Ghostlight (18 page)

Grandma was shuffling around in her room when we got back to the house, so I knew she was just getting up from her afternoon nap. That gave me enough time. I jotted down all the things I needed to say on the pad of paper Grandma kept by the phone in the sewing room. Then I double-checked Aileen Shelton's number and took the phone upstairs.

It rang four times before anyone picked up.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end was faint and raspy.

“Is this Mrs. Shelton? It's Avery May.”

“Pardon?”

“Avery May Hilliard. Ava Hilliard's granddaughter.”

“Oh.”

“Please don't hang up. It's about Hilliard House, Mrs. Shelton. There's something wrong there.”

She cleared her throat. “What can you mean, child? No one's lived in that house for decades.”

“No one that's actually alive.”

There was a pause. “What did you say?”

“Nobody lives there, Mrs. Shelton.” I took a breath for courage. “But my brother and I have felt something.
Someone.
”

“I am too old for nonsense, child.”

She sure wasn't making this easy on me. I took a deep breath and studied my notes for a second.

“Hello? Are you still there, young lady?”

“Yes, ma'am. I'm trying to tell you there's a presence in the house, and it's not happy. I'm pretty sure it's old Joshua Hilliard.”

Silence.

“Mrs. Shelton?”

“I can't decide if this is some piece of mischief you're trying to pull on me.”

“No, ma'am. I don't mean any mischief. My grandma would kill me for such a thing.”

Mrs. Shelton made a huffing sound.

“I'm calling because…well, I think you know a lot more about Joshua Hilliard than you told us. I promise I wouldn't bug you if it wasn't important. I just really need your help.”

“What do you expect me to do, child? I'm confined to my bed.”

“You don't have to leave your bed, Mrs. Shelton. All I'm asking is for you to tell us the whole story.”

Another silence followed, but I just let it be. This was one of Mom's litigator tricks—people hate silence, so if you let it go on long enough, they'll fill it.

Finally Mrs. Shelton groaned. “There's really something in that house?”

“It's already hurt someone, and I'm afraid it could do a lot worse.”

She didn't answer right away, and it took all my strength to hold my tongue until she finally spoke.

“You'd better come by tomorrow.”

“But—”

“Tomorrow morning,” she said. “And bring that photograph of Meganne.”

There was a click and the line went dead.

After that I spent some time planning exactly what to tell Grandma. I even made a list of all the possible things she might say or ask and tried to imagine my responses. Yeah, I was procrastinating, but if I'd learned one thing from this summer, it was that planning ahead actually worked. It was kind of the same as Mom telling me to count to five before I blew my top. Just taking a moment to think might help me
not
make an idiot of myself.

Someone pounded on the door. Before I could say anything, it opened, and Blake shouted up the stairs.

“Avery, you'd better come down.”

“I know. Just hold on a second.”

I put the notes under my pillow and smoothed my ponytail. Even though my heart was thumping, I felt ready. Grandma would be furious, but after I'd explained everything, she'd understand. And she'd know what to do next.

I went downstairs, put the phone back in its charger in the sewing room, and made my way to the living room. The sight of Blake in the old rocking chair eased my mind a little. He'd stuck to his word about not abandoning me. Grandma would be sitting on the sagging couch, and I would take the chair across from her. That was how I'd seen it going down in my head.

But when I turned the corner, someone else was already sitting in that chair with Weasley in his lap.

“Hey, Avery May,” said Curtis Wayne. “Julian told me what's been going on.”

Sometimes when you read a book and a character gets a big shock, the description says, “All the blood drained from her face.” That used to bother me, because I'd always imagined the blood spurting out of the character's pores or something. I'd see it in my mind like a film clip on a continuous loop. It was so distracting that I'd lose interest in the story.

But at that moment my face went so cold that I could feel the blood leaching away, and I knew it was taking the back door to my heart, which had started to pound triple time.

Grandma patted the spot next to her. “Have a seat, Avery May.”

