A woman's ambition.(Fictional work)

BETTYE HOLT STANDS IN HER formal dining room watching a squirrel swing back and forth as it pilfers birdseed from the feeder in her neighbors' yard. Although her yard abounds with cardinals, thrush, and in the spring, hummingbirds, her feeders, left from the previous owners, are empty. In fact, her garden, once lush with perennials and day lilies when she moved in three years prior has grown wild from inattention. A lawn care service keeps her grass free of creeping Charlie and dandelions, but she roots for the inevitable victory of the weeds so she can fill the beds with rocks and create a Zen garden.

Her landscaping stands in contrast to the house. Bettye thinks that a nice garden suggests you have plenty of leisure time--and idleness is not a trait she wants to advertise. A messy house on the other hand is tasteless. As such, her Queen Anne, listed as the "jewel of Claret Circle," has been lovingly restored and elegantly furnished with the help of Randolph Beard's decorator.

She lets the curtain fall and returns to the problem standing next to her china cabinet. Holts believe deeply in the gospel, saving cooking grease, and "haints." So despite her excuse of education, her downright refusal to respect her grandmother's constant communication with great Uncle Lester, Bettye can't deny that all signs affirm the beribboned little girl jumping double-dutch amidst ropes twirled by invisible hands is probably not among the living.

"Call me Mary Beth," the girl says, and stops jumping.

As she approaches, Bettye backs into her thermal curtains. They are supportive and warm, and she wishes she could hide in the deep folds.

"Will you take my hand?" Mary Beth says.

Bettye panics. Does she want to find out if the girl is solid? What if her fingers grasp only air? She looks at the scrupulously braided hair. It reminds her of how her mother would carefully part her hair, then oil the scalp before tightly plaiting four even-spaced braids until the back of her head resembled a grid. But unlike Mary Beth, Bettye never wore ribbons.