by Ann Walsh
“Don’t worry, Joan. She’s safe.” Basil and Joan waited patiently for Alan to go on. He looked at Kelly, wanting her to be the one to tell about the ghost. But Kelly wanted no part of the explanation. Telling people they had seen a ghost wasn’t the easiest thing to do, and she had already done her share of explaining this morning. It was her father’s turn.
“Go ahead, Dad,” she said. “You tell them.”
“Is there something wrong with the kid?” asked Joan, concerned. “Grandpa said she looked different, but he didn’t explain how. That’s when I decided he was making things up, and stopped worrying about her. She isn’t retarded, is she?”
Alan sat silently, obviously not knowing how to begin to explain. David took pity on him and, taking Kelly’s picture of the little ghost from the top of the fridge where he had placed it out of reach of the twins’ sticky fingers, he handed it to Basil. “Is this the little girl you saw?” he asked.
Basil crunched out the stub of his cigarette, and reached for the picture. His fingers were gnarled and knotted, the knuckles as thick as chestnuts. He held the picture close to his face, studied it carefully, then passed it to Joan. “Yes,” he said. “She is the one I saw in my cabin, early, before the sun came up.”
Joan studied the picture, too. “Did you draw this, Kelly? It’s good. But why did you put the child in those old fashioned clothes?”
“Because that’s the way she was dressed, Chief . . . uh, Joan.” answered Kelly. “That’s what she wears when she appears to people.”
“Appears? What is this? Are you making fun of us?” Joan looked from Alan to Kelly and back again, her eyes flashing, her long hair slapping against her cheeks as her head moved.
“You mean ‘appears’, like a ghost, a spirit,” said Basil, nodding.
“Yes.” Alan spoke quickly, trying to make them understand. “You’re not the only one who has seen her, Basil. Kelly saw her, and David and others as well. It sounds weird, but we really think she is a ghost.”
“Come on!” Joan still wasn’t sure that she wasn’t being made the brunt of a practical joke. “You can’t expect us to believe that. She must live somewhere around here. She’s white, so she sure doesn’t live on the reserve.”
“No,” Kelly broke in, “no, she doesn’t live anywhere around here Joan, honestly. There are only the twins here, and the kids are all older down at David’s place.”
Basil had taken the picture again, and was gently tracing the small face with one twisted finger. “Yes,” he said. “A spirit, a semec. When I saw her, I wondered, but I am an old man. My eyes are tired. They’re not good anymore. Last night, I wondered.”
“Oh, come on Grandpa, don’t start with that shaman stuff again!” Joan still looked annoyed, as if she would quite happily get up from the table and walk out of the house. “Grandpa’s been teaching the old ways of our people, teaching everyone the dances and how to build a sweat lodge and use the cleansing smoke. That’s fine, but now he figures he’s got powers or something, like the medicine men, shamans, used to have.”
Aware of Joan’s irritation, Kelly quickly took the coffee from the stove. David, without being asked, had found clean mugs and set them on the table. “I know,” he said to Joan. “I was upset myself when Kelly showed me that picture and told me I’d seen a ghost. I mean, that sort of thing just doesn’t happen in this day and age.”
Basil looked up at David. “The old ones, they knew about such things. To them it was not so hard to understand that sometimes spirits should want to come back to earth. There is a dance for the spirits. I taught it to the dancers yesterday. Maybe she heard our song and our drums, and that is why she came.”
“Honestly, Grandpa, sometimes I wonder about you! There aren’t any ghosts or spirits or whatever you want to call them, native or white. The old ways are gone for so many of our people; the old ways of living and the old ways of fighting. Now we have to fight through the Assembly of First Nations and land claims, not with dances and chants. You are teaching our people to spend so much time in the past that they forget to fight for their future.”
Basil smiled at his granddaughter, reaching for his coffee. “I am an old man, Joan. I like to remember the old ways, and I want to teach them to others, so they will not be forgotten. But the old and the new, they can work together. We will do a warrior dance for you, when you go to that conference. Maybe the old can help the new.” He grinned at Kelly’s father. “Perhaps it is a good thing that the old ones did not let the women fight in battle. If the women all fought as fiercely as my granddaughter, perhaps there would be none of us left now!”
