The Ghost Belonged to Me (11 page)

There was a whimpering then, and I nearly took flight. I blinked my eyes and thought I saw Trixie's bedraggled little dogface, but it was suspended above the floor in a corner. By degrees I could see the dog clearer and that she was being held. A white hand smoothed her tangled fur.

“Inez?” I said, not loud. “It's me.”

“There are many intruders,” her voice came back, “but I know you are the boy from the house.” It was her same voice with the strange accent. But she was not agitated.

“Have they told you I do not exist?” she said, going right to the heart of the matter.

“They don't want you to exist, I guess.”

“The living wish to forget the dead,” she sighed. She was in a very different frame of mind. “But it does not matter. You saved the people in the train, all but the madman.”

It wasn't a question, but I told her I did, thanks to her.

“Even the madman rests easier than I,” she said, sighing again. Trixie whimpered. “I had thought to be saved, but my rescuer was my robber. I am even denied a decent grave.”

“Why are you here, Inez?” I whispered.

“Because of that.”

“Are you a soul in torment, Inez?”

“Yes,” she said, “though there are quiet times. In my loneliness I have watched you from the window.”

I did not like the thought of that but said nothing.

“I have watched you since you were old enough to walk, and I have looked out across the fields before the town was here.”

“Then you are old, Inez.”

“No, I am not old. I was spared that.”

“What do you want?” I asked her as most of my fear left me.

“To be among my own people. Like me, they are above the ground, but they rest.”

“How can I help?”

“There is little you can do alone,” she said. “For a boy is hard to believe.”

“Then why do you appear to me?”

“I have no choice among those who will see me and those who will not, and little experience of either.”

“Blossom's Mama says I'm receptive.”

“There are many ways to express it.”

“But you appeared to Lucille too and to Tom Hackett.”

“She was in danger—or he was. Perhaps I could do it because she was your sister. Besides, they were intruders here.”

“I wish I could help you, Inez.”

“Perhaps you can if you find me,” she said. “But you will need the help of other believers—true believers.”

“But aren't you here?”

“I am not here, but near. You will know me if you find me.”

“How?”

For an answer, the shadows moved, and Inez stepped onto the moonlit floor. Her skirts covered the wet footprint, and Trixie was all but lost in the folds of her skirt. Inez seemed to stare through the floor, her face in shadow. But she pointed to the brooch that held her old-fashioned collar together. The moonlight caught its tiny flowers beneath the glass oval.

“This is all he left me,” she said in a very ghostly voice this time. “And this is how you will know me.”

Then she was gone, and I was staring at the footprint in the empty loft. But I heard her voice once more and never again:
“Not here, but near.
”

 

 

 

 

I
was in my school knickers and sitting to a family breakfast of scrapple and bacon when Cousin Elvera began her pounding on our front door next morning. Mother had decided I was to go to school if only to spread the word among my chums that I'd been lying about Inez. Remembering how Blossom had once fared at the hands of our classmates, I had no intention of doing this. Still, I was glad not to be under house arrest. The words of Inez were strong in my mind but hard to decipher.

“Look at this!” Cousin Elvera said, rocketing into the dining room. “It is the St. Louis
Democrat,
and your name will be a byword of ridicule nationwide!”

Mother clutched her cameo, and Dad said, “Elvera, take a chair.” She was beside herself but enjoying it. Her corsets squeaked in time to her breathing. She began to read aloud. The article covered the same ground as Lowell's, but it embroidered considerably, calling Inez a “fearful apparition” and me “a shyly sensitive and mystical lad, given to swooning and introspection.”

“I can see you did not grant this interview, Alexander,” Dad said. “What a lot of balderdash, Elvera.”

“You don't know the worst, Joe,” she replied, holding up the St. Louis
Democrat.
Taking up half a page was a photo of our barnloft, though not a clear picture. The wet footprint was only a smudge on the floor. The central figure was Mother's dress form. When she recognized herself, so to speak, she fell back in her chair. The headline over the photograph read:

“Horrors,” said Mother, “we are standing on the abyss. You won't be attending school again today, Alexander.”