She didn't exactly look angry. Her forehead was pretty smooth. But her lips were thin and gray, which told me she was doing her best to keep a tight lid on her anger in the presence of company.

“Mr. Wayne just shared with us how you and Julian have been filming at Hilliard House. Which was very interesting to me, seeing as I'd forbidden you to go inside that house.”

Curtis Wayne leaned forward. “I didn't intend to bring Avery May trouble by coming here. I just wanted to explain and, well, to apologize for Julian's recent behavior.” He paused to pet Weasley, who had raised his head in irritation.

“We appreciate your apology,” Grandma said. “You don't need to explain your private matters to us.”

“No, I want to explain. You
deserve
an explanation. The problem is, I've been a bit distracted lately with composing. I knew he was getting pretty wrapped up in this new project, but I didn't see that he was getting himself in trouble again.”

“Mr. Wayne, am I to understand your boy has been in trouble before?”

“A minor incident at his school is all,” he said with a wave of his hand. “He's just passionate. Maybe a little obsessive.” He gently removed Weasley's claws from a rip in his jeans. “At any rate, I came here to tell Avery May that Julian was upset when he came back to the house earlier, and that's when he finally told me what was going on.”

I squirmed. “What exactly did he tell you?”

“That he tricked you in order to get the reaction he wanted for your ghost film. That's how he gets himself in trouble—he forgets about people's feelings. But he's learning. The very fact that he was upset about
you
being upset was a good sign to me.” Curtis Wayne smiled. “Maybe it's just a boy thing, but he's always struggled a little with empathy. You seem to have helped him with that.”

And then I called him crazy and told him he should be institutionalized.

I looked at the floor.

“I'm not trying to excuse my son's behavior,” Mr. Wayne continued. “Tricking you in that way was unacceptable. Did he tell you he was trying to help you face your fear?”

I nodded.

He glanced at Grandma. “Avery May already knows this, but his mother has been ill for a long time. What I didn't tell Avery is that Julian suffered a trauma when he was younger. His mother…when she was having one of her episodes…” Mr. Wayne swallowed. “Well, she tried to hurt him.”

“Dear Lord,” breathed Grandma.

“She had some sort of psychotic break in the middle of the night and gave him the scare of his life. He's been in therapy ever since for anxiety, night terrors…things like that.”

I stared at Mr. Wayne.
Things like that
echoed in my head, sounding small and flimsy. Maybe it was all too big and awful to spell out, especially in front of two kids, but I wanted to know more. I opened my mouth, but Grandma got her words out first.

“I'm truly sorry for your trouble,” she said. “May I ask what you meant about Julian trying to help Avery face her fears?”

“He knew from the day he met Avery May that she was frightened of Hilliard House, so he thought by filming there he would help her get over it. At least that was his conscious motivation.” He shook his head. “To be honest, I don't understand it completely, but his psychiatrist calls it a reaction formation. His obsession with scary movies and with capturing authentic fear on film…well, it's all related to the fact that he's still dealing with a fear he doesn't consciously remember or understand.”

Silence fell over the room. Blake leaned back, one eye hidden by the curtain of his too-long hair. Grandma frowned in thought.

Mr. Wayne took a deep breath. “Here I am, going on and on, burdening you with my troubles. I hardly ever talk about it because it's nearly impossible to hold on to one's privacy in my business. I just wanted you to know that things are complicated with Julian. But he's working on it. We're all working on it.”

“I do appreciate your candor,” Grandma said after a moment. “And I wish nothing but the best for your family.” She studied Mr. Wayne before clasping her hands. “Can I get you some iced tea? Or I could put on a pot of coffee, if that's more to your liking.”

Mr. Wayne gave Weasley's chin one last scratch before setting him on the floor. “Thank you, but that's not necessary.” He stood and brushed the fur from his jeans. “I won't take any more of your time today. I just hope Avery May will come visit us again so that Julian can make his own apologies.”