“Oh, Grandpa, you’re impossible!” Joan’s anger seemed to be forgotten, and she, too, smiled. “Go ahead, teach your dances and your legends. But I’m going to fight the modern way, use modern tools—the press, lawyers, road blocks. Wait until you see the recommendation I’m making at that conference.”
“We will send you away with prayers and with the smell of sweetgrass in your hair, Joan. But for now we must find out more about the little white ghost.”
“There’s nothing more we can tell you,” said Alan. “I wish there were. I guess we’ll just have to wait for a while, wait and see if she comes back.”
“Maybe she’s finished visiting Soda Creek,” said David. “Maybe it was just a one-shot appearance.”
“Well, if other people have seen her too, then I guess she really is some sort of ghost,” said Joan. “But I’m certainly not going to tell anyone else about it. They’d think we were all crazy.”
“No. I don’t think I’ll talk about it either,” said Kelly. “It isn’t the sort of thing you bring up casually in the school cafeteria.”
“Well,” said Alan, pushing away his half empty coffee mug, “I have a feeling that she’s done with us, that no one will see her again. Perhaps we’ll find out that ghosts appeared all over the world last night, something to do with the stage of the moon or satellites or the weather. I’m going to forget all about her for now. I think she’s gone.”
“No.” Old Basil’s voice was firm. “She will be back. She has not done with us yet.”
Everyone in the kitchen looked at him. He sat without moving, staring into space at something only he could see.
“I hope you’re wrong, sir,” said Kelly. “I hope she’s gone for good. She made me feel so sad, just standing there, tears in her eyes. She was so little, so helpless. It was almost as if she were asking me to do something for her, but she didn’t talk and I don’t know what she wanted. I hope she’s found whatever she was looking for, and is gone.”
“Wait,” said Basil. “Wait. You will see. She will be back, many times.”
He spoke as if he were certain that the little ghost would return, and Kelly shivered slightly in the warm kitchen, glancing at the empty corner by the fridge to see if, in fact, the ghost had already returned and was standing there.
“Watch for her,” said Basil. “Wait for her. She will be back.”
Chapter 7
Kelly saw no ghost that Sunday night. She and her father had gone to Williams Lake for an early dinner. David, looking pale and drawn, had left shortly after Joan and Basil. “Time for my afternoon nap,” he explained, trying to sound cheerful. “Some days I just seem to run down and have to spend time in bed. The doctor says I’m over the worst, and I’m not even contagious anymore, but my body won’t listen.” He smiled at Kelly as he left, and once again she noticed how his smile transformed his face. “See you tomorrow, Kelly,” he said. “If that’s okay?”
The dinner had been good, steak and lobster tails, baked potato with sour cream and fluffy chocolate cheesecake for dessert. Over dinner Kelly and her father talked, sitting a long time after the meal was finished. “Well, it isn’t breakfast, and we aren’t in Soda Creek, but I feel as if we’ve had some time together, the way we used to,” said Alan. “You’re right, you know, Kelly. I haven’t had much time for you lately. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, Da
d. I was just upset at Miss O. this morning. You don’t have to take me out for dinner every Sunday. And, if our little ghost-child has finished visiting us, I shouldn’t be that upset again for a while.”
“If she’s gone,” said her father. “Basil seemed sure that we haven’t seen the last of her.” Somehow, the mention of the ghost ended their talking, and they drove home to Soda Creek in silence.
“Good night, Kelly. Sleep well, little one. No ghostly visitors tonight, I hope,” said Alan as Kelly headed for bed.
“I hope not, Dad. I’m exhausted. See you in the morning.”
The next morning, however, Kelly’s father was unusually quiet. Even the radio was silent, as Alan moved around the kitchen, making lunches. He muttered something that could have been ‘good morning’ and finished wrapping sandwiches.
“Sleep well, Dad?”
“Fine. Eat your breakfast.” And that was all he said. Kelly was concerned. Normally her father was a cheerful riser, punctuating his morning chores with whistles and comments to the radio show host, talking to Kelly. This morning the sound of Kelly swallowing orange juice sounded loud in the kitchen.
