The Ghost of Poplar Point

by Cynthia DeFelice

  “Do you understand what I’m telling you? In all my negotiations and discussions about this project, no one, not one person, has brought up this”—he grimaced with distaste—“massacre business. Nobody cares. And I don’t think they’ll take kindly to anybody who tries to drum up trouble about it.”

  Mr. Kavanaugh reached out then and put one hand on Allie’s shoulder and the other on Dub’s. “So, a word to the wise, eh? Enjoy the summer, have a good time at the festival, put on a great pageant, and forget all this foolishness.”

  He picked up the cardboard signs and ripped them in half, giving Allie and Dub another smile that wasn’t really a smile.

  This time Allie read triumph in his eyes. She glanced quickly at Dub, who was staring openmouthed at Darryl Kavanaugh. Neither she nor Dub said a word until Mr. Kavanaugh strode stiffly away.

  “Dub,” Allie said in a near whisper, “does he scare you?”

  Dub nodded slowly.

  “Me too.” After a moment she said, “And I hate the way he talks to us, like we’re dumb little kids.”

  Dub nodded again. “Makes me mad.”

  Allie agreed. But being mad felt better than being meek and frightened. “Come on,” she said with determination. “We came here to swim, so let’s swim.”

  Ordinarily they would have raced each other into the water, but the encounter with Mr. Kavanaugh had left them subdued. They stripped down to their bathing suits and walked into the shallow water near shore. A mama mallard swam away squawking noisily, her brood of ducklings scooting along behind her.

  Then they had the Point to themselves. It was quiet except for the splashing of their feet, the sound of the waves lapping gently on the shore, and the rustle of the breeze through the grass and low brush at the shoreline. Occasionally a laugh or shout carried across the sparkling water from swimmers, waterskiers, and sunbathers enjoying a peaceful Sunday afternoon.

  They waded out to deeper water and swam until they were covered in goose bumps, then ran to shore, gasping. Spreading out their towels, they lay down and let the warmth of the sunbaked gravel seep into their chilled bodies.

  On her back with her eyes closed, Allie felt Skayendady’s spirit hovering nearby, and she let her mind drift to meet it. Although they were separated by death and by the passing of two centuries’ time, Allie and Skayendady were both young girls. Both had friends and a mother and a father and a younger brother they loved.

  Allie tried to imagine Skayendady’s pain at seeing her family killed. It was too awful to contemplate. She had asked herself why Skayendady had come to her for help. Lying at the place where Skayendady had spent her final moments, Allie thought she had the answer. It was to make sure the people of Seneca remembered what had happened back in the earliest beginnings of their town on the shores of the lake. It was to make sure they realized who had come before them, and that they felt at least a little of Skayendady’s timeless sorrow. And it was to make sure Skayendady and those who died with her could rest in peace.

  Allie let the images from her nightmares fill her mind. Then she thought of the pretty picture painted by Mr. Kavanaugh’s pageant. She heard the lifeless narration and dull dialogue, saw the happy scenes of generosity and friendship. A boring—and shameless—lie.

  She remembered the question her mother had asked that very morning: I wonder what it would take to wake the town up to its own history?

  Allie sat up.

  “Hey! You’re blocking my sun,” protested Dub. He peered at her from half-closed eyes.

  “Dub!” she said slowly. “I have an idea.”

  “Oh, no.” Dub groaned. “This means trouble. Look, I gotta go. I hear my mother calling me.”

  Allie swatted his arm. “I’m serious!”

  “So am I,” said Dub, sitting up now, too. “This is where I should put my hands over my ears and hum very loudly until you stop talking. But do I learn? No.”

  Allie giggled, but an idea was taking shape in her mind, and she could barely contain her excitement. “You’re going to like this, honest,” she said. “Mr. Kavanaugh says people in town don’t know and don’t care about the massacre. Well, how about if we make sure they do know?”

  “How?” Dub asked.

  “Say we add a new ending to the pageant? One that tells the truth.”

  Dub looked skeptical. “I gotta ask again, Al. How?”

  “You know how you’re the last one onstage, giving Cornplanter’s big speech?”

  Dub nodded cautiously.

  “Well, suppose you say something completely different from the script? Something about what really happened. And then you and I and some of the other kids—Joey, Brad, Pam, and Julie, say—take over the stage and we act out the massacre in front of the whole town! I’ll play Skayendady and show how she was killed.”

