Time for Andrew: A Ghost Story

  The swing creaked as Mrs. Tyler sank down beside me. Pulling me close, she whispered, "It's all right, dear. Things look different when you've been away from them even for a short time."

  Dr. Fulton cleared his throat. "I don't know what you're up to, Andrew, but I won't have you teasing your mother. You've caused her enough worry as it is."

  "I wasn't teasing." Scared to look at him, I stared at the stiff, shiny shoes on my feet. Andrew's, of course. I'd seen them in his photograph.

  Dr. Fulton regarded me solemnly. "Rest," he said, "and get plenty of fresh air. Eat wholesome food, drink milk, take your tonic. And behave yourself."

  After the doctor left, Mrs. Tyler went into the house. In a few moments, Hannah came outside carrying a tray.

  "Milk and cookies for the convalescent," she said, "and the latest adventure of Frank Merriwell."

  Hannah put the tray on a table and sat down in the swing beside me. Opening Tip Top Weekly, she began to read aloud. I'd already heard three stories about Frank. In each one, he was challenged to perform a courageous deed, but I always fell asleep before he accomplished it. As a hero, he was just a little too good to be interesting.

  "There was excitement at Yale," Hannah began. "The sensation of the winter season had been the result of the glove fight between Bart Hodge and Buck Badger. No one had seemed to dream that Hodge could whip Badger, for the Kansan had shown that he was a great fighter, and Bart had been defeated by him in a bare fistfight the previous fall."

  As Hannah warmed to the story, her voice rose and grew more animated. "7 owe it all to Merriwell,' " she read, giving the speaker an appropriate southern accent. "'He taught me, gentlemen, that a man can be a man without always carrying a chip on his shoulder. He taught me that a man can preserve his dignity without compelling every weaker man to bow to him in humbleness. But I know that he can fight when pushed to it' "

  Looking up from the page, Hannah sighed. "Isn't that grand, Andrew? What a gentleman Frank is, what a lofty mind he has. Someday I hope to marry someone just like him. Trouble is, most boys around here just don't amount to shucks."

  She was interrupted by a shout. Theo was running up the hill toward the house. With him was another boy, a head taller, long-legged as a greyhound.

  "Oh, Jove," Hannah muttered. "Here comes Edward, the very antithesis of Frank Merriwell."

  I opened my mouth to ask who Edward was, but Buster stopped me just in time. Racing ahead of Theo and Edward, the big black dog bounded eagerly up the steps. When he was close enough to smell me, he froze. Slowly, his hackles rose. Curling his lip to expose big, sharp teeth, he growled.

  Sure he was going to bite me, I scooted to a corner of the swing and crouched there, taking care to keep my feet out of his reach. "Get him away from me," I yelled, "get him away!"

  "Buster!" Hannah swatted him with Tip Top Weekly. "Bad dog!"

  Theo grabbed Buster's collar. "What's wrong?" he cried. "I brought him to see you, Andrew, I thought you'd be glad."

  "He doesn't look very glad." Edward leaned against the bannister grinning as if Buster's behavior amused him. "Neither does the dog for that matter."

  Ignoring Edward Theo murmured in Buster's ear, petted him, coaxed him to be quiet, but the dog continued to growl and then to bark. Unlike everybody else, he wasn't fooled by appearances. He knew an imposter when he smelled one.

  Exasperated, Hannah told Theo to take Buster away. "I don't know what ails that stupid dog. You'd think he never saw Andrew before."

  When Theo was out of sight, Hannah scowled at Edward. "To what do we owe the honor of your company?"

  Her voice was cold enough to freeze Niagara Falls, but Edward simply shrugged. "Since when is it a crime to visit the sick?"

  Turning to me, he said, "From the way people talked, I thought you'd be dead and buried by now. I should've known it was too good to be true."

  Although Edward made the remark sound like a joke, it was obvious he didn't like me any more than my old enemy Martin did. It was disappointing to realize you weren't safe from bullies no matter where—or when—you were.

  I glanced at Hannah, but she was twisting a tendril of wisteria around one finger, giving it all her attention. Behind her, the purple flowers buzzed with bees.

  Edward leaned toward me, waiting for me to say something. Instead, I inched closer to Hannah. I was onstage, the curtain was up, the audience was watching, but I was speechless. Just as I'd feared, I'd have to bluff my way through the entire performance.

