Wait Till Helen Comes

by Mary Downing Hahn

  I stared at him, my heart thumping. “Do you think Heather is in danger?” I asked.

  He fidgeted with his pipe. “Oh, it all sounds so crazy,” he said. “Especially standing here in the sunlight.”

  “But I’ve seen her,” I said. “I’ve seen Helen.”

  He picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and began pushing it toward the compost heap. “All I can say is, keep Heather away from this graveyard. Don’t let her near Harper House or the pond.”

  For a moment I stood still, watching Mr. Simmons walk away. Then I shoved open the graveyard gate and ran toward the oak tree. Overhead, a breeze sprang up, chasing sunlight and shadows across Helen’s small stone. Instinctively, I stretched my hands toward the grave and whispered, “Leave Heather alone, leave her alone.”

  Nothing happened. A crow flew out of the branches over my head, cawing harshly; the breeze made a dry, whispery sound in the leaves, and then all was still.

  I stared at the earth mounded over Helen’s grave. Beneath it was her coffin. In her coffin were her bones. I imagined her skeleton lying on its back, her skull staring up into darkness, held fast by the earth, cradled in the oak tree’s roots, trapped forever.

  I looked at my own arms, still outstretched, and saw the veins running blue under my skin, the bones beneath them. My skeleton. My bones. Someday they would be all that was left of me. They would lie all alone in the dark and the cold while the years spun past, years I would never see.

  I wouldn’t feel the sun on my back anymore; I wouldn’t hear the wind rustling the leaves; I wouldn’t smell the sweet scent of honeysuckle; I wouldn’t see the green grass growing over me. I wouldn’t think about what I would do tomorrow. I wouldn’t write any poems or read any books. All my memories would die with me, all my thoughts and ideas.

  I backed away from Helen’s grave. It was horrible to die, horrible. Just to think of myself ending, being gone from the earth forever, terrified me. As a shadow slanted across the tombstone, I wondered if it might not be better to live on as a ghost; at least some part of Helen remained.

  Turning my back on the oak tree, I ran out of the graveyard, anxious to get away from the bones buried under my feet, but knowing I couldn’t get away from the bones under my skin. No matter how fast I ran, they would always be there, always, even when I would no longer be alive to feel them.

  13

  TO CALM MYSELF DOWN, I took a long walk beside the creek. Although I went all the way back to the swamp, I saw no sign of Michael. Gnats and mosquitoes buzzed in clouds around my head, biting me everywhere, even through my tee shirt. I turned around and headed home, thinking Michael must have been driven away from the swamp too.

  It was well after two when I walked into the kitchen to fix myself a sandwich. A note on the table told me that Mom and Dave had gone to Baltimore to shop for a new easel and replenish Mom’s art supplies. They expected to be gone most of the day. “Heather is in the living room watching TV,” Mom had written. “She’s promised to stay in the house till you or Michael come home.”

  I could hear a cartoon blasting away, but when I went to ask Heather if she wanted a sandwich, I saw Bugs Bunny popping out of a magician’s hat without an audience. I checked our bedroom, thinking she might be taking a nap, but she wasn’t there either. Or anywhere else in the house. So much for keeping her promise, I thought as I pushed open the screen door and called her.

  Instead of Heather, I saw Michael coming across the grass toward the house. He was carrying a large mayonnaise jar, and, when he saw me, he brandished it. “Look at the praying mantis I caught,” he yelled. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  As he thrust the jar at me, I cringed. “Get that thing away from me!”

  “This is one of man’s best friends.” Michael gazed at me reproachfully. “He eats harmful insects. In fact, I’m going to catch some beetles for him right now. Do you want to watch him eat them?”

  “Yuck.” I backed away from the creature in the jar. “That’s the most disgusting invitation I’ve ever had.”

  Michael shrugged. “Your loss, Molly.”

  “Wait a minute,” I called after him. “Mom and Dave have gone to Baltimore, and I can’t find Heather. Have you seen her?”

  He shook his head and smiled at the praying mantis. “Maybe this little guy thought she was a bug and ate her.”

