Chapter 10
The class bells buzzed as Lydia stepped out the back door dressed in old jeans, long-sleeved cotton shirt, gloves and sunhat. After retrieving the long-handled heavy clippers she had purchased, a rake, garbage bags and heavy string, she headed for the bushes. With the first clips she knew the task was not an easy one. Thorns from the raspberry bushes pushed through her gloves as if in protest, as she cut and pulled the brambles from their resting places, their home of many years. Finding a way to compress them into a manageable bundle meant cutting each long berry branch into small segments, then stomping on them and tying them loosely. She gave up on the garbage bags, and resorted to starting a pile toward the back of the lot with the hopes that they would disintegrate into compost.
It was noontime when Lydia finally paused long enough to look up and notice five faces looking at her over the fence.
“Hi, Miss Kinnen,” one of them said. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” she answered, somewhat testily. She was tired, her arms were scratched and bleeding, she was sticky with perspiration and dust, and now she had curious onlookers. The shed was uncovered, but dirt, dead leaves and ivy vines still needed removing before she was ready to crack open the door.
“You going to let out the dead children?” another asked.
“Can we come see?” asked a third.
The startling question made Lydia laugh. She leaned on the rake handle and eyed the girls. One of them fiddled with the hook on the gate, got it unlatched, then hesitated.
“Well, come on in,” Lydia said, “but watch where you step. It’s pretty dirty here.”
The five girls came closer and one of them stooped down to pet Sid who had come around investigating, then sat down on the sidewalk as he twined around her arms purring happily. “You’re not going to have pink slacks very long...Amber.” Lydia guessed at the name. The girl wore a white blouse and her long blonde hair was pulled back and tied with a small white ribbon. Her bangs came down to her eyebrows.
“He likes me,” the girl said, smiling.
“So are you opening the door?” asked the girl in overalls whose long brown hair was parted in the middle and tucked behind her ears. She was a stocky girl with strong looking arms and legs, and her expression was impatient and a bit peevish. Lydia remembered her in Pearl’s class as the one who asked if she were the ghost lady. And, Pearl had said, the granddaughter of Mike and Charlette Harris.
“You’re Jennifer Harris, right?” Lydia asked.
“Yeahhh,” she grunted, cast her eyes down and stuck her hands in her pockets.
“And you’re looking for some dead children, or something?”
Jennifer squirmed, frowned, pouted.
“She’s just kidding, Miss Kinnen,” said the girl in a long blue and white trundle skirt, standing close to Jennifer.
“Ah,” said Lydia. “And if I recall, you’re Tanya Seward. You two are like sisters. Only I guess you’re cousins or something.” Tanya grinned but didn’t clarify. “Your mothers are sisters, or something,” Lydia went on. “Shirley and Charlette. Shirley Seward and Charlette Harris, am I getting it right?” Lydia felt a bit conspiratorial, pretending she didn’t know it really was grandmother and mother. She figured it might be a private thing and if it were really important she’d be straightened out eventually.
The two girls nodded solemnly, as the others looked on with puzzled expressions, as if they were being left out of something but weren’t sure it was something they wanted to know.
Lydia took off her dirty gloves and slapped them together to shake off dust. Without really looking at the girls she said, “I believe we’re more likely to find some dead dolls, girls,” Lydia turned to Jennifer and smiled. “As I recall there were a couple dolls that my sister and I had to leave behind.” She turned away as a flash of memory envisioned decisions they were forced to make. You can’t take everything, were the words. Leave something to play with when you come back to visit. But the feeling was hurry, hurry. Lydia sighed. “Maybe we’ll find some books, too. Or pictures. Maybe games. Who knows? Like a good mystery, huh?” Lydia noticed one of the girls hanging back, the same one that seemed so embarrassed and shy in Pearl’s classroom. If she remembered correctly that would be Meagan, a relative newcomer to the community. And that left the other one, the red-head with freckles to be Robin. Yeah, like the red-red-robin. She chuckled to herself. One way to remember names. But also, Robin’s mother was the poet, the actress. Persia. She almost mentioned having seen her mother’s poems that had impressed her, then remembered the rule of confidentiality.
“I hear your class is giving a graduation party for the 6th grade in a few weeks. A treasure hunt, or something? And you’ve got two boys in your class. Where are they?” Lydia was chiding a bit. “You let them in on your plans?”
“Morgan’s making the map for the treasure hunt,” volunteered Robin. “He’s the smart one.” She said this in all seriousness.
“And Cliff’s his helper,” Amber said with a giggle that ended with her burrowing her head into Sid’s fur. “They’re going to take us all over the school grounds. And it’s going to be at night so we have to use flashlights,” she said looking up from her awkward, head bent position. Sid began to growl from her tight embrace. Startled, she let him go. He shook himself and walked away.
