The Secret (8 page)

It was almost as if it really
had
been a dream. Jonathan knew better.

Mama has been shaken since Abigail died, Jonathan thought. But it has always been a matter of a momentary confusion. She has never gone this far before.

The next night he lay awake, waiting for a noise. Hours passed in peaceful stillness. Jonathan's body began to relax. Then, just as he began to feel drowsy, he heard it.

Creak.

“Abigail! Abigail!” came the whispered cry.

He heard his father's heavier tread on the floorboards.

“Jane, come back to bed,” Ezra whispered. “You will wake up the children.”

Jonathan heard his father take his mother back into their room and shut the door. He heard their muffled voices, then his mother crying.

Jonathan's mother stayed in bed all the next day, and the next. But at night she roamed the house, calling for her dead daughter.

“I want to do something for her,” Rachel told Jonathan. “Something to cheer her up.”

Jonathan sighed. He doubted anything he or Rachel could do would make their mother happy.

“What about the trellis?” Rachel suggested. “We could plant roses. Someday they will grow so high they will reach her bedroom window.”

“All right,” Jonathan agreed. He was glad to get out of the house, at least.

Jonathan took a shovel and Rachel took a spade. They began to dig holes for the rosebushes.

Feeling a light tap on his shoulder, Jonathan whirled around to see who was there.

He found himself staring into Delilah's pretty face.

“Good afternoon,” she said.

“Good afternoon,” Jonathan answered.

“Hello, Delilah!” Rachel called.

Jonathan wiped his dirty hands on his work pants and wished Delilah had not found him so muddy. But she did not seem to mind.

“Do you two have time for a visitor?” Delilah asked.

“Of course,” said Jonathan.

“I need a rest anyway,” Rachel said. “I am tired of digging.”

“Shall we sit in the shade?” Jonathan suggested.

Jonathan and Delilah sat under an apple tree while Rachel ran off and was soon back with a pitcher of lemon water.

“I have come to see how the two of you are doing,” said Delilah. “I have been worried about you.”

Jonathan was silent. But Rachel said, “Oh, Delilah—Mama is not well. She walks through the house every night, calling for Abigail. We think she sees Abigail's ghost!”

Delilah's eyes widened, and she raised a hand to her throat. She turned to Jonathan. “Can this be truer”

“It is true that Mama is upset,” Jonathan told her. “Every night she cries out for Abigail. She—she says she sees Abigail in the yard, beckoning to her.”

Delilah sucked in her breath and shut her eyes. “This is dreadful,” she murmured, almost as if she were talking to herself.

Jonathan leaned closer to her. “But I am sure it is not a ghost,” he said to reassure her. “Please do not worry about us, Delilah. Rachel exaggerates sometimes.”

“I do not!” cried Rachel.

A bit of color returned to Delilah's face, and she grew calmer.

“She could be dreaming, could she not?” she suggested. “The same dream, night after night?”

Jonathan sipped his lemon water thoughtfully. He studied Delilah's face, and she smiled at him.

She is so brave, he thought. She is trying to make Rachel and me feel better.

Rachel is afraid of a ghost, and I am afraid that my mother is going insane. Delilah does not want us to be frightened, so she assures us it is a dream.

“Jonathan.”

Jonathan's eyes flew open. It was the middle of the night.

Another sound.

Mama?

“Jonathan,” came the eerie whisper. “Jonathan—beware!”

Jonathan froze as he stared into the darkness.

It was not his mother, but the soft, sweet voice of a girl.

“Who is there?” he whispered.

“Beware, my brother,” came the girl's voice. It seemed to be coming from outside the open window. But that was impossible….

“Beware, my brother,” the voice said again. “Or your fate will be worse than mine!”

Jonathan sat up. “Rachel?” he called. “Rachel? Where are you?”

“No,” whispered the little girl. “No, not Rachel. I am Abigail.”

J
onathan jumped out of bed. “Abigail!” he cried frantically. “Abigail! Where are you?”

He froze in the center of the room and listened.

No one answered. The voice was gone.

His hands trembling, Jonathan lit a candle from the smoldering embers in the fireplace. The candlelight made his shadow rise eerily on the wall.

Jonathan searched every corner of the room. He threw open the wardrobe door and peered inside.

No sign of his dead sister. No sign of anyone.

His heart thumping, Jonathan slumped back onto the bed.

Abigail had called to him. Or
had
she?

Had it been another dream?

Perhaps Mama's madness is getting to me, he thought. But he quickly dismissed the idea.

The voice was real. I did hear Abigail calling me, warning me about something….

Then a soft tapping at his door startled him.

He leapt to his feet, staring at the door.

Should he open it?

He had no time to decide. The door squeaked open slowly.

In walked Rachel.

She wore her nightshift and cap, her feet bare. Her eyes in the dim candlelight were round with fear.

“Rachel, what is it?” Jonathan asked, his voice a low whisper.

“I saw her!” Rachel cried. “I saw Abigail!”

J
onathan rushed to his sister and took her by the shoulders. “You saw Abigail?” he said. “Where?”

“I saw her face outside my window. She called to me, ‘Rachel! Beware!'”

“But how did you know it was Abigail?” Jonathan asked. “Do you remember what she looked like?”