  “Very funny.” Angrily I watched him run off, clutching his jar, leaving me to find Heather by myself.

  Although I didn’t want to go back to the graveyard, I thought I might find her there. Reluctantly, I shoved the gate open and walked as far as the Berrys’ marble angel. From the shelter of his outstretched wings, I saw a new jar of daisies on Helen’s grave. Of Heather herself, I saw no sign.

  There was, of course, only one other place to look. Harper House. Running toward the compost heap, I called Michael, thinking I could persuade him to go with me, but he had already disappeared.

  As I followed the path across the field, I noticed that the horizon was ringed with clouds. They were thunderheads growing taller and darker, looming over the trees like a fleet of pirate ships. Despite the heat, I began to run. I was sure a storm was coming, and I wanted to find Heather before the thunder and lightning started.

  When I reached Harper Pond, I was gasping, out of breath from running. I paused at the bottom of the hill, trying to catch my breath and ease the ache in my ribs. Above me, the ruins seemed empty, desolate. The sky showed blue behind the empty windows, and the vines billowed in a gust of wind. Uncertain of the wisdom of calling her name out loud, I scanned the walls, searching for signs of Heather: a flash of color, a sudden movement, the sound of a voice. Seeing nothing, I began climbing the hill, wishing that Michael were with me.

  As I approached the house, a towering cloud drifted in front of the sun and cast everything into shadow. At the same time, a gust of wind flipped the leaves, revealing their white undersides. I knew the rain wasn’t far off, and I forced myself to run toward the shelter of the bushes crowding against the ruined walls.

  Burrowing through the undergrowth like a rabbit, I found myself wondering what I was doing. Heather hated me; she’d made that clear hundreds of times. And I certainly didn’t love her. Or even like her. So why was I here, scrambling around in the bushes, getting scratched by thorns, scared to death of confronting a ghost? Why didn’t I go home and leave Heather to Helen? After all, it was Helen she wanted, not me.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance; the sky continued to darken, and the wind blew harder. Crouching in the brambles, I peered at the racing clouds, but before I could run for home, a sound from inside the house stopped me. At first I thought it was only the wind funneling through the cracks in the walls, but the eeriness of it raised goose bumps on my arms and legs. Raising my head cautiously, I peered through the leaves screening a window just above me.

  I saw Heather first. She was standing a few feet away from me, her profile turned to the window. “But I thought Daddy would be with us too,” she was saying.

  Scarcely daring to breathe, I peered into the shadows and saw Helen. Wearing a stained and ragged white dress, she seemed less transparent than she had in the graveyard. Her dark, lusterless hair cascaded down her back, contrasting harshly with her pale, skull-like face. Her feet were bare, and she cast no shadow. When she moved closer to Heather, she made no sound. Nothing bent or rustled when she stepped on it, and her eyes were terrible—dark and glittering and fixed upon Heather. She reminded me of a cat about to spring upon a sparrow. Merciless, without compassion or sympathy, thinking only of its own hunger.

  “We don’t need your father,” Helen murmured. “We don’t need anyone.”

  As she spoke, the air in the house seemed to waft toward me—cold and smelling of damp earth and stagnant water. I shivered, suddenly aware of the sound of my heart pounding loudly with fear. I couldn’t abandon Heather, not now. I had to save her from Helen—whether she wanted to be saved or not, whether I wanted to save her or not.

>   Through my shield of leaves, I watched Helen stretch an almost fleshless hand toward Heather, a smile on her lips, death in her eyes. “Come,” she said softly. “Leave this world where you are so unhappy, where no one loves you as you want to be loved. We’ll go together, you and I.”

  Heather slowly put her hand in Helen’s. “You’re so cold, Helen,” she whispered. “Why are you so cold?”

  “Because I am alone, because nobody loves me.” Helen clung to both of Heather’s hands as ivy clings to oak, sending its roots beneath the bark, sucking out the tree’s life. “Promise you’ll never leave me; promise you’ll always love me best,” she whispered fiercely.

  “But what about Daddy?” Heather’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t love you more than I love him. I can’t!”

  “He betrayed you, just as my mother betrayed me. He found someone he loves more than he loves you—their mother!”

