Ghostlight (9 page)

“That's Margaret Anne,” I whispered.

“I know,” Lily said quietly.

I glanced at her. “How?”

“This was
her
room, and that was her doll,” said Lily. “I can feel her here.”

I looked around me. “I don't feel anything.”

Only that was a lie, because goose bumps were crawling up my arms.

Julian stepped through the doorway to film Lily as she walked around the room. Her fingers trailed along the wallpaper and plucked at the yellowed curtains.

When she'd walked the entire room, Lily turned to face me. “I think she likes me.”

“What?”

“She wants me to be her friend. I'm close to her age, after all.” Her mouth curved in a coy smile. Julian kept filming, even though Lily was now still and silent. I squirmed as a blob of sweat traveled down my spine.

A creaking broke the silence. I turned to see the bedroom door slowly swinging toward the doorframe.

All on its own.

A strange pressure filled my ears, almost like when an airplane starts its descent before landing. Time seemed to slow down as I watched that door inching along. When it shut, it
slammed,
and my ears popped so hard I nearly bit my tongue.

“What the heck?” I blurted.

We'd each frozen in place, not one of us within arm's length of the door, and my heart was thumping like crazy.

Julian moved first, lowering his camera and reaching for the doorknob. Taking a breath, he opened it and peered outside.

“There's no one there,” he said.

I craned my neck to see beyond him to the hallway. “Did either of you hear footsteps?”

“I didn't,” said Lily. “The door slammed all by itself.”

“But something happened to my ears,” I said. “What was that?”

Julian took his hand off the knob, and the door swung closed again, very slowly and this time without latching. “It was probably a draft,” he said. “The floors might be uneven—that's pretty common in old houses.”

“Or maybe Margaret Anne slammed the door,” said Lily.

“Oh, come on!” I said. “Why would she do that?”

Lily's eyes widened. “Maybe she's trying to tell us something.”

On our way back to Hollyhock Cottage, Lily skipped ahead as if nothing weird had happened. Julian walked beside me without saying a word. I knew he was thinking hard, though, because he was frowning.

“What happened back there?” I finally asked. “Was Lily just playing?”

He shrugged. “The door is easy to explain. It's hard to say about Lily. She's pretty sensitive.”

“What does that mean?”

“She picks up on things others don't.” He turned to me. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

A fresh crop of goose bumps sprang up on my arms. “Before this summer, I just tried not to think about them. The
idea
of ghosts scares me a lot, though.”

He nodded as if he understood.

I took a breath. “You know how I told you about sneaking into Hilliard House?”

“Yeah, and your grandma took a belt to you, right? Which seems totally over the top, but whatever.”

“Well, I didn't tell you the whole story.”

Julian raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

“I actually fell asleep in the house, and Grandma ended up calling the sheriff. There was even a search party.”

“Wow. What did you say when they found you?”

“I don't know. All I remember are flashing lights and Grandma's face. She was full of
wrath,
Julian. I mean, Grandma can be strict and kinda preachy, but inside she's got a soft heart.” I looked him straight in the eye. “That night when we got home? She became a different person with that belt. She'd never hurt me before. Come to think of it, she never has since.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Well, you're a little too old for a spanking, if that's what you're afraid of.”

“There's more—something my brother told me just a few days ago. I used to go to the house a lot. I don't remember it, but Blake said he followed me once. And when he was standing on the porch he heard me talking to someone inside. But no one else was there.”

Julian's eyes brightened. “You mean you talked to a ghost? Was it Margaret Anne?”

“It could have been.”

He looked thoughtful. “Maybe it's a good thing for you to go back to the house. My therapist would say it's therapeutic.”

I blinked. “You have a therapist?”

“Yeah. So do half the kids at my school. Anyway, you'll be able to meet us at the house again tomorrow, right?”

“Sure.” I paused. “No, wait. Tomorrow is Saturday. Mom's flying in from Dallas to spend a few days.”

Julian sighed. “Well…that's okay, really. Lily and I can get some footage on our own. You just have to loan me the key.”

I stopped in my tracks. “You'd film
without
me?”

“We're running out of time. Tomorrow and Sunday Lily and I can get some of the boring stuff out of the way—you know, establishing shots and other stuff like that. The three of us can finish up on Monday or Tuesday. And I think we'll have enough footage for a cool short film. I never meant it to be longer than ten or fifteen minutes.”

The thought of being left out of two days of filming—even two
hours
of filming—made my stomach feel hollow and achy. “So…what exactly is the story? Two girls wandering around a house?”

“Don't worry, Avery. You and I will find the story when we edit the footage. Right now all I need is the key.”

I was extra glad to have Weasley in bed with me that night. He was pretty chilled out for a cat, and his rumbling purr always settled me down when I was agitated. But even with him curled up against my belly, my brain still raced.

