by Ann Walsh
“I know you’ll miss her, Kelly,” said David, his arm tightening around her.
A small hand tugged at Kelly’s arm. Beside her, Trisha turned her white face upwards, her own eyes as tear-filled and wide as the ghost’s had been a few minutes earlier.
“I don’t want her to go away either,” whispered Trisha. “I want her to stay here with us always.”
Kelly put her arm around the girl and hugged her. “I know, Trisha. We’re all going to miss her.” “And I’ll miss David, too,” she said to herself. “Both of them, I’ll miss them both so much, so very, very much.”
Chapter 19
The temperature dropped steadily through the late afternoon, and by seven o’clock when people began to gather at the community hall, the heat from the wood furnace that George had stoked earlier in the day was welcome.
Kelly and her father were among the first to arrive, Alan Linden worried by Kelly’s pale face and strained, tense voice. But he asked her no questions, just stayed near her, watchful.
“It’s all right, Dad, really it is.” Kelly had become aware of her father’s concern as they filled the large old coffee urn that belonged to the community hall. “Don’t worry about me. I’m being unreasonable, getting upset about Emily leaving. Maybe I am doing whatever you called it—identifying—with her. But I do feel miserable, even though I’m not being logical.”
“I wish I could help, Kelly.” Her father spoke gently. “Try to remember that this is just a ghost that we’re talking about. We’ve all gone from not believing in ghosts to feeling as if this ghost were a part of our family. It doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“I know, Dad. The whole thing is crazy. But . . . but, David has to leave tomorrow, too.”
“I’m sorry, Kelly. I hadn’t realized. . .” began her father, but Clara Overton bustled into the kitchen, unaware that she had interrupted.
“Oh good, I’m glad you figured out how to work that percolator; we’re going to need a lot of coffee tonight, it’s so cold. I’ve made rhubarb bread instead of muffins, thought it would go further. Help me slice it, would you Kelly, and see if you can find some big plates. We’ve got several batches of cookies coming as well, and Joan said she’d bring something, but I’m not sure exactly what.” She busied herself slicing thin pieces of rhubarb loaf, hands moving surely, quickly, quietly. As David had told Kelly, Clara Overton no longer wore the charm bracelet that used to jangle with the teacher’s every movement.
Ben came in carrying two large jugs, filled with a pink liquid. “Hi, everyone. I thawed some raspberries and made a punch for anyone who doesn’t want coffee.”
“I’ve brought my largest pottery bowl for it,” said Bob, depositing a huge blue and white bowl on the counter. “But we didn’t have any cups. I hope someone’s got some.”
“Right here,” said Alan. “I brought every cup in our house.”
As Kelly buttered slices of rhubarb bread, she could hear voices in the main hall as more and more people arrived. The twins’ excited chatter rose over the buzz of adult conversation, and she heard Ed Crinchley’s gruff voice saying, “Don’t you kids badger me, now. You’ll find out about your ghost same time as everyone else does, not before.”
Joan came into the kitchen, handing Kelly a large tray covered with plastic wrap. “Smoked salmon,” she said. “Hope you like it.” She disappeared back into the hall.
“Oh, there’s Father Glenn,” said Clara Overton. She handed the bread knife to Kelly and rushed off to welcome the young priest. “I’m so glad you could come tonight, Father. It seems as if we are going to solve our problem after all.”
“I hope so, Clara.” The priest’s voice was troubled. “I’ve been most concerned since my visit here, most concerned for everyone. I hope everything will work out.”
Trisha stuck her head into the kitchen, calling loudly. “The witch-lady’s here. Come on, Kelly, Mr. Linden. Everyone’s sitting down, and the Grinch and the witch-lady are getting ready to tell us.”
Kelly followed her father out of the kitchen, and they slipped into the last row of chairs that David and George had set up that afternoon. The community hall was crowded, the chairs almost all taken. Among a group from the reserve, Kelly recognized some of the dancers. The smallest dancer sat beside Bob, turned towards him, and Bob, sketchbook in hand, seemed to be once again drawing her picture.