  The hatred in Helen’s voice chilled me. I wanted to leap up and run away from Harper House to escape her, but I forced myself to stay where I was, too frightened to speak or move.

  “No!” Heather wailed. “No! He loves me best; I know he does!”

  “Then give me my locket,” Helen hissed. “I’ll find someone else to give it to, someone who will love me.” She held out her hand, reaching for the silver chain. “Someone who won’t betray me.”

  Heather’s fist closed over the little heart. “I want to be with you,” she said, “but I want to be with Daddy, too.”

  “He doesn’t understand you as well as I do, does he?” Helen’s voice grew sweeter. “If he knew what I know, he wouldn’t love you, would he?”

  Heather whimpered and covered her face with her hands. Her body shook with sobs. “But I’m afraid to go in the water, Helen. I’m afraid.”

  “There’s nothing to fear.” Helen took Heather’s hand. “If you don’t come now, I’ll go away and you’ll never see me again. Never. Then what friend will you have? Michael? Molly? You know they’ll never be your friends. They don’t care about you. They hate you as much as you hate them.”

  Heather nodded her head, still sobbing, her face hidden by her hair.

  “But I know all about you, Heather. Don’t I? And I love you.” Helen led Heather slowly toward the door, as if she were guiding a blind person. “It’s time to go, Heather. The mermaids in the crystal palace are waiting to welcome us, to make us one of them. We’ll ride on enchanted seahorses in a kingdom where the rain never falls and the rose never dies. Unicorns, elves, dragons—you’ll see all the creatures I’ve told you about. We’ll be so happy there, two princesses in our glass tower.”

  As I watched Helen and Heather vanish into the gloom, I yearned to enter Helen’s world too. Mermaids and unicorns, crystal palaces—how I longed to see them. Eager to hear more, I pushed my way out of the bushes, heedless of the brambles scratching my legs and tangling in my hair. “Wait,” I sobbed, “wait for me! Don’t leave me here!”

  A crash of thunder brought me to my senses. As startled as someone awakening from a beautiful dream, I cringed from the lightning that forked across the sky. As the rain began falling, I caught sight of Helen and Heather walking hand in hand toward the pond.

  “Heather,” I cried, but the rain fell harder, forming a silver curtain between me and the pond, hiding Heather and Helen from me.

  Running down the hill, slipping and sliding on the wet grass, I reached the pond in time to see Helen leading Heather into the water. The wind blew harder, and the thunder rumbled continuously, muffling my cries.

  “No, Heather, no!” I shouted as Helen led her farther from shore. Kicking off my shoes, I splashed toward them. The water was cold, and the lightning terrified me, but I plunged in deeper, trying to keep Heather in sight. It was like chasing someone into a waterfall.

  When I was almost in reach of her, I tripped on a tangle of roots and splashed facedown in the pond. Sputtering and gasping, I struggled to free my feet, then looked for Heather. She was nowhere in sight. All around me, the rain poured down, and the water rose and fell in tiny waves, hiding both Heather and Helen.

  Terrified, I swam toward the place I had last seen her, then dove beneath the surface, groping for an arm, a leg. Twice I came up for breath, then plunged again into the murk. Finally my fingers tangled in something I thought was an underwater weed, then recognized as Heather’s hair. Grasping the long strands, I yanked her upward, struggling to get her head above water.

  Holding her up, I peered through the rain, searching for the shore. I got no help from Heather. She lay still: her eyes closed, her lips blue, her hair floating around her head in dark strings.

  As I got my bearings and started swimming, towing Heather, I heard a weeping sound. It wasn’t the wind in the trees; it wasn’t the lapping of the water—it was Helen. In front of me, behind me, to the right, to the left, sobbing and moaning, clutching at Heather with icy fingers, she begged me to give her back.

  “She’s mine, she’s mine,” Helen wept. “Don’t take her from me!”

  I felt a terrible chill as her fingers seized my ankles. “Give her back to me, or I’ll take you both to the bottom of the pond!” she cried.

  “Get away!” I kicked her viciously. “Leave us alone!”

