"I want you to make Dulcie and Claire tell the truth," Sissy said. "They should be punished for what they did. It's not fair. They're grown up, and I'm—" She broke off and glared at me. "It's all their fault. Make them tell. Or they'll be sorry."
I stared at her, perplexed. "What can they tell? They weren't in the canoe with you."
"How can you be so dumb?" Sissy gave me a look of pure hatred. "Dulcie and Claire lied! They're still lying."
Emma looked from me to Sissy and back again. "What did Mommy lie about?"
"I was there," Sissy went on. "And so were they. I remember—and so do they!"
"Where were they?" Emma cried, her voice shrill with confusion and fear. "Tell me, Sissy, tell me!"
Sissy looked at me, not Emma. "Tell Dulcie what happened today." Each word dropped from her mouth, as hard as stone. "Don't leave anything out. Not the doll, not the canoe, not me. Then ask her what happened to Teresa."
"My mother and my aunt would never hurt anyone."
"No?" Sissy mocked me with her grin. "Oh, before I forget—make sure Dulcie knows the canoe belonged to your grandfather. He called it 'The Spirit of the Lake.' Good name, don't you think?"
Turning her back, Sissy swam away into the fog, taking the doll with her.
"Come back!" Emma cried after her. "You'll drown."
"You can't drown twice," Sissy called, her voice muffled by the water.
"Sissy," Emma called again. "Sissy!"
No one answered. No one came swimming out of the fog.
Emma clutched my arm. "Is Sissy really Sissy? Or is she somebody else?"
I hesitated, unsure how much she'd figured out. Finally, I said, "Deep down inside, I think you know who Sissy is."
Emma nodded slowly. "'You can't drown twice,'" she said, echoing Sissy's words.
I drew her closer to me, holding her tight. The water was cold, and our arms ached. I only hoped that someone would find us before we lost our grip on the canoe.
18
Just as daylight began to fade, a wind sprang up and blew the fog away, shred by shred. Not far off, I saw a motorboat headed in our direction.
"Help," I shouted, desperate to be seen. "Help, help!"
Emma yelled, too.
A man on the boat turned and looked in our direction. "There's two kids over there," he yelled to another man. "Hanging on to a canoe."
The boat turned and made its way toward Emma and me. In a few moments, strong hands pulled us out of the water and into the boat.
"Is your name Alison O'Dwyer?" the man asked.
"Yes, sir. And this is my cousin, Emma Madison. We—"
"It's the missing girls!" he shouted to his friend. "The ones we heard about on the radio. Call the harbor police. Let 'em know they're okay."
He wrapped us in blankets and poured hot tea from a thermos. Emma and I took the cups gratefully, warming our hands as we drank. I thought I'd never stop shivering.
"What the devil were you doing way out here?" he asked. "If the fog hadn't lifted when it did, we'd have passed right by and never seen you."
Emma burrowed into my side like a newborn kitten seeking warmth, leaving me to make up a credible story.
"We saw the canoe on the shore," I began, "and we thought it would be fun to try it out. But we didn't really know how to paddle, and we got lost in the fog. It was a stupid thing to do."
"It sure was," the man agreed. "The whole town's been looking for you two."
I squeezed Emma's hand, but neither of us said a word. We just huddled together under the scratchy wool blankets and watched as Webster's Cove came closer and closer.
At least half the town was waiting for us on the dock. As soon as the men tied the boat up, Dulcie ran to us. Her hair was a wild mass of uncombed curls, and she'd been crying. Sweeping up Emma, blanket and all, she held her tight. "Emma, Emma," she sobbed. "Thank God, you're safe."
I stood there, all alone. After what I'd been through, I needed comforting, too, but I had a sinking feeling I wouldn't get it from Dulcie. At any moment, I expected her to blame me for everything.
Suddenly, Ms. Trent was at my side, hugging me. "Ali, why didn't you wait for me? If anything had happened to you..." She hugged me again, even tighter.
Dulcie looked at me over Emma's head, as if she'd just remembered I was there. "You have some explaining to do," she said.
A policeman took her aside and began asking questions that I couldn't quite hear. Dulcie beckoned to me, and Ms. Trent squeezed my hand as if wishing me good luck. As my one friend disappeared into the crowd, Dulcie bundled Emma and me into the car.
