At noon, I took my seat beside Mrs. Jameson in the dining room. Before I touched my soup, I spotted Elsie in a tree near the window, hurling snowballs at two men shoveling wind-blown snow from the sidewalks. She had a remarkably good aim. The men were obviously puzzled and angry, but saw no one to blame.
Mrs. Jameson touched my hand to get my attention. “What are you looking at, Annie?”
My whole body stiffened in alarm. “Nothing.”
Mrs. Jameson continued to stare at the tree. “It’s like the shadow in the library yesterday,” she said. “I can’t see what’s causing it. Are you sure you don’t see it?”
When I shook my head, she pointed directly at Elsie. “It’s right there in those branches.”
Elsie saw us looking and scowled. Like yesterday, she pressed her finger to her mouth and shook her head. With an agility she’d never had in real life, she jumped from the tree and ran across the snow toward the pond.
Losing sight of her among the trees, I turned to Mrs. Jameson.
“That’s funny,” she said. “The shadow’s gone. It just floated away.”
She picked up her spoon and began to eat her soup. “Too salty by half,” she said, “but edible.”
After lunch, Mrs. Jameson said, “We need to talk, Annie. Those shadows are bothering me. I believe you know more about them than you’re saying.”
“I can’t talk now.” I edged away from her. “I have homework to do.”
She took my arm. “Come with me. It’s important.”
I let her lead me to the library. What did she think I knew? What did she suspect?
I chose a different couch with no window view. Perhaps Elsie wouldn’t see us here.
“Something was in that tree,” Mrs. Jameson said in a low voice. “A patch of darkness, vague, unformed. I couldn’t make out what it was, but I know it was there.” She paused and took my hand. “And I know it has something to do with you, Annie.”
“No, you’re wrong.” I told her. “There was nothing in the tree except a crow. I was looking at a crow, that’s all.”
“There was no crow, Annie.” She squeezed my hand. “Why won’t you confide in me? Don’t you trust me?”
No, I didn’t trust Mrs. Jameson enough to tell her about Elsie. Look what happened when I tried to explain what I saw—I was called a liar, delusional, guilt ridden. Elsie was a figment of my imagination. She wasn’t real.
If I told Mrs. Jameson a ghost had been sitting in the tree, throwing snowballs, she too would think I was crazy. I’d lose the only friend I’d made in Cedar Grove.
“Please tell me what’s frightening you so.”
I looked into her eyes and saw only sympathy. Taking a deep breath, I decided to take a chance. If one person, just one, believed me maybe I wouldn’t feel so alone. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Most definitely.”
My heart beat faster. “Have you actually seen one?”
“This must be a secret between you and me,” she said. “Promise not to tell Dr. Benson. He already thinks I’m delusional.”
I crossed my heart and promised.
She paused, perhaps to think, before beginning. “I saw my first ghost when I was a small child—three or four years old at the most. My grandmother died before I was born, but she often visited me. She’d sit by my bed at night when I was afraid of the dark and sing lullabies to comfort me.”
“Did you tell your mother and father about her?”
“Oh, yes, several times. I even described the flowered dress she wore and her white hair, but they always dismissed it as a dream. As you already know, most people simply refuse to believe in ghosts.”
“Did you ever see a scary ghost?”
“When I was younger—not young like you, but younger than I am now—I stayed in haunted inns and hotels and wrote stories about my experiences. I published them in magazines that go for that sort of thing.”
She paused a moment as if she were remembering those days. “Usually the ghosts were sad and lonely. I found ways to help them leave this world and move on to a better place. A little nudge was all most of them needed.”
She frowned. “But once in a while, I encountered vengeful spirits who’d been wronged when they were alive. They were angry. They hungered to get even with their enemies but often ended up taking out their rage on any hapless mortal who crossed their path. Occasionally I helped them find peace, but the really troubled ones always resisted.”
“You must have been very brave.”
Mrs. Jameson laughed. “I must confess I once fled from a hotel in the middle of the night. I’d never felt such an evil presence. It was as if I were being suffocated. I feared for my sanity and maybe even my life.”
She readjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and said, “Tell me about your ghost, Annie.”
“Her name is Elsie Schneider,” I began. “She died of the flu last November. She wanted to be my friend while she was alive, but I didn’t like her. Now that she’s dead, she says I must be her friend, but I hate her more now than I did before she died. She’s ruined my whole life. Can you make her go away and leave me alone?”
“What was she like before she died?”
Starting with Elsie’s first visit to my house, I told Mrs. Jameson everything: how I became friends with Rosie and dropped Elsie, how we teased her in the park and stole her flu mask, how she died, how I crashed my sled into her grave and woke her up.
“Ever since then, she’s followed me everywhere I go,” I said. “She turned my friends against me, she made me say terrible things and do awful things. She’s jealous and angry and hateful. She wants everything I have, even my parents.”
I looked at Mrs. Jameson, desperate for her help. “Please tell me you can send her where she belongs.”
A noise drew our attention to a dark corner. Elsie stood there, barely visible in the shadows, watching Mrs. Jameson and me.
“She’s in that corner.” Mrs. Jameson clasped my hand. “I can’t see her, but I feel her. She’s angry, isn’t she?”
I drew closer to Mrs. Jameson. “She doesn’t want me to have any friend except her.”
“I sense that.” She continued to stare at Elsie. “I see her outline now,” she whispered.
Elsie’s face twisted into a grimace of hate. “You’ll be sorry, Annie!” With that, she disappeared.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Mrs. Jameson asked. “For a second I saw her as clearly as I see you, and then poof, she vanished like a magician’s trick.”
“Elsie’s good at disappearing, but she’s even better at reappearing.” I clung to Mrs. Jameson for a moment. “Don’t worry. We’ll both see her again.”
“Elsie’s a very troubled child. Angry and vengeful. I’ll do all I can to help you, but I’m not as strong as I once was. It may be more than I can do, Annie.”
“Please be careful,” I told her. “Elsie might try to hurt you.”
We walked to the door together. “Don’t worry about me, Annie. I’ve dealt with spirits worse than Elsie. After all, she’s just a little girl.”
I left Mrs. Jameson reluctantly. I was already late for arts and crafts, but instead of hurrying, I walked slowly, directing all my mental energy at Elsie. Please please please, do not hurt Mrs. Jameson. Please please please, do not hurt Mrs. Jameson. Over and over again, over and over again, I repeated my plea until the words ran together and made no sense.
Twenty-One
DIDN’T SEE ELSIE AGAIN until just before dinner. While I was combing my hair, she came through the window and sat on top of the wardrobe. The smirk on her face disturbed me. She’d either done something already or was about to do it. Whatever it was, it would bring me grief.
“Where have you been?” I asked her.
She shrugged and kicked the wardrobe door with her heels. “Oh, just out and about, fooling with this and that, nothing to write home about.”
“You’ve done something. I can tell
.”
“Well, aren’t you a clever girl?” She swung her heels so hard the wardrobe vibrated.
“Tell me.”
“It’s my secret, but don’t worry—you’ll find out soon enough.” Elsie took a flying leap from the wardrobe and landed on my bed. She bounced a couple of times. “Just remember, it’s your fault, Annie. If you’d do what I tell you, I’d be good all the time.”
“If you’ve hurt Mrs. Jameson, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” She laughed and vanished, leaving me even more worried than before. I drew my breath in and out, in and out, and struggled to control my fear. What had she done?
The dinner bell interrupted my thoughts. Filled with dread of what I might learn, I walked down the hall slowly. When I was close enough to hear voices and smell food, I stopped, closed my eyes tightly, and whispered, “Please let Mrs. Jameson be at the table, please let her be all right.”
“What are you doing standing there with your eyes shut?” Nurse Baker bustled up to me and gave me a push through the door. “Take your seat at the table. Don’t keep the others waiting.”
The first thing I saw was Mrs. Jameson’s empty chair. I sat down in my seat and watched the door. At any moment, I’d see her enter the dining room. She was late, that’s all it was.
