by Patti Larsen
Chloe paused to watch two sailboats in the distance. To her surprise, there was a big cruise ship out there as well, sailing into Charlottetown Harbour. Aunt Larry had promised Chloe they would go to town soon so she could look around and do some tourist stuff. Chloe hadn’t cared at the time, but now she was curious. Maybe she would get a chance to see one of the ships when she was there.
Chloe was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the shouting until whoever was doing it was almost right behind her. She turned around in surprise to see an old man half-running, half-hobbling toward her. There was a small, once-white single-storey cottage behind him in the distance with a rusty car in the driveway. The man was the centre of her attention, however. He was very tall and slender, wearing dark blue work pants and heavy brown work boots. His shirt was the same colour as his pants, open at the collar, exposing a white T-shirt underneath. His grey hair was thin and longish, waving about him as he came roaring at her. He had a cane in one hand, but rather than using it to support himself, he was waving it at her. When he got close enough, she heard what he was saying.
“You git!” His face was very red, furious. He came to a thundering halt in front of her, panting and swaying, a terrifying figure hunched over her, blotting out the sun. “Git off my land! You’re not welcome! I said git!”
Chloe was frozen, mortified, and afraid of the old guy. He waved his cane at her again.
“Trespasser! I’ll be calling the cops, make no mistake!”
“But… ” She could feel the blood rushing to her face as she got upset. Who was this guy? How dare he yell at her? Didn’t everyone say how nice Islanders were?
“No trespassing!” He shook the cane again. It came very close to her, so close she flinched. “You damned kids, coming on my property, you aren’t welcome, you hear?”
Chloe fought tears. No one had ever yelled at her like that before.
“Can’t you see the fence?” He was spitting, he was so mad. Chloe looked back over her shoulder. The fence was in better condition as it moved up toward the cottage. Now that she was aware of it, that is.
“I’m sorry.” Chloe took a hesitant step backwards.
He raised his cane menacingly over his head. “Git before I take this and tan your hide!”
Chloe took one look at the raised cane and ran.
Chloe ran all the way back to the damaged fence, not looking to see if he followed, hearing him shouting at her as she ran. She stumbled through the long, once gentle grass that pulled at her and made her trip and almost fall, tangling around her sneakers and ankles. She did fall, once, trying to get back over the barbed wire, catching one knee and her favourite shorts, tearing them in her need to get away. She hobbled on, even past his property, wanting to get home. She didn’t realize she was angry until it rose up in her as sobs. By the time she reached the garden she was choking on furious tears, sweating from effort, ashamed and humiliated by how the man had treated her, and limping from the cut on her knee that left a trail down her shin to stain the top of her sock. She fingered the hole where the rusted wire had ripped her shorts and sobbed harder.
Aunt Larry flew out the back door. Part of Chloe was glad she was home while the other part wanted her to leave her alone.
“Chloe!” Her aunt gripped her shoulders. “What happened, honey?”
She managed to get the story out around her choking sobs. Larry was furious.
“That old crank,” she said. “How dare he? You didn’t know, honey. It’s not your fault.” Aunt Larry wiped at Chloe’s tears. Knowing her aunt was on her side made Chloe feel better. “You just never mind Joseph MacKenzie,” she said. “From what I hear he doesn’t like anybody and nobody likes him, either. Oh, Chloe, I’m sorry. If I had known you were on your own this afternoon I would have warned you about him.” Aunt Larry was very distressed.
Chloe swiped at her tears, sobs diminished to snuffles and the hiccups.
“I’m okay,” she said. “He’s mean.” She hiccupped again. Aunt Larry hugged her. She smelled like Sophie, and kind of felt like Patrick, so Chloe let her.
When Aunt Larry let her go, Chloe felt better. And kind of silly for crying over it. She had a flash of the girl she was reading about and wished she was as brave as the red-haired Anne. She wouldn’t have let the old man make her feel scared. She would have yelled right back at him. Chloe vowed to herself that would be the last time she’d let the old grump treat her the way he did.
