Miss Cameron’s face lit up. “But how kind, Miss Alexander! My girls and I should love to come. I’ll bring – let me see – seedcake, gingerbread, and a large dish of winter squash, of which I have many. You will have quite a crowd of people!”
“It will be wonderful to have a full house!” I said, counting heads quickly in my mind. It seemed an alarming number!
Reverend Dalhousie said, “My sister will be delighted to come, but I must consult her before offering anything.”
“Please, don’t worry about that, Reverend. We will have a large goose, a fine haunch of venison, fish, pudding, and cakes. I can’t promise a high culinary standard, but we will have enough to fill us.”
I was babbling. I stopped at once, said my good-byes quickly, and gathered myself together before scuttling down the hall, where I pulled on my outdoor clothing. As I reached for the door handle, I hesitated. Once I walked through that door, I would be under obligation to follow through with what I’d promised Miss Cameron and Reverend Dalhousie. To have three young girls stay with us for a fortnight was going to be hard enough to explain to Ivy, but adding ten students and three adults for Christmas dinner was madness.
“What on earth have I done?” I whispered.
Only last night, I fainted dead away after imagining a sick young girl lying in my bed. What makes me think I can manage the huge task of Christmas dinner on my own? What if I see the phantom girl when my three young guests are crowded into Grandmother and my room? What if I forget myself and try to speak to the spirit girl while people are nearby – for I could easily do that, she is so real to me. And what if she tries to talk to me again – what if I actually hear her voice? If I do, does it mean I’ve lost my mind? Will everyone find out about the shadows and think that I am crazy?
I backed quickly away from the door and stumbled into Reverend Dalhousie. As he tucked an old scarf around his neck, I noticed his wool coat had frayed cuffs. Someone needs to take care of him, I thought wildly. How can his sister let him out looking so neglected? Knowing my thoughts were out of control, I staggered to one side, apologizing.
He caught my arm to steady me. “Miss Alexander, are you ill?”
I almost blurted out my fears, but noticed a slight withdrawal in his pale eyes. “I am fine, Sir. Just momentarily dizzy.”
“Does this happen often, Miss Alexander? Perhaps you should see Doctor Wilson when he returns to the parish.”
“I’m so busy getting my grandmother settled in the mornings that I forget my own breakfast sometimes.” I tried to laugh. “Only when I am halfway through my lessons do my rumblings remind me I haven’t eaten.”
“You must take care of yourself.”
“I will have more time now that school has broken for the holiday. Will you attend choir practice this week, Sir?”
“Yes. I should tell you that Mr. Campbell is indeed ill with bronchitis – but not seriously so – and I have asked your brother, Duncan, to step in. I hear he is a good fiddler and an excellent singer.”
“He is? Are there musical gatherings in the parish? Since when?”
“Mr. Kilgour started them when he arrived. I don’t go, of course, as I can’t make any decisions about them until I am in charge. I don’t condone drinking or wild dancing, however.”
I wanted to say, as opposed to sedate dancing? But, instead, I said, “I didn’t know about them. And he is not my brother. He is the grown son of my father’s wife, the Widow Comper.”
“I do beg your pardon. Of course. But I’m sure he will be a fine addition to our choir. It will do him good to think on God’s lessons and less of his own pleasures. Good-bye for the present, Miss Alexander.”
As Tupper trotted through freshly fallen snow in the afternoon gloaming, I tried to take in what Robert Dalhousie had just told me. Clearly the young reverend disapproved of parties or community ceilidhs. And I could only imagine how rowdy they would get with Kilgour in charge. Still, it must surely do the farmers and their families good to have some enjoyment like that.
But enough – I must prepare myself for this new battle with Ivy over Christmas dinner. Perhaps Kilgour would stay away for a few days after that awful episode over Penelope’s Christmas box.
I couldn’t help but wonder why he came all the way from Scotland to stay with his mother. It was obvious they were not comfortable in each other’s company. She was often strangely fussed and excited around him, and he seemed cold toward her, even deliberately unkind, as he’d been yesterday. Yet he continued to come by each day to see her. Why? It is all very curious.
