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Steam rose from the ground after an all night rain the morning Lydia and Margie decided to make their first visit to the gym. Sun broke through clouds scattered across the sky. The smell of new vegetation filled the air. Yellow dandelions had popped out in the green lawn between their house and the school buildings. Along the fence between their two properties violets bloomed. A current of excitement run through Lydia at the thought of getting her hands into the earth and discovering what else it might be sheltering. Soon she would give herself time to explore.
Lydia had shared with Margie only briefly her little talk with Mr. Stephenson, not wanting to upset her more than necessary. But she did wonder who Mr. Stephenson felt close to these days. Apparently not the “rich Quakers.” Maybe Jake Jackson? She tucked it all in the back of her mind.
The gym sat back from the schoolhouse, a bit toward the Kinnen property. The school driveway ran between the two buildings and around the big oak newly leafing that spread its limbs protectively over the drive, some of them nearly touching the windows of the schoolhouse. The lawn that came up to their property was popular with children for games of tag, hide and seek, stop and go. The regular ball diamond and playground equipment were on the other side of the school buildings out of their sight. Lately, Lydia noticed the girls she had met in Pearl Palmer’s class gathered on the lawn on this side, whispering to each other, giggling, and sometimes looking toward their house as if they were planning some mischief.
Right now, just after lunch, all the children were in class and they would not be disturbed by them in a visit to the gym. Lydia and Margie made their way over wet ground, avoiding a few patches of melting ice that had once been trampled snow. Once on the cleared sidewalk they stamped their feet to free them of moisture.
They looked up to the double front doors of the round red brick gym. Lydia thought it looked like a squatting woman about to give birth, but maybe it was the secrets it held that were about to give birth. Apprehensive, she held back, let Margie plunge ahead, open one of the doors and hold it for her.
“Coming?” Margie called.
“Yes,” Lydia said with a resigned sigh. She wanted to ask why she so was gung-ho all of a sudden, why it wasn’t hitting her that this was the place where their parents had taken their last breath and that they hadn’t been in the gym since.
In the summers when they had visited their grandparents the gym was closed and the school grounds empty except when Little League used the ball diamonds. Still, she and Margie had played on the swings and slide at times. She supposed the town children were as busy as those on the farms, though she wasn’t sure at what. By their teens, of course, most probably hired out to farmers needing extra help, either in the fields or in the house. Now, with her mother calling her in her dreams, as well as those other little episodes, this visit to the gym felt like stepping into the lion’s den. She already felt it’s heavy darkness. Lydia was glad Margie was along, even though she refused to take seriously that their mother was trying to get through for some answers. Ask them ‘why’ she had said. Who is ‘them’ mother? The five there that night? Or those like Mr. Stephenson? Lydia stepped into the foyer and a cold blast of air made her shiver. But it wasn’t air conditioning because there was none. Maybe just left-over night cooling.
Or some force that didn’t like them there. Whatever it was she had to stop and catch her breath. Lydia swallowed hard, hoping Margie hadn’t noticed and took a moment to study the trophies in the glass case in the foyer, between the two sets of stairs. It held the basketball awards given out through the years. She breathed slowly in and slowly out several times to calm her nerves and relax the tension that had come into her neck.
“The place has shrunk,” Lydia whispered to Margie, right beside her, doing her own “adjusting.”
“Guess you’ve grown in the past 30 years,” Margie whispered back, then gave a little chuckle. “I wonder where the trophy is that Dale Harris was supposed to have won for the team back before he graduated.”
“Probably stored somewhere. I don’t see any here older than five years, ten.” Lydia wondered, too. “Deliberate, you think? Or just practical, no more room.”
“Yeah,” Margie answered. “Those old articles in the Delora Times that Uncle Ted and Aunt Nora saved indicated he was some kind of star player. Remember? The reason those kids came to the gym That Night was because he wanted to see the court again?”
“Yes, and that’s where our parents found them, down in the basement. And interrupted...” Lydia didn’t know how the finish the sentence. What had they interrupted? Kids smoking pot the papers suggested. But Mr. Stephenson accused them of confronting Dale. With what? Yes, Dale, what was it? Here she was, just as the children said, talking to ghosts. Lydia silently chuckled, half expecting to get another blast of cold air.