  Theo came back then and broke the silence. Wedging himself into the swing between his sister and me, he said, "I hope Buster doesn't have distemper."

  "Maybe he's caught whatever Andrew has." Edward stared at me from under lowered eyelids. "You seem a little strange too. Not quite yourself yet."

  Hannah put her arm around me. "Andrew's fine. The fever left him a little weak, that's all."

  "Weak in the head," Edward added. "Like poor old George Foster."

  "If you're going to insult my brother, you can take yourself off that railing and out of my sight."

  Edward ignored Hannah. "Maybe we should give Andrew a little test, just to make sure the fever didn't damage his brain."

  "Don't be silly." Hannah tapped the rolled magazine on her knee as if she wanted to whack Edward even harder than she'd whacked Buster.

  Looking at me, Edward went on with his game. "We'll start with easy questions. What year is it?"

  Hannah protested, but I answered anyway. "1910."

  Edward pressed on. "Who's the president?"

  "For heaven's sake," Hannah said, "stop tormenting him, Edward."

  1910—who was president in 1910? Dates, names, and faces tumbled through my head. Ulysses'S. Grant? Woodrow Wilson? Chester Arthur? Arthur Chester? Teddy Roosevelt? I'd memorized the presidents for my fifth-grade teacher, but I couldn't remember them now.

  "It's William Howard Taft," Theo shouted. "Everybody knows that."

  "Andrew didn't," Edward said.

  "Of course he did." Hannah patted my hand. "He's tired, that's all."

  Refusing to give up, Edward folded his arms across his chest and grinned at me. "Let's see if you can answer this one. How many states are there?"

  Without thinking, I said, "Fifty."

  "Didn't I tell you he was touched in the head?" Edward laughed. "Even Geûrgie Foster knows there's only forty-six states."

  Hannah hurled the magazine at him. "That's enough, Edward! You know how sick Andrew's been. Lord, he was like to die."

  Backing away, Edward laughed. "Don't get so riled up, Hannah. I was just teasing."

  To prove it, he leapt off the railing and pulled me out of the swing. Slinging one arm around my shoulders, he squeezed so hard I was sure I heard my bones crack. "You can take a joke, can't you, Andrew?"

  Before I could do more than gasp, Edward released me. Mrs. Tyler was standing in the doorway, frowning at him.

  "Good afternoon, Aunt Mildred," Edward said with oily politeness. "I just stopped in to pay my respects to Andrew. I'd best be going now."

  We watched him lope across the grass and vanish into the trees at the bottom of the hill.

  "Good riddance," Mrs. Tyler muttered to no one in particular. To me, she said, "Come inside and rest. From the looks of you, Edward wore you out."

  To Theo's amazement, I was allowed to lie down on the parlor sofa. "Today is special," Mrs. Tyler said. "Andrew's out of bed and on the mend. There's no sense in making him climb all the way upstairs just to have a nap."

  Herding Theo ahead of her and beckoning to Hannah, Mrs. Tyler left me alone to rest. The shutters were closed, the room was dim. Things I'd once seen in the attic peered at me from the shadows—a stuffed pheasant under a clear dome, a pair of landscape paintings, a small organ, a glass-fronted bookcase.

  The hall clock ticked steadily, insects hummed and buzzed, a mourning dove cooed sadly. Drowsy sounds, soothing, quiet, soft, but I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Edward's fa
ce. He'd called Mrs. Tyler Aunt Mildred. That meant he was Andrew's cousin—but who was he to me?

  The heat and the monotonous ticking of the clock dulled my mind, made it hard to remember what Aunt Blythe had told me. My thoughts strayed. I found myself searching for faces in the flowered wallpaper—a young girl in a rose, an old man in a bunch of leaves. Like optical illusions, they shifted and changed, appeared and disappeared. The young girl became an old woman, the old man became a boy.

  Closing my eyes, I sank into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 9

  That evening, I had my first dinner with the rest of the family. I was trying to do everything properly, which meant I had to watch the others and copy what they did. Bow my head for grace, use the right utensil for the right thing, pass food promptly, keep my left hand in my lap, chew with my mouth shut.