His dark eyes always seem to be laughing at me. Yet he has been almost solicitous over the Christmas box from Penelope. My inner voice chided, But, surely, that was because he wanted to annoy his mother more than help you, wasn’t it? And don’t forget the humiliation of waking from your faint in Duncan Kilgour’s arms and how you reacted with such revulsion.
After he’d left the room, Grandmother had scolded me. “I called for help, nôsisim,” she said. “Mr. Kilgour came running. He was kind, and you were rude to him.”
She was right. But the smoky closeness of him had angered and confused me. Must I apologize? No … I couldn’t.
I thought about both the minister and Kilgour – one reserved and temperate, the other rough and coarse – and knew which man I preferred. Not that I would ever be offered a choice! I shook my head. How pathetic you are, Beatrice. Pathetic. As well as half-mad.
As Tupper pulled me homeward, down the final slope to Old Maples, the little voice whispered, Find courage, Beatrice – and some wits. For you are about to face the dragon in her lair below.
12
CASS
I slept all morning and woke up to see Aunt Blair leaning around the door frame. “How ya doing, honey?”
“Aunt Blair! Hi! Be careful around me. I have the plague.”
She threw her sheepskin jacket on Daisy’s bed and sat cross-legged on the foot of mine. “I’ll only stay a few minutes.” She pulled magazines and candy out of her bag, then two books and a plastic box filled with my favorite cookies – peanut butter.
“Thanks. Hey, you haven’t been here since Dad got married, have you?”
She nodded and looked around. Her hair was in a spiky ponytail. As usual, she wore no makeup except lip gloss. “I see Jean’s still chopping away at the house. I caught a glimpse of the living room. Where’s all your furniture gone?”
“In the barn, where else?”
“It should be in proper storage. It’ll get wrecked out there. Listen, do you want to come to my place for a day or two?”
“I’m okay. They’ve got the devil child sleeping with them, so at least I have the room to myself for now.”
She laughed. “When you feel like a break, come on over. I don’t think your dad would fight that, would he?”
We both knew that the rupture between her and Dad was serious. The only time they talked was when I stayed with her and he was forced to phone her house.
“I’d like to come for sure. But when I feel less like dying,” I said. “We’ll go shopping, right? How did you get past Jean, anyway?”
She smiled. “Just walked in. I told her I came to see you. She seemed surprised as all get out. You look terrible, kiddo.”
“I feel terrible, believe me. But I’m glad to see you. You better go before you get sick.” She squeezed my foot under the covers.
“Okay. You know where to find me – just call.”
As soon as she left, Jean brought me homemade chicken noodle soup and raspberry Jello – the sort of lunch Mom would’ve made, except Mom always used canned soup.
Jean looked out the window. “I wanted to do some Christmas shopping, but it’s snowing buckets out there.”
I couldn’t be bothered with even one tiny jibe about buckets clanking down from the sky. I must be sick.
“Have you decided what to get your dad?” she asked. “I could buy it for you. I know he needs socks.”
“One rule
in our house is that Dad doesn’t get socks for Christmas. Or ties,” I said. “The other rule is, everyone does their own shopping. Dad and I bought for Mom together, though. He liked getting her custom-made jewelry. He said she looked like Branwen – goddess of the north seas – so he gave her a lot of pearls. I have them all put away.”
She looked at me. “I don’t care for pearls. And I’m not competing with your mother. Or your aunt.”
“Really? I’d call getting rid of everything that even hints of my mom trying to destroy the competition. And you’ve never bothered to get to know Blair.”
“That’s not true. You might ask Blair why she hasn’t been here since last summer.”
I shrugged. I knew why.
“It’s possible to love more than one person in a lifetime, Cassandra. Your dad loves me now. Blair doesn’t want to accept that. She won’t listen. That’s your biggest problem, too, and it’s why we don’t get along. You –”
“Oh, but I do listen, even to your thoughts, Jean. And that’s my biggest problem.”
