The next day, my parents came to visit. From the top of the wardrobe, Elsie watched me run to Mother. Elsie had an odd expression on her face—some anger, some envy, some sorrow, all mixed up together.
“You look so pretty today,” I told Mother. “I love that blue sweater. Your pearls go so well with it.” I looked over her shoulder at Elsie and sent a message from my mind to hers. She’s my mother, not yours. She loves me, not you.
“Why, thank you, Annie.” Mother hugged me.
The wardrobe creaked. Elsie sighed and sent a stream of cold air across the room. Mother shivered.
“Your room’s an icebox,” she said. “It’s warmer outside than it is in here.”
I grabbed her hand. “Let’s go for a walk. It’s too nice to stay inside.”
Father smiled. “What a good idea, Annie. I saw the first daffodils this morning.”
Mother kept my hand in hers, and Father took my other hand. Linked, we walked out of the building. I glanced behind us. Elsie followed, smiling as if she had a secret.
“Oh, no.” Mother came to a stop and stared at the garden. “Who would do something so dreadful?”
Feeling sick, I looked at the daffodils. All of their pretty yellow heads lay scattered in the dirt. I was glad Mrs. Jameson wasn’t there to see it.
I glanced at Elsie. She made scissor motions with her fingers. “Snip snip—off with their heads.”
“What did you say, Annie?” Father asked.
“Nothing.”
He looked at me, but Mother hadn’t heard Elsie. She was down on her knees gathering the flower heads as if she thought she could stick them back on their stalks.
Father spoke to me in a low voice. “I could have sworn you made some sort of joke.”
“I don’t know what you heard, but you’re wrong,” I told him. “I’m as sad about the daffodils as you and Mother. I can’t imagine a person in their right mind doing something like this.”
I looked behind him. Elsie stuck out her tongue and swung on a tree limb. “I’m not the crazy one,” she said.
With a sigh, Father bent down to help Mother to her feet. “There’s nothing you can do about the daffodils, Ida.”
She held up a handful of flowers. “I can at least take these to the office and show them to the director. Perhaps he’ll find the culprit.”
Elsie sniggered, and Father looked at me again. “Did I hear you laugh?”
I tried my best not to look as hurt as I felt. “No, Father. There’s nothing funny about dead flowers.”
He looked at me, his eyes full of doubt, and turned away. Neither he nor Mother took my hand. I walked behind them with Elsie at my heels, snipping at my hair with imaginary scissors.
“They don’t love you anymore,” she whispered. “I go to your house at night when they’re in bed, and I listen to what they say. They want Dr. Benson to send you to the loony bin.”
I pressed my fingers into my ears. “Liar!”
Mother looked back, her face alarmed, but Father took her arm and whispered something to her.
“See?” Elsie said. “He’s telling her it’s just another one of your insane outbursts. They’re so tired of dealing with your craziness. The loony bin’s the place for you, Annie Browne.”
I hurried to catch up with my parents, but they walked on as if they’d forgotten I was there. Elsie stuck to my side.
“They think you killed the flowers,” she said. “That’s why they’re going to see the director. They intend to tell him you destroyed the garden. And then—poof! Off to the loony bin!”
It wasn’t true. My parents loved me. They’d never send me to an insane asylum. Liar, liar, liar, I muttered in a voice too low for anyone to hear.
In the office, Mother showed the ruined flowers to Mr. Owens, the director. “Whoever did this should be disciplined.”
“Is every flower cut?” he asked.
“Yes,” Father said. “Someone destroyed the garden.”
Mr. Owens watched Mother drop the flowers on his desk. “Could it be the work of an animal?” he asked. “A groundhog perhaps?”
“I don’t think so,” Father said.
“Absolutely not,” Mother said at the same time.
“Well,” Mr. Owens said, “thank you for telling me. I’ll look into the matter. We spend quite a bit to keep our grounds beautiful.”
After we left the office, I grabbed Father’s hand. “I didn’t ruin the garden,” I told him. “I didn’t!”