  While we were eating, Mrs. Tyler told her husband about Edward's visit.

  Mr. Tyler frowned. "No doubt my esteemed brother sent him to make certain the house is still standing. I hope you sent the rascal packing." He paused to take a sip of water. No one said a word. We watched him swallow and waited for him to continue. "If Ned wants to check on the property, he can come here himself and face me. I won't have that son of his pestering us."

  Mystified by the anger in his voice, I glanced at Mrs. Tyler. She was leaning toward him as if she wanted to touch his hand, but the table was a good deal longer than her arm. She tapped the white cloth instead and gave him an imploring look. "Henry, please don't be so uncharitable. Think of the example you're setting."

  Mr. Tyler gazed at the ceiling for a moment and sighed loudly. Without looking at any of us, he said, "Quite right, Mildred. I stand corrected." Raising his fork, he smiled at his wife. "What brought my dear brother's son to our house today?"

  Ignoring the irony, Mrs. Tyler said, "He came to see Andrew, but it seemed to me he was teasing him, wearing him out with silly questions and such. When he saw me, he took off fast enough."

  Mr. Tyler glanced at me. "I am all too aware that you can take up for yourself, Andrew, but if Edward troubles you, please do not solve it in the usual fashion. You know how I feel about brawling in the streets. I simply will not tolerate it."

  "You needn't worry, Papa," Hannah said sweetly. "Andrew bore Edward's insults without even raising a fist. He was a perfect gentleman."

  Both Mr. and Mrs. Tyler looked pleased, but Theo gave me a sharp lack under the table. "If you ask me," he whispered, "you let that bully get away with murder."

  Mr. Tyler frowned at us. "Eat your peas, Theodore. And drink your milk. You too, Andrew. Good food builds strong bodies and strong minds."

  Turning back to his wife, Mr. Tyler began talking about his day in court. For the rest of the meal he described his successful prosecution of a man accused of embezzling large sums of money from a bank.

  No one else spoke. We ate quietly and listened to Mr. Tyler.

  After dinner, Theo, Hannah, and I sat on the porch steps talking. In the darkness, I felt safe and happy. It was nice to be part of a family, to have a sister and a brother, even if they weren't mine for keeps.

  Tipping my head back, I gazed at the sky. "Just look at all those stars," I said. "They're so thick and bright—millions and billions and trillions of them. In Chicago, you can't even see the Milky Way anymore. The air—"

  Theo interrupted me. "What do you know about Chicago?"

  Hannah's laughter saved me. "Andrew's joshing you, Theo. He's never been out of Missouri in his whole entire life."

  I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Like a dope, I'd almost given myself away. Scared to say another word, I sat between Hannah and Theo, a stranger again, an imposter, a boy without a family. Not Andrew, but Drew.

  "I wish you'd socked Edward today," Theo said suddenly. "He was asking for a trouncing."

  Hannah put her arm around me. "For heaven's sake, Theo, this is Andrew's first day out of bed. Give him time. He'll get his spunk back soon enough."

  Theo leaned around his sister to study my face in the moonlight. "I hope so. Before you got sick, you never let Edward insult you."

  I slid a little closer to Hannah and rested my head against her shoulder. This near, I could smell the rose water she sprinkled on her face and neck. Lucky Andrew, I thought, lucky Theo. I'd have given anything to be her real brother.

  "Theo's right, Andrew," Hannah said. "Edward was testing you, seeing how far he could push you. If you don't take up for yourself, matters will get worse. Think of Frank Merriwell—he never fought unless he was pushed into it, but he always defeated his foes. Frank would have despised a bully like Edward as much as I do." As she spoke, Hannah clenched her fists as if she wanted to punch him herself.

  I shrank back from Hannah's fierce face. What would she think if I said I'd never hit anyone in my life? The very idea of fighting Edward scared me half to death. He was even bigger than Martin.

  Needing to know more about my new enemy, I grabbed Hannah's arm. "Why does Edward hate me so much? What did Andrew—I mean, what did I do to him?"

  Luckily, the words had tumbled out of my mouth so fast nobody noticed my blunder.

  "Land sakes," Hannah said, "Edward doesn't hate you any more than he hates the rest of us."