Still, the upside of the whole business was she felt lighter than she had in two weeks. It was as if the scare had released the tension in her body, the same anxiety she’d been clinging to since the night of the accident, and it was all wiped away by her aunt’s hug.
“I got us a movie,” Aunt Larry said. “And stuff to make a pizza. Thought we’d have a night in and relax. Sound good?”
Chloe nodded and hugged Larry on impulse. Her aunt hugged her back. It was a long moment before Chloe stepped away.
“Did you get pineapple?” she asked.
Aunt Larry winked.
There was pineapple, Chloe’s favourite, and hamburger, and some hot peppers for Larry’s side, extra cheese and ham for Chloe’s. While she had a shower and changed, Aunt Larry got going on the pizza. When Chloe came back downstairs, Aunt Larry paused in her cooking to examine Chloe’s knee from her perch on the island. A little first aid and a Band-Aid later and Chloe was heaping toppings on her side of the pizza. As their creation cooked, Aunt Larry told Chloe about her most recent trip to Africa. Chloe was sad that Aunt Larry wouldn’t be able to travel anymore because of her, but her aunt wasn’t.
“Plenty of time for us to do some together,” she said.
Chloe liked the sound of that.
The pizza was delicious, the movie funny. Even so, Chloe was going on little sleep and lots of emotion. About halfway through she couldn’t help herself. She closed her eyes for a second to rest them and fell asleep.
Chloe woke in the dark curled up on the couch, a faded quilt draped over her and a knit covered pillow making an impression on the side of her face. The deep tolling of bells from the hall outside the living room echoed as the grandfather clock chimed twelve times.
Wanting the comfort of her own bed, Chloe kicked aside the blanket and padded her way to the stairs. As she mounted the first step, she heard a noise behind her. Startled, Chloe looked around. She didn’t see anything or anyone. The sound came again, like someone sighing. It was coming from the entry to the old part of the house, with its creepy stairs. Chloe had no desire to investigate and ran the rest of the way to the second floor. She paused to do a quick job on her teeth, her eyes scanning the room behind her in the mirror as she did. The memory of what she had experienced the night before seemed far more real to her now that the house was dark and quiet.
She held her breath when she opened the bathroom door and made a dash for her room, trying to be quiet but hurry at the same time. She got into her pajamas and fell into bed, pulling the covers over her head, flashlight and photo in hand.
Chloe listened for a long time before peeking. She was alone. No sighing, no one sitting on the edge of her bed. She retreated back under the covers and examined the photo of her parents.
“Sorry to be scared,” she whispered to them. “I know it’s silly and I imagined stuff last night. Maybe because I want so much to see you.” Tears welled. She wondered how long they would keep coming. “Was it you, Mom?” The thought made her feel better. The idea that Sophie had perhaps come to comfort her lifted her spirits. “That would be cool,” she said. “I wouldn’t be scared then.”
Chloe heard the sigh and felt the same pressure next to her. The fear returned, Sophie or no Sophie. But hoping maybe it was her mother after all, Chloe couldn’t take the chance. She kept talking.
“Marsh took me to the beach today. It’s awesome. Except for the crabs and jellyfish. He’s fun
ny, but I like him. Oh, and there’s a mean old man down the road. He’s horrible. He yelled at me for being on his property.” Her anger surged back at the thought of Joseph MacKenzie. “Don’t know what his problem is, and I don’t care.”
The sigh was louder this time. Chloe couldn’t reason it away. Someone was there, sitting next to her. Taking her fear in hand, Chloe whipped back the covers, expecting to see her mom.
A softly glowing boy sat next to her, watching her.
Chloe screamed. He looked startled then vanished. Chloe shoved herself back as far as the headboard would let her and gathered her comforter around her, not even having the courage to turn on her lamp. She shone her flashlight around the room as her heart pounded in her chest. The boy was gone but her fear wasn’t. She jumped when she heard feet on her steps and the creak of her door, and almost screamed again. But it was just Aunt Larry, looking sleep-tussled and bleary eyed.