"The police think you two should be checked at the emergency room," Dulcie said. Without looking at me, she secured Emma in her child safety seat and drove to the hospital.
A nurse led Emma and me to an examining room, where we stripped off our wet clothes and put on paper gowns about ten sizes too big for me and twenty sizes too big for Emma. Both of us were still shaking with cold.
A doctor examined us. She pronounced me fine, except for a touch of hypothermia, which would have been worse if we'd been in the water much longer. She said Emma was still running a fever, and might have strep throat as well as mild hypothermia.
"Continue with Emma's medicine," she told Dulcie. "Bundle them both up nice and warm, give them hot soup, hot tea, and plenty of love. They've had a terrible experience."
An hour or so later, I faced Dulcie across the kitchen table. By then, Emma was in bed, sound asleep.
Clutching her coffee mug in both hands, she seemed more unhappy than angry. In a way, that was worse. "Tell me why you took Emma out in that canoe," she said. "Without even a life jacket."
I fidgeted with my place mat as if it were vital to keep its edge parallel to the edge of the table. "Promise you won't be mad."
"Why shouldn't I be mad?"
I moved the place mat a bit to the right and then back to the left. "After you called Ms. Trent," I said in a low voice, "I left her house and went to look for Emma. I found her by the lake with Sissy. Sissy wanted to take her for a ride in an old canoe."
Watching Dulcie closely, I added, "It was called 'The Spirit of the Lake.' Sissy said it used to be Grandfather's canoe."
"Yes ... that's what my father named it." Dulcie held the mug tightly, her whole body tense. "But it can't be the same canoe. He got rid of it after we stopped coming here."
"Sissy had that doll with her—the one you threw in the lake. She said if Emma got in the canoe, she could hold it. I tried to stop Emma, but she wouldn't listen to me. Finally, I got in, too." I shifted the place mat a fraction of an inch. "I didn't know what else to do."
Dulcie sat with her head in her hands. I couldn't see her face. "Go on," she said.
"Sissy paddled way out into the fog. We couldn't see the shore—we could hardly see each other. She started teasing Emma with the doll. And then she threw it in the water and the canoe turned over and..."
Dulcie got up and left the kitchen. She didn't look at me. She didn't say anything. She just walked out.
I stayed at the table, turning the place mat round and round aimlessly. Even though Dulcie had loaned me her warmest fleece bathrobe, I was still cold. Once I glanced at the window, fearing Sissy might be watching me, but the glass panes reflected the kitchen, hiding the darkness outside—as well as anything lurking there.
Finally, Dulcie came back. She sat down and shoved a photograph toward me. It was the same one I'd found at home, only it wasn't torn. There was Mom with a sad face, there was Dulcie beside her with a big grin, and there was the third girl, the one torn out of Mom's copy. Her face was almost hidden in the shadows, but her light hair caught the sunlight. Smirking with satisfaction, Sissy held the doll Edith, brand-new, her hair perfect.
Dulcie touched the photo with the tip of her finger. "That's Teresa Abbott, the girl who drowned in the lake."
To Dulcie, the girl was Teresa, but to Emma and me, she was Sissy. Even though I'd already figured it out, I shud
dered.
Dulcie seized my hands and stared into my eyes. "Is Teresa ... the girl you call Sissy?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"It can't be," Dulcie whispered. "It can't. I don't believe in ghosts, I don't want to believe in ghosts, but..." For a moment, she sat there speechless. "But there's no other explanation. Is there?"
I shook my head. Outside in the darkness, the wind rose, and something tapped the windowpane. I turned to look, expecting to see Sissy's face pressed against the glass, her thin fingers knocking to come in. But nothing was there.
Dulcie picked up her cup to drink, but her hands shook so badly she put it down without taking a sip. "It was the worst thing I ever did. I've tried to forget about it, pretend it never happened." Her voice dropped so low I could barely hear what she said. "But I can't forget her. And neither can your mother."
"Sissy doesn't want you to forget," I said.
Dulcie bent her head over the photo. "The doll," she said. "Edith. Mother gave it to Claire on her eighth birthday."
