Bart and I managed to smile at each other.
“And in the morning, we’ll figure out a way to get out of here, and you’ll all be home before you know it!” finished Charlie.
“Will my mom make me a cake?” asked Jerry.
“I bet she will,” said Charlie. “I bet she’ll make you anything you want.”
Jerry smiled, and so did a lot of the other kids. Charlie had sounded pretty convincing. Then he added something that made everyone smile. “How about if we eat?” he asked. “And then, afterward, we can explore the rest of the house. After all, it’s not nearly bedtime. We can’t watch TV or go for a drive. What else are we going to do tonight?” Charlie glanced at Bart and me as he spoke, checking to make sure his idea was all right with us. I gave him a nod.
Charlie was turning out to be great. He had done an excellent job driving through all that rain, he’d found us a place to stay after we’d gotten stuck, and now he was being terrific with the kids. I felt awfully grateful. As I mentioned, I’m usually a take-charge person, but this was one time when I was happy to have someone help me out. After all, the little kids weren’t the only ones who were feeling scared and worried!
We seated the kids around the big kitchen table and passed out a few slices of apple and a big piece of bread to each of them. Bart and Charlie and I each took one slice of apple and a smaller piece of bread. For a few minutes, nobody said anything.
Then Buddy, who had finished his food quickly, spoke up. “Hey, what’s that?” He was pointing at a row of bells, mounted on a wooden plank, next to the kitchen door.
I stood up to look at them more closely. Next to each one was a label, with faded, old-fashioned writing on it. “Morning room. Library. Blue room. Parlor,” I read out.
“They must be signals,” said Charlie. “For the servants. Like, if the morning room bell rang, they’d know they were wanted in there.”
“Awesome,” said Joey and Jerry, at the same time.
“So, like, if I was in the library playing pool, and I wanted a peanut-butter-and-honey sandwich,” said Jackie, “I’d just ring my little bell and somebody would bring me the sandwich?”
“Something like that,” said Charlie. He was smiling. “This really is a pretty amazing old house.” He popped one last bite of bread into his mouth. “Well, at least there aren’t any dishes to wash!” he said. “How about if we start exploring?” He picked up a flashlight and handed it to me, and then took the lantern, too. “It’s not dark yet,” he said, “but it will be soon. We may need these.”
“Everybody ready?” I asked. “Let’s go.” I led the way, back through the dining room and out into the front hall. There was a beautiful, sweeping staircase leading upstairs. “Let’s not go up there yet,” I said. “Let’s check out the whole downstairs, first.”
“We’ve already seen the living room and the dining room and the library,” said Bart. “What else is there?”
“The other rooms listed by those bells. Like the parlor,” I said. “Most old houses had a special room where people entertained company. I’ll bet it’s this way.” I went through a door to the right of the staircase. “See?” I said proudly. We had come into a large, very formal room. Straight-backed sofas with shiny green upholstery sat squarely across from each other. Fancy lace doilies covered their backs and arms. At the windows were heavy, rich-looking draperies. A piano stood in a corner, with a gorgeous paisley shawl laid over it. A framed needlepoint picture hung above the piano. Behind one sofa was a large, low table with a beautiful silver tea set on it. And along the wall was a glass-fronted cabinet full of knick-knacks, such as ivory fans and porcelain figures. Karen and Patty were drawn to it, and immediately sat down in front of it to look over its contents.
Meanwhile, Jackie and Buddy had run to the piano. Jackie started to pound out “Chopsticks,” and Buddy joined in on the higher keys.
“Hey, hey, you guys,” said Bart. “That’s no way to treat somebody else’s piano.”
“But it’s the only song I know,” said Jackie. “Shea taught it to me. He can play lots of stuff.” Shea is Jackie’s older brother. He’s nine, and he’s been taking piano lessons for quite awhile.
“I know how to play,” said Joey shyly. “Can I try it?”
“As long as you don’t bang on it, I guess it’s all right,” said Bart.
Joey sat down and began to play a lovely, lilting song.
