by Ann Walsh
“Well, if you cook all the meals the way you did that bacon, maybe you should spend less time on your painting and more in the kitchen! Your art work is good, but I’m not so sure about your cooking.”
Kelly was thinking quickly, searching for a reply to David’s remark about her cooking, when, for the third time that day, the doorbell rang. She went to answer it and returned to the kitchen with the Terpen twins trailing behind her.
“David, this is Trisha and Tommy. They live two houses down.”
The twins stared at David, then looked at each other and giggled. “Is he your boyfriend, Kelly?” asked Trisha.
“Trisha!”
David looked seriously at the twins. “Of course not,” he said. “People with red hair sometimes have very bad tempers. Do you think she’d be a good girlfriend.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Tommy. “Kelly’s okay, I guess, if you like girls. I think girls are dumb.”
“They are not,” said Trisha.
“They are too.”
“Are not!”
“Are too!”
Kelly stepped in before the argument could become physical, something that happened frequently when the twins had a disagreement. “Come on, you two, stop that. Do you want some orange juice?”
“Sure. You got any pancakes left?” Tommy had inspected the sticky plates and deduced what had been served for breakfast.
“Yeah. We like pancakes, but Mom never makes them.” Trisha wiped syrup from the edge of a plate and popped her finger in her mouth.
“There’s lots of mix left,” David said, standing up. “I’ll make you some pancakes if you like, but no arguing while you’re here.”
The twins solemnly agreed, then sat down, watching and waiting while David once again mixed, poured and cooked. Kelly brought two glasses of juice and set them in front of the twins. “Were you looking for Dad?” she asked. She had always found the twins difficult. Either they both talked at once, loudly, or they both kept silent. Either way, a conversation with them was always a challenge.
“Yes,” said Trisha.
“No,” said Tommy.
“Well, sort of,” they finished together.
It was quiet for a while, the twins anxiously eyeing David’s progress at the stove, Kelly wondering what crisis had brought the children to her house this time, and how soon she could get rid of them. The silence continued for what seemed like hours, broken only by David’s soft whistling as he flipped pancakes.
“There you go.” As he set two plates heaped with pancakes in front of them, Trisha caught sight of Kelly’s painting of the little ghost. It had been on the table right in front of the twins ever since they sat down, but they had been too interested in watching David cook pancakes to notice it.
“Look, there she is! See, Tommy, I wasn’t lying, neither. Kelly’s made a picture of her, so she must be real.”
Kelly and David exchanged a glance, and Kelly asked, “Do you know the little girl in the picture, Trisha?”
Tommy answered for his sister, “Naw, she just. . .” The rest of the sentence was unintelligible as he worked on a mouthful of pancakes and syrup.
“Yes.” Trisha spoke at the same time as Tommy. “Yes. I saw her last night.”
“Did not.” Tommy was between bites, his voice loud and clear.
“Did too!”
“Never did. Liar!”
“Did too!” Trisha’s voice sounded suspiciously near tears, and Kelly had had all the tears she needed for one day, so she broke in quickly.
“Tommy, please be quiet and let Trisha tell me about the . . . about the little girl she saw last night. Don’t interrupt her.”
Trisha shot Tommy a victorious glance, took a swallow of juice to wash down what was left of a mouthful of pancakes and said quickly, “This morning, early, when it was still dark, when I woke up to go to the bathroom, she was there in the hall, right by the bathroom door, and she put her hands out and then she went away and I got Mommy but she said it was a dream.” She paused to take a breath, then went on. “So I went to the bathroom and went back to bed and Tommy says I’m a liar but I did see her, I did!”
Kelly sighed. These appearances of the ghost were getting out of hand. How could she explain to a nine year-old child that what she had seen by her bathroom door was most probably a ghost? The twins would be frightened, and their parents would be furious at Kelly for filling their children’s heads with psychic nonsense.
Trisha looked at her, her eyes asking for some sort of an explanation, some proof that she had seen a little girl in her house in the early hours of the morning, but Kelly didn’t know what to say. It was David who spoke.
