Charlie leaned forward eagerly. “Is that all? Did you ever hear anything about her again?”
“Well, I heard something,” Mrs. Koch admitted reluctantly. “A couple of years ago a nurse friend of mine—it was the same girl who was knocked down that morning in the square—she told me that Katya was in the mental hospital for the chronically insane in Madison. My friend saw her. She’d been there for years and years.”
Charlie’s head whirled. Rachel looked as horrified, and as confused, as he was. Could Katya Torin be the phantom in the old house? How was it possible, if the real Katya was a patient in a mental hospital in Madison?
“I wonder—” Charlie began.
He was interrupted by a breathless, barely smothered squeak from Rachel. She was staring at the sofa as though hypnotized. Charlie followed her gaze and saw two beady black eyes peering from under Mrs. Koch’s pillow. Whiskers twitched around a pointed nose, just a couple of inches from Mrs. Koch’s cheek.
“The tea!” Rachel rose from her chair like a puppet on strings. “Mrs. Koch, you have to come in the kitchen and show me where the cups are.”
Mrs. Koch didn’t move. “Look in the cupboard above the sink, dear. You can’t miss them.”
“No, please show me.” Rachel tiptoed across the room and seized Mrs. Koch’s hand. “Now, don’t get up too fast,” she warned. “Some people get dizzy if they get up too fast.” Do something, she mouthed at Charlie, as she drew their bewildered hostess toward the kitchen.
Charlie picked up the broom. He moved swiftly down the hall, closing the bedroom and bathroom doors, opening the basement door wide. Then he rushed back to the living room and whipped the pillow off the couch. The terrified mouse took off toward the dining room. With a quick sweep of the broom Charlie sent it flying into the hall, then ran behind it all the way to the open door at the end. He closed the door, and was back in the living room when Rachel appeared with the tea tray. Mrs. Koch followed her carrying a plate of cookies.
Rachel looked at the couch, then at Charlie, who gave her a thumbs-up sign.
“This tea was a lovely idea,” Mrs. Koch said. “So relaxing. You’re good children, both of you.”
Charlie smiled modestly. He was panting hard, but Mrs. Koch didn’t notice.
“Now you can finish your story.” Rachel helped herself to a cookie. “About what happened to poor Katya Torin.”
“I think we’ve talked about that long enough,” Mrs. Koch said. “Such a depressing business. Besides, there’s nothing more to tell.”
“Yes, there is,” Rachel persisted. “Do you think Katya went insane just because she didn’t win the contest?”
“I’m sure there were other much more important reasons for her breakdown,” Mrs. Koch said primly. “She was an extremely odd girl to begin with. And there were rumors that her parents treated her badly.”
“Where did she live?” Charlie asked. “When she was in Pike River, I mean.”
“I never saw the house,” Mrs. Koch replied. “I did think it might be the same one you told us about, Charlie, when you said an old lady stole a candy bar from you. It gave me a real start, your saying she sent a message to Will ‘from the real Sunbonnet Queen.’ But I knew there couldn’t possibly be any connection with Katya Torin.”
“Why not?” Charlie and Rachel asked together. “Maybe—”
But Mrs. Koch shook her head firmly. “No connection at all,” she said. “Katya died in the mental hospital four months ago. My nurse friend sent me the obituary from the Madison paper.” She set her teacup down with a clink. “And that’s enough about that subject, I’m sure. You should be getting home—your family will be worried—and I must go to bed. Though I wonder if I’ll be able to sleep, thinking about that mouse. I’m scared to death of ’em. If I ever got really close to one, I’d surely die!”
CHAPTER 13
They stood in a moonlit backyard halfway between Mrs. Koch’s house and Grandpa Will’s. A mosquito whined around Charlie’s head, loud as a buzzsaw in the hot June night.
“I never believed in ghosts till now,” Charlie complained. “I liked to read about them, but I never believed in them. I don’t even want to believe in them.”
Rachel didn’t answer right away, and he had a weird feeling that she might no longer be there beside him. Then her fingers touched his wrist.