Some of the faces were unfamiliar to Kelly, including several whom she assumed came from the commune. She saw George, and guessed that the dark haired woman beside him was his wife, David’s aunt.
Basil sat stiffly upright on a chair in the front row, his hat resting on his knees. The twins, placed firmly between their parents, sat unnaturally still, leaning forward, straining with anticipation.
Naomi moved calmly to the front of the hall. “Welcome, everyone,” she said. “Blessed be.” She looked around her, nodding, as if she approved of what she saw. “I am glad all of you have taken the trouble to come here tonight,” she said. “It will need the help of all of you, everyone who has seen and loved the little ghost-child, if we are to be able to send her home.” She rubbed a slender hand across her forehead, as if she were tired, or in pain.
“Ed has asked me to tell you what he discovered about your ghost, a story he partly remembered, then dug through his files to substantiate. Without him and what he has been able to find out about Emily Hyde, I suspect it would not ever be possible for her to leave.”
She paused. “I know. Many of you may be thinking that perhaps you don’t want her to go away, that she has become part of your lives and you want her, need her here with you. But remember that she has been asking to go ‘home’; it is something she wants. We must respect her wishes, no matter how much it hurts us personally.”
She looked directly at Kelly as she spoke, and Kelly found herself lowering her eyes, unwilling to meet Naomi’s mismatched gaze. David slipped into the empty seat beside Kelly and reached for her hand. “Cows got loose again,” he said. “Have I missed anything?”
“No, we’ve just started,” answered Kelly, as Naomi continued.
“Let’s begin with Ed’s story”, she said, “because it really was the beginning of everything. I shall tell it to you, not the way Ed uncovered it, through an old newspaper clipping buried in his file on the Soda Creek jailhouse, but as it must have happened. That way, perhaps, it will seem more vivid to you, and you will understand better why the little ghost is here, and what she wants of you.”
“Jailhouse!” said Tommy. “The clue on the back of the picture. ‘JH’ and then those numbers. It means jailhouse!” He sat back in his seat proudly, unaware of his mother’s attempts to keep him quiet.
“You are right, Tommy. Ed says the ‘JH’ did mean the jailhouse, and the numbers were references for his files on it. Once he remembered that, he was able to find the rest of the information we needed.
“In the beginning, it wasn’t an unusual story; just the story of a young family, Jonathan and Sara Hyde and their small daughter Emily. Ed couldn’t find out where they came from, or why they were in the Cariboo, but he did discover that they were strangers to Soda Creek, just travellers passing through. The only dates we have are a few days in October, 1879. A few days mentioned in the old jailhouse records that Ed found in a box of material given to him by someone a long time ago.”
“Can’t remember who gave it to me. Doesn’t matter. Not important to remember that,” growled the old man.
“No, you did remember what was important, Ed, that’s what counts.” Naomi smiled gently before continuing her story. “We know that the Hydes spent one night in Soda Creek after arriving on a stagecoach that had brought them up the Cariboo Road. From Soda Creek they planned on continuing their journey on one of the sternwheelers that made their headquarters here. Those boats, as you know, took passengers and freight up the Fraser River, a river too treacherous to be travelled safely until it reached Soda Creek.
“The gold rush in the Cariboo was ne
arly over by then, so it is unlikely that Jonathan Hyde was taking his family to Barkerville in the hopes of finding gold. Perhaps he had a job offer in Quesnel or Fort George—we don’t even know his trade. Maybe the Hydes came to visit relatives, or perhaps, just to travel, although Ed doesn’t think that too likely, given the state of the roads in those days. We’ll never know just why the young family was in Soda Creek, or where they were going when they boarded the boat that October morning. But, according to a newspaper report of the incident that was with the jailhouse files, the river was unusually high and turbulent that fall, and, as the steamer pulled away from its mooring, the child, Emily, fell from the high deck and was swept away by the strong current.”
“She drowned? Oh, no!” Kelly had spoken aloud without realizing it, but no one turned to stare at her. Both David and her father put an arm around her, and she heard others in the group gasp as they learned how their little ghost had died.
