She grabbed his hand and led him back to the house. Halfway there, they turned their walk into a race and started running. Clarence would have let her win, but he didn’t have to. She was brimming with energy. She waited for him on the front steps, but once he’d caught up, she ran inside and raced him up the stairs.
Aunt Nan stood in the kitchen, cringing as the children’s footsteps pounded through the house. But she didn’t have the heart to scold them.
“Bulls in a china shop,” Ms. Pruitt muttered into her water cracker.
“That little girl thinks I’m a house,” Edgar said as Aunt Dee fixed his blanket.
Aunt Dee knew this to be his usual nonsense. “Don’t break anything!” she called after the children. But she was smiling.
Pram doubled over in the doorway of her attic bedroom to catch her breath. Clarence caught up to her and clutched the frame. He used to run before his mother died. He’d forgotten, and Pram had made him remember.
Pram fixed her ponytail. There were bits of grass in her hair. When she looked at Clarence again, her eyes were wide and very serious. “I’m trusting you with a big secret,” she said. “I’ve never told anyone, and you can’t, either.”
“I promise,” Clarence said. “Promise” was too small a word. Pram thought so, too, and she held her fist to him, pinkie extended. He linked his pinkie around hers, and with a firm shake, the promise was official.
She led him across her room, past a cabinet of stuffed bears, and into a closet with a wedge-shaped door. Once he’d followed her inside, she closed the door behind them and pulled the cord that turned on the light.
She knelt on the ground and pulled up the small floral mat that lay there. “This used to be my mother’s room, a long time ago,” Pram said. She ran her fingers over the floorboards until she found the one that was loose. She pried it up, revealing a rectangle of darkness that looked like a missing tooth in the floorboards. Clarence felt uneasy as he watched her reach into that darkness; there might be mice.
But all she retrieved was an old shoe box and a sheet of dust, which she brushed away with a small cough.
He knelt beside her. “What is it?” he asked.
“Lower your voice,” she whispered. “I found it one day when I was looking for my teddy bear.” Felix had taken the bear after she’d made him angry, but she didn’t tell Clarence that. “It’s some of my mother’s things. She must’ve hidden them from her sisters.”
Pram methodically unpacked the contents of the box. There were black-and-white photographs of a handsome young man who, Clarence thought, had Pram’s heavy eyelids and timid smile. He was the subject of every photo, with the ocean a white-and-silver swirl behind him.
There was also a stack of letters, bundled together by twine, and a compass. At the very bottom of the box was a postcard. Pram held it up between her middle and index fingers.
Clarence leaned close so that he could read it.
Lily,
I see your exquisite face at every port. I’ve made a horrible mistake leaving you behind. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.
Max
“Max is the man in all the letters,” Pram said. “I think he’s my father. Maxwell Baines.”
“Where is he now?” Clarence said.
Pram shrugged. “Around. None of the envelopes have a return address. And the postmarks are all smudged away, so I don’t know when they stopped seeing each other, but I’m not mentioned in any of them.”
“Maybe your mother didn’t tell him about you,” Clarence said. He couldn’t imagine the willpower it would take to keep a secret as enormous as a child. Pram was very secretive about things, though, so he supposed it was possible her mother had been the same way.
“Maybe not,” Pram said. She placed everything neatly back into the box. “They were very in love, though, and he must miss her horribly. The letters say that my aunts didn’t like him. They met one summer, and when he came to visit her after that, my mother kept it a secret from them.”
Clarence watched as she replaced the box and the floral mat.
“I want to look for my father,” she said. She wanted to also tell him about Felix, who hated the idea of her searching for her father. She wanted to tell Clarence all about the ghosts. But this was a safer secret, she thought. And if he kept it, she would be able to trust him with Felix later, when she’d worked up enough nerve to tell him.
“When?” Clarence said.
“I was going to wait until I was older,” Pram said. “But . . .”
She was quiet for a long time.
“What?” Clarence asked.
She stared at her lap. “I thought you might want to help me look for him. The way we’ve been looking for your mother.”
“But your father isn’t dead,” Clarence pointed out. “We wouldn’t be employing spiritualists.”
“That’s exactly my point,” Pram said. “He’s alive somewhere. It would just be a matter of getting to him.”
Clarence was finding it difficult not to take offense. He stood and opened the closet door.
“Where are you going?” Pram asked.
“Home,” he said.
“Wait,” Pram said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I don’t understand why you’d want to find him at all,” Clarence said. “He’s a stranger to you.” His mother wasn’t a stranger; couldn’t she be a priority? Being dead didn’t make her less important. He had expected Pram to understand that, but perhaps he’d been wrong about her.
“That’s just it,” Pram said. “He may not even know about me. I’d just like to find out.”
Clarence walked to the door. Pram followed him halfway across her bedroom.
“Please don’t go,” she said.
He paused in the doorway, his back to her. He clenched his fists in his pockets, and then he walked away.
CHAPTER
7
Felix was not fond of Clarence.
