Fed up, I sneaked away into the woods. Safe from reporters and tourists, I sat down and leaned against a tree trunk. "They all know now, Sissy," I said to myself. "Everyone in the state of Maine and probably the rest of the country, too."
Sissy stepped out from behind the tree, cradling Edith in the crook of her arm, her silvery hair bright against the gloomy woods. With a sigh, she sank onto the mossy ground beside me, closed her eyes, and rested her head against the tree.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
Sissy yawned. "Just tired," she murmured. "Really, really tired. All those people running around, asking questions, taking pictures. Even when they can't see you, being famous is hard on a person."
"I couldn't take it anymore, either," I confessed. "That's why I'm hiding in the woods."
"Do you think they'll bury me soon?"
"The day after tomorrow, I heard." Uncomfortable with her question, I toyed with a twig, bending it this way and that, avoiding her eyes. It bothered me to talk about her burial with her sitting beside me, as real as ever.
"That's good." Her sigh was as soft as a breeze in the treetops. "I'm not sure how much longer I can stay."
"Where are you going?" I asked, forgetting for a moment she wasn't an ordinary girl about to leave on a trip.
Sissy grinned. "That's for me to know—and you to find out."
My discomfort returned, and I twisted the twig again. When it broke with a loud snap, I tossed the pieces away.
Sissy held up her arm. "Look, you can almost see through it."
I turned my head. "Don't."
Sissy came closer. "Why? Does it scare you?"
When I slid away from her, she laughed out loud. "Better watch out. I might take you with me."
"Stop it. That's not funny."
Still laughing, she seized my arm. "Don't you like me even a little bit?"
Chilled by the touch of her hand, I pulled away and jumped to my feet, ready to run.
"No," Sissy cried. "Don't go, Ali. I was just teasing."
I hesitated, rubbing my arm to warm the spot she'd grabbed. "How do I know you're not lying?"
With narrowed eyes, Sissy stared at me. "If I wanted to kill you, I'd have drowned you and Emma both when I had the chance. Just sit with me awhile. I'll be gone soon."
Cautiously, I sat down a few feet away from her, scared to get too close.
"All I really wanted was a friend." She poked at the moss with a stick, scratching lines in it. "When Dulcie came along, I thought she was going to be my friend, but then she had to go and throw Edith in the lake and ruin everything. I wish she hadn't done that."
"She wishes she hadn't done it, too."
Sissy nodded wearily. "But she did. And look at all the trouble she caused."
"She didn't think you'd jump in the water."
Sissy gouged the moss savagely, tearing up bits of it and revealing the dark soil it grew from. "Okay, okay, it was a dumb thing to do. Don't you think I know that now?"
"I've done plenty of dumb things," I said. "Everybody has. It's just that—" I broke off and watched a ladybug settle on a leaf beside me.
"It's just that most people don't end up like me," Sissy finished my sentence.
I sighed and nudged the ladybug gently into the air. Fly away home.
"The water was deep and dark and cold," Sissy said, "and I kept sinking down. I tried and tried, but I couldn't swim up to the top."
Suddenly, she reached out and touched my cheek. "You're crying."
"I know."
Sissy watched the tears run down my cheeks. "If things had been different," she said, "if I was like you instead of—well, what I am—do you think we would be friends?"
Once I would have said no without even thinking, but things had changed between Sissy and me. "Yes, I think so."
"Me, too." Sissy smiled and leaned back against the tree. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she seemed to sleep.
I didn't know whether she wanted me to leave or stay, so I sat beside her and waited for her to wake up. While we'd been talking, the sky had begun clouding over. A gust of wind turned the leaves white-side-up, a sure sign of rain Dad always said.
When Sissy opened her eyes, I got to my feet. "I should go home before it starts raining."
Sissy stayed where she was, her back against the tree, her legs stretched out in front of her. "Bye, Ali."
"Will I see you again?"
"Maybe." She smiled at me, one of her rare real smiles.
I waved and left her there. I didn't look back.
By the time I reached the cottage, rain was coming down hard, and the last of the sightseers were driving away, leaving the driveway rutted and filled with puddles.
A couple of days later, the people in Webster's Cove held a funeral for Sissy, just as I'd told her they would. In the graveyard, over a hundred people huddled under umbrellas and listened to a minister read a tribute to a child long lost but now found. He led a prayer. We cried and threw flowers on the small coffin as it was lowered into the grave at the angel's feet.
Afterward, in the warmth of Gull Cottage, Mom and Dad discussed their plans to drive home the next day.
"Do you want to come with us?" Mom asked me.
Dulcie patted my hand. "I'll understand if you leave," she said. "I've been a witch."
Emma threw her arms around me. "Please stay," she whispered.
I hugged Emma hard. "Okay, okay, I'll stay."
Mom opened her mouth to protest, but Dad shook his head. "Summer's more than half over. Ali will be home before we know it."
So it was settled. My parents went home, and I remained at the lake. Dulcie returned to her studio and her work. She decided the paintings weren't as bad as she'd thought. One night at dinner, she told us she was going to call her show "Deep and Dark and Dangerous, a Study of Water's Changing Moods."
On sunny days, Emma and I swam and built sandcastles. We went to Smoochie's, and I talked Emma into trying something besides chocolate. On rainy days we drew and read and made clay figures. I finished To Kill a Mockingbird and began A Separate Peace. The summer had taken a turn to the ordinary.
But not quite. Just before Dulcie planned to return to New York, Emma and I decided to visit the graveyard. On the way, we each gathered a handful of wildflowers. Sissy would like them, Emma said.
Despite the sunlight, the graveyard was in shadows. A splash or two of light dappled the stone angel and the new grave at its feet.
Emma seized my hand. "Look," she whispered.
Missing one arm, hair matted and dirty, skin stained, Edith lay on the earth that was heaped over Sissy. Emma ran to the grave, but I hesitated, not sure how to interpret the doll's presence. Had Sissy left her there for Emma? Or did she want Edith to stay where she was?
Something stirred in the shadows behind the angel. In the dim light, I saw Sissy. For the first time she looked like what she was, nearly transparent, too thin to cast a shadow, her voice a whisper. "The doll's for you, Emma. To keep."
Emma reached out as if to embrace Sissy, but her arms closed on nothing. Sissy was gone. Gone for good.
Tearfully, Emma laid her flowers on the grave and picked up the doll. "Sissy wants me to have Edith."
I laid my flowers beside Emma's. Silently, the two of us stood together, thinking our own thoughts of Sissy.
After a long moment, I turned to Emma. "Let's go home," I said softly.
Hand in hand, we left Sissy resting peacefully under the angel's protective hand.
Mary Downing Hahn, Deep and Dark and Dangerous
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