“I guess we ought to have a guard posted at the back of the property too,” remarked Dad.

“If you ask me, Joe,” Cousin Elvera said, “that is a classic example of shutting the barn door after the cat is out of the bag.” She smiled, very satisfied at this clever statement, and added, “People will be carting away souvenirs next.”

“Or that nasty little arachnid, that Blossom, who Alexander is sweet on, will start selling the bricks off the barn. She is of the class to take liberties,” Lucille said.

I said nothing.

“I wish you would all be quiet. You too, Alexander,” Mother said, very near tears. “You are all as bad as the public, and no one knows the pain I am being put to.” She flung herself out of her chair and swept over to the bay window to stare out through a Boston Fern. “I think,” she said in slow and tragic tones, “we had just as well sell the house and—Dear Lord, an automobile has gotten through the barrier and is coming up the lane. What good is it to have a guard posted? We are as vulnerable here as early settlers!”

Dad joined her at the window and said, “It's a Cadillac.”

“What does that matter—a Cadillac, you say?”

“Yes,” said Dad, “and there is only one in town.”

“Mrs. Van Deeter!” Mother and Cousin Elvera shrieked in unison. I continued with my scrapple and bacon, though the noise was very nearly unbearable.

Mother stood poised between the door to the front hall and the other one to the kitchen. She clearly didn't know whether to take courage or to take flight. A gentle knocking came at the front door. “It is surely only their chauffeur,” Mother said, “but what can he want?”

“We could all go down the cellar and hide out in the coal bin until he's gone,” Dad remarked to goad her on. Mother set off toward the front door, and the rest of us were not far behind. It's not every day when the richest and most invisible people in six counties send their automobile around.

Mother fumbled the door open, and there stood a lady. While not young, she was unusually beautiful. Warm though the morning was, she had a few fur skins draped around her shoulders, along with a big bunch of fresh violets. She was just turning the veil back over her hat, and there were a couple of rings on her fingers that could have served as Cadillac headlamps.

“Why, Mrs. Van Deeter, how do you do, I'm sure,” Mother said. “This is an unexpected pleasure. I do hope you were put to no trouble in getting past the guard.”

“None whatever,” Mrs. Van Deeter said, smiling firmly. “I hope you will permit a call at this unseemly hour. I have been remiss in my social obligations and am endeavoring to do better.”

Mother recovered slowly. “May I present my—” She looked around to find us all there. “My—entire family.” She managed to introduce us all, though she was somewhat vague as to our names. Then Mrs. Van Deeter was shown into the parlor, and we all settled in around her. A silence followed while she arranged her fur skins.

“It is very nice to find you all in,” she said at length. “Quite like a family party.

“I was so sorry to have missed
your
party, Miss Armsworth,” she said, suddenly remembering it, “and one reason for this call is to meet you. I read the sweet account of your debut in the
Pantagraph.”

Lucille gave her an uncertain smile, but the cat had her tongue.

Mother sent me out to Gladys for a pot of coffee, so I missed the next part of the visit. I was hard put to convince Gladys we had a live Van Deeter in the parlor. But when she was persuaded, she took down the silver pot and the thin china. While I was bearing this away, I said, “And I guess you better go out and offer the chauffeur some coffee too since we are evidently moving in the limousine circle now.” Gladys said that this was truly the age of miracles.

When I came back to the parlor, no one had budged. Dad seemed to forget he had work to go to, and no one told Lucille she was already late for school. Mrs. Van Deeter had them all under her spell. She marked my entry with some interest. “I suppose,” she said, “that I should confess the major impulse for my visit.” Coffee spoons stopped stirring all around the parlor. “I am a reader of the St. Louis
Democrat.”

