Crandalls' Castle (9 page)

I asked him where he lived, and he pointed toward the street. “Over there,” he said. “Our house is little. You're lucky.”

Charli said, “It's not our house—it belongs to my uncle, the man on the ladder. We work for him.”

He said, “Can I go upstairs?” and she yelled, “No!” so loudly that Jake and I both jumped.

“Why not?”

Charli scowled at him. “You just can't, that's all. My uncle doesn't want kids running around up there.”

Jake said, “I'm not kids—I'm one kid. I wouldn't hurt anything.”

“Drink your lemonade,” Charli told him. “You can look around down here if you want to, but if you go upstairs, I'll call my uncle and you'll be sorry.”

He wandered out of the kitchen and down the hall, carrying the cup of lemonade in both hands. Charli didn't look at me, and I knew she was afraid I'd ask what was so special about upstairs. For the first time I wondered if she had good reasons of her own for being afraid of this house. Up till then I'd assumed she just liked the idea of a ghost and was hoping I—or someone—would back her up.

We filled our pails with fresh water and started washing down the battered old chairs that stood around the table. Charli kept glancing at the kitchen door, waiting for Jake to come back. When he returned to the kitchen, she looked relieved.

This time he ignored her and walked around the table to where I was working. “Who's that other lady?” he asked. His eyes were very big in his grimy face. “Does she work here, too? Is she your boss?”

I asked, “What other lady?”

Charli made a funny little noise in her throat. “There isn't any other lady,” she said. “Don't lie!”

Jake looked at her scornfully and marched back down the hall, slopping lemonade with every step.

“She's right in here,” he yelled from the front hall. Then he stopped and looked back to where we were watching him from the kitchen. “Well, she was here before,” he said. “She was sitting in the chair with the blanket on her lap. She smiled at me.”

I followed him down the hall, with Charli behind me. We all stared at the chair by the living-room fireplace. I thought Charli would bawl him out again for lying, but she just stood there.

“There wasn't anybody else here, Jake,” I told him. “You made that up. You shouldn't try to scare people.”

I wasn't scolding, just trying to calm him down, but he'd had enough of us. “I'm not telling lies, you are!” he yelled. He threw his paper cup onto our nice clean floor and ran out the front door.

I didn't know what to make of it, and I still don't, but Jake's imaginary lady sure made an impression on Charli. I asked her if she'd told Jake that the Castle was haunted, but she shook her head.

“Because if you did, that explains what he thinks he saw,” I told her. “He's too little to know what's real and what isn't.”

“I didn't tell him anything,” she said. She looked as if she was in a trance.

“Well, forget it then,” I said. “He's just a baby.” I wanted to make her feel better, but it didn't work.

“That thing on the chair—he called it a blanket,” she whispered. “That's a patchwork quilt. I saw it before, upstairs in the last bedroom. All crumpled up in the middle of the bed. How did it get down here?”

Chapter Fourteen

CHARLI

Dan was sitting on the front steps when Charli came around the side of the Crandalls' house. “Go on inside and get a cinnamon roll,” he suggested. “You look as if you need it.”

“I'm not hungry,” Charli lied. She was starving, but Sophia was already in the house, receiving a noisy welcome home from Mickey and Aunt Lilly.

“Wait'll I tell you what just happened,” Charli said. “Remember the ghost we heard singing in the Castle—well, she was in the living room this morning! Sitting in that old chair next to the fireplace.”

Dan narrowed his eyes. “You saw her?”

“I didn't see her, but Jake did—he's a little boy who lives across the street. She smiled at him!” Charli waited. “Isn't that just unbelievable?”

Dan laughed. “Definitely unbelievable. Kids make up stuff, Charli.
You
make up stuff. Kids in this neighborhood have been talking about ghosts in that old wreck for years.”

“But there really is a ghost!” Charli exclaimed, outraged. “You know there is—we heard it.”

Dan stood up and stretched. “At this point I don't know what we heard,” he said. “It was weird all right, but I don't spend a lot of time wondering about it. I've got more important things on my mind.”

“Like what?” Charli demanded.

