"That's odd. Mrs. Fenniman was supposed to come over for dinner."
When we got closer to the house, I could see that it was completely dark, except for the front porch, where Mother and Mrs. Fenniman were rocking by candlelight.
"Hello, Michael," Mother said. "How nice of you to drop by. Meg, why don't you get us some lemonade. Take one of the candles from the front hall." I began carefully making my way across the cluttered porch toward the front door. "The power's out," Mother said brightly, if unnecessarily, to Michael.
"Out like a light," Mrs. Fenniman said, a little too brightly.
"When did it go out?" Michael asked. "I had power when I left the house to walk Spike."
"Damn!" I said, as I barked my shins on an unseen object while climbing the front steps. "And yuck!" In grabbing the nearest step to keep from falling, I'd put my hand into something lukewarm and squishy. What on earth?
"I only left the house about twenty minutes ago," Michael continued.
"Watch out for the Jell-O, Meg," Mother said belatedly. "It's just our house, apparently. I've called the electrician."
"What seems to be the problem?" Michael asked. He tied Spike to a post and perched on the porch railing.
"The houshe is haunted," Mrs. Fenniman said, spilling a little of her wine.
"Probably the fuse-box," Mother said. "I'm afraid we'll have to hold dinner until the power is back on." Considering how infrequently Mother actually cooked anything, especially in the summer, I saw no reason why we couldn't have had our usual cold supper from the deli by candlelight, but I knew better than to argue with Mother.
"Maybe we should all have another glash of wine while we're waiting," Mrs. Fenniman hinted.
"I'd be happy to see if I can do anything about the fuse box," Michael offered. "Let me have one of the candles, Meg."
"Woooo-ooooohhhh," Mrs. Fenniman intoned, spookily, then spoiled the effect by giggling.
"That's all right, dear," Mother said. "Meg's father is the only one who ever seems to be able to figure it out. I have no idea where he is; I looked around for several hours and then gave up and called Mr. Price, the electrician. Meg, have you seen your father?"
"Really, it's no trouble," Michael said. "I'm not exactly a wizard with mechanical things, but fuse boxes I can handle."
"We could tell ghosh stories," Mrs. Fenniman suggested. "I know plenty."
"Dad said something about getting some more fertilizer," I said.
"Oh, dear." Mother sighed. "Not another trip to the farm?"
"It's really no trouble," Michael insisted. "I'd be happy to go look."
"That won't be necessary, dear," Mother said. "There's Mr. Price now. Meg, have you got the candles? You can light the way for him."
"I expect he has a working flashlight," I suggested.
"Don't let him break his neck," Mrs. Fenniman warned. "Only dam' man in the county knows how to fix air conditioners. Year he had his gall bladder out the whole damn county like to fried."
"You're right, he probably does," Mother said. "And he brought his boy to help him. Meg, see if you can get some coffee from next door or perhaps you could go up to the Brewsters. We're going to need some caffeine to stay awake till dinner time."
"I'll go along with you and help," Michael offered.
"I'll get a thermos," I said, and shuffled off behind Mr. Price back to the kitchen.
"Whole place could use new wiring, like most of these old houses," I heard the electrician remark from the utility room, where the fuse box was, "Shine that flashlight here."
Michael followed me into the pantry and held the candle while I rummaged for a thermos.
"As if it isn't enough the power is out," I grumbled, "we have to have Mrs. Fenniman getting soused. Mother should know better than to serve her wine. Last time she ended up in Eric's treehouse singing arias from Carmen. Dad and I had to lower her down with a sling made out of a blanket and carry her home."
"Sounds like fun," Michael said. "If you'll feed me, I'd be happy to stick around and help, in case your father doesn't show up in time."
"A little to the right," came Mr. Price's voice from the utility room.
"You don't have to, you know," I remarked. "I mean, you're welcome to stay for dinner. But I think your mother's business will still survive if you occasionally take a night off from being the neighborhood jack-of-all-trades and guardian angel."
"That's not why I offered," Michael said.
"Well, I'll be damned," said the unseen voice. "What the dickens ..."