Sydney Mackenzie Knocks 'Em Dead

by Cindy Callaghan

  MARCH 16, 1849–APRIL 13, 1862

  “We found her,” I said.

  We all stood there for a minute and stared, not sure what to do. Ivy was on the other side of this stone.

  Why did she want me to come here?

  Nick said, “She was our age when she died.”

  “So I guess that does it,” Travis said. “We found her. Mystery solved. Now she can rest easy, or cross over, or run into the light, or whatever it is people do when they’re done haunting. Adios. See ya later, alligator. Now can we go get some cocoa?”

  “That’s too easy,” I said.

  “I like easy,” Travis said. “Rhymes with squeezy and cheesy.”

  “Open it,” Mel said.

  “Are you crazy?” Travis asked. “Let’s just go to the hockey game and say adios to this muchacha.”

  Mel said, “No game for us. We’re too close.”

  “Totally,” Johanna agreed, “but I have to say, opening someone’s grave is a great way to get haunted, not a way to get unhaunted.”

  Mel said, “You just wanna leave and go to watch a hockey game instead and let poor Syd be haunted forever?”

  “No, we’re not just gonna leave,” Johanna said. She took Mel’s hand and Travis’s. “I was going to suggest that we say a few words and send her on her way.”

  Nick took my hand.

  Johanna started. “We are gathered here today to bid farewell to Ivy. Hopefully, she can rest in peace now,” she said. “Now everyone say a few words.”

  Travis said, “You were a cool ghost.”

  Johanna tugged at his arm.

  Mel said, “You added a little excitement to this place. Thanks.”

  Nick said, “Good-bye, Ivy.”

  I was thinking of what to say. The only thing on my mind was Nick is holding my hand! Nick is holding my hand! “I guess I’m kinda psyched to sleep through the night, but I’ll miss you a little too.”

  Johanna said, “Good. Okay. Now we can go.”

  We let go of hands and went to the door.

  On the way to the Victorian, Mel said, “Well, that was kind of a letdown. I expected something more dramatic or gruesome or something.”

  “Cocoa will make you feel better.” Travis put a comforting arm over her shoulder. “It always works for me.”

  * * *

  Inside was warm and cozy. Joyce ladled out cocoa for everyone, including One and Two in their pajamas.

  “Hey! Hey!” Travis said to them.

  “Trav-dawg,” One said.

  “Sweet T,” Two said.

  Nick asked them, “How’s the cocoa?”

  “Great!” they said.

  “See you later, percolator,” One said, and the twins left.

  “Are they your new friends?” I asked Travis and Nick.

  “Sure. We go the same school,” Nick said.

  Travis added, “They remind me of me. Of course, it takes two of them to equal one of me.”

  Then Joyce excused herself for the night. I sat at the table surrounded by my four new friends. They liked my house, my cemetery, my clothes; they didn’t even mind my brothers. I felt totally comfortable just sitting here, not acting or pretending anything. It should’ve felt great, but I felt . . . empty.

  “What’s wrong, Mac?” Johanna asked.

  I said, “I can’t believe she’s gone. I think I expected to meet her or something.”

  Travis said, “That would’ve been tough, considering she’s dead.”

  The lights blinked. Suddenly the room became very cold. I reached down and grabbed Nick’s hand under the table. He squeezed mine.

  “We’re not done,” Johanna said. “She wants us to do something else.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “She didn’t say,” Johanna said.

  “She’s talking to you?” Travis asked.

  “She’s talking to all of us right now,” Johanna said.

  The lights blinked some more.

  I could see my breath in the air, and my nose felt like it was struck with ice.

  “Weird,” Travis said.

  “Cool,” Mel said.

  One by one the lights returned to normal.

  “What now?” I asked. “We need to think.”

  “Maybe Mrs. Dolan knows something,” Nick said. “After all, Ivy was buried in her family’s mausoleum.”

  “Then we’ll have to ask her,” I said.

  The room fell silent like I’d said something very, very wrong.

  “What?” I asked. “We can ask her, can’t we?”

