by Kit Pearson
The demon leapt out of Emily’s mouth so fast that she spat crumbs onto the grass. “It is nonsense,” she said bitterly. “Mrs. Tolliver is a fraud.”
Kitty stared at her. “Emily, how can you say that? I heard her! I heard Pop’s voice just as clearly as when she was alive!”
“It wasn’t her voice. It was Mrs. Tolliver’s sister. She was standing in the kitchen, calling through the curtain.”
Kitty turned as pale as the milk in the jug. “She wasn’t! You’re making it up,” she whispered.
“I’m not making it up. When I was coming back from the privy, I heard her through the kitchen window. I peeked in and saw Miss Wilson pretending to be Pop.”
Kitty’s eyes were huge and stricken. “No! It’s not true!”
Now the demon had retreated, leaving the good Emily devastated. She felt as if she had taken a gentle, small bird and crushed it in her hands.
But it was too late; she couldn’t retrieve her words. Nodding bleakly, she said, “I’m really sorry, Kitty, but it is true.”
Kitty’s voice turned to ice. “You’re lying. You’re making it all up because you missed hearing Pop.”
Emily jumped to her feet. “I’m not lying! You just don’t want to believe the truth!”
Kitty stood up, as well. “The truth is that you are a cruel little girl who makes up stories to hurt me. I wish I’d never asked you over. Go away. Go away and don’t come back. I never want to see you again!”
Emily fled.
When she reached the Cranes’, she collapsed on the grass by the gate, trying to still her heaving breath. How dare Kitty call her a liar! How could she not believe Emily?
And she’d called Emily cruel! Sometimes Emily did hurt people, when the demon made her. But she had liked Kitty. She had liked her more and more all day. She would never make up such a story. It was Kitty who was being cruel by saying that.
This day that had been so special was ruined. All the colour had gone out of it. Everything had turned as dry and brown as the dust on the road.
Emily didn’t want to go back to the Cranes’, but she had no choice. Kitty had thrown her out. Her family at home had cast her away, as well. There was nowhere else but here.
Now she once again had to try to be a polite guest, to suffer Mrs. Crane’s constant disapproval. How much longer would she and Alice have to endure it?
Emily wiped her eyes with her hands—as usual she had lost her handkerchief. She watched some bees hovering in the long grass. Finally she trudged down the hilly path to the sprawling house by the water. Voices came from the lawn—the Cranes and Alice must be having tea.
Sure enough, six figures were seated on the lawn around a low table: Mr. and Mrs. Crane, Grace, Mary and Helen, and Alice. The sun glinted off the silver tea set. Plates were piled high with sandwiches and cakes. The girls’ high voices were like a chorus of cheeping sparrows.
Emily approached the group slowly. At least she could have another piece of cake.
When Alice spotted Emily, she jumped up so quickly she toppled her chair. “Oh, Millie!” she cried. “Millie, it’s such good news—Mother is better!”
TEN
Kitty ran to her secret place, a small clearing behind the kitchen garden. The ground was a carpet of soft moss and the surrounding trees dappled the surface with shadows. It was a cool green retreat.
She used to share this place with Pop. They would bring out books and toys and Pop’s doll and scones wrapped in a napkin. They would play here for hours.
Pop would pretend to speak like Esmeralda, who they decided was a haughty Spanish lady. Or Pop’s piping voice would ask questions: “Puss, do fish sleep at night? Where do the stars go in the daytime?”
And how they would laugh! One day they had gone into convulsions discussing how Frank and Jack were made differently from girls. “What was God thinking, Puss? Those dangly bits look so silly!” It had felt so safe to laugh about improper things where no grown-ups could hear them.
They had talked about how many children they would have and had given them all names. They were going to make their husbands build cottages on this property so they could all live together. Like Kitty, Pop never wanted to leave their happy home.
It had never occurred to either of them that Pop wouldn’t live to be an adult.
Now Kitty realized that Mama and Papa must have known that Pop could die one day. They had sheltered their children from that worry so Pop could have as happy a childhood as possible. And she had. She had used every bit of her limited energy to have a good time, to laugh and to tease and to love her family.