“Dad? You okay? You didn’t come down with David’s mono overnight, did you?”
“No.” Her father was brusque, and he snapped his lunch pail closed with more force than necessary. “You heard him say that he’s not contagious.”
Kelly, still wondering what was wrong, kept talking. “Hey, I didn’t have any visitations last night. Maybe the ghost has finished with Soda Creek, in spite of what Basil thinks.”
“I don’t want to talk about it this morning.” Alan’s voice was sharp, and he left the kitchen abruptly, lunch box in hand. “See you this evening, Kelly. I’ll get the shopping.”
“What is wrong with Dad?” wondered Kelly. It wasn’t at all like her father to be so taciturn. Then she knew. She may not have seen the little ghost last night, but somehow she knew that her father had, and that was what was upsetting him. It was one thing for him to listen to other people’s stories of seeing a ghost-child, but much more difficult for her father to accept seeing it himself. Perhaps, in spite of all his reassurances to the others who had seen her, he still believed that the ghost had been their personal apparition, something Alan would never have to face himself.
“Poor Dad,” Kelly thought. “In spite of everyone who told him about seeing the ghost yesterday, he didn’t really believe it. No wonder he’s upset.”
She finished her juice, still thinking about her father. Well, she wouldn’t pressure him to tell her about it. When her father was ready, he would share his experience with her. Kelly remembered how she had felt early Sunday morning, how upset and confused she had been when she saw the ghost.
Breakfast finished, her own lunch packed, and the dishes stacked, ready to wash when she got home from school, Kelly headed out the door for the short walk to the school bus stop. Every morning the bus made the winding trip down the gravel road from the highway to pick up Kelly, the twins, four students from the commune and half a dozen children from the reserve. This morning the twins were sitting on the garden fence, waiting for her, their coats open in spite of the December cold.
“Hi, guys,” she said. “Do up your jackets, you’ll freeze.”
“Hi, Kelly,” answered Trisha. Tommy just nodded, and fell into step beside her as they headed up the road.
“Tommy’s sulky this morning,” said Trisha, obediently tugging at the zipper on her jacket.
Kelly looked at the boy trudging along beside her, his head bowed, his eyes firmly on the ground. He, too, had done up his jacket without being told a second time, Kelly noticed, surprised. “Troubles, Tommy?” she asked.
“No,” said Tommy, then he fell silent again.
Trisha, however, was anything but silent, talking incessantly all the way to the bus stop, about her gym class, her new running shoes, Tommy being in trouble for being grouchy this morning, and the video movie her father had promised to bring home that night. Tommy didn’t once contradict her, correct her, or even interrupt her.
“Something strange is going on,” Kelly thought. Then, as clearly as she had known about her father, she knew that Tommy, too, had seen the little ghost last night.
Trisha ran ahead to the bus stop, but Tommy stayed with Kelly. “What’s with you this morning, Tommy?” she asked.
“Nothing.” Tommy’s voice was low. He looked around him as if to make sure that no one could hear him, then asked, “Hey, do you really think that little girl is a ghost?”
“I guess so, Tommy. There doesn’t seem to be any other explanation, does there?”
“She doesn’t look like a . . . never mind.” His head went down again, and he stayed silent until the bus pulled up.
“I’m right,” Kelly thought. “He’s seen her too, but he doesn’t want to admit it, not after all the arguing he did with Trisha yesterday. Poor Tommy, finding out that ghosts aren’t so ‘dumb’. And poor Dad too. The whole idea does take some getting used to.”
School drifted by that morning, slightly out of focus, blurred and not quite real. Kelly couldn’t seem to keep her mind on what she was doing and found that she had copied the same algebra question twice, but got two different answers. Firmly she pulled her thoughts away from the tiny figure that was causing the inhabitants of Soda Creek so much anguish, and tried to concentrate on what was going on in the classroom.
As she headed for the cafeteria at lunch, Miss Overton approached her. “Kelly,” she said, “Could I speak to you for a minute?”
The rest of the group Kelly usually ate with looked at her questioningly, then went on without her. Kelly hoped someone would save her a seat.
