The Mapmaker and the Ghost (15 page)

The house was dark. All the shades were drawn. And as Birch quickly closed the front door, the room grew darker still. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the dimness. At first, all they could see was an abundance of dust dancing in the light leaking out of the closed blinds. But slowly, they began to realize that the dust wasn't just dancing there; it absolutely permeated everything in the little house.

Goldenrod, who now also realized that she had never before set foot in the old lady's house (she was very mad at herself for having missed so many details—Meriwether Lewis would probably be even more appalled with her than he already was), was aghast. If she didn't know any better, she would say that no one had lived in the cottage for years.

The front room was also the only room on the first floor. It seemed to serve as a living room, dining room, and small kitchen all at once. But everything, from the old wooden furniture to the picture frames on the mantelpiece, was covered with a layer of dust thick enough to obscure all details (like the exact color of the wood or the faces of the people in the photos). There was one small exception. The thin pink runner rug that ran from the front door to the kitchen seemed to be immaculate, as was a tiny space on the kitchen counter, which Goldenrod could now see
housed the china teacups that she had once been served chocolate milk in.

The little details Goldenrod could make out through all the thick gray fuzz were odd. Crocheted shawls, black-and-white photographs, old needlepoint samplers. Everything seemed like a cliché of an old lady's house, like things that someone with no imagination would automatically assume belonged in one.

“Hello?” Goldenrod called again, a little less certain. There was still no answer.

“I don't think she's here,” Birch said meekly, clearly wanting to go home.

But Goldenrod had just noticed that the pristine pink runner ended at the bottom of the staircase—which was also completely dust-free.

Without hesitation, she immediately made her way over and started to climb the stairs.

“Goldenrod …,” Birch began. She motioned for him to follow her. His face set into a severe expression of worry; he bit his lip and obeyed.

At the top of the stairs was a long hallway, off of which stood one door to either side and one door straight at the end, all of which were shut.

Goldenrod creaked straight down the hallway and to the last door. She reached for the knob.

“Goldenrod.” Birch had finally found his voice again. “Can we please just go home? Please?”

Goldenrod turned around to him. “She's my friend, Birch. I have to warn her about No-Bone and Toe Jam.”

“Can't you call her from home?”

“I don't have her number.”

“But Mom …”

“Oh, Birch,” Goldenrod sighed. “I wish you were a little braver.”

Birch dropped his head but didn't say anything.

“Let's just make sure she's not here, and then we'll go, okay?”

“Fine,” Birch said.

Goldenrod turned the knob and opened the door.

It was as if she had stepped into an entirely different house. The room was large and airy. There was a beautiful snow-white carpet on the ground and a large mahogany four-poster in the middle. On the nightstand, there was a cell phone plugged into the wall.

On one side of the room was a large and handsome dresser. On the opposite wall stood a matching vanity table, which was neatly set with a wide variety of glass perfume bottles. Next to this was a sleek, shiny, and seemingly brand-new computer.

Goldenrod couldn't help but gape. This modern, immaculately spotless bedroom seemed to have nothing in common with the rest of the house. For a moment, she even forgot what she was supposed to be doing there. She walked over to the dresser, peeked into the top drawer, and found
what must have been the most neatly folded sock drawer in the history of mankind.

“She's not here,” Birch said hopefully.

But just then, Goldenrod noticed that she was standing underneath a large square tile on the ceiling. The tile had caught her eye because hanging from it was a big and ornate brass handle.

There was no way she'd be able to reach the handle on her own, so she looked around for something to stand on. The computer chair would work just fine. She pushed it over, stood on it, and pulled on the handle. The tile swung open and down came a metal ladder with it.

What sort of explorer would see a ladder and not want to climb up it?
Goldenrod's mind very logically asked.
Not this sort
, she thought with just a hint of glee as she put her foot on the first rung. Besides, how was she supposed to get to the bottom of the mystery of the old lady if she didn't gather every clue that she could find?

Birch looked on, horrified.

“It's an attic.” Goldenrod sounded delighted as she started to climb up the ladder.

She had just poked her head past the ceiling when Birch immediately heard her give a sharp intake of breath. “Whoa!” she said.

“What?” Birch asked, afraid of the answer.

“You have to come see this,” she said as she stepped all the way up the ladder and disappeared into the ceiling door.

Birch really didn't want to go up the ladder. But, at that moment, he decided to try very hard to grant his older sister's wish that he be braver. After all, he couldn't expect her to include him in her activities if he couldn't even act courageous in the face of an attic. With a sigh, he cautiously
made his way over to the middle of the room, stepped onto the chair, and then onto the first rung. He had never been on a ladder before, and it wasn't such a pleasant experience. Still, slowly, he made his way up.

He didn't stop looking at the rungs until he had his feet on solid ground again. Only then was he able to take in where he was and give the same sharp intake of breath he had heard from Goldenrod.

The room was absolutely crammed with
stuff
—some of it protected by plastic bags, some things large, some things smaller, but almost all of it shiny. There were very few things in the room that didn't look like they were made out of gold or silver: trophies, goblets, large scrolled mirrors, sets of silverware.

