Wait Till Helen Comes: A Ghost Story

  "What's the matter?" I asked.

  She looked at me over her shoulder. "Look." She pointed at a crooked fence almost hidden by weeds and bushes. "What's that?"

  Despite the warmth of the afternoon, I felt goose bumps prick up all over me. "It's a graveyard," I whispered.

  It wasn't very big, and the grass had grown almost as tall as the tombstones, but here and there a stone angel lifted its marble wings toward the sky, and a cross or two tilted out of the weeds. It was without a doubt the spookiest place I'd ever seen, and I wanted to run back to the church, but Heather stared at it, fascinated.

  "Are you afraid?" she asked, her thumb hovering near her mouth.

  "Of course not," I lied, reluctant to expose any weaknesses to Heather. Edging back down the path toward the church, I said, "Let's go see what Mom and Dave are doing. They're probably wondering where we are."

  "It would be shorter to cut through the graveyard," Heather said, her pale eyes probing mine.

  "It's probably private property," I said. "You could get in trouble for trespassing."

  But Heather only smiled and slipped through a gap in the fence. "Come on, Molly," she said, daring me to follow her.

  While I watched, she ran through the weeds, paying no attention to the tombstones. "It's bad luck to step on a grave," I called after her.

  Pausing by a stone cherub, she caressed his cheek and then whirled about, performing a weird little dance as she wove in and out of the tombstones. "Molly is afraid," she chanted, "Molly is afraid."

  "You're crazy!" I shouted at her. Then I turned my back on the graveyard and ran through the woods, ducking branches that reached for my hair and stumbling over roots. By the time I got to the church, I was out of breath and my heart was pounding so hard I thought my ribs would split. Catching sight of Mom disappearing through a side door, I followed her inside and caught up with her in the hall. I grabbed her arm and almost made her drop the box she was carrying.

  "Molly, what's wrong?" She put the box down and stared at me. "Where is Heather? Has something happened?"

  I shook my head, still gasping for breath. "There's a graveyard behind the church," I panted. "A graveyard!"

  "Of course there is. It's part of the property."

  "It's ours? We own a graveyard?"

  "No, not exactly." Mom frowned at me. "For heaven's sake, Molly, have you run in here and scared me half to death just because of a graveyard?"

  "You never said anything about it. You never told me we were going to have a bunch of dead people buried in our backyard." I started crying then, and Mom put her arm around me.

  "Dead people in our yard?" Michael ran out of a room down the hall. "What's she talking about, Mom?"

  "You found the graveyard." Dave appeared behind Michael, grinning as if I had done something marvelously clever.

  "Why didn't you tell us?" I pulled away from Mom, wiping my eyes on my shirt tail. I didn't want Dave to know what a baby I was.

  "I didn't think it was worth mentioning." Dave winked at Mom. "Just think what quiet neighbors they'll be. No wild parties, no loud music, no dropping in to borrow a cup of sugar or the lawn mower. Why, I bet they won't even speak to us." He gave Mom a hug and a kiss, and they both laughed while I stood there feeling foolish.

  "Are the graves old?" Michael tried to push between Mom and me in his haste to go see them.

  "Hey, hold it," Dave said, stopping him. "You're not finished getting your room in order, and Molly hasn't even started. You two get to work. You can see the graveyard later."

  "That's not fair!" Michael said. "Molly's been playing with Heather ever since we got here, and I've been working. Can't I go outside for just a minute?"

  "Where is Heather?" Dave asked as if he'd just realized she wasn't with me.

  "The last time I saw her she was dancing around the graveyard," I said. "For all I know, she's still there." Without looking at him or Mom, I followed Michael down the hall to the room I had to share with Heather. As I shut the door behind me, I heard Heather come into the house.

  "Molly ran away from me," she whined, her shrill voice carrying right through the closed door.

  Heaving a great sigh, I prepared myself for a lecture from Dave and set about unpacking my books and arranging them on the shelves next to my bed. It was a nice room, I thought, bigger and airier than my old room in Baltimore, and, if I hadn't had to share it with Heather, I would have really enjoyed living in it.

