The Ghost of Poplar Point

by Cynthia DeFelice

  Allie looked at him skeptically.

  He met her gaze. “You got a better idea?”

  Allie had to admit that she didn’t. She stood up and came back with a phone book, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a quarter. “Heads, you call. Tails, I do.”

  Dub nodded. Allie tossed the quarter into the air and let it fall. She moaned. It was tails. Dub made an effort to appear sympathetic, but Allie could see the relief on his face.

  “This is crazy,” she said. “Janelle’s just like her father.”

  “Tell her the story, the way we heard it from Ronnie,” Dub urged. “Come on. She’d have to have a heart of stone not to feel something.”

  “I wish she could have heard it from Ronnie instead of me,” Allie said. Then she looked up the Kavanaughs’ number, took a deep breath, and dialed.

  To her relief, Janelle answered the phone. She sounded surprised when Allie identified herself. Not wanting to give Janelle any chance to hang up, Allie hurriedly told her about the trip to Ganondiyo. She poured out the whole story in a rush, without a break, and when she had finished, there was silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Janelle?” she said uncertainly. “Are you there?”

  “Yes,” Janelle answered. She sounded equally uncertain.

  “Well,” Allie said, “can you help us? Tell your parents what I just told you. Maybe you can convince your father to change the pageant. It’s really important.”

  “No,” Janelle whispered.

  “No?” Allie repeated.

  “I can’t,” Janelle said. Her voice was low and expressionless.

  “You mean you won’t!” Allie said in a flash of anger.

  Janelle said quickly, “Look, I’ve got to go—”

  Allie heard a click and then the dial tone. She hung up her receiver. “Well, now we know: she does have a heart of stone.”

  “What did she say?” Dub asked.

  “She said no,” Allie replied. “And I can’t. Other than that, she was very understanding and helpful.”

  Dub shrugged. “It didn’t hurt to try.”

  “I just don’t get her,” Allie said with frustration. “She doesn’t care about what happened to Skayendady and her family. She doesn’t care if the pageant is nothing but a bunch of lies, as long as she gets the starring part her father bullied people into giving her! She doesn’t even seem to care that she has no friends, as long as she doesn’t upset Daddy.” She fell onto the couch beside Dub, drained.

  “Feel better now?” Dub asked half-jokingly.

  “No. We’ve accomplished exactly nothing to help Skayendady, and I’m fresh out of ideas.” She shook her head tiredly. “I’m dying for a good night’s sleep.”

  Being a ghost magnet was exhausting.

  Fifteen

  Allie spent the night in Michael’s room again, not allowing herself to sleep deeply so she—and therefore Michael—wouldn’t have nightmares. When he awoke in the morning and went downstairs, Allie burrowed under the covers, thinking she’d get some actual rest at last. But after less than five minutes, Michael was back.

  “Allie!” he called loudly. “Wake up! Telephone!”

  She sighed, emerged from under Michael’s brightly colored Galactic Warriors bedspread, and went down the hallway to her parents’ bedroom. She picked up the phone and croaked, “Dub Whitwell, you better have a really good reason to be calling me this early.”

  But it wasn’t Dub.

  It was Janelle. “Listen,” she whispered urgently.

  “I’ve only got a second. My mother’s in the shower and my father went out to the curb to get the paper. He can’t know I’m calling you.”

  “Why?” Allie said, struggling to fully wake up.

  Janelle went on, speaking so fast Allie had to concentrate to hear every word. “When you called yesterday, my father was listening on the other phone. You were talking, so you didn’t hear him pick up, but I did. That’s why I couldn’t say anything.”

  Allie was having trouble taking in what Janelle was saying, partly because she was still blurry from sleep, and partly because she couldn’t imagine her own father listening in on her phone calls. “Why did he do that?” she asked.

  Janelle let out an exasperated sigh. “Because it’s just the way he is. He’s, like, in control of everything.”

  Including you, thought Allie, feeling fully awake now. She was quiet, though, wanting to hear what Janelle had to say next.

