The Ghosts of Stone Hollow Read online

  “It ain’t no business of mine,” the old man said, “but you’d best stay out of them hills—you and that wild-eyed—”

  But right at that moment the Model T went into one of its convulsions, choking and sputtering until its forward motion was reduced to a series of jerking staggers. Old Ike bent over the wheel working with buttons and levers, and whatever he had to say to Amy became mixed with muttered comments to—or at least about—the old car.

  “Mutter—mutter—worthless heap of junk—playing with fire, Missy—gas-eatin’ mutter—mutter—mutter—bring down evil on yourself and your kinfolk—mutter—you take it from one who got good cause to know.”

  The car went on choking and sputtering, and when it finally staggered its way into the driveway at the Hunter farm, Amy was still completely in the dark as to what it was Old Ike was trying to say, and just how much he really knew.

  So Amy had one more thing to worry about and that was certainly something she didn’t need at the moment. In the past few days she had already worried and wondered herself into a dose of chamomile tea and the job of polishing the Fairchild silver tea service. Ever since the afternoon she had talked to Jason, no matter what she was doing, she would find herself coming out of a daze with someone staring at her in consternation.

  “What are you thinking about, child? You’ve been standing in the middle of the floor drying that one plate for five minutes.”

  “Amy dear, you didn’t hear a word I said. Is something the matter? Here, let me feel your forehead.”

  They had all noticed it at home, and they had all agreed that something should be done. But, as usual, they didn’t agree about what it should be. Amy’s mother thought she looked peaked and decided that perhaps some chamomile tea would help. Aunt Abigail said she thought Amy just needed something constructive to do with her time, and climbed up on a chair and got the silver tea service down from the top shelf in the pantry. Amy’s father said Amy needed to get out and have some fun, but nobody did anything about that.

  Of course, Amy knew exactly what she needed, but there was no way to do anything about that until the rain stopped. In the meantime she could only try not to think about Jason and Stone Hollow except when she was all by herself. The best time was after everyone else had gone to bed.

  Every night, after the rest of them had gone to their rooms, Amy wrapped herself in a warm blanket and tiptoed down the hall to the storage room. Cocooned in the heavy blanket in the cold dark room, she sat cross-legged on the steamer trunk and stared out the window at the dark, rain-blurred masses of the Hills.

  There she tried to think and plan and decide. Could Jason possibly have started from what she herself had told him about the Italians and the Indians, and made up all the rest? Or, on the other hand, could there really be such a thing as a Time Stone, and was there really something about Jason that made him able to see and understand things that most other people could not see and understand?

  Alone, there in the darkness, with only a thin pane of glass between herself and the storm, the ideas that came easily and naturally were as wild and dark and clouded as the night. Amy found that it was hard to keep her thoughts from flowing as freely as the dark wet wind.

  During the day, however, things were quite different. During the day Amy, and Jason too, were cooped up in a stuffy schoolroom, packed so full of restless sixth-graders that it was hard to escape the smell of wet hair and sweaters, and whispered bits of private conversations. There in the classroom, squeezed in between Shirley and Marybeth, Amy was embarrassed even to remember the wild ideas that had seemed so possible the night before. By daylight everything seemed so different, so ordinary and predictable. Everything—even Jason himself.

  As a matter of fact, Amy decided, Jason was looking more ordinary all the time. He had recently started wearing long pants made of corduroy instead of the short, foreign-looking ones. His hair was shorter, and his face even seemed to have filled out a little, making his eyes seem less huge and owly. Watching him struggling with a math paper, chewing on his pencil and squirming in a perfectly normal way, Amy began to plan some very pointed questions—and even a few accusations—to be used the next time they had a chance to talk.

  The fourth day began as wet as the three that came before, but the sky cleared before noontime, and by afternoon recess the schoolyard was dry enough to use. They would, however, have to stay on the blacktop, Miss McMillan announced, so it would be best if they organized a game before going out. Amy’s hand shot up so quickly that she got called on first for a suggestion.

  “Let’s have races, Miss McMillan,” Amy said. “We haven’t had races for a long time.” It all happened so quickly that even as she said it, Amy was not sure exactly what she had in mind and what she thought was going to happen. Maybe she only wanted to find out if Jason could really run as fast as he seemed to be running that day on the Old Road. Or maybe a very quick and sneaky part of her mind actually foresaw what was going to happen, and wanted it to.

  Running was a very important accomplishment at Taylor Springs School. For instance, just because Betsey Rayburn could beat everybody but Bert Miller, and had on occasion beaten him, she had always been favored in special ways. She was not only chosen up quickly for games, but also at various times had been elected class president, secretary, Christmas party chairman, and had even been selected to be Priscilla in the Thanksgiving play. Betsey and Bert could not be persuaded to race very often, probably because they were both afraid of losing, but when they did, it was considered the most exciting sports event of the season at Taylor Springs School. So that afternoon, when the crazy new boy not only beat both Bert and Betsey, but beat them badly and consistently, it caused something of a sensation.

