Spirit Eyes

by Lynn Hones

  “Don’t do that,” Ruth said. “And if you must do that, at least eat a carrot.”

  Pearl grabbed a small carrot. With it lying in one palm, and the croutons in the other, she pretended to weigh them. “Croutons or carrot? Croutons or carrot?” She popped the croutons in her mouth and threw the carrot back into the bowl. “Croutons won,” she said.

  Paul walked in and gave both his wife and then Pearl a kiss. “Mmm, smells good, I’ll be down in a second.”

  Ruth told Pearl to keep an eye on things and not let Puddles get anything off the counter or she’d have no birthday cake for dessert. She followed Paul upstairs and quickly filled him in on the experience of the morning and on the ride home. He answered exactly as she suspected.

  “Ruth. Hello? She’s doing it strictly for attention. Plain and simple. The more we ignore it, the quicker it will go away.”

  “I don’t think so. You weren’t there. She was scared. Her face was white as a sheet. I have no doubt she saw something.” Ruth’s inward impatience bubbled to the surface.

  Paul removed his tie and sat on the bed to take off his shoes. “Come on. So you think she’s seeing ghosts? Get real. We’ll keep an eye on it, but please, don’t play into it.”

  His inflexibility didn’t surprise her. What did she expect from a scientist? But again, that lonely fear surrounded her.

  Dinners were usually a raucous affair in the Adler home. That evening, however, proved awkward. The sound of cutlery hitting glass plates, a sound Ruth detested her entire life, frustrated her. She’d developed this dislike growing up with a father that insisted on no talking during meals, and his word was law. It was just the two of them, and it was lonely. That was why she liked loud, happy conversation and playful banter during their meals. Stickin’ it to da man, in a way.

  Pearl, in her infinite babbling way, finally spoke up. “Mommy, me and my friends were sitting on the concrete at recess and Peter McMillan said he knew where babies came from. He said he heard his mom and dad moving around and making funny noises under the blankets one morning when they didn’t know he was there and his older brother told him later that they were making babies.”

  Ruth, stifling a giggle, looked over at Paul, who himself seemed on the verge of laughter.

  “What did you say to him?” Paul asked nonchalantly.

  “I told him he was as dumb as a doorknob. I told him that you guys already told me where babies come from and you don’t do it in bed making funny noises.”

  “Well, good for you, kiddo,” Ruth interjected.

  Completely loving this conversation, Lotus asked her sister, “So, smarty-pants, where do they come from?”

  “Duh…China, stupid, they come from China.”

  Lotus burst out laughing and shook her head.

  Pearl continued. “Billy Morton said everything is made in China now-a-days and that’s ‘zactly right. I was.”

  “Well, honey not all babies are made in China, some are made here, too,” Paul said.

  Ruth, wishing now to stop the conversation at hand, cleared her throat and asked Paul how his day went. He passed her the potatoes and smiled. “Okay, I guess, but I need a break. It’s a long weekend ahead. I’m thinking why don’t we go to the cottage? I’m sure the river’s frozen enough to skate.”

  Clink. That dreadful sound.

  “Hello? Am I talking to myself?” he asked.

  Lotus spoke up. “No, Daddy,” she said quietly. “I don’t like the cottage in the cold weather.”

  He gulped a glass of milk, put it down and smiled at Lotus. “It’s not cold when I turn on the space heaters and start a fire. It’s cozy. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  Ruth contemplated this and came to the conclusion that a weekend away might be what her family needed.

  She came to Paul’s rescue. “Why not, girls? We can bring hot chocolate and even make our smack down, salacious, super fantastic smores.”

  “Wow, Mom,” Lotus said. “You never want to go to the cottage.”

  “I do, too.”

  “Uh uh,” she responded.

  Paul’s gaze moved toward Lotus. “Do you always have to be so argumentative, young lady?”

  “Yep,” Pearl answered for her. She tipped her head back and threw a crouton into her mouth.

  Paul picked a piece from his roll and threw it at her, which gave Pearl enough rope to scream, “Food fight.” She seized a handful of mashed potatoes and aimed.

