Amber House (23 page)

It was the creepiest feeling, seeing that ghostly image in the old tintype, as if part of me had lived and died a long time ago.

I stuffed the picture in my jacket’s pocket.

“How do you think —” he started.

“It’s not me,” I said flatly, closing the subject. “Let’s get out of here.”

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it. Without thinking, I reached down and grabbed some of the things he’d taken out to set them back in the trunk they’d come from.

It was a mistake. Almost instantly I was carried to another place and time.

I saw the doll first — the doll now dangling from my hand — held tightly in little arms. It was held by a sweet-faced child, about six years old, her soft curls falling in masses around her face.
Like a Renaissance angel
, I thought numbly. She was the girl in the photo Jackson had just shown me. She was dressed all in snowy cotton and her feet were bare. She turned away from me and ran down the tunnel. The doll fell from her hand onto the earth as it fell from my hand onto the floor.

I had seen this child from the past before. I had seen her at the entrance to the maze.

She was the little girl in white.

Who —
what
— was this girl? When I’d seen her in the maze, she’d seemed to interact with me, see me, respond to me. Not like she was locked in the past. Not like the woman in the attic. So what did that make her?

Nanga had insisted that there were no ghosts at Amber House — that I didn’t have to be afraid. But what if she was wrong? What if she was just absolutely
wrong
? Maybe Nanga didn’t know all of the house’s secrets. Or what if she was lying?

And if there were ghosts in Amber House, was I safe? Was Sammy safe?
Maybe
, I thought,
we
should
get away from this place.

I didn’t know what to think. I just wanted out of that blind, silent, buried house.

Jackson must have sensed that I did not want to talk. He put the rest of the things in the trunk, closed all the doors and drawers and cupboards, and blew out the lantern. Then we left Heart House, all without speaking. He shut the trapdoor and set the tiles back in place. The opening was still marked by the missing grout around those four squares, but Jackson said he would find something to refill the cracks. Somehow it still seemed important to keep it a secret.

We said good-bye at the maze entrance.

The house was dark when I slipped in through the sunroom doors and up the front hall stairs. Sammy and Mom were asleep. I was exhausted. I was learning in this place that adrenaline crashes left me nearly catatonic. Thinking all this through would have to wait till the morning.

A new day’s sunlight steaming benignly through my window calmed the prior night’s fears somewhat. I thought about how I’d felt when I’d seen the girl in white — I hadn’t had any sense of danger. My every instinct had been to meet her, to speak to her face-to-face.

As I brushed my teeth, I remembered something I’d seen written in Gramma’s pages. I went back to my room and took them out of the back of Fiona’s history.

I scanned the notes, looking for the entry. I found it near the bottom of the stack. The writing was smudged and partly illegible.

When are you
, I repeated in my head. Only at Amber House would such a question be asked. Was this entry about my little girl in white? Had Gramma searched for her too? Was this Fiona’s Persephone?

“Sarah!”

That was Mom. I tucked the book back in the drawer and went down.

My mother was moving briskly, as usual, some task at hand. “I’m packing up Gramma’s clothes and medical equipment. I’d like to get them to the Salvation Army drop tomorrow so they’ll be gone before the party.”

No doubt she wanted help, but I wasn’t feeling particularly supportive. She might not have even noticed the ugly things
she’d said the day before, but I hadn’t forgotten. I just stared at her.

Mom faked a smile. “Thanks for leaping right in and volunteering, but fortunately, I can handle the job myself. What I’d like for you to do is keep an eye on Sam for me. Keep him out of trouble. Okay?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Great,” she said. “Feed him something, then go outside for a change.”

Yes. Outside. Sunshine. Fresh air.

I found Sam in the kitchen, ready for his lunch, my breakfast. Feeling generous, I went all out — I cut up banana in our bowls of toasted oats.

As we slogged through our cereal, I told Sam about my great idea. “I didn’t know this till yesterday, bud, but we have horses.”

“Horses? I
love
horses. Are they live ones?”

“Yes.” I laughed. “Live ones.”

“Um, Sarah, are horses scary?”

“No, they’re not scary. But they’re pretty big.”

“Yes, very big. Horses are very big. But not scary.”

“No,” I agreed, “not scary. But you have to be careful because they are so big. So you have to listen to me and do what I tell you to do, okay, Sam?”

“Yes,” he said. He jumped from his chair. “Let’s go!”

“Finish your cereal first.”

He shoveled several large spoonfuls into his mouth. Milk dribbled down his chin. He held out his bowl. “Fimmished,” he said around a mouthful of soggy oats.

I nodded tolerantly. “Chew.” I scooped up a couple more bites as he sat back down and ground his mouth’s contents to a pulp. He swallowed hugely, several times, then opened his mouth for me to inspect. “Good enough, Samwise.”

He jumped up again, looking at me expectantly.

I cleared the bowls to the sink. “Let’s grab some carrots for the horses,” I said.

“Carrots?” he said. “I
love
carrots.”

“So do horses, bud.”

According to a map in Fiona’s book, Amber House’s stables and barn were on the northeast side of the property, which might explain why I had never noticed them. If Gramma had indeed once been a world-class rider, she must have thrown out all her ribbons and trophies, because I’d never seen even one of them. But she’d kept the horses. Mom said she wouldn’t be without them.

