The Ghost of Poplar Point

by Cynthia DeFelice

  To Enzo Koji DeFelice, with love

  The author gratefully acknowledges Dr. Wallace Chafe,

  Research Professor of Linguistics at the University of California,

  Santa Barbara, for sharing his knowledge of the

  Seneca language and culture.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgments

  PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Author's Note

  Also by Cynthia DeFelice

  Copyright Page

  PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  Seneca vowels written with two dots over them (ë and ö) are nasalized, pronounced somewhat like the French vowels in bien and bon. A colon (:) shows that the preceding vowel is long (takes more time to pronounce). Seneca syllables may end with either h or a glottal stop (a catch in the throat), which is denoted with an apostrophe (’).

  Skayendady gyasonh (Sgayëdadih gya:söh) “My name is Skayendady.”

  Nyawenh (Nya:wëh) “Thank you.”

  Skennon (Sgë:nön’) “Well-being, peace.”

  Ganondiyo (Ganödi:yo:h) Made-up name of a restored Seneca village.

  Note that in all these words the second syllable is accented:

  SkaYENdady (compare with the name of the New York city Schenectady)

  gyaSONH

  nyaWENH

  skenNON

  GaNONdiyo

  One

  Allie Nichols sat in the third row of the old opera house, waiting her turn to audition for the starring role in the town’s summer pageant. She had practiced her lines so often she almost knew them by heart, and knew just how she wanted to say them. But the longer she had to wait, the more nervous she became.

  She watched as her friend Pam Wright stuttered and stammered her way through a bad case of stage fright. Next, another classmate of Allie’s, Julie Horwitz, mumbled her lines quickly and in such a low voice that Allie doubted anyone in the auditorium could hear her.

  Then a girl named Janelle Kavanaugh took the stage. From the whispers of the other kids, Allie learned that Janelle had moved to town just that year and that she went to a private school.

  “Her mother’s the one who wrote the script,” Julie said in a low voice. “And I heard her dad gave all the money for it.”

  “Wow,” said Pam. “He must be kind of a big shot, huh?”

  Miss Lunsford, the pretty young director of the pageant, shot them a glance, and they stopped whispering as Janelle took a deep breath and cleared her throat. To their surprise, before she uttered one word, Janelle’s face flushed an extraordinary shade of red and she fled from the stage in tears.

  Next to try out was Karen Laver, a classmate who was well known to all the kids for her nasty remarks and mocking tongue. She read the entire speech loudly and, in Allie’s opinion, rather overdramatically. But Karen received a polite round of applause for her performance.

  “Okay, Allie, you’re our final reader for this part,” called Miss Lunsford.

  Allie drew a deep breath and took the stage. She stood for a moment, squinting into the bright stage lights and trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach. She glanced at the audience and was immediately sorry. Karen, now sitting in the front row, was looking at her with a smug, challenging expression.

  She told herself to ignore Karen and look instead at her best friend, Dub Whitwell, who sat one row behind Karen. Dub gave Allie a wide grin and a thumbs-up sign, and she tried to smile back.

  Allie couldn’t see a thing beyond the second row of seats, where Dub sat, and that was fine with her. The rest of the huge old theater loomed back there, dark and cavernous, and if she could see it, she undoubtedly would imagine it filled with people and be even more frightened than she already was.

  “You may go ahead,” Miss Lunsford said with an encouraging smile in Allie’s direction.

  Allie began without even looking at the paper in her hands. “Greetings, friends. My name is Laughs-like-a-waterfall. I am a Seneca Indian.” So far, so good, she thought. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad, after all.

  Laughs-like-a-waterfall was the pageant’s narrator. It was the most important role, with the most lines. Tryouts for the part were open to any girl in town who, like Allie, was twelve, or had just completed the sixth grade. The pageant, the town’s first ever, was going to be the final event of the annual daylong summer festival on July 26. It was a depiction of the history of the town of Seneca, showing the relationship between the early European settlers and the local Seneca Indians.

  “My age is twelve winters,” Allie went on. Suddenly she felt a peculiar shivery sensation down her neck and across her shoulder blades. To her dismay, instead of the next line, she heard herself say, “Skayendady gyasonh.”

  The odd-sounding syllables echoed through the quiet hall. She felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment. Where had that come from?

  There were muffled giggles from the audience. A few kids who hadn’t been paying much attention before were now looking up at her with interest. One of the kids whispered loudly, “That wasn’t in my script.” Miss Lunsford shushed the crowd. In the silence, Allie coughed, then swallowed, and tried to collect herself before continuing.

  “I belong to the Wolf Clan.” Whew, she thought with relief. She was back on track.

  But the next thing she said was another string of unintelligible words.

  As the strange sounds fell from her lips, half of her brain screamed frantically, Stop! What are you doing?

  The other half, recognizing all too well the odd, quivery feeling that was now running through her entire body, was thinking, Oh, no, not again. Not now.

  She forced herself to go on, although she wasn’t at all sure what would come out when she opened her mouth. “I wish to tell you a story. It is a story of how your people came to the lands of my people. It is a story of friendship.” Good, she thought. You’re back to the script. Now finish quickly and get off the stage before you make even more of a fool of yourself.