  From the window between our beds, I could see the mountains, but when I moved closer to see the whole view, I realized that the graveyard was only a short distance away, partially hidden from the house by a tall boxwood hedge. Shivering, I drew back from the window. How was I going to sleep at night, knowing how close it was?

  3

  THAT EVENING, after Dave's friends left, we had our first dinner in the church. Mom and Dave did most of the talking; they didn't make much of an effort to involve us in the plans they were making for their art projects. While they chattered about craft fairs and galleries, Heather picked at her food as if she expected to find crushed glass or rat poison hidden in it, and Michael described the huge centipede he'd caught in his bedroom, ignoring my pleas for him to talk about something less disgusting. How can a person enjoy eating spaghetti when her brother is babbling about a hideous, million-legged creature over four inches long?

  As we were finishing our dessert, Mom suggested going for a walk before it got dark. Naturally, Michael suggested a tour of the graveyard, and everyone but me agreed. As they got ready to leave, I considered staying home and washing the dishes, but then I decided it might be worse to be all alone in the house. Reluctantly I followed them out the back door and down the brick path to the graveyard.

  The sun was hovering on the mountaintops, and a tall oak tree at one end of the graveyard sent a long shadow over the grass toward us. As we entered the gate, a flock of crows rose from the oak and flew away, cawing loudly, as if we were trespassers. When I took Mom's hand, Heather smiled mockingly at me from her perch on Dave's shoulders.

  "Molly's scared of the graveyard," she whispered in his ear, "but I'm not."

  To prove how brave she was, she slipped down and ran ahead of us. Scrambling up on a tombstone, she spread her arms. "Look at me, Daddy," she called, "I'm an angel."

  "Hey, get down from there." Dave grabbed her. "These are too old for you to climb on, honey. They could topple right over."

  "I was just playing." Heather tugged at his beard, trying to braid it around her fingers. "At least I'm not a scaredy-cat."

  While Dave was occupied with Heather, Mom turned to me and put her arm around my shoulders. "See how peaceful it is, Molly? There's nothing frightening about an old graveyard." She hugged me close.

  I didn't say anything, nor did I try to pull away. Instead I snuggled closer, feeling safe as long I could feel her warm body next to mine.

  "What's the matter, Molly?" Dave smiled at me over Heather's dark head. "Do you expect to see a ghost?"

  Embarrassed, I forced myself to laugh. "Of course not. I'm just cold, that's all." And it was true. The sun had slipped down behind the mountains, taking the warmth of the day with it. A little breeze brought the chill of night with it as it tossed the heads of the Queen Anne's lace blooming all around us.

  "Look," Michael called to us from the other side of the graveyard. "A whole family named Berry is buried here." He waved his arm at a cluster of tombstones guarded by a solemn marble angel. "This must be the Berry Patch!"

  Everybody laughed at his joke but me. It didn't seem right to call out the names of dead people, especially if you were laughing. Uneasily, I followed Mom toward the angel, but I wanted very badly to go back to the church.

  "Listen to this," Michael said. "'Ada Berry, Beloved Wife of Edward Berry. April 3, 1811—November 28, 1899. Not Dead, Only Resting from Life's Weary Toil.' And here's her daughter, see? 'Susannah Berry, June 10, 1832-December 30, 1835. A Little Lamb in the Hands of the Lord.' And over here?
??"

  "Oh, stop, Michael, stop." Mom pulled him away from the tombstone of another Berry child. "That's too sad. Don't read any more."

  "I thought this was such a peaceful place," I murmured.

  "Well, it is." Mom's voice wavered, though, and she looked past me at the sky where the first stars were beginning to glow.

  "But don't you want to know how they died?" Michael asked. "Little kids like these probably died from smallpox or diphtheria or even measles. And this one right here, Adam Berry, died in 1863, and he was twenty-one. He was probably killed in the Civil War. A Yankee soldier, think of that."

  "It's getting dark," I said, pointing out the obvious. "Why don't we go back to the church?"

  "Yes," Mom agreed. "The mosquitoes have found me."