Mother and Father looked at me in surprise. “Of course you didn’t,” Father said. “Whoever said you did?”
“It was—” I stopped myself just in time. If I blamed Elsie, they’d be certain I’d done it. “It was the way the director looked at me. Didn’t you notice?”
Mother hugged me. “Please don’t worry about it, darling.”
I held her tightly. “Do you still love me?”
“Of course I do.”
“And Father, do you?”
He held my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “Annie, where do you get these notions? We both love you very much, and we’re longing for you to come home.”
From the shadows, Elsie taunted me. “They’re lying. They don’t love you. They don’t want you to come home.”
I put my fingers in my ears to deafen myself, but I heard her anyway. Her lies were in my head. Her words circled endlessly, full of hatred, tormenting me.
Father put his arm around my shoulders. “I know you don’t like it here, but soon you’ll be home and all of this will be forgotten.”
Mother wiped my eyes with her handkerchief. “Don’t cry, darling. We’ll be back tomorrow.”
I watched them walk away. No, Father, I thought, this will never be forgotten.
When I returned to my room, Elsie was waiting for me. “Why did you destroy the daffodils?”
She shrugged. “It was fun snip-snip-snipping their heads off.”
“No. You did it to hurt Mrs. Jameson.”
“Oh, boo-hoo-hoo,” Elsie wept. “Bad me. I killed the old lady’s favorite flowers. Their dear little frilly bonnets are scattered all over the grass. That’s just so, so sad.”
With a laugh, Elsie ducked away from me and settled herself in the rocking chair. “The old lady’s trying to take you away from me. But I won’t let her. If she’s not careful, she’ll fall out of bed and crack her head.”
“Please don’t hurt her.”
Elsie narrowed her eyes and examined my face. “Who do you like most, me or that old lady? Don’t lie. I’ll know if you do.”
I forced myself not to turn my head away. “I like you both the same.”
“What if you were in a boat going down the river and it started to sink and you could only save one of us? Would you choose me or her?”
“You’re already dead.”
“No, this is pretend. I’m alive, and so is she. Which one, Annie? Which one? Me or her?”
“You, Elsie,” I lied. “I’d choose you.”
She rocked back and forth so fast her edges blurred. “You’re lying,” she said.
“No, no, I’d never lie to you. Friends always tell each other the truth.”
Elsie stopped rocking and sighed. “Why did that old lady say I looked sad? Do you think I do?”
“Sometimes.”
Elsie smoothed the skirt of her dress over her bony knees. “Are you sad sometimes?”
“Yes. Everybody is.”
“Even Rosie?”
“Even Rosie.”
She began rocking again, slowly this time. My room was so quiet I heard the woman in the room next to mine cough. Someone walked past my door. The floor overhead creaked.
I came a little closer. “What are you sad about, Elsie?”
“I have lots to be sad about,” she said. “Much more than either you or Rosie or anyone else. For one thing, I’m dead, which isn’t much fun, if you really want to know. For another, you aren’t really my friend. I’m not as smart as I used to be, b
ut I know you hate me. You hated me when I was alive, and you hate me even more now!”
Her voice was rising and I knew she was getting angry, so I tried to tell her it wasn’t true, I was her friend, but she kept yelling.
“Here’s the saddest thing of all. My mother is dead. But your mother is alive, Rosie’s mother is alive, Lucy, Jane, Eunice—every one of you have mothers who love you. But not me!”
She began to rock so fast I expected the chair to fall over backward or break into pieces. Her tangled hair flew around her face, her bony hands gripped the chair’s arms. In a moment, her mood had changed from sorrow to rage.
“I hate you, Annie!” she screamed. “I don’t want to be your friend after all.”
“Fine,” I yelled. “I don’t want to be your friend.”
“You won’t be that old lady’s friend either. I’ll see to that.”
She jumped from the rocking chair and ran toward my door. I tried to stop her, but she blocked my path.
“Get out of my way, Elsie!”
“Why? So you can tell that old lady to watch out—horrible, evil, wicked Elsie is coming?”
