Ghosts of Rathburn Park (17 page)

“Let me go. Let me go,” Matt gasped. Shocked and terror-stricken, he ducked and squirmed, trying to pull away. But the big hands were strong and very firm.

“No chance, kid,” a deep, rumbling voice said. “You’re coming with me.” And then, with one big hand still on Matt’s shoulder and the other twisting his left arm up behind his back, Matt was being pushed up some stairs, through a door and out into a hall. Into the immense grand hallway with its gilded pillars, stained-glass windows and gold-framed mirrors.

It wasn’t until then that Matt saw the large, shaggy-haired man who had captured him. Saw him not face to face, but in several mirrors as they made their way down the hall and then up another wide flight of stairs.

Matt tried once or twice to plead his case, saying things like, “Hey, mister. Please let me go. I’m not a robber or anything. I was just…”

“Yeah? Just what?”

“Just trying to talk to Amelia. Please, just ask her. Ask Amelia. She’ll tell you who I am.”

There was no answer except for a snorting laugh. “That’s a good one. Well, that’s what we’re going to do, kid. That’s exactly where we’re going.” And then the shaggy old man was knocking on a door. A sharp-faced woman in a white uniform opened it and Matt was pushed forward into a room.

The large room was dimly lit and smelled of antiseptics and stale perfume. There was a bed at one end of the room, and at the other the sharp-faced woman who had opened the door had moved back to stand next to a wheelchair. And in the chair a thin old woman dressed in shiny black was frowning sternly in Matt’s direction. The woman’s face was deeply wrinkled, but her small dark eyes were bright and quick. Her frown deepened as she said, “Well, well, Ernie. What have we here?”

“A boy, ma’am,” the big old man said. “Found him creeping around in the basement. Said he wanted to talk to…” He paused and chuckled. “To talk to Amelia.”

“Did you indeed? In our basement?” She turned to Matt. “You have some explaining to do, young man,” she said. “You might begin by telling us why you wanted to talk to me.”

For a moment all Matt could do was shake his head. “No. No, ma’am. Not you. I wanted to talk to…” He held out his hand to indicate someone about his height. “To the girl who lives here.”

“The girl? What girl would that be?” And then suddenly, “Ah yes, I think I understand.” She turned toward the woman in the white uniform. “Freda,” she said, “do you know anything about this? Could this concern your Dolly?”

The woman named Freda shook her head. “I don’t think so, ma’am. Don’t see how it could. But….” Her eyes narrowed and so did her thin lips. “But we’ll soon find out.” She turned away, hurried across the room and out the door, and a moment later Matt heard a voice that sounded vaguely familiar. A harsh, angry voice calling, “Dolly. Dolly. Dolly.”

They waited, with the big man still gripping Matt’s shoulders and the woman in the wheelchair still looking at him curiously. Now and then she asked questions like “What is your name, boy?”

“Matt, ma’am.” No point in lying now. They could easily find out who he was. “Matthew Hamilton.”

“And where is your home, Matthew?”

“In Timber City, ma’am. On Rathburn Avenue.”

“And tell me how you managed to get into my basement.”

That was harder. He didn’t want to blame it on…to say who it was who had shown him how to get in through the broken window. He was still stammering, trying to find something to say that would be believable, when suddenly the door to the hall flew open with a bang and two people burst into the room. The bigger one was the woman in the white uniform and the other was—Amelia. The wild-eyed girl who called herself Amelia was struggling to pull free from the woman’s grasp.

The same Amelia for sure and certain, even though she looked different and somehow smaller in jeans and a T-shirt, and in the midst of a fierce struggle with a large, determined-looking woman.

“Let go of me, Grandma,” Amelia was saying. “I didn’t do anything. Why do I have to—” It wasn’t until then that she looked up and saw Matt and for a second seemed to freeze. To freeze, to stare at Matt as if in horror and then to go limp. A moment later she was lying on the floor in a silent, motionless heap while the woman in the white uniform and the shaggy-haired man bent over her. The other woman, the one in the wheelchair, was also moving her chair toward them, looking startled and concerned.

Suddenly left to his own devices, Matt moved closer, watching the woman in white roll Amelia onto her back, feel her pulse and pat her cheeks. He was worried too, at least at first, but before long he began to suspect something. To suspect that maybe Amelia wasn’t as unconscious as she looked. He didn’t know why, at least not exactly, except that he had reason to know that where Amelia was concerned, things usually weren’t what they seemed.