  “What you said, it was news to me. But my father already knew all about it,” Janelle went on hurriedly. “And he says it’s ancient history. He says everybody’s forgotten about it, and nobody on the town council said one word about it when he first made his proposal to build out there. He says bringing it up and reminding people would be bad for business, and people in town are counting on the jobs and money the hotel is going to bring in.” She paused for a moment to catch her breath and added, “He was so mad.”

  Allie waited to hear more.

  “And then my mom said that if there was a massacre at the Point, it means the pageant is a fraud. And my dad told her she was overreacting, and the pageant is just fine the way it is. He says there’s nothing wrong with showing how the settlers and Indians met, and what happened later is another story—one nobody needs to hear.

  “And Mom got really upset, and they had a huge fight. I went into my room after a while so I didn’t have to listen. But I heard my father say that no little brats are going to ruin his plans, and the pageant is going to go on the way it is, and so are the plans for the hotel.”

  Allie felt a chill. The “little brats” were her and Dub. “But how can he—” she began.

  “Look,” Janelle interrupted. In a pleading voice, she said, “You don’t know my father. When he decides something, it happens.” She was still talking very quickly, obviously afraid of being caught. “I know you hate me for getting your part, but you’ve got to listen. I thought about this all night. There’s no use going against my father. The best thing to do is follow along with the pageant the way it is, and keep your mouth shut. I mean, who will it hurt? Is there really anybody who cares about what happened in this town more than two hundred years ago?”

  Janelle broke off, and Allie heard a voice calling in the background, “Janelle?”

  Janelle gasped. “Gotta go.”

  And the line went dead.

  Allie stood for a moment, stunned, the phone in her hand. Forgetting all about sleep now, and about how she hadn’t wanted to be called so early on a Sunday morning, she dialed Dub’s number.

  Luckily, Dub was an early riser, and he answered the phone. When Allie told him about the phone call from Janelle, he was as upset as she. “What do we do now?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Allie answered. “But her father called us brats!” Then, after her indignation had passed, she added, “He already knew all about the massacre! He’s just mad that we know because we might mess up his precious project.”

  “Unbelievable,” said Dub.

  “The whole conversation was so weird,” Allie said slowly.

  “I bet. You must have been really surprised when she called.”

  “It wasn’t just that,” Allie replied. “I’m still not sure why she called. I mean, at first I thought it was because she’s just like her father and was trying to help him by telling us to back off. But now I’m beginning to think …” She struggled to explain. “It was like she was scared. Of her own father! She was absolutely terrified of getting caught talking to me. And it was like she called to warn us because she’s afraid of what he might do, and thinks we should be, too.”

  Dub seemed to think this over. Then he said, “I see what you mean. But what can he do to us?”

  “Good question,” said Allie. “I have no idea.” She sighed. “So what do we do now?”

  “Let’s go out to Poplar Point,” Dub said impulsively.

  “For what?” asked Allie.

  “I don’t know. We’ll see what’s
going on, how far the project has gone. Maybe we’ll think of something when we get there. And, besides, we haven’t been in the lake yet this summer.”

  Allie doubted they’d accomplish anything by going to the Point, but it was a beautiful day and she loved swimming there.

  “Okay,” she said. “Come over in an hour and bring your suit.” She hung up the phone and went down the hallway to her room. As she got dressed, she thought about Janelle’s question: Is there really anybody who cares about what happened in this town more than two hundred years ago?

  “Yes!” Allie said out loud. She was thinking about Skayendady, but as soon as she said it, she realized she meant herself as well.

  Sixteen

  While Mrs. Nichols was making her special Sunday-morning-in-summer blueberry pancakes, Allie asked if she could bike out to Poplar Point with Dub for a swim.

  Her father replied, “Better go while you can.”

  “What do you mean?” Allie asked.

  “If Darryl Kavanaugh’s company builds out there, I imagine only hotel guests will be welcome,” Mr. Nichols said.

  “That stinks!” Allie said indignantly. “I’ve been swimming there my whole life.”