“Chloe?” She came to the bed. Chloe reached for her. Aunt Larry sat and held her for a bit. “Nightmare?”
Chloe shook her head, shivering. “No,” she said.
“What happened?” Aunt Larry was rubbing her back.
Chloe almost told her the truth. Almost. But something held her back. The word “therapist.” Getting a hold on herself, Chloe leaned away.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I thought I saw something, that’s all.”
Aunt Larry was frowning. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Chloe nodded, feeling miserable for lying and wanting to tell someone, but knew that Aunt Larry would worry and think she was seeing things because of her parents dying.
“Yes,” Chloe said, voice still shaky with fright. I’ll sleep with a light from now on, she promised herself. That made her feel better, enough that she was able to muster a smile for Aunt Larry.
Her aunt smiled back. “This old house has lots of creaks and bangs and noises, I know. It takes some time to get used to. Did you want me to stay for a while?”
Chloe did, but wouldn’t admit it. “I’m okay,” she said.
Aunt Larry went to the door. “If you need anything, come get me, honey.”
Chloe kept smiling until Aunt Larry closed her door, then dove back under her covers. As an afterthought, she snuck one hand out from under the blankets and turned on her brave little lamp. She lay awake most of the rest of the night with her flashlight growing dimmer and dimmer under her tent.
By the time Chloe managed to get herself out of bed (she had fallen asleep right around dawn), Aunt Larry had knocked on her door three times, twice for breakfast and the third to tell her she had to go out. Chloe was able to mutter something to satisfy her aunt and lay there listening as the front door thumped shut, the car door slammed, and Aunt Larry drove off.
Exhausted from two sleepless nights, Chloe cleaned herself up and got some cereal. Wanting to be out of the house, she took her glass and bowl out to the deck and ate in the sunshine. She sat with her back to the creepy window, trying to ignore it, but caught herself glancing over her shoulder at it more than once.
As she was finishing up, Marsh appeared around the corner of the house. Seeing her, he grinned and waved. Feeling relief, wanting the distraction he would create, Chloe smiled and waved back.
“Morning, neighbour.” He collapsed himself into the chair opposite her. “Sorry I’m late, had chores.” He made a face. “The only thing I don’t like about the farm.”
Chloe had never been to a farm but guessed there were things that had to be done for the animals. Having never had a pet, even, she could only guess.
“What do you want to do today?” Marsh asked. “More beach?”
“Whatever,” she said. “What is there to do?”
Marsh groaned. “That’s the problem,” he said. “Not much. Welcome to the Island. Boring is our middle name.”
He was so dramatic, Chloe laughed. “There has to be something,” she said.
“Beach,” he admitted. “Farm. Read. Video games. TV. End of story.”
Chloe was disappointed. Aside from the beach it sounded like home. The difference was, she was on her own. She was used to having Sophie to do those things with.
I’m not alone, she told herself. I’ve got Marsh.
“Okay, beach,” she said. “But we have to stay away from the fence, okay?” She shuddered. “That guy who owns the other side is mean.”
Marsh whistled, his eyes getting wide. “Tell me you didn’t go over there.”
“Yesterday,” she said. “I went for a walk. Climbed over the fence.” The memory was vivid and made her flush. She could feel her cheeks getting hotter and hotter. “He yelled at me.”
Marsh nodded in sympathy. “Yeah, you got to stay away from him,” he told her, voice hushed for no particular reason as his eyes drifted to the fence two fields away. “He’s a real nutter, you know? Crazy.” He leaned in closer. “We’re related, if you can believe it. On my Dad’s side. Joseph was Grampy’s second cousin or some such. His family owned all this.” He waved his arms, encompassing Aunt Larry’s, the cottage, and his own family farm. “But bad things started to happen and the family fell apart. One daughter hung herself.” He shivered. “Something to do with the war. Then the last two male heirs—Joseph and his brother—had this big fight, right? Split the whole family right down the middle.” He punched his palm for effect. “There was too much land and a whole bunch of arguing, and when it was all over, the bank had to come in and sort things out. Dad said we’re lucky any of the property came to us after all that.”