“That’s beautiful,” I said, when he’d finished. “What’s it called?”
“ ‘Moonlight Sonata,’ ” Joey said. “I played it for a recital last year.”
“How did you learn to do that?” asked Karen, who was now standing at Joey’s elbow. “That was the prettiest music I ever heard.”
Joey laughed. “Thanks,” he said. “I learned to do it by practicing a lot, every day.”
“When we get back, I might ask Daddy if I can take piano lessons,” said Karen.
“Great idea,” I said, noticing with relief that she’d said “when,” not “if.” I smiled at her. Then, suddenly, I heard a crash. I whirled around.
Chris, David Michael, and Jerry had been playing with the draperies, trying to figure out how they opened and closed. It had seemed like a safe enough game, so I’d let them go ahead. But, when my back was turned, Jackie had joined them. Jackie, the Walking Disaster? Jackie has a knack for breaking things — vases, lamps, his own limbs. This time, he’d managed to pull one of the drapes down so that it now covered him entirely. He was trying desperately to get out from under it, which made a pretty funny sight. The pile of material was bulging in different spots as he moved against it. He looked like a giant amoeba. Soon, we were all laughing. Even Jackie, who was still trying to find his way out from under the heavy cloth.
Finally, Charlie helped him. “I hope this teaches you to be careful in this house,” said Charlie. Suddenly he sounded serious. “Some of the things in here must be very valuable. Let’s try to leave the house just as we found it, okay?” He looked around at the kids, and then his gaze returned to Jackie.
Jackie nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to —”
“I know,” said Charlie, patting Jackie on the shoulder. “It’s okay. Hey, Bart, can you help me put this back up?”
I decided it was time to leave the parlor. There were a lot of nice, expensive-looking things in that room. “We’ll go on upstairs while you guys do that,” I said to Bart and Charlie. “Come on up when you’re done.” I herded the kids out of the parlor and back into the main hall. Then we started up the wide staircase.
I was a little nervous about exploring a new part of the house, so I was glad it was still light enough to see without using a flashlight.
When we reached the top of the stairs we saw a long hallway with several closed doors. “Those must be bedrooms,” I said. I tried the first door I came to, and it swung open.
“Wow,” said Karen, squeezing into the doorway next to me. “Fancy.”
It was fancy. There was a big bed with a canopy, a huge chest of drawers, and a fireplace. We crowded into the room. The bedspread was blue, and so was the wallpaper. “Maybe this is the blue room,” I said, thinking again of the bells in the kitchen.
“What’s that door?” asked Chris. He walked to a door near the chest of drawers and opened it. “Oh, it’s the bathroom,” he said. “Come and look at this, you guys!”
We saw a huge old bathtub on feet that looked like big claws. The taps were gold and the spout was shaped like a flower. The bathroom also had a double sink with a mirror over it, and an old-fashioned toilet with a pull-chain to flush with. Another door led out of the bathroom. I opened it, and we found ourselves in a feminine-looking bedroom with pink and white wallpaper. A portrait of a young girl hung over the bed. She was pretty, with dark hair and a sad, sweet smile. A brass nameplate below the painting said Dorothy.
“I like her,” said Karen, gazing at the portrait.
“This room is boring,” said Jackie. He led
the way back into the hall and then into a third bedroom. This one had probably belonged to a man. The furnishings were dark and heavy, and the bed, covered with a brown spread, stood solidly along one wall. This room also had a fireplace, and over it hung another portrait. This one was of a man, dressed in a tailcoat and looking very stiff. Jackie stepped closer to it and peered at the brass nameplate under the painting.
Just then, Bart and Charlie joined us. “Who’s that guy?” Bart asked.
Jackie gulped. “It says his name is Owen Sawyer,” he said in a whisper. He sounded frightened for some reason.
“That makes sense,” said Charlie. “I think the name of the road we were on is Sawyer Road.”
“Really?” asked Jackie. “Then this must be the Sawyer house!”
“So?” asked Buddy. “What does that mean?”
“It means —” said Jackie, “It means that this house is haunted!”