  Allie stopped, flushed with excitement, and waited for Dub’s reaction.

  He shook his head and said flatly, “I’ve got to say, Al, I think this ghost business is finally getting to you. That is the craziest, most outrageous, most ridiculous, most whacked-out idea you’ve ever come up with.”

  Allie was crestfallen. “You don’t like it?”

  “Are you kidding?” Dub shouted. “I love it!”

  “Really?” Allie shrieked.

  “I can just picture the look on Mr. Kavanaugh’s face!” Dub said with a grin.

  Allie stared at him wide-eyed. “Do you think we can pull it off?”

  “Miss Lunsford did say she’s all for improvisation,” Dub said, adding, “although this probably isn’t quite what she had in mind.”

  “We could get into a whole lot of trouble,” Allie said soberly. “And Mr. Kavanaugh is going to freak.”

  “Yeah,” Dub agreed. “But I can tell you one thing …”

  Allie looked at him cautiously.

  “It will not be boring!”

  Seventeen

  The next morning, rehearsal at the opera house went on as usual, except for two things. First, Allie and Dub told Miss Lunsford that they had visited Ganondiyo and learned that Laughs-like-a-waterfall was a phony name for a Seneca girl. When they suggested Skayendady as a replacement, Miss Lunsford said it was an excellent idea and announced the change to the rest of the cast.

  Then, shortly afterward, Darryl Kavanaugh entered the theater and sat down in the last row. He watched in silence until Allie began speaking her first lines of Seneca dialogue. Then he leaped to his feet and interrupted, saying, “Hold it. What was that?”

  When Miss Lunsford explained that they had added bits of the Seneca language for authenticity, he shook his head. “No,” he said flatly. “No Indian gibberish. The audience won’t have any idea what it means.”

  “But—” Miss Lunsford began.

  “I said no,” Mr. Kavanaugh said.

  Miss Lunsford appeared too stunned to speak. After a moment, Mr. Kavanaugh said, “Go ahead. Continue. In English.”

  Miss Lunsford took a deep breath before saying quietly, “You heard Mr. Kavanaugh, people. Let’s go on, without the Seneca dialogue, please, Allie.”

  Allie looked at Dub and rolled her eyes. Oh, well, she thought, so much for trying to be authentic. She glanced at Janelle to see how she was reacting, but Janelle was staring steadfastly at the floor. Allie felt acutely aware of her, as if an invisible thread ran between them. She was sure Janelle felt it also, but was too intimidated by her father to even look in Allie’s direction.

  It was a shame to lose the Seneca words, but Allie was too excited about what was going to happen after rehearsal to dwell on it.

  As soon as Miss Lunsford dismissed them, Allie, Dub, Pam, Julie, Brad, and Joey walked together to Dub’s house. Allie outlined the plan as they all sat under the big oak tree in the Whitwells’ yard with their lunch bags.

  Dub brought out a carton of lemonade and some paper cups. Brad took a big gulp of lemonade and stifled a belch. “That reminds me,” he said. “I called Uncle Hal last night after you called me, and he said he has the stuff
you want, no problem.”

  “Cool!” said Dub.

  “I told you he’d come through,” Brad said proudly.

  “Wait, what stuff are you talking about?” asked Pam.

  “Yeah, hold on. I’d like to know exactly what’s going on,” said Julie. “Can you guys tell us the whole plan, from the start?”

  Allie looked at Dub, who nodded for her to begin. “Well, we haven’t really figured out the whole plan,” she said. “Right now it’s a little sketchy.” Boy, is that the truth, she thought. “We’re hoping, actually, that you guys will come up with some ideas—”

  Allie was interrupted by Joey shouting, “Hey! What are you doing, sneaking around here?”

  They all looked up to see Karen Laver smirking at them over the hedge that bordered the front of the Whitwells’ yard. “It’s a public sidewalk, Joey. I’d hardly call it sneaking. And anyway, your voice is so loud the whole neighborhood can hear you.”

  Allie was awed by Karen’s ability to respond in the form of an attack, even when caught in the act of spying on them.

