Deadly Decision by Regina Smeltzer Page A

was wrong, even if the spirit was a small and frightened child needing help. But then I thought of my dreams. It was also wrong to be trapped on the opposite side of a chasm for more than three generations with no one to help in the crossing.
    Barbara looked at me, her blue eyes smoldering. I knew I would do whatever she asked.
    “How about tonight?” she inquired.
    “Can’t we just pray now and get it over with?”
    “It’s a little more complicated than praying. And we need to be somewhere private. It will be all right. You’ll see.”
    “My church… we don’t believe in séances. It says in the Bible no one lingers after death…”
    She reached across the table and placed her hands over mine. I sucked in air, reveling in the warmth that filled me. Her touch was gentle, soft. “A lot of churches continue to preach the same outdated interpretation of the scriptures. But if you really read what the Bible says, you’ll find many examples of God using the dead to reach the living. I agree, the Bible does say souls go to Heaven; but that doesn’t mean they have to go right away, or that they all go.”
    “But...”
    “Let me ask you this, Bill Iver.” She pulled her hands from mine, rested her elbows on the table, and clasped her hands under her chin. “God gave us freedom of choice. Does that freedom stop once we’re dead?”
    “I never thought about it.”
    “Tell you what. Come to church with me on Sunday.”
    “You go to church?”
    “Of course I go to church!”
    Being with Barbara felt like biting the forbidden apple. And like Adam, allure of the prohibited clouded my judgment. Doubt lingered on the edge of my reasoning, but instead of doubt serving as a barrier, it became a lifeline: something solid to pull me back if the barrier crumbled. Right now, my footing was secure. Everything was under control. What should I be afraid of? A small boy? An eighteenth-century ghost? A petite woman who went to church, believed in God, and knew the Bible?
    Sunday I would attend her church. But tonight we would contact Jimmy.
     
     
     
     

9
     
    After the first couple of sessions at Barbara’s house, her altered state, as she called it, no longer frightened me. She needed to empty her mind in order for her saint to provide the conduit that would allow the Jimmy to speak.
    Jimmy never spoke.
    Thinking we might have better success at Trina’s house, I invited Barbara to South Carolina. After all, it was there Jimmy had revealed himself to me.
    The last days of the school year dragged. I cancelled my weekly dinner with Betsy, and she teased me, saying I had found myself a girlfriend. Although not ready to declare my relationship with Barbara as romantic, it seemed unfair for Betsy not to know the truth. We shared everything.
    I let myself into Betsy’s house. The sound of contemporary Christian music drifted from the kitchen. Betsy loved music, and I smiled as I remembered her Beatles phase. Our house would reverberate with their music. The mop-haired skinny guys seemed hopelessly nerdy to me, but she had saved every dollar she earned babysitting the Nelson kids down the street to buy Beatles albums. I was glad I never complained because several years later she had come home from Ohio State on week-ends to sit in the stands, huddled in a coat and gripping cups of hot chocolate in mittened hands, to cheer for me at my football games. There was a special bond between us that few siblings shared. It grew even stronger after our parents died. And I don’t know what I would have done without her during Nancy’s illness and death. Betsy was my rock.
    In the hall, I paused in front of the ghost child’s picture. He died generations before Jimmy was born. What was the connection? Seeing the picture again made me even more grateful for Barbara’s help. Without her, I would never find the answers to the questions that filled my mind day and night.
    “Do you want the picture back?” Betsy asked, coming up behind