“Yes, Kelly.” Naomi’s face was solemn. “The strength of the current made it impossible to rescue her, and onlookers reported that she vanished from sight within seconds. She died in the river; alone, cold and frightened.
“The newspaper said that her body had not been found, at least not at the time the article was written, four days later. The writer of the article expressed doubts that her body would ever be found. I believe he was correct.”
Naomi was silent for a moment, almost as if she were gathering her strength for what she must now tell. Then, she continued, “Sara Hyde screamed when her daughter fell from the boat and, before anyone could stop her, she leaped from the deck into the river in an attempt to save her child. The newspaper says that she cried ‘Emily, Emily, Emily’ three times before she, too, was swept away—and drowned.”
“Oh, no!” This time it was Clara Overton who voiced the feelings of the group. Father Glenn, sitting beside her, crossed himself before reaching out to lay a comforting hand on her arm. Trisha had begun to cry softly, and from where she sat, Kelly could see that Tommy’s head was bent, his shoulders moving, as if he, too, fought with tears.
“I know, Clara. It is painful for me to tell you this, as it is for you to hear. All of us feel for the small child and her mother. Now I have to finish the story, and I am afraid the unhappiness is not yet over.”
“The father. Jonathan.” Alan Linden was sitting forward in his chair, his face white, his thick eyebrows seeming darker against his paleness.
“Yes. Jonathan. A man who has lost not only his wife, but his child as well, and in such a manner, has a great deal of grief to bear.” Naomi’s eyes were on Alan as she continued. “Perhaps Jonathan felt guilt for some reason, perhaps he only suffered and mourned. He left the boat, which had put back to shore after the accidents, and made arrangements for his wife’s burial, for her body was recovered almost immediately. Then he disappeared, and no one in Soda Creek saw him for a few days.
“His story begins and ends three days later, in the jailhouse, where, ‘mad with grief’ as the newspaper reported, he was taken after having been found walking the streets of the town late at night, weeping, crying, calling for his wife and child. Perhaps the authorities were afraid that he would lose control of himself, turn against other people, harm them or their property. Perhaps he had already done something that made him a public menace, some irrational act stemming from his grief. He knew no one in the town, and had no one to take him in, to offer him comfort and shelter. He was locked safely away in the jailhouse and, the next morning when the jailer returned, Jonathan Hyde was found hanging from a beam in his cell.”
“Ah. My heart aches for him.” This time it was Basil who spoke aloud.
There was silence in the hall, then Ben asked quietly, “But Naomi, knowing how Emily and her family died, knowing this, what can we do? I mean. . .” He shook his head, puzzled.
“Sara Hyde and her husband were buried; someone bid them a final good-bye, said their names aloud and wished them peace. But Emily has not been recognized in that way, in a ceremony such as a funeral. Her body was never found. And, shortly after her death, there was no one left in this world to mourn for her, to remember her. I feel sure that that is what Emily wants; to be remembered, to be grieved for, and to be reassured that she was and is loved on this earth. I think she wants to be told good-bye.”
“Not a funeral, no!” Kelly’s voice was loud, and she stood as she spoke. “No, I can’t, I can’t. . .”
“No, Kelly. You have had your share of funerals, and little Emily would not ask you to go through that again. She needs our good-byes, our assurance that it is all right to leave us, to go where she wants to go. Not a sad occasion, a positive, reassuring ceremony, both for her and for us.”
“It’s not happy to say good-bye.” Tommy sounded belligerent, and Trisha echoed his feelings.
“What’s so great about saying good-bye?”
“It will be hard, Tommy, Trisha, but I know it is what Emily wants. I will tell you what I think we should do, what will release the small ghost, and then I shall leave to let you discuss it among yourselves and reach a decision as you share food and drink. In many ways I am an outsider here, and the decision about what you want to do for Emily must be made by you, by the community.
“Tomorrow is the 21st of December, a date that, in almost all religions, marks the start of a time of celebration. In the Wicca tradition, one of the names of this time is ‘Yule’, a word used by Father Glenn in his own church’s celebrations. Tomorrow, the 21st, is the winter solstice, the longest night and shortest day of the year, and the human race has always celebrated this day as a renewal of the spirit.
