Corey and I stared at the woman, gray haired and small, rosy faced, her hands clasping the unopened book. She had eyes as blue as Caleb's. And that dimple in her left cheek. It was as if something of Caleb lived still, his eyes and his dimple passing down and down and down from one Perkins to another.
"Abraham and Sarah Perkins." Grandmother opened the book and pointed to their names. "And their children, Matty and Caleb."
Mrs. Leonard touched the names. "I'm descended from their oldest son, Jonathon. He wasn't sent to the poor farm because he was indentured to a blacksmith." With a smile, she shook Grandmother's hand. "Thank you for bringing this to me."
"Thank Corey and Travis," Grandmother said. "They're the ones who found the book."
We left Mrs. Leonard turning the pages of the book and got into the truck, hot inside from sitting in the summer sun.
"I wish we could tell Mrs. Leonard about Caleb," Corey said.
"I don't think that would be a good idea," Grandmother said.
"Why not?"
Grandmother eased out of her parking space and headed south on Route 12. "I'd rather keep the ghosts secret," she said. "If word gets out, we'll have people like Chester Coakley banging on the door. Believe me, I don't want any more ghost hunters at the inn—no matter how many rooms they take."
That evening after dinner, the shadow children drifted through my window and filled the room with their familiar whispers and giggles. A few moments later, Corey arrived with Seth, Caleb, and Ira trailing behind her.
"Did Granny order the stones?" Seth asked me.
"Separate headstones turned out to be really expensive," Corey said in a low voice, looking ashamed.
"So there's going to one big pink stone with all the names and dates and numbers on it," I finished for her.
Surrounded by the shadow children, they whispered together for moment.
"That will do," Caleb said, "though we would have liked to have our own stones."
"I was hoping for a lamb," Seth said. "Or an angel."
"What of the account book?" Ira asked. "Did you put it somewhere safe?"
"We gave it to Mrs. Leonard at the county historical society," I said.
"She says she'll see it gets published, so everybody can read the truth about the poor farm."
"A fact simily," Corey added.
"Facsimile," I corrected her. "An exact copy of the original."
"Whatever." Corey shrugged.
"Mrs. Leonard is descended from your brother Jonathon," I told Caleb.
"And she's got your dimple," Corey added.
Caleb touched his cheek in wonder. "So Jonathon lived and got married and had a family? That's grand, that is."
"How about me?" Seth asked. "Is she kin to me, too?"
"The Brewsters are your kin," Ira reminded Seth.
Seth shrugged. "Yes, but the society lady sounds more highfalutin than my grumpy old auntie."
Corey yawned then, a big one without even covering her mouth, and rubbed her eyes.
"We didn't get much sleep last night," I reminded the bad ones.
At the same moment, the shadow children began whispering to each other. "Time to go," they whispered, "time to rest."
Caleb watched them drift along the wall toward the window and slip outside. "We'd better go, too," he said.
"Good luck with the third thing," Ira whispered.
In a snap of the fingers, the three boys were gone. A strange stillness lingered in the room, and the air felt charged the way it does before a thunderstorm.
"Wait." I ran to the window and peered out. The moon-white lawn was empty, the night silent. "Are you coming back? Will we see you again?"
There was no answer, just a stirring of leaves in the grove—and that odd silence.
Corey joined me at the window, standing so close her shoulder touched my arm. I could feel her trembling. "Good luck with the third thing," she whispered, echoing Ira's words.
"The third thing." I stared at my sister. "The account book, the tombstone, ... and Miss Ada."
Suddenly, a breeze sprang up, and the curtains blew inward, brushing my face and my arms. They felt cold and damp, but when I tried to push them away, they clung to me, twisting around my body, trapping me.
"Give me my book," a voice hissed in my ear. "The one you stole from my grave."
19
It wasn't the curtains that trapped me. It was Miss Ada's dress. Shaking with fear, I staggered backward, trying to free myself, but the more I struggled, the tighter the dress wrapped around me.
Nearby, Corey cried out in fear. I felt her lunging, twisting, turning, but she couldn't escape, either.