Mother drooped, saying, “Then I suppose you must have a dreadful impression of us, Mrs. Van Deeter. I could not blame you if you condemn us for the worst kind of publicity-seeking.”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Van Deeter said, smiling into her coffee cup. “On the contrary, I think this is the most interesting thing to have occurred in Bluff City in ages. It comes in good time. I for one had nearly expired of monotony. And I wonder if you might persuade Alexander to show me his Ghost Barn.”

“Oh, Alexander, see how low you have brought us!” Mother accused me. Then her face changed, and she said, “You say you would care to see the barn, Mrs. Van Deeter?”

“I yearn to,” she replied calmly.

Mother and Cousin Elvera leaned toward one another to converse in low tones. But Mrs. Van Deeter said with a little frost on her voice, “Have you ladies considered just what a social asset a bit of novelty is in a small town?” Their heads parted, and they gaped at her.

“Well, Alexander,” Dad said, “as you're the hero of the hour, you better lead the way.” Everybody stood up, but Mrs. Van Deeter said, “Oh, won't you permit Alexander to conduct me on a private tour?”

“I never go there myself,” Mother said, sinking back on the sofa. “I'm afraid you will find the place terribly dusty.”

“It will only add to the effect,” Mrs. Van Deeter said as she took me by the arm.

I was getting fairly experienced at leading ladies around. But I wondered if Mrs. Van Deeter was merely making sport of me, and I knew if I did not show her a good time, Mother would take it out of my hide.

We were approaching the barn when Mrs. Van Deeter said, “Tell me about your ghost girl, Alexander. Do you see her with regularity?”

“Only twice to speak to,” I said.

“What is she like?”

“Well, her name is Inez Dumaine. She has a small damp dog with a sore leg. And the first time I saw her she said the dead are robbed and cannot forestall it. And she said, ‘My hoops, my hoops,' or words to that effect.”

“Women once wore hoop skirts,” Mrs. Van Deeter mused. “Long ago, of course. And then she warned you about the burning trestle?”

“In so many words. She did not make herself too plain.”

“I see. And she appeared again?”

“Last night,” I said, “but I haven't made any mention of that.”

“Did she issue further warnings?”

“No, she spoke of her own concerns, which were harder to figure. She said she wanted to be with her own people who are above the ground but resting. Then she showed me her brooch and said she was near but not here. That there is a hitching post with her initials,” I pointed out.

“How intriguing.”

We entered the barn, and Mrs. Van Deeter gathered her skirts to climb the stairs. Grand though she is, she's quite game. “That's our Mercer,” I mentioned in passing.

“I'm afraid I don't know one auto from another. I take it this is quite a good one?”

I told her it was.

Upstairs, she pronounced the whole loft “eerie in the extreme.” She examined everything and stooped to touch the wet footprint. She remarked upon the swampy smell, and I said that Inez had evidently died in water. Mrs. Van Deeter thought that was sad and looked it.

On our way back to the house, she gave my arm a squeeze and said she had been quite frightened the whole time, though she had not shown it. “I think,” she said as we came back into the parlor, “that as you are so brave, I will call you Alexander the Great.”

Lucille pulled an ugly face when she heard that, but broke into a winning smile when Mrs. Van Deeter glanced at her. Cousin Elvera and Mother were sitting close and looking like outlaws awaiting a verdict. But Dad said, “Well, Mrs. Van Deeter, what do you make of it all? Are you a believer?”

“I am now. I think it quite remarkable and quite mysterious —and my guide was charming.” She was persuaded to take another cup of coffee and engaged Dad in a discussion about autos. She said her husband found the Cadillac a bit confusing, and she thought he might prefer a Mercer for his own use. Triumph was beginning to spread across Mother's face. She beamed at me particularly. Cousin Elvera smiled and nodded as if Mercers and ghosts were a couple of things she was especially partial to.

Then the front door banged back, and Uncle Miles stalked into the parlor in his overalls. “WHAT IN THE DAMMIT TO HELL IS THERE A COP IN THE LANE FOR?” he roared.