by Ann Walsh
“Here.” Alan took a plate of scrambled eggs from the oven, put them in front of her, then sat down across from her. “Come on, eat something.”
“I’m sorry, Dad, really. I feel so stupid. That poor priest—and Miss O. must be furious at me.”
“It’s all right, Kelly. I think they understand, although a phone call or note from you, apologizing, might not be a bad idea.”
“I will, Dad. But do you understand? Do you know what’s happening to me, why I seem to be out of control half the time?”
Alan sighed. “Perhaps I do, Kelly. I’m not a psychologist, but I do read a lot. I think you’re identifying with the little ghost.”
“Identifying? Oh, you mean I think she’s me in a sort of way. But why, Dad? I’ve never had a thing for ghosts, at least not that I know of.”
“You call her ‘little one’,” said her father quietly. “The name your mother used for you. The ghost is alone, Kelly, alone and lonely. And she doesn’t have her mother with her, either.”
“Oh, Dad, that’s nonsense,” said Kelly, but the tears that seemed so ready the last few days threatened to flood her eyes again. She rubbed a hand across her face, trying to force the tears back.
“Maybe it is nonsense, Kelly—and maybe it isn’t. I know it took me a long time to come to terms with your mother’s death, a long time and a lot of tears. But you haven’t cried for her, not since the day of the funeral, never even wept in your sleep. As you just said, you ‘never’ cry, Kelly and maybe you need to.”
“I tried so hard to be strong; I wouldn’t let myself cry, Dad. And then I couldn’t. But now I want to cry all the time, but I’m not even sure it’s because of Mom. The tears just seem to be there, ready, sneaking up on me when I don’t want them.”
“The little ghost cries a lot, too, Kelly. I think her tears have loosened yours.”
“Yes,” said Kelly, and let the tears come. “Oh, Dad.”
Alan again took his daughter in his arms. “Kelly, Kelly, my poor little one. It’s all right, Kelly. Cry all you want to, all you need to. It’s all right. I’m here.”
After a while, Kelly’s tears stopped. Alan reluctantly left for work, already late, unwilling to leave until Kelly insisted he go. And Kelly, realizing that she was too upset to go to school, washed her face, ignored her tangled hair, and went back to bed. In her dreams no one cried —and no one had died.
She woke much later to the sound of knocking on the front door and David’s voice, worried, calling her name. “Kelly? Are you there? Kelly? Open the door.”
“It’s not locked,” she called, pulling on her jeans and a sweat shirt. “Come in. I’ll be right there.”
When she reached the kitchen David was busy scraping her untouched breakfast into the garbage and clearing the table. “Hi,” he said. “I met the bus after school this afternoon, but the twins said you’d stayed home. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, attacking her hair with a comb. “Or at least I think I am. I slept all day, and feel better now.”
“Our little ghost kept you awake all night, too, did she?” asked David. “No one at the commune got much sleep either. I guess the priest frightened her, but she certainly scared my aunt and the other women. I suddenly became the resident expert on our ghost, and had to explain, over and over again, all about her. Or at least as much as I know.”
“Sorry,” said Kelly, snapping a rubber band around her braided hair. “The priest did upset her. We’ve never heard her before last night.”
“Well, I think you upset Father Glenn,” said David. “That was quite a performance you put on. Do you make a habit of grabbing things out of priests’ hands? Remind me never to sit near you in church—it could be dangerous.”
“I know, I know. I’ll phone him and apologize. Don’t make jokes about it, David, please. I couldn’t handle it; I feel so stupid about the whole thing.”
“Okay,” said David. “No more priest jokes. But he was only trying to help, you know. We’re all trying to help her, I guess, even though we don’t know how.” He began rinsing the coffee pot, filling it with cold water. “Kelly?” he asked, his back towards her, “Kelly, can we talk? Not about the little ghost, that’s nearly all we’ve talked about since we met. Let’s talk about . . . about us.”