  “Bull!” Ruth shouted. She grabbed Pearl’s wrist, lowered her hand and prayed silently for strength.

  That night, a Thursday, Ruth packed a few things for their long weekend. Their summer cottage, about an hour and a half drive away, was situated on the edge of the Vermilion River. Far enough away to feel they had left on a short holiday.

  With a suitcase on her bed and piles of clothes to go into it, she attempted the process neatly. A bit of a slob, Ruth envied people with Obsessive Compulsive Disorders as she put everyone’s clothes in their own pile, but soon, as always, started to throw things in haphazardly.

  Pearl came around the corner, newly showered, wearing a nightgown that read, Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History, a present from her aunt, and lay across the bed. She rolled onto her stomach and Ruth sensed she had something she wanted to talk about, so she pushed the suitcase aside and lay next to her. Gently, her arm around her daughter’s tiny waist, she pulled her close.

  “What is it, honey?”

  “I don’t like the people, Mommy.”

  “Who?” she asked, confused.

  “My people.”

  “Are you talking about the man in the driveway?”

  “Yeah.”

  Not sure what to say next, Ruth, always frightened of anything paranormal, wished she could channel a spirit guide or someone to help her.

  “How often have you seen the man…the man in the driveway?”

  “Bunches of times.”

  “Is he Asian?”

  “No. He’s white.”

  “Do you see anyone else?”

  She nodded and played with her mother’s hair.

  “Where?”

  “In the dining room.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I see a woman by the radio. She has funny clothes on and her hair is weird.”

  The radio in question was the only thing that Ruth had from her mother. With a vase of fake flowers that needed dusting in the worst way sitting on top, it was mostly for show, although it did work.

  Pearl continued with her implausible story. “She leans on it and plays with the dials. She sometimes hums and taps her foot. She’s not unhappy like the man in the driveway. She’s nice and smiles at me when I walk by.”

  “Do you ever talk to her?”

  “No, I don’t want to. She never talks to me either.”

  Aware she had let this go on long enough, she made a mental note to call their family doctor while the kids were at school.

  Adoption was one of the miracles of life. It made their lives complete and she wouldn’t trade her kids for bio ones for, well, all the tea in China. But she didn’t know their health history. Both girls had been abandoned, which meant they were found on the streets and brought to an orphanage. It was illegal in China to do that, so of course the families left no trail. Inherited mental illness could be an issue.

  “Well, I’m going to talk with Daddy and we’ll figure out a way to make it stop, okay, sugar? Now, off to bed.”

  “I’m going.”

  Pearl rolled off the bed, but instead of her usual skip out, she walked. Not a big thing for someone else, but for her baby, it was a very big deal.

  Chapter Four

  “My skates are too small,” Lotus complained. “I told you they would be.”

  “Okay, see if mine fit.” Ruth handed them over and watched as Lotus put her foot in easily.

  “No.” She stood. “They’re way too big.” Obviously in no mood to be harmonious, probably due to her overall objection of where she fou
nd herself, Lotus sat in a huff.

  “Let me check.” Her miserable daughter hopped over to her and scowled as Ruth checked the toe area. “They fit fine. Put on a pair of Daddy’s thick hunting socks and you’re good to go.”

  In the words of thirteen-year-olds everywhere, she sighed, “Whatever.”

  “Mine fit,” Pearl exclaimed happily. She pretended to skate on the ancient carpeting in the cottage and fell flat on her face.

  Ruth scooped her up. “Are you okay?”

  A goofy facial expression greeted her as her youngest mumbled, “I’m fine. My ego is hurt more than my face.”

  “Where do you come up with this stuff?” Ruth laughed.

  The lake, just as Paul predicted, was frozen solid. He and the kids spent a couple of hours doing laps, playing hockey and flirting with figure skating moves. Somewhere along the line of family togetherness, Lotus pulled herself out of her object hatred of all things Adler and relaxed, appearing to enjoy herself. Ruth, curled up in a quilt, sat in a chair on the front porch of the cottage with a sizable pile of magazines and Puddles at her feet. She sipped the extra-strong coffee she’d made and laughed at their antics. Obviously, this was just what the doctor ordered. She had worried needlessly. Pearl seemed fine. She was her normal, old self.