“You don’t have to believe in just any ghost, but how can we not believe in Katya, Charlie? We’ve seen her. We’ve talked to her. You tried to take her picture. And now we know why she’s here. She’s the ghost of a poor lady who died in an insane asylum, and she’s come back to Pike River to get even for a rotten thing that happened more than fifty years ago.”
Charlie swatted at the mosquito. “Well, then, we’d better tell somebody,” he muttered. “If she’s going to try to—”
“She hates me because I look like Grandma Lou,” Rachel went on, not listening. “She has the two of us mixed up. Losing the contest must have been the worst thing that ever happened to her. I want to be the queen myself, but I can’t imagine caring that much.”
Charlie surprised himself. “I can,” he said. He felt a surge of admiration for strange, wild Katya. Without friends, without a family who cared about her, she’d tried to force Pike River to accept her as its queen. She must have known how hard it would be, but she’d tried, anyway.
“There’s going to be trouble on the Fourth of July,” Rachel continued. “I just know it. Whether I’m the queen or someone else is. And nobody’s going to believe us if we try to warn them.”
“Did you ever hear of a ghost that got younger?” Charlie asked. “That’s the strangest part of the whole business. The first time I saw her she was as old as Grandma Lou. Next Saturday is the Fourth, and by then she could be just the age she was when—”
“When she tried to pull Grandma off the float.” Rachel completed the sentence in a whisper. “Oh, boy!”
They started walking again, moving slowly through the buzzing dark. “We should tell someone,” Charlie said again, but he knew Rachel was right. Who would believe them?
Grandma Lou had cocoa waiting when they reached the house. “We were about to send out a search party,” she joked. “Now you just drink this down, and you’ll sleep peacefully as babies all night.”
Charlie doubted it would work, and it didn’t. He was awake for what seemed like hours, turning and twisting. He thought about Mrs. Koch and the mouse, and about his father snoring gently beside him. Mostly he thought about Katya Torin. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her, looking down at them from the top of the stairs with hate-filled eyes. Who could sleep with a memory like that?
He didn’t realize how restless he was till his father woke suddenly and switched on the bedside lamp. “For pete’s sake, Charlie,” he muttered, “what’s the matter with you? Too much bratwurst and baked beans?”
“I’m okay. Just can’t get to sleep.”
John rolled over and squinted at him. “I don’t suppose you want to tell your old man what the problem is.” He waited. “Or is your old man the problem again?”
“I said I’m okay,” Charlie muttered. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
“No big deal.” His father shrugged and turned off the light. “That was nice, wasn’t it?” he said softly. “What Mrs. Koch said tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“About being glad you and I came to Pike River,” John said. “About hoping we’d stay for a long time.”
Charlie took a deep breath. “Oh, that.”
“Yeah, that. What did you think I meant?” When Charlie didn’t answer, he rolled over on his side, and in a few minutes he was snoring again.
Eventually Charlie slept, too, only to dream about the Fourth of July parade. He was standing on the curb in brilliant sunshine. Bands marched toward him. Floats, masses of red, white, and blue, loomed above him, and flags danced in the breeze. He was happy. After all, what could possibly go wrong at a Fourth of July parade?
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Then he turned the other way and saw that as they passed him, the bands, the floats, and the flag-bearers were engulfed in boiling gray fog and disappeared completely.
CHAPTER 14
“Charlie! Get up and put some clothes on, dear. You have a visitor.”
Grandma Lou sounded falsely cheerful and a little impatient. She’d sounded that way all week. Charlie supposed it was because she was so anxious to find out if Rachel would be chosen Sunbonnet Queen. More anxious than Rachel, he thought as he scrambled across the tangle of sheets his father had left. Since Mrs. Koch’s revelations last Saturday night, Rachel hadn’t even mentioned the contest.
“Charlie! Are you coming?”
“Right away.” He pulled on cutoff jeans and a T-shirt and went down the hall to the kitchen. A man stood at the kitchen sink looking out over the patio. He wore jeans and a blue work shirt, and there was something familiar about his nearly-shoulder-length brown hair.
“Well, here he is at last,” Grandma announced. “Look who’s come to see you, Charlie.”
