by Jan Fields
“Right—it’s more of a traditional cautionary tale,” Jim said. “If we look at legends and folktales all over the world, we find lots of examples of cautionary tales. Here the story cautions against traveling a dangerous stretch of road at night during storms, but some legends warn against bad things that can happen if you’re mean to strangers, or if you steal or are greedy. Cautionary tales are often older than the more gruesome ghost stories like the ax-wielding lighthouse keeper. That’s why I want to be sure to include this legend. And if I can track down anyone whose death was even a little like the story, well, that’s going to add to the chill.”
Annie frowned slightly. She wasn’t sure the tragic death of a child was really something to be used to sell books. Jim seemed to sense her discomfort because he moved on to talking about the unusual styles of the lighthouses, and the rest of the meal passed pleasantly.
Annie decided she liked how comfortable Jim seemed with himself. Clearly he’d had more than his share of grief in life, but nothing in his attitude reflected either anger or self-pity. She found herself envying his contentment, and she hoped his relationship with Alice didn’t end up hurting either one of them.
Peggy appeared like magic at their table as they finished the meal. Alice and Jim ordered pie, but Annie decided to head for home before she wore out her welcome with her friend. She paid her bill and slipped out of the booth.
“I’ll finish up that research tomorrow and let Alice know if I find anything,” Annie said.
“You know,” Jim replied, “you could call me directly. I’m staying at the Maplehurst Inn. If I’m not there, you can leave a message.”
“I’ll call both of you so no one feels left out,” Annie said brightly, making Jim and Alice chuckle. Then she headed for the door.
Peggy caught her just before she slipped out. “Don’t forget that copy of The Secret Garden,” she said. “I could get right on the cover tomorrow night that way. With Emily focused on helping Wally with your grandson’s boat, I’m getting a lot more stitching done in the evening.”
“I’m glad my project has done so much good,” Annie said with a laugh. “I’ll definitely set the book out before I go to bed,” Annie promised. “That way I can’t forget.”
“Great,” Peggy said. She looked pointedly at the booth where Alice and Jim had their heads together. “They make a cute couple. Do you suppose he’ll stay?”
Annie sighed. “I doubt it, but I like him. I just hope Alice doesn’t get her heart broken.”
“It’s happened before,” Peggy said.
“Which is why I hope it doesn’t happen again,” Annie said. “But I think Jim is a nice guy. And I’m trying to keep my list of things to worry about under a hundred per day.”
With that she excused herself and headed for home.
11
Grey Gables was dark as Annie pulled up since she hadn’t expected to spend quite so long in town. Annie sat quietly in her Malibu and stared up at the old Victorian. The wide front porch that looked so welcoming in the daylight now shadowed the front door ominously, and the oversized wicker furniture offered plenty of spots for an intruder to crouch and hide.
Annie gave herself a little mental shake. She loved Gram’s house, but it was hard to be there alone sometimes, especially after dark. Finally, Annie took a deep steadying breath and swung open the car door.
All of Jim’s ghost stories had left her a little jumpy. She forced a nervous laugh as she told herself that Grey Gables hadn’t had a prowler in weeks and had never had a ghost as far as she knew. Betsy Holden wouldn’t have put up with a ghost! She wasn’t someone who believed in such things. Surely one mysterious little doll wouldn’t bring anyone skulking around this time.
Boots greeted her with a chorus of indignant meows. This was such completely normal behavior for the spoiled cat that Annie felt the tension drain out of her.
“It’s nice to be missed,” she told the cat as it threaded through her legs and bumped against her shins. Annie checked her answering machine and was glad to see she hadn’t missed any calls.
“Book!” she said, remembering her promise to Peggy. She felt the tiniest thrill of nerves at the thought of tackling the dark attic at night, but she knew exactly where the books were, so she’d just grab them and get it over with. She trekked upstairs, pausing long enough to shove Boots into her bedroom, despite the cat’s outraged protests. “I’m jumpy enough without you playing ghost this evening,” Annie called through the door.