  The hungry crew bustled in insisting on large mugs of hot chocolate, which they drank with gusto in front of the potbelly stove in the living room. She’d put the space heater in the bedroom they all shared and turned it on, hoping to warm the room before they went to bed.

  The cottage’s five small bedrooms were enough for them to spread out, but as it was, they all slept together in one of the larger ones. The girls didn’t want to be far away from their parents and Ruth couldn’t bear to make them sleep alone if they didn’t want to. Paul and she slept in a double bed, while a bunk bed sat directly at its foot for the girls. The cottage, inherited from Paul’s grandfather, creeped the girls out. With numerous visits, they became more accustomed to the old place, but they still would not sleep alone. Ruth and Paul didn’t mind. In fact, they enjoyed listening to their children’s light snores and murmurs while they slept. Cozy, they enjoyed having them close knowing that, in a blink of an eye, they’d be grown and on their own.

  “Daddy,” Pearl sang out, “that big deer head on the wall is staring right at me.”

  “No,” he laughed. “I think it’s staring at me. It’s telling me to go find its body and put it back together again.”

  “Your dad shot it, huh?” Lotus asked with a grimace.

  “Yep.”

  “Oh, please,” Ruth said, “stop talking about it. I hate hunting.”

  “Tell us again about when you were a little boy here, Daddy. Please,” Pearl begged.

  Paul beamed as they sat in the living room in front of the stove. He always loved to wax nostalgic about the old place and his grandfather. Ruth, on the other hand, grew bored hearing the same tired stories over and over again.

  “Well, let’s see.” He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Which one should I tell? Hmm. Did I ever tell you girls about when your great grandfather Henry built this place?”

  “No,” Pearl said. She had, in fact, heard it before, but obviously wanted to hear it again.

  She sat in her mother’s lap and curled up.

  Ruth shifted uncomfortably and whispered into Pearl’s ear, “More like a hundred times.”

  He rubbed his stubbly chin with his hand, looked off, and began. “Well, it was back in Nineteen-aught-seven and Grandpa Henry had just moved to America from Germany. He didn’t know many people, but he’d go to a bar down the street from his small apartment in the city and meet up with a bunch of other guys who were sick of the women-folk bossing ‘em around all the time.”

  Ruth rolled her eyes, and both girls looked her way and grinned—she knew her reactions were part of the entire story.

  “So, they decided to build this here place to get together to fish and drink beer and burp and…”

  Pearl yelled out with glee, “And fart.” She put both hands to her mouth and giggled.

  Ruth hated that part and rolled her eyes while, once again, both girls glanced her way.

  “Do you have to adopt the cadence of a country boy when telling these tales?” Ruth intoned. “It’s so annoying.”

  Ignoring her, he continued. “After a few years, their wives said Hey, what about us and the kids? We want to come, too. So the men-folk had to let them come.”

  Again Ruth rolled her eyes.

  “So, ever since then, the women-folk have taken over.”

  Lotus yelled out, “And now they sit around and drink all the beer.”

  Everyone burst out laughing and Paul threw a pillow at her.

  “And they drank beer acuz they were Germans and Germans like their beer. Right, Daddy?” Pearl said.

  “Yes, my little dumpling.”

  “Alright,” Ruth said. “Enough of that. Off to bed.”

  Paul clapped his hands. “Get your fannies to sleep.”

  “Will that fire be safe all night?” Ruth cast a glancing look toward it.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m going to sit up for awhile, anyway.”

  “Okay. Come to bed soon.”

  “I will.”

  After a kiss goodnight, she turned and left. “I’m off with the women-folk.”

  Midnight brought a typical cold night at the lake, and Ruth woke, felt the chill, and turned onto her side to curl against Paul for body warmth. A light went on, and just as quickly it went off. It happened again and Ruth turned her face toward the girl’s bed. The nightlight next to the bottom bunk, where Pearl lay, came back on and then off.