Grandma and I walked him to the breezeway door, and as she called out for him to “come back any time,” I gave serious thought to slithering away. Maybe it was best to hide in the attic until she'd cooled down. At that moment, however, Grandma turned around. And she didn't even have to touch me because her tone was sharp enough to pin me down.

“You'd best take a seat in the living room, young lady.”

When I came through the doorway, Blake was rising from the rocking chair.

“Sit yourself back down, son,” said Grandma.

I sank into the chair Curtis Wayne had occupied, and the warmth of his recent presence settled my nerves a little.

“Avery May, you have a lot of explaining to do. You took my key to Hilliard House that night you were looking through the photo albums, didn't you? Why in heaven's name did you go there when I'd specifically forbidden it?”

I clasped my hands and thought back to my notes on what I'd
intended
to tell Grandma before Mr. Wayne steered us all off course.

“I was going to tell you everything today,” I said in my most grown-up voice. “I knew it was wrong to keep secrets.”

Her face didn't soften. “Well?”

“Grandma, we have to do something about that house.”

She shook her head. “Best to leave it alone. That's what I told you to do in the first place.”

“But…” I swallowed hard. “It's
haunted.
”

She stared at me for a long moment, and I hunkered down for an epic tongue-lashing.

“I know that,” she finally said, her voice low and trembling. “Why else would I tell you never to go there?”

“Grandma, you don't believe in ghosts!”

She took a deep breath. “I was brought up to think such notions un-Christian. But the first time I entered that house after Joshua Hilliard's death, I felt him there. I felt his sorrow, his darkness. He didn't want me there, and I've avoided the house ever since. Even that night you were found inside, I couldn't walk through the front door. I was too frightened.”

“But it wasn't a scary presence back then. I don't remember much, Grandma, but I know I wasn't frightened.”

“I heard her talking to it once,” Blake offered. “To
him.
She was happy.”

Grandma's eyes narrowed at him. “So you've been keeping secrets, too.”

Blake sank back in his chair.

Grandma turned to me. “I don't doubt you were drawn to that presence. He was trying to take you away, just like he tried to take your mother when he was alive. He wanted to replace the little girl he allowed to die.”

I shook my head slowly. “I think you're wrong. I think you've been wrong about him all along.”

Grandma drew back. “Pardon me?”

“I know you and Grandpa didn't like Joshua Hilliard, but Mom said he was a sweet old gentleman. Too gentle and sad to ever be scary.”

Grandma's shoulders softened a smidge.

“I have to go back and talk to Mrs. Shelton,” I said. “She knows more than she told us last time.”

“I hate for you to bother that poor woman again. Can't you just let this be, Avery May?”

“You want me to give up? What if everyone has been wrong about Joshua Hilliard all this time? Mrs. Shelton said we could come tomorrow morning. But…I was hoping you'd take us. It's the only way to put the ghost to rest.”

Grandma closed her eyes and sank back into the couch. To see her so slumped and frail made my insides feel hollow.

“Grandma?”

“How on earth are
you
going to put a ghost to rest?”

“I haven't figured that out yet. All I know is you can't sell Hilliard House yet. You can't push that darkness on someone else. That wouldn't be Christianly, would it?”

After a moment she opened her eyes. “No, it wouldn't. But neither can I let a child tackle such a predicament. I simply will not put you in harm's way like that.”

“She's not doing it alone,” said Blake. “I'm helping.”

“For heaven's sake, you're both
children.
”

Blake puffed out his chest. “I'm not a kid anymore. And anyway, if you're worried about that, you should come with us.”

She sat still for a long time. “It's ridiculous to even consider this. It'd probably be easier just to burn the place down.”

I knew better than to answer. I could feel her body soften a little.
Give in,
I thought.
Just this once.

She gave us a curt nod. “I'll take you to see poor Mrs. Shelton tomorrow morning. That's about all I can promise right now.”