Miss Ada's bony hands clutched us, numbing us with cold, weakening our arms and legs. Limp with fear, we gave up and stumbled against her. If she hadn't held us so tightly, we would have fallen to the floor at her feet. Released from the tatters of her dress, we stared into her face, little more than a skull, its eyes as dark as the grave.
"My book," she said. "Give me my book."
"We don't have it," I whispered.
Miss Ada's eyes glowed with hatred. "Wicked children, I saw you take it."
"It's—it's not here," Corey stammered.
"We gave it to the historical society," I added.
Miss Ada seemed to grow taller. Angrier. "You had no right to do that! It was my book." She shook us. "You will be punished for this."
Despite my terror, I managed to say, "You can't hurt us, you're dead, and we're..." My voice cracked and broke. I couldn't go on, not with her standing there, smiling a smile I wished I hadn't seen.
Keeping her grip on us, Miss Ada drew us close, closer yet, so close that all we saw was her eyes. It was as if the rest of the world had vanished. Nothing existed except Miss Ada's eyes. In their darkness, I saw every shameful thing I'd ever done—mistakes I'd made, mean things I'd done, people I'd hurt. I saw things I'd wanted but not gotten, things I'd lost. I saw my failures, my sorrows, my tears. I saw myself as Miss Ada wanted me to—a loathsome boy, despicable, unloved, pitiful and weak, stupid and selfish.
The smell of death filled my nostrils, the cold of the grave chilled me to the bone.
Beside me, Corey wept. "Stop," she sobbed. "Stop, please stop."
Miss Ada straightened up and sneered down at us. "Do you still believe the dead cannot hurt the living?"
Corey and I stared at her, speechless with misery and fear.
"Consider the years I've lain in the grave," she went on in a low voice, "learning the ways of darkness, strengthening myself, seeking vengeance."
"We're sorry," Corey whispered. "We didn't mean any harm. It was just a game, a prank. If you let us go, we'll never—"
"Hush!" Miss Ada shook Corey so hard she cried out with pain. "Your apologies and promises mean nothing to me. You mocked me, dug up my grave, stole my account book, exposed my secrets, collaborated with my enemies. You must be punished!"
With a terrifying strength, she yanked us through the open window and into the night. Unable to keep up, we stumbled behind her, arms aching, too weak to break away from her. The grove lay ahead, a black blot on the lawn.
"What are you going to do to us?" Corey whimpered.
"What does it matter?" Miss Ada pulled us into the grove. "You are worthless. You have nothing to live for."
"Nothing to live for, nothing to live for. Nothing, nothing, nothing. "The word spread out around us like fog, dark and cold, obscuring everything. It was true. I was worthless. No one loved me, no one cared. If I died, no one would miss me.
"Nothing, nothing, nothing." The word was in the wind, in the grass, in the leaves, in the song the crickets sang.
I stopped struggling. "Nothing, nothing, nothing." I stopped fighting. "Nothing, nothing, nothing." I didn't care what happened to me. "Nothing, nothing, nothing."
Nearby Corey struggled with Miss Ada. She struck at her, she kicked. "Do something, Travis!" she yelled. "Help me!"
But I just stood there watching my
sister. Couldn't she see we deserved to be punished?
Keeping a tight grip on Corey, Miss Ada pointed upward. "See the noose up there? It's waiting for you. Climb to that branch, boy. My branch. The one I chose. Put the noose around your worthless neck and jump."
"No, Travis," Corey cried. "Don't listen to her—don't do it!"
Miss Ada shook my sister. "Be quiet," she said. "You'll be next."
While Corey sobbed, I began to climb slowly, like someone in a dream, hand over hand, from one branch to the next. All around me leaves rustled and sighed. "Nothing, nothing, nothing. "They brushed my face softly, tenderly. The tree swayed gently, lulling me. "Nothing, nothing, nothing."
The noose was just above my head. It turned slowly in the breeze. All I needed to do was climb to the next limb and slip it over my head. I boosted myself up carefully. I didn't want to fall. I had to do exactly as Miss Ada said. Follow her instructions. Atone for all the bad things I'd done.
As I reached for the noose, I looked down. Miss Ada stared up at me. Corey huddled at her feet. From this height, they were no bigger than the dolls in my sister's dollhouse.