If Marsh was related to the family who used to live here, Chloe wondered if he could help her with the ghost in her bedroom—if he’d even believe her, that is. She continued to ponder it as he went on.
“Anyhow, the bank had to sell off all the land, so that now there isn’t much left. Dad inherited the new farm, and Larry bought the original homestead from us. All that’s left of the original family is Joseph and the widow cottage where he lives. It’s a shame, but like Dad says, farming isn’t what it used to be. Could be even if the brothers hadn’t fought, same thing would have happened, just slower. Lots of farms are gone now and no one is starting new ones.”
Chloe thought he sounded like an old man talking that way. “So he’s, like, some kind of cousin?” she prodded.
Marsh nodded, red head bobbing so fast his curls bounced. “Yup. Everyone is related here. First thing you get asked when you meet someone new is, who’s your mom? Who’s your dad? Where’re you from?” He grinned. “Pretty soon you find out you’re related on your mother’s side through marriage or something.”
Chloe thought it was funny. “Maybe you could show me the farm?” Getting away from the house for a while sounded like a good idea.
Marsh lit up. “Sure!” He was on his feet and moving before Chloe knew what happened. “Coming or not?”
After a brief visit to the kitchen to put her dishes in the dishwasher, Chloe followed Marsh across the field to his house.
“Nobody plants in this one anymore,” he told her over his shoulder as she struggled to keep up. He noticed and slowed his headlong plunge through the tall grass.
“How come?” Chloe was having more trouble than him and hoped keeping him talking would slow him down.
“Not enough money in it,” he told her. “And Dad doesn’t have time anymore. The tractor is fine for small jobs but we don’t have the right equipment. Some farmer from up west wanted to rent it for potatoes, but your Aunt Larry said no. Didn’t want all the chemicals so close to the house.”
Chloe realized there was a lot more to farming than she had thought.
By the time they reached the edge of the field she was dusty and sweaty and feeling unhappy about the whole business. She had been forced to dodge bees and other nasty critters, and felt a mouse run across her foot once, making her jump and squeal. Marsh didn’t notice, however, an
d picked up the pace across the grass behind his house. The going was easier at least. Chloe did her best to keep up.
They were greeted by a giant white dog with a thick, furry coat. He ran at them, barking. Chloe hesitated as the dog tackled Marsh. She felt better when he licked the boy’s face rather than biting him before trotting up to her and shoving his big head under her hand for a scratch.
“Don’t worry about Shep,” Marsh said. “He won’t hurt a fly, let alone the coyotes we want him to chase.” Shep was drooling on Chloe’s foot but she didn’t mind. He joined them as they took the tour.
Most of the small buildings were empty and worn-looking, down to bare wood if they had ever been painted at all. A few looked like they were ready to fall in. Marsh showed her the grain silo, a short, round building made of steel with a funny pointed cap. She peeked her head inside and smelled dust, amazed at the big pile of shining yellow grain inside. Marsh took a handful and held it out to her. It tickled her hand as it trickled through her fingers.
Next was the chicken coop. The chickens were kind of cute but the whole place had a nasty odour so they didn’t stay long. The cows were better since they were out in the field, but Marsh informed her she didn’t want to go into their barn because it hadn’t been cleaned out in two weeks. She giggled as one of the reddish brown cows with a solid white face accepted a clump of grass from her hand and let her scratch its wide forehead. Shep exchanged a nose touch with the same cow then went and flopped himself down in the shade of a maple tree.
To Chloe’s delight, they also had horses. Well, a pony, at least, named Pretty Girl, all dappled grey with a long mane and tail, and a big draft horse the same colour. Marsh told her he was a Shire and his name was Whisper.
“I love horses,” Chloe said, holding her hand out.
“Whisper’s great,” he said. “He’s really old and nice. But Pretty Girl is nasty.”
