“She must be there,” I said, hoping Kristi wouldn’t guess I had Anna Maria hidden in a drawer two feet from where she was standing.
“I think the white cat took her,” Kristi said sadly. “Or else Max got her and tore her to bits. I heard him outside barking.”
Too ashamed to look at Kristi, I just shook my head as if I didn’t believe her.
“Come on, Ash, I’ll show you.” Kristi ran down the hall to the kitchen door, and I followed her reluctantly.
As we slipped through a hole in the hedge at the back of Kristi’s yard, I told myself I had every right to keep Anna Maria. Wasn’t I the one who opened the box? If I’d listened to Kristi, we would’ve reburied poor Anna Maria without even seeing her face.
“See?” Kristi dived into the brambles and pulled out the empty box. “All that’s left is the note.”
I frowned at the little scrap of paper, and, while Kristi was examining the box, I slipped the note into my pocket.
“What should we do?” Kristi stared at me, her eyebrows drawn down over her eyes.
I shrugged and turned away from her to watch a butterfly on a cluster of Queen Anne’s lace. It was an orange-and-black monarch, so close I could have touched it with a fingertip.
“You took her, didn’t you?” Kristi said suddenly.
I looked at her, feigning innocence. “Why would I do a thing like that?” Unfortunately, my voice came out unnaturally high and I stammered on the words.
“Because you want her for your own!” Kristi hurled the empty box into the bushes.
I drew myself up as tall as I could, glad I was both older and bigger than Kristi. “You were scared to death, remember? You told me to bury the box and you begged me not to open it. You thought Anna Maria was a dead girl!”
Kristi’s face got red. “I have just as much right to that doll as you have!” she yelled.
“You do not. This is my yard, not yours!”
“It’s Miss Cooper’s yard!” Kristi’s voice was getting louder and louder.
“Will you shut up?” I hissed. “Miss Cooper and Max are sitting on the front porch. They’ll hear you!”
“I don’t care if they do!” Kristi shrieked. “You give me that doll, right now, or I’m telling!”
“Be quiet, Kristi!” I wanted to shake her I was so mad. Through the tangle of honeysuckle and shrubbery, I could see Max coming around the corner of the house.
As Max started barking, Kristi scurried away through the undergrowth, heading for the safety of her backyard. At the same moment, Snowball crept out of the weeds and rubbed against my legs. When I reached for him, he backed away through the brambles, meowing at me, his eyes imploring me to follow him.
Ghost or not, Snowball’s fur was soft and his body was as warm as Oscar’s. I wanted to pick him up, but before I could catch him, he darted out of the garden and ran across Miss Cooper’s lawn.
Afraid Max would get him, I followed Snowball onto the lawn and through a small opening in the hedge that separated Miss Cooper’s yard from the field next door. Behind me Max was barking, and I expected to feel his teeth sink into my leg at any moment.
Chapter 9
Louisa
AS I STEPPED out of the hedge on the other side, the light dimmed, and instead of the field, I saw a white frame house in the center of a green lawn. In the sudden dusk, its windows glowed softly, lit from within. The scarlet flowers bordering the porch held the last light of the sun in their petals. The air was cool, fresh, and sweet with the smell of roses. While I stood there staring, I heard a mourning dove begin to coo.
Feeling dizzy, I shut my eyes and backed up against the hedge. Its stiff leaves poked my neck, reassuring me with their scratchiness. Keeping my eyes closed, I wondered if I’d fainted from the heat. I’d read once that people with sunstroke hallucinated. Was that what was wrong with me?
“There’s no house here, no flowers,” I told myself. I’d looked over the hedge from my bedroom window, and all I’d ever seen was an empty lot grown high with weeds.
But when I opened my eyes, the house was still there. It was dusk instead of noon, and Snowball was meowing.
Too frightened to move, I looked down at the cat. “What are you?” I asked, remembering Miss Cooper’s words about the devil and his own. “Where have you brought me?”
He purred and rubbed against me, warm and soft, his back arched, his tail brushing my legs. Surely he meant me no harm. He was too beautiful to be evil.
