“Even the bed is my size,” Jenny squealed. “Look!”
Chris looked. The bed covers, which had been turned back and waiting for thirty years, were pulled up and neatly smoothed.
She crossed the red carpet and stood beside Jenny. Good-bye, Russell, she thought. She touched the pillow, knowing, as surely as if he’d told her, that she wouldn’t see the little boy again. He could rest peacefully now that the stamps were found and the last mystery surrounding his death was solved.
“Come on,” Jenny shouted. “I want to see the rest of the rooms.”
She ran away and down the hall, throwing open bedroom doors left and right. “If I stayed here, I’d sleep in a different room every night,” she announced. “You picked the worst room, silly old Chrissy. . . . What’s in here?”
Her hand was on the attic door.
“Nothing,” Chris cried. “Don’t open it!”
Jenny paid no attention. She had the door open and was partway up the stairs when Chris reached her.
“Big deal,” she said, shaking off Chris’s hand. “This is nothing but a stuffy old attic. Boring.”
The staircase was warm and dusty. Chris forced herself to look up, where the dust floated in bright beams of sunlight. “Boring,” she agreed. She leaned against the wall until she stopped shaking.
When they went downstairs, Uncle Ralph and Aunt Grace were in the kitchen drinking coffee with a box of gingersnaps between them. Uncle Ralph looked at Chris and raised his eyebrows. She shook her head, and he leaned back with a satisfied nod.
“Ralph tells me you’re welcome to stay on here if you wish, Christina.” Aunt Grace watched her suspiciously. “I plan to run out to the farm every day for a while to see how your grandmother’s doing, so I suppose you don’t have to come back with us today to help. It’s up to you.”
Chris thought about what it would be like at the farm. She could talk for hours with Grandma and play games with Jenny. She could go exploring with Maggie the sheepdog and fish in the stream. The long, lonely days would be ended.
Uncle Ralph smiled at her. “And besides all that,” he said, reading her mind once again, “you wouldn’t have to eat canned hash and canned chili every day.”
Chris felt her face turn red. “I don’t care about that,” she said fiercely. “I like being with you, Uncle Ralph.”
They stared at each other, and Chris smiled, too. The words had astonished them both.
“But I guess I’ll go to Grandma’s,” she said. “There’s stuff I can do.”
Uncle Ralph nodded. “Don’t blame you a bit,” he said. “I’ll miss you, but I have my work and I want to stick with it. You and I are two of a kind, sport—independent as they come.”
Jenny leaned across the table, eager to be part of the conversation. “Chris is a tomboy,” she protested. “She always gets into trouble. You don’t like tomboys.”
“Times change,” Uncle Ralph said. He helped himself to another gingersnap. “So do uncles.” He winked at Chris, who winked back.
Christina's Ghost Page 7