Shortly after Clarence left, Pram sat at the pond’s edge, heartbroken because of that boy. It had taken her so long to make a living friend, and he’d hurt her.
Felix petted her hair. “Don’t be sad,” he said. “Thank goodness you didn’t tell him about your ability to see me, if that’s how he handles things. He would have gotten you sent to the circus for sure.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Pram said. “I was rude. I made it sound like finding my father was more important than finding his mother’s ghost.”
“You’d have found her by now if she wanted to be found,” Felix said.
Felix never left the property, but she didn’t point this out.
“I should apologize,” Pram said.
“He should apologize,” Felix said. “You shared that big secret with him, and he stormed off.”
“Well, whether he wants to help me or not, I’m going to look for my father,” Pram said. “I’ve decided that it’s time.”
“I’ll go with you,” Felix said. He didn’t like the idea of Pram embarking on such a venture alone.
“Really?” Pram said. He never left the pond.
“Where should we start?”
“I’ve been watching the sailors leave the docks,” Pram said. “Every Saturday, I try to get the courage to ask if any of them know my father. I’m afraid they’ll laugh at me. Adults laugh at children all the time.”
“When should we go?” Felix asked.
“I don’t know,” Pram said. “Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Tomorrow sounds fine,” Felix said.
Neither of them wanted to admit being frightened.
That night in bed, Pram lay awake and considered Clarence’s question about wanting to find her father. She didn’t have an answer, and perhaps that absence of an answer was her answer. If she wanted to imagine her mother, she had the photo that hung over the stairs. But if she wanted to imagine her father, she had nothing. He was a shadow.
She could look in the mirror and see her mother, a little, if she didn’t smile too much.
But the rest of her was unaccounted for.
She wished she knew how to explain this to Clarence. He knew both of his parents. When he sought his mother’s ghost, he knew what he was looking for. But in searching for her father, more than anything Pram was searching for a bit more of herself.
The next day, Clarence remembered that it was Pram’s turn to have the desk. He didn’t say anything as she sat beside him.
“Are you still angry?” she said.
He couldn’t stay angry, so he said, “No.”
“Good,” she said. “I snuck two cookies into my lunch box.”
“What kind?” he asked.
“Chocolate chip.”
The bell rang and lessons began.
During lunch, Pram and Clarence ignored their sandwiches and ate the cookies instead.
“So all those times we went to the beach,” Clarence began, “was that because you wanted to look for your father?”
Pram nodded.
“You could have told me.”
“I thought you’d find me strange,” Pram said.
Clarence laughed. “I’ve dragged you to every spiritualist in the city, and you thought I’d find you strange?”
“Everyone else does,” Pram said. “My aunts tell me I ought to be careful about the things I say.”
“Well, I don’t,” he said. “Is finding your father what you really want?”
“It really is,” Pram said confidently.
“What if—” Clarence paused, like he was trying to find a way to be tactful. “Well, what exactly are you expecting when you find him? You said that he’s a sailor. What if he lives on the ocean?”
“I think living on the ocean might be fun.” Pram shrugged. “If he wanted me, I’d like to travel with him. But if he doesn’t, that’s okay, too, I suppose. Really, I just want to know for sure.”
Clarence nodded. “I’ll help you.”
“Really?” she said.
“It’s what friends do,” he said. “I should know. I used to have plenty of them once.”
They must not have been very good friends if they weren’t still around, Pram thought. But she didn’t know much about having friends.
As she ate the last of her cookie, she became overcome with guilt. If Clarence was going to help her with the great task of finding her father, she should do all that she could to help him find his mother.
“Friends shouldn’t keep secrets, should they?” Pram said.
Clarence felt a spark of delight to think she was finally opening up to him. “They shouldn’t,” he agreed.
“Come home with me after school,” she said. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Once they got off the school bus, Clarence wasn’t surprised that Pram led him to the pond. He’d seen her talking to someone there yesterday. Even though he hadn’t seen anyone with her, he was sure she hadn’t been alone.
It was a chilly afternoon, and Pram rubbed her gloved hands together. She was nervous. She’d never introduced anyone to Felix before—not since she realized she was the only one who could see him. She wasn’t entirely sure how this would work.
The tree branches shook on the wind. There were few leaves left clinging to them, and they shivered like paper bells.
Felix stood below them, arms crossed, scowling.
“Don’t be angry,” Pram said. “I’ve brought Clarence because he’s my friend, and he’d like to be yours, too.”
“Who are you talking to?” Clarence said.
“Felix,” Pram said. “He’s a ghost.”
Clarence stared at the empty space below the tree. “Oh,” he said. “Are you sure?”
Pram laughed. “Very,” she said. “He’s in a mood today.”
Felix dived backward into the pond. The splash was extraordinary, but Clarence didn’t see it. Felix was in charge of whether or not the living could see his tricks. Any other schoolboy would have doubted Pram at this moment. Seeing ghosts wasn’t a common talent, and young girls were known for their imaginations. But Clarence had come to know Pram in the time they’d spent together, and he believed her.
