The Ghost of Crutchfield Hall

  "Sophia was your superior in every way," Aunt interrupted, before I could tell her the truth about her precious Sophia. "Beauty, intelligence, grace, and rectitude," she went on. "Perfect manners, too."

  Uncle frowned at his sister. "Sophia had her faults, Eugenie. We are all flawed. You as well as I."

  "Speak for yourself, Thomas!"

  Ignoring his sister, Uncle began to carve the roast. "Let us eat while the food is still hot." So saying, he passed a plate to me. "Please help yourself to potatoes and carrots, my dear."

  Suddenly Aunt leaned across the table and tapped my hand sharply with a bony finger. "Have you begun reading Pilgrim's Progress?"

  "No, I have not." I looked her in the eye as I spoke. "I do not care for it."

  "You do not care for it." She shook her head. "I suppose you do not care for the state of your immortal soul either?"

  "Eugenie, please." Uncle patted his sister's hand. "Allow the child to enjoy her dinner."

  "As you wish, Thomas." Aunt rose from the table. "Please tell Nellie to bring my dinner to my room."

  In the silence that followed her departure, the air settled around us comfortably.

  "I'm sorry, Uncle," I said. "It seems I can do nothing to please Aunt."

  "Don't blame yourself, Florence. Eugenie is not an easy person to please." He smiled at me. "Now stop fretting and eat your dinner. You don't want to disappoint Mrs. Dawson."

  Pushing my cold soup aside, I picked at the food on my plate. What little I ate, I did not enjoy.

  When Nellie came to clear the table, Uncle and I retreated to the sitting room and settled by the fire to read, he with a thick book of essays by Thomas Carlyle and I with Vanity Fair.

  "Uncle," I said, "am I really to go to boarding school?"

  He looked up from his book, his face rosy in the firelight. "You need a proper education, Florence. You're obviously a highly intelligent girl."

  "Couldn't you teach me here?"

  "Me?" He chuckled. "I wouldn't have the slightest idea of where to begin. My mathematics are quite rusty, and my scientific knowledge is limited to the ancient Greeks."

  "Aunt teaches James."

  "Not very well, I fear." He looked at me closely. "I don't think you'd enjoy her methods."

  "No, probably not." I snuggled deeper into my chair and watched the fire dance upon the logs, slowly consuming them.

  "I've been considering hiring a governess for James," Uncle continued. "Eugenie is opposed to the idea, but she hasn't the skill to teach the boy more than the rudiments—which he has already mastered, as have you."

  Remembering my cousin's hysterical behavior, I touched my uncle's hand. "Is James well enough to have a governess?"

  "Yes, I think it will do him good." Uncle smiled at me. "She could give lessons to both of you. I can't think of anything better for him. Or for you."

  Suddenly worried, I looked at Uncle anxiously. "Will James want to see me again?"

  "I talked to him before dinner. He wants you to know he's sorry for his outburst."

  "I'm relieved to hear that, Uncle. I would enjoy taking lessons with James." I paused a moment before asking an important question. "But will Aunt agree to my staying here? She seems determined to be rid of me."

  Uncle contemplated the fire as if the words he needed might be found in its flames. "My sister often wants things she doesn't get," he said softly. "She hasn't had a happy life."

  With an attempt at a cheerful smile, he turned to me. "I prefer to keep you here with James. So here you will stay. Tomorrow I shall begin my search for a suitable governess."

  With that, he reopened his book and I reopened mine. For some time we read in silent harmony. It didn't matter that Sophia joined us. It didn't matter that she crept close and whispered, "Aunt might not get everything she wants, but I do." It didn't matter that she drew some of the warmth from the fire. With uncle beside me, I felt safe.

  Going up to bed after supper was a different matter. Buried under a heap of quilts, I shivered as if I'd never be warm. Although I didn't see or hear her, I knew Sophia could be anywhere, visible or invisible, hiding in dark corners, watching and planning, mocking me, scaring me, a presence following me as closely as my own shadow.

  Nine

  IN THE MORNING, I WENT down to breakfast feeling more tired than I'd been before I'd gone to bed. Sophia had chased me through dream after dream all night long. She wanted me to do something, she said I had to, and I knew I mustn't obey her. She was wicked, and the thing she wanted done was wicked too. I had to escape, but we were in the garden and she was here and there and everywhere. I couldn't get away from her. Or the thing she wanted me to do.