“Like looking for a second job. Like keeping my grades up enough to get a scholarship.”

Charli groaned. Money for college was all he thought about these days. Talk about Crandalls' Castle just made him angry.

“Go get a cinnamon roll,” he advised again as he reached for his bike. “And for Pete's sake, get off the ghost kick. Why make things worse than they already are?”

“You sound just like Sophia,” Charli told him. “So—so darned superior! Like you're a hundred years older than I am and know everything.”

“Well, you can use a lot of help,” her cousin teased. “And Sophia's okay. She likes to help people, so enjoy it.” Then he was gone, gliding swiftly down the street on his battered bike.

Enjoy it! Charli grumbled under her breath. What exactly was she supposed to enjoy? If things were the way they used to be, she'd be with Aunt Lilly right now. Or Aunt Lilly might be out here on the porch with a whole plateful of cinnamon rolls. They'd be having a feast, just the two of them. Aunt Lilly had forgotten all about her niece who loved her.

Sighing, Charli trudged across the street to take a shower and have a sandwich before her mother and Ray came home from work. Her mother had said they would leave for the mall as soon as she and Sophia were ready.

I'll be ready, Charli thought sourly. I'll be ready, but Sophia may be too busy talking to Aunt Lilly.

An hour into the visit to the mall, Charli discovered she was having fun. One reason was that Ray liked to buy things. Her mother treated most stores like museums: places where you looked and admired but didn't buy, unless there was a sale. Ray was different. When Charli admired an apple green top, he held it up in front of her to study the effect. And then he bought it. By three-thirty she had two new tops with pants to match, Sophia had a reddish orange sweater that looked great with her dark hair, and Rona had a long blue skirt that swirled around her ankles. When they stopped at the Jungle House for a snack, the hostess had to help them stow all their bundles under the table.

“This is what happens when you're a family man,” Ray said. He winked at Charli in a way that told her he liked the feeling.

The chocolate malts at the Jungle House were perfect—tall and gooey, with extra ice cream at the bottom. Charli waited for Ray to say she should have something less fattening, but he didn't. He didn't even look disapproving when she ordered the Super Dooper.

“Anything goes today,” he announced grandly. “What would you like, Sophia?”

“A strawberry sundae,” Sophia said at once. “Strawberries are my favorite food. I wrote a poem about them once.”

That was the most she'd said since they left home. Much of the time, Charli had been able to pretend Sophia wasn't even there.

“You wrote a poem?” Rona said encouragingly. “I'd love to read it.”

Sophia looked down at her hands, as if she was sorry she'd spoken. “It wasn't any good,” she said. “I don't have it anymore.”

“That's too bad,” Ray said. “I'm impressed. I've never written a poem in my life.”

“Can't you remember it, Sophia?” Rona coaxed. “We'd like to hear it.”

Not me, Charli thought.

“I don't remember it,” Sophia said sharply. Her cheeks were pink. “I don't know why I even mentioned it. It got burned up with some of my other stuff.”

Ray put down the menu. “Burned up?” he repeated. “Do you mean
you
burned it?”

Sophia shook her head. “It was in my locker,” she said in a low voice. “When my school burned.”

“A school in Madison burned?” Ray asked. “When was that? I don't remember reading about it.”

“Not in Madison,” Sophia mumbled. “In Sacramento. Before I came to live with my great-grandmother.” By now, she looked so miserable that Charli almost, but not quite, felt sorry for her.

“Oh, that must have been terrible!” Rona exclaimed. “Did you lose a lot of your things?”

“Most of my stuff was at home.” Sophia stood up then, so suddenly that she almost tipped the glass-and-wrought-iron table. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said and hurried off toward the back of the restaurant, leaving them to stare after her.

“Well,” Ray murmured, “I wonder what that's all about.”

“I should go after her,” Charli's mother said. “She looked as if she might be sick. Or maybe she'd rather be alone. What do you think?”

The waitress arrived then with the chocolate malt and the strawberry sundae, as well as peach pie for Ray and coffee for Rona.