She headed up the attic stairs, glad for the hours she’d spent cleaning and organizing. It made reaching the maple dressing table much easier. Annie wove her way through quickly, focusing on her goal and trying not to notice how the single light made weird twisted shadows creep across the floor. Rather than sort through the books, Annie just grabbed them all and retraced her steps. Again she paused at the bedroom door, opening it and releasing the furious ball of fur. She headed downstairs to the kitchen; Boots stalked after her.
Annie turned the books to look at the spines: The Outdoor Girls of Foaming Falls, Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Old Clock, Anne of Green Gables, The Secret Garden and one well-worn book with no title on the spine. Annie recognized it as the book that had been wedged behind the doll box.
She opened it and discovered it was a journal. The flyleaf was covered in cheerful script, and the writer had dotted each i with little smiles, hearts, or flowers. The owner had also decorated the border of the page with simple doodles of flowers and swirls. It gave the page a cheerful confusion.
Annie gasped as she read the admonishment written there: “This book belongs to Judy Holden. The treasures and secrets inside are not to be read by strangers under any circumstances or else!!!” She smiled at the insistence reflected in the row of exclamation points at the end.
She’d found her mother’s journal. She flipped through a few pages and a folded sheet of paper fell out. Annie picked it up and unfolded it carefully. It was an award certificate for learning the most Bible verses for the year 1955 in a church youth group. Annie remembered how often her mother had quoted from the Bible in her everyday life, her head stuffed with references.
“Memory is sometimes the only Bible a missionary can carry into a really dangerous area,” her mother had once told her. “There’s nothing more valuable you can put in your head than scripture. Put the words in there now, and they’ll come to you when you need them.”
Annie had tried to memorize Scripture, but really only knew a handful of Psalms and a scattering of New Testament verses. Annie was proud of her mother’s commitment to the mission field, but it wasn’t something they could share. There were times when Annie felt such a crushing sense of loss. Really, she’d known Gram better than she’d known her own parents. They had traveled to such dangerous places sometimes, places they didn’t want to take a young girl. So Annie spent her summers with Gram and much of her school year with her dad’s sister Susan in Texas.
She loved Aunt Susan too, but somehow the longing for her own parents overshadowed much of her childhood. It was as though nearly her whole young life was spent waiting—waiting for her parents to come home, and even waiting for the chance to really know them at all. And then they’d both died so young. Annie sighed and slipped the paper back into the journal.
She carried it into the bedroom and changed for bed. Then she slipped between the crisp cotton sheets and opened the book again. She found other bits tucked between the pages. Two black-and-white photos showed her mother dressed in long skirts that skimmed her rolled-down bobby socks. Judy Holden smiled stiffly at the camera, not showing her teeth. She had so few pictures like this of her mother as a young girl. Either her mother hadn’t cared much for photos, or it simply had been hard to slow her down enough to take her picture. Annie remembered Gram telling her that Judy was always rushing off to one adventure or another.
Annie tried to picture that kind of excitement as she looked at the girl in the photos. She ran a finger over the high
ponytail her mother wore in the photos. The mother she remembered had always kept her hair short, saying it made life easier.
Annie remembered asking her mother why short hair was easier. “Sometimes we go to places where … ” her mother paused, as if looking for a gentle way to say what she meant, “ … where not everyone is able to keep bedding and such clean. And it helps if you can reach your scalp easily.”
Annie still looked confused, so her mother added, “I’ve had lice about five times now, and bedbug bites even more often.”
When Annie wrinkled her nose, her mom had patted her arm. “Sometimes there are more important things to worry about than a few fleas or lice.”
That little talk had left Annie itchy for the rest of the day. How different her practical mother seemed from the girl in the photos with her saddle shoes and ponytail. “I wish I had known you better,” she whispered as she looked into the eyes of the girl squinting at the camera. Her eyes misted with tears.
