When you share your home with a ghost, Things Happen.  We, of course, know that Mrs. Crouch is always nearby.  She manifests herself in various ways – usually playful, seldom mean.  She causes doors to open or shut, a single sock to go missing in the laundry, or an icy draft to occur where logic tells us it cannot be.  She’s been in the house since 1892 – a full decade longer than the Espys, and we feel as though she is part of the family.
     Mrs. Sarah Crouch was the wife of Oysterville’s Baptist preacher (who turned out not to be a preacher at all.)  They lived here in the ‘parsonage’ for about a year.  The household included their baby girl as well as the young brother and the mother of Reverend Josiah Crouch.  The pastor was outgoing and personable – “had an eye for the women,” Tommy Nelson said – and Sarah was shy.  She didn’t get out much.
     Unhappily for her, she did agree to go with her husband on a church call up the Willapa River.  In some unknown manner, their boat tipped over.  The preacher managed to swim ashore with the baby but Mrs. Crouch drowned.  There were marks on her neck… There was an investigation…  There was a warrant out for the pastor’s arrest.  He quickly skedaddled… with another man’s wife.
     My mother’s explanation for why Mrs. Crouch is still hanging around this house was that she was happy here in Oysterville.  I hope that’s so.  My explanation, though, is that she is still craving the attention that Josiah never gave her.  She’s a bit passive aggressive and certainly an “all about me” kind of gal.  Take yesterday, for instance…
       My “Mother’s Day Author! Author!” event was scheduled to begin at 4:00.  It was to open with a short DVD – a set-up for the Dear Medora reading to follow – and my friend Betsy had offered to be the techie person.  We had done a run-through a week or so ago and there were a few glitches that took time to iron out so yesterday Betsy arrived with all the necessary equipment at 2:30.  There was plenty of time to set up the projector, the screen, and the speakers, and to get everything plugged in and connected to her laptop.
     Insert disk.  Play!  But it was not to be.  One unexplained thing after another happened.  When people began to arrive Betsy was still turning everything off, physically disconnecting, rebooting.  When one problem was “fixed” something else went wrong.  Usually the difficulty was that everything stopped dead-in-the-water (so to speak) at second number two, according to the counter in the corner of the screen.  There was no Plan B.
     Nevertheless, at the appointed time, we began.  Betsy, intrepid to the end, pushed the play button and voilá!  The picture came up, the music came on (and stayed on past second-number-two) and it all worked perfectly.  Obviously, Mrs. Crouch had been on the rampage but had finally decided to let Dear Medora take center stage after all.  There was no other explanation.