Chapter 23
The next afternoon, Aunt Blythe and I sat on the front porch waiting for Hannah. It was a hot August day, loud with the hum and drone of insects. Sunlight bounced off the windshields of cars on the highway. Every time one slowed down, I held my breath, expecting to see an old Model T chug up the driveway to the house.
"I hope Father sleeps right through Hannah's visit," Aunt Blythe said. "There's no telling what he'd say or do. At his age, too much excitement is bad for the heart."
I glanced at my aunt. She was gazing at the fields across the highway, smiling to herself. "I'll never forget the day Hannah and Father got into an argument about President Roosevelt. She was an ardent Democrat and Father—well, you can imagine. He must have been the stodgiest Republican ever born. They went at politics hammer and tongs."
Just then a big blue Buick slowed to turn into the driveway. "That must be Hannah now," Aunt Blythe said.
There were two people in the car. An old man was behind the wheel and an even older woman was sitting beside him.
"No," I said, "that's not her. It can't be."
But Aunt Blythe wasn't listening. She was hurrying toward the Buick, waving.
Speechless, I watched the man open the driver's door and get out. The sun shone on his white hair and bent back.
Aunt Blythe was helping the old woman. "Hannah," she cried, "I'm so happy to see you."
While the women embraced, the man hobbled toward me. The hand clasping the cane was roped with veins, the eyes were deepset and hooded, but clear and bright. He stopped a few feet away and smiled.
"Hello, Drew," he said. "I told you we'd meet again."
Before I could say a word, the old woman joined us. She wore a pale-gray dress. White hair slipped out of her topknot, her shoulders curved under the weight of years. Clutching Aunt Blythe's arm with a clawlike hand, she said, "I don't believe you've met my brother Andrew. I should have told you he was coming, but he insisted on surprising you."
When she smiled, I saw the young girl in the old woman's face. It was Hannah after all, really and truly Hannah. Not the way I remembered her, not even the way I wanted her to be, but still alive, still laughing.
"This is my great-nephew Drew," Aunt Blythe said.
Seizing my hands, Hannah said, "I would have recognized him anywhere." Turning to her brother, she added, "He's the spitting image of you when you were his age."
"Indeed he is." From under bushy white eyebrows, Andrew winked at me. "Except for one thing—I never had a shiner as magnificent as the one he's sporting."
Hannah peered at my eye. Turning to her brother, she said, "My word, Andrew, have you forgotten? Edward once gave you a shiner every bit as impressive as that." She shot her brother one of the teasing looks I remembered so well. "The odd thing was it vanished overnight. Maybe that's why you don't remember."
Aunt Blythe looked from one to the other, but it was clear she didn't understand why Hannah and Andrew were laughing. "Would you like to come inside?" she asked. "I've made lemonade and cookies."
"You two go on." Andrew rested his hand on my shoulder. "I'd like to borrow my young cousin for a few minutes. We'll join you later."
I watched Aunt Blythe help Hannah up the stairs. "She moves a mite slower now," Andrew said, "and so do I."
Keeping his hand on my shoulder to steady himself, he walked across the grass. We'd only gone a few steps when Binky tore around the side of the house, barking and growling at the sight of a stranger.
"Binky!" I yelled.
I needn't have worried. Andrew held out his hand and called the dog's name. Immediately, Binky hushed. Wagging his tail, he jumped up to lick his friend's nose.
"You remember me, don't you, fellow?" Andrew scratched Binky behind his ears. "No matter how old a body gets, I reckon you smell the same to a dog."
In the backyard, Andrew and I sat down in a pair of wooden lawn chairs. Binky lay beside us and rested his nose on Andrew's shoes. For a while, neither of us spoke. The day that stretched between us had turned into a lifetime for my old friend.
Andrew lit his pipe, took a few puffs, and sighed contentedly. "I don't know how to thank you for the time you gave me, Drew. The life I've had, the things I've seen and done. If it hadn't been for you, I'd be pushing up the weeds over there with Mama and Papa and Lucy."
For a moment we contemplated the tangled vines and brambles hiding the tombstones. "The first thing I did yesterday was look for your grave," I said. "I sure was glad not to find it."
"You couldn't be a jot gladder than I am." Andrew smiled and blew a smoke ring. We watched it float away, round and perfect against the blue sky.
Leaning closer, he said, "I must admit you had a good influence on me, Drew. Mama always thought the fever sweetened me up, but I know it was you. Not that I turned into a danged sissy or anything like that. Just got a little less prickly."
He chuckled and patted my knee. "I hope you got some of the pepper I lost. As I recall, you sorely needed it."
"When I jumped off the trestle, I felt like you," I admitted. "I'm still not sure who hit Edward—you or me. But I do know one thing. There's this boy named Martin back in Chicago. All my life he's been picking on me. The next time he tries anything, he sure is going to be surprised." Grinning at Andrew, I raised my fists and boxed the air between us.
"Now, now," he said, "Let's not get carried away, Drew. You don't want to be as cocky as I used to be."