How miraculous it had been to hear Pop’s precious voice at Mrs. Tolliver’s! How dare Emily say that it hadn’t happened!
But had it? Kitty leaned against a mossy tree trunk, fighting her increasing doubt.
She lost the battle. The happiness that had mantled her ever since they had left Mrs. Tolliver’s slid away like water draining into the ground.
Of course it hadn’t happened! It was impossible to summon anyone from the dead. The voice hadn’t been Pop’s, and Kitty had been a fool to think that it had been. It was all a sham.
If only Emily hadn’t told her! But all she had done was to tell the truth.
“Oh, Pop, oh, Pop . . .” Tears flooded Kitty’s face. “Oh, my dear little sister, why couldn’t you have come to me? I wanted you so much!”
Kitty flung herself down on the moss, not caring about her dress. She cried and cried. It terrified her that she couldn’t stop, just as she hadn’t been able to stop crying the day Pop died.
But after a long time her sobbing lessened. She sat up and leaned against the tree, her body shuddering. All the anguish of that day rushed back.
She had stood by Pop’s bed, clutching Mama’s hand. “Give her a kiss, darling,” murmured Mama. Kitty bent over and kissed the poor hot forehead. Pop’s blue eyes didn’t seem to see her. Kitty was led from the room. After a long time Mama came to her and said that Pop was gone.
That was what all the adults kept repeating: that Pop was gone, that she’d died, that she had “passed away” or “passed on.” But eleven-year-old Kitty simply couldn’t believe it. Pop had been much too alive to be gone.
She started to imagine that Pop was still with her, accompanying her wherever she went and curling up beside her in bed. She whispered to Pop constantly in the daytime and before she fell asleep.
One day, however, Mama asked Kitty why she was always talking to herself. When Kitty told her, Mama gently explained that she must not talk to Pop. “She’s not here anymore, Puss. She’s with God in heaven.”
Kitty found it impossible to stop. Instead she only spoke aloud to Pop when she was alone or in bed. The rest of the time she talked to her in her mind.
For a while that was a great comfort. Then everything changed. Kitty had always known she was making up Pop, that she was only pretending to talk to her. But this year Pop began to seem real. Kitty could feel her presence, as if there were a thickening of the air around her. She couldn’t see her actual body or touch or smell or hear her. It was Pop’s essence that haunted Kitty.
This would have been comforting, except for Pop’s terrible agitation. Every night Kitty lay awake and felt her sister’s yearning, as if someone were constantly poking her mind. “What do you want?” Kitty whispered to the darkness. But of course Pop couldn’t answer.
Kitty began to refuse to go anywhere that Pop wasn’t. She started biting her nails and an ugly rash appeared on her cheeks. Food lost its appeal and she had so much trouble sleeping that she could barely get through the day.
Her parents were so alarmed that they called Dr. Helmcken. He examined her thoroughly and told them that nothing was wrong. “It’s all in her mind,” Kitty heard him tell Mama. “Young girls often have fancies at this age. Make sure she drinks lots of milk and gets plenty of rest. I’m certain she’ll become well again.”
But she didn’t. One morning Kitty was sitting in her classroom and Mi
ss Lamott asked for a volunteer to work out a geometry problem on the blackboard. Kitty was good at geometry and she was usually the first to raise her hand. But today her stomach knotted so tightly that she had to leave the room and lie down in the school sitting room. When the pain worsened, Mama had to fetch her in the carriage. The moment Kitty reached home, however, the pain disappeared.
Soon Mama was fetching her every day. “You used to enjoy school so much!” she said. “Has something happened to make you imagine you are ill?”
“I am ill!” said Kitty.
She couldn’t add that it had nothing to do with school. It was just that Pop wasn’t there. Without her sister’s presence Kitty felt so empty she could hardly bear it. Then pain would fill the hollowness.
The same thing happened when she accompanied Mama on her calls or attended a concert or play in town. Kitty even stopped having her friends over to visit. Their chatter seemed trivial and their presence intruded upon her connection with Pop.
