One for Sorrow

by Mary Downing Hahn

  “Please, Annie, stop shouting. Take a deep breath, relax.” Dr. Benson took my hand. “Now, tell me why you think you killed Rosie.”

  Even though I knew it was useless to explain, I said, “Elsie hated Rosie. She wanted her to die. She made me put her flu mask in Rosie’s bookbag, and Rosie caught the flu, and now she’s dead.”

  “Oh, Annie, my dear child, where do you get these ideas? You didn’t kill your friend. The flu did.”

  “But the mask,” I cried. “It was full of Elsie’s germs.”

  “The mask had nothing to do with it.” He shook his head. “And neither did Elsie. It’s very unfortunate that your friend died, but no one, least of all you, is responsible for her death.”

  I looked outside. Elsie had climbed into a tree near the window and made herself comfortable on a branch. She swung her feet and made faces at me. Laughing, she flipped over to hang by her knees from the branch. If the window had been open, I could have touched her.

  “Give up, Annie,” she said. “He’s never going to believe you, and neither is anyone else. The more you say, the crazier people think you are. Didn’t I tell you I was a secret not to reveal? Yet you blab and blab and blab and blame me for everything.”

  While Elsie jeered at me, Dr. Benson rang for a nurse and asked her to bring warm milk and buttered toast for me.

  “I don’t want milk or toast.”

  “You didn’t eat your breakfast.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You need nourishment.”

  When Nurse O’Brien came back with a tray, I found I was hungry after all. I’d no sooner drunk the milk and eaten the toast than I realized I was very tired. I lay on my bed and closed my eyes.

  Dr. Benson covered me with a blanket. “A good nap is just what you need, Annie.” His voice sounded far away. I was asleep before he left the room.

  The next thing I knew, Nurse Baker was shaking me awake. “It’s almost lunchtime, you lazy girl.”

  Still groggy from my nap, I stared at her in confusion.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked. “Get ready for lunch. Now.”

  “I don’t feel well,” I told her.

  “Do as you’re told.” She scowled at me, her face creased with dislike. “I have no time to spare for a girl like you.” With that, she left the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

  I stood up slowly. Even though I’d been asleep, I was tired. And lightheaded. Too dazed to stand, I sank down on the bed and stared about me in confusion.

  How long had I been asleep? And why was I so sad?

  “You know why you’re sad.” Elsie materialized from the shadows behind the wardrobe. “Here’s a hint—​somebody died. I hated her. You liked her. So I’m glad and you’re sad.”

  It came back to me then—​Rosie was dead, and it was my fault. I’d be sent to jail. Or to the state lunatic asylum.

  “Go away,” I screamed at Elsie. “Go away and leave me alone!”

  The door opened, and Dr. Benson stood on the threshold. “What is it now, Annie? Why are you screaming at me?”

  I shook my head and said nothing. What was the sense of telling him I was screaming at Elsie? She was gone now anyway. The cold air she’d left behind eddied around my ankles and chilled me all the way to my knees.

  Dr. Benson smiled at me. “Now that you’re finished screaming at me, you might like to hear some good news.”

  For a moment, I hoped he’d say he was sending me home, but instead he said, “I phoned your mother while you were sleeping and asked her about Rosie.” He took my hands in his. “Rosie isn’t dead, Annie. In fact, she’s out of danger now. Your mother has no idea where you got that notion. She told me Dr. Hughes expects Rosie to be back in school in a few weeks.”

  I stared at him, afraid to believe what he was saying. “But Elsie said—”

  He pressed a finger to his lips. “Not another word about Elsie. You must have dreamed Elsie told you Rosie was dead. Believe me, Rosie is alive and recovering. Concentrate on her, and forget about Elsie. She doesn’t exist.”

  Oh, if only that were true. At this very moment, Elsie was perched on top of the wardrobe, making faces at Dr. Benson. While I watched, she took a pebble out of her pocket and threw it at him.

  The pebble struck his leg and startled him. Puzzled, he looked around. When nothing else happened, he shrugged and laughed. “Now you’ve got me imagining things, Annie.”