“Don’t you dare hurt her.”
“How will you stop me?”
I pushed her so hard my hands went right through her, and I fell on my face.
Elsie laughed. “When will you ever learn, Annie?”
I scrambled to my feet, but she’d disappeared. Afraid of what she might do, I ran up three flights of stairs to warn Mrs. Jameson. By the time I reached the infirmary, I was so out of breath I could hardly talk.
Nurse Ryan frowned at me. “What brings you back again?”
“Please, just let me see Mrs. Jameson. I won’t disturb her, I promise.”
She fidgeted with the papers on her desk. “She’s taken a turn for the worse, Annie. It’s pneumonia. She—”
“Please,” I begged. “Please. I promise I won’t stay long. I just want to see her.”
“One noise, and out you go. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I followed Nurse Ryan past the rows of beds where the others slept and sighed and dreamed. Someone had put a curtain around Mrs. Jameson’s bed. In the glow of a lamp behind it, I made out the figure of a nurse sitting beside the bed.
I tiptoed closer and looked down at my friend. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was loud and raspy. Her face was almost as white as the sheet on her bed. I touched her hand gently, and she opened her eyes.
“Annie,” she whispered. “What’s wrong? Has Elsie—”
The nurse seated beside her leaned over Mrs. Jameson. “Is this girl bothering you? I’ll send her away if you wish.”
“Oh, no, don’t send Annie away. She’s very dear to me.” Mrs. Jameson’s hand closed on mine as if to keep me by her side. “Could you please leave us for a while? We have important matters to discuss.”
The nurse looked at me uncertainly. It was clear she didn’t want to leave me alone with her patient.
“Please,” Mrs. Jameson repeated. “Just a few minutes?”
The nurse rose to her feet. “I’ll be at the desk with Nurse Ryan,” she said. “If you need us, ring the bell beside your bed.”
When she was gone, I gave Mrs. Jameson a sip of water. “Nurse Ryan says you have pneumonia, but you’ll be better soon, won’t you?”
“I hope so. We have many more Pickwickian adventures to share, you and I.” She sighed. “And Elsie is still with us.”
“She’s very angry with you. I’m scared she might try to hurt you again.”
“Do you know that Elsie visits me sometimes late at night when she thinks I’m asleep? If she means to harm me, she’d have done so by now.”
“Elsie never said a word about it,” I said. “Why does she come? What does she want?”
“I’m not sure. She sits by me, where you are now, and watches me. I keep my eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. Sometimes she talks, but she keeps her voice so low I can’t hear more than a word or two of what she says.”
She paused to take another drink. “She sounds sad, not angry or hateful. It’s as if there’s another Elsie hiding inside the one we see. That’s the Elsie you must find, Annie.”
“Just before I came to see you, Elsie told me she has a lot to be sad about. As you said, she didn’t sound like herself at all. It was so strange.”
“What did she tell you?”
I took a deep breath. “Well, she doesn’t like being dead. She knows I’ll never really be her friend. But most of all, she’s sad because her mother’s dead. Then she got really mad and disappeared. I was scared she’d come up here and push you out of bed.”
“In my younger days, I helped two or three restless spirits reunite with their deceased loved ones. Perhaps when I recover my strength . . .” Mrs. Jameson’s eyes drooped. “I’m sorry, Annie, I must rest. I hope we can talk more tomorrow.”
I leaned over Mrs. Jameson and kissed her. “I’ll be here.”
“In the meantime, remember to find Elsie’s hidden self. The longer she stays here, the more wicked and dangerous she’ll become.”
She patted my cheek and closed her eyes. I stood beside her and watched her fall into a deep sleep. Her breathing was fast and shallow, but she looked peaceful. “Please get well soon,” I whispered.
On silent feet, Nurse Ryan came up behind me and touched my shoulder. “Say good night, Annie.”
“Good night,” I said softly.
At the door, I asked Nurse Ryan if I could come back tomorrow.
“We’ll see.” She took her seat and the other nurse returned to her vigil at Mrs. Jameson’s bedside.