The visitor turned. It was Mrs. Fisher’s nephew Jacob, the one who had been carrying off her television set.
“Hi, kid.”
“Hi.” Charlie stayed where he was in the doorway. “What’s wrong?” He wondered if Jacob had just found out that Charlie had suspected him of being a thief and had come to beat him up. If so, there was going to be a massacre right here in the kitchen. Jacob Fisher was a lot older and at least fifty pounds heavier than Charlie. His shoulder muscles bulged under the blue shirt.
“Charlie,” Grandma said reprovingly, “Jake has an invitation for you. There’s no reason to look so hostile.”
Jake Fisher laughed. “There’s no reason why he should feel friendly toward me, Mrs. Hocking,” he said. “If I hadn’t been in such a hurry last week, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten the wrong idea about what was going on. I was running late—my boss is a real bear if I take more than forty-five minutes for lunch—and I’d promised my aunt I’d get her TV set to the repair shop.” He grinned at Charlie. “I’m sorry, kid. When I took the TV back last night, Aunt Marie told me what happened. I could see how it must have looked to you.”
Charlie unclenched his fists. “That’s okay,” he said, “forget it.”
“I’d be glad to,” Jake said cheerfully, “but you don’t know my aunt Marie. Now she’s sorry, too. She asked me to pick you up this morning and deliver you to her house so she can apologize herself.”
There were two houses Charlie never wanted to see again. One was Katya Torin’s. The other was Mrs. Fisher’s.
“She doesn’t have to apologize,” he protested, backing away again. “You tell her it’s okay.”
“She wants to talk to you herself.” Jake glanced at his watch.
“I don’t want to—” Charlie began, but his protest trailed off when he saw Grandma Lou’s expression.
“Charlie,” she scolded, “where are your manners? Marie Fisher is an old friend of mine. She may be a little prickly at times, but if she’s ready to apologize to you, you must give her the chance. And have breakfast later,” she added. Grandma hated to see anyone miss a meal.
Charlie gave up. He was trapped between the two of them, Grandma annoyed and pleading, Jake Fisher wanting to get this over with so he could go to work. He left the house with dragging feet, hardly hearing Grandma’s promise to make pancakes when he returned.
Once they were in the truck and on their way, Jake relaxed. “Don’t look so worried, Charlie,” he teased, “My aunt doesn’t bite. Not often, anyway. Say, do you like to swim?”
Charlie shrugged. “Don’t know how.”
“I won five medals in Central Wisconsin competition when I was in high school,” Jake said, as casually as you could say a thing like that. “I teach a class of kids out at the lake on Saturday mornings.” He glanced at Charlie. “You’ve got a good build for swimming. Interested?”
“I don’t know if I’ll be around,” Charlie said. “I might—I might be away.”
The pickup swung onto Cutler Street and then into the driveway at six two-one. Charlie shrank back against the seat.
“Well, you think about it, kid,” Jake suggested. “You’ll meet some guys your own age. Have a good time. We won’t meet this Saturday because it’s the Fourth, but next week …”
Charlie nodded and slid out of the truck. “Thanks for asking me,” he said. “And thanks for the ride.” All he wanted was to get this visit over with as quickly as possible.
Mrs. Fisher was in her kitchen when Charlie came up to the door. She let him in, looking tinier than ever in a crisp housedress and apron. There were cookies on a plate on the table, and a tall glass of milk.
“Sit down,” she ordered. Her thick glasses flashed in the sunlight. “Eat.”
Charlie sat, choosing a chair with its back to the hall closet where he’d been imprisoned. He thought Mrs. Fisher sounded cross, and not in the least apologetic. But when she sat opposite him at the table, he saw that her wrinkled cheeks were flushed a bright pink.
“Are you all right, boy?” she demanded. “Is the bump on your head givin’ you trouble?”
“No, ma’am.” Charlie bit into a cookie. It was double chocolate chip, his favorite kind in all the world. He took another one. Mrs. Fisher might be a tiger, but she could bake.