  Without noticing the pebble on the floor, he suggested going to lunch. We walked to the dining room with Elsie behind us, and Dr. Benson shivered. “The hall’s drafty today,” he said. “I’ll have someone check the furnace.”

  At the dining room door, Dr. Benson told me to eat a good lunch. “Cheer up,” he said. “Smile. We’ll talk soon.”

  Elsie followed me into the room and whispered in my ear. “He’s an idiot. Cheer up, smile, we’ll talk soon—​​what nonsense.”

  In the cold air Elsie stirred up, people buttoned their sweaters and complained about the chill.

  Without looking at anyone, I made my way to my seat across from the window and stared at the snowy lawn. Someone had made a row of snowmen along the driveway, and in the blink of an eye, Elsie had gone outside to knock their heads off one by one. I watched her snatch a tall silk hat from a snowman and put it on her head. Then she took a long red scarf from another and wrapped it around her neck.

  Mrs. Jameson tapped my shoulder. “My goodness, Annie, look outside. The wind must be very strong. The snowmen are losing their heads. See?”

  She pointed as Elsie toppled the last one. “Isn’t that strange?” she asked.

  It was indeed strange. Stranger than Mrs. Jameson realized.

  “It’s almost as if somebody is knocking off their heads,” she said slowly. “You don’t see anyone out there, do you?”

  I almost choked on my soup. “No, no, of course not. Do you see anyone?”

  “For a moment, I could have sworn I saw—” She shook her head. “No, I’m mistaken. How silly of me. It’s just a hat blowing in the wind. And a scarf.”

  But Mrs. Jameson continued to gaze out the window as if she saw Elsie running across the snow, the long red scarf streaming behind her.

  Mrs. Coakley leaned across the table to get Mrs. Jameson’s attention. “I don’t know why you waste your time talking to that girl. Have you heard what she did to the walls of her room? She scribbled dirty words and dirty pictures all over them. She’s a guttersnipe with a filthy mind.”

  Mrs. Jameson stared at her. “I don’t believe you, Hester. Annie is a sweet child. She’d never do something that vile.”

  Mrs. Coakley shrugged. “If you don’t believe me, ask someone else. It’s been the talk of Cedar Grove.” She leaned closer. “Here’s the amazing part: she swears she didn’t do it. I ask you—​who else could have done it?”

  “I’m not a liar!” I shouted. “I didn’t do it!”

  A murmur ran around the room. I’d spoken louder than I’d meant to.

  Mrs. Coakley drew herself up like a balloon about to explode. “How dare you speak to me like that! I’ve a good mind to report you.”

  One of the servers looked our way, and Mrs. Jameson took my arm. “Come with me, Annie. Mrs. Coakley needs a moment to calm down.”

  The two of us left the room. No one said anything, but I could sense their disapproval as they watched us go by. As soon as we were in the hall, I heard the buzz of whispered conversations. Shocking, disgusting, what sort of home does she come from . . .

  “Let’s go someplace where we can talk,” Mrs. Jameson suggested. “We have half an hour of free time.”

  We found a seat in a quiet corner in the library, but I couldn’t relax until I’d studied every shadow and every dark corner for signs of Elsie. She came and went so quickly—​she could be anywhere. If she saw me talking to Mrs. Jameson, she’d do something horrible, I knew she would.

  “What’s worrying you, Annie?” Mrs. Jameson asked. “You’re a bundle of
nerves today.”

  “Nothing, I’m fine.” I fidgeted with my hair. Had I remembered to comb it?

  “Did Mrs. Coakley upset you?”

  “I didn’t scribble those things on my wall.”

  “Perhaps you’ve just forgotten,” she said. “Sometimes I do things I don’t remember. I’m told I broke all my wedding china the day my husband died. Threw it against the wall and smashed every single plate, cup, and saucer. I suppose I was out of my mind with grief. Perhaps it was something like that with you. You were upset, angry, sad—”

  “No, it’s not like that. I know I didn’t do it. Someone else did.” I should have stopped talking then, but the words came tumbling out and I couldn’t control them. “She says she’s my friend, but she’s not. She hates me, and she won’t leave me alone. She goes everywhere I go and gets me into trouble whenever she can. She makes me do terrible things.”

