The Tale of Halcyon Crane (19 page)

I squinted to get a clearer view of the grounds below, trying to spot whoever or whatever was doing this.

There, from behind one gnarled tree branch, I saw something floating through the air. Held aloft by the wind, it danced and swayed in the darkness, its white surface illuminated by the moon’s light: a single silk ribbon. All the breath flew from my body in the instant I saw that ribbon, and I sat down hard on the window seat, my heart pounding, my mind grasping at several thoughts at once. And then she stepped out from behind the tree: a girl, with long fair braids, one of them missing a ribbon. She was looking directly up at me, smiling.

I was still as the grave. I could not believe what I was seeing: a little girl, there in my yard, in the middle of the night. My eyes fixed on her smiling face, I watched her open her mouth to speak. As her lips began to move, I heard a small
voice whispering directly into my ear, as though she were standing right behind me.

And we’ll be jolly friends, forevermore.

I made a noise that emanated from the core of my being, a sound so fierce and terrible and deep that, as I think of it now, it might really have had the power to curdle the blood of any unfortunate soul who happened to be within earshot. As I screamed once, twice, and a third time, I jumped up and whirled around in a circle, first one way, then back again, to make sure nothing was lurking behind me.

Breathing heavily, telling myself,
That didn’t just happen, that did
not
just happen
, I ran across the room and turned on the overhead light, bright as day. Then I crept back to the windows and, one after another after another, I pulled down every shade. If she was still out there, I could not see her. And she could not see me.

Now what, call the police? And tell them I had been frightened by a little girl playing with a ribbon? That I had seen a ghost? I’d look like a complete idiot.

I could call Will, Jonah, or Mira, but I didn’t think anyone would appreciate being awakened at three in the morning for a nonemergency. Especially not Jonah, who had to get up in a couple of hours himself. I didn’t want to jeopardize my seedling friendships with any of them by hysterical calls in the middle of the night. I had already puzzled Mira with my nighttime outburst at the inn, I had already seemed paranoid when I made a scene in Jonah’s about the man and his carriage almost running me down as I walked home a few nights earlier. I was rapidly becoming the crazy lady who thinks everyone, living or dead, is out to get her. Despite how frightened
I was, I didn’t want to further that reputation. I was completely on my own.

Shaking, I crawled back into bed. Why couldn’t the dogs be sleeping with me instead of downstairs? I grabbed the remote. Thank goodness for cable. I flipped through the channels until I found an old rerun of a sitcom I used to enjoy. Perfect.

A couple of hours later, I was flipping through the channels again—a World War II documentary, a Weather Channel storm story, a testimonial for a weight-loss drug (mildly intriguing)—when I paused on what looked like a movie. There was something familiar and comforting about the scene: blue sky, laundry flapping on the line, a child rolling in the green grass.

But then the child winced as though she were in pain. “Ouch!” she squealed. “Stop it!’ She got up and ran from the clothesline. “Leave me alone!” Crying, she fell backward, as though she had been pushed. “Stop it! I don’t like you!”

“Hey, Peanut,” a voice called as a man walked into view. “What’s the matter with my girl?” He scooped the child into his arms and comforted her, cooing, “It’s all right now, honey. It’s all right. I’m here now.” As they walked out of sight, the girl gazed over the man’s shoulder and stuck out her tongue.

The camera panned to the object of the girl’s derision: a child. Dressed in white. Long braids tied with white ribbons.

Mid-scream, I realized that I was awake. I had fallen asleep, obviously, and was dreaming about the girl I had seen outside my window. After rubbing my eyes, I caught sight of the
time. Nearly eight-thirty. Bright morning sunshine bathed my room in light.

I lay there for a moment deciding whether to get up or slip back into sleep, but when it hit me I shot upright in bed. The windows. I had closed those shades last night; I was sure of it. Now they were open, just as they had been when I went to bed the first time. And the television was turned off, as were the lights.