Margie and Lydia continued to look at the trophies. Talking side by side this way, not looking at each other was a lot safer with this delicate topic.
“So you don’t hold any anger toward him?” Lydia asked, fully aware that an eavesdropping ghost was around. Still, though this Dale was the one who took their parents away, in her own heart it was her grandparents that had sent them away. And forgiven him.
Margie sighed. “I used to, Lydia. But what’s the use? Life takes people away.” She turned away from the cases and looked at the stairs. “Which shall we take? Up to the basketball court and bleachers, or up to the basketball court and stage?”
Lydia imagined Margie referred to her divorce. Maybe Dianne, too. “Well, yeah,” Lydia said. “We get abandoned. But that’s only to make us look for what Grandma called The Comforter.” Lydia was calling on her back-up team right now, for comfort, and protection if need be. She didn’t know what spiritual life Margie had, if any, so she didn’t say anything more. Their aunt and uncle had taken them to Sunday School and church faithfully, for all those years. Then when they left home for college, the world took over, the world of work to support the body.
“We’re going to have to attend church soon, you know. It’s going to be expected in this community,” Lydia said behind Margie’s retreating back. She was headed toward the stairs to the left.
“I wonder if the stage looks as big as it used to,” Margie said, turning to smile at Lydia.
So much for the topic of religion, Lydia thought. At the top of the stairs Margie pushed open the double doors onto the basketball court and held it for Lydia. The stage was at the left. Margie headed for it’s door.
“They’ve sure kept the gym floor in good condition,” Lydia exclaimed. A high sheen reflected off the floor and she remembered the squeak of rubber-soled shoes as children twisted and turned in their running and shooting baskets. It had been a noon-time free for all back in those days that Lydia sometimes briefly watched with her friends, all too small to enter into as the big kids bumped into each other without thinking.
Margie crossed the court without apparent interest, eager to find the light switch for the stage. Lydia followed her through the door and up the steps. Dusty tan side curtains hid the stage from their view until they walked over to the small opening for performance entrances and exits. A faded maroon curtain was pulled across the front of the stage.
“That’s where we waited,” Margie said, pointing to the place where she and the other fairies lined up. “Then the prompter motioned us forward into the bright foot-lights. I was so relieved when we couldn’t see the audience, and could just do our dance like any practice routine.” She giggled, remembering.
“Mom made our dresses,” Lydia added.
“Actually, Grandma,” Margie replied. “Mom never had time for that, Lydia.” The tone in her voice was neither accusatory nor regretful, but maybe a tinge of each with a measured portion of empathy. “Mom had her books to study. Papers to grade. Her writing to do.”
“Well, then where are all her notes?” This was a
new thought for Lydia. What if some of her writing still existed? Wouldn’t that be revealing?
Margie looked at her as if the thought were new to her also. “The old shed out in back?” Her eyes sparkled conspiratorially, the first time Lydia saw any interest her sister take in understanding their mother.
“Almost all covered with raspberry brambles, I noticed. As well as other weeds and little oak trees. I don’t know how you and Jake got anything out of there.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Margie said.
“Everything’s covered up back there—the graves in the old family cemetery, the old garden plot, too. But I’m making that one of my projects, Margie. Soon as the weather breaks. Get my hands into some soil. You do the papering and painting if you want. Let me work outside.”
Margie laughed. “You and Sid, I suppose. I can see you now, nosing around in the cold and wet weeds. As for the inside work, we’ve still got to decide the future of the house. And that depends on the future of the school, maybe.”
“Maybe. But Sherrie seemed pretty sure our house wouldn’t be torn down. Not if there’s some money to be made. And if there’s really two different issues...”
“Don’t know, Lydia. We just need more information from the community. Where is it headed?”
Behind them a man cleared his throat, startling the sisters. They whirled around, and saw Jake Jackson coming up the stairs in his blue work pants and shirt. He wore a heavy tool belt and his hands were dark and greasy looking. “Saw you come in,” he said, “but couldn’t stop what I was doing just then. Can I help you with something?”
“We’re just looking, thanks. Recalling some of the plays when we were kids,” Margie said.
“Guess it’s probably changed since then,” Jake said with a bit of quizzical smile. “I suppose you’re going downstairs and see the place,” he added, his expression a curious blend of taunting and anxiety.