  Mrs. Jameson stared at me. “Who is this girl?” she asked. “Where does she come from? Why does she hate you?”

  I looked into the corners again and peered into the shadows. Even though I couldn’t see Elsie, I sensed her presence. She was nearby, watching and listening.

  “Why are you looking in the corners?” she asked. “What do you expect to see?”

  “Her,” I whispered. “She could be anywhere.”

  Mrs. Jameson put her arm around me. “You’re trembling, Annie.”

  “I’m so afraid of her.”

  “If you’re in danger, you must tell someone.”

  “I’ve tried, but no one believes me. Dr. Benson says she’s not real. He insists I imagine her. He claims I blame her for the bad things I do.”

  “Is she invisible to everyone but you?” Mrs. Jameson held me tighter.

  A branch tapped against the window windowpane. Elsie stood outside peering at us through the glass. She made a hideous face when she saw me looking at her. “Not another word, Annie,” she warned.

  Mrs. Jameson looked at the window in alarm. “Why is it so dark out there?”

  Elsie shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips. “I’m warning you. Don’t tell that old lady anything.”

  “I have to leave,” I said. “It’s time for arts and crafts.”

  “No, stay—​talk to me,” Mrs. Jameson begged. “Let me help you.”

  Ignoring her, I left her in the library and ran down the hall.

  Elsie ran beside me. “Stay away from that old lady,” she whispered. “Don’t talk to her. I won’t allow you to have any friend but me.”

  She followed me into the arts and crafts room. Miss Ellis had set open jars of tempera paint on the tables. Some of the women were already painting winter scenes—​children ice-skating or sledding. Snowmen. Snow-covered fir trees. Maybe I’d paint a ghost in a snowy graveyard, a crow for sorrow in a tree, an angel with a mean face, a broken sled. That would at least be original.

  But before I had a chance to lift my brush, Elsie dipped her finger into a jar of red paint and wrote a bad word on my drawing paper. When I tried to take the jar away from her, I upset it and several others. In no time, a pool of various colors spread across the table, ruining pictures and dripping onto the floor. The women at my table hastened to move out of range of the paint, but most of them were spattered.

  Not only did Miss Ellis blame me for the mess, but she accused me of laughing as if it were the best prank ever. It was Elsie who’d laughed, of course, but she’d made it sound like me. Defeated, I sat down at a small table in the corner and took the pencil Miss Ellis gave me.

  “Draw a snow scene with that.”

  When I left the arts and crafts room, Elsie followed me to my private tutoring class where she made sure I failed every quiz. Speaking for me, she told Mr. French he was a lousy teacher. Like Miss Ellis, he said he’d report my behavior to Dr. Benson. Thanks to my so-called friend, I was doomed to be in trouble constantly.

  After class, Elsie said, “See what happens when you talk to other people?”

  Without answering, I went to my room and slammed the door in her face. Of course a shut door didn’t keep Elsie from following me inside and taking her favorite perch on the curtain rod.

  Imitating Mrs. Jameson, she said, “Oh, Annie, stay, talk to me, let me help you, you poor dear, sweet girl.”

  “I hate you,” I muttered.

  “Oh, boo-hoo-hoo. I thought we were friends. Am I mistaken, dear Annie?” She pretended to wipe tears from her eyes.

  In desperation, I threw a book at her. It went right through her and broke the glass in my window.

  Elsie pretended to be shocked. “Oh, my, that window will be hard to explain,” she said, “but I suppose you’ll blame me as usual. Not that anyone believes you. Your state of mind grows more precarious every day.”

  At that moment, my door flew open and Nurse O’Brien appeared. “What was that noise?”

  “It was an accident,” I said. “I thought there was a fly or something at the window and I tried to kill it with my book, but—”

  By now the nurse was staring in shock at the broken glass on the floor. “Oh dear, oh dear,” she said, “I don’t understand. How could there be a fly in the winter?”

  With a loud laugh, Elsie vanished into the night, and Nurse O’Brien stared at me. “How can you laugh about this?”