Birch walked over to Goldenrod, who was examining a silver mirror closely. At first, he thought she was frowning at the green and brown makeup that was still on her face and now streaked with little rivulets of sweat. But then he realized that it was actually the back of the mirror that she was staring at. “What is all this?” he asked her.

Goldenrod looked up at Birch, seeming troubled. “I don't know,” she said. “But look at this.”

She showed him an engraved design on the back of the mirror. It looked like a shield and had two crossed telescopes and some sort of bird on it. A banner across the bird's tail spelled out the word “Lewis.”

“What is that?” Birch asked.

“It's Randy Lewis-O'Malley's family crest. I've seen it before on his backpack. And it seems to be on a lot of things around here …” She looked at all the shiny engraved items surrounding them.

“Who's Randy Lewis-O'Malley?” Birch asked.

“Toe Jam,” Goldenrod said slowly. “So what is
she
doing with all of
his
family's stuff?”

But just then, Goldenrod's eyes widened in shock. Birch watched as she walked, almost as if in a trance, toward what was probably the dullest thing in the room: a small, framed and dusty illustration of a bird, labeled in someone's old-fashioned handwriting. Goldenrod picked it up, stared at it, and muttered, “I don't believe it …”

“What?” Birch asked, going over to see the drawing closer.

It looked like the same bird that appeared on Toe Jam's family crest, but he couldn't see what was so special about it.

“This is his woodpecker. Meriwether Lewis's. Look!” Goldenrod pointed to the crammed handwriting, which did, indeed, say “Lewis's Woodpecker (
Melanerpes lewis
), Discovered 1804 by M.L. & W.C.”

“But then that means … Randy Lewis-O'Malley is related to
him
?!” Goldenrod looked positively distraught.

“Who's Meriwether Lewis?” Birch asked.

Unfortunately, Goldenrod didn't have time to answer, as right then they heard someone opening the front door.

Goldenrod looked up from the picture to see Birch staring at her with a horrified expression. She knew this was exactly the kind of thing he was afraid would happen as soon as he had followed her up the stairs. For once, she almost wished she had allowed his sense of caution to stop her from being so thorough with her explorations. But it was too late now.

As fascinating and slightly horrifying as it was to have discovered what kind of relations Meriwether Lewis had left behind, Goldenrod realized this was not the time to ponder too heavily on it.

She carefully set the picture down, then put her finger to her lips and mouthed a “shhhh …” As slowly as she possibly could, she tiptoed toward the ladder and tried to pull it up. It was much heavier than she had expected.

Downstairs, she could hear creaks as someone made their way up the staircase. She heard that someone humming an old-fashioned song, one that she had heard tinkled in every ballerina music box known to man.

It was the old lady. Although just five minutes ago Goldenrod had been hoping they would meet so that she could warn her, now she was a bit disturbed by everything she had seen. What was she doing with all of Randy's stuff? And how come her house was so weird?

She decided the best thing to do would be to hide in the attic—at least until she could come up with a better plan. She motioned for Birch to help her with the ladder.

His tiny muscles weren't a huge boost but—combined with the sheer Moram determination—they were enough to finally heave the ladder up and shut the tile door behind it. Miraculously, this did not make nearly as much noise as Goldenrod had feared it would, the door closing with a muted thud as they were almost thrown back with the momentum of it.

They panted as footsteps walked up the hallway and to the bedroom door.

“Oh, my, my. I left the bedroom door open? Perhaps Edward is right about me,” they heard the old lady mutter and then laugh lightly to herself.

She entered the bedroom and started to shuffle around in it.

Birch was biting his lower lip and looking down at the floor, as if by doing so he could actually see what the old lady was up to, and Goldenrod found herself wishing that they both could. She carefully scooted over to Birch and put one arm around his shoulder. He looked up at her, and she tried her best to smile with confidence, even though she clearly had no idea what she was doing.

From the bedroom, they heard the sound of the computer being turned on.

The old lady continued to sing. She had now moved on
to an operatic rendition of a pop song that had recently hit the radio and featured the lyrics, “Go round and round like the wheels on the bus. Shake it like you're a tot in Toys‘R'Us.”

Just as soon as the old lady had finished the verse, Goldenrod heard the real song start up. She was confused until she heard the old lady say, “Hello?” and realized that the song must also be the old lady's ringtone.

There was a pause and then the old lady gave a loud sigh. “Not the coin!”

There was another pause.

“Eight hundred dollars? Are you serious?” They could hear the old lady tapping away in annoyance on her computer keys. “No, no. Of course I want it,” she said irritably. “That boy has no sense of history.” Another pause, and then the old lady said coldly, “Thank you, Barnes. Disciplinary advice from you is always refreshing. Just hold it until tomorrow. I'll be there to pick it up then.”

Goldenrod and Birch both looked at each other, Goldenrod now even more disturbed than before. Clearly whatever was going on in the woods, the old lady had some part in it.

The thing was, if Meriwether Lewis was a ghost haunting the woods, and if the old lady was up here holding all of his stuff … maybe Goldenrod's original thoughts when she had met the old lady were right and she
was
a witch. After all, if there could be ghosts, who says there couldn't
be witches? And maybe somehow she was responsible for conjuring Meriwether up. Or even trapping him in the forest to begin with.