Charli concentrated on her malt. “She doesn't want to talk about her school burning down,” she said between sips. “She doesn't want to talk about anything. Like there was a big mystery or something.”

“Oh, lay off, Charli,” Ray said. “There's no mystery about Sophia. She's a shy person trying to fit into a new situation. And I have a feeling you're not making it any easier for her.”

Charli felt the afternoon crash in ruins around her, in spite of the malt.

“It's not my fault if she doesn't want to be friends,” she said. “She doesn't like me.”

Ray frowned. “Charli—” But before he could start scolding again, Rona shushed him. A moment later Sophia slid into her chair without speaking.

“Are you all right?” Rona asked. “Did we upset you, Sophia? I'm really sorry.”

Sophia looked at her sundae. “I'm okay. I'm not hungry though. I thought I was, but I'm not.”

“Well, take your time,” Ray said. “We're in no rush. Or forget the sundae if you want. It's okay.”

“I can eat it for you,” Charli offered. “I don't mind.”

Sophia pushed the sundae across the table. “Take it,” she said. “I don't want it.”

Her tone was cool and blunt, a little rude. Charli saw Ray and her mom exchange glances in the silent message-sending way grown-ups had. Now they were seeing for themselves how weird Sophia could be.

“We still have a little more shopping to do,” Rona announced, after a pause. “Charli, you need a new bathing suit before you and Ray start those swimming lessons. And there's something special Sophia needs, too.”

Charli put down her spoon. The reason she needed a new swimming suit was because she'd put on weight. Yet here she was, eating a strawberry sundae after finishing every drop of her chocolate malt. She started to say she wasn't sure she wanted to learn to swim
this
summer, but Sophia spoke first.

“I don't need anything,” she said, in the same cool voice she'd used before. “And I don't have any money.”

“This is going to be a present, Sophia,” Ray told her. “It's my idea—a sport I think you'll like. If I'm wrong, you can say so, but I'd like you to try it.”

“You already bought me a present,” Sophia protested. “The sweater.”

“This is different.”

What sport could he be talking about? Charli wondered. Whatever it was, she supposed Sophia would be good at it, the way she was good at everything else.

She picked up the spoon and swirled sweet strawberry juice into the melting ice cream. Might as well eat it, she decided. Maybe the new bathing suit would work a miracle.

Chapter Fifteen

SOPHIA'S JOURNAL

I felt really stupid showing Lilly the running shoes Ray and Rona bought me. Running shoes! Why would I want to run? I told them I didn't need them and they were way too expensive, but they wouldn't listen.

Ray kept saying, “Don't say no till you try it, Sophia.… Lots of my students run, even if they don't take track.… It's good exercise … a great way to let off steam.”

That last part worried me. There are times when I'm so uptight about what might happen next that I can hardly breathe, but I didn't think anyone had noticed.

I hoped Lilly would think the shoes were an odd gift, but instead she said, “Oh, good, Sophia! I was on the track team when I was in high school, and I loved it. I always felt so much better after a run.” I knew then that she and the Franzes must have planned the shoes together. So I haven't fooled anybody. They're all watching.

I wanted to push the shoes to the back of my closet and leave them there, but of course Ray had given me all kinds of directions. Go out early in the morning. Walk at first. When you start running, don't push too hard. Rest when you get tired. You'll be surprised.…

If I didn't at least try it, he and Rona and Lilly would decide that, besides being strange, I was ungrateful.

I tried to be real quiet the first morning, tiptoeing down the stairs and opening the front door just partway, because it squeaks. The birds were awake, of course, and making such a racket you'd think they'd never seen the sun come up before. Lincoln Street looked peaceful in the pale light, like a movie set waiting for the actors.

I walked for a block, ran a little, and walked some more. After forty-five minutes, I was ready to go back to bed. Big deal! I thought. What's so great about this?

Yet there were some things I liked about it, even then. I didn't have to talk to anyone while I was running. I didn't even have to think! After the first couple of days, getting up early got easier and—surprise!—I decided I liked running. Sure, it's hard work at first, but then it isn't. When I went out this morning, I felt as if I had springs in my shoes.