  She left the room to fetch a handyman. He cleaned up the glass and covered the window with cardboard. “It’ll be a bit cold in here,” he said, “but I can’t replace the glass until morning. Serves you right for busting it. A fly, my eye.”

  Next, Dr. Benson arrived. Obviously annoyed, he dropped a snow-covered math book on my desk. “You are not to blame this on Elsie. You must learn to take responsibility for your actions.”

  “I admit I threw a book at Elsie,” I told him. “She got me into trouble, and I was mad.”

  “No,” he said. “You got yourself into trouble, and you threw the book at the window, possibly at your own reflection, but not at Elsie.”

  He sighed and sat down in the rocking chair. “Mrs. Coakley complained about your rudeness at lunch. Miss Ellis reported an incident with tempera paint. Mr. French says you failed all your quizzes and then told him he was a bad teacher. After the wall incident, I expected better behavior today.”

  “I’m sorry you won’t believe me. You have no idea what she’s like.”

  “You’ll have dinner in your room tonight. Without you and your unpredictable outbursts, the others might enjoy their meal.”

  He rose to his feet to leave, but paused at the door. “Please try to improve, Annie. You’re a young girl. I don’t want you to spend the rest of your childhood here.”

  I watched the door close behind him. A cold stream of air slipped through the cardboard taped to my window. Elsie settled herself on the wardrobe. “Tsk, tsk. What a bad, bad girl you are, Annie Browne.”

  I sat on my bed and silently hated her.

  Twenty

  HE NEXT DAY, Mother and Father came for a visit. Dr. Benson was with them. From the looks on their faces, it was clear they’d heard about my behavior. I hoped they wouldn’t notice the faint scribbles on the wall, but of course they did. Mother gasped and Father looked at me with sorrow.

  “I didn’t do it,” I said.

  Dr. Benson gestured to my parents to come closer. He spoke softly, but I heard him anyway. “All of this is due to Annie’s guilt about Elsie. She’ll need more treatment than I thought.”

  They nodded unhappily. Mother reached for Father’s hand, and he clasped it tightly.

  “Stop by and see me after visiting hours,” Dr. Benson told them and left the three of us alone in my room.

  Fortunately, the handyman had replaced the glass in my window before visiting hours, so I didn’t need to explain why I’d thrown the book. But Father mentioned it anyway.

  “Cedar Grove is billing us for the window you broke, as well as the paint for your room. Why on earth do you behave this way?”

  “I don’t remember,” I li
ed. “I guess I was upset or something.”

  Father and Mother looked at each other with sorrowful faces.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to make you unhappy. I just want to come home. I hate it here. Why can’t you take me home? Don’t you love me?” My voice rose like a child’s. “Please take me home, please.”

  “Of course we love you.” Mother embraced me. I smelled her perfume and shampoo, nice smells, familiar smells. I wanted to stay where I was forever. Surely I was safe from Elsie in her arms.

  “Home isn’t home without you,” Father said, “but Dr. Benson is concerned about your state of mind. He insists you’re not ready to leave Cedar Grove.”

  “If you’d just stop blaming Elsie,” Mother added. “Neither your father nor I understand your obsession with her. You have nothing to feel guilty about. No one blames you for not being friends with her.”

  Their voices flowed over me. They meant to comfort me, but they didn’t understand. They had no idea. Nothing I said would help.

  The subject changed to the weather. “Such a long, cold winter we’ve had,” Mother said. “If only spring would come.”

  “The Evening Sun says it’s the coldest winter on record,” Father said.

  “I believe it,” Mother said.

  When we ran out of things to say about the weather, Father told me the people next door had gotten a dog from the pound.

  “He’s a cute little mutt, but he barks all day and all night. It’s driving me crazy.”

  Mother told me Dickie Simmons fell through the ice on the lake, but his big brother Bobby saved him. Jane’s mother and father went to New York to see a play on Broadway. She ran into Miss Harrison at the grocery store. “She asked about you, Annie. She misses you and hopes you come home soon.”

  By the time the visit ended, I was exhausted. It was as if I’d been making polite conversation with friendly strangers. Maybe Dr. Benson had told them not to say anything that might agitate me. Or disturb my precarious state of mind.