face as she gazed into the bubbles. There she was tall and slender, standing in a garden filled with yellow roses. Lydia knew her in an instant. The girl stood looking out over the garden, her back to Lydia. The girl was dressed in the gown of emerald green, which Lydia recognized from her dream, but now the dress was pretty and new. Lydia willed the girl to turn around but she stood fast. The scene widened and Lydia became aware of a magnificent brick building that felt somehow familiar, though she didn’t recognize it. Down the wide steps came a beautiful dark- haired woman laughing and chatting with a small child. As the two drew nearer Lydia gasped in shock. She recognized the woman as the specter from her dream. She watched horror-struck as the woman’s head tumbled from her shoulders. Lydia screamed, dropping the plate she was holding into the sink, sharp shards of broken glass splintering the scene until the sink held only dissolving bubbles.
“Dan,” she cried. I have to tell Dan. No, he is in surgery. What will I do?” Her knees buckled under her, forcing her to sit on the floor. “Stokes, “I’ll call Alan Stokes,” she continued, trying to stand to reach the wall telephone. Tears blinded her eyes. In vain she tried to scrub them away. Helpless, she gave in to her tears. The telephone rang and it startled her. She stumbled, answering the insistent ring breathlessly.
“Hello?”
“Lydia, it is Alan Stokes. Have I called at a bad time? You sound out of breath, are you all right?”
“Alan,” she gasped, relief flooding her senses. She held the wall to steady herself. “Oh, Alan, I have seen her, in the soap bubbles just now.” The tears cascading down her cheeks forced Lydia to swallow several times to get the words out.
“Calm down, Lydia. I can’t make out a word you are saying. Is Dan there? Put him on the telephone. I would like to speak with him.”
“No. Surgery,” Lydia’s words were barely audible above her tears.
“Look, I’m coming ‘round. I should be there in about fifteen minutes. Will you be all right ‘til then? Where are you?”
“In the kitchen,” was Lydia’s feeble reply.
“Good. Stay there. Is the front door locked?’
“I don’t know. Alan, I don’t know.” Her words dissolved in hysterical sobs.
“Stay where you are. If the door is locked I’ll ring the bell. See you soon.”
Lydia made her way to a chair and laid her head on her arms on the table. Closing her eyes, she was lulled gently into a light sleep by the comforting rhythmical chant coming from the living room.
***
Stokes called his secretary into his office. “Mary, cancel my classes for today. No, wait. See if Bill Steeves can take them. If not, well, just cancel them,” he said, shifting papers uselessly around his desk.
Mary Mosher had seen him upset before. “What are you looking for? Perhaps I could help.”
“No. No, I know it’s here. I saw it last Monday.”
“If you told me what you were looking for, I could help you find it.”
“A paper, I am looking for a particular piece of paper,” he growled, as he threw piles of paper around. “Ha! Here it is!” he said, lifting a soiled paper napkin.
“Will you please tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ll explain on Monday. Don’t forget to post the note,” he said, slapping his pockets for his keys, wallet, and
“Dan,” she cried. I have to tell Dan. No, he is in surgery. What will I do?” Her knees buckled under her, forcing her to sit on the floor. “Stokes, “I’ll call Alan Stokes,” she continued, trying to stand to reach the wall telephone. Tears blinded her eyes. In vain she tried to scrub them away. Helpless, she gave in to her tears. The telephone rang and it startled her. She stumbled, answering the insistent ring breathlessly.
“Hello?”
“Lydia, it is Alan Stokes. Have I called at a bad time? You sound out of breath, are you all right?”
“Alan,” she gasped, relief flooding her senses. She held the wall to steady herself. “Oh, Alan, I have seen her, in the soap bubbles just now.” The tears cascading down her cheeks forced Lydia to swallow several times to get the words out.
“Calm down, Lydia. I can’t make out a word you are saying. Is Dan there? Put him on the telephone. I would like to speak with him.”
“No. Surgery,” Lydia’s words were barely audible above her tears.
“Look, I’m coming ‘round. I should be there in about fifteen minutes. Will you be all right ‘til then? Where are you?”
“In the kitchen,” was Lydia’s feeble reply.
“Good. Stay there. Is the front door locked?’
“I don’t know. Alan, I don’t know.” Her words dissolved in hysterical sobs.
“Stay where you are. If the door is locked I’ll ring the bell. See you soon.”
Lydia made her way to a chair and laid her head on her arms on the table. Closing her eyes, she was lulled gently into a light sleep by the comforting rhythmical chant coming from the living room.
***
Stokes called his secretary into his office. “Mary, cancel my classes for today. No, wait. See if Bill Steeves can take them. If not, well, just cancel them,” he said, shifting papers uselessly around his desk.
Mary Mosher had seen him upset before. “What are you looking for? Perhaps I could help.”
“No. No, I know it’s here. I saw it last Monday.”
“If you told me what you were looking for, I could help you find it.”
“A paper, I am looking for a particular piece of paper,” he growled, as he threw piles of paper around. “Ha! Here it is!” he said, lifting a soiled paper napkin.
“Will you please tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ll explain on Monday. Don’t forget to post the note,” he said, slapping his pockets for his keys, wallet, and
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