Christina's Ghost (2 page)

“It's okay, baby,” he muttered. Chris realized he was talking to his car. “Hang in there, sport.”

They were on a narrow, winding road. Trees brushed the car windows, and the headlight beams bounced against a curtain of green.

“Are we nearly there?” Chris asked.

“We'd better be,” Uncle Ralph snapped. His longish gray hair straggled across his forehead. Even his dark mustache looked flustered.

The Chevy made another jouncing turn and stopped. They were on a wide stretch of overgrown lawn.

“Well, well,” Uncle Ralph said. “How about that?”

Chris stared. There was light here, beyond the tree-lined road. Before them was one of the strangest houses she'd ever seen. It had towers and gables, and carved trimmings over every window. The whole house was painted a sickly gray-green. It looked like a moldy wedding cake.

“I thought we were going to a
cottage,”
Chris said, when she could speak. “Maybe a log cabin. On a lake.”

“Well, there's certainly a lake,” Uncle Ralph said. “Use your eyes, Christina.”

Sure enough, metal-colored water glinted beyond the house.

“I never said it was a cottage,” Uncle Ralph went on. “My friend inherited this place from his uncle. It was the old family home—people called Charles. Something happened—something pretty bad, I guess—and they moved out.” He began lifting boxes and suitcases from the car. “The uncle looked after the house for the last thirty years—tried to sell it, but there weren't any takers. My friend's going to unload it this fall, as soon as he gets back from Europe.”

Uncle Ralph turned to look at the house again. “He may just have to give it away,” he said thoughtfully.
Chris realized that the house had taken him by surprise, too.

She picked up her suitcase and followed Uncle Ralph across the grass and up the steps. The key to the back door was very big. It turned with a scratchy sound, and they went inside. Uncle Ralph muttered to himself as he searched for a light switch.

Chris felt a moment of panic before the weak overhead light flicked on and showed them the huge, old-fashioned kitchen. The floor was made of bricks; there was a smell of musty pipes.

“Cozy as a tomb,” Uncle Ralph said. Chris agreed with him. She stayed so close as he led the way through the downstairs that a couple of times she stepped on his heels.

“Christina, there's plenty of room in here. No need to walk on me.”

“Sorry.”
What a crab!
she thought. And there were days and days—maybe weeks—of crabbiness ahead!

She followed Uncle Ralph down the hall, past a tiny bathroom under the stairs, and into a wide foyer. On the left was a parlor crowded with furniture. On the right was a formal dining room. Even with the lights turned on, shadows filled every corner.

They crossed the dining room into a smaller room with a fireplace and a desk. Books lined two walls and
part of a third. “This will do for my study,” Uncle Ralph said, sounding a little less grumpy. He ran his fingers over a row of books. “You can go along upstairs and pick out a bedroom, Christina. Take your duffel bag with you, please.”

Chris went back to the front hall and looked up the stairs to the darkness above. Suddenly the house seemed to close around her like a trap. She struggled with the front door until it opened, and stepped outside just as Uncle Ralph came into the hall.

“I bet this place is haunted,” she challenged him through the screen.

Uncle Ralph shook his head. “A typical Christina comment,” he said. “Don't be silly.”

Chris fled across the wide porch and down the steps. A flagstone path led to the shore, ending at a pier built of concrete slabs. Her sneakers made a soft slap-slap sound as she darted to its very end. She threw herself down and pressed her face against the concrete. It was still warm from the setting sun.

For the second time that day, tears dampened her cheeks. “Who cares what
he
says?” she whispered to herself. “He's the silly one, not me.”

After a while she lifted her head and looked down at the water licking the pilings. It made a good sound, like chuckling voices. Two ducks skittered across the
surface of the lake, then settled peacefully in the water. On either side of the lawn, trees crowded down to the shore.

Chris took a quavery breath and sat up. The lake was beautiful. She was happy to have a lake, even if everything else was dreadful.

She swung around, aware that someone was watching her.
Go away, Uncle Ralph
, she said silently.
Don't spy on me
.