At that moment, the back door opened, and Great-grandfather wheeled himself outside. Slowly and carefully, Hannah stepped through the door behind him. Aunt Blythe followed, balancing a tray loaded with a pitcher of lemonade and five glasses.
"Come along, you two," Hannah called.
"Tarnation," Andrew muttered. "Am I going to have to see that jackass today?" Without letting me help, he levered himself out of the chair with his cane. "I bet Hannah woke the old coot up just to make me miserable."
When we joined the others on the porch, Great-grandfather refused to look at us. Keeping his head down, he fidgeted with the blanket on his lap.
"This is a fine way to greet me," Andrew said.
"Maybe he doesn't recognize you." Aunt Blythe bent down to peer into Great-grandfather's face. "Your cousins are here, Father. Can you say hello to Hannah and Andrew?"
"It's my house," he mumbled. "They can't have it."
Andrew looked as if he wanted to give his cousin a punch in the nose, but Hannah intervened. "We know the house is yours, Edward," she said. "Don't worry, we haven't come to take it back. Andrew and I have our own home."
Great-grandfather raised his head and stared at Hannah. "You never liked me. Neither did your brothers. I wasn't welcome in this house when you lived here. Now it's mine and you're not welcome."
Ignoring Aunt Blythe's protests, Great-grandfather wheeled himself toward the back door. "You and your Roosevelt," he muttered before he disappeared. "Too bad you women ever got the vote."
"Please excuse Father," Aunt Blythe said. "He's having one of his bad days."
Andrew snorted. "All of Edward's days have been bad, every blasted one of them."
Hannah rapped his fingers. "Don't be so ornery, Andrew. What will Blythe think of you?"
"I say what's on my mind. Always have." Andrew shot me a grin. "Isn't that right, Drew?"
Hannah frowned at her brother. "How on earth can Drew answer a question like that?"
My aunt didn't notice the warning tone in her cousin's voice, but I did. From the look she gave Andrew, I was sure Hannah knew everything.
To break the tension, Aunt Blythe smiled at Andrew. "Hannah tells me you're an archeologist," she said. "Drew's father has followed in your footsteps. He spent the whole summer in France, excavating a Roman ruin."
A spark of mischief flared in Andrew's eyes. "Why, it could be the other way around," he said. "Perhaps I got the idea from him."
Hannah gave Andrew a sharp poke with her cane. Luckily, Aunt Blythe didn't notice that either.
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"You have the oddest sense of humor," she said to Andrew. "It's a pity you spent most of your life overseas. I'm sure I would have enjoyed knowing you."
To escape his sister's reach, Andrew shifted his position. "It's strange," he said to my aunt, "but I feel like I do know you."
"Isn't that funny?" Aunt Blythe stared at him. "Even though I've never set eyes on you before, I feel the same way."
With a little guidance from Hannah, the conversation changed to Andrew's years in South America. For at least an hour he entertained us with his adventures, which Hannah claimed were highly exaggerated.
"He never tells a story the same way twice," she told me. "You wouldn't believe how much more exciting they've gotten since the first time I heard them."
"You didn't marry?" Aunt Blythe asked Andrew.
He glanced at me. "When I was a boy no older than Drew, I had a close brush with death. It always seemed to me a miracle that I lived."
Once more Hannah made an attempt to stop her brother with a poke of her cane, but Andrew went on talking, his eyes on my face, his voice solemn. "I often thought I'd been meant to die, so I decided to lead a solitary life. There's no way of telling what one person might do to change the history of the world."
Before he could say anything else, Hannah patted Aunt Blythe's arm. "I brought along an old photo album. Would you please fetch it from the car?"
As soon as my aunt was out of sight, Hannah said, "If you don't hush, Andrew, we're going to leave the minute Blythe comes back. I swear I don't know what ails you. You might as well be twelve years old!"
She turned to me then and took my hand. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you, Drew? He was an absolute imp when he was your age and he still is. All that's changed is his outside."
I stared into Hannah's eyes, faded now to the color of shadows on winter snow. "He told you, didn't he?"
"In some ways, I think I knew all along." Hannah squeezed my hand. "I'm so glad we've lived long enough to see you again."
I flung my arms around her. She felt as thin-boned as a bird, and I was afraid to hug her too tightly. I didn't want to hurt her.
"It must be a shock to see us so old," Hannah said. "I'm afraid I couldn't climb a tree or shoot a marble if my life depended on it. Neither could Andrew, but I doubt he'll admit it."
"If I put my mind to it," Andrew said, "I could beat Drew with one hand tied behind my back. He was never any match for me."
Hannah raised her eyebrows. "It seems to me he outplayed you once."
"Pshaw. What's one game?"
If Aunt Blythe hadn't come back just then, I'd have argued, maybe even challenged Andrew to a rematch, but instead, I smiled and leaned my head against Hannah's shoulder, happy to feel her arm around me. This close, she still smelled like rose water.
Turning the pages of the album, Hannah showed us pictures of Mama and Papa, Theo, herself—and Andrew.
"These are my favorites." She pointed to the photographs John had taken of us in the Model T. We were all smiling except Theo. He sat beside me, scowling into the camera, still angry about Mrs. Armiger and the music lessons.