“Now, Puss, you know that it is your mind that is causing your ailments,” Mama told her. “All you have to do is to realize that and you will conquer them.”
“I can’t!” wailed Kitty, but Mama just looked grim and told her she must. She was very upset when Papa finally said that Kitty could stay home from school and study with a governess.
Not going to school was a huge relief, but Kitty still had to refuse invitations, like the picnic today. Not only did she suffer from Mama and her constant disapproval, but she suffered even more from Pop. Pop’s persistent pleading grew so intense that Kitty didn’t know what was worse: being at home with this agitated presence or being away with her insides in turmoil.
Now Kitty sat up straighter. She remembered how serene Pop’s voice—Miss Wilson’s voice, she thought bitterly—had sounded. Of course that hadn’t been Pop! Kitty should have guessed at once. Pop wasn’t at peace—she was restless and anguished. And now she must be angry at Kitty for believing that a silly woman could summon her.
“I’m so sorry,” whispered Kitty. She sat as still as she could so Pop would manifest herself.
Nothing. The air was normal, not charged with Pop’s being. All Kitty felt was the warm sun on the top of her head and the cool moss under her hands.
“Oh, Pop, please come to me!” she begged . . . but Pop wasn’t here.
She never had been here. The adults were right. Kitty had only been imagining Pop, as she had when she was younger. It had all been in her mind.
Pop was gone. She had left the instant she died and she would never come back. Kitty would never again feel her presence; not in this glade, not in the house, not on the road or on the beach.
Why, oh, why, did Emily have to tell her? She had spoiled everything! Kitty stretched out her hands as if she could grab hold of the joy she had possessed only a few hours ago: that bliss of being comforted, of knowing Pop was happy, of knowing they had communicated and could do so again.
Her hands clutched air. This was even worse than the day Pop had died. Then she was numb with shock. Now she knew down to her bones that dear, brave little Pop had gone for good.
Kitty lay down again, trembling with an agony that was beyond weeping. She burrowed into the soft, warm moss and escaped into sleep.
ELEVEN
Emily gasped. “Mother’s better?”
“Yes!” Alice’s expression was as shiny as her copper curls. “Father just sent a messenger. Mother is much better and we’re going home tomorrow morning. Tallie’s coming to fetch us.”
Emily embraced her sister so fiercely that Alice cried, “Be careful—you’re hurting me!”
“Millie, dear, do come and sit down,” said Mrs. Crane. “We didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Emily was so giddy that she smiled at her. Mrs. Crane smiled back, although it was really just a mild lift of the corners of her mouth. “We are all very glad for you and Alice that your dear mother is better . . . aren’t we, girls?”
“Yes, Mama,” they murmured through mouthfuls of cake.
“We’ll miss you!” said Mr. Crane jovially. “You’ve made life very lively around here.” He leaned over to kiss Emily, but she jerked away. She hated kissing beards and she hated Mr. Crane. She would never forget what he had done to Helen’s dog.
Emily accepted a cup of tea and a large piece of seed cake. Then she just sat and listened to the chatter, her inside replete with the good news and the delicious cake. Tomorrow! Tomorrow they would be home! After she kissed Mother, the first thing she would do was visit Lorum and the cow. Then she would check on the crow’s nest in the meadow. She’d go to see old Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, who had four guinea fowls they treated like their children.
And school was finished! She had the whole summer to be free. She’d invite herself to the beach with Edna and perhaps Papa would take them to Shoal Bay. This horrible week at the Cranes’ already seemed like a dim memory.
“Millie! Didn’t you hear my question?” Mrs. Crane’s cold stare was fixed on her. “Where is your pinafore?”
Emily looked down at her frock with surprise. For a few seconds she forgot where her pinafore was. Then she remembered. “I . . . well, I threw it away.”
“You what?”
“I threw it away. It was too stiff and starchy.” Emily raised her nose haughtily. “I’ve decided I’m not going to wear pinafores anymore. I’m too old for them.”