“And that’s when the ghosts will be out,” Jennifer said too matter-of-factly, making Lydia wonder if it covered some fear.
“Oh, well, I suppose that should be exciting,” Lydia said, to see what reaction she’d get. Then she thought of something. “As I recall there were Indians in this area a long time ago. Maybe they had some battles here. You think? Maybe the long dead Mesquakee will come out and put on a show for you.” Lydia felt mean. How could they know she was teasing? leading them on? And she was put out with Jake Jackson for keeping the stories about her ghost mother going? What was wrong with her?
Tanya actually clapped her hands. “Miss Kinnen, maybe we could use something in the shed for the treasure hunt.”
“My, you really are eager for me to open that door, aren’t you?”
The girls stepped closer. Amber got up from the sidewalk. But just as Lydia was trying the various keys she had found in the lock, the class bells buzzed for the end of the noon recess and the girls gave a unified groan.
“Tell you what. Come over tomorrow noon and I’ll tell you what I’ve found. Show you, maybe. It’ll be cleaner.”
“But tomorrow’s Saturday,” complained Tanya.
“Well, Monday, then. That’s even better, give me more time to clean the place. I’ll even make some lemonade and cookies. Tell Pearl, your teacher. All right?” The girls nodded, and slowly left. Sid at first followed, but Lydia called him back.
She gave a long sigh as she watched them walk back to the schoolhouse. What in the world was in their minds? What in the world was in hers?
In the end, Lydia resorted to a hammer to break the lock, succeeding in tearing into the wood frame, which would now need a repair. But the small door swung open and she dipped her head to look in. Windowless and dark, it smelled mostly of dust and mice. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a humped-back trunk, a green metal trunk, and other wood and cardboard boxes. She guessed the trunks would have the toys and dolls and other memorabilia from her parents and grandparents days. But she checked the cardboard boxes first, as they seemed to be files of letters, pamphlets, clippings. One of the boxes held grade books, which Lydia pulled out, curious as to what children’s names they might include from thirty years ago. She opened one, apparently one of her mother’s English classes and ran down the list of names. No Harris, no Reed. There was a Seward, though. Stanley. She noted the grades—A’s ran across the line, one B+ tucked in there. What was the subject? Composition. Lydia wondered what composition consisted of, and what class, junior, senior? She looked fo
r the year but it wasn’t obvious. She wondered if any student papers existed. Wouldn’t that be revealing. Squatting next to the box, Lydia’s legs started to feel prickly and numb. She shifted position, and in so doing knocked into another box that spilled some of its contents. Old folded newspaper clippings, falling apart, yellowed, headlines “Couple found dead in New Hope gym. No motive, but teenagers suspected of doing drugs, being interrupted. Not a break-in.”
Lydia got the picture. This was the early stage of the murder investigation. Suspicions, puzzles, silence. How long had it taken for the truth to unravel?
“Why” was the question her ghost mother was asking. She half expected her to show up and look over her shoulder, but maybe it wasn’t necessary. Maybe her own curiosity was enough. She wondered, could those on the other side know what was happening here? Wouldn’t they have to get in sync, so to speak, somehow will themselves into the right vibrations to break that veil between the two realms? Lydia let the thought go, concentrating on what was before her. She rifled through a variety of articles that were saved in a folder. Another folder held some pages that looked like notices of some kind. Letters cut out from something spelled out “traitor,” and “down with peace,” “love it or leave it,” “support our troops, not our enemy.” The letters were pasted on in a careless, crooked, way as if to add to the insults and threats.
Lydia couldn’t take any more. She went to the trunk, which was unlocked, opened the lid—there lay Jane, hair all matted, eyes closed. Lydia sat her up so the eyes opened, and her pert, pink mouth formed a kind of “oh.” A tightness came to Lydia’s throat, seeing the blushed cheeks on this china head still trying to be cheerful. She pressed down the wrinkled dress, straightened the little white shoes and anklets, and hugged the doll to her breast, her own cheeks becoming wet and eyes blurry.
“Well, well, well,” came a voice from the door. Margie was looking in. “I wondered where you were. Lunch time, you know,” she advised. Lydia released the doll from her grasp and slipped Jane back into the trunk.
Lydia choked out an answer. “Yeah.” She suddenly felt very tired. “Guess I could use a pick-me-up about now.”
Out in the sunshine, Lydia squinted as she adjusted to the light. “Those five girls came over,” she commented as she walked with Margie to the kitchen.
“I noticed,” Margie said. “What’d they want?”
“They wanted me to let the dead children out,” Lydia snorted, then coughed, trying to recover from tears and laughter. “I told them to come over Monday noon for cookies and lemonade. They also wanted something for the treasure hunt. I said I’d try to find something.”
“Great. Just what we need. Some kids snooping into our lives.” Margie marched ahead, then ran as she heard the whistling teakettle.