summer.

Debbie, staring at the man in horror, chose to go to the kitchen, leaving Robby to step toward the man, his hand outstretched for the coat, which was still firmly settled on his shoulders.

Instead Mister Smith gripped Robby's hand and pumped it with vigor.

"I'm very happy to meet you," he said. "And your name is ...?"

"Robby" said the boy with a dry throat. The man's grip was firm and warm, what Robby had been told was a "good" handshake.

"Robby as in Robert?" mused the man, still not taking off his coat.

"No, just Robby," said Robby. "Your coat?"

"If it's all the same to you I'd just as soon wear it," said the strange man. "I have a condition ... it's not catching, mind you ... but I'm more comfortable with it on."

Debbie appeared in the entrance to the living room, a glass of iced tea in her hand. She held it out from across the room, as if she hoped he could extend his arm like rubber to grasp it and she wouldn't have to come any closer.

"What a beautiful young woman," said Mister Smith admiringly. You are the very picture of your mother..." the sentence was strangely cut off, as if he had been about to say something more, and then decided not to.

"Thank you?" Debbie's voice came as a question.

Ramona came down the stairs. She was wearing her blue sundress and she looked fabulous in it. She had left her hair in a pony tail too, out of necessity and to save time. She'd put on a touch of lipstick and wiped at a dab of flour on her face as she turned away from the mirror. All she'd done was smear the flour into a long oblong.

"A vision of loveliness," sighed the scruffy stranger.

That caused both teens to turn and look at where he was looking, to see their mother.

"Mom!" said Debbie. "You're barefoot!"

Ramona looked down at her bare feet as if they belonged to someone else. She looked up blankly. "I guess I forgot my shoes."

Mister Smith laughed. "Ah, but it is summer anyway, is it not? And bare feet are perfect for summer."

Ramona's plan to announce their uncle had been put on hold. Ramona, while she changed, realized that her brother was wearing a disguise for some reason. She couldn't imagine why, but he had, so now she didn't know if he wanted to be identified or not. She needed a few minutes alone with him. Her heart was fluttering as she slipped on the dress. By the time she got to the bottom of the stairs her heart was pounding.

"Children," she said weakly. "Would you please put the food on the table while I have a word with Mister ... Smith."

Neither child wanted to leave the room, especially Robby, but their mother stared at them until they left. Standing there to make sure they didn't come right back in, she watched the entryway for a moment and then turned to find "Mister Smith" standing only a foot away.

"Bobby?" she whispered. "What are you doing?"

"Rami, you're so gorgeous," he breathed. "I thought I remembered your beauty, but I can't believe how you've changed. You take my breath away." Then he jerked. "I don't want anyone to know who I am right now. I'm posing as the caretaker for the house ... to get things started before the ruckus there will be when people find out I'm back. There have been legal claims filed against the estate ... vultures who think they can take what is not theirs. I don't want to talk to reporters, even if the only ones that show up are from the local newspaper."

"The kids ...." she said. "I was going to tell the kids about you ... going to let you tell them about you," she said helplessly.

"I didn't think you wanted your husband to know about me," he said thickly.

"He died Bobby," she whispered urgently. "I didn't have the strength to find you ... to tell you. I'm sorry," she said, her mouth turning down.

He reached out to touch her arm. "It is I who am sorry. I have neglected you and our family name in the pursuit of a mad dream. I'm so sorry to hear of your sorrow ... your loss. But I need to remain anonymous a little longer. Can I do that please? Would your children tell people who I am if they knew?"

"I don't know. It's going to be a shock to them. I never told them about you Bobby. I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Hearing your voice now ... I feel ..." She broke off, wiping an eye.

"What am I going to tell them now?" she asked frantically. "They want to know who you are and what you're doing!"

"Why would they care so much?" he asked, puzzled. Then a gleam came into his eye. "Unless it is they who have been using the house!"

"Using the house?" asked Ramona. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

"Someone has been using the house ... being there I mean. They haven't bothered anything really, but I found a small collection of valuables, or things that children might think were valuable in one of the rooms. And some clothing has been unpacked ... our parents' clothing."

"What?!" came Ramona's astonished reply. "No! It couldn't be them. I'd know. They never go there. No one ever goes there Bobby!" she gasped.

"Well then, it is someone else. No matter, as I said they haven't bothered anything. If anything they have kept things in order, somewhat, and cared for things to some degree. There has been no vandalism, as I feared there would be."

"But what do we tell them?" she asked.

"Let me handle that," he said. "I won't stay long."

"But I wanted to see you!" she moaned. "To talk to you."

"I'll be right next door from now on," he said. "You can come and see me any time you like."

"I can't do that!" she said. "What if somebody saw me?"

"You work at the bank. I'll just request that they assign you as my personal teller ... to handle all my accounts ... to assist me in my mission."

"They won't do that!" said Ramona with a gasp.

"Dear Rami, my sweet" he said in natural closeness that was somehow easy to revive, "In the years that have gone by, the inheritance our father left us has grown much. They'll do anything I ask to keep my account in their little bank. Did you waste all your money?" he asked gently.

"No, I've never touched that money," she said breathlessly. "That money is tainted."

"Then my dear beautiful sister, you are rich beyond your wildest dreams. And the original money is long gone, returned to the treasury or dispensed to persons. That money is yours. You may do with it what you wish, but it is yours. Our father provided for us. What harm can there be in that? Think of it as his last gasp of love for us. He loved us, you know, he and mother both."

Ramona's eyes misted and glazed as she recalled one of her dimmest memories ... the tall brown haired woman who had sung to her and dressed her in frilly dresses, taking her for walks in the sun ... in the beautiful gardens. "I remember," she whispered.

"Then let us to dinner, to answer your handsome children's questions. They are beautiful, Rami ... your children."

"Yes" she said firmly. "They are the loves of my life."

"I used to be the love of your life ... long ago," he said softly.

"I remember that too, Bobby," she whispered again. She wanted to hug him, to cling to him, but his appearance was so strange and wrong that she couldn't.

"Come," he said. He held out his hand. She took it, feeling the calluses of the work he'd done for many years with his hands, and the strength in them too.

Debbie and Robby had tried to eavesdrop on the adults in the other room, but could hear only murmurs of conversation. They heard their mother exclaim something, but couldn't hear what it was. They labored mechanically, transferring dishes to the table, getting the silverware their mother had absent-mindedly forgotten to put out. She had used the good dishes and crystal glasses that they had eaten on perhaps only a dozen times in their life.

And for this stranger?!

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