“Us?” Kelly was surprised. David had come into her life at almost the same time as the little ghost, and had become as much a part of her life as the ghost had. She had never thought about ‘us’, at least not in the way that David seemed to mean, as if they were a couple. “Sure,” she said. “Sure, we can talk. Or at least we can talk until the twins come to check up on us again.”
David was adding ground coffee to the pot now, and he still didn’t turn around to look at her. “I’m serious, Kelly. Now it’s your turn not to make jokes, please.” He set the pot of coffee on the stove, turned it on and, his back still to her, said, “I’ve only known you for three days, Kelly, but . . . but there’s been something almost magic about those three days and I . . . I’ve grown very fond of you. I don’t know what to do.”
Kelly sat unmoving at the table, a sense almost of fear growing in her, not wanting David to explain, not wanting to hear what he needed to tell her. “I don’t understand what you mean,” she said in a small voice.
David finally turned to face her, still staying near the stove, the kitchen table between them. His face was serious, his eyes darker than usual, and the smile that could light his face was not there. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Kelly,” he said. “And that’s ridiculous; three days isn’t long enough to get to know a person, to fall in love.”
“Oh, but it is, David,” said Kelly, the sense of fear lifting. “It is long enough. I know, because I. . .”
“No, don’t say it, Kelly, don’t say it. Please.” His face twisted, almost with pain. “You see, I didn’t know this was going to happen to me. I just wanted to be friends, go out once in a while, have someone to talk to and be with. I didn’t mean for things to ... I haven’t been fair to you, Kelly.”
“Fair?” Again Kelly felt the fear, the uneasiness that she had felt earlier, but she pushed it aside. “Of course you’re not fair. All those jokes about my hair and my cooking.” She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back.
“No, Kelly. It isn’t that. There’s . . . well, there’s someone else, in Vancouver.” The coffee began to perk, louder, faster, as Kelly sat, unable to move, to speak. Louder, faster, then exploding into sizzle and steam as coffee boiled over and hit the hot element.
David turned the stove down. “I’m sorry, Kelly, but I care for you too much not to tell you. I had to let you know.”
The spilled coffee had burnt around the edges of the element, and a bitter smell tinged the air in the kitchen. Kelly still sat, silent, her shoulders tense, her hands clenched.
“Kelly? Can’t you say something? I’m going home soon and until then I ... I mean, can’t we just be friends? I don’t want to give you up, Kelly, don’t want to lose you. But it’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to Laurie. I have to see her again, explain, settle things in my own mind. Kelly? Please, say something.”
The red mist of anger, the same anger that she had felt towards Clara Overton when she told of seeing the little ghost, rose through Kelly again. She clenched her hands harder, fighting against the anger.
“Blonde?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Or perhaps ebony black?”
“What? Oh, Laurie’s a blonde, but I don’t see. . .”
Kelly stood, her knees shaking, her clenched hands on the table for support. “Thank you for telling me, David,” she said formally. “But now I think you should leave.”
“Kelly, please. I care for you, very much, but I have a commitment to Laurie, and. . .”
“Out!” Kelly felt her face grow hot as she spoke, and her voice rose shrilly. Her heart was pounding, loudly, too loudly. “Just get out and don’t bother coming back. I’m sure you have more important things to do tha
n waste time with me. Go write a letter to your girlfriend or milk a cow or something.”
“Kelly, hey. . .” David smiled, his face softening, lit by the smile. “I’m sorry, Kelly, but you should see yourself, your face is as red as your hair. Listen, I’m trying to say that I’m not sure about Laurie anymore, not since meeting you. Can’t you understand? Please, don’t cut me out of your life just yet. Let me have the rest of my time in Soda Creek with you, let me find out for sure, work through my feelings for you, before I have to go back to Vancouver.”
Kelly’s heart was beating even louder, so loudly that she was sure David could hear. David reached out a hand towards her. “Please, Kelly?” he said again. “Give me some time? Time—with you?”
Kelly’s heartbeats seemed to fill the room, deep and pulsing, an ancient rhythm from the world’s past. What was wrong with her, she thought? She was upset, angry, furious, but her heart had never sounded so loud before.