  But then, unable to stop herself, she blurted another burst of incoherent sounds.

  Allie watched as Dub’s expression turned from puzzlement to concern. Karen Laver was holding a hand to her mouth, trying unsuccessfully to hide her delight at Allie’s disaster.

  Allie clamped her lips shut. Well, that was that. She’d never get the part now. She was about to flee the stage when she saw, to her surprise, that Miss Lunsford was smiling at her.

  “Thank you, Allie. That was very interesting,” Miss Lunsford said, standing and clapping. Slowly, uncertainly, others joined in the applause.

  “Now, before we have the auditions for the role of Cornplanter, let’s take a short break. You have five minutes, everyone, for a quick drink or trip to the bathroom.” She held up her hand, fingers extended, and repeated, “Five minutes.”

  Allie rushed down the steps from the stage, anxious to talk to Dub about what had just happened, but she was blocked by the figure of Karen.

  “Too bad, Allie,” Karen said, her voice filled with mo
ck sympathy. “You really blew it.” Smiling then, she added, “Looks like I’ve got the part sewed up.”

  Allie wished for the perfect, witty retort to spring to her lips but, as always, she was too taken aback by Karen’s nastiness to think.

  Once, when Allie, in despair, had wondered why Karen was so mean, Pam had said it was because Karen was jealous.

  “The other kids like you,” Pam explained.

  “They like Karen, too,” Allie answered.

  “No,” said Pam, shaking her head. “They go along with her because they’re afraid of her, not because they like her. Nobody wants to be her next victim.”

  Now, looking right into Karen’s smirking face, Allie tried to follow Dub’s often-repeated advice to ignore Karen Laver and everything she said. Sidestepping Karen, she headed toward Dub.

  “Al, what happened up there?” he asked, looking worried.

  “I’ll tell you out in the lobby,” Allie answered tersely.

  When they were alone, Allie moaned, “Dub, I think it’s happening again.”

  Dub looked quizzical. Then understanding dawned and his expression grew serious. “You mean … another ghost?”

  To her surprise, in the past few months Allie had been visited by a series of three different ghosts. Each spirit had been unable to rest in peace because of an unresolved problem and had come to Allie for help. Each had finally been “put to rest,” but only after Allie had taken action, sometimes at great risk to herself, to Dub, and, once, to her four-year-old brother, Michael.

  Her sudden attraction for the unhappy spirits had caused Dub to joke that she was a “ghost magnet.” He was the only person who knew the whole story behind each of her otherworldly adventures, and she was very grateful to have him by her side. The discovery that ghosts not only existed but seemed determined to involve her in their affairs had been an unsettling one. It was fascinating and exhilarating, yes, but also frightening and dangerous.

  Furthermore, she didn’t really know why ghosts came to her. The question grew more puzzling when she discovered that her little brother, Michael, could see and hear the same spirits, though their parents had no idea that this was going on. That might not have worried Allie, except for one thing she and Dub had learned: ghosts were all different, just like the people they had once been. Some were kind, but some definitely were not.

  Michael was too young to understand that some of the things he saw and heard were of supernatural origin, and as far as Allie was concerned the longer he remained in blissful ignorance, the better.

  “Al? Hello? I asked you a question.”

  Dub’s voice penetrated Allie’s reverie. “Sorry,” she said. “What did you say?”

  “I said, was it a ghost who made you talk like that during the audition?”

  Allie nodded. “It’s the only explanation I can think of.”

  She had learned many of the ways ghosts could communicate and make their wishes known. Having someone else speak through her lips was just one of the interesting—and disconcerting—surprises she had experienced.

  “At least the last time you came out with weird stuff you didn’t mean to say, it was in English,” Dub commented. “What was that?”

  “I have no idea,” Allie said. “And I can’t believe Miss Lunsford was so nice, clapping and smiling afterward as if I’d done a great job. I mean, I totally blew it.” She made a face, remembering Karen’s comment. “Of course, Karen made sure to point that out to me.”

  Dub scowled and was about to answer when Miss Lunsford called loudly from the stage, “That’s five minutes, people!”

  “I’ll stay for your audition, Dub,” Allie said quickly. “But I’m going to sit in the back. That way, if I start babbling again, nobody will hear me.”

  Sitting alone in the dimly lit shadows at the rear of the old theater, Allie experienced a mixture of excitement and dread at the thought of another ghostly encounter. Whose spirit was trying to reach her this time, and what did it want from her?

  Two

  The next morning, Allie and Dub rode their bikes to the opera house and arrived about fifteen minutes early. Dub checked the door.

  “It’s open,” he said to Allie, who was locking her bike to the rack. “We might as well go in.”

  They walked past the ticket booth and entered the shadowy lobby. The popcorn machine and drink dispenser glowed eerily in the lights from the red EXIT signs over the side doors, and the smell of popcorn filled the air. Allie always felt something special in the air of the old theater, and she decided it was excitement, the thrill of all the vaudeville shows, operas, and theatrical productions that had been performed here.