  “Awww, gee, guys,” said Dub, looking crestfallen. “We’re busted. Now Karen knows …”

  Karen’s face lit with triumph, and Dub went on, “ … all about our secret afternoon meetings of the Karen Laver Fan Club.”

  Everybody laughed except Karen, who scowled.

  “Maybe you could give us a suggestion, Karen,” Dub went on. “See, we’re having trouble finding a room small enough for the meetings.”

  “Ha ha ha,” Karen said. “So, what’s the stupid little plan you were talking about?”

  “There’s no plan,” said Allie.

  “Give it up, Allie. I heard enough to know there is one. And I’m going to find out what it is.”

  “Knock yourself out,” said Dub. “And I mean that sincerely.”

  Karen wiggled her fingers and turned to walk away. “Bye-bye, now. Don’t forget, I’ll be watching.”

  “Whew,” said Brad when she was out of sight. “That was close.”

  “She is definitely looking for trouble,” said Dub.

  Pam glanced around nervously, as if Karen might still be skulking about. “Is it okay to talk now?” she asked.

  Brad said, “She’s gone.”

  “So, basically, you’re talking about adding a scene to the pageant, right?” asked Pam. “A surprise ending?”

  Allie tried to put Karen out of her mind and get on with the plan. “Exactly. See, the way it is, the pageant doesn’t tell the whole story. It makes it seem like the settlers and the Indians lived happily ever after.”

  “But that guy Sullivan and his soldiers slaughtered them,” Joey broke in, in his usual booming voice. “And that’s where we come in!” He held up a pretend musket and “fired” it. “Blam! Blam! Blam!”

  “Shhh!” said Julie. “Karen was right about one thing, Joey. You’ve got to keep it down.”

  “Joey,” Allie added, “this isn’t like a video game or something. It was real. We want to show how horrible it was.”

  “Well, sure,” said Joey, looking slightly abashed. “I know.”

  Brad, grinning, asked, “But we can still have a blast doing it, right? Get it? A blast?”

  Allie looked to Dub for help.

  “Definitely,” Dub said. “Especially if Uncle Hal gets us the starting pistols and smoke bombs! But listen, guys, Allie’s right: the whole point is to show what really happened. And it wasn’t pretty.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Brad. “We got it.”

  “Can I be Sullivan?” Joey asked. “I can be a really good bad guy.”

  “Sure,” said Allie. She smiled to herself. One thing was certain, Joey’s voice would have no trouble carrying to the entire audience. “But there’s one other important thing you should know …”

  Joey, Brad, Julie, and Pam looked at her warily.

  “Mr. Kavanaugh—you know, Janelle’s father, the guy whose company is paying for the pageant—is not going to be happy about this. Which is why we can’t take a chance on Karen finding out. And why we can’t tell anybody what we’re doing ahead of time.”

  “Not even Miss Lunsford?” asked Julie.

  “Nobody.”

  “Nobody except Uncle Hal,” Brad said. “I had to tell him. And we can totally trust him.”

  “I don’t get how we’re going to pull it off if nobody knows about it but us,” Pam said.

  Allie looked at Dub. It was a problem. “We haven’t figured out all the details yet,” she said. “But we have to get started. Some things we’ll just have to work out as we go along.”

  Dub nodded encouragingly. The truth was, if they worried about all the holes in the plan, they’d never get anywhere.

  “And,” Allie went on, “I just want to warn you. We might get into trouble with Mr. Kavanaugh.”

  There was silence for a minute. Then Julie said, “What kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” said Allie. “But he said some scary things to me and Dub. He owns practically everything in town. He could—I don’t know …” Her voice faltered.

  “What?” Joey asked scornfully. “What can he do to us?”

  “Oooh, I’m scared,” said Brad in a high, fluttery voice.

  “Why would we get into trouble for telling the truth?” asked Pam.

  “Mr. Kavanaugh doesn’t seem to care very much about the truth,” Allie explained. “All he cares about is making money.”

  “And he figures everybody else feels the same way,” added Dub.

  “Well, he’s wrong!” declared Pam.

  “What’s with his daughter, anyway?” asked Julie. “She isn’t very friendly.”

  “She’s probably just like her father,” Brad answered with a shrug.

  “Then we’d better make super sure she doesn’t find out what we’re doing,” Julie said.