Elsie appeared at the window. Her smile revealed her crooked teeth, browner now than before. I sank into my seat. What had she done? Where was Mrs. Jameson?
Outside the window, Elsie laughed.
As the servers entered with trays of food, I leaned across the table and caught Miss Nelson’s attention. She was a small, thin, nervous woman who seemed afraid of me and my strange outbursts, but she had a kind face.
“Excuse me, but do you know where Mrs. Jameson is?”
Miss Nelson blinked several times, but instead of answering, she turned to Mrs. Coakley, who looked at me as if I’d asked a rude question.
“I can’t think why you would care,” she said in a low voice, “but Mrs. Jameson is in the infirmary. She had a bad fall and broke her hip.” Looking at me, she added, “Some people say she was pushed.”
Without another word, she turned her attention to her dinner and began cutting her meat and vegetables into tiny pieces.
Miss Nelson leaned across the table, her eyes moist. “When you’re her age and you break your hip, it’s the beginning of the end. Mark my words, she’ll be in bed the rest of her life.”
Mrs. Coakley looked sharply at Miss Nelson. “Now, Edith, don’t get yourself all het up.”
My appetite gone, I left the table and ran out of the dining room. The other patients watched me go. Annie Browne, the crazy girl. Better stay away from her. No telling what she’ll do next. Throw something, bite you, insult you, stab you with her butter knife.
Nurse Calloway caught up with me in the hall. “You haven’t finished your dinner, Annie.”
“Please, I don’t feel well. May I go to my room?”
Nurse Baker would have sent me back to the dining room, but Nurse Calloway said, “Yes, of course, Annie. I hope you feel better in the morning. If you want soup, I can send it to your room.”
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
I trudged down the hall. Elsie had made Mrs. Jameson fall. There was no doubt in my mind. That was her secret. That was what she’d gloated about. She’d hurt the only person who believed me, the only one who might help me.
I sat on my bed and wrapped myself in an afghan Mother had crocheted for me. The clock on my bureau ticked, each second loud in the silence. The wind pounded on my window, and the trees bowed and bent as it passed through their branches.
I pictured Mrs. Jameson in the infirmary, listening to the same wind I heard. I hoped she wasn’t in pain. Perhaps Mrs. Coakley was wrong about the fall. Maybe Mrs. Jameson was just bruised, and she’d be at breakfast or lunch tomorrow, and we’d go to the library and make plans.
A creaking noise drew my attention to the rocking chair. Elsie sat there, grinning.
I flung myself at her in fury. The rocking chair crashed to the floor, taking me with it, but Elsie slipped out of my hands and perched on the curtain rod safely out of my reach.
“How could you do it?” I screamed. “She never harmed you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I swear you get crazier every day, Annie Browne. They’ll be taking you to the lunatic asylum any day now. I hear they have a nice padded cell and a straitjacket all ready for you.”
“Don’t lie to me. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Mrs. Jameson is in the infirmary with a broken hip because you made her fall down the steps.”
“Oh, that old lady.” Elsie shrugged to show she couldn’t care less about Mrs. Jameson. “It’s your fault she fell, not mine. I warned you not to make friends with anyone. We don’t need an old biddy coming between us, so I took care of her.”
In a rage, I lunged at the curtains and tried to pull her down, but Elsie scurried to the top of the wardrobe before I could catch her.
She laughed. “You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man.”
I stood there panting in frustration, my fists clenched. “I hate you, I despise you, I abhor you, I detest you,” I shouted. “I’d kill you all over again if I could!”
Elsie sneered. “You’d better watch what you say to me, or I’ll make it look like you pushed Mrs. Jameson down the steps. I can do that, you know.”
I collapsed on my bed. If Dr. Benson believed I’d pushed Mrs. Jameson, they’d take me away in a straitjacket. Elsie would make sure I stayed there for the rest of my life.
“Well?” Elsie asked. “Are we friends now? Or must I make it look like you pushed the old lady, your so-called friend, down the steps?”
I forced myself to stare into her eyes. Death itself must look like Elsie, I thought. “Friends,” I repeated. “You don’t know how to be friends.”