I heard several kids gasp. “What are you talking about, Jackie?” I asked.
“Shea told me all about it,” said Jackie. “I thought it was one of his ghost stories, but maybe it’s for real! People have seen all kinds of weird stuff happening here. Lights going on and off in the middle of the night, doors that were locked hanging open, smoke coming from the chimney …”
Karen leaned forward. She loves ghost stories. “What else?” she asked.
“Sometimes people see a woman walking around, and they say it’s the ghost of a woman who died here,” Jackie added. His face was white.
My heart was beating fast, and I knew I should jump in before Jackie said anything else. “I’m sure those stories are nothing more than tales people made up for fun,” I said firmly. “After all, there are no such things as ghosts.” At least, I thought to myself, I sure hope there aren’t.
“Kristy’s right,” said Bart. “Ghosts just don’t exist, except in stories.”
“But —” said Jackie.
“Hey,” said Bart, interrupting him. “Let’s finish exploring the house, okay?”
“Yeah,” said Buddy. “I want to go up those twisty stairs at the end of the hall.”
“Me, too,” said Joey.
“I want to go back to Dorothy’s room,” said Karen.
“Dorothy’s room?” I asked.
“The one where her picture is hanging,” said Karen. “I want to explore it more.”
“So do I,” said Patty.
“All right.” I was happy to notice that the kids didn’t seem to have been scared by Jackie’s stories. Of course, I knew that the house couldn’t be haunted, so I wasn’t scared, either. Not too scared, anyway. “Bart, why don’t you and Charlie take the boys upstairs? Patty and Karen and I will be in Dorothy’s room.”
The boys took off down the hall, and I led the girls back to the room with pink and white wallpaper. It really was a pretty room. A lacy white canopy was draped over the bed, and a needlepoint rug with roses all over it was on the floor. Karen ran to a bookcase that was built into a comfortable-looking window seat. “I bet Dorothy read these books all the time,” she said. “She probably sat right here, looking out the window.” She ran her finger down the row of books. “No Beezus and Ramona,” she said.
I laughed. “Those books probably weren’t even published when Dorothy lived here,” I said. “But look.” I pulled out a book. “Here’s Little Women. It looks like this was one of her favorites. See how the pages are all turned down, as if she had marked them?”
“Neat,” said Karen.
Patty had been looking around the rest of the room. “Look what I found in the drawer of her nightstand,” she said. She held out her hand. In it lay a heart-shaped silver locket and a little golden key.
I felt weird about snooping around this girl’s room. Even if she hadn’t lived in the house for years and years, she still deserved some privacy. That was what kept me from trying to pry open the locket. “Pretty,” I said. “Better put those things back, though.” I glanced up at Dorothy’s picture. She seemed to be smiling at me.
“Whoa, whoa,” said Karen. “Look what I found!” She held up a leather-bound book. “It was behind the rest of the books. I guess that was her hiding place for it.”
I took a look at the book Karen held. In gold letters that were stamped into the red cover, it said, My Diary. “Karen, put that back!” I said. “You can’t read someone else’s diary.”
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” said Karen. “It’s locked.” She showed me the tiny padlock that held it shut.
Patty ran to her. “Do you think this key will open it?” she asked, showing Karen the little gold key. Karen took the key and stuck it into the lock, and the book fell open.
Just then, I heard a loud bang, as if a door had slammed shut. We jumped, and Karen glanced up at me with a questioning look in her eyes. “Must have been the boys,” I said. I didn’t mention that the sound seemed to have come from downstairs instead of upstairs, where the boys had gone. I shivered, and rubbed my arms as if to warm myself. Karen had already gone back to the diary.
“She wrote this when she was eighteen,” said Karen, peering at the first page. “And the date is January first, nineteen thirty-five.”
“Karen, don’t —” I began, but it was too late. I was already hooked. I knew it was wrong to read someone’s diary, but my curiosity was getting the better of me. It’ll be a history lesson, I thought, trying to justify our snooping.