As the colors of day faded slowly away, Snowball pricked up his ears. Somewhere in the gray shadows, a child had begun to cry.
Snowball looked at me, and then, his tail waving like a white plume, he disappeared into the shadows on the lawn, leaving me all alone.
Unsure if I were awake or asleep, I was afraid to leave the safety of the hedge. I still didn’t know where I was or why Snowball had led me here. I wanted to run back to my own yard, but the child’s voice tugged at me. I felt its sorrow, and I had no choice but to follow Snowball.
Like a swimmer venturing deeper into the water, leaving the shore farther and farther behind, I entered the yard a step at a time, pausing after each one to test the current. “Snowball,” I whispered. “Where are you?”
Then ahead of me I saw her, a little girl in a white dress, sitting on a stone bench under a dogwood tree. She was holding Snowball on her lap, and her face was hidden by long, golden curls. At her side was a wicker doll carriage as old-fashioned as the clothes the girl wore.
For a moment I stood still, partially hidden by the boxwood bushes lining the path, and watched the girl stroke Snowball’s fur. The cat looked at me, his pale eyes expressionless, but the girl didn’t see me.
“Where have you been, Snowball?” she whispered. Her voice was low and hoarse, and she was thin and pale.
For an answer, Snowball purred and leapt lightly from the girl’s lap. He ran toward me, and the girl looked up and saw me before I could duck away and hide.
Her eyes were huge and darkly shadowed, and her skin was milky white. She gasped and clasped her hands over her chest. “Who are you?” she asked. “Where did you come from?”
For a moment I couldn’t speak. Was I staring at a real girl or a ghost? If I answered her, would I be caught in this place forever?
Snowball rubbed against me again, pressuring me to speak, to move, to approach the little girl who sat still, her eyes wide and full of questions, waiting for me to say something.
I closed my eyes again, pressing the lids together so tightly I felt dizzy. If she were there when I opened them, I would know she was real and I would answer her. Aware of my heart beating faster and faster, I slowly allowed myself to look again at the little girl. She had risen to her feet and she looked as puzzled as I felt.
Cautiously I bent down and picked up Snowball. He felt as warm and heavy as Oscar as I walked up to the bench and handed him to her.
“My name is Ashley,” I told her. “Your cat brought me here.”
The little girl stroked Snowball’s soft fur. “You were supposed to bring Carrie,” she whispered to the cat. “But she still won’t come, will she?”
Lifting her head, the little girl smiled at me. “I’ve been waiting so long for Carrie, but she never comes. Since you’re here, will you stay a while and play with me instead?”
“What’s your name?” My heart was still thumping and my knees felt a little quivery, but I had to know who she was.
“My name is Louisa,” she said.
“You’re Louisa?” I sucked in my breath. “Louisa Perkins?”
She nodded, obviously pleased I knew her name. “Did Carrie tell you about me?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know who Carrie is.”
Louisa started to speak, but her words turned into a deep, choking cough. Raising a handkerchief to her mouth, she bent her head. Her shoulders shook as the coughing continued.
“You’re sick,” I said. “You should be in bed.”
Louisa shook her h
ead and slowly the coughing stopped. Before she stuffed the handkerchief into her pocket, I saw bright red spots on it.
“Is that blood? Are you coughing up blood?” I stepped back, horrified.
Louisa kept her head down, hiding her face from me. “It’s nothing,” she said in a low voice.
Frightened, I looked away. Beyond the hedge, I saw the dark shape of Miss Cooper’s house against the evening sky, but the steps leading to our apartment were gone and so was our back porch. The tall tree between Kristi’s yard and Miss Cooper’s wasn’t there.
Things were the same and not the same. Like someone in a story, had I followed a white cat into another world? Suddenly afraid I’d never see my mother again, I backed away from Louisa.
“Oh, don’t go, please don’t go, Ashley.” Louisa stood up and clutched my arm. Her hands were icy cold, and her white dress brushed against me as soft as cobwebs. “I’m so lonely. Carrie never plays with me anymore, and I miss Mama and Papa so much.”