  "Where has Heather run off to?" Dave scanned the graveyard, growing so dark now that everything was gray and indistinct.

  "There she is." Michael pointed to the far end of the graveyard where the oak tree stood. In the shadows, we could barely see Heather poking around in the weeds.

  "Come on, Heather," Dave called. "You've got all day tomorrow to explore this place. None of these folks is going anywhere."

  He and Mom chuckled, and he put his arm around her waist and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle. Glancing at Heather, I saw her stop and stare at Dave and Mom. Even in the darkness I could see the look of hatred that flashed across her pale face at the sight of him embracing Mom. Then, realizing that I was looking at her, she made her face blank and walked slowly toward us, trailing her fingers across the tombstones and humming softly.

  By the time we reached the church, the trees were dark masses against the sky, flickering with fireflies, and above us the sky was studded with stars and a crescent moon barely clearing the oak tree.

  "Look at that." Mom paused on the back steps, her head tilted back. "I'd forgotten how many more stars you can see when you get away from the city."

  "There's the Milky Way and the Big Dipper," Michael said, "and the Little Dipper too."

  "And the North Star." Dave pointed at something that only he could see. "If you're interested, Michael, I've got some astronomy books we can look at."

  While Mom and I washed the dinner dishes, Dave got out a book and sat down at the kitchen table to explain one of the star charts to Michael. Finding herself with nothing to do, Heather climbed into Dave's lap and did all she could to make it impossible for him to talk to Michael.

  "I'm sleepy, Daddy," she whispered. "I want you to put me to bed."

  "Is your room all ready?" Dave asked.

  "Yes, but I don't want to sleep there." She peeked at me, then tugged at Dave's beard.

  "Why not, honey?" he asked, gently freeing his beard.

  "Because of her." Heather looked at me again and snuggled closer to Dave. "I don't want to sleep with her."

  Mom and Dave looked at each other and sighed as if they'd been expecting something of this sort. "Molly's your sister now, Heather," Dave said patiently. "Sisters always share."

  Heather stuck out her lip and managed to squeeze a few tears out of her big, sad eyes. "She's mean to me."

  "Oh, Heather," Mom said softly. "Molly's not mean to you."

  When Mom tried to touch Heather's shoulder, she jerked away as if Mom had intended to hurt her. "You leave me alone!" Heather cried. "You're mean too, and I hate you both. Him too!" She glared at Michael, then turned to Dave. "I don't want to live here with them. I want my own mother back!"

  There was a little silence in the kitchen which made all the night noises—the crickets and the frogs, the wind in the leaves—seem louder.

  "Now, now, honey." Dave stood up with Heather in his arms. "Daddy will tuck you in and tell you a little princess story. Wouldn't you like that?"

  Heather buried her face in his neck, but as he carried her out the door, she looked at me and stuck out her tongue.

  "Just ignore her, Molly," Mom said softly. "It's been a long day, and we're all tired."

  "You always make excuses for her, no matter what she says or does." I flopped down in a chair beside Michael. "She's spoiled rotten."

  "Oh, Molly, can't you be more understanding?" Mom looked at me sadly. "She's such an unhappy little girl."

  "That doesn't give her the right to make us miserable too. The only thing that would make her happy is for you and Dave to split up. Can't you see that's what she wants?"

  Mom shook her head. "That's a terrible thing to say, Molly. I'm ashamed of you."

  "Molly's right," Michael said. "Heather hates us. She's never going to be happy living here."

  "If we give her enough love, she'll change," Mom said. "I know she will."

  Michael and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Why couldn't Mom face facts?

  "You two could try a little harder," Mom added in a crosser voice. "You've never really given her a chance. Always running away from her, teasing her, making her cry."

  "Mom, that's not fair!" I jumped to my feet, ready to run to my room. "I've tried and tried and tried! But she twists everything I do all around and lies and then you believe her, not me!"

  Mom turned her back and leaned on the sink. "Just try harder, Molly. Please?" She kept her face hidden as she spoke, and I realized that she was crying.

