Andi Unstoppable (6 page)
Bergita tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe Mr. Finnigan took a piece of ground back for the historical society to preserve in the museum. He is always collecting odds and ends from town and putting them inside his museum.”
Ava stood above me now too. “He puts dirt in the museum?”
“It's historic dirt,” Bergita said with a shrug. “We'd better go before Claudette changes her mind about letting us return to camp because she wants to see just one more bird. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. I know my sister â there is always just one more bird to see. The woman is crazy, but I can't help but love her.”
When we stepped through the trees and back on the path, Colin and Claudette were right where we left them. Both had their binoculars trained on a towhee barely visible in the deep brush.
“Do you see the burnt orange color under his wing? Simply gorgeous,” Claudette gushed. “I've seen these beauties dozens of times, but it never gets old. I love them.”
“It's getting dark, Claudette,” Bergita hinted.
The supreme birder sighed. “I suppose we should head back.”
“We did great though,” Colin said. “Twelve species today. That's amazing.”
Claudette shared a rare grin. “That's just the beginning, my boy. Tomorrow will be even better.”
As we left the woods, I couldn't help looking over my shoulder to where I knew the cemetery was hidden by the trees. I didn't believe Mr. Finnigan dug that hole and took a dirt sample for the museum. Something about that patch of dirt bothered me. I suspected there was a much creepier reason why it was there that may or may not involve a real ghost.
As soon as we returned to camp, Bergita
and Claudette put us to work setting up the campfire and cooking hot dogs for dinner. Bergita brought enough food to the campground for a small army, so she invited all the other birders camping out to our area to eat. They brought over their lawn chairs and created a huge circle around the campfire. There must have been thirty people there in all. Even Gregory and his students came over.
Susan punched me in the arm as a greeting.
“Ow,” I muttered rubbing the spot with my free hand. My other hand held a stick with three skewered hot dogs over the fire.
The university's star softball player chuckled. “It's nice to see you kids again. I'm not a bit surprised that
you're out here looking for the Kirtland's. Dr. Sparrow said Claudette was your aunt, Colin.”
Colin wiped mustard from his cheek with the back of his hand. “That's right.”
“That's awesome. She's one of the most famous birders out there, and I've read a ton of articles about her. She's been all over the world. From what I've read, she'll go to any length to see a bird. I'd write a paper about her for this class if Dr. Sparrow didn't hate her so much.” Susan grimaced. “Sorry, Colin.”
“Why doesn't he like her?” I asked.
Susan shrugged as she waved at the other students. “Guys, come here.”
The three other college students joined us. “This is Paige, Campbell, and Spooner. Guys, these are the kids from Discovery Camp I was telling you about.”
Campbell was a tall guy with a long face and glasses. “So you're the kids that solved the mystery of the chem lab last summer.” He gave Colin a fist bump. “Nice work.”
Colin blushed. “Thanks. Are you guys here for a class then?”
Susan nodded. “Yeah, we're all in ornithology. It's pretty awesome that a Kirtland's warbler is in town the same time we're taking the class.”
Everyone except Paige agreed. She watched the woods and chewed on her lip.
“Earth to Paige,” Spooner, a huge guy with cheeks like a chipmunk's, said. “What are you staring at?”
She shook her head, and her dark bobbed hair bounced back and forth. “Nothing.”
“She's worried about the ghost,” Susan said in a conspiratorial whisper.
Paige scowled. “That's not it,” she said, but her voice quavered just a little.
“Did someone say something about a ghost?” a voice asked.
“I believe I heard it too, Brother Joe,” a second identical voice said.
“As did I, Brother Jack,” a third voice said.
Across the fire pit three elderly men sat in identical lawn chairs, wearing identical gray striped T-shirts, jeans, and white tennis shoes.
“The Higgins triplets. Jim, Joe, and Jack,” Susan muttered. “I should have known they would be here.”