  Although Allie was no longer certain Janelle was “just like her father,” she agreed with Julie that Janelle must not get wind of their secret plan. Janelle’s fear of her father made her unpredictable, and that was dangerous. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about with Karen, Allie thought.

  “Julie’s right,” she said aloud. “We need to be really careful. Now let’s get to work!”

  Eighteen

  During the rest of the week, Allie had no bad dreams, experienced no sudden visions, and made no embarrassing pronouncements in the Seneca language. Finally she felt it was safe to return to her own bed. She was relieved for Michael’s sake, and also for her own, as she was finally getting some sleep.

  It was as if, she thought, Skayendady had backed off, understanding that Allie was doing everything she could to help.

  The pageant rehearsals at the opera house were going smoothly, too, except that Mr. Kavanaugh continued to breeze in from time to time to watch from the back of the theater. It gave Allie the creeps. Janelle continued to stay as far away from Allie and Dub as possible, never even looking in their direction. It made Allie feel very odd, after the conversation she and Janelle had had on the phone. She couldn’t help wondering why, exactly, Janelle had called. She appeared to do everything her father wished. Her obedience puzzled Allie. Was it based solely on fear? And, if so, what must it be like to be frightened of your own father?

  The secret afternoon rehearsals at Dub’s house were a lot more fun. Brad, Joey, Pam, and Julie had all gotten into the spirit of the plan, and each day came up with new ways to make their finale better. Pam and Julie had even agreed to play Skayendady’s parents, although they couldn’t decide which one would be the father.

  Things really started to fall into place when Uncle Hal showed up the Monday before the festival. They were waiting for Pam, who was late, when his van pulled up in Dub’s driveway.

  “Hi, Uncle Hal!” Brad called.

  “Hey, Brad,” Uncle Hal called back. He walked over and gave Brad a high five followed by a bear hug. Then he turned to Allie and the others, who were seated on the grass.

  “
I hear y’all are planning a little surprise,” he said cheerfully.

  The kids nodded.

  “Brad tells me Mr. Darryl Kavanaugh isn’t going to be too thrilled about it,” Uncle Hal went on.

  Oh, no, thought Allie. Uncle Hal was a local businessman. She’d never considered that he might be under Mr. Kavanaugh’s thumb, too, along with the town council and a lot of store owners. She hoped he wasn’t going to back out.

  But Uncle Hal was rubbing his hands together gleefully, making the tattoo on his arm jump. “That big windbag’s trying to put me out of business. First he tried to buy me out. The offer he gave me was an insult, and I told him so. So he went to the town council, calling my store a waste of prime real estate. He said it would be better for the town if there were more ‘upscale’ shops and restaurants there instead of my ‘junk shop.’”

  Uncle Hal shook his head in disgust. Then he looked around with a wicked grin. “So, if your little plan will get Darryl Kavanaugh’s undershorts in a knot, I’m all for it.”

  Allie laughed in relief.

  “When do you want the goods?” Uncle Hal asked.

  “The pageant is this Saturday,” Dub said. “Can you come back for a dress rehearsal on Thursday?”

  Uncle Hal flashed a thumbs-up sign. “You got it. Listen, does that cute director of yours know about this?”

  The other kids all glanced uncomfortably at Allie and Dub. “Um, not really,” said Dub.

  “We thought it was better this way,” Allie explained. “If she doesn’t know, she can’t get into trouble over it.”

  Uncle Hal nodded, looking thoughtful. “You’re probably right. She told me Kavanaugh called her boss on her.”

  Allie smiled to herself. Uncle Hal and Miss Lunsford had been talking. Maybe they’d even gone on a date. She hoped so.

  The kids thanked Uncle Hal. With him on board, Allie began to think they might actually pull off their plan.

  Just after Uncle Hal had left, Pam arrived, looking very upset.

  “Pam! What’s wrong?” Allie asked.

  “Karen called me while I was having lunch and asked me all sorts of questions,” Pam said. “Either she heard more than we thought when we caught her sneaking around last week, or she’s been back. She knows we’re planning a new ending for the pageant, and she was fishing around for details. I didn’t tell her anything, but she said I’m stupid to hang around with you guys, and we were all going to get into a lot of trouble.” Pam stopped and took a deep breath. Allie thought she was trying not to cry. Then she said quietly, “I know I shouldn’t let her get to me, but she’s so … so …”