  Ruth sat.

  “Pearl, what are you doing?” She questioned her in a stage whisper.

  The light went on again and she heard her daughter’s tiny voice answer. “I’m turning on the light to see if she’ll go away.”

  “Who?”

  “That girl who is sitting on the bed between you and Daddy.” Her matter-of-fact tone belied the fear that sight must have caused. Ruth’s stomach reacted as if she’d just taken a quick ride down a hill in the car.

  “Sweetie, there’s no one here. There’s no room. Maybe you saw Mr. Puds.”

  “No, Mom. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Puddles doesn’t look like a girl. And besides, he’s lying here with me. He saw her, too.”

  “Don’t get cheeky,” Ruth said.

  “She was there, Mama. She sat right there between you guys. She had long, blonde hair and she had on a headband.”

  “How old was she?” Getting used to this now, she figured she’d ask as many questions as she could to see just how real these people were.

  “About Lotus’ age.”

  “How was she dressed?”

  “Her t-shirt had the American flag on it and she was reading a funny looking magazine that said The Archies. I turned the light on and off to see if she would go away, but she wouldn’t. She talked to my mind. She told me to quit staring at her.”

  “Was she Asian?”

  “No, Mom. Quit asking that. If I see an Asian, I’ll tell you.”

  “Okay, but please, Pearl, stop it. You’re creeping me out.” It was late, she was tired, and now she was—guilt-ridden. She shivered from the cold, or was it fear? “I’m sorry,” she sheepishly told her daughter.

  “Mommy, can I sleep with you?”

  “Of course you can. Come on.” Pearl jumped out of her own bed and Ruth lifted the blankets next to her.

  Pearl crawled under them, smashing her tiny body up against her mother’s. “Damn it,” she said.

  “Pearl, don’t talk like that,” Ruth admonished.

  “I can’t help it, Mommy. It’s what I say when I just can’t take it anymore.”

  That next morning, with cereal and milk on the kitchen table, they ate while listening to the radio.

  “We need internet out here,” Lotus whined. “How am I supposed to go on my sites?”
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  “You don’t,” Paul said. “That’s why we don’t have it here. So you read more. To live like the pioneer kids of the nineteen-seventies did.”

  “Like that girl?” Pearl said.

  “What?” Paul put a spoonful of cereal in his mouth and stared at his youngest daughter.

  “The one reading the magazine called The Archies?”

  Paul glanced at Ruth. “Can someone fill me in?”

  “Pearl thinks she saw a girl in bed with us last night,” Ruth said quickly.

  “I don’t think I saw her, I know I saw her.”

  “Well, did you tell her to get off?” Paul asked with a laugh.

  “No, she told me to quit looking at her. She told me to take a picture…it would last longer.”

  Paul grew pale. Dismay tightened his features, and he spoke quietly. “What did she look like, Pearl?”

  She told him word for word what she’d told her mother the night before. He stood, as if in a serious state of shock, and ambled into one of the lesser-used bedrooms. Upon his return, he laid an old, yellowing Archie comic book on the table.

  “Did it—did the comic book look like this?”

  “Yeah, Daddy. That’s zactly the one—that boy with the red hair and freckles and those girls with the blonde and black hair.”

  A much-subdued Paul sat.

  “What, Paul?” Ruth looked up at him. “Paul?”

  He slid into the past with wistful melancholy. “I never told you this, but…my cousin, Kelly, drowned in the river here. She was just a kid and this was her magazine. What Pearl just described is what she had on when she went missing. They found her a few hours later. I’ll never get the sight out of my mind. That shirt with the American flag, the headband tangled in her long, blonde hair…” He fell into a chair and rubbed his face with both hands. Her favorite saying was, take a picture, it will last longer. We were so close. It tore me up.”

  Now it was Paul’s family, and his turn to swim in the sea of confusion.

  “Paul,” Ruth said calmly. “We have to talk.”

  On the ride home, the girls listened to their iPods, ear buds tucked snugly in while Puddles slept in between them.

  “So, does this make you think twice about your original response to Pearl’s people?”