  “She doesn’t leave her house,” Johanna said.

  “Which is big and old and scary and filled with cats,” Nick said.

  “Maybe she’ll let us in,” I said.

  “I like the way you think, Mac,” Mel said.

  “We’re going to her cursed old house that’s filled with cats, aren’t we?” Travis asked.

  * chapter thirty-five *

  MRS. DOLAN AND FRANNY BUTTERS

  THE NEXT DAY WE STOOD on Mrs. Dolan’s front porch, which was as far on the edge of town as you could get. Buttermilk River Cove houses were small and close together, except the Victorian and Mrs. Dolan’s.

  It was a massive brick old-fashioned Colonial house. On one side there was a two-story tower that came to a peak. The windows of the tower were dark. In fact, all but one window was dark against the late afternoon gray sky. Through that window I could see a fire was lit, and someone sat in a rocking chair.

  “Is that her?” I asked.

  Nick said, “I’ve never seen her before.”

  “She doesn’t look scary,” I said, but then I jumped because something brushed against my leg. It was a cat.

  We approached the door. There was a brass knocker the size of my fist.

  “Go on,” Mel said.

  I lifted and dropped it. It made a heavy klunk! Almost instantly I heard locks twisting on the other side of the door, lock after lock after lock.

  Finally, the door opened, revealing a tall, thin woman looking a bit younger than my grandmother. She wore a long skirt and a yellow button-up sweater.

  She smiled when she saw us. “Hello, children.”

  “Mrs. Dolan?” I asked. “My name is Sydney Mackenzie. I’m new to town. I live at Lay to Rest.”

  “Of course. I know who you are. You’re Teddy’s great-niece. You can’t keep anything quiet around these parts. Please come in, come in. The kitties love company, and they don’t get much, I’m afraid.”

  We walked into a great entryway that was dimly lit by a giant crystal chandelier. To the left there was a darkened room where all the furniture was covered with white sheets. To the right was a welcoming living room with a burning fire.

  “Please leave your shoes by the door. I like to keep things tidy.”

  We lined up our muddy boots by the front door and followed her into the living room. It was cozy and warm, with cats curled up in little beds wherever one could be tucked.

  “Look, babies, we have company.” A few furry heads turned to look at us; most yawned and lay back down. A few came over to sniff. “Please, sit.”

  Travis, Mel, and Johanna sat on a high-backed, fancy-looking couch. Nick and I each sat in a chair on either side of the couch. Mrs. Dolan sat back in her rocking chair. I noticed a basket of knitting at one foot and a small metal tank at her other foot. A cat jumped into her lap, and she petted it.

  A cat jumped into Travis’s lap, then Johanna’s, then Mel’s. Soon a very puffy white cat hopped onto Nick, and a calico about the size of a bear nudged himself onto my lap. All of the cats were petted.

  “So what brings you to our home?” she asked.

  “I was wondering if you knew someone,” I said.

  “Oh, I know lots of people. Sadly, many of my friends and family have passed on.”

  “I guess that’s what happens when you get old,” Travis said.

  We all looked at him like he had the worst manners in the world. He tried again. “Wh
at I meant to say was, that’s good, because this person we’re wondering about is dead too.” We looked at him like this was still rude. He pretended to take a key and lock his mouth closed.

  “Do you know something about someone named Ivy Shaw?”

  “Ivy?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “It would’ve been a long time ago. She died in—”

  “1825,” she said.

  “How did you know that?”

  “I have a very good memory. I can remember all kinds of dates and names.”

  “What can you tell us about her?” Nick asked.

  “Do you mind if I ask you why you want to know?”

  “Well, it’s silly actually. You probably wouldn’t be interested.” I figured she would think that the idea of Ivy haunting me would be crazy.

  “I’ve heard lots of silly things. Why don’t you try me?” She reached down to the tank at her feet and picked up a clear plastic face mask. She held it to her mouth and nose and inhaled deeply.

  Nick sorta nodded at me, so I told her about the thuds in the night, the Ouija board, the tunnel, the locket, the paper message, and her family mausoleum. She nodded and uh-huhed a lot.