“Can I use that flashlight, Kristy?” asked Karen. “This old-fashioned writing is hard to read. Maybe a little more light would help.”
I gave her the flashlight, and Patty and I leaned over Karen’s shoulder as she read the first page. “ ‘New Year’s Day, nineteen thirty-five,’ ” she read. “ ‘What an exciting time this is! President Roosevelt says the country will be back on its feet soon, and the Depression won’t last much longer.’ ” Karen stumbled over a few words. “You read it, Kristy,” she said. “This handwriting is weird and there are a lot of big words.”
She handed me the diary. Hesitantly at first, I began to read out loud. “ ‘Thank goodness Papa managed to avoid losing all his money and we are able to live the way we have always lived. I am grateful for that, but Papa doesn’t understand that money isn’t everything to me. I would give it all up — and I shall give it all up — to marry W. That is, if he ever proposes. I thought he might last night, when we were at the New Year’s Ball, but he did not. I know he loves me, I know it!’ ”
Karen sighed. “This is so romantic.”
“Keep going,” said Patty.
“Wait a second.” I held up a finger. I had thought I’d heard a strange sound, like — like someone crying. But when I listened more closely, I didn’t hear a thing. I decided it must have been the wind. “Okay, here goes,” I said. Suddenly I couldn’t wait to find out what would happen next. I was getting used to the handwriting, so I began reading faster.
“The next entry is on February fifteenth,” I said. “The day after Valentine’s Day. And listen to this: ‘Will proposed last night, over dinner at the hotel. He was so sweet and loving, and of course I accepted. I haven’t told Papa yet, though. I just know he’ll disapprove. He doesn’t think Will is good enough for me. For that matter, he doesn’t think anyone is good enough for me. Papa loves me, I know that, but sometimes his love is just a little stifling. If only Mama were alive, to balance everything out.’ ”
I thought of Mary Anne. It sounded as if she and Dorothy had a lot in common.
I kept reading. “ ‘I do love Will, and I plan to marry him with or without Papa’s permission. But part of me wonders if it’s the right thing to do. If I marry Will — I mean when I do — I’ll move from my father’s house to his. Shall I ever be able to do all the things I’ve dreamed of doing, such as touring Europe and visiting exotic lands? Or will I live out my life as first someone’s daughter and then as someone’s wife?’ ”
I paused. “She sounds pretty neat,” Karen said. “I wonder if she got to do those things.�
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“Let’s keep reading,” I said. “Maybe we’ll find out.”
I found many entries about Will, but a lot about the other things Dorothy wanted to do, too. Still, she and Will continued to plan their marriage.
“ ‘Friday, June first,’ ” I read. “ ‘A week from now, Will and I will be married. Papa, as I guessed he would do, has forbidden me to marry Will, so we have decided to elope. We will do it on June eighth. The plan is for Will to tell Papa that he is taking me out for dinner. But instead of going to the hotel, we will drive to Maryland, where it is easier to get married without a parent’s permission. I am excited and anxious and happy and sad — all at the same time.’ ”
Karen looked up at me and grinned. “They’re going to do it!” she said.
“How romantic,” added Patty.
“Wow,” I said. “I can’t wait to hear how it turned out.”
I turned the page. “ ‘Thursday, June seventh,’ ” I read. “ ‘Tomorrow is the big day! I’ve packed a small suitcase and hidden it in the bushes. I’ve also written a note to Papa, explaining my actions and telling him that I will always love him, even though I have disobeyed him. I only hope he understands. And I hope Will understands that I do not want to live a housewife’s life. We have argued about this many times, but I think and hope that he is beginning to see that I’m serious about this. Well, tomorrow night I will be Mrs. William Blackburn. My new life begins in twenty-four hours.’ ”
“Wow!” Karen said. “I hope she knows what she’s doing. Go on, Kristy! What happened next?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I mean, I’m sure something happened. But there are no more entries. I guess we’ll never know.” I shut the little book and tucked it carefully into its original hiding place.
Kristy and the Haunted Mansion Page 4