  "You're up early," Mrs. Dawson said.

  Yawning a great yawn, I reached for my teacup. "I had bad dreams."

  "Never tell a dream before breakfast." Mrs. Dawson handed me a plate of bread, butter, and jam. "It's the surest way to make it come true."

  I shuddered. "That's the last thing I want," I told Mrs. Dawson.

  As I was finishing my oatmeal, I saw Nellie hesitating in the doorway as if she weren't sure of her welcome. I raised my hand and beckoned to her.

  Like a mouse, she scurried across the room and slid into a place beside me. "I been thinking, miss," she whispered, eyeing Mrs. Dawson's broad back. Deciding the cook was intent on her chores, Nellie continued in a voice so low, I could barely hear her. "Maybe it were her that made ye speak so mean." As she spoke, her eyes darted around the room. "Her ain't here now, is her?"

  I looked around uneasily. "No, not now."

  "But her can come anytime her wants." Nellie laid a cold hand on mine. "I been feeling her meself. Like a shadow her be, dark and cold and hateful."

  "Can you see her, Nellie?"

  "Almost." Her body tense, Nellie peered about just as I had, checking dark doorways and corners. "Her scares me something terrible, miss."

  "How long have you known about her, Nellie?"

  "Her been comin' upon me slowly." Flustered, Nellie knocked a spoon off the table and onto the floor.

  Surprised by the noise, Mrs. Dawson looked over her shoulder. "Are you finished with your chores, Nellie?"

  "No'm. I come to fill me bucket." With that, Nellie scooted to the sink and pumped water into her scrub bucket. Giving me a small, scared smile, she hurried out of the kitchen.

  Left on my own, I took my book to the sitting room and sat down to read. Before long, Sophia waltzed across the room, dipping and turning as if she actually had a partner.

  "I don't believe you could dance a waltz," she said, "as untrained and clumsy as you are."

  It was true. I'd never taken a dancing lesson. Miss Medleycoate had never encouraged any of us to imagine we might someday spin around a ballroom with a handsome suitor.

  "I could play the piano with a precocity that amazed both Aunt and Uncle," Sophia went on. "I sang, too, but I am now sadly out of practice."

  I looked at her with both pity and loathing. Pity because she was most certainly dead and not about to go dancing with anyone. Loathing because she was mean and spiteful and obviously had not benefitted morally from dying.

  Pulling the drapes aside, Sophia peered at the snow. "Quick, put on your coat. I have a mind to build a snowman."

  Although I was comfortable where I was, I found myself running to my room. When I returned with my coat, scarf, hat, and mittens, Sophia wrinkled her nose.

  "If you were as I am now, you wouldn't need those cumbersome garments," she said. "You'd never be hot, never be cold, never be hungry or tired or afraid."

  "I'd never be anything," I murmured.

  Although I hadn't meant her to hear me, Sophia gave me a hateful look. "If justice prevails," she said, "I will soon be as you are." Under her breath, she added, "And James will be as I am."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, but she merely laughed.

  "Come along," she called. "I'm eager to build my snowman."

  Nellie looked up as we ran through the scul
lery. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped, her face puzzled, then frightened. "Miss," she cried. "Miss!" But she didn't follow me.

  Outside, Sophia darted across the snow and disappeared into the garden. She left no tracks, but I found her easily enough, waiting for me by the fountain. The stone children and their captive swan wore hats and coats of snow, and the words on the rim were hidden.

  "This has always been my favorite place." Sophia brushed the snow off the fountain's rim and read the inscription. "Here and there and everywhere—it's a riddle," she said. "Do you know the answer?"

  I shook my head, and she smiled. "Just as I thought. You're not nearly as clever as I am."

  Leaning close to me, she chilled my cheek with her wintry breath. "Uncle says the answer is time, though he thinks it could also be the wind. But I know the true answer."

  Sophia's eyes held mine. I couldn't turn away. "It's Death," she whispered. "Death is here and there and every where."

  Sophia looked at the house, its dark stone almost black against the whiteness, its roof and tall chimneys blending into the sky. "You cannot escape death," she said softly. "You'll find out for yourself someday. Perhaps when you least expect it, he will come for you."