"We wanted Theo to come with us today," Hannah said, "but he's living down in Florida with his third wife—a lady half his age, I might add."
Andrew nudged me. "He sends his best, said he hopes to see you again someday."
I glanced at Aunt Blythe but she was staring at the photograph. "The resemblance is incredible. If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was Drew."
Andrew chuckled. "Take a good look at me now. This is how the poor boy will look when he's ninety-six."
I studied his rosy face, his white hair and mustache. His back was bent, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. Going to his side, I put my arms around him. "You're not so bad," I said. Dropping my voice to a whisper, I added, "I wouldn't be surprised if you could still beat me in a game of ringer."
Chapter 24
Long before I was ready to say good-bye, Hannah rose to her feet and beckoned to Andrew. "We've had enough excitement for one day. It's time to leave."
After making sure Aunt Blythe wasn't looking, Andrew pulled a leather bag out of his pocket. "She thinks you already have these," he said. "They're yours for keeps now."
I clasped the marbles to my heart and stared at him through a blur of tears. "Come back soon, Andrew."
He hugged me so hard he squashed my nose against his bony shoulder. "At my age, I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best to see you again, and that's the truth. After all, Hannah and I aren't that far away. With modem cars and highways, Riverview's a sight closer than it used to be."
Reluctant to let him go, I looked him in the eye. "No matter what happens, I'll always keep you here." I struck my chest with my fist. "Right here in my heart as long as I live."
Andrew smiled. "I fancy you picked up that pretty notion from Hannah." Hugging me again, he said, "I hope your heart lasts as long as mine has, Drew. I want you to have all the time in the world to do whatever you like."
I watched him help Hannah into the car and then position himself behind the steering wheel. While Aunt Blythe and I waved good-bye, the big Buick bumped down the driveway, turned right, and vanished in the direction of Riverview.
Aunty Blythe went inside to check on Great-grandfather, but I sat on the front steps and watched the sun sink behind the trees across the highway. A little chill crept across my skin. Summer was almost over. Soon my parents would return and I'd go back to Chicago. There would be no more midnight meetings in the attic. No croquet games with Hannah, no boxing lessons from John, no fights with Edward.
Behind me, the door opened, and I heard the wheelchair squeak as it rolled through. "Haven't changed a bit, either one of them," Great-grandfather muttered. "Coming around here, showing off, laughing like the world's their oyster."
When I turned to face him, Great-grandfather scowled. "What the Sam Hill are you doing here? I thought Hannah took you with her. How long am I going to have to put up with the sight of your ugly face?"
Aunt Blythe looked at me and sighed apologetically. Her eyes said, "What's the use?"
Great-grandfather wasn't paying attention to either one of us. He stared fixedly at the lawn, his eyes moving back and forth as if he were watching something only he could see. For a moment, I thought I heard laughter, the click of one croquet ball striking another, a dog barking.
I stared at the empty yard, trying hard to see what Great-grandfather saw, but nothing shifted, nothing changed. If the Tylers were playing croquet, they were visible to him and him alone. The only dog in sight was Binky. Running across the lawn to meet him, I took the stick he carried and threw it as hard as I could. It sailed across the sky, and Binky dashed after it.
As the dog disappeared into the bushes, I looked up at the attic window and remembered the flash of white I'd seen the day I arrived—my first glimpse of Andrew. Funny to think I'd been scared. Nothing stirred in the attic now. No one watched, no one waited.
Deep in my pocket, I touched the red bull's-eye, warm as blood and twice as lucky. The marbles were mine for keeps. They were safe, and so was Andrew.
* * *
HOW TO PLAY RINGER
1. Draw a circle at least three feet in diameter on a smooth, flat surface.
2. In the center, draw a cross. Lay thirteen marbles on it: one in the middle and three on each arm. These are the targets, sometimes called ducks or miggles.
3. To determine who gets the first turn, you must lag. Draw two lines about a foot apart. One is the lag line; the other is the back line. Step back ten paces and draw a pitching line. From here, use an underhanded throw to roll your shooter at the lag line. The player whose marble lands closest goes first. If your marble stops on the lag line, you win automatically, but if it crosses the back line, you lose automatically.
Note: In ringer, the first player has a distinct advantage. To win, you must knock seven marbles out of the circle. A good player can do this on his first try.
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4. The first player kneels outside the ring and knuckles down to shoot. You must keep at least one knuckle on the ground, and you must not move your hand, an offense called "whisting."
5. If no marbles leave the circle, you lose your turn. If your shooter is still in the ring, leave it there. That's where you shoot from next time. If it rolls outside, you can shoot from anywhere on the ring's perimeter.
Note: Your opponent may knock your shooter out of the ring. If he does, you shoot from the place your marble lands.
6. If you shoot one or more marbles out of the ring, you can try again, provided your shooter stays inside the ring. If your shooter rolls outside with the other marbles, you keep the ones you hit, but you lose your turn.
7. To keep your turn, shoot from the place where your shooter stopped.
8. The first player to knock seven marbles out of the ring wins the game.
* * *
Mary Downing Hahn, Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story
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