Lily's whole act about “sensing” Margaret Anne had given me the heebie-jeebies while we were at the house, but over dinner I'd shrugged it off as a little kid's overactive imagination. That was a lot harder to do in the near dark of the attic. I replayed that slamming door over and over in my head, wondering what Margaret Anne might be trying to tell us. Was she warning us off? Or telling us to pay closer attention?

After Weasley moved to the foot of the bed, I tossed and wriggled until I fell into another strange dream about Hilliard House. This time I was inside the house…in the parlor, actually, sitting on the rug and looking up at the mantel. That old china doll sat there, staring straight ahead. When my eyes moved to the framed photograph, something flickered on the glass—a reflection of movement. I heard a scratching sound behind me, but I couldn't seem to turn. I couldn't move at all.

I woke to the sound of Weasley scratching at the door to get out, and that meant turning on the lamp and stumbling down the stairs—
quietly
—to let him out of the attic. When I got back to the bed, I pulled the Kingdom box out, hoping to chase that spooky dream from my mind.

But the instant I lifted the lid, I knew it wouldn't work. The pages were limp and musty. Lifeless. The Kingdom magic had pretty much disappeared.

Crouching there in the near dark, I knew it had been slipping away for a while now. It was kind of like Christmas, when your heart yearned for a time when you really felt the magic. You hadn't looked for it, it just
was.
And forever after you were trying to find it again, to relive something you stumbled into and didn't appreciate while it lasted.

I shoved the box under the bed again and tried to go back to sleep. Which meant I spent another eternity tossing and turning while the air conditioner's creepy shudders and wheezes got louder with each minute. Finally I turned on the lamp and checked the clock. It felt like I'd been thrashing around in that bed for twenty hours at least, but it was only a little after midnight.

And that's when my bladder decided I really needed to pee.

I stepped into my slippers and crept down the stairs as softly as possible, somehow managing to avoid all the creaky floorboards on my way to the bathroom. I even got myself on the toilet without turning the light on.

But for some reason I couldn't stop my stupid hand from pressing the stupid handle to flush. It totally blew my stealth mode. By the time I'd washed and dried my hands and opened the door, Grandma was standing there in her flowery nightgown and robe.

“Are you sick, Avery May?”

“No, ma'am. I just had to pee.”

Grandma looked more concerned than mad, but my throat started to ache and my eyes were prickling like I was going to cry or something.

“You want to come sit with me in the living room for a bit?” she asked.

Once we were settled on the sagging couch with my head nestled in the crook of her arm, that sudden urge to cry dried up. Grandma smelled comfortable—like soap and Jergen's lotion—and though the skin on her arms was loose and crinkly, her muscles were still strong as she held me tight.

“I couldn't sleep,” I finally said.

She gave me a squeeze. “Something on your mind?”

I pondered how to explain it all…without
really
explaining it.

“You know how Julian and I are making a movie? About the history of the farm?”

Grandma nodded slowly. “Is that not going well?”

“It's going okay. But when Julian and I were in the cemetery, we saw the gravestone for Joshua Hilliard's wife and daughter. I saw…I mean, I couldn't help noticing that his daughter died when she was young.
Really
young.”

She pulled me closer. “Have you been fixating on death, Avery May? Is that what has you so troubled?”

I squirmed. “Sort of. Julian said that the girl, Margaret Anne, died the same year as the floods in this area. He thinks she drowned, and I was just wondering if that was true.”

“To be honest, I don't know. All your grandpa ever said was that it was Joshua Hilliard's fault. Samuel didn't care for the man, even though he was close kin.”

“Why? What'd Joshua do?”

“For one thing, he left the church pretty early on in his life. Must have been after the war.”

A twisty feeling came to my gut. Leaving the church was just about the worst thing a Hilliard could do. I should know, because Mom did it and Grandma still hadn't forgiven her.

“I never knew the wife or the daughter, but I do know that Joshua Hilliard turned peculiar in his old age. Hardly ever left the house, never wanted anyone to visit him.” She shook her head. “Well, your mother sometimes took it into her head to walk out to that house and talk to him—”

“
Mom
was there?”

“Oh, I put a stop to that. It wasn't safe. And after he died, when I went into that house to see about getting it cleaned up? Well, I hardly know how to describe it. Avery May, there was a strangeness to that place.”

I sat up. “You mean, like a ghost?”

“I was taught not to believe in that sort of nonsense. And yet, it was as if the house had held in bad thoughts and feelings for too long, and they'd festered terribly—and when I opened that door they all rushed over me.” She snorted. “That day I told myself I'd never go back in Hilliard House. It could fall into a pile of rubble for all I cared. And I didn't go back, at least not until…”

“Not until I fell asleep there.”

“And nearly scared the wits right out of my head. I can't imagine what drew you to that house in the first place.”