  I drew away from her, burrowing my face into the warmth of my scarf. It was true. There was no escaping something you couldn't see, even if you knew where to look.

  "I've scared you, haven't I?" Sophia's laugh was as brittle as the sound of ice breaking. "Start rolling a ball for the snowman. I want it to be as tall as the chimney tops."

  She kept me working until my toes and fingers were numb from cold. Slowly the snowman took shape. Three balls of snow balanced one atop the other, not nearly as tall as the chimney tops, but lofty enough to see eye to eye with the stone children on their pedestal.

  Sophia studied the snowman. "He needs a carrot for his nose and lumps of coal for his eyes and mouth. Run to the kitchen and come right back. Promise."

  Obediently I darted through the snow and into the warmth of the kitchen. Stuffing a handful of coal into my pocket, I grabbed a carrot from the table.

  "Here," Mrs. Dawson said. "Where are you going with that carrot? I just pared it for tonight's stew."

  "It's for the snowman we're building in the garden."

  "'We'?" Mrs. Dawson looked at me in surprise. "You and who else? If Nellie is out there playing, you tell her to get herself inside. She has work to do."

  A bit rattled by my slip, I shook my head. Mrs. Dawson would not want to hear about Sophia, waiting impatiently for me. "I'm building it. Just me. I don't know why I said 'we.'"

  Mrs. Dawson held out an unpeeled carrot and I returned the one she'd pared. "Your lips are blue with cold, child. Stay inside a bit and warm up. The snowman can wait for his nose."

  "No, I promised I'd be right back."

  "Promised who?"

  Without answering, I slipped out the door and ran to the garden. I didn't dare keep Sophia waiting.

  "You took your time," Sophia said.

  She watched me add the snowman's eyes, mouth, and nose. "No, no," she said crossly. "He mustn't smile."

  Snatching the lumps of coal, Sophia rearranged them and stood back, with a grin. She'd transformed my creation. With frowning brows and a grim, downturned mouth, he stared at me. He was fearsome, almost as frightening as Sophia herself.

  "Perfect." She smiled and stepped back to admire her creature. "It will give everyone a start to see him standing here exactly where I built mine."

  Suddenly she tensed as a cat does when it hears something no one else does. "Hide," she cried. "He's coming!"

  Frightened, I followed Sophia into the yew trees around the fountain and huddled under the snowy branches. "Who's coming?" I whispered.

  There was no answer. Sophia had vanished.

  "Who be here?" Spratt called. "Come out and show yerself."

  With some embarrassment, I crawled out from the yew tree. In doing so, I brushed against a branch that then dumped its load of snow on my head.

  "Well, it be hard to say which be the girl and which be the snowman," Spratt said with a chuckle.

  I brushed the snow off. My nose felt like the carrot in the snowman's face, frozen hard as diamonds.

  While I stamped my feet to warm them, Spratt studied the snowman. "This be a right good job," he said, "but there's summat familiar about him." He put his hand on my shoulder. "Could it be ye had some help a-building it?"

  When I didn't answer immediately, he went on, "I sees onliest one set of footprints. I reckon they be yers. Her don't leave no footprints."

  "Sophia," I whispered. "She made his face."

  "Hush, don't be saying her name. That's like inviting her to come." Spratt leaned on the shovel he'd been using to clear snow from the garden walk, and peered into my eyes. "Ye see her, do ye?"

  I nodded. "First I felt her, then I heard her, and now I see her. She comes to my room, she follows me upstairs and down. No matter where I go, I can't escape her."

  Spratt sighed and shook his head. "It be a shame for a child to be so wicked as that 'un. Wish I knowed a way to make her lie peaceful in her grave like most folk do."

  "You gave James a charm to protect him. Can you make one for me?" My voice rose. "She wants him dead—she wants me dead too. She hates me. I tell you, she hates me!"

  "No, no. Her just be toying with ye. It's always been her way to taunt and tease and hurt." He paused and stared at the snowman, its tall shape white against the darkening sky. "It be Master James her wants to harm, not ye. But we won't let her get to him, will we? We'll keep a close watch, ye and me."

  My teeth chattered so hard that I couldn't speak. Sophia was the cat and James and I were the mice. When she was tired of playing with us, she'd bite off our heads and eat us.

  "Poor lass, ye be just about froze." Spratt took my hand. "Let me take ye back to the house. Be dark soon. Mr. Crutchfield will be a-looking for ye."