  As Jason flew across the finish line far ahead of Bert Miller for the second time, Alice Harris stopped bouncing up and down with excitement and grabbed Amy’s arm.

  “Isn’t that fantastic?” she said. “I just been dying to see somebody beat old stuck-up Bert Miller. I been dying to see that for a long time.”

  Shirley Anderson giggled, nodding in agreement. “Me too,” she said. “Who would have thought that that skinny little Jason could run like that? I sure wouldn’t have thought it.”

  “Me neither,” Amy said.

  Alice was looking puzzled. “You know what,” she said. “What I don’t get is why he lets old Gordie beat up on him all the time when he can run like that. If he’d just run, Gordie never in the world could catch him.”

  “I guess he didn’t run because he’s not a sissy,” Amy said.

  “But if he’s not a sissy, how come he doesn’t hit back?” Shirley said.

  “Maybe there’s some other reason,” Amy said. “Maybe he doesn’t hit back because—” an idea suddenly presented itself—“maybe it’s because of his religion. My Aunt Abigail says his folks belong to some kind of different religion.”

  “I never heard of any religion like that,” Shirley said. “Oh look, here he comes.”

  Jason had stopped talking to Miss McMillan at the finish line and was walking back toward where the girls were standing.

  “Come on, Alice,” Shirley said. “I want to ask Jason if he’s going to the Playday at Lambertville School. I’ll bet he could beat that great big Mexican kid who always beats everybody at the Playday.”

  Alice and Shirley hurried off to talk to Jason, and Amy went the other way. She walked back to the empty schoolroom and sat down at her desk, feeling strange, puzzled, and mixed up. One minute she felt pleased and excited over what had happened, and the next she felt—almost the opposite.

  After a while she found a scrap of paper and wrote a short note. She folded and refolded the paper into a tiny square. After a while she unfolded it and, frowning, she added a large dark postscript.

  “P. S.” it said. “You just better be there!”

  chapter fourteen

  HE WAS THERE, waiting behind the biggest clump of eucalyptus when Amy arrived at the turnoff that afternoon. />
  “Hi,” he said, bouncing out at her as she cautiously entered the grove, looking back over her shoulder to be sure that the coast was clear. Amy jumped. Jason was grinning, and his eyes looked like they did in Stone Hollow—lit by small secret flames.

  “That’s not funny! It’s dumb to scare people. My mother knows about this college boy whose friends played a trick to scare him and he died. He had a bad heart, and he just died right there in front of their eyes.”

  “Do you have a bad heart?” Jason said. He had stopped grinning but there was something about the flickering lights in his eyes that felt a lot like teasing. Amy gave him a cold look, thinking that it was obvious that what had happened at school had made him feel pretty smarty. Ignoring his smart-alecky question she said, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about when we can go back to Stone Hollow. I want to go there again. Do you?”

  Jason nodded. “All right,” he said. “When do you want to go?”

  “I think I can go next Sunday afternoon. I think I can go then if we hurry and don’t stay too long.”

  “All right,” Jason said.

  Amy stared at him, frowning. “I’ve been thinking about the things you said about the Italians and everything. I want to know how you saw all those things.”

  Jason was no longer smiling. “I saw them when I was in the grotto. I told you about it.”

  “I know what you told me. But what I want to know is just how you saw it. How did you see all that stuff in such a short time.”

  “I’ve been there many times. Besides the times we went, I’ve been many times by myself.”

  “I know,” Amy said. “But what I want to know is how did you see it. Was it like a moving picture, or what?”

  “How? Well, it’s like—” Jason turned away and went over to sit against the trunk of a large tree. Even after Amy joined him he went on sitting silently for several minutes. His face had gone blank and distant as it had been in the grotto. Finally he said, “When it begins, the wind blows—the air moves and then there are things moving—”

  Remembering the flow of light and shadow in the grotto, Amy nodded excitedly. “Yes, I saw that. I remember that.”

  “And then I see them. The first time I saw the Indians, I saw them sitting right there—in the grotto. But then I saw them other places, in the Hollow or on the Hills. And other times I saw the Italian family—and the bootleggers.”

  “You’ve seen them, too? The bootleggers?”

  “Yes. Not at first, but the other day I took a box with me to the grotto, and then I saw them.”

  “A box?”

  “Yes. An old metal cashbox with a broken lock. I found it in the shed where all the bottles were. I thought it was probably the bootleggers’, so I took it with me to see what would happen. And then I saw them.”