“Who do you think she was, Trisha? No, Tommy, let her talk. What do you think the little girl was doing in your house, Trisha?”
Trisha looked triumphantly at the silenced Tommy. “I think it was a little ghost-girl, and she had to go to the bathroom and there aren’t any bathrooms where ghosts live so she had to come and use ours,” she said, running the words together so quickly that Kelly and David had trouble understanding her.
Tommy, however, understood his sister perfectly well. “Oh, boy, is that ever dumb!” he said. “That is the dumbest thing in the world. Everyone knows that ghosts don’t have to go to the bathroom!”
Kelly was having trouble keeping her face straight, and David had turned his back to the twins, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
“Uh . . . well, Trisha ... be quiet, Tommy . . . Trisha, I think that’s a perfectly good explanation. But aren’t you afraid of ghosts?”
Trisha answered Kelly seriously. “Well, I guess I would be, sort of, if it were a grown-up ghost, but she’s just a little baby and she couldn’t make anybody scared.”
“Baby ghosts! Boy, that is so dumb!”
Before Trisha could retaliate, David silenced Tommy with a stern look and asked, “Did you tell your parents that you thought you’d seen a ghost?”
Both children looked disgusted. “Naw,” said Tommy, and Trisha shook her head, agreeing with her brother.
“They’d just say we were getting hyper . . . hyperaction or something. Tommy and me, we don’t tell Mom and Dad about things like ghosts!”
“Yeah. We don’t tell them nothing,” echoed Tommy.
“Did the ghost-baby come to use your bathroom too, Kelly?”
“Well, she did come to visit me, but I saw her in the kitchen.”
“Maybe she was hungry,” said Tommy, his disbelief partly suspended as he realized that Kelly was taking the whole business seriously.
“Maybe she was, Tommy. She must have wanted something or she wouldn’t have been here.”
“Did she go to your place, David?” asked Trisha.
“Mom and Dad say we aren’t ever to go to your place because of all the bees,” added Tommy.
“Yes,” said David. “She came to the barn this morning, while I was milking the cows.”
“I wonder why she went to a barn?” said Trisha.
No one had heard Alan return, but he was suddenly in the kitchen, bringing the cold smell of outdoors with him. “Still here, David? Hi, twins. I’m glad you found someone to have breakfast with, Kelly. Anything left? I’m starved.”
Once again David headed for the stove. Alan looked amused. “Couldn’t stand Kelly’s cooking, right, David? I know the feeling. She makes a mean chili, too.”
“Oh, Dad, he offered to make the pancakes. I made the bacon.”
“And burnt it,” David elaborated.
“That’s typical.”
“Not fair! That’s two on one,” protested Kelly.
Tommy was again eyeing David as he cooked. “Can we have more pancakes?”
“No,” said David firmly. “That’s all the mix there is, and besides I’ll bet you’ve already had two breakfasts this morning, right?”
Tommy and Trisha exchanged a guilty look. “We better be going,” said Tommy, heading for the door.
“Thank you very muc
h for the delicious pancakes, Kelly, I mean David,” Trisha added maturely, and Tommy, by now halfway out the front door, remembered his manners, too.
“Yeah. Thanks,” he shouted. The door slammed and they were gone, except for faint voices that drifted down the road.
“Baby ghost, baby ghost, dumb, dumb baby ghost.”
“I did see it, Kelly says.”
“Dumb baby ghosts. Dumb sisters. Dumb girls.”
“Are not.”
“Are so.”
“Not!”
“So!”
Alan sighed. “Seeing those two always makes me glad you weren’t twins, Kelly. I don’t know how their parents manage. What did the kids want, anyway? More trouble with the skidoo, or were they just in search of food?”
David put a plate of pancakes in front of Alan. “That is all the mix, Kelly, and you’re almost out of eggs and syrup as well.”
Kelly answered absently, her thoughts still on Trisha’s nocturnal visitor. “Just write it down on the list on the fridge, will you, David.”
Alan set down his knife and fork. “She has certainly got you trained in a hurry, David.”