Snowball circled my legs, meowing, as if he, too, meant to keep me in the garden.
“I’ll let you play with my dolls,” Louisa said. “Look, here they are.” She pointed into the wicker carriage.
Two worn rag dolls sat at each end, facing each other, their heads hanging.
“I used to have another doll,” Louisa said. “Her face was china and her hair was the same color as mine. Papa bought her on his last trip to Germany, and I loved her more than anything. Not just because she was beautiful but because Papa gave her to me before he died.”
“Your father is dead?” Forgetting to be afraid, I looked into Louisa’s eyes and saw the terrible sadness. Sadness like mine, sadness like Mom’s.
“He died last fall, and Mama died the year before. Now Aunt Viola takes care of me.” Louisa bent over the doll carriage and picked up one of the dolls. “Would you like to play with this one? Her name is Elfrieda.”
I took the doll, and Louisa lifted the other from the carriage. “This is Marguerite,” she said. “She’s the oldest, that’s why she looks so poorly. When I was younger, I fed her jam and tea and stained her face and dress.”
Louisa began to cough again. She sank down on the bench, but I stood where I was, clutching the doll. “Have you been to the doctor?” I asked her. “Are you taking medicine?”
“Of course,” Louisa said, “but I know I have consumption. Mama and Papa died of it, and so will I. Aunt Viola pretends I’ll soon be well and strong, but I’m growing worse, not better. That’s why Carrie never comes to play anymore. She’s afraid.”
I squeezed Elfrieda tighter. “But nobody dies of consumption nowadays,” I said.
Louisa stared at me. “You must be a very ignorant girl,” she said. “Surely you know better than that.”
I bit my lip, and my heart thumped faster and harder against my ribs. “There must be something you can do,” I whispered. “A different doctor, a hospital, medicine.”
“No,” Louisa said. “I heard the doctor talking one day in the parlor with Aunt Viola. He told her my lungs were so weak I’d die before autumn.”
While I tried to think of something to say, Louisa bent her head over Marguerite and rocked her gently, crooning a little lullabye.
“Aren’t you scared?” I let myself ask the question and then stepped back, horrified by what I’d said.
“Of dying?” Louisa looked up at me. “A little, but I’ll be with Mama and Papa, Ashley.” Then she smiled at me. “Don’t run away like Carrie. Stay with me a while.”
She patted the bench beside her, and I sat down next to her. From the carriage, she took out a doll-sized set of china and pretended to make tea for Elfrieda and Marguerite. Although I hadn’t played make-believe with dolls for a long time, I joined the game, and as the minutes passed, I almost forgot where I was.
When a voice called from the house, I was so startled I nearly dropped the tiny teacup I was holding to Elfrieda’s mouth.
“That’s my Aunt Viola,” Louisa sighed. “It’s time for me to go inside.” Taking Elfrieda from me, she laid her and Marguerite in the carriage and gathered up the china.
“Will you give Carrie a message?” Louisa asked me.
“Where does she live?”
“Right there, in that house.” Louisa pointed next door at Miss Cooper’s house. “You must know her. She’s ten years old, just about your size, and she has freckles like you. Her hair’s long and brown like yours but she usually has a blue ribbon in it.”
I shook my head, terribly confused. “Do you mean Kristi?”
“No.” Louisa frowned. “You must find Carrie and you must tell her to bring Anna Maria back. She’s had her ever so long. If she knew how much I miss her, she’d give her to me. I know she would.”
Aunt Viola called again, louder this time. “Louisa, come inside at once. You know the night air is bad for you.”
“I must go,” Louisa said. “Please, will you come and play with me again, Ashley?”
“Yes,” I whispered, “if I can”
“Just follow Snowball,” Louisa said. “He knows the way.”
“And I’ll bring Anna Maria,” I called after her. “I promise I will.”
Louisa turned and smiled. “That would make me very happy.”