  In the dusky light of a winter afternoon, the land rolled away toward the distant hills, its whiteness shading into a bluish gray. The snow creaked under our feet, but ahead, the hall's windows glowed with warmth. Hot tea would be waiting by the fire in the sitting room, along with bread and butter and jam.

  Behind us, Sophia hid in the snow-laden garden, watching me, smiling that spiteful smile. She would come inside when she wished, but she'd drink no tea, she'd eat no bread and jam. All the fires in the house could not warm her bones. Alone, she'd twirl through the house like a cold draft, thinking of nothing but ways to make James pay for her death.

  Ten

  ALL NIGHT LONG, THE WIND blew and Sophia pursued me into my dreams as she had the night before. Awake or asleep, I could not escape her.

  Exhausted, I dragged myself down to breakfast and sank into my seat at the kitchen table.

  Mrs. Dawson looked at me sharply. "Bad dreams again?"

  I nodded and she clucked her tongue. "Poor child. You'll be needing a good dose of my special tonic."

  Nellie slid in beside me. "Don't take none of that," she said. "It be poison for certain."

  "Hmm," Mrs. Dawson said. "Looks like you could use some yourself, Nellie dear."

  "It's me dreams," Nellie said. "Lately they be a-wearing me out."

  She looked out the window at the snow-blanketed garden. "It were on account of that snowman you made, miss. I seen it afore I went to bed, a-standing in the garden, looking like the devil hisself. Why'd ye make him so big and scarifying?"

  Mrs. Dawson joined Nellie at the window. "It's strange, but Sophia built a snowman just like that on the day before she died. She told James the snowman would come to life at night and steal him from his bed. He'd bury James deep in the snow. No one would ever see him again. She terrified the poor—"

  "Stop, mistress, stop!" Nellie cowered at the table, her hands pressed to her ears. "That be just what I dreamed, only it were me the snowman took."

  Wide awake now, I stared at Nellie and then turned to Mrs. Dawson. "I dreame
d the same thing," I whispered. "The snowman dragged me to the churchyard and laid me in a grave and heaped snow over me."

  By now, Nellie had her apron over her head and was sobbing. "Yes, yes, he took me to the churchyard too, and he buried me under the snow, and I couldn't dig me way out or move or cry for help. I wanted to come home so bad."

  Mrs. Dawson's face lost its ruddy color. "The day Sophia was buried it snowed again. They'd no sooner shoveled the dirt onto her grave than the snow covered her. I couldn't help thinking how cold she must be." Her hands shook, and tea slopped over the rim of her cup.

  She moved closer to the fire. "Poor child." Mrs. Dawson crossed herself. "Poor, cold child." She glanced at a calendar hanging on the wall and crossed herself again. "It was on this very day she died. Twelve months ago, a whole year now."

  As she spoke, I felt Sophia creep up behind me. Her cold breath lifted the hair on my neck. No one saw her, not even me, but she was there in the kitchen, making the fire on the hearth flicker and flare.

  Mrs. Dawson shivered. "There's a draft in here today, worse than usual. Makes my old bones ache."

  "Sophia were a wicked 'un," Nellie whispered.

  The air quivered, and a heavy stoneware pitcher fell from a shelf. Just missing Nellie's head, it shattered harmlessly on the stone floor.

  "See what happens when you speak ill of the dead?" Mrs. Dawson bent to clean up the shards of china. "Show me a perfect child, Nellie, before you criticize Sophia."

  For a moment, Nellie sat still and stared at Mrs. Dawson and the broken pitcher. Then she and I looked at each other. We both knew the pitcher had not fallen by accident.

  Mrs. Dawson dumped the remains of the pitcher into the trash bin. "You have work to do, Nellie. Master wants his boots polished, and the floors need sweeping and the fires must be tended."

  Nellie ran off, glad to leave the kitchen where Sophia lingered unseen. "If I was you," Mrs. Dawson said to me, "I'd busy myself with needlework or knitting, maybe even read the Bible and say some prayers. Remember, Satan casts his nets far and wide. And you aren't as smart as you think you are."

  Behind me, Sophia chilled my neck with her breath again. Mrs. Dawson drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and rose to put more wood on the fire. "I've never known this kitchen to be so cold."