“My nephew Jacob is a good boy,” she said in a voice that dared him to argue. “He says you made an honest mistake comin’ in here the way you did. He says he might have done the same thing—might have thought there was monkey business goin’ on—if he’d been in your shoes. Jacob says you did a brave thing, comin’ in when you thought I might be in bad trouble.”
Charlie didn’t know how to answer, so he kept quiet.
“Have another cookie.” Mrs. Fisher pushed the plate closer to him. Her handbag appeared as if by magic on the table, and she took out a checkbook. “How much are those candy bars you’re sellin’?”
“One dollar.” He hoped Rachel wouldn’t object to a one-dollar check.
“I’ll take fifty,” Mrs. Fisher said, and her cheeks became pinker than ever. “What do you say to that, boy?”
Charlie nearly choked on his cookie.
“I’ll take ’em out to the Veterans Hospital for a Fourth of July treat,” she explained, pushing the check across the table. “I go out to the hospital every Saturday—been doin’ that for twenty-three years. You get the candy here this afternoon, you hear? It’ll be a nice holiday surprise for my boys.”
Charlie could hardly believe this was the same person he’d been hating for over a week. “I’ll bring an extra bar for you,” he said shyly. “No charge. Mrs. Schwanke told me you like chocolate.”
“I do.” Mrs. Fisher looked relieved now that she’d said what she had to say. She even smiled. “I do, indeed, boy. Have another cookie.”
A half hour later he was home again, the check folded so that the tip stuck out of his shirt pocket. Rachel waited at the front door. She was very pale, and there were bluish circles under her eyes.
“Grandma’s making pancakes for your breakfast,” she reported. “What did Mrs. Fisher say? Did she apologize?”
“Not exactly,” Charlie replied. He whipped the check from his pocket and waited to see her reaction.
It wasn’t what he’d expected. “That’s great,” she said, almost listlessly. “That’s really good, Charlie. Mr. Carly will be happy.”
“How about you?” he demanded, irritated at her indifference. “Aren’t you happy?”
“Sure I am. It’s just that I have other things on my mind now.” She followed Charlie into the kitchen, where Grandma Lou was pouring pancake batter into the skillet. When Grandma turned away from the stove, she was smiling so joyously that for a moment Charlie thought Mrs. Fisher must have telephoned ahead to announce her good deed.
“Isn’t it marvelous news, Charlie?” Grandma exclaimed. “Aren’t we proud of our girl?”
Charlie turned to Rache
l for an explanation, and read the answer in her eyes before she spoke.
“I’ve won,” his cousin said softly. “Mr. Cochran, the chairman of the Parade Committee, came while you were gone. I’ve been chosen the Sunbonnet Queen.” Her lips trembled. “Great news, huh, Charlie? Just the best!”
CHAPTER 15
Charlie woke to the sound of firecrackers. He rolled over and looked out at a lead-colored sky.
“What do you say, sport?” His father sat up and yawned. “You ready for the big celebration? You’ve never seen a Pike River Fourth of July. They do it up right.”
“Looks like rain,” Charlie said. “Maybe they won’t be able to have the parade.”
His father poked him in the ribs. “Don’t be so downbeat, Charlie. A little rain never hurt anything. Rachel will still be the queen, and Grandma and Grandpa will work the hotdog stand the way they did when I was a kid. And I’m going to win the guitar-playing contest. Rain or no rain.”
Charlie was startled. “Win the guitar-playing contest?”
“Why not?” His father searched the closet for clean slacks and a sport shirt. “It won’t do any harm to try. I guess I can fake it a little. Maybe there’ll be a pretty lady judge who goes for short stocky guys that smile a lot.”
Charlie got out of bed and stretched. It was just like his father to enter a contest he couldn’t possibly win. Not that he was a terrible guitar player, but he certainly wasn’t a very skilled one. Losing wouldn’t bother him; he’d just laugh and say it had been a great experience.
“You going to be there, kid? Two-thirty—the band shell in the park. I could use a cheering section.”
“I might be busy,” Charlie said. “I promised Grandpa I’d help at the hotdog stand for a while.” He had enough to worry about today without watching his father fall flat on his face in front of most of Pike River.
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