But it wasn't Uncle Ralph at the shore end of the pier. A little boy stood there. He had big eyes and a solemn face, and he wore an old-fashioned sailor suit with short pants and a broad collar.

A little kid
, Chris marveled.
Out here in the woods, all by himself. He must be lost
.

“Hi,” she shouted and started to scramble to her feet. But just then the sun peeked out from behind a cloud bank, and the pier, the lawn, and the house itself were swallowed up in a glittering flash. Chris blinked. When the light returned to normal, she blinked again.

The boy was gone. It was as if he'd never been there at all.

Chris looked up and down the shore. Here was where the boy had stood, at the joining of the pier to the beach. She was sure of it. Yet there were no footprints in the sand.

Maybe he was too light to leave prints. But where could he have come from? And where had he gone?

She hurried back to the house. A few minutes before, she'd promised herself that she wouldn't speak to Uncle Ralph again unless he spoke to her first. But this was an emergency.

Her uncle was coming down the stairs as she burst through the front door.

“Uncle Ralph,” she began, “there's a little boy out there. I mean, there
was
a little boy, but now he's gone!
I'm afraid he's lost—”

“Christina.” Uncle Ralph's voice was calm, as if he'd made up his mind to keep it that way. “I happen to know there isn't another house on this side of the lake. And there are no paths—nothing but the road we followed in from the highway.” He looked at her sternly. “It's all right to make believe, as long as you know what's true and what's not.”

Chris clenched her fists. She knew the difference between truth and make-believe. “I saw him! I did! Maybe—maybe he was a ghost!”

Uncle Ralph sighed. “Come into the study, Christina,” he said. “We're going to have a little talk.”

Feet dragging, Chris went with him.
A ghost
, she thought. Why had she said that? It was a silly idea, and just the kind of thing Uncle Ralph would expect of her.

Her uncle sat down behind the big desk and motioned her into the chair across from him. It was like being called to the principal's office at school.

“Now, Christina.” He even sounded like a principal. “I know you don't want to be here with me. You realize I'm not exactly thrilled with the situation either. I'm not used to having a child around—”

“I'm ten years old,” Chris interrupted. “And there's a
little
child out there! He must be lost.”

“Still, we both have to make the best of it,” he went
on. “We have to get along until Ma—your grandmother—is home from the hospital. Which, I surely hope, will be soon. When that happens, you can go back to the farm and keep her company.”

Chris tried not to look impatient. She wanted to go outside and search for the boy.

“I know you think I'm a stuffy old bird,” Uncle Ralph said. “You may be right, but I am the way I am. I don't like roughnecks—boys
or
girls. I like things quiet and orderly. I've decided that if we're going to keep from driving each other crazy, we'll have to be pretty independent. Do you know what that means?”

Chris nodded. “I can take care of myself. I
like
to take care of myself.”

Uncle Ralph forced a smile. “Well, then, that's fine,” he said. “I have work to do this summer—research and writing—so I'll be spending most of my time here in this room. You can just . . . just explore and have a great time by yourself. I'll be here if you need me,” he added. It was clear that he hoped she wouldn't need him, ever.

Chris stood up. Darkness had curtained the windows.

“Of course we'll eat together,” Uncle Ralph said. He looked at Chris anxiously. “You don't have a sensitive stomach, do you? I mean, besides getting carsick. I'm not much of a cook.”

“I eat anything,” Chris told him.

“Good.” He seemed to be trying to be friendly, now that they'd had their little talk. “I'll be in frequent touch with the hospital in Rochester. As soon as your grandmother's ready for company, we'll drive down to see her.”

“Fine.”

“Then everything's clear?”

“Sure.”

It seemed to Chris that Uncle Ralph's desk was about a mile wide. Over there on the other side was a calm, neat world where people did the right thing without even thinking about it. Uncle Ralph belonged there, and Aunt Grace. Jenny belonged there, too. But not Chris. She belonged on this side of the desk, where unexpected things happened. Adventures. Mysteries. Maybe even ghosts!