Lydia felt Margie tense beside her. They had unconsciously moved closer together, shoulder to shoulder, like one unit against an enemy.
“The place,” Lydia repeated. “Like it’s some special attraction?” The reference made it sound circus-like, a barker yelling out come one, come all, see the place. “Where you saw our parents murdered, and so you keep the story going. It must make you important,” she threw out, the burn in every cell of her body slowly increasing, slowly heating her whole skin. Of course ghosts would be attracted to ‘the place,’ when encouraged by the constant energy of talk by a caretaker wanting to impress children with his phenomenal experience of being there and seeing it all. And in a small school, small town everyone knows everyone else so the story gets telegraphed by eager mouths.
“You’re wrong there,” Jake said, in a defensive bark. “Wasn’t any murder. Just Dale going crazy, thinking some enemy was coming after him. Crazy people do crazy things.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What I’m talking about, is the place where they come back and it isn’t me telling the little kids about ghosts. They do that on their own.”
Margie raised her eyebrows and Lydia took a deep breath.
“So why’d you let Dale do what he did?” Lydia asked.
“Ma’am, nobody could stop him. We piled on him, Mike and Stanley and me and he just kept hitting and beating and we were like ants on an enraged elephant.” Jake raised his hand, then let it down in a defeated manner, his eyes down too. “There wasn’t anything more we could do.” “Is that what you tell the children?” Lydia accused.
“Well, now,” Jake snorted. “Kids keep at me, year after year, driving me nuts with their questions. Bad enough that my father couldn’t take it. Now they’re after me. So as long as you’re back, set those kids straight. Tell them they shouldn’t keep thinking about that place the way they do. Tell them ghosts don’t exist unless they keep talking them up.”
Chills slid up Lydia’s spine. Goose bumps spread over her arms. You make ghosts appear...and disappear, the children had said. Lydia felt Margie beside her but didn’t dare send her a look. “Why is that our responsibility?” Lydia asked.
“It’s bad enough I have to take care of the school grounds,” Jake complained, completely ignoring the question. “And your grandparents property, too. You ask where the community is going? Well, if I had my druthers they’d tear these buildings down, your place, too, and get back to some peace.”
“Then you’d be out of a job.”
“Then I could move on, Misses. I’ve had plans, you know. Here I am forty-five years old and still doing what my Dad was doing.” His voice was becoming plaintive and Lydia felt embarrassed for him. She wanted to escape but he was between them and the stairs, and he seemed to want to talk, and talk.
“Is your father still living?” Margie asked, perhaps for curiosity, perhaps for compassion.
“Now that’s a good question. Is Alzheimer’s living? In hell, maybe. Naw, he’s in a nursing home over in Delora. Mom got a job there so she takes care of him. My wife and I keep the place here running.”
“You’ve done a good job, Jake,” Margie said.
“Maybe. Not been easy, though. You know that cemetery, that old shed out back of your place? Used to try to keep it cleared. But kids.” He shook his head. “Those headstones were just too tempting come Halloween time. Even with your grandparents here. Had to rescue those stones several times. Should’ve gotten paid as a private detective. The superintendent finally got the school board to threaten lawsuits if the parents couldn’t keep their kids in line. Tried to keep the sheriff out of it. It works best to keep the weeds growing over that part of the lot.” Jake took out a red handkerchief and wiped his face.
“So, I guess you’d find it easier if everything was just torn down,” Margie said. “Out of sight, out of mind, sort of.”
“You said that right.”
“How many people agree with you?” Lydia asked.
“Oh, a few. Guess we’ll see soon. When they have that meeting. Well, say, I’ve got to get back to work. Didn’t mean to run off at the mouth this way. Sorry, ladies. But maybe you can see my position.”
“We’ll try,” Margie said.
Jake turned, went down the stairs and disappeared. Margie and Lydia were left exhausted, the information almost too much to take in.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Margie said, a sick look on her face. Lydia nodded.
“We’ll come back some other time,” Lydia said in a soft consoling voice. Inwardly, she was calling her back-up team to send her strength, patience and understanding and visualizing peace and harmony around Jake and themselves, then spreading it out to the whole gym.
Chapter 8