  “Some of us would have brought that up at the town council meeting, if we’d known there was a meeting,” her dad said wryly.

  Mrs. Nichols brought Allie a plate of pancakes. Frowning, she said, “It’s very odd the way that hotel project was rushed through the town council. I didn’t even hear about it until three days ago, when it had already been approved.” She spooned more batter into the frying pan and murmured, “It’s all happening so fast.”

  “At the longhouse, Dub and I learned that an entire village of Seneca Indians was massacred at Poplar Point. Do the council members know about that?” Allie wondered aloud.

  “If they know, I imagine they don’t like to think about it, Allie-Cat,” her father answered. “To most people, what’s happening today is more important.”

  “I wonder what it would take to wake the town up to its own history?” Mrs. Nichols mused. “Everyone appears to be more concerned about the money the resort will bring to the area.”

  “And into Darryl Kavanaugh’s pocket,” Mr. Nichols said, adding, “He’s certainly not doing all this for the ‘good of the town.’”

  “I don’t like him,” Allie declared. “He’s creepy.”

  “Allie!” admonished her mother.

  “Well, he is. He bosses everybody around. The town council, Miss Lunsford, everybody acts scared of him, even his own daughter.” Allie didn’t mention her phone call from Janelle. She wanted to go to Poplar Point with Dub and didn’t want to give her parents any reason to worry.

  Mrs. Nichols looked thoughtful and Mr. Nichols said, “You know, Allie, I’m glad you brought all this up. I think I’ll ask around and see what I can find out. Maybe it’s not too late for the council to reconsider.”

  “Good,” said Allie.

  “Michael!” Mrs. Nichols called. “Your pancakes are done!”

  “So, is it okay if I go to Poplar Point with Dub?” Allie asked.

  “I don’t see why not,” said her father.

  “I wish we could all go,” said Mrs. Nichols. “But your father and I are going to try to actually finish the patio today.” For weeks, Allie’s parents had been spending Sundays working on the project.

  “I’m helping,” announced Michael, coming into the room. “I’m mixing cement.”

  “You sure are, big guy,” said Mr. Nichols. “So you need to eat a good breakfast.”

  “You and Dub be careful,” Mrs. Nichols said as she handed Michael a plate of pancakes. “Don’t go out too deep.”

  “Mom,” said Allie. “You know how shallow it is there. You have to walk out forever before it’s even up to your waist.” She excused herself before her mother could think of any more warnings, and got ready to leave with Dub.

  The road to Poplar Point passed right by the monument the state had erected to General John Sullivan, and Allie and Dub stopped to examine it. The dull, dry words on the plaque conveyed no emotion or drama. No mention was made of the massacre that had taken place just a quarter mile away. Allie reflected that it was no wonder everyone seemed to have forgotten all about it.

  Back on their bikes, Allie and Dub crossed the bridge over the creek that flowed through Fossil Glen, and followed the dirt road that ran alongside the creek and out to Poplar Point. Willow and poplar trees hung over the bank of the creek, and Allie watched minnows darting about in the shade. It was a beautiful place, and one of the few parcels of land on the lakefront that remained undeveloped. Allie hated to think of a big hotel complex there, keeping her and others out.

  Then she saw it: the “funny-looking” tree with the downward-pointing branch she and Michael had seen in their dreams. That’s why it had seemed familiar; she had seen it many times at Poplar Point. It was a huge, majestic oak that had to be well over two hundred years old.

  But today there was something different about it. A blaze orange strip of plastic was tied around the trunk.

  “Look!” Dub said, pointing to a large sign. “That’s new.”

  Allie read the sign:

  COMING SOON!

  LAUGHING WATERS RESORT AND

  CONFERENCE CENTER

  THREE SISTERS RESTAURANT

  GREAT TREE MARINA

  LAKE COUNTRY DEVELOPMENT GROUP

  DARRYL KAVANAUGH, V.P.,

  NEW YORK PROPERTIES

  “Laughing Waters Resort, Three Sisters Restaurant,” Allie said scornfully. “How hokey is that?”