"No," my sister cried. "Don't do it, Travis!"
I shook my head sadly. "I must," I whispered to myself.
"I must."
I reached out for the noose. The rope was hard, thick, old. It stank of mold. I tried to lift it over my head, but my hands shook so hard I dropped it. I watched it swing back and forth, back and forth, now in moonlight, now in shadow.
At the same moment, the breeze picked up and cool air struck my face. Suddenly, the darkness in my head began to lighten. Corey stood motionless below me, looking up, waiting. If I obeyed Miss Ada and put the noose around my neck, my sister would die, too.
"Do it!" Miss Ada screamed up at me. "Now!"
I shook my head, scared to defy her openly. The noose swayed, and I inched away from it, closer to the tree's solid trunk.
Miss Ada strode to the tree and began to climb. Her ragged dress fluttered, and the moon splashed shadows across her bony face. "You will do as I say, boy!"
Safe on the ground, Corey watched. For her sake as well as mine, I forced myself to say, "No. I won't do it. I won't..."
"You will do as I say." Miss Ada stopped just below me and reached for the noose. "Take it," she said. "Accept your punishment like a man, not a whining boy."
"No," I whispered. But even as I spoke, I found myself weakening. Miss Ada was so near I could smell her earthy odor. Her hair swirled like a black cloud, blocking my view of Corey. I shut my eyes to keep from seeing her, but this close, her power over me began to grow again.
"Caleb," I whispered, "Seth, Ira—where are you?"
Just above my head, the leaves parted, and Caleb peered down at me. Ira and Seth crouched beside him. Over their heads, the shadow children made the branches sway.
"Climb up here!" Caleb whispered. "Don't let her get close."
Grabbing his hand, I scrambled higher into the tree. Miss Ada lunged for me, but even though my legs and arms shook, I managed to outclimb her.
"Come back here, you wicked boy," she cried, "and do as I say."
Nauseated, I held a branch tightly. Part of me still wanted to obey Miss Ada, but a stronger part of me wanted to save Corey. And myself.
"Caleb Perkins, is that you?" Miss Ada yelled.
Caleb poked his head out of the leaves. "Yes, ma'am, it's me, all right."
Ira and Seth peered down at Miss Ada. "We're here, too."
"Go back to the ground where you belong," Miss Ada cried. "The boy and girl are mine now. Do you hear me? Go!"
"We ain't going nowhere," Seth said.
"You have no power to punish the living," Ira put in, his eyes bigger and darker than ever.
Miss Ada reached for a higher limb and began hoisting herself closer to us. "Have you forgotten who I am," she hissed, "and what I can do?"
Caleb looked Miss Ada square in the eye. "Not a one of us has forgotten who you are or what you did to us and ours, but Ira and me have figured something out." He leaned a little closer to her. "Now that we're dead, all our suffering's over. You can't hurt us unless we let you."
"And you can't hurt Travis and Corey unless they let you," Ira said.
Caleb's hand held mine tightly, pulling me toward him, away from Miss Ada.
She glared up at the bad ones. "Whatever I did to you was your own fault," she said. "You defied me, you were never satisfied, never grateful. You made me punish you, you made me hurt you."
As Miss Ada ranted, the shadow children surged down from the treetop, laughing and mocking her. Limb by limb, branch by branch, they drove her down the tree.
"Old lady witch," they chanted, "lives in a ditch, counts every stitch, wants to be rich."
On the ground once more, Miss Ada shook her fist at the bad ones. "Everything I did was for your own good. You had to learn your place in the world!"
While she hurled anger and spite at them, the shadow children dropped to the ground, barely visible in the moonlight, and circled the woman. One reached out and drew Corey into their midst. Ira, Caleb, Seth, and I scrambled down and joined them.
Holding hands, we whirled Miss Ada into a wild dance. Arms flailing, rags flying, hair tossing, she stumbled gracelessly as she reeled.
"Old lady witch," the shadow children sang, "go home to your ditch, scratch your itch, you'll never be rich!"
"Let me go," she cried. "Or—"
"Or what?" the shadow children jeered. "Your cane can't hurt none of us no more. We never eat, so you can't starve us. We don't feel the cold, so you can't freeze us."