  “So that’s why we’re here. To see if you can help us figure out what Ivy wants us to do,” I said.

  “I’m glad you told me that story,” she said. “Now I’ll tell you one that might be helpful.” She looked at the picture over the fireplace. “That is a picture of my great-great-grandmother, Frances Marie Dolan. She and her family owned all the land in this cove. Back then it was a milk farm—a buttermilk farm to be specific—and a cemetery.” She looked at me. “Our relatives have been friends for generations. My family did very well selling their milk all around Delaware, Maryland, and parts of Virginia. As you can imagine, it was a very big job for a small family. So Franny Butters, as she was known at the time, bought slaves. They lived in the main house, right here where we’re sitting, and ran the farm. She taught them to read and write and slowly tried to bring more of their families to the cove.”

  We listened without making a sound.

  “She also dabbled in potions, which was not popular. Because of that, people said she was cursed.”

  “I heard you were cursed,” Travis said.

  We looked at him with gaping mouths. He relocked his lips.

  “It’s okay,” Mrs. Dolan said. “Rumors like that tend to linger.”

  “What happened?” Nick asked.

  “The slaves died. One by one they all died young. People said it was because of Franny Butters’s curse. She couldn’t run the farm without their help, so she slowly started selling off pieces of the land and the cattle.” Then she added, “Besides, when word of the curse spread, people didn’t want to buy her milk.”

  Nick said, “What does this have to do with Ivy?”

  “Ivy was one of the slaves. According to the story, she was the last to die. And that was right before emancipation in—”

  “1863,” Nick said. We looked at him, surprised. “I’m good with dates too.”

  “How did they die?” I asked.

  Mrs. Dolan didn’t answer. Instead, she inhaled another deep breath of oxygen and gently scooted the cat off her lap, stood, and straightened her skirt. “Follow me. I think you can learn more on your own.”

  * chapter thirty-six *

  THE STUDY

  MRS. DOLAN CROSSED THE GRAND entryway and slowly walked into the dark room where the furniture was covered with sheets. She stopped at a shelf and picked up a four-pronged candelabra. She struck an extra-long match and lit all four candles. “The electricity and heat are off on this side of the house. Since it’s just me and the cats, I keep this wing shut down.”

  “Where are we going?” Travis asked.

  “To the study. Franny Butters kept meticulous journals.”

  We walked down a windowless hallway and up a spiral staircase. Mrs. Dolan breathed deeply and heavily. She set her candelabra down on a massive wooden desk. Then she took hold of a ladder that was attached to floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and slid it to a section of books that looked the most worn of the collection.

  “The shelves here are dated 1825, so that’s where you’ll find information about Ivy. If you don’t mind, I must excuse myself for a moment. It’s five o’clock, and I feed the kitties promptly at five every night. It won’t take me long, and I’ll come back to see how you’re doing. You’re welcome to read anything you like. And don’t rush.” She walked away very slowly. I could hear her breathing even after I couldn’t see her.

  Nick climbed up the ladder and scanned the bindings.

  “How freakin’ cool is this place?” Mel asked.

  “Do you see anything about the potions, Nick?” Johanna asked.

  “Actually, I do,” Nick said. He carefully slid a volume off the shelf. “This one says ‘Potions 1825.’ ” He passed it down to Johanna, who cracked it open and sunk deep into an enormous dark brown leather chair.

  Nick continued looking at the books. “Here is something you might be interested in, Mac.”

  “What?”

  “It says ‘Notes by Ivy Shaw, 1862.’ ”

  I eagerly took it. I sat at the desk in an oversize chair that could easily accommodate two people. And it did, because Nick fell into the seat next to me.

  Ivy’s writing was messy. It reminded me of the twins’. Her entries were short.

  Practiced reading with Miss Franny Butters

  Learning about bugs

  Alphonso left today

  Went to town today

  Sold a lot of buttermilk today

  Helped Miss Franny Butters with a potion today

  Jeremiah left today

  Dug a grave today. Mr. Mackenzie paid me 50 cents

  Mary left today

  Worked at the graves today

  I am leaving tomorrow

  “She helped at the cemetery, too,” Nick said. “That’s how she knew the numbering system.”