I tucked my feet into my slippers, hopped out of bed, and gingerly opened the bedroom door, looking up and down the hallway before venturing into it. I made my way down the back stairs to the kitchen, where, to my astonishment, I found fresh coffee brewing. A basket of hot muffins sat on the counter. At my place at the kitchen table, some yogurt and a bowl filled with fruit.

Iris, of course. Had she opened my shades and turned off my television? It was the only explanation—or so it seemed. I went from room to room searching for her, calling her name. However unsettling as Iris was, she was at least a human companion. After the night I had just endured, I needed one. But Iris was nowhere to be found. She had made coffee and breakfast for me and then departed. At least, I hoped it had been Iris. With shaking hands, I poured some coffee and flipped on the morning news.
My house. My coffee.
No ghost was going to scare me away.

My father had taught me to be a practical thinker, but reason couldn’t explain away a little girl in a white dress outside my window in the middle of the night, whispering into my ear a strange and unsettling childhood song. Either someone
was playing an elaborate hoax on me—but who? to what end?—or something truly otherworldly was happening.

With a sinking feeling, I told myself I knew exactly who that little girl was. Iris was the only person alive who could tell me what the triplets looked like, but she wasn’t scheduled to come back to the house until Thursday, and I had no idea how to get in touch with her. But she
had
been to the house and made breakfast today, hadn’t she? Maybe she’d come back tomorrow to do the same.

I topped off my coffee and wandered into the living room. Madlyn must have had photos—somewhere—of her relatives and ancestors, especially considering the fact that the Hills had lived in this house for three generations. Old family photos, perhaps an album, had to exist.

I dug around the living room for a while and found a couple of albums, but they mostly consisted of recent photos. Madlyn and friends, Madlyn and celebrities, Madlyn and politicians. I spent a few hours going through them, enthralled by being privy, just a little bit, to my mother’s world. I even found a shot of my mother with her arm around a young Will, his tall gawky build suggesting he was about fourteen. Will.

I felt a tightening deep inside. What had he thought of me pulling away from that kiss? I certainly didn’t want to alienate him—I needed all the friends I could get on this island—but having sprinted up to the house after what he probably considered a date, I knew I’d have to make the first move if we were to get together again. Maybe he was back from his business on the mainland and we could have lunch. I picked up the phone and dialed his office.

“Hello to you, Miss Crane,” he said, surprising me by answering his phone himself. Obviously he had caller ID.

“Don’t you have a receptionist?” I laughed, ridiculously happy to hear his voice. It felt good to be talking out loud—to anyone—after the night I’d had.

“The job’s open for the season if you want it,” he said. “But of course, you’re a lady of leisure these days.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been hard at work this morning,” I told him.

“Have you now?”

“I have indeed. Care to know what I’ve been working on?”

“I’m dying to know.”

“Lunch plans. Got any?”

“Let me just check my schedule.” I heard a great shuffling of papers and then: “You’re in luck. By an astonishing coincidence, I have no lunch plans for today. Or any day for the next five months, with the possible exception of a dental appointment in January that I’m already planning to cancel.”

“I’m so glad you’ll be able to squeeze me in.”

“Where would you like to eat? We have all of two choices.”

“Actually, I was thinking you could come here for lunch,” I told him. “I thought maybe we could have a picnic on the grounds since it’s such a nice day.” I had cold chicken and salad makings as well as the rest of Iris’s bread, cheese, a little fruit, and some wine. And the picnic basket from Mira.

“Hey, what a good idea,” Will said. “I’ll stop by the deli at the grocery store and bring a little something. And I know a perfect spot for a picnic on the grounds of the house. You know it, too, but you probably don’t remember it.”

“I do?” Nothing came to mind. “I mean, I don’t?”

“I’ll refresh your memory when I get there. About noon?”

“Sounds great.” I looked at the clock. It was nearing eleven already. I raced upstairs and hopped into the shower.