“Smelling salts,” the woman in the chair was calling. “Get my smelling salts, Freda.”

It was then, while the woman in white was jumping to her feet and rushing out of the room, and the man was adjusting the other Amelia’s wheelchair, that Matt moved closer, and whispered, “Amelia. Hey, Amelia. It’s me.”

And Amelia whispered back. Opening one eye, she barely mouthed, “Get out of here. Run!” And Matt did.

Easing toward the door, he tiptoed out, down the stairs, down the long hallway and another grander flight of stairs to some huge double doors. He managed to pull one of them open, shot out across the veranda and on down to the ground. He stopped then just long enough to glance back over his shoulder, to listen for sounds of pursuit. Nothing. He went on running.

W
ITH THE PALACE BEHIND
him, and soon afterward the swamp as well, Matt’s pace finally slowed. As he went on, walking slowly, it was only his mind that was racing, worrying, puzzling and questioning. And beginning to come up with some possible answers.

As he walked across the ball field he concentrated on asking himself who Amelia, or whoever, really was. By the time he’d reached the parking lot he had decided that she was not Amelia at all, probably not even a Rathburn. She was probably the granddaughter of the nurse woman called Freda. And her name was…It didn’t seem possible that her name was actually Dolly.

The fog had lifted somewhat and as he passed the beginning of the path that led to the graveyard Matt suddenly stopped to stare. To stare down the path and then, without knowing why, to turn down it. A few minutes later he was kneeling in the grass beside Old Tom’s grave—and the other grave that was probably Rover’s.

Pushing the weeds and ivy away from Rover’s tombstone, he began to whisper. “So that’s it, Rover,” he said. “So she’s just a liar. A girl who likes to pretend she’s somebody more important than she really is.” He shrugged angrily. “Well, she sure fooled me.”

He was still feeling angry, at the would-be Amelia, and at himself, too, for having been fooled for so long, when he suddenly jumped to his feet and whirled around to face the path. He’d heard something—the sound of running feet. The sound quickly grew louder and Matt was still frozen with surprise and fright when Amelia burst into view. Amelia—or whoever. Sliding to a stop, she stared at him, and then slowly turned in a circle like she was looking for something or someone else.

“So,” Matt finally managed to say. “Are you all right? Did you faint, or what?”

She shrugged. “Nothing happened to me. I was just pretending. I’m good at pretending.” She grinned. “It worked, didn’t it? They thought I was…” She shrugged again and went on, “I don’t know what they thought, but right after you escaped I did too. I just jumped up and ran. And as soon as I got outside I started looking for you, but you’d already gone.” She stopped and once again turned in a circle.

Matt was feeling angry again. “So,” he said. “So you’re not Amelia after all. Okay. What should I call you?”

She turned toward him angrily and then shrugged, curling her lower lip. “Right,” she said. “My real name is Dolly Davis. And sometimes I live with my grandmother, who is Freda Davis, R.N. As in Registered Nurse.” She shook her head. “Can you believe it? Do I look like a Dolly to you?”

Matt found it hard to keep from grinning. “Well, no, you don’t, actually,” he said. “So what should I call you?”

“I don’t care.” Clenching a fist, she shook it threateningly. “But it better not be Dolly.”

“Okay. Okay.” He was grinning now. “I guess I’ll just go on calling you Amelia. Okay? At least when no one else is around.”

She stared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment before she unclenched her fist and nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, you can do that. That’s okay.”

“But how about when school starts? What will I call you at school?”

Amelia laughed. “Well, don’t worry about that. I don’t go to school in Timber City. I never have. I go to school in Seattle.”

“In Seattle. How can you live here and go to school in Seattle?”

She shrugged. “It’s easy. I only live here in the summer. See, my mother works for a ship company and most of the year she works in Seattle. And we live right downtown in an apartment building. But in the summer she works on ships that go back and forth to Alaska and I can’t go with her. So I get sent here for three months to stay with my grandmother. I do it every year. This was my fourth summer in the Palace.”

