Ghostlight (21 page)

When we were certain the calm was real and lasting, we took some time setting things right in the house. Blake and I collected broken bits of light fixture and dragged them outside, while Julian and Lily grabbed old towels from the car to clean the upstairs bathroom. Grandma took a broom to the worst of the dust and mouse droppings.

“Once the cleaners are gone tomorrow,” she said, “we need to find the mouse holes and plug them up. You know I don't hold with poison or traps.”

We went from room to room, opening curtains and shades, sweeping up mouse droppings and dead flies, all the while collecting small bits that Grandma wanted to save. When she and I came to the room with the sad old bed frame, I lifted the corner of the quilt to show her. “This was made by Aileen Shelton's mother. See the initials?” I pointed to the embroidered
S.F.
“I don't know her first name, but the last name was Forney. It's got to be hers, right?”

“Seems likely,” Grandma said.

I ran my finger along the tiny, even stitches of the flowery patches. “May I have it? And take it back to Dallas?”

Grandma reached out to touch the torn binding. “You'll have to sew up the damaged areas first. I'll show you how, and you can do your work in the sewing room. Then you'll have to take care with washing it and hanging it out to dry.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “It'll be a lot of work. Are you prepared for that?”

I nodded. “I really want it.”

“All right, then.”

When we took the quilt downstairs, we found Lily standing alone in the parlor. She stared up at the doll.

“You were right, Lily,” I said. “Mrs. Shelton told me she
was
Margaret Anne's doll.”

Lily nodded without looking at me. “Does she have a name?”

“Bettina. She came all the way from Germany as a present from Margaret Anne's daddy.”

Lily turned to Grandma. “I broke it that night we scared Avery.”

Grandma moved to the mantel and reached toward the doll.

“The head's just sitting on top,” I said quickly.

Grandma gently brought the head down and studied it. “There's a crack in the back of the hair, but we could fill that. And it's easy enough to anchor the head back on.”

“It also needs its stuffing replaced,” Lily said. “A mouse got to it.”

Grandma placed the head in Lily's hands. “Come over to the house and I'll show you how to sew up the body and wash her clothes. You won't be able to play with her—she's too delicate for that—but you could set her on a shelf and admire her. She's very old and precious.”

Lily looked into the doll's eyes. “I want to fix her, but…she belongs here. Do you think the new owner would take her?”

Grandma smiled. “Maybe we could make a shadow box for her. Then we could offer it as a housewarming present. Now that I think of it, I have plastic and paper bags in the trunk of the car. Avery, why don't you and Lily get those doll pieces wrapped up for the drive home?”

On the way out we passed Blake sweeping the front hallway. He paused to wink at Lily, reaching out to tweak one of her curls. She giggled.

As soon as we were on the brick path leading down to the car, Lily looked up at me, her eyes shy. “Your brother is so cute.”

I groaned. “He's a little old for you, don't you think?”

“Well, he is
now.
But when I'm twenty-one, he'll be…twenty-seven, I think?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

She sighed. “We could get married then.”

“You really do like to plan ahead, don't you?” I opened the driver's side door of Grandma's car to pop the trunk. “Well, I can't imagine anyone wanting to marry Blake. For one thing, his feet are really smelly.”

“But he's tall, and strong, and smart…”

“Um, I'm not so sure about that last one.”

“Well,
you're
smart, and he's your brother, right? Your mom must be smart 'cause she's a lawyer. I bet your dad is pretty smart, too.” She looked back at the house. “Does Blake look like him?”

I shut the car door a little too hard. Then I turned to follow her gaze to where Blake stood in the doorway, sweeping dirt and bits of broken glass into a dustpan.

Mom and I had dark hair, but Blake's was kind of medium blond. Mom's eyes were brown, but Blake's and mine were blue. Blake was already way taller than Mom, who was petite like me. Why had I never asked myself where his blond hair, blue eyes, and long legs came from?

I turned back to Lily. “I never thought about it before, but yeah. I'm pretty sure Blake
does
look like our dad.”

She smiled. “That's cool.”

I glanced at Blake again. He was staring at the full dustpan like he really just wanted to dump it on the grass. But then he sighed and walked it into the house, probably to find the big garbage can Grandma had set up in the kitchen.

“Actually, Lily, it
is
cool.” I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “It really is.”

By the time we'd sorted the trash from the keepsakes and carried it all out to Grandma's car, the sky was rumbling with thunder and every belly groaned from hunger.

“Looks like it might finally rain, so let's head on back,” Grandma said. “I have enough chicken and squash casserole in the Crock-Pot to feed us all twice over.” She turned to Julian. “As soon as we get to the house, I'll call your daddy and invite him, too. That man is too skinny for my liking.”

Julian nodded.

“Lily can ride back with me, but the rest of you have to walk. The car is too full of that thing's innards.” Grandma raised her head to consider the house. “It's mighty handsome, though, isn't it? Two days ago I couldn't wait to be rid of it, but now I'm a little sad to say good-bye.”

“Why can't you just keep it, Mrs. Hilliard?” Lily asked.

“Sweetie, I can barely keep up with my own business, that's why. I don't have the energy to give this house the attention it needs.” She wiped her hands on her slacks. “I believe the buyers have grand plans.”

“Is a big family buying it?” I asked.

She shook her head. “A young married couple. The wife grew up in these parts, and they want to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. Good luck to them, I say. It's quite an undertaking.” She patted Lily on the head. “Come on, sweetie. Let's go eat.”

Blake and Julian were quiet on the walk back to Grandma's house, and the silence made me squirmy. I guess it wasn't easy to make small talk after you'd laid a ghost to rest
and
busted your behind to clean his house afterward.