Before she could answer, the door flew open. Daisy cried, “They sent us home early! Tracy’s mom gave me a ride. I’m hungry!”
Jean left, guiding Daisy ahead of her, her back stiff as usual.
I forced some of the soup down, then slid under the covers and drifted off. By the time darkness fell, my throat felt a bit better. I couldn’t eat the slice of meatloaf Dad brought upstairs, but I managed a few mashed potatoes. The dessert – yogurt – went down easily and filled the hole in my stomach.
Dad said casually, “I hear Blair dropped by. What did she want?” I looked at him as if he’d said something stupid. Which he had. “Yeah, okay, she came to see how you were. But what else?”
I knew what he meant. Was Blair filling my head with stuff he didn’t like? Like how she felt Dad had been rushed into marriage by Jean, who had secretly and slyly courted him even before Mom died. That was Blair’s theory anyway. Mine, too.
Jean had been one of a small group of neighbors from the local Women’s Institute Mom belonged to who helped us in her final few weeks. Jean had spent a lot of time here. I was so focused on Mom, I hadn’t noticed her much. She and the other women were usually gone when I got home from school anyway. Blair wanted to be the only caregiver during the day, but Mom said Blair had to make a living and shouldn’t shut down her shop. She insisted her sister come only in the evenings.
“Did your aunt say anything about the changes in the house?” Dad asked.
“Just that the old furniture should be in proper storage, not in the barn.”
He looked sour. “She’d probably like to sell it in her shop. She was always jealous that your mom got this house and the antiques in it.”
“You have never said that before, Dad! Because you know it’s not true. Blair got Grandpa’s business and house when he died. Mom got this house. It was worked out between them ahead of time. That’s sick, Dad. You must really hate Blair.”
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. And I don’t hate her,” he said quickly.
“I bet it was Jean’s idea that Aunt Blair hasn’t come around because she’s jealous. You both know why Blair doesn’t come. She’s not welcome here.”
He shrugged and looked away.
“Look, Dad, she just stopped by to see how I was. She said I could come and stay with her when I feel better. I’ll go there during the holidays for a few days.”
I saw him bristle. “Of course. She’s your aunt. However, Jean did say Blair was very brusque with her.”
“Aunt Blair didn’t come to see Jean. What are you going to do? Ban Mom’s sister from the house?”
“Don’t be silly. It was her choice to cut herself off from the rest of us. I’m glad she stopped by to see you. But if she’s going to be difficult …”
I was done. I heard Dad sigh, then the door clicked shut. I rolled onto my side. I knew he was still hurt by Aunt Blair not accepting Jean into the family. But he hadn’t done anything to fix it.
Around midnight, I woke up and thought about Beatrice. I touched the star brooch. My skin prickled and, almost instantly, the diary appeared on my bed. It felt warmer this time, the brown leather oily soft. I quickly turned the pages until I reached the spot where she’d ended the last time.
Something had been added! The ink was fresh, dark. I read avidly. She had seen me in the school bus and in her classroom, too, her brooch pinned to my bright red top.
I kept reading. I loved it when she caught Ivy stealing from the wooden crate and Duncan witnessing the whole thing. I especially liked Duncan for telling his mother off. Beatrice thought he was doing it to get back at his mother, but I think he likes Beatrice. After the fight with Ivy, Beatrice saw me lying sick in my bed, and the shock of it all, plus the lack of food, had made her faint. It was clear from her writing that she was totally bewildered. Was I only adding to her already fragile state?
After agreeing to spend Christmas with Miss Cameron and Reverend Dalhousie, I wondered if Beatrice would get a chance to know Robert better. So far, I wasn’t all that impressed with him. He seemed stiff, with almost no sense of humor, but oddly enough, of the two guys, Beatrice seemed more interested in Dalhousie than Duncan. Was she really interested in either?
There was one thing I was sure of, though: Ivy would get even with Beatrice somehow for catching her stealing from that gift box.