Elsie bared her crooked teeth like a dog about to bite. “How am I supposed to know? I never had a friend, remember? You should be good at it—but you’re worse than I am. Look at the way you’ve treated me.”
She paused to push her tangled hair out of her face. “You were my friend for a few days, but I got sick and Rosie turned you against me. And then you and your new friends ganged up on me in the park and Rosie stole my flu mask. And then I died! Not you. Not Rosie or any of those other girls. None of you died. Just me. Me, poor Elsie Schneider, the girl nobody liked. Couldn’t you at least be sorry?”
“How many times must tell you? I’m sorry you died. There—does that satisfy you?”
“The only reason you’re sorry,” Elsie said, “is because you’re stuck with me. I wouldn’t be here if you’d treated me better.”
“Oh, why can’t you understand?” I clenched my fists to keep from slapping her. “You don’t belong here anymore. You’re dead, Elsie! You’re dead, dead, DEAD!”
The walls rang with my words, which echoed and bounced like hard rubber balls caroming from chairs to tables to bureaus. Dead, dead, DEAD. Dead, dead, DEAD. I covered my ears, but the word rang in my head. Dead, dead, DEAD!
I shut my eyes and waited for Elsie to say something. To scream at me. To throw things. After a few moments of total silence, I opened my eyes, but I didn’t see her. “Are you still here?”
In a cold voice from the top of the wardrobe, Elsie said, “Of course, I’m still here. Where else would I be?”
In your grave like a normal dead person, I thought.
I got into bed and turned my back on her. I wanted to go home. I wanted my life back—the way it was before the park, before the viewing, before my sled ride in the cemetery.
But most of all, I wanted to be rid of Elsie.
Twenty-Two
AYS PASSED WITH NO WORD from Mrs. Jameson. I heard Mrs. Coakley tell Miss Nelson she was doing poorly and might be transferred to a nursing home. I asked Dr. Benson about her, but he simply said she was doing as well as expected. Whatever that meant.
&nb
sp; Elsie had her own stories about Mrs. Jameson. “I went to the infirmary,” she told me. “I saw that old lady who fell down the steps. She’s going to die, Annie, I’m certain of it.”
I told myself not to believe anything Elsie said. She was a liar, I knew that. But I was scared she might do something to make Mrs. Jameson worse.
After a week of misery, fear, and worry, I was finally allowed to visit Mrs. Jameson. At the door to the infirmary, Nurse Ryan stopped me.
“I can’t allow you to stay more than fifteen minutes,” she told me. “Mrs. Jameson is still weak and tires easily. She had a very bad fall, you know. It’s a miracle she’s still with us.”
She studied my face for a moment. “She’s quite fond of you, Annie.” As she spoke, her own face looked puzzled, as if she couldn’t imagine why Mrs. Jameson took any interest in a crazy girl like me. “She’ll be happy to see you.”
As quietly as possible, I followed the nurse down a narrow corridor between two rows of beds. The people were all old. Most of them were asleep, but a few raised their heads to watch me go by. I tried to smile at them, but they scared me. They were small and thin, like children old before their time. They looked as if they were waiting for something to happen, but they didn’t know if it would be good or bad.
Mrs. Jameson was asleep in the last bed in the row. I didn’t want to wake her, so I sat quietly in a wooden chair beside her. She breathed loudly, as if it took all her strength to inhale and exhale.
What if Miss Nelson was right? What if Mrs. Jameson never got out of that bed? Worse yet, what if Elsie was right and Mrs. Jameson died? My chest tightened with sorrow, which soon turned to anger.
Elsie had done this; she’d put Mrs. Jameson in this bed. She was a cruel and hateful spirit. We had to get rid of her.
I felt a touch on my hand and looked up to see Mrs. Jameson smiling at me. “Oh, it’s good to see you, Annie. I’ve been so worried about you.” Her voice was so low, I had to lean close to hear her.
“I’m so sorry Elsie made you fall.”
“Please don’t blame yourself, Annie. It’s not your fault.”
One for Sorrow Page 15