David grinned. “Not really,” he said. “I’m used to helping with the shopping. Mom hates doing it.”
“What did the twins want, Kelly?” Alan asked again.
Kelly shook her head, her forehead creasing as she frowned. “You won’t believe it, Dad, but early this morning Trisha saw a little girl by their bathroom door. They were arguing over whether or not she really had seen something, and I guess they came here to get the argument settled.”
“Trisha won, but Tommy thinks it’s dumb,” added David. “As soon as they saw Kelly’s picture, Trisha was convinced that she had seen a ghost, just a harmless little ghost girl looking for a bathroom.”
“That’s as logical an explanation as I’ve heard yet,” answered Kelly’s father. “Quite sensible, really. Were the twins frightened at the thought of a ghost running around Soda Creek?”
“No,” said Kelly. “Trisha thinks it’s just a lost baby, won’t hurt anyone, just a lost little girl looking for something or someone. And Tommy just thinks it’s dumb.”
“Good pancakes,” said Alan. He pushed back his chair, stretched, and changed the subject. “You’ll have water at your place again soon, David. We put a small electric heater down in the well-house, so it shouldn’t freeze up on you again this winter. Been a busy day already, and it’s only noon.”
Kelly just nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted.
“Ben saw me as I walked back from the commune, Kelly. Came out and talked to me, tried to get me to go in for a cup of coffee, but I’m ‘coffeed-out’ this morning. Had something he wanted to talk about. Want to take a guess about what was on his mind?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks he saw a ghost last night,” said Kelly, picking up the picture she had drawn. “A little, lost ghost-child.”
“Right.” Alan wasn’t smiling. “Ben will probably be by later to see that picture you drew, Kelly. He was very upset, thought maybe he was going a bit crazy. I told him that you had seen the ghost, too, and that seemed to make him feel better.”
“Let’s see,” said David. “That’s Kelly, Miss O., me, Trisha and Ben who have seen it so far. Well, we certainly aren’t all having hallucinations.”
“And it . . . she . . . has to be a real ghost, just because so many different people have seen her. But ghosts aren’t real at all.” Kelly shook her head, confused.
“This is the strangest conversation I’ve had since . . . well, this is the strangest conversation I’ve ever had,” said David. “Here we are, sitting around the kitchen table on a Sunday morning, talking calmly, rationally about ghosts.”
“I wonder who will see her next?” asked Kelly. “I’ll bet that sooner or later she visits everyone in Soda Creek.”
“Who else lives here?” asked David. “You are the only people I’ve met, except for Uncle George’s bunch.”
“Well, there’s Ed Crinchley,” said Alan, “but I don’t see him ever admitting he’d seen a ghost. He’d just put it down to a bad batch of that crabapple wine he makes.”
“And the Terpens, the twins’ parents,” said Kelly, “but if the ghost has already been to their house, maybe she won’t go back. That’s it, that’s everybody.”
“Well,” said her father, “there’s me and Bob, and there’s another dozen people down at the commune— excuse me, David, I don’t know what you actually call your place, but we call it the commune.”
“They just call it ‘the place’,” answered David, “but it really is a commune with everyone doing the chores, pitching in to help, sharing whatever money they make to keep the place going. My parents call it a commune, too.”
“But Dad,” said Kelly, returning to the subject of the ghost, “if she only goes to each house once, then everyone has had their visit, except Crinchley the Grinch.”
“Don’t call him that, Kelly. He’s not nearly as irritable as you think, just a lonely old man who wants to talk but doesn’t have much to talk about. So he complains a lot. He’ll usually stop, though, if you can get him onto Soda Creek’s history; he has a remarkable memory.”
“I’ve never heard him talk about the old days of Soda Creek,” said Kelly, surprised. “I’ve just heard him complain about the twins or the cows or how he can’t sell his illegal salmon anymore. Wait until you meet him, David, and you’ll see what I mean about him being a ‘Grinch’. Anyway, I’ll bet he’s the next one to see the ghost, if he hasn’t already and just isn’t talking about it.”