“Wow!” Matt said. “Lucky you.” Turning to look toward the Palace, he narrowed his eyes, picturing what it would be like to actually live in a huge, old, historic place like—

“Yeah, sure.” Amelia broke into his daydream. “But it would be more fun if the rest of them weren’t such a bunch of grouches. And if they, if any of them, liked having me around.” Suddenly her voice was shaky and her eyes blinked rapidly.

Not knowing what else to say, Matt could only think to ask, “The rest of them? At the Palace, you mean?”

She swallowed hard and then shrugged. “Yeah, my granny and old Miss Rathburn and Ernie and Irma.”

“Irma?”

“She’s the cook. Ernie’s her husband. None of them like having me around.” She laughed in a sarcastic way. “Oh well, I’m used to it. My mom feels the same way. She likes getting rid of me every summer. She liked me when I was her cute little Dolly, but now…” She stopped and turned her face away.

Matt was thinking that he understood. He knew what it was like to feel kind of in everybody’s way. Suddenly he thought of something that might help take her mind off her problems.

“Hey.” He dug into his jacket pocket and held out the locket and key on the golden chain. “Look what I found. It’s yours, isn’t it?”

For a long moment she stared at what Matt was holding before she slowly reached out and took it. And then for another long moment she stared at what was in her hand—before she sank down into a crouching position. With her head bent low, she began to cry. Real heartbroken, shuddering, gasping sobs. And standing over her, Matt wondered what he had done—and what he could do now.

“Hey,” he said finally. “Don’t do that. I just thought you’d like to have it back. I found it on the path.”

The crying went on for a while and then gradually began to lessen. At last Amelia raised her teary face, stared at Matt and asked, “The key? Do you know what the key is for?”

Reluctantly, Matt nodded.

“And what was in it? You know what I keep in the trunk?”

Matt nodded again. “Well, yeah. I guess I do.”

She cried again, even harder.

“Look,” Matt said. “It’s all right. I won’t tell anybody.”

The sobs grew softer and finally she lifted her head and sighed deeply. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you don’t tell, it’s all over. I won’t be able to do it again. Not with somebody knowing. Even if it’s only—” Her smile was still painful, but a little bit teasing, too. “If it’s only you.”

“Do what again? You won’t be able to do what?”

Her sigh was sad and resigned. “Be Amelia. It won’t work now that someone knows. It’s all over.”

“Why won’t it work?” Matt said. “Tell me about it. About being Amelia.”

She shook her head.

Matt took a deep breath. “It won’t matter that I know. Look. I’ll tell you about…” He grinned. “About being Robin Hood. And Alexander the Great. And Napoleon.” He shoved his hand under one side of his jacket and put on a stern, dignified expression. “I’ve done it all my life. And sometimes I dress up too. I used to have a great Napoleon outfit until my brother used it for grease rags.”

She giggled weakly, shook her head, nodded, sighed and began to talk. “See, there’s this beautiful painting of one of the Amelias in the library. The one who died in 1877. And then, in the attic, I found out all about her. She died when she was only sixteen and her parents put all her stuff away in the attic. All her clothing and her diaries and like that. And I started reading the diaries and then…” She paused, sighed and went on. “And then I started being Amelia. Every summer I take some of her clothing to Old Tom’s cabin and I go there to put it on. And then I’m Amelia most of the summer.”

Matt nodded, grinning. “You’re Amelia—and you must be the ghost of Rathburn Park, too. Did you know that ghost stories have been going around about the park and the graveyard? Like maybe people saw you and thought you were a ghost?”

Amelia looked sneakily pleased. “Yeah. I thought so. I mean there were a couple of times when I had to run to get away. Once they probably would have caught me, but I ran across the swamp and got away. And there was one time when some little boys were trying to steal a tombstone and I scared them half to death.”

Matt laughed and after a moment Amelia did too. But then he remembered something. “Hey,” he said, “I stopped at the cabin today….” He grinned guiltily. “And I went in.” He paused, watching her warily. “You know, just to find a place to leave the locket, and the trunk was…”

She nodded. “Yeah, it was empty.”

“But how did you do it? Without the key?”

“There’s another key,” she said.

“Oh sure,” Matt said. “But why? Why did you take everything out?”

“Because I’m leaving,” she said. “My mother is coming for me tomorrow. I’m going back to Seattle.”

Matt stared at her, feeling… Well, not feeling good. Stared and went on staring. “What?” she said finally. “What’s the matter?”