“She looked like Papa's picture of her,” said Rachel. “She wore a white cap with blue ribbons, and she was floating outside my window. Then she disappeared.”

Jonathan let go of Rachel. Maybe Mama really had seen Abigail, he thought. Perhaps she saw what Rachel saw. It
had
to be Abigail. Abigail's ghost.

Abigail had come to warn her family.

But of what?

*  *  *

“I am going to call on the Wilsons, Mama,” Jonathan told Jane. She sat by the hearth in the kitchen, too tired to move.

“Let me go with you,” Rachel begged. “I like Delilah.”

“Not today, Rachel,” said Jonathan. “Today I want to see her alone.”

Their mother gave Jonathan a basket of sweet rolls to take with him as a gift. “Please send our regards to her father,” Jane said. Then she sighed. “We should have had them to tea by now, but it has been so difficult….”

Tears welled up in her eyes, which she brushed away. Misery had aged Jonathan's mother since Abigail's death. The corners of her mouth sagged, and her eyes were dull and almost colorless. Jonathan noticed that the past few days had sharpened the pain in her face.

“Apologize to the Wilsons for me,” she went on. “And tell them—tell them I have been ill.”

“I will,” Jonathan promised. He put a hand on her arm and added, “You will feel better soon, Mama. I know you will.”

She nodded absently. Jonathan took the basket and set off down the road to the Wilsons' farm.

The Reverend Wilson was working in a field when Jonathan arrived, but Delilah's lively face lifted Jonathan's spirits. She took the rolls with a smile. “It was so thoughtful of your mother to send them,” she said. “How is she?”

Jonathan sighed. “No better,” he told her. “She still sees Abigail at night. But now, at least, she is not the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rachel saw her, too. And I—well, I heard Abigail's voice. She called to me.”

Delilah dropped the basket and turned her face away. Jonathan saw her shoulders shaking under her faded pink dress.

“Delilah, what is wrong?” Gently he turned her around, put his arms on her shoulders to stop their shaking, and gazed intently into her eyes. But she lowered her face as if she didn't want him to see her expression.

When she finally raised her eyes, they were filled with tears. “I am very worried about you, Jonathan,” she said. “About you and your family. I—I would never wish any harm on you, ever.”

Jonathan thought she was even prettier than usual with her eyes shining with tears. He wanted to throw his arms around her and kiss her.

“What are you talking about, Delilah?” he asked. “I know you wouldn't wish harm on us. This has nothing to do with you.” He paused, feeling guilty. “I should never have burdened you with our problems, Delilah. You are taking them upon yourself.”

Delilah closed her eyes. “My father and I are leaving soon,” she said quietly. “Perhaps, once we are gone—”

“No!” Jonathan cried. “You cannot leave! Please!”

He was surprised to hear himself speak these words. The idea of Delilah's leaving was painful. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach.

I am in love with her, he realized right then. Completely, desperately in love with her.

He took her hands in his and demanded, “Why? Why must you leave? Please, Delilah, stay here….”

She lowered her head again. “It is for the best,
Jonathan. You must believe me. By the end of the week we will be gone.”

“Delilah, I do not understand—”

“Please go now, Jonathan,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “Please—you must leave.”

Jonathan made his way from the Wilsons' cottage and trudged home with a heavy heart. I love her, he thought miserably. And I know she loves me, too. I know it. So why must she leave? Why can't she explain? Why is she so sad, and so mysterious?

That night Jonathan waited to hear his mother's whispered cries. He tried to force his eyes open, to remain alert.

But after so many sleepless nights, he couldn't stay awake. He drifted off into a heavy and dreamless sleep.

Then, just before dawn, a horrifying scream pierced his sleep-fogged brain.

Jonathan jerked straight up in bed. The scream had come from the backyard.

He hurried to the window. The first pink light of morning was beginning to show on the horizon. Squinting into the yard, he could see nothing unusual.

The scream lingered in his mind, echoed in his ears. None of the horrors of the past few weeks had prepared him for the terrible agony in that scream.

Jonathan heard footsteps on the stairs. He crept to the door. In the gray light he saw Ezra and Rachel heading downstairs. Jonathan followed.

Where is Mama? he thought. Panic rose in his throat. He pushed it down, swallowed it. No time for panic.

Jonathan followed his father and sister outside. The
yard was silent now. But they had all heard the scream. They all agreed it had come from the yard.

“Where is Mama?” Jonathan asked his father.

“I do not know,” Ezra said. “That scream woke me up, and she was not there. I cannot help but think—” Ezra glanced at Rachel. He did not finish his sentence.

“Do not worry, Papa,” Jonathan said. “We will find her.”

For hours they searched the house, every inch of it. Jane was not there. The sun was rising above the trees now.

They dressed quickly and returned to the yard, searching around every bush, behind every tree.

Rachel stood at the edge of the woods, calling for her mother. Jonathan felt tired and discouraged.

What could have happened to my mother? he wondered. How could she vanish into thin air?

His mouth felt dry as cotton. He made his way to the well for a drink. As he tugged on the rope to pull up the bucket, the rope felt strangely heavy.

A wave of dread swept over Jonathan.

“Papa!” he called hoarsely. “Come help me pull up the well bucket.”