My thoughts stayed with Hilliard House as we walked. We'd left it a little tidier than we found it, but I longed to see how the house might shine if the right people put hard work and love into it. I imagined gleaming floors, polished woodwork, and fresh wallpaper. Floral curtains and beds made up with bright quilts and frilly bed skirts. Old-fashioned framed prints and photographs hanging on the walls. I saw the dining room filled with guests who'd worked up an appetite exploring the hills and hollows of Carver County. People hungry for history and interesting tales.

“Oh,” I breathed.

Blake nudged my shoulder. “What?”

It took a moment to untangle my thoughts. “Do you remember when I told Mom that Julian and I were making a film on the history of this area? She said it would be nice for Grandma's website, to help draw interest to the rental cottage.”

“Yeah, but Grandma won't get a website.”

“She should,” Julian said. “I bet you the new owners of Hilliard House will make one.”

“Exactly,” I said.

Julian shook his head. “Your grandma might lose business because of that.”

“That's what I've been thinking about. What if they included Grandma's cottage on their website?”

“Why would they?” Blake asked.

“Because we'll make it worth their while,” I said. “I have an idea for a short film—maybe several films—each of them about some bit of history around here. But the films would be about people and their stories. Local lore and all that. It's what visitors come here for. We could start with Hilliard House and Joshua Hilliard. We have plenty of footage on that already. We could sort of hint at the ghost, you know? And there might be more old-timey Carver County stories we could work with, too.”

Julian's eyes brightened. “Interesting.”

“I bet Grandma would let us use her photos again, and we could do research at the library. By the time Hilliard House was ready to open, we'd have a bunch of short films for their website. And, Julian, if you edit them like you did this film for Joshua Hilliard, they'd be begging for them. They might even pay us.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Blake muttered. “We can't do it all this summer.”

“And I might not be back next summer,” Julian said.

I came to halt. “Come on, guys, you know it's a great idea! Can we at least work on the Hilliard House video and see how that turns out? It would be a great way to do what Mrs. Shelton wanted. We'd be letting people know that Joshua Hilliard was a good man.”

Blake shook his hair into his eyes and walked on, but Julian turned to look back at the house.

“It could work,” he said.

We stared at the house in silence for a moment.

“By the way,” I said, “nice touch with the title credit on the movie. When did you slip that in?”

“Thought you'd like that. I put it together this morning and added it as a surprise.” He gave me a sidelong look. “And as an apology.”

It seemed a little strange that a girl could be guiding a ghost to the beyond one day and crouching in the garden to pick green beans the next, but that's exactly how it went down. Easing back into the mindless and ordinary actually proved to be a comfort, and I think Blake felt it, too. He didn't grouch at me once, even though he'd lost his blackmail advantage in the garden,
and
Grandma had given us both dish duty for the rest of the summer. The morning was downright cheerful, especially now that the air felt cool and light after the rain. I hardly minded the mud at all.

“Hey, I've been thinking,” Blake said.

“Yeah?”

“We still have half the summer left. We should start some sort of project.”

I flicked a green bean at him. “We already
have
a project. The Legends of Carver County, remember?”

He snorted. “That's not my project. That's for you and the evil genius.”

“Then
what
? I can't stand football, and I'm not going to help you with your summer-reading questions.”

“That's not what I meant.”

I sat back and stared at him. “You're not saying we should start up with Kingdom again, are you?”

He shook his head. “We're both so
over
that—you said it yourself. Plus, I really don't want to go back to you trying to boss me around all the time.”

“I never bossed you!”

He laughed. “Are you kidding me? You still don't get it, do you?
You
made all the rules with Kingdom.
You
decided who the characters were.
You
scripted it all out yourself. I was just there because
you
couldn't play all the characters at the same time.”

“You created some of the characters,” I said after a moment.

“Yeah, but you always had to change something about them.”

“I don't remember that.”

“And when I tried to tell you I was done, you
punished
me,” he said.

“Oh, come on,” I muttered. “I'm not falling for your victim act. You were rude to me
and
you blackmailed me. Twice in one week!”

“Okay, so neither of us is perfect. I own my faults, but you've got to own yours, too.”

“
Own my faults?
You sound like a talk show.”

“You know what I mean.”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

Blake's eyes brightened. “Speaking of shows, you know what would be cool? If we did something like
Ghosthunter Teens.
A show about catching ghosts in action, only with us doing the investigating instead of those old bald guys. I bet there's all sorts of hauntings around here.” He frowned. “It'd be better if I could drive, though.”

“I don't know, Blake. I've probably had enough ghost encounters to last me for a long while.”

“What about a spoof? It would be totally funny. And we wouldn't actually have to find any ghosts. Maybe our team could specialize in kid ghosts, and then…”

I just kept picking beans while he rattled on about his wacky ghost show. It was nice to have him talking again. It was nice to have him acting like Blake again.

Or maybe he'd been the same Blake all along and it was me who'd gotten weird.

How did I go back to being Avery again? And what did that even mean?

I could imagine Mom's answer to that question. She'd say being Avery didn't mean bossing or punishing my brother just because he didn't see things the same way I did. It couldn't mean lying and stealing from Grandma, either. And it shouldn't ever mean being so desperate for attention that I'd blindly follow someone else straight into trouble.

To me, being Avery meant loving stories. On the page, on the screen, and in my head before I went to sleep at night. Before this summer, all I'd wanted was to escape into tales of people from past times and unusual places. But what about unusual people who lived in ordinary places? In the here and now?

What about a dreamy girl with no father but more family than she knew what to do with?

A girl who was betrayed but learned to forgive…

A girl who helped a ghost move on…

What would happen next in her story?