  “Give her to me!” Helen was in front of me now, so close I could see right into her horrible eyes. “You must! She has my locket and she’s mine! Mine!”

  “No!” My feet found the bottom, and I fumbled for the chain twisted around Heather’s neck. Snapping it with my fingers, I hurled the silver heart as far as I could. As it disappeared into the rain, I cried, “There, take your locket! But not Heather—you can’t have her!”

  Helen moaned and turned from us to pursue the locket. Without her to slow me down, I was soon dragging Heather out of the pond. Laying her down on the ground, I crouched beside her. She was so still, so pale. “Don’t be dead, Heather,” I whispered. “Please don’t be dead.”

  Covering her mouth with mine, I tried to remember what we had learned in school about mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Breathe, I thought, breathe! Finally she gasped and choked, opened her eyes, and stared at me. For a moment, she didn’t seem to recognize me; then her eyes filled with shock. “Molly,” she whispered, “Molly, what are you doing here? Where is Helen?” She twisted her head frantically from side to side, trying to locate Helen.

  “She’s gone,” I said, glancing fearfully over my shoulder. The rain hid the pond, hid Helen—forever, I hoped.

  “No,” Heather cried. “No, she can’t be gone. She promised to take me with her! Helen,” she called out, “Helen!”

  “She’s gone!” I whispered, trying to hush her. “Gone!”

  Heather struggled against me, trying to get up. “Let me go, Molly! I want to be with Helen, not you. Let me go!”

  The rain poured down my face, blinding me, but I held on to Heather’s skinny little body. Dragging her to her feet, I began climbing the hill toward the house. I had to get Heather out of the rain; I had to warm her somehow, dry her off. The church was too far away, but if I got her into Harper House we would have at least a little shelter.

  “Helen, Helen,” Heather shrieked. “Don’t leave me.” Again she tried to break away, struggling so fiercely that I could feel the bones in her arms twisting in my grip. “Let me go with my friend, my only friend,” she wept piteously, suddenly collapsing against me.

  “She’s not your friend!” I yelled. “She tried to kill you!”

  “No! No! She just wanted to take me with her. She loves me; she loves me best of all! She doesn’t hate me like you do!”

  “I don’t hate you!” I gripped her arms tightly, my face inches from hers. “I wouldn’t have pulled you out of the pond if I hated you. I’d have let you drown!”

  Heather continued to sob. “If you knew me, really knew me, you’d hate me. Even Daddy would hate me if he knew everything about me.” Heather looked behind her at the pond. “But she doesn’t hate me. She knows everything, and s
he understands. We’re just alike, she and I, just alike.” Heather’s tears mingled with the rain on her face.

  “Heather,” a cry came from somewhere in the rain, blown to us in the wind, a chilling and terrible cry. “Heather, where are you?”

  Despite my grip, Heather broke free and ran toward the pond. “I’m coming, Helen, I’m coming!” she cried as I ran after her.

  Catching up with her at the water’s edge, I tackled her and threw her flat on her face in the weeds. She fought me, her wet clothes and skin making it hard to hold on to her, but she finally gave up and lay still, weeping, her body shaking with sobs.

  “I can’t find her,” she cried. Her hand went to her throat; her fingers fumbled for the locket. “Where is it?” she cried. “What did you do with it?”

  “I gave it back to her!” I peered into the rain, thinking I saw Helen’s pale form hovering under a nearby willow tree. “She can’t take you if you’re not wearing it, can she?”

  “How could you do it?” Heather wept. “How could you? My only friend, my only friend.”

  Struggling to my feet, I half carried, half dragged Heather toward Harper House. To my relief, she seemed to have lost her strength, her will to fight me. Faintly, I could hear Helen crying, but Heather seemed oblivious to everything. As limp as a doll, she allowed me to haul her into the ruins.

  Soaked to the skin, shivering with cold, we both needed dry clothes and warmth, but the best I could do was the room Michael and I had found the last time we’d been here. At least the little bit of roof over our heads would protect us from the rain.

  “This way, Heather.” I guided her through the door, stepping carefully on the floorboards. “Maybe we can find matches here, light a fire or something.”