  She and Dub were halfway across the lobby when they heard a man’s voice coming from the stage area.

  “We’re here so my daughter can audition for the part of the narrator,” he said.

  Miss Lunsford’s voice answered, sounding puzzled. “But she had her chance. Yesterday.”

  “Well, she wasn’t ready yesterday,” the man answered. “Today she is.”

  “Even so, Mr. Kavanaugh,” said Miss Lunsford, “I’m sure you understand that it wouldn’t be fair to the other children to give your daughter a second chance.”

  Allie and Dub crept to the open doorway and peered down the aisle. A man and a woman stood before Miss Lunsford, a girl behind them and to the side.

  “It’s Janelle—the girl who ran off the stage yesterday, crying,” Allie whispered to Dub.

  “She wants to try again?” Dub asked in surprise.

  The man, Mr. Kavanaugh, was saying, “Janelle just had a bad day yesterday. You’ll see. She’ll do much better today.” Turning to his daughter, he said, “Won’t you, Janelle?”

  Janelle said in a muffled voice, “I guess so.”

  “You’re darned right you will. I told your mother to write the script with you in mind for the role of narrator. And since my company is sponsoring the pageant, I’m sure Miss Lunsford will be willing to give you a moment to show that you’re ready to take on the part.”

  “But, Mr. Kavanaugh,” Miss Lunsford said, “that really isn’t fair to the other kids.”

  “I’ll worry about what’s fair, okay, miss?” Mr. Kavanaugh said shortly. “Janelle, why don’t you sit down and run through your lines in your head while this lady and I have a little talk?”

  Allie watched as Janelle walked over to the front row and took a seat. She looked at Dub with wide eyes when Miss Lunsford spoke again. “Mr. and Mrs. Kavanaugh, I’m sorry, but I’ve already chosen the girl who will play Laughs-like-a-waterfall. There are lots of other wonderful roles in this pageant, as you know. I’m sure Janelle will be perfect for one of them. She is welcome to stay this morning while we do the rest of the casting.”

  Allie poked Dub in the side and whispered, “Way to go, Miss Lunsford.” She didn’t know much about the director, except that she worked at the Chamber of Commerce and had volunteered to direct the pageant. But, watching her stand her ground with Mr. Kavanaugh, Allie had to admire the woman’s spunk.

  Mr. and Mrs. Kavanaugh looked at each other. Mrs. Kavanaugh said, “Darryl, there are other good parts that would be fine for Janelle—”

  But Mr. Kavanaugh interrupted his wife and said angrily to Miss Lunsford, “Are you saying you refuse to give my daughter a second chance?”

  “I—” Miss Lunsford began, sounding flustered. “I really don’t think it would be—”

  Mr. Kavanaugh added before she could finish, “I know, fair to the other kids. So you said.” He smiled, and his voice changed, becoming chummy and confidential. “But you haven’t announced yet who the narrator will be, have you?”

  Miss Lunsford shook her head.

  “So no one will even know there’s been a change,” Mr. Kavanaugh said heartily, raising his hands and his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “Nothing unfair about that.” Turning to Janelle, he said, “Go ahead, honey. Get up there and show this lady what a good narrator you’ll be.”

 
Janelle stood still as her mother said hesitantly, “Darryl, maybe—”

  Mr. Kavanaugh interrupted her again to say, “Go on, Janelle.”

  “Mr. Kavanaugh,” said Miss Lunsford, “I really can’t allow this.”

  There was silence for a moment before Mr. Kavanaugh spoke in a low voice. “Then you might want to ask yourself this: would it be fair to the other kids to cancel the entire pageant over a misunderstanding about this one little part?”

  Miss Lunsford looked puzzled for a moment; then her expression darkened.

  Mr. Kavanaugh sighed. “Let’s be reasonable here. I could go to the town council and to the head of the Chamber of Commerce—who is, I believe, your boss—and see what they have to say. Of course, I’d rather not involve them when we could resolve this issue very easily right now, with no one being the wiser. But if you force me …” His voice trailed off, and he looked at Miss Lunsford and waited.

  After a moment’s silence, Miss Lunsford said, “Go to them, then, if that’s the way you wish to handle this. I hope they won’t agree to cancel the pageant. That would be very disappointing.” She turned to Janelle and added softly, “The rest of the children will be here for about an hour or so this morning. We’ll be making the remaining casting decisions. If you’d like to stay and try out for a part other than narrator, we’d be happy to have you.”

  Janelle looked at her father. “Dad? Should I?”

  “No. We’re leaving,” her father said tightly. To Miss Lunsford he said, “I’m going to get this thing straightened out right now.”

  Quickly Allie and Dub moved away from the doorway and pretended to be just entering the theater as Mr. and Mrs. Kavanaugh came through the lobby and went out the front entrance with Janelle at their heels. Allie looked curiously at the girl to see if Janelle was mortified by her father’s behavior. Allie certainly would have been if her father ever acted like that. But the other girl’s eyes were downcast, and Allie couldn’t read anything from her face.

  “Man,” said Dub when the door had closed behind them. “That was interesting.” Then he wiggled his eyebrows and said mysteriously, “Now only one question remains …”