David put a hand to his chest. “Kelly, this hasn’t been easy for me. My heart’s thumping so loudly that I’m sure you can hear it. Won’t you give me a chance, Kelly?”
They stood staring at each other, the kitchen table between them, Kelly flushed, David looking pale and still reaching out one hand towards her, pleading. The beating grew louder and louder, filling the kitchen, bouncing off the walls, reverberating through the late afternoon dusk that filled the room. Then the front door flew open and the twins’ voices shrilled through the house.
“Kelly, come quick!”
“It’s Indians, a whole bunch of them.”
“They’ve got drums and everything.”
“And feathers, and big sticks.”
“They’re dancing, Kelly.”
“They’re hitting the drums and dancing, right outside your house.”
Chapter 12
Outside, in the growing dusk of the December afternoon, was gathered what looked like the entire Soda Creek Band. Most of them stood silently along the sides of the road, watching, as a group of about ten formed a circle around a pair of large drums, and began to chant. Now the drum beat changed, becoming louder, more complex, and the dancers moved, feet shuffling, bodies following the rhythm, chanting. The onlookers nodded, shuffling their own feet in time to the beat, and the dancers moved more and more energetically, feathered headdresses swaying, belled and tasseled moccasins echoing the drum rhythm, fringed vests and trousers trembling with the movement. The women wore dresses laden with quills, beads and small mirrors; the men, many of them with their hair braided and swaying under their headdresses, wore fringed leggings and short vests that left their arms and shoulders bare.
Kelly and David stood on the front steps with the twins, watching in amazement. The drummers and dancers seemed unaware of any audience, concentrating fully on their music and dance steps. The chanting rose louder, the spectators from the reserve swaying as they, too, joined in. Kelly caught sight of Ben edging closer to the activity on the road, and saw Mrs. Terpen nervously craning her neck, looking anxious until she caught sight of the twins standing beside Kelly.
“What are they doing, Kelly?”
“Yeah. How come they’re dancing on our road?”
“Do you think they’re cold? They don’t have coats on.”
“Do you think they’d let me try the drums?”
Kelly didn’t answer the twins, but David did. “I guess maybe they heard our little ghost crying last night too, Tommy. Maybe this is something to do with her. I think they’re wearing ceremonial outfits, you know, special clothes to dance in.”
“How can dancing help the ghost?”
“Boy, she sure did cry last night.”
“I told her over and over it was okay to come and use our bathroom, but she just kept crying.”
“David,” said Kelly, her anger at him forgotten for the moment, “David, do you think the dancers are trying to do what Father Glenn tried to do last night? Send her away?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me, Kelly,” he answered. “But listen, she isn’t crying. I don’t think our ghost is bothered by the dancing, not the way she was by the holy water.”
“But they musn’t drive her away, not yet!” And Kelly was down the steps, across the lawn and into the middle of the swirling, chanting dancers. “Don’t!” she cried. “Please, please don’t scare her. She won’t hurt anyone. Don’t try to chase her away.”
The dancers backed away, clearing a space, and Kelly suddenly found herself in the centre of the ring, close to the drums. Every face was turned towards her, dark eyes staring at her solemnly. The drumming slowed, the chanting grew quieter, but the dancers still moved, circling Kelly. “Please,” she said again, her throat dry. “Please.”
It was almost dark now, and beginning to snow again. Out of the dancers’ ranks moved a blurred figure, his long headdress swaying against his knees as he walked, a beaded and feathered spear pointed directly at Kelly. He lifted his other hand and all movement stopped, the dancers standing still, statues freckled with fresh snow.
“We will not frighten the little ghost, Kelly. This is our dance for the dead, to help them go to their spirit home easily. To make them feel that they are not forgotten, even though they are not here. This dance will not hurt the child.”
“Basil!” As he spoke, Kelly had recognized the old man. Of course, Joan had said that her grandfather was teaching the traditional native dances to others on the reserve, teaching the dances, the chants, the ways of their ancestors. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt the dance. I just. . .”