I wrapped myself and my hair in a couple of thick towels and trotted to the closet, where I began to go through my clothes for just the right outfit. I settled on jeans and a cream fisherman’s-knit sweater. I found a long colorful scarf in the closet and wound it around my neck. After drying my hair and putting on some makeup, I gave myself a final once-over in the mirror. Ready as I would ever be.

Only then did I realize I was hearing the quiet drone of the television in the background. I poked my head out of the bathroom and, sure enough, a morning talk show was in full swing.

All the lights were on, too. And the shades were closed. Just as I had left things last night.
Okaaay
. When I woke up this morning, the TV and lights were off and the shades open. Weren’t they?

I stood there for a moment, taking in the scene. Somebody—or something—was messing with my head. This was a child’s trick. If it had happened in the middle of the night I would’ve been terrified, but now, in the light of day, it just made me angry.

“Very funny, girls,” I shouted into the empty room. “You’re not scaring me, if that’s what you’re trying to do. You’re annoying me.”

I stalked out of the room, slammed the door, and started down the hallway, stopping short when I heard giggling coming from my room. My breath caught in my throat.
Maybe I wasn’t so fearless after all. I ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, not daring to look back over my shoulder. I hurriedly threw together the picnic lunch and hovered near the door and the dogs until I saw Will loping up the drive.

Soon enough, we were sitting together, nibbling on cold chicken salad and sipping white wine as he relayed an account of his past few days, tending to the needs of an extremely fussy and wealthy client.

“That reminds me,” I started. “I’ve been meaning to ask. How did you get back from the mainland? I thought the ferry didn’t come back until Friday.”

Will nodded. “Exactly right. The only way to get back and forth this time of year is on a private boat, which is what I did. My client sent his for me.”

I yawned—not from the conversation but because of the wine in the middle of the day—and looked around. Will had led me to a part of the estate I had never seen. I hadn’t done much exploring on the grounds since I had been here—too much of the house itself to explore, I supposed. Through the gardens and a stand of trees, a clearing opened. It was high on the cliff overlooking the water, but the view here was wider than the view from the house. We could see down the shoreline for miles.

I had spread a plastic tarp on the ground first, then a thick blanket, then the lightweight red-and-white tablecloth Mira had given me. And we settled in. It was a bright blue day, crisp enough for a jacket but comfortable in the sun. The dogs lay on the cliff beside us, noses held aloft in the slight breeze.

“And what have you been doing for the past few days?” Will asked.

“Before I tell you, I have a question.” I grinned at him over the rim of my wineglass. “What are your feelings about ghosts?”

“You mean, do I believe in them in a literal sense?”

“Well, yes.”

“I’m not sure.” He took a sip of his wine. “It doesn’t seem to be beyond the realm of possibility, but I’ve never experienced a ghostly encounter personally. Although people say this island is full of them. Why?”

I was already wishing I hadn’t brought it up. But the frightening experiences I was having were wearing on me and I couldn’t afford to hide in my denial any longer. I had to tell someone. “Strange things have been happening to me ever since I got here,” I began. “Truthfully, they started happening before I got here.”

He sat up straight and folded his arms. “What kind of things?”

Taking a long sip of wine, I told him the whole story. I told him about my experience at the inn, first seeing the person drowning, then the hand print, then the vision of a girl hovering over me while I bathed. I told him about my jewelry disappearing and appearing the night we went to the restaurant on the other side of the island. Finally, I told him about the girl outside my window.

“She was singing,” I told him. “Do you want to know what she sang?”

He smiled. “ ‘Muskrat Love’?”

I can’t explain why—maybe it was a function of how nervous it made me to tell Will about the ghosts, maybe it was because it put that whole horrible incident the night before into
an absurd light—but the image of that creepy little ghost girl singing “Muskrat Love” struck me as so funny that I put my head down on the blanket and exploded into laughter. It was one of those unexplainable, unstoppable, breathless bouts of laugh-until-you-cry that keeps feeding on itself. When I could finally catch my breath, I kicked at Will and said, “She was not singing ‘Muskrat Love.’ “