  “Yeah, as if they’re going to serve corn, beans, and squash,” Dub agreed.

  “Look at those.” Allie indicated some wooden stakes, also tied with blaze orange strips, which were stuck into the ground at various places all over the Point.

  “Survey markers,” Dub said. “And a bulldozer and an excavating machine. It looks like they’ve done a little digging, too.”

  Allie stared at the tree, which stood in the midst of the survey markers. If the stakes marked the boundaries of the hotel, the ancient tree that had witnessed the killing of Skayendady and her family and the destruction of her village was tagged for removal. Allie felt sick, and deeply angry.

  “I wonder if they’ve dug up any bones?” Dub said in a hushed voice.

  “Maybe even Skayendady’s bones,” Allie murmured. The thought made her shiver. After a moment she said gloomily, “Dad says we’d better swim while we can. The way it looks, he’s right.”

  “First,” said Dub, “we have work to do.”

  Allie watched, puzzled, as he removed his backpack. He rummaged inside, took out markers and some pieces of stiff cardboard, and held them up. “I had an idea,” he said. “We’ll make signs and put them up here to let people know what’s going on.”

  “Dub,” Allie said with a giggle, “are you serious?”

  “Sure,” he replied. “Why not? It might draw a little attention to what’s happening. And it’s not vandalism or anything. Just a few pieces of paper, that’s all.”

  “Diabolical, Mr. Whitwell!” Allie declared. She took a marker and a piece of cardboard, knelt on the ground, and thought for a minute. Then she wrote in large block letters:

  SITE OF A SENECA MASSACRE

  Dub knelt beside her. He wrote:

  HERE OUR ANCESTORS WERE MURDERED IN 1779

  The Seneca People

  “Excellent!” said Allie. “I know! How about—” She broke off abruptly as a shadow appeared over her shoulder. Still kneeling, she turned and gazed up into the glaring sun, against which she could make out the figure of a man. She stood quickly, the cardboard falling from her hands. Dub rose as well, and they stood looking into the stony face of Darryl Kavanaugh.

  “Allie, isn’t it?” he said. “And Dud?”

  “Dub,” said Dub, sounding annoyed.

  “Just what do you kids think you’re doing?” he asked in a flat voice that frightened Allie more t
han if he’d shouted.

  She glanced quickly at Dub, who looked every bit as rattled as she felt. Neither of them spoke.

  Mr. Kavanaugh went on. “Never mind. I can see for myself.”

  Watching him, Allie thought that he might be handsome, except for the coldness in his eyes.

  Mr. Kavanaugh let out a loud sigh. Then he loosened his tie and put his hands casually into the pockets of his neatly pressed trousers.

  He appeared, Allie thought uneasily, as if he were planning to settle in for a chat.

  “It sure is hot,” he said after a while. “Nice day for a swim.”

  It wasn’t a remark that called for an answer, and Allie didn’t say anything. Dub, still scowling, didn’t either.

  Mr. Kavanaugh spoke again. “You know, when I first came to Seneca, there were a lot of empty storefronts and a lot of buildings that were pretty rundown. I’ve fixed them up, as I believe you—and your parents—know.”

  Allie didn’t say anything. There was no point in denying the truth.

  “You see,” he went on, “I have a vision for this town.”

  He smiled, but Allie didn’t sense any warmth or friendliness in it.

  “Now, I know you two have got yourselves all riled up about things that happened out here over a couple hundred years ago. Maybe you think your little signs will get other people riled up, too. But I’m willing to bet folks care a lot more about having jobs and nice stores to shop in, and about bringing new business to town, than they do about ancient history. This hotel I’m building—and, believe me, I am going to build it—will bring a lot of new business and a lot of money to this area. That’s what people want. That’s what they care about. I’ve invested a lot of money already to make sure they get what they want.”

  He looked down at the ground for a minute, then up at Allie and Dub with a penetrating gaze.