I closed the book. Suddenly it hit me. I was definitely seeing three people from this house – Beatrice, her grandmother, and now Duncan, even if it was only a quick blurred view. I wish I’d caught a glimpse of his face when he picked her up. It might have told me how he really felt about her.
What was happening to me? I could feel the chill of the room on my shoulders and the smoothness of the sheets on my toes. I knew for certain I wasn’t sleeping. I could smell the scented oil from the leather diary on my fingertips, along with banana-strawberry sweetness from the empty yogurt tub. I had an 1856 journal resting in my hands. I put it down and watched it slowly fade away, then fell back on my pillows. If Beatrice was really living in this house in 1856, why was the journal passing through time and appearing to me?
And if all of this was about ghosts, or time travel, or about seeing people from the past who weren’t alive anymore, why didn’t Mom come to see me? Where was she? Was she angry at me? Was she gone forever?
I hadn’t really cried for her yet – I was still too angry at the unfairness … the awfulness of it all. I longed for her, and yet I couldn’t think about her too often because the glass shard inside my chest would stab me again. When she was sick, I knew I was losing her bit by bit. But then, suddenly one night, she was gone, and I couldn’t say sorry.
After that, I had only Dad and Aunt Blair to lean on. And then Jean came and Blair left. And Dad let her go.
I didn’t choose to have Jean or her kid in my life. Yet here they were. They say you can’t choose your family, but you can choose your friends. I have news for you. Sometimes you can’t choose either.
I hated it here now. Every day, I got up. I went to school. I came home. I lay in bed until dinner was called. Afterward, I did my homework and went back to bed. That was my life.
Was I becoming a ghost in my own house?
I stared into the darkness, too tired to think. The sun was just rising when the door opened and Jean entered with a tray. Tea, toast, jam.
“No coffee?” I asked.
“Your dad said lemon herbal tea. He made it.”
Dad walked in. “I’m off, girls.” He kissed my forehead, testing my temperature like Mom used to do. “Fever’s down. How’re ya doing?”
What should I say? My ears and throat feel a bit better, but my brain has strep, and it’s eating away at my brain cells and making me imagine all sort of weird things? And, oh yeah, I still hate your new wife?
“Better,” I muttered.
“Good.” He grinned. “Holidays start in less than a week. You’ll be fine by then. Man, I’m lookin
g forward to the break.”
“Our first Christmas together, Jon,” Jean simpered. “The first of many.”
As they murmured to each other, I pretended to go to sleep. When the door shut behind them, I looked out the window. Great-Uncle Bart told us how the rapids once stretched a long way downriver, causing problems for the traders. After the locks were built, they flooded the rapids with so much water, they vanished. That’s how I felt. Flooded. Unable to see the surface.
I spent the day sleeping until the door opened and Daisy shouted, “You awake?”
“No.”
Someone plopped down on the foot of the bed, then bounced up and down. I kept my eyes closed. “Go away, you horrible child!”
A strange voice said, “News from the outside world has arrived.”
I pulled the cover over my head. “What are you doing here?” I croaked from inside my dark cave.
Martin Pelly laughed. “Greetings from Grand Rapids High. Your mom called the school, and, as I am your brand-new English partner, Mr. Bruin told me to bring you the assignment and two poetry books. It’s worth thirty percent of our final mark. Victorian poets – comparing the romantics with the pastoral ones, whatever that means. We’re to choose two female and two male writers. Fun, huh?”
“I don’t care. I’ll never feel better again,” I croaked. “And FYI, Jean’s not my mother. And also FYI, I don’t want to do schoolwork. Go away.”
He pulled the cover off my head. The static made my hair crackle. I could actually feel it floating in the air. I smeared my hand with lotion and tried to hold my hair down.
“Red nose, red hair, green top. Very Christmasy. You know, I seem to recall someone telling me to make sure I pulled my weight in this project. So who’s backing out now, huh?”
Winter Shadows Page 8