"And you can't kill us," Seth shouted, "'cause we're already dead!"
With that, the shadow children retreated, still laughing. Corey dodged Miss Ada's outstretched hands, and the woman fell to the ground in a heap.
I put an arm around Corey and stared at the motionless bundle of rags and bones. "Is she gone now?"
Seth shook his head. Poking Miss Ada with his toe, he said, "Best get up, old lady."
Slowly, the rags stirred. Miss Ada raised her head but remained where she'd fallen. The moon cast the noose's shadow across her face. Exhaustion hung from her shoulders like a heavy weight.
The three boys stood in a row and stared at her. Behind them, the shadow children watched her silently.
"How dare you look at me like that." Miss Ada stood up slowly and faced us, unsteady on her feet but as full of pride and anger as ever. Her hair blew around her face like dead grass, and her mouth opened like a dark hole. "Go back to your resting places."
The shadow children murmured to each other, filling the air with a sound like the rustling of leaves in an autumn breeze. But none of them moved. All kept their eyes on the woman.
"Why do you defy me?" she cried.
"Tell us you're sorry," Ira said, and the shadow children's voices grew louder. "Yes, yes, yes, say you're sorry."
"Sorry?" Miss Ada stared at the bad ones. "Sorry? You should apologize to me, not I to you!"
"It's the only way to save yourself," Ira said calmly.
"You'd better think of saving yourself," Miss Ada said in a voice deadly with scorn. "You deserved everything I did to you—and more!"
"Are you sure you're not sorry?" Ira asked.
"Not even a little bit?" Caleb added.
"How can the likes of her be sorry?" Seth asked. "She's got no heart. Never did. Never will. She'll be howling in the grove till the world ends."
"Old lady witch," the shadow children jeered again, "dead in her ditch, dead from the itch, never to be rich."
Ira stretched out his hand and touched the woman's shoulder. She jerked away, wincing as if he'd hurt her. "Don't you dare lay your filthy hands on me!"
"Say you're sorry for all you did to us," he pleaded, "not just us children but all the folks who lived and died on this farm."
"I told you, I have nothing to be sorry for." Miss Ada's bony hands clenched and unclenched the rags of her once fine
silk dress. Her dull hair fell down her back, uncombed and matted with dirt and weeds. "I had a job to do, and I did it as I saw fit."
"If you weren't sorry," Caleb asked, "then why did you kill yourself?"
Seth started to say something, but Caleb put his hand over the little boy's mouth. "Shh," he whispered.
"Sorry had nothing to do with it," Miss Ada muttered. "My brother had taken our money and deserted me. I was ruined. Why live? They would have sent me to jail or ... or ... to a poor farm."
Seth jerked away from Caleb and laughed in Miss Ada's face. "I would've dearly loved to see you eating the stale bread you fed us!"
Miss Ada turned away to stare across the lawn at the inn. A man stood there, as still as death itself, barely visible in the darkness. "Cornelius," she whispered, "is that you?"
The man said nothing, but he raised his hand and gestured for her to join him.
Without knowing why, I cringed in fear. There was danger here. Corey sensed it, too, and drew closer to me. I could hear her breathing fast and shallow.
But Miss Ada gave a glad cry and took a step toward the shadowy figure.
To my surprise, Ira seized her arm. "Don't go—"
Furious, Miss Ada slapped his hand away. "Out of my way, boy. My brother has come for me at last."
"No!" Ira made another futile effort to stop her. "Look again!"
Caleb touched Ira's shoulder. "Let her go where she must go. We can't give her eyes to see what she won't see."
"Let her go to the devil hisself!" Seth clapped his hands and laughed out loud.
The shadow children giggled. "Old lady witch," they chanted, "old lady witch, dead in the ditch."
Too scared to move or speak, Corey and I watched Miss Ada make her way across the lawn to the waiting man.
"I thought you'd left me to take all the blame," she called to him.
The figure in the shadows said nothing, but he held out his arms to her. At the same time, he grew taller and more menacing. In her eagerness to join him, Miss Ada didn't notice the change until she'd almost reached him.
Stopping a few feet away, she stared up into his face. "You're not Cornelius," she whispered, "You—you are—"