Sam and I had to hike back through a cover of trees to find the tidy stone-and-board stables, white painted and wood shingled. I unlatched the outer door and swung it wide.

A woman walked in before me, down the wide interior hall. She wore a perfect riding outfit: black boots, jodhpurs, white blouse and black vest, a riding crop in her hand. Her red hair swung in a ponytail. It was Fiona. Who had evidently taught her little girl — my grandmother — how to ride.

I heard a man’s voice. “Let’s skip the ride and find some other way to amuse ourselves, shall we?” The man caught Fiona by the arm and swung her around. She brought the crop down smartly against his thigh. He released her. “Ow,” he said, rubbing the spot.

“Behave yourself, Edward, or I shall do it again.” She smiled archly and disappeared into a stall with the man at her heels.

Gone.
Thank God.

“Gimme the carrots,” Sam shouted. “I see a horse.” He tugged at the bag in my hand.

A large roan had stuck its head out of its stall. Sam worked a carrot free of the plastic and started for the horse. I snagged him by the collar and pulled him back.

“Hey!” he protested.

“What did I say to you back in the kitchen?”

“Finish your cereal?” he offered.

“I said horses are big, and you had to do what I said.”

“That’s right,” he said.

“So, listen to me. Horses have great big teeth. You have to be careful when you feed them carrots or you could lose a finger.”

“Lose a finger? Where?”

“The horse could bite it off.”

“Horses eat people?” Sam was incredulous. “I don’t like horses, Sarah. I don’t.”

“No, bud, they don’t eat your finger on purpose. But they might do it by accident if you don’t hold your fingers flat.”

Sam dropped his carrot and put his hands very flat on the front of his pants.

“No, Sam, I mean when you feed them carrots.” He didn’t move. “Look, Sammy,” I said, picking his carrot up off the ground, “I’ll show you. Come over here —”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Sam, I promise you it’ll be all right.” I moved him by his shoulders, positioning him closer to the roan but well out of reach. He still had his hands pressed on his pants. I snapped off a piece of carrot and put it on the palm of my hand. “See how I’m holding my hand flat while I give the carrot to the horse?”

“No, no, Sarah!” Sam’s eyes were tragic.

I held my hand out to the roan, who leaned down and gently felt for and grabbed the carrot chunk with her velvet lips. Then I showed Sam my hand, all five fingers intact. “You see?” I said. “You get it?”

“I get it.”

“You want to try it?”

“Nope.”

“You sure?” I asked. I broke off another chunk of carrot and held it out to the roan, who grabbed it up with lips covered in orange-colored slobber. I pulled back a hand smeared with carrot saliva. “Ew.”

“I’m sure, Sarah.”

Sam and I settled on dropping one carrot into the feed bin in every occupied stall — five in all. The stalls were well mucked out, with fresh straw spread in each, and hay in the bins. I wondered who did all the work, until the door on the far end of the stables opened, and Jackson walked in.

“Jackson!” Sammy shouted.

I said, “Hey,” smiling, but wondering, not for the first time, why he didn’t seem at all surprised to see us. It gave me an unpleasant feeling of being watched, of being studied. Was there something else he wanted from me? Something besides the diamonds he didn’t seem to be looking for all that hard?

“Not in school?” I said.

“Early release.” He walked to the roan, who pushed her head against him. He scratched her along the chin line.

“Why did my grandmother keep these? They must have cost a lot of money. She didn’t still ride, did she?”

“No,” he said. “I never saw Ida ride. But she spent a lot of time with them. And she taught me to ride. I think —”

He’d stopped, as if words had failed him. “What?” I prodded.

“She was sad, you know? The sadness of having no one left to be connected to, of being — unmoored. Everyone is gone. And there’s silence where there should be voices.” I thought of Jackson’s parents. He went on. “I think these horses were a kind of a last living link to that lost connection, to the people
she’d loved.” He shrugged the smallest bit and seemed a little embarrassed. “I don’t know if I said it right. Does that make any sense?”

“Sure,” I said. “Sure. Everyone needs someone to be connected to, or you drift. That’s why I ended up glad Sam decided to drop into our lives.” I reached out and pulled my little brother into a quick hug.

Jackson regarded me. “You’re connected,” he said, “to more people than you realize.” He shifted his attention. “Sam, I got something to show you. Come on.”

Sam didn’t need any further invitation. He walked carefully down the middle of the aisle, his hands still tight on his pant legs. Jackson lifted his eyebrows. It made me laugh. “Long story,” I said.

Sam and I followed him to the barn beyond the stables. Straw bales formed geometric hills in the half loft, and an old tractor took up most of the space below. The shafts of light that poked through holes in the board siding sparkled with rising dust motes turned to gold. Jackson was crouched down beside a watering trough. “Come look.” Sam and I peered in. The trough was lined with hay, and, nestled on top of it, a calico cat curled around four tiny kittens.

“Ohhhhh,”
Sam said. “I
love
kittens.”

We stayed awhile. Sam named each kitten and learned from Jackson how to make them chase a twitching straw. Jackson sat there easy, his legs stretched out before him, patient with Sam’s enjoyment. And I told myself, I had to be crazy to think this guy was trying to get something from us underhandedly. It just wasn’t possible. How could anybody be more open and honest than Jackson?

On the way back to the house, I spotted a lump on the grass under the oak with the tree fort in it. “You go in, bud,” I told Sammy. “I’ll be there in a minute.”