Annie could see that she looked a lot like her mother. She had the same fine blond hair and pointed chin, features she shared with her own daughter LeeAnn. All three shared the same fine bone structure, an inheritance from Betsy Holden. But she suspected the women inside had little in common. Though Annie cared about missionaries, she had never felt the call to go overseas. In that, she and her mother were very different.
Annie turned back to the journal, flipping pages slowly to see what else might be tucked inside. She found a four-leaf clover as well as violets and other wild flowers pressed between the pages. Then the book fell open to a spot where a tightly folded piece of paper with careful square handwriting was tucked deeply into the crack of the binding. The note wasn’t signed, but the writer declared his admiration for Judy in an awkward poem:
Your hair is gold like the sun.
Your eyes are blue as the sea in spring.
If you liked me as I like you,
I know my heart would sing.
“Wow, that boy had it bad,” Annie said, turning to speak to the photo of her mother. “I wish you were here to tell me about him.”
She wondered if maybe her mother had written about her mystery beau in the journal, so Annie turned to the first page of script and began to read:
June 25th. The Wild Jays had a picnic on the beach today. Jenny went on and on about Butler’s Lighthouse again. She has been obsessed with the place ever since Jo told her about the legend. Now, whenever we get together, she begs for new ghost stories. I think Jo is just making things up half the time. She’s really good at it. By the time she finished one about a ghost ship filled with blood-soaked pirates, I had goose bumps on my goose bumps, and Jenny had practically hugged all the stuffing out of poor Matilda.
Annie stared at the page in shock. Was Matilda the old rag doll she’d found in the attic? If so, how did it end up in the attic of Grey Gables? Annie also thought about the uncanny connections between her mother’s journal and her own nightmares. The three girls. The lighthouse that apparently frightened and fascinated the youngest girl. The doll.
How could Annie be dreaming about these girls when this was the first she knew of their existence? Had her mother told her about them at some point or other, and her dream was turning the memory into pictures for her?
Judy had never been one to tell stories of her childhood. Her eyes were always on the future and the next task to be done. Annie had admired her mother for that dedication to finding a need that she could fill, but it meant that she didn’t know much about her mother’s childhood. Gram talked about it sometimes, especially when Annie did something that reminded her grandmother of Judy. Could that be where she heard of this story? Or maybe her mother had told her when she was really little, and the memory could only be accessed in her sleep?
Annie didn’t know the answer, but suddenly the thought of sleep was very appealing. She felt like she’d been handed an almost overwhelming number of insights into her mother, and just trying to sort them out in her head was exhausting. Boots hopped up on the bed and climbed onto the open book in Annie’s lap, pointedly flopping down on it.
“OK, Boots,” Annie said. “I can take a hint. Sleep now, read tomorrow!” She slipped the book out from under the boneless cat and laid it to one side. Then she turned off the light and settled down, the promise of learning more about her mom giving her a small glow of warmth as she slipped into sleep.
It turned out to be one of those nights that seemed to pass in an instant. She closed her eyes on the night and opened them seemingly just after that to find morning sun on her face. She was happy for another night without a nightmare as she’d been a little worried the book would trigger one.
Annie retrieved her mother’s journal and carried it with her to the kitchen. She settled at the table with a cup of coffee and a muffin, opening the book to read the next entry.
July 5th. Jenny now talks about nothing but the lighthouse. I think the only thing that is going to get her to stop bugging us is if we finally get to go inside. We’ve decided to ask the new lighthouse keeper to give us a tour. I would be scared to death to ask, because everyone knows Mr. Murdoch hates kids, but Jo isn’t afraid of anything. She says she’s going to march right up there tomorrow. Of course, that’s going to mean me marching with her. Jo and I are a team! Jo says I have to come anyway, because I can charm the birds from the trees. So between Jo’s courage and my way with people, we just might get our tour. The next time I write, I’ll be telling you all about our tour. We’re not going to take Jenny until the tour is a sure thing. She may love to talk about the lighthouse, but I don’t think she’ll be brave enough for more than one visit.