“Of course you’re not too old!” said Mrs. Crane. Her look was even icier.
“Alice and Mary don’t wear them,” pointed out Emily.
“Alice and Mary are eleven. You are only nine. Helen is your age and she still wears a pinafore. And look at the state of your frock! You’re such a messy child you’ll probably have to wear a pinafore long past age eleven.”
“That will be up to my mother, not you,” snapped Emily.
The other girls gasped. Mrs. Crane was shocked into silence. But Emily didn’t care. Tomorrow she would be rid of this woman for good!
“Yes, that will indeed be up to your mother,” said Mrs. Crane finally. “I must say, I will be glad to hand you back to her. You are a rude, badly behaved little girl. Alice is welcome to come and stay with us any time, but I’m afraid, Millie, that I shall never have you back here.”
Alice kicked Emily before she could say, “Good!”
“I won’t let you go home missing a perfectly good pinafore,” said Mrs. Crane. “Before dinner Alice can go with you to the O’Reillys’ to fetch it.”
No! She could never go back there! Emily opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs. Crane stood up.
“Right now I want the two of you to go up to your room and do your packing, so you don’t keep your sister waiting in the morning. The rest of you can amuse yourselves in the garden.”
Emily followed Alice into the house, hoping Mrs. Crane would forget about sending her back to Kitty’s.
“Millie, how could you be so rude?” scolded Alice when they reached their bedroom.
Emily shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. And please don’t call me Millie anymore. I’ve decided that from now on I want to be called Emily.”
“Don’t be a goose,” said Alice. “I’ll always call you Millie, and so will everyone else.”
Alice was right. Emily knew her family wouldn’t change. But when I’m grown up, then I’ll be Emily, she decided.
After dragging Father’s large carpet bag out from under her bed, Emily opened its shiny brass lock. She began tossing her clothes into it randomly until Alice took them all out and folded them. Emily sat back and let Alice finish the packing.
“What did you do at that girl’s house?” Alice asked her.
Emily tried to remember the good parts of the day. “Lots of things. We painted and looked at the chickens and the horse—her name’s Blackie and she’s so lovely, just as lovely as Cricket—and we had lunch . . . and then we went into town.”
“You did? What did you do there?”
Emily hesitated. She certainly would not
tell Alice about Mrs. Tolliver. “We just drove around—we even went by our house! But then I saw Father coming out, so we drove on quickly.”
“Oh, Millie, what if he’d seen you! He would have been angry.”
“Well, he didn’t. But I’ve just realized, Alice, why he was hurrying into town—he must have been sending the message and hiring the cart! Oh, isn’t it a wonder that Mother is better?”
“Yes, it is,” said Alice. “Let’s pray she stays better this time.” She looked up from the carpet bag. “Tell me more about Kitty. Is she a pleasant girl?”
Emily flushed. “Not really, although she’s interesting. She taught me how to paint in watercolours! I want to do more of it—next term I’ll ask Miss Woods if I can. Or maybe Father will buy me some. Oh!”
“What’s the matter?”
“I left my painting at Kitty’s! I really wanted to show it to you.”
“You can get it when we go over to fetch your pinafore.”
“I don’t want to go back there,” Emily told her. “You’ll have to go on your own.”
“I’d be happy to!” said Alice eagerly. “I’d like to meet Kitty again. After all, I’m more her age than you are. But why won’t you go? Surely you and Kitty must be good friends now, after spending the whole day together.”
“We aren’t friends at all!” spat Emily. “She called me a liar and sent me away!”
“You probably said something to aggravate her. Did your dreadful temper get the better of you again? You must learn to control it.”
“Stop sounding like Dede!” Emily picked up her hairbrush and handed it to Alice to pack. “I don’t want to talk about Kitty. What did you do all day?”
“The usual. We all played in the garden, then we rested after lunch while Mrs. Crane read to us. Then we picked raspberries, and then we took turns riding Cricket down the road.”
“Lucky you,” said Emily. “Kitty wouldn’t let me ride Blackie.”