“I don't remember, Grandma.”

“You're better off for it, I say.” She gave me a quick squeeze and then looked me straight in the eye. “You stay away from that house, Avery May. It's a place of darkness.”

Saturday's drive to Nashville was miserable as usual. Grandma's car was small and basic, but it
did
have air-conditioning. She just didn't like the air blowing in her face, so she set it to the lowest level and vented the air to the floorboard. It wasn't so bad for those sitting up front, but as the youngest and smallest, I was always stuck in the back. And because Grandma drove at least a hundred miles under the speed limit, it took us two stuffy, sweaty hours to get to the airport.

That drive gave me a lot of time to think about Mom. I always missed her during our summers in Tennessee. Don't get me wrong—it was great to have a break from the school-year schedule. I loved running free on the farm with Blake, and most of all I'd looked forward to getting back to Kingdom. But it only took a week for me to miss Mom's cooking. To miss the cool of her hand stroking my cheek. I always stood as close as possible to the airport security exit so I'd be the first one she saw when she came through, and her face always broke into a wide smile at the sight of me. It even gave me a warm feeling in my belly to see her hug Blake. Any other time he would cringe at her attempts to squeeze him—like he might be contaminated by Mom cooties, or something—but he never shied away from that airport hug.

I still looked forward to seeing Mom, of course, but now the mystery man in the photo hovered between us. She hadn't lied to my face about him, but she'd kept the truth from me. Grandma would have called that a “lie of omission.”

Who was he, and how had she met him? What had she loved about him? Why couldn't she just be a regular mom and have babies before she divorced him? A lot of people I knew, including Julian, had parents who weren't actually married to each other anymore. But they still had both parents. At the very least, they knew the names of both parents.

I would never know my father's name.

It had bothered me for a long time—ever since I started school—but this summer had stirred up a real anger about it. I had no idea how to explain this to Mom, though. Maybe that was why I was a little stiff when she came through the security exit. I felt torn down the middle—half my heart leaping at first sight of her while the other half seethed over her secrets and lies.

“Avery, it's so good to see you!” She crushed me in a bear hug. When she pulled back, her forehead creased. “There's something different about you, sweetie.”

“Yeah?”

“It's only been a week, but you look
older.
How can that be?” She shook her head. “Why can't you stay my baby forever?”

I couldn't help grinning at that. Actually, it was nice to have everyone smiling, even Blake. I had plenty of time to ask her about the husband thing. It could wait until Monday at least. A day and a half of peace wouldn't hurt anybody.

“I want to know what's been going on,” Mom said at the supper table after the blessing. “I mean, since you two are taking a break from Kingdom this summer.”

I turned to Blake—he was the one responsible for the break, after all—but he just shoveled a pile of mashed potatoes into his mouth and stared back at me. Fortunately Grandma jumped in.

“Blake's been working on his summer-reading list.” She patted my hand. “And Avery May has a new friend. She's been spending a lot of time with him.”

“Him?”
Mom's head snapped up. “Avery, did you tell me about this?”

“It's not like that, Maddie,” said Grandma. “I've met the boy—he's spending the summer with his father at Hollyhock Cottage.”

Blake reached for the last drumstick. “His dad's a country music star.”

“Oh, really?” Mom turned to look at me. “What's his name?”

“Curtis Wayne,” I mumbled.

Her eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?”

I shook my head. “I didn't know he was famous until Julian explained.”

“I've seen him in the commercials for those country music awards shows.” Mom grinned. “What would you and your friends call him? A
hottie
?”

“God, Mom!”

“Avery, what have I said about taking the Lord's name in vain?” Grandma took a deep breath. “Mr. Wayne seems quite amiable. Not at all full of himself like you might expect from a celebrity. His daughter arrived a couple of days ago, and Avery May is working on a project with both children.”

“A project? Tell me all about it, Avery.”

I picked at the skin on my chicken breast. First of all, I
had
told Mom about the film. Second, I'd been so distracted by secret husbands and ghost girls that I'd forgotten to think of a good answer to the whole “what's it about” question.

“I told you on the phone, Mom,” I stalled. “We're, um, making a movie together.”

“I'm sorry, honey. I must have been really tired that night. Remind me what the movie is about.”

“We're just filming scenes here and there on the farm. It's kind of a history of the place. Julian says it's going to be a ‘short'—only about fifteen minutes long.”

“She's totally into this movie, Mom,” said Blake. “You wouldn't believe how seriously Avery's taking it.” He looked directly at me. “She'll stop at
nothing.
”

I shot back the dirtiest look I could manage. “It's not that big a deal.”

“Hilliard Farm history, huh? Maybe Mama could put the video on her website.” Mom glanced at Grandma. “That is, if she'd finally join the twenty-first century and make a website for her rental cottage.”