“Tomorrow night will be a powerful time to say good-bye to Emily. I think that once she understands that she is loved and that she will be remembered, then she will leave, gladly. I will share with you the pattern for a ceremony we can use, and ask each of you to make your own good-byes to her, using that pattern. Listen.”
Naomi began to speak softly, chanting words that blended together into poetry that was almost music. “Think of the pattern, the flow, of what I just said. Think of the rhythm, the sound, the chime of the words, and think of the things that you want to say to Emily. I know you will find it easy to write your own good-byes to her, should you choose to do so.”
She turned, and walked past the rows of chairs, her hair bristling around her face, seeming to move on its own with some sort of electrical force. At the door of the hall she turned back. “Places absorb emotions from the people who use them,” she said. “As I felt Jonathan Hyde’s agony and insane grief in the old jailhouse, so I now feel happiness and joy from this building; as if it has stood empty for too long, and now rejoices that you all are here. Whatever pain you feel at losing your small ghost, remember that she has brought you together. You have found each other, you know. Blessed be.”
The door swung behind Naomi as she left the hall, caught by a gust of wind, and Kelly went to close it. As she stepped outside, reaching for the solid wooden door that had banged back against the wall of the building, she watched Naomi’s slight figure walking down the road. The sky was clear but Naomi’s hair seemed a wiry cloud caught in the moonlight. Kelly took a step down the stairs of the community hall, hesitated, then called, “Naomi.”
“Yes, Kelly.” The witch-woman turned, waiting, and Kelly had the feeling that she knew what her question was even before the words were spoken.
“Naomi, why now? Little Emily’s been dead for so long. Why did she choose now to come back?”
“Perhaps someone mourned, not for her but for another one who is gone. Perhaps there is another goodbye that has not yet been said, Kelly, another death that someone here in Soda Creek has not come to terms with, has not accepted. Perhaps Emily came so that through her, that good-bye could finally be spoken and the grief of the one who mourns so deeply could at last be eased.”
Kelly didn’t speak, but inside something seemed to swell and grow, pushing against her heart, her throat.
�
��There is much power in tomorrow night, Kelly. Perhaps, with Emily’s help, you can say your good-byes, both to Emily and to the one for whom you still grieve so deeply, so strongly. The Goddess be with you, child. Blessed be.”
Naomi, looking almost as translucent as the little ghost, the moonlight seeming to shine through her, turned the corner of the road and was gone.
Kelly stood by the still open door, aware of the smell of hot coffee from inside the hall, and the sounds of voices as food was passed and shared.
“Another good-bye,” Naomi had said. And tomorrow, the 21st of December, would be the third anniversary of Kelly’s mother’s death.
Chapter 20
The next day Clara Overton brought candles, thick white candles that she clustered on a table at the front of the community hall. “My classes made them,” she explained. “We’ve sold some of them for Christmas gifts, but I thought ... I thought she’d like them here, tonight.”
David, George and others from the commune had spent the morning in the woods, cutting dense, heavy, evergreen branches which they looped, wreath-like, against the walls and spread among the candles on the table. The hall smelled of the outdoors; pine, fir and cedar mingling their scents together.
Earlier in the day a group from the reserve had scrubbed and waxed the wooden floor of the old hall, until it caught and reflected the gleam of the overhead lights, the smell of fresh wax blending with the evergreen scents.
The twins, allowed to stay home from school to help with the preparations, had discovered a roll of white satin ribbon in their mother’s sewing supplies, and had spent a great deal of time painstakingly tying small white bows to the evergreen branches hung against the walls.
Kelly, too, had not gone to school. She had wandered over to the hall several times, listlessly straightening an awkwardly tied satin bow or holding a ladder steady while branches were put into place, but she hadn’t stayed long on any of her visits. She and David had gone for a walk after dinner, both of them quiet, their infrequent words spoken in low, almost hushed voices.