"But why is Sissy holding it?" I asked.
"Teresa loved to tease Claire with that doll. She'd snatch it way from her and make her beg to get it back. The more your mother cried, the more Teresa tormented her."
I stared at her, shocked. "You were the oldest. Why did you let Sissy pick on Mom like that?"
Dulcie studied the three girls in the photograph. "It's not a nice thing to say, but I used to be jealous of your mother," she said. "She was always sweet and nice, and I wasn't. Most people liked her better than me."
I wanted to sympathize with my aunt, but it hurt to learn that she let Sissy torment my mother. As an only child, I had all sorts of notions about sisters and how they took up for each other—blood being thicker than water and all that.
"So when Teresa teased Claire," Dulcie went on, "I'd go along with her. I guess I wanted her to like me more than Claire. Not a good excuse, but I'm afraid that's how it was." She looked past me, at the darkness outside. "Your mother was right. I should never have come back here."
I clung to the edge of my chair with both hands. "What happened the day Sissy drowned?"
Dulcie picked up the photo, put it down, turned it over to hide the three faces. "It was a few days after Claire's birthday," she began. "Mom and Dad had gone shopping in Webster's Cove. Teresa came over and started teasing Claire. She grabbed Edith and ran down the steps to the lake. I dashed after her, laughing. Claire followed me, crying for the doll."
She paused to take a sip of coffee, made a face, and put the mug down. "Cold."
"What happened next?" I asked.
"Teresa got in Dad's canoe," Dulcie said. "It was against the rules to go anywhere in that canoe without one of our parents, but I jumped in after her."
Dulcie shook her head. "But not Claire. Even then she was scared of water. She stood on the dock, threatening to tell. Teresa said if Claire didn't come with us, she'd take Edith home and keep her."
The wind had picked up, and it moaned in the pines the way it had in the cemetery. It seemed as if all the sadness in the world had been sucked up into that sound.
"Claire finally got in the canoe," Dulcie went on, "and Teresa pushed off. We hadn't gotten very far when the fog rolled in. We couldn't see the shore. It was like being lost in a cloud. Kind of magical and scary at the same time."
She started pacing around the kitchen. "Teresa tossed Edith to me. I threw her to Teresa. Claire lunged back and forth, rocking the canoe, trying to catch her doll. A game of keep-away—that's how it started. Kids play it all the time. But it wasn't a game to Claire. She begged me to give her the doll. She kept saying, 'You're my sister, Dulcie, you're my sister!'"
Dulcie stopped pacing and poured herself more coffee, hot this time. "Suddenly, I got sick of the whole thing. Sick of Teresa. Sick of Claire. Sick of the stupid doll. When Teresa tossed it to me, I threw it in the lake. I grabbed the paddle from Teresa and started to turn around. I figured that was the end of it: Nobody would have the doll."
She went to the window and peered out into the windy night. "But things didn't go the way I planned. Claire sat there crying, like she always did, but Teresa was stubborn. She wanted that doll so badly she jumped into the lake after it. The canoe tipped over then, and Claire and I went in, too. I got Claire to the canoe, and we hung on to the sides. But Teresa swam after the doll. I yelled at her to come back. She ignored me. And then she was gone. Just like that. In the water with us one minute, lost in the fog the next. Claire and I shouted till we were hoarse, but Teresa didn't answer."
I watched my aunt go from one window to the next as if she were still looking for Teresa. "The canoe floated to shore, where the rocks are. We left it there and ran all the way home. I told Claire it was a trick. Teresa had fooled us somehow. She'd be waiting for us on the porch. I think I believed it myself." Dulcie glanced at me. "But she wasn't there."
She picked up a sponge and wiped away a spot on the counter. "Claire started crying again. So did I. Teresa was dead—we knew she was. And it was my fault. I'd thrown the doll in the lake. I thought I'd be charged with murder, arrested, sent to jail. I was just a child—what did I know about the law, or what could happen to me?" Her voice rose. She was breathing hard, talking fast, as if the police might arrive at any moment, sirens howling, lights flashing.
"I made Claire promise not to tell anyone we'd gone out in the canoe. We'd been in the house all day. We hadn't seen Teresa."