“It is finished now,” said Basil. “We have done what we came here to do. Perhaps tonight the small ghost will not cry. Maybe she will rest.”
“Maybe tonight she’ll let us get some rest!” One of the onlookers had joined Kelly and Basil, taking Kelly’s hand and leading her out of the centre of the circle.
“Joan?”
“Sure, it’s me. I don’t belong to the dance group, but I like to watch them. Come on, Kelly, you’re shaking. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm.”
Then Alan was beside Kelly, his arm around her. “I parked further up the road and walked down,” he said. “Couldn’t drive through the crowd, and didn’t want to disturb the dancers, especially not this unofficial one of mine.” He helped her inside where David took her arm and led her, unresisting, into the kitchen.
“Hot coffee,” he said. “Sit.”
Kelly sat down into a chair, thankful of its support. “Dad?” she asked, but her father wasn’t there.
“He’s outside, probably talking to Joan and Basil,” answered David. “He had some idea of inviting everyone in for coffee.”
Outside the house a cheer went up, and Alan burst back into the kitchen. “David, Kelly, get the other coffee pot, the big one, and put it on. See if you can find something for our visitors to eat as well.” He was rummaging in a cupboard. “I know we’ve got a bunch of extra cups in a box in here somewhere. Ah.” He placed the sugar bowl from the table, a handful of teaspoons and a carton of milk into the box of cups and carried it all toward the door. “Come on, you two. We’re lighting a bonfire by the edge of the road, since there are too many people to fit into anyone’s house. Mrs. Terpen’s making hot chocolate, and the twins are already handing out cookies. Come on, join the party. Bring that coffee when it’s ready, David.”
As her father left, Kelly could hear Clara Overton’s voice, shrill and piercing. “Alan, what are all these people doing here? I am most DISTRESSED. I drive home from school and find a huge fire practically on my front lawn, and all these people.”
“Go and get some of your famous muffins, Clara, and join our guests. The Soda Creek dancers came to help us with our little ghost. Too bad you missed it.”
“Well! I do think it is most INCONSIDERATE, but. . .” Her voice faded away.
“Kelly? Come outside with me?” David held the coffee pot in one hand, stretching out his other hand towards her. Kelly walked away from him without answering. She
went into the living room and stood, looking out the big picture window. It was too dark to see the Fraser River below her, but she knew it was there, frozen now, still and quiet, waiting for spring. Earlier that day Kelly had looked up at the hills that crouched over Soda Creek. She had once thought of them as a large animal, protecting the houses that nestled against its side. Today, though, they seemed almost to have moved closer to the townsite. She had felt for a moment that the hills were nudging the houses, not protecting them, but pushing them firmly down the steep slope to the river. Somehow she had the sense that the hills, as well as the river, were waiting. Waiting for what? She had shivered, almost afraid.
She heard David sigh, and realized that he, too, had been waiting. “I’m sorry, Kelly,” he said, but she didn’t answer, didn’t turn around, and then the door closed behind him and she was alone.
The bonfire, just off the road and above the bank that led down to the river, was burning well, flames reaching high over the heads of the onlookers, lighting up the faces of everyone who stood near. Kelly caught sight of Bob, his fingers flying over his sketch book. Behind him a small girl, the youngest of the dancers, stood on tiptoe to see, and Bob turned to her, crouching down so she could watch him as he drew. He flipped to a clean page and gestured to the child to step back, smiling, obviously telling her that he wanted her to pose for him. As he drew her picture, others came to watch. The small dancer smiled broadly, and the onlookers nodded their approval of Bob’s sketch.
Kelly saw her father, coffee in hand, bent over the open hood of one of the cars that had been parked further up the road, two dark heads beside his, intent on what he was saying. David stood apart from the group clustered around the fire, a slight figure in an oversized jacket, his head bent, oblivious of what was going on around him. The twins knelt beside the fire, two of the children from the reserve beside them, busy with a game that involved sticks, small stones and patterns drawn in the fresh snow. Even Clara Overton had joined the party, and was moving through the crowd, offering a tray of what could only be rhubarb muffins.