Loretta opened the door like before, reeking of cigarette smoke and irritation.

“If it was up to me, you folks wouldn't be here,” she said. “But Aunt Aileen is being so bullheaded about it.”

I gulped. “Is she angry?”

“No, just feisty.” She frowned. “Haven't seen her with this much energy in a long while.”

A voice croaked from the bedroom. “Are you going to bring those young'uns in here, or not?”

Loretta herded us in, pulling up a chair for me right next to Mrs. Shelton's bed.

“Get a chair for everyone,” said Mrs. Shelton. “And one for yourself, Loretta. We're all going to have squeeze in here somehow, because I want all of you to witness what I have to say today.”

She was tiny and shrunken in that bed, but her eyes glinted brightly at Grandma.

“Is that you, Ava? It's been a long time. I suppose it's been more than ten years since I've attended a cemetery cleaning. I can't even get to church anymore, not that I'd see you at a Baptist church anyhow.”

I glanced at Grandma, who stared as if her tongue had tied itself.

“Mrs. Shelton,” she finally said, “it's awfully generous of you to allow Avery May back in your home. I hope it's not too much trouble.”

“Dear lady, it's been a great deal of trouble—in fact, it's been the heaviest of burdens on my mind—but we're about to take care of that, aren't we, Avery May?”

I nodded. I'd been up half the night practicing questions that would cut straight to the truth without crushing old Mrs. Shelton's spirit. Turned out I didn't need them. Aileen Shelton looked ready to take charge of this interview.

“Young man, have you got that little movie camera ready to go?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Well, then, push Record and I'll start talking.”

She cleared her throat and clasped her shaking hands.

“I've been sitting on the truth for over eighty years now. All the people involved have been dead for so long—except me, that is. I figured the truth would go with me to the grave. But when you came here, Avery May, and poked at me with those questions about Meganne and Joshua Hilliard, I felt sick in the heart. And as much as I tried to tell myself the past is past, I knew it'd never gone away. In fact, it's been eating at me all this time.”

She paused for a breath, and I didn't dare say a thing. In fact, I willed everyone to keep their traps shut because I knew something big was coming and I didn't want anyone to scare it away.

“I told you my family farmed land owned by Meganne's grandparents,” Mrs. Shelton continued. “They had more money than us, and Mama always worried about somehow offending them and losing the land, but they weren't as snobby as they might have been. They bought milk and eggs from us and paid Mama a pretty penny for her quilts. Whenever Mrs. Hilliard visited her folks, Meganne and I were allowed to go off on our own.”

Mrs. Shelton paused to cough and clear her throat again. Loretta fussed around, handing her a glass of water and smoothing the edge of her quilt. After taking a sip, Mrs. Shelton waved her off with a frown.

“We had all sorts of adventures in those days. At home, Meganne was watched pretty carefully—I already told you she had a tendency toward puniness, didn't I? Well, when she was with me we rode ponies bareback, milked the goats, gathered eggs, climbed trees, and chased crawdads in the creek. Her fussy mother was none the wiser, and to tell you the truth, I think the fresh air was good for my friend.”

A shadow came over her face.

“There came a visit in February when it was too cold and wet to spend time outdoors, and we had to watch over my baby sister, Ruby. Meganne said that if we were to be stuck inside, she wanted to learn how to bake. Her mother always did everything for her—I think she just didn't like for anyone to make a mess in her fancy house—but Meganne wanted to know how to make a cake from scratch for her daddy. Well, I did a fair share of the cooking even at that age. Girls grew up faster then, and Mama made use of me all the time, so I had a good idea what to do. We got the flour, sugar, milk, and butter, and the two of us went out to the henhouse and picked the two prettiest, most perfect eggs we could find. My mama always said
never
to use an egg that was cracked.” She pulled a rumpled tissue from the cuff of her gown and pressed it to her lips. “We mixed all that up, little Ruby watching from her high chair, and then I made the mistake of licking the spoon. Would you believe Meganne had never tasted cake batter? So I got out another spoon and let her have a taste. Then Ruby started crying for some. Before I knew it, we were all eating the batter. By the time we'd had our fill, there wasn't enough left to bake the cake, so we just washed the bowl and called it a day.