Dulcie sat down across from me. "When our parents came home, we were sitting right here at the kitchen table, drawing pictures, doing our best to act like nothing was wrong. A few minutes later, the phone rang. It was Mrs. Abbott. Mom turned to us and asked if we'd seen Teresa. We lied and said no. After that, we couldn't stop lying. We lied to the Abbotts, to the police, to everyone. Even ourselves. It was horrible. Horrible. I didn't mean for Teresa to die, I didn't—it was an accident."
Dulcie covered her face with her hands and began to cry. "I'd give anything to go back in time and undo what I did."
I sat there, a silent lump of misery, too shocked to say anything. My mother and my aunt had lied. Lied. And all these years, they'd gone on lying. And Sissy had lain alone in the lake, waiting for them to come back. Waiting for them to tell the truth.
Finally, Dulcie reached for the tissue box. Her face was pale, her eyes red rimmed and puffy.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Go back to New York." She blew her nose. "We'll leave tomorrow."
"But what about Sissy?"
"Sissy?" Dulcie stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.
"Teresa, I mean." It was hard to call Sissy anything but Sissy. "I told you what she said. You have to tell the truth—or you'll be sorry."
Dulcie jumped up and went to the window again. The glass streamed with rain. "Who can I tell? Mr. and Mrs. Abbott are dead. I don't know where her sister, Linda, is."
I followed my aunt and rested my head against her shoulder. "How about the police?"
"They wouldn't be interested after all these years." Dulcie peered into the rainy night. "Besides, it was an accident. I didn't know Teresa would jump out of the canoe. I didn't know she'd drown." Her voice wavered and grew stronger. "I was scared. For God's sake, I was only ten years old!"
Tippety-tap, tippety-tap. The branch whipped back and forth in the wind, rapping against the glass again.
Suddenly, Dulcie closed the curtains and moved away from the window. "I can't talk about this," she said. "I'm going to bed."
I watched her walk toward Emma's room. I stayed where I was, my back to the window. A few moments later, Dulcie carried Emma down the hall to her bedroom. Emma was sound asleep, limp and relaxed in her mother's arms. Dulcie didn't look at me or say anything. In the silence, I heard the door close behind them.
Reluctantly, I climbed the stairs to my room. Never had I felt so sad or so totally and completely alone. Why hadn't Dulcie invited me to sleep with her and Emma? Didn't she think I needed comp
any, too?
At the top of the steps, a cold draft rushed out to meet me, circling my ankles, chilling me from the knees down. My window was wide open, and the rain had blown inside, soaking the floor and the magazines on top of my bookcase. I rushed to the casement and struggled with the crank, fighting the wind to close it.
As I reached for the light, a cold hand grabbed my wrist. "Don't bother," Sissy whispered. "I'm used to the dark." In her other hand, she clutched Edith the doll.
More startled than scared, I tried to pull away from her, but she held me tightly. The doll fell to the floor as we struggled. "What do you want?" I whispered.
"Did you tell Dulcie what happened today?"
"Yes." I peered at Sissy's thin, pointed face. "And she told me what happened to you."
Sissy kept her icy grip on my wrist. "So she remembers after all. Is she going to confess what she did?"
"It was an accident, Sissy," I said slowly. "Dulcie didn't mean for you to drown. She didn't push you in the lake—you jumped."
Sissy tightened her hold on my wrist and scowled. "She knew I'd go after the doll. She hated me—just like you do. She planned the whole thing. She wanted me to drown."
I heard the anger in her voice, and I saw the anguish in her eyes. "Dulcie didn't want you to die," I said. "She didn't hate you. And neither do I."
Sissy let go of me and rescued Edith from a puddle of rainwater on the floor. "You used to hate me," she muttered, hugging the doll to her skinny chest. "Now you just feel sorry for me. You don't really like me. Nobody does."
I rubbed my wrist to take the chill of Sissy's hands away. She stood by the window, holding the doll tightly, her face filled with misery.
"You're cold." I took a spare blanket from the closet and wrapped it around her. Then I dried her hair with a T-shirt, rubbing her scalp hard to warm her. It was strange—she felt solid but somehow insubstantial, boneless, as if she could melt away at any moment.
"Will you comb my hair?" she asked.