“It's not worth the bother, Maddie. I gave the important details to that Tennessee rental cottage website, and if someone needs to know more, they call. Sometimes even that's more than I want to fool with.”

“It would simplify things if you let people book online. All you need is satellite TV for an Internet connection.” When Grandma only grunted in response, Mom turned back to me. “I look forward to seeing your movie, Avery.”

Thank goodness she switched focus to Blake at that point, because I was not cool with talking about the movie. Mom could
never
see it. If she did, she'd know I broke Grandma's rules. That I stole the key and snuck into an abandoned house. And then she'd probably find out about me falling asleep in Hilliard House all those years ago, because she's a lawyer and she's good at getting facts out of people who don't want to share them. And that would cause another huge argument between her and Grandma. And maybe she'd never let me come to Tennessee again.

Mom set down her napkin and smiled at Grandma. “That was delicious, Mama. I'm trying to cut back on meat, but you know I never can resist your fried chicken.” She turned to Blake. “If you'll clear the table, I'll wash the dishes. Avery, would you mind helping me with the drying?”

This was the point when Grandma would herd Blake off to the living room so that I could have Mom all to myself. And there was so much I wanted to ask her. Like, who exactly was this man she'd married and why hadn't I ever heard of him? I also wanted to know more about Joshua Hilliard, seeing as she'd known him.

But I'd told myself to wait until later to deal with all that, so I just stood there fiddling with the towel while she filled the sink with soapy water.

“What's on your mind, Avery?”

After a bit more fiddling, I decided it was easier to talk about myself for now. “It's this movie I'm making with Julian. He and his sister did some filming without me today, and it made me feel kind of…”

“Left out?”

“Yeah. And I won't see them again until Monday.” I took a glass from her to dry. “I mean, I'll see them on Monday if it's okay with you. We usually just work for a couple of hours or so.”

She eyed me for a moment. “This project is pretty important to you, isn't it?”

I nodded.

“Then I want you to finish it.” She smiled. “Thanks for considering my feelings. That's awfully grown-up of you.”

I couldn't meet her eyes for long, so I walked the dried glass over to the cabinet. “Julian and I have been doing research for the film, and we learned about Joshua Hilliard. Grandma says you talked to him sometimes, and that she didn't like it.”

Mom paused in her washing. “Wow, I haven't thought about Mr. Hilliard in a long while.”

“Was he scary? Old men scare me sometimes.”

She ran water over a plate and handed it to me. “I know what you mean, but no. Mostly he was just sad. He'd lived alone in that house for such a long time.”

“Grandma said he was dark and
maudlin.
”

“ ‘Maudlin' is a good word—remember it for the SATs. But it's not really how I remember him. Mr. Hilliard was very kind. Gentlemanly, even. Mama didn't like me going in the house, but sometimes he'd be working outside, or sitting on his front step, and he'd offer me a butterscotch candy.”

“Mom! Candy from a stranger?”

“He was family, Avery. And he always seemed pleased to see me.” She paused. “You know, he talked to me like I mattered. Like he cared about my opinions. But after a while he'd get a faraway look, and I knew he needed to be alone again. Figured he was missing his family.”

“So why is he buried separately from them?”

Mom shook her head sadly. “That's how his wife wanted it.”

“Isn't that kind of strange?”

“I knew better than to pry.”

I took a breath. “Did he tell you about his daughter? The one who died so young?”

She glanced sidelong at me as she handed over the chicken platter. “Well, aren't you the little investigative reporter!”

“You've never told us much about our family history,” I said.

She studied me for a moment before plunging her hands back in the water. “Mr. Hilliard didn't talk about his daughter much. I expect it was too painful, and I can understand that. If I lost you or Blake…Well, I can't even bear to imagine what I'd do.” She shook her head and pulled the sink plug. “Speaking of Blake, he seems a little subdued.”

“Yeah, I know. He's totally wrapped up in his own stupid stuff.”

Mom tilted her head as if to study me. “Actually, I'd say he seems a little lonely.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“But you've been spending all your time with the boy down the road. And you're working on a pretty complicated project together. Did you ever think of inviting Blake to join in?”

I stared at her. “Mom, I already told you.
He blew me off.
He doesn't want to do Kingdom anymore. He acts like it's just baby stuff.” I took a breath. “Maybe it
is
a kid thing, but he didn't have to be so rude about it.”

“Tell me what he said exactly.”

“He said he was starting high school in the fall and was done playing magical kingdoms, or whatever.” Coming out of my mouth, the words had about as much impact as a foam football. “I don't know…it just really hurt my feelings.”

“Did you even try to talk to him about it? To think of other things to do together?”

“Um…no. I pretty much just screamed at him.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Mom. I have anger issues.”

She put her damp hands on my cheeks and kissed my forehead. “Just think about what we've talked about. That's all I ask.”