I removed the cooked hot dogs from my stick and placed them on a platter on a small, folding tray table next to me. Claudette had carried the table in her pack along with everything else. “Why?”
“They come to all the birder things too.”
“Do you know the story?” another birder asked the triplets. “I've never heard it start to finish.”
“That's a shame,” one of the triplets said.
“That it is,” another agreed.
“We must tell it,” the third said.
Behind him, the last of the sun's rays dipped below the treetops, leaving behind a purple, blue, and gray bruised sky.
Claudette gripped a plastic cup in her lawn chair. “There is no ghost of Shalley Park. As naturalists, we shouldn't perpetuate that nonsense.”
“Oh, Claudette,” Gregory said from the far side
of the campfire. “What's a campout without a good old-fashioned ghost story?” He raised a thick eyebrow at her as if in challenge.
She glared at him over the firelight but said nothing more.
This was a story I wanted to hear. Colin, Ava, and I sat on the grass near Bergita's feet. I stuck a line of four marshmallows on my stick and placed it back over the fire.
“Who should tell the tale?” a triplet asked.
“Why don't you do it, Jim? You share it with such gusto,” one of his brothers said.
Jim, the triplet in the middle, nodded. The side conversations died down as the other birders settled around the fire with their hot dogs and s'mores to listen.
“Never underestimate the power of a mother's love,” Jim began. “Because that is what this story is about: about a mother who lost everything she held dear for a country she didn't even know,” he added in a low voice.
We all leaned as close as we dared to the fire.
“Dominika Shalley was born in Russia near about 1800 to a poor Gypsy family. She and her family moved many times around Eastern Europe. The gypsies were never truly welcome, you see. No European nation wanted them, so they moved often to escape persecution. Dominika did not like the nomadic life of her people and longed for a place to call home.
“Silas Shalley was in Vienna studying architecture.
He came from a wealthy family in New York and had great plans for his future. While Dominika searched for a home, he searched for adventure. The pair met when Dominika attempted to steal Silas's wallet on the steps of St. Stephen's Cathedral. It was love at first sight for Silas, and for Dominika, it was a chance to escape a life she hated.
“They married shortly thereafter, and Silas brought his wife back to New York. His rich family was not pleased their son married a gypsy, so Silas used what money he had to buy land as far away from his parents as he could afford, which brought him here to Killdeer, Ohio. For Silas, it was a new adventure. For Dominika, it was again an escape, this time from her husband's disapproving relatives.”
Jim waved his hands around. “Here they lived and raised their boys. For the first time, Dominika had a home and happiness. However, when her oldest son was twenty-one, the South left the Union. All five of her boys went off to war. She begged them not to go. Dominika had no interest in preserving the Union, and she didn't care what the Southern states she had never seen did. However, the boys were like their father and sought adventure. The youngest, William, went off to war as soon as he turned sixteen, in 1862. Each boy who left met a cruel fate.”
Jim took a breath and examined the faces staring at him through the fire. “Randall and Matthew were the first to perish. They died in 1861 in the camps outside of Washington. Both men died of pneumonia. Then,
Harold died in January 1862 from a bullet wound that led to gangrene. And Luke died of infection when his leg was amputated.”
Beside me, Ava took in a quick breath. I chewed on my lip as I imagined the stone house behind the triplets standing upright and with a candle in every window for the boys who never returned. I could almost see Dominika Shalley in the doorway, holding another letter telling her another son had died.
Jim continued, “Each time Silas and Dominika received word of another son's death, Dominika went into hysterics. She blamed Silas for what had happened. She thought he could have done more to discourage the boys from going off to war. Then in 1863, the greatest blow came. William, her youngest and favorite son, died when he was killed defending Little Round Top at Gettysburg. He was shot in the head.”
I shivered.
“After that, Dominika became hysterical and stayed hysterical. Her husband didn't know what to do. Finally, two years after the war ended, he decided to take her back to New York for treatment, but they never made it. The night before they were set to leave, Dominika died in her bed.” He paused. “From a broken heart.