Miss Overton took Kelly’s arm and urged her into the empty counsellor’s office. “I’m SO sorry to take you away from your friends, Kelly,” she said, her charm bracelet jangling as she shut the door, “but I DID want to talk to you, just for a moment.”
“Okay.” Kelly stood, waiting, a bit uncomfortable, remembering how rude she’d been to the teacher yesterday morning.
“I know you are a very RESPONSIBLE girl, Kelly, and very UNDERSTANDING, although you did have a bit of a temper tantrum yesterday. I just wanted to say . . . well, to ask you ... I mean. . .” She gestured as she struggled for the right words, and Kelly wished she’d get on with what she was trying to say. She’d never get time to eat her lunch if Miss O. kept her too long.
“I just wanted to say, you know, it wouldn’t be good for my REPUTATION, for my discipline with the students, if you told everyone I was seeing SUPERNATURAL beings.” She looked pleadingly at Kelly. “You won’t ... I mean, you haven’t told any of your friends, have you?”
Kelly suddenly felt almost sorry for the woman. “Of course,” she thought. “Miss O. went to church yesterday morning after she left our place, and no one’s told her that she wasn’t the only one to see the ghost.”
“It’s okay, Miss O.,” she said. “I haven’t told anyone about the ghost you saw. And you weren’t the only one to see it, you know. I saw her, and David from the commune, and Trisha, and I think my father saw her last night, although he hasn’t come right out and said so. It’s not just you. Something strange really is happening in Soda Creek.”
Miss Overton collapsed into the chair behind the counsellor’s desk. “You saw it, too?” she asked. “And other people. You mean, it really was a ghost?”
“We think she had to be,” said Kelly, “but that’s kind of hard to accept, isn’t it? I mean, you can’t go around telling people without having them think that you were a bit crazy.”
“Oh, I am so RELIEVED!” Miss Overton waved her arms around her head, as if she were brushing away all her fears for her own sanity. “Oh, Kelly, I was so very CONCERNED yesterday. It just seemed so impossible that I thought that maybe I was. . .”
“I know,” said Kelly. “That’s the way we all feel. But don’t worry, Miss O. If you are going crazy, then half of Soda Creek is too.”
&
nbsp; “Oh, that’s such a RELIEF. But I musn’t take up any more of your lunch hour, Kelly. And I do thank you for sharing this with me.”
“Sure. I should have told you yesterday. Sorry.”
“Well, we all have our IRRATIONAL moments, don’t we? But I did have such a comforting talk with my priest after the service yesterday.”
However, shortly after lunch, Kelly realized that Miss O., reassured by the fact that ghost-sighting was epidemic in Soda Creek, must have spent her lunch hour elaborating on the story. Kelly’s first afternoon class was English, and her teacher looked at her strangely.
“Been reading Hamlet lately, Kelly? I hear you’ve been seeing apparitions on your own castle walls, you and the others at Soda Creek. Better get your water supply tested. Probably something hallucinogenic in it.”
Kelly was furious. “Isn’t that just like Miss O.,” she thought. “One moment she’s begging me not to tell anyone about the ghost, and then five minutes later she’s entertaining the rest of the teachers with stories of the Soda Creek ‘haunting’.”
Kelly was still in a bad mood when she got off the school bus that afternoon. The story of the little ghost had spread through the school, and her friends had begun to question her, disbelieving. When she walked into her last class of the day, there was a hastily drawn chalk ghost on the blackboard with the words, “Look, Kelly, look. See the ghost. Run, Kelly, run.” Now that everyone in the high school seemed to know about the ghost, it wouldn’t be long before word reached all of Williams Lake, which was still a small enough town to enjoy spreading a good story.
“I guess I’m still thinking of her as ‘my’ ghost,” she thought. “It’s almost as if I don’t want to share her with anyone, especially anyone outside of Soda Creek.”
Her mood lightened, though, when she saw David waiting for her. He was carrying a brown paper bag, and he looked a lot stronger than he had when he left yesterday afternoon.
“Hi,” she called. “Enjoy your nap yesterday?”
“Sure did. I slept for three hours. That doesn’t happen much anymore, but I think I spent all of October in bed.”