  Running to her side, I put my arms around her and hugged her tightly, pressing my face into the little hollow beneath her collarbone. "Okay, Mom," I whispered, trying hard not to cry myself, "I'll try some more."

  Mom hugged me fiercely. "I'm sorry, Molly. I know you've tried. I'm just so discouraged. I thought by now Heather would be happier with us, but sometimes I'm afraid you and Michael are right. She doesn't want my love." She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and sighed. "I don't know what to do. I love Dave so much. And you all too. But Heather, I just don't know."

  She made herself a cup of peppermint tea and carried it out on the back porch. Knowing she wanted to be alone, I sat down beside Michael. While he studied the star chart, I thought about Mom. I hated to see her so unhappy, but I had no idea what I could do to help her feel better. Heather sat in the middle of everything, making all of us miserable, and, as far as I could see, enjoying every minute of it.

  4

  WHILE MOM was still out on the porch, Dave came into the kitchen. Ruffling his hair with one hand, he sighed. "Well, Heather's asleep," he said, "so you two can get along to bed now yourselves. Don't wake her up, Molly. I've just about run out of little princess stories."

  As Michael and I started to leave the room, Dave asked where Mom was.

  "On the porch having a cup of tea," I said, as I followed Michael down the hall. Behind me, I heard the screen door open and shut and then Dave's voice murmuring something to Mom.

  Pausing in his doorway, Michael said, "Want to come in and talk for a while, Molly?"

  "Sure. I'm not in any hurry to go in there and take the chance of waking her up."

  Michael's room already looked like home. His framed insect displays were hanging on the wall over his bed; his aquarium was set up near the window, and his scientific apparatus—microscope, magnifying glass, butterfly net, and chemistry set—was in place on the long desk Dave had made for him. Books filled his shelves, mostly plant, bird, rock, and animal nature guides with a few Encyclopedia Browns, Hardy Boys, and Alfred Hitchcocks for variety.

  Picking up one of his fossils, I examined the print of a tiny skeleton embedded in its surface. "Doesn't the graveyard bother you at all?" I asked.

  "I think it's great," he said. "I'm going to make it into an archeological project. I'll study all the graves, and then figure out what the people died of."

  "You don't mean you're going to dig them up?" I stared at him, horrified.

  "Of course not. That's against the law. What do you think I am? A body snatcher?" Michael grinned and polished his glasses on his tee shirt. "Not that it wouldn't interest me. In fact, I wish I could. They dig up Indian burial grounds and primitive Iron Age people, an
d they learn a lot from the things buried with them."

  "That's awful." I thought of all the movies I'd seen on TV involving the opening of pyramids and the curses of mummies. "I'd be scared to disturb somebody's bones." I shuddered just thinking about how horrible it would be to discover a skeleton.

  "You really are scared of the graveyard, aren't you?" Michael sounded curious.

  "There's something about it, Michael." I gazed past his curly head at the window's dark rectangle, thinking of the tombstones behind the hedge, the tall weeds silvery in the starlight. It seemed to me that they waited there in the night for something, and I folded my arms tightly across my chest and tried to convince myself that I was being silly.

  "Do you believe in ghosts?" Michael leaned toward me. All he needed was a pipe in his mouth to make him the perfect scientist.

  I shrugged. "I don't know." As usual, his rational approach was embarrassing me. I felt silly answering his questions. Pretending to yawn, I edged toward the door. "I think I'll go to bed, Michael."

  He nodded. "If you hear any funny noises or see a face at the window, just yell for me," he said as I started down the hall to Heather's and my room.

  I glared at him, sure now that I wouldn't be able to sleep for fear of what might be creeping toward the church from the graveyard.

  "Just kidding, Molly," he whispered as I paused, my hand on my doorknob. "The only weird thing you'll see tonight is Heather."

  Ignoring him, I tiptoed into the room. Except for the moonlight shining dimly through the window, it was dark, and I moved cautiously, not wanting to trip over anything and risk waking Heather. Pulling my pajamas out from under my pillow, I undressed and got into bed. I was anxious to fall asleep as quickly as possible so I wouldn't lie there thinking about horror movies and scary stories.