Again the doorbell rang, unusually loudly. Kelly, jumped, startled, and even David seemed surprised.
“Another typical Sunday morning at the Linden house,” said Kelly’s father, sighing. “I wonder who it is this time?”
When Kelly opened the door, she took a step back in surprise. On the doorstep stood an old Indian man, his grey hair caught in two braids that fell almost to his waist, neatly tied with strips of leather. On his head was the tallest cowboy hat Kelly had ever seen, circled by a wide, elaborately beaded hatband. Beside him was a slim woman, not more than twenty-five, her long dark hair falling loose about her shoulders.
“He wanted us to come here,” said the woman, gesturing at the old man who stared solemnly at Kelly. “He thought the chief should come and ask about the little white girl who ran away from home last night, the one he thinks he saw in his cabin two hours before daybreak.”
Chapter 6
Kelly stood staring at the two visitors, unable to speak for a few seconds. Then she swallowed hard and said, “Won’t you come in, please? Perhaps you should talk to my father.”
They followed her into the kitchen, and Alan Linden rose to his feet, a smile on his face. “Hi,” he said. “We’ll put on some more coffee.”
Kelly, suddenly embarrassed by the litter of dirty dishes, glasses and mugs, began to clear the table. “Dad, these people want to talk to you.”
“Sit down, make yourselves at home,” said Alan. “This is David—what is your last name anyway, David?”
“Stanton,” answered David.
“David Stanton, and I see you’ve met my daughter, Kelly. This is Chief Joan and her grandfather, Basil, from the Soda Creek reserve.”
“You’re the chief?” said David. “But I thought that. . .” He didn’t finish the sentence, not knowing quite what to say, his eyes flickering to the dignified old man sitting regally at the table, his hat in front of him.
“Sure,” answered Joan. “There’s quite a lot of us, women, who are chiefs now.”
“But your grandfather looks. . .” David began.
“I know. He looks like a chief. You should see him when he gets into his outfit for dancing, all feathers and beads and a long spear. Then he really looks like what an Indian’s supposed to be.” She spoke sharply, with an edge to her voice, and Kelly felt uncomfortable. Her father, watching the exchange, grinned and came to David’s resc
ue.
“Put the coffee on, would you, David? And don’t mind Joan. She’s a strong supporter of aboriginal rights and she’s a fighter, but she doesn’t bite on Sundays.”
“No. Only on Monday, Wednesday and Friday,” said Joan, but this time she smiled, too.
David rinsed and filled the coffee pot as Kelly collected the dirty dishes from the table, stacking them by the sink. Basil took out a small leather pouch and some papers, and began to roll a cigarette, using only one hand. He saw Kelly watching him and smiled. “Only got one hand free when you’re on a horse. Learned to do this when I was a kid.”
Joan glared at Basil’s cigarette, then sighed. “He says he’s too old to quit. Do you mind?”
Kelly rummaged in the cupboard and found the one ashtray in the Linden home.
“The reason we came, Alan,” said Joan, “is that Grandpa is worried. He wanted to come and talk to you, because you’re just about the only person we know in Soda Creek, and he thought it best we tell someone.”
Alan looked at Kelly, questioningly. She nodded, understanding what he was asking. “Yes, Dad. The same problem as Miss O. and the rest of us.”
“Will you tell us about the little girl?” asked Alan. “Who saw her, and where was she?”
“Ah. You know already about the child. Is she safe?” Basil’s voice was deep and rough, like gravel moving on the shallow bed of a stream.
“How did she get so far from home?” asked Joan.
“Too small to be out alone,” said Basil. “Too small to be running away in the dark. I asked her, ‘Hey, what are you doing here?’ She put her hands out to me, like she wanted to be picked up. Then she started to cry, cry hard, but not making any noise. Then she went.”
“I hope she’s all right,” said Joan. “Grandpa and I went and looked up and down the road for her, but then I started wondering if he was just seeing things, because no kid could have gone far in the dark and she wasn’t anywhere near his cabin. I should have called you then, but I wasn’t sure whether Grandpa. . .” Her voice trailed off, worried.