  I said, “She says people left, not died.”

  “Maybe she just didn’t use the word ‘die.’ You know, like when people say they ‘went to a better place,’ ” Johanna suggested, her nose still in the potion book.

  “Maybe. But she said she’s leaving tomorrow. She wouldn’t know she was going to a better place tomorrow,” Mel added.

  “It looks like she died before she could leave the farm,” I said. “It’s a shame that she never got to be free. Just one more year, and she would’ve been emancipated.”

  I asked Johanna, “What do you have in the potion book?”

  “Some of the usual. Stuff for a cold, fever, sore throat, headache, swollen ankles, colicky baby, chicken pox. Looks like she experimented with a love potion, but it never worked,” Johanna said. “Actually, it looks like most of these didn’t work. Good thing she was good at buttermilk, because it doesn’t look like she was a good potioner . . . potionist.”

  Mel read over Johanna’s shoulder and pointed to a page. “There was one that she was good at—the Potion of the Two-Day Sleep.”

  “That’s funny,” Nick said.

  “Funny?” Travis asked. “How? I don’t get it.”

  “Not funny ha-ha, funny strange, because it reminds me of the John Hancock story Mac told us. Remember?”

  How could I forget?

  “Right,” I said.

  “How could anyone forget that.” Nick gave me a knowing look. I’d have to tell my friends that I’d made that up.

  I read Ivy’s last entry out loud to everyone:

  I will hide the truth.

  A wind came out of nowhere and blew out our candles. We had only the tiny bit of light coming through the skylights. The temperature dropped. I knew Ivy well enough by now to know that she was telling me something. “There’s something important about that entry,” I said.

  “She hid something,” Johanna said.

  “She wants us to find it,” Mel said.

  “I wonder where it is,�
�� Nick said.

  I said, “She already told us.”

  * chapter thirty-seven *

  THE CRYPT

  AND THAT’S HOW WE ENDED up at the Dolan mausoleum.

  Again.

  This time Nick brought a crowbar from Cork’s stash of tools. The wind whipped between the tombstones, only a sliver of moon shone from behind dark clouds in a black sky. My hands were numb with cold.

  “We’re going in there again? Why?” Travis asked.

  “We’re not just going in,” I said.

  “We’re opening Ivy’s crypt.” Nick finished my sentence for the others.

  “No freakin’ way,” Travis said.

  Mel said, “Now you’re talking.”

  Pushing the heavy door open this time wasn’t nearly as scary as the last two times. It made me feel like maybe I was getting used to Creepsville.

  We stood in front of Ivy’s crypt. “Ready, Nick?”

  “Ready.”

  I looked at the ceiling. “Ivy, I hope this is what you wanted us to do.” I handed Johanna the flashlight. “Shine it right here.” I pointed to the crack in the stone under the plaque.

  Nick wedged the crowbar in the same spot and pushed. It didn’t budge. “How about a little help, Trav?”

  Travis leaned into the crowbar with Nick, but still no movement. So Mel joined them and then the stone plate popped off.

  There was an envelope. I recognized the handwriting—it matched that in the book we’d seen at Mrs. Dolan’s house.

  It was Ivy’s.

  * chapter thirty-eight *

  THE LETTER

  THE LETTER IN THE ENVELOPE said:

  Today is April 13, 1862.

  I will die today and begin a new life as a free person.

  I want to leave a message so people will know the truth.

  Mrs. Dolan gives me the Potion of the Two-Day Sleep and tells everyone I am dead.

  They believe she is cursed because another slave died. I am the last one.

  I will crawl through the secret tunnel to the woods. Mr. Mackenzie picks me up on a horse and brings me to New York to be with my family.

  I will be free in New York.

  “That’s what she wanted us to know,” I said.

  “The Dolans were never cursed,” Johanna said. “They just let everyone believe that.”