Wanting to tell her more, I tried to follow Louisa down the path, but Snowball tangled himself around my feet and forced me toward the hedge. He let me pause long enough to see Louisa climb the steps toward the tall figure of her aunt waiting by the door. While I watched, Louisa turned and blew me a kiss before the door closed. Then, at Snowball’s insistence, I stumbled through the narrow gap into the blinding sunlight of Miss Cooper’s backyard.
Chapter 10
Kristi’s Revenge
FOR A FEW SECONDS I felt as if I had just stepped out of a dark movie theater into the blazing noontime sun. I could barely see, and I was so dizzy I had to sit down. The world spun, and I clung to the grass, nauseated.
Gradually the trees stopped swaying, and I could look around me without feeling sick. I saw the stairs to our apartment, I saw the tree in Kristi’s yard, I saw Mom’s car in the driveway—all the familiar things whose presence I’d taken for granted until Snowball led me away from them. I was back, and to my relief nothing was changed.
I took a deep breath and looked behind me at the hedge. Its leaves fluttered in the breeze and from somewhere in its green depth a chorus of locusts droned. Cautiously I stood up and peered through a gap in the branches.
I saw no house, no garden, no Louisa—just a field grown tall with weeds, the same field I saw whenever I looked out my window. Rubbing my eyes hard with my fists, I looked again, half expecting to see the house take shape, but the field kept its secrets. Queen Anne’s lace swayed where the roses had grown, black-eyed Susans and day lilies bent their heads where the bench had been. Instead of Louisa, a butterfly hung in the air between me and the elm tree which once sheltered her house.
Had I been dreaming after all? I shook my head. Louisa had been as real as Kristi. I’d felt her hand on my arm, her white dress had brushed against my leg, I’d held Elfrieda in my arms. It had all happened, I was positive.
As a car roared down the street, I forced myself to push through the hedge again. I had to find Louisa, I had to tell her I knew where Anna Maria was. And somehow, like it or not, I had to return the doll to her. She needed her more than I did, more than Kristi did, more than Carrie ever had.
This time, nothing changed when I stepped into the field. The sun shone as brightly as ever, the heat pressed down on me, and the weeds stayed weeds.
I called Louisa’s name softly, but there was no answer except the twitter of birds and the rustle of leaves. The sound of my voice seemed to linger in the air, small and sad. I walked farther into the field, pushing my way through waist-high pokeberry bushes, seeking the spot where Louisa’s house had stood.
All I found was the foundation, its sides crumbling away. It was almost completely hidden by bushes and clumps
of honeysuckle, but it proved a house had stood here once; I hadn’t imagined it. Peering into the damp darkness, I called Snowball, but he, too, seemed to have vanished.
Finally, with gnats humming around my head, I gave up my search. I’d have to wait for Snowball, I decided. As Louisa had told me, he knew the way to her world and back again to mine.
Slowly, kicking my way through the weeds, I started toward the street, but before I reached the sidewalk, I saw Miss Cooper and Max walking toward me.
“You,” she called to me, “come here this minute.”
Although I felt like running in the opposite direction, I knew Miss Cooper would simply complain to Mom again or, worse yet, she’d call up the real estate agent and demand our eviction. Thinking it would be better for me to face her myself, I joined her on the sidewalk.
“I saw you poking around that old foundation. Don’t you know it’s dangerous to play in places like that?” Miss Cooper bent toward me, her face level with mine. This close, she reminded me of a snapping turtle I’d seen once. Like his, her eyes were small and red rimmed, kind of yellowy and deeply hooded, and her chin vanished in folds of wrinkled skin.
“I can take care of myself,” I told her, trying hard not to sound sassy.
“There’re snakes in that hole,” Miss Cooper informed me. “Copperheads.”
“I didn’t see any.”
“You take my word for it, missy, and stay away from there.” She shook her head grimly, taking in my whole appearance. Her eyes lingered on my skinned knees and then moved down to focus on my bare feet.
“Girls today have no manners,” she said. “No upbringing. They don’t know the meaning of respect. They just run wild. If you were my daughter, I’d never let you out in public looking like you do.”
Leaving me too angry to speak, Miss Cooper gave Max’s leash a sharp tug and the two of them went off down the street.