“See you later,” she said, so cheerfully that Uncle Ralph raised an eyebrow. She darted through the dining room to the foyer and out the front door.

Night had closed in. Beyond the dark lawn, the beginnings of a moon path stretched across the water.

Darn it
, Chris thought.
I'm too late
.

But her disappointment lasted only a moment. She would see the little boy again. She would! If he were real, she'd solve the mystery of where he'd come from.
If he were a ghost—she shivered, not believing—if he were a ghost, that would be the scariest thing that had ever happened to Christina Joan Cooper. She wondered if she could bear it.

The telephone was ringing when Chris came downstairs the next morning. Uncle Ralph was still in his room.

“Chrissy, is that you?” Mrs. Cooper's voice was warm and anxious. She might have been right there in the gloomy hallway instead of thousands of miles away in Alaska.

“Mom!” The word came out in a little gasp.

“How
are
you, sweetie? We had a terrible time getting your number. I called Aunt Grace first, and she finally found it in Grandma's phone book. Uncle Ralph must have sent it to her when he found out where he was going to be for the summer. We were so sorry to hear about Grandma's surgery.”

Chris cleared her throat. “She's doing okay, I guess.”

“That's what Aunt Grace said. And how about you, dear? How are you and Uncle Ralph getting along? Are you staying in a nice place?”

“It's fine.” Yesterday, in Grandma's front yard, Chris would have given anything in the world to be able to tell her parents just how miserable she was. Now that she had a chance to do it, the words wouldn't come. There was nothing they could do to help, way off in Alaska, and besides, she had something exciting to think about now. She had a mystery to solve.

“Well, I'm glad. Daddy's very busy, but we're going to do some sightseeing, too. It would certainly put a damper on the whole trip if we thought you and Jenny weren't having some good times.”

Uncle Ralph started down the stairs and stopped short when he saw Chris at the telephone.

“It's my mom,” Chris said. “I guess you want to talk to her.”

He moved in very slow motion down the rest of the stairs. “I guess I do,” he said. “Hello, Jean?” He listened for a minute, screwing his face into funny grimaces. Chris knew her mother must be apologizing for burdening Ralph and Grace. Uncle Ralph would be thinking about how he and Aunt Grace had argued about who was to take the children. His lips were
clamped shut, but he was probably wishing he could tell his sister to come home at once and look after her kids herself.

When he spoke at last, his voice was tightly controlled. “We'll manage,” he said. “Don't worry about it. Christina and I have had a talk, and we understand each other.” He paused again. “No, no, everything is all right. Do you want to speak to her again?”

Chris took the phone and listened to her mother's beloved voice, edged now with concern. “Uncle Ralph sounds tense,” she said. “I'm afraid you'll have to go your own way as much as possible, dear. Find something interesting to do—that's the answer. Find a project.”

Chris nodded into the phone. “I have one, Mom,” she said. “Don't worry, I'm okay.” She wished she could tell her mother about the little boy, but she didn't dare; Uncle Ralph was probably listening to every word.

By the time they said good-bye, he had the table set for breakfast in the kitchen. Rain was falling in a gray sheet beyond the open back door, and the room was dim in spite of the overhead light.

“I hope you don't expect eggs and bacon and that sort of thing for breakfast,” Uncle Ralph said. He looked as if his mind were still on the telephone conversation.

“Cereal's fine,” Chris said. She pictured the farm breakfast she'd be having if she were at Grandma's
house. Pancakes, maybe, and bacon and warm syrup. Maggie would be under the table, poking Chris's toe with her nose to remind her that someone down there was waiting for scraps.

Uncle Ralph looked out at the rain and scowled. “With that going on, I don't suppose you can play outside today.”

“I wasn't going to
play
, anyway,” Chris retorted. “I was going to look for—I was going to explore. As long as it's raining, I'll explore the house.”

Uncle Ralph nodded. “Good. Just don't break anything.”

They were like strangers, stiff and polite.
Well
, Chris thought,
that's just what we are—strangers. It's the way I told Aunt Grace it would be. He doesn't want to know me, and I don't want to know him
.