I met Elsie on the stairs. “She’s going to die, Annie. You must know that,” she said.
I ran past her. “I’m not listening to you.”
Behind me, Elsie’s laughter echoed in the stairwell.
Twenty-Four
ATE THAT NIGHT, I woke up shivering with cold. My blanket lay on the floor. Elsie was gone. She’d left the window wide open, as if she planned to freeze me to death.
I got up to close the window and saw her dancing on the lawn. The rags of her dress fluttered, and her hair whipped around her face. The moon lit her brightly, but she cast no shadow.
Suddenly she turned to the window as if she’d sensed I was watching. “Annie,” she sang, “come out to play, the moon doth shine as bright as day.”
I leaned out the window. “Go away. We aren’t friends anymore. Remember?”
“Come with a whoop, come with a call,” she sang. “Come with a good will or not at all.”
I wanted to slam the window shut and get back into bed, but what good would that do? There was no way to lock Elsie out. If I didn’t go to her, she’d come to me and sing nursery rhymes all night.
She spun in circles. “You find milk and I’ll find flour, and we’ll have pudding in half an hour.”
I watched her whirl across the grass, her arms spread, lifting into the air like a bird and swooping down to earth again. What if she wanted to say goodbye and disappear forever?
With that hope in mind, I pulled on my robe and slippers and climbed out my window. The wind felt more like winter than spring, and the grass was damp with rain from yesterday. In places, water squelched under my feet, and my slippers were soon soaked.
Elsie waited beside the pond. All her teeth were gone now. Her hair was matted with dirt. Her dress hung from her in filthy tatters. Her eyes had sunk farther into her skull, and her skin was mottled like the blotches on dead trees.
“What do you want?”
Elsie twisted a strand of hair around her finger. I was shocked to see it fall from her hand to the ground. It lay in the grass like a coil of fine-spun string. We both looked at it, but neither of us picked it up.
“Something’s happening to me,” Elsie said. “My hair, my teeth, my skin. I don’t belong here anymore, but I don’t know where I’m supposed to go. The old lady said she can help me. Do you believe her?�
�
“Yes.”
We faced each other, Elsie and I, alone in the moonlight. She tipped her head back and looked at the stars. The Milky Way, the Big Dipper, Cassiopeia’s Chair, Orion the Hunter, sprawled across the blackness. They’d been there forever, those constellations, longer than they’d had names. Long before we were born, they’d been there, and long after we died, they’d be there.
Elsie continued to stare at the sky. “Do you trust her?”
“Yes.”
“What if she sends me back to my coffin to lie in the dark forever? Maybe she’ll cut my head off and stuff my mouth with garlic. Maybe she’ll drive a stake through my heart. Maybe she’ll burn me to ashes.”
“Mrs. Jameson wouldn’t do any of those things. You’re not a vampire or a revenant.”
“She might think I am. The way you blab about me and how awful I am.” Imitating what she thought I sounded like, she whined, “Oh, see what Elsie made me do. It wasn’t me, it was Elsie, horrible Elsie, evil Elsie, wicked Elsie.”
The sad Elsie was gone, and the angry Elsie was back. Spying a garden she’d missed, she ran about snatching the flower heads off their stems and scattering them in the grass.
I ran after her, trying to stop her, but when I grabbed her, she wasn’t there—she was somewhere else, laughing at me. Frantic, desperate, she ran about, yanking off the flower heads as if it was her last chance to destroy them.
Suddenly Elsie froze and stared over my shoulder as if she saw something behind me. Slowly, I turned my head to look. A dim light floated across the lawn toward us, wobbling a bit as it came. One of the night nurses must have seen me and was coming to fetch me. What trouble I’d be in after she reported me to Dr. Benson.
“It’s that crazy old lady,” Elsie whispered. “She’s coming to get me.”
“It can’t be Mrs. Jameson,” I whispered back. “Her hip’s broken, she has pneumonia—she can’t get out of bed.”
“Don’t you see her? She’s right there, plain as day.”
One for Sorrow Page 17