“Meganne's daddy came to pick her up pretty soon after that. Mrs. Hilliard was staying with her folks for a while because her mother wasn't feeling well, but Meganne had to get back for school. That very night it started raining again, and it didn't let up for days. That was the week everyone talked about when they spoke of the great Carver County flood of 1937.

“On the second day of rain, my baby sister and I started feeling poorly. I mostly just had to keep the bedpan close, but poor Ruby suffered a bad fever and vomiting. And with all the rain, the truck got stuck in a gully, so Mama had to nurse Ruby as best she knew how. She figured out it was the eggs. I told her I picked the uncracked ones, but we know now that the bacteria can be absorbed through the shell.”

She cleared her throat again.

“Salmonella,” Grandma murmured.

Mrs. Shelton nodded. “Ruby had been underweight and puny to begin with, kind of like Meganne, and—” She paused to swallow. “Well, she didn't make it. Losing my baby sister was quite a blow to Mama. And it wasn't two days later that we learned Meganne had passed away. She'd had fever, aches, and vomiting, just like Ruby. The doctor diagnosed it as typhoid caught from a contaminated well, even though her daddy swore he'd boiled every drop of water she drank. Today a simple test would have revealed the truth, but we didn't have such a thing back then, and everyone was quick to blame the flood for just about anything.”

She broke off with coughing again, and after sipping at her water, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“It was a terrible time. All the hens had to be slaughtered, and Mama took me aside and told me never to mention the raw eggs. ‘Who's to say it
wasn't
typhoid that took her?' she said. According to her, telling Joshua Hilliard about the eggs wouldn't bring his little girl back, but it
could
take away our livelihood. And hadn't we been punished enough by losing Ruby?

“The truth weighed heavy on me when I heard anyone speak ill of Mr. Hilliard, but I couldn't cross my mother's command. I thought about saying something when Mama died, but by that time Mrs. Hilliard was gone and Mr. Hilliard was a sad shell of a man holed up in that house. And how could I explain keeping silent all those years? I pushed him to the back of my mind, but he's always been waiting there…waiting for me to tell the truth.” She turned to me. “Avery May, I asked you to bring that photo. May I see it now?”

I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out the silver frame. When she held out her hands, I placed it gently between them.

Mrs. Shelton sighed. “That's a pretty frame.”

“Do you need your magnifying glass?” I asked.

“No, honey. I just needed something of hers. I can see her clear as day in my heart.”

She stared at that photo for a long moment. Then she spoke to it. “Now, Meganne, I've done it. I've finally told the truth. Can you forgive me?” She sighed heavily. “I'm so sorry. For you. For your daddy.” She set the frame down and turned to her niece. “Hand me one of my handkerchiefs, Loretta—these tissues are good for nothing.”

We all sat in awkward silence as Mrs. Shelton wiped her face and blew her nose again. Loretta passed the rejected tissue box to Grandma, and that's when I noticed
she'd
been crying, too. Well, I can't see family crying without getting all broken up myself, so when she was done wiping her nose, I gestured for her to pass the box along to me.

“Whew!” breathed Mrs. Shelton. “That's a load off. Haven't felt this light in ages. If it weren't for this heavy quilt, I might just float away.”

Loretta peered at her. “Aunt Aileen, do you need a nap?”

“Don't treat me like an infant, Loretta,” snapped Mrs. Shelton. “And don't you sit on that information, missy,” she said to me. “There's not many people left who remember old Joshua Hilliard, but they should know the truth. He was a good daddy. It was one of many things I envied about Meganne. And that made it all the worse when I saw what happened to him.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Shelton. I'll do my best.”

“I'll make sure of it,” said Grandma.