“Felix,” she said to the pond crossly. “Please come out of there.”
Felix bobbed to the surface. “What does it matter?” he said. “Your boyfriend can’t see me.”
Pram’s face turned red. “He isn’t—he’s not—just let him know you’re here.”
Clarence waited with more patience than Pram, who was fidgeting. But then her face broke into a smile and she pointed to the sky. “Clarence, look,” she said.
In the fall sky, the clouds shifted and took on the shapes of ballroom dancers twirling about.
Clarence was astonished. “You’re doing that?” he said.
“Felix is.”
The scene melted back into clouds. An ill-timed blink, and Clarence might have missed it entirely.
“Shall I sing and dance for you as well, Your Highness?” Felix grumbled.
Pram looked overhead to where he was sitting in the tree. “Thank you,” she said. When she smiled, he found it hard to stay angry, but he didn’t want to admit it, and so he disappeared from sight.
Clarence looked at the clouds as though they might perform for him again. He wasn’t very surprised that they had danced. There was something about Pram; when he was with her, he felt that anything was possible.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Clarence said.
“I didn’t know how you’d react,” Pram said. She sat in the grass with her legs folded, and she smoothed her skirt pleats. “Felix says that people like me get sent off to the circus if they’re found out.”
This hadn’t occurred to Clarence, but now that he thought about it, the circus did seem to be a home for people with surreal talents.
He sat next to her. He stared at her bare knee, admiring the fine blond hairs that glinted in the sun. He didn’t see the ghost ladybug that she saw flutter and land there.
“I also thought you would be angry because I couldn’t help you find your mother,” Pram said. “Sometimes people don’t become ghosts. Sometimes they just move on.”
“Where do they go?” Clarence asked.
“I don’t know.” Pram shrugged. “Just . . . on. I used to look for my own mother, but she’s never answered me. She’s moved on, and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe she’s happier wherever she is and she wouldn’t want me to come find her.” She looked at him, sympathetic. “It doesn’t mean we have to stop looking for your mother,” she said. “Maybe she’s still hiding somewhere.”
“She wouldn’t hide from me,” Clarence said. “She might hide from my father; she was angry with him for being gone most of the time.”
He looked up at the clouds, and so did Pram.
Even though Pram hadn’t asked him to, Felix made the clouds dance again.
CHAPTER
8
After school the following day, Pram visited Clarence’s house for the first time. It was a majestic Tudor house surrounded by gardens that had gone to sleep until the springtime. Stone gnomes and angels filled the gardens, and it seemed that they were also sleeping, as though a witch had cast a spell on them.
Pram thought a dozen people could have lived in that house and still not have filled all its rooms. But no one was home, aside from a woman in a black dress and white apron, who took their coats and offered them crackers and tea.
“No, thank you,” Clarence said. “We’ll be upstairs.”
The staircase was thrice as wide as any Pram had ever seen. Even the banister was extra thick.
“Who else lives here?” she asked.
“Just my father and me,” Clarence said. When they reached the top of the staircase, he said, “My mother’s room is that one.” He nodded to the only door that wasn’t brown. It was painted light blue, with the chipped silhouette of a bird in the center, its beak open like it was calling for something that would never come.
“She had her own bedroom?” Pram said. She didn’t know very mu
ch about parents, but she knew that they shared bedrooms once they were married.
“It’s not a bedroom,” Clarence said, turning the knob.
There was a window on the far wall—not a large window but big enough to fill every corner with light. The walls were yellow, but Pram could see parts along the floor and around the radiator that showed they had once been dark green.
There was a daybed in one corner, and bookshelves along two of the walls, and trinkets everywhere. There was a dresser covered in combs and bottles, and pictures laid under a square of glass.
“Which things have moved?” Pram asked.
“Nearly all of them,” Clarence said.
Pram’s hand hovered over the dresser. She was mindful not to touch anything. She wasn’t entirely sure if this would lead her to any ghosts, but she thought it couldn’t hurt.
“Was your mother friendly?” Pram asked.
“Very,” Clarence said. “She wouldn’t mind that you’re here in her room. You can say hello, if you want.”
“What was her name?”
“Sarah.”
“Hello, Sarah,” Pram said. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me. You don’t have to. But I’m a pretty good listener.”
Pram’s hair was like the light, Clarence thought. She nearly disappeared in the brightness of the room. She closed her eyes to listen for his mother, and he was able to stare at her. She had freckles, but they weren’t obvious. They could only be seen in the right lighting, and only if he was close enough.
Her lips were light pink, and the room was so silent that he could hear them parting. She was just about to say something when a noise interrupted them.
She opened her eyes. Clarence realized how close they were standing, and his cheeks turned red.
They both heard the front door close and the footsteps coming up the stairs. Clarence’s eyes were wide. “Quiet,” he whispered. “Come on.”
He took Pram by the wrist and hurried her across the room, under the daybed, where they were concealed by a blanket that hung over its edge. The blanket smelled of perfume.