“After his wife died, Silas abandoned the home and fled to California. He never returned, but Dominika did.” Jim leaned closer to the fire, so that it illuminated the planes of his face and dipped his eyes in shadow. “She walks the woods every night to visit the graves of her boys. You can hear her crying. Some have
even reported seeing her in a white robe and long silver hair trailing behind her. Her feet hovering above the earth.”
“Hogwash,” Claudette said, as if she couldn't take it anymore. “It's a silly story to keep children out of the woods. I don't believe a word of it.”
Jim wiggled his eyebrows before leaning back into his chair. “Just because you don't believe it doesn't mean it's untrue.”
Claudette snorted.
Trying to cover the creepy feeling climbing up my neck, I removed the marshmallows from the fire and blew out the flame caught on the stick. With one hand, I made a sandwich of graham cracker and chocolate and squished the marshmallow into the sandwich.
Bergita flipped her braid over her shoulder as she thrust her marshmallow stick into the flames. “That's a good story, Jim. Wonderful performance.”
Across the fire, the triplets chuckled together.
I handed the s'more to Colin and started to construct another.
“Do you believe that story?” he whispered.
“Of course not,” I said, but my voice shook just a little.
Ava snorted and grabbed the stick from me. She took the last marshmallow. “It's a dumb story about a crazy lady.”
“I don't think it's dumb,” I said, feeling the need to defend Dominika. “I think it's sad.”
Ava examined me over her s'more. “So you believe there's a ghost that haunts these woods at night?”
I scowled and scooted closer to Colin, nearly knocking him off the log. “I didn't say that. I feel bad for Dominika is all.”
She rolled her eyes before facing the fire. “You feel bad for someone who died over one hundred and fifty years ago. There are plenty of people to feel sorry for today.”
I wondered what she meant by that, but I was afraid to ask. I stood and Colin followed me. “The only way we're going to know if that story is true is to find out for ourselves.”
“Mr. Finnigan will know,” Colin agreed.
I flipped up the hood of my sweatshirt. “I have the casebook in my pack.”
“You brought the casebook? Why?” Colin whispered.
“I thought we might need it.”
“Do you think Dominika's ghost is a case?”
I twisted my mouth in thought. “There's something else. I think someone is digging up the Shalley boys' graves.”
“What?” Colin yelped.
I clamped a hand over his mouth. Luckily, no one around the camp looked in our direction. I lowered my hand. “Shhh.”
Claudette muttered to herself.
“What's that, Claudette?” Gregory called. “We can't hear you.”
“I don't think it was right for Jim to tell that story right before the children are going to sleep. They could have nightmares.”
“Children?” Gregory asked. “I don't see any children here, just young people, but certainly not children.” He sat back in his chair.
Claudette grunted. “In any case, I don't think it's right to share a false story.”
“False? How can you be so sure?” Gregory asked.
She glared back at him. “You believe it?”
Gregory grinned. “Maybe your night in the camp tonight will make you a believer. Never doubt the power of a mother's love, as Jim said.”
I noticed he didn't answer Claudette's question.
Bergita zipped up her coat. “Okay, I think that's enough ghost stories for one night. You kids hit the hay.”
Claudette polished off the last of her s'more and gave Gregory one final glare. “Yes, that's true. I'll be kicking you out of your tents at five.”
“Five?” Ava yelped. “The sun's not even up then.”
Claudette wiped chocolate from her cheek with the back of hand. “We need to be in position for optimal birding.”
Gregory grinned through the fire. “The early birder gets the bird.”
Bergita herded Colin, Ava, and me toward our tents.
I slowed my pace. “Bergita, what's the deal with Gregory and Claudette?”
“Deal?” She glanced over her shoulder. “What deal? There's no deal.” She said this like she was nervous about something, and she kept looking at her sister.
There was definitely a deal.
Before we climbed into our tents, I tugged on Colin's sleeve. “Meet me outside your tent at midnight.”