Annie smiled at the lighthouse keeper’s name and wondered if it was the same man who caught Alice and her friends. If so, the man had stayed on long enough to grow old in the job without getting a bit nicer to kids.
In the journal entries, her mom and Jo sounded so much like Annie and Alice as kids. Alice was the one who never saw a dare she could pass up, and Annie was the one who talked them out of trouble after one of Alice’s wild ideas went totally off course.
Annie flipped to the next page in the book and saw her mom had dotted all the i’s in this entry with frowning faces. The entry was short:
July 6th. Mr. Murdoch is such a grouch!! He wouldn’t even let us ask about a tour and just started yelling when we knocked on the door! He even threatened to sic his monster dog on us!!!! Jo says she’s not afraid of Mr. Murdoch or the dog, or even the curse. Sometimes I worry when Jo gets this worked up. Why couldn’t that grouchy man just let us have a tour?
Annie felt a stir of unease at the entry. Sure, her mother had sounded angry, but worried too. What had her best friend’s wild ideas gotten them into? She started to turn the page when the ringing of the phone made her jump.
When she picked up the phone, she was delighted to hear the voice of her daughter. “You won’t believe what I was reading when you called,” Annie said.
“Hmmm … Snagging the Sexy Senior?” LeeAnn asked.
“You made that title up!”
“No, really,” LeeAnn said, laughing. “I saw it on the cover of a magazine in a bookstore in Dallas. Since it’s about the last thing I could imagine you reading, I thought I’d guess that.”
“Actually I was reading something much better. I found a journal that belonged to your grandmother when she was a girl. So far, it’s very mysterious. It even has a love note tucked inside from some mysterious beau who wrote poetry.”
“Poetry?” LeeAnn said. “Poor Herb tried to write a poem for me once. He was so stuck for a rhyme for LeeAnn that he settled for ‘be tan.’ I guess you should have given me an easier name.”
“Well, your grandmother’s beau didn’t even try to rhyme Judy,” Annie said. “I’m still hoping for clues to who it was. I know she didn’t meet your grandfather until she was in her late teens.” Annie went on to tell LeeAnn about the old rag doll and the connection to her mom’s friends who called themselves the “Wil
d Jays.”
For the first time, LeeAnn showed real interest in one of Annie’s mysteries. “You should bring the journal when you come home for the party,” she said. “I’d love to read it. Do you think you can find the rest of the Wild Jays? After all, Grandmother wouldn’t be that old now if she had lived. Her friends might still live there in Stony Point.”
“The journal hasn’t had a lot of clues as to whom they could be so far,” Annie said as she ran a finger along the spine of the journal. “But I’ve only just started reading it. It would be great to meet someone who actually knew Mom when they were kids. I could learn so much.”
“Well, let me know what you find out,” LeeAnn said. “We can have long, long talks about it when you finally come home.”
“That reminds me,” Annie said, her voice turning stern, “I don’t think it was appropriate for you to ask Pastor Mitchell to talk me into coming back to Brookfield to live.”
“It wasn’t exactly like that,” LeeAnn protested, her voice sputtering a bit.
“Really? What was it like then?”
“Well, it was mostly like that,” LeeAnn admitted. “But you’re missing so much, Mom. The twins are changing every day, and they want to see their grandmother. And I would like to spend some time with my mom.”
Annie sighed. She decided not to remind LeeAnn of how little time they managed to spend together when she lived there in Brookfield. LeeAnn was always rushing from one place to another, and they still visited on the phone far more than they did in person. Would Annie be going back to feeling like a chore on LeeAnn’s to-do list if she moved back to Texas?
The phone call wound down with Annie firmly telling LeeAnn that she would appreciate no more schemes to get her back to Texas. “I’ll be there for the twins’ party,” Annie said. “And I promise to have a firm decision by then. You are right about one thing. It’s time I settled on where I belong. This being in limbo hasn’t been good.”