  "It's all because of the house," Theo butted in. "Isn't that right, Hannah? Grandfather left it to Papa, and Uncle Ned got mad, and now they don't speak to each other except at church."

  Hannah put her finger to her lips. "Hush, Theo," she whispered. "We're not supposed to know about the will." Glancing behind her to make sure no one was listening, she whispered, "Poor Papa. It must be awful to despise your own brother."

  "Uncle Ned took him to court," Theo said. "If Andrew did something like that to me, I'd most certainly hate him."

  Hannah sighed and gazed at the sky. "Those stars will be shining long after we're gone and forgotten. Just think—in a hundred years, who'll care about this house? Or Papa and Uncle Ned? Or any of us?"

  I stared at her. "I'll care, I'll always care, I'll—"

  "Don't be silly. By 2010, we'll be dead and gone, Andrew. Strangers will be living here—if the house is still standing, that is. More than likely it'll be a pile of rubble."

  "No, Hannah," I whispered, "no, don't say that. You'll live forever. And the house—I'll fix it up, I'll..."

  But Hannah was too busy swatting mosquitoes to listen. Getting to her feet, she seized Theo's and my hands and led us to the door. "We'd better go inside before we're eaten alive."

  A week passed, then another. Every night I went to the attic looking for Andrew, but he never came. In the daytime, I went on playing my part. It wasn't easy. First of all, I had to be careful not to mention things like television or radio or computers or just about any modern event. These people hadn't even had World War One yet—what would they think if I started talking about atom bombs and nuclear submarines?

  The telephone was a box on the wall. It didn't have a dial. I had no idea how it worked. I knew nothing about gaslights either—when I blew one out, Mrs. Tyler was so upset she could hardly speak. I might have asphyxiated all of us, she said.

  Luckily for me, the Tylers had indoor plumbing, apparently something to brag about in those days. But they kept food cold in a wooden icebox like the one my father used as a stereo cabinet. A man delivered a huge block of ice once a week. I learned to look forward to his arrival because he always gave Theo and me little pieces to suck on—a real treat on a hot day.

  The Tylers didn't own a car—not many people did. The few I saw were Fords. All black. All noisy. You could hear one coming miles away.

  Although the gas jet was my most spectacular mistake, I made plenty of others. Mrs. Tyler would send me to fetch something, and I wouldn't know where it was—or what it was. She'd ask me take a turn at the little organ in the parlor and I'd just sit there, crimson-faced, unable to play the simplest tune.

  I didn't know the words to "In My Merry Oldsmobile" or "Yip-I-Addy-I-Ay"—my favorite songs, ac
cording to Hannah. I couldn't remember going to the World's Fair in St. Louis, though everyone assured me I ate so much I got sick on the train coming home and threw up in a stranger's lap. Mrs. Tyler said I was blessed to forget that as well as the time I blew up the Armigers' outhouse with a firecracker.

  Everyone blamed my forgetfulness on the fever. Mrs. Tyler claimed it had left holes in my memory.

  Only Buster knew the truth—I really wasn't the boy I used to be. Although he stopped barking and growling, he avoided me whenever possible. He'd look at me, his fur would bristle, and he'd walk away, stiff-legged with hostility.

  One night, I went to the attic feeling more unhappy than usual. It had been a steamy-hot summer day, the land I once spent in air-conditioned places, and I'd made one stupid mistake after another. To top it all off, Mr. Tyler had scolded me at dinner for talking with my mouth full. He wanted to know if I'd forgotten my manners as well as everything else.

  The weather had put him in a temper, Mrs. Tyler said, but it hurt my feelings when he yelled at me. Dad never raised his voice, never made me feel dumb, never ranted and raved like a tyrant.

  Alone in the dark attic, I broke down and cried. I just couldn't help it. I missed my parents, I wanted to go home, I was sick and tired of being Andrew.

  A sudden silence made the hair on the back of my neck rise. A few feet away, a boy appeared at the top of the attic steps. Wearing my rocket-print pajamas, he stared at me, frowning and rubbing his eyes.

  "Good grief, Drew," he said. "How's a fellow supposed to sleep with the racket you're making up here?"

  Chapter 10

  I didn't know whether to be happy to see Andrew or mad because he'd taken so long to show up. "Where have you been?" I asked. "Haven't you heard me calling you every single night?"