  “What were they doing? Did you see what—what killed them?”

  “I saw them building their still, carrying things, bottles and pipes and barrels.”

  “Did you see what they looked like and everything? Do their faces always stay the same? Is it like looking at real people, or do they change around like in a dream?”

  “It isn’t dreaming,” Jason said.

  “I know it isn’t dreaming,” Amy said. “But I still think it might be like imagining. The way I imagined the lady and the little girl in the kitchen—like I told you about.”

  Jason shook his head. “I see them because they are there,” he said. “Because of the Stone! Because it makes other times, other loops in time come close so that—”

  “I know,” Amy interrupted. “I know what you told me about that. But what I want to know is, if the Stone makes time go in loops and brings people back, how come I couldn’t see them?”

  “I don’t know,” Jason said. “Unless it’s because I’m more used to it—to seeing things like that. Or maybe it’s because you’ve been taught that you can’t do things like that.”

  “Nobody ever taught me anything about that.”

  “I know, but they teach you so much about what to believe and what not to believe. You’re so used to being taught about things like that instead of just seeing for yourself. But I think you could see it. I think you almost—”

  Amy was nodding—almost agreeing—when suddenly she stiffened. “Shh,” she said, “someone’s coming.”

  Quietly they got up and peered out at the road. Old Ike was coming slowly toward them from the direction of the farm. He walked very slowly, limping, and several yards behind him Caesar trotted back and forth across the road, exploring for exciting smells among the fence posts. Amy rolled her eyes warningly at Jason, and they stood very still, hardly daring to breathe. Old Ike trudged slowly on past them; but when Caesar approached the grove, he stopped suddenly and, sniffing the air instead of the ground, came bounding toward them.

  Ike was several yards further up the road before he turned around and noticed that Caesar was no longer behind him. Staring back at the grove, he raised his hand to his mouth as if he were going to call, but he never did. Instead he only stood staring directly at the clump of trees behind which Amy and Jason were hiding. After a few seconds he turned slowly and went on toward town.

  “Do you think he saw us?” Jason asked.

  “I don’t know,” Amy said. “I don’t think he could have exactly seen us, but maybe he could see Caesar standing there wagging his tail.”

  “Well,” Jason said, shrugging, “he probably wouldn’t say anything even if he did see us.”

  But Amy was remembering something that made her feel uneasy. “I don’t know,” she said, “but I think he already knows something about us, and Stone Hollow. I don’t know how he knows, but I think he does.” And she told Jason about the conversation she had had with Old Ike on the way to school, building up the mysterious parts a little—the parts about “bringing down evil” and “someone who got good cause to know.”

  “He must have meant himself,” she said. “I don’t know how he would know, though. Unless he saw us. He used to go for long walks in the Hills a lot, but he doesn’t walk much anymore.”

  Jason was scratching Caesar’s head and staring in the direction that Old Ike had taken.

  “Who is he?” Jason asked. “I mean, where did he come from?”

  “I told you about him before,” Amy said. “He started working at the farm a long time ago when my Uncle Luther was still alive. I guess he was a lot different then. My mother told me that she remembers when he used to wear fancy clothes and live a very bad life, with gambling and drinking and other things. She said her father used to use him sometimes in his sermons as a bad example. But then he changed, and quit doing anything, and got like he is now. My mother thinks he must be so gloomy and everything because he’s repenting his sins.”

  “Repenting?” Jason asked. “All this time?”

  “Well, he had a lot of them to repent, I guess.”

  Caesar pulled away then and trotted to the edge of the grove. He looked back at Amy and Jason for a moment, wagging his tail, and then he started off in the direction that Ike had taken. Every few yards he stopped and looked back again, as if reluctant to leave.

  “And Caesar is his dog?” Jason asked.

  Amy nodded. “I guess so. Aunt Abigail says that he just came back from a walk one day with the dog following him. And Caesar’s been following him ever since. But Ike always says the dog isn’t his.”

  Jason was looking very thoughtful. “Who does he say Caesar belongs to?”

  “He doesn’t say. He just says he’s not his. Sometimes he calls him a devil dog.”

  Jason stood still for a long time after that, staring down the road where Caesar and Old Ike had long since disappeared. When Amy tried to speak to him, he seemed not to be listening. Finally, when Amy said, “Jason Fitzmaurice, will you listen to me!” he looked toward her, but the look was still hazy and unfocused.

  “Aren’t you going to be late?” he said. “We’ve been here a long time.”

  Amy glanced i
mpatiently to see where the sun was over the western hills. “I know,” she said. “But we haven’t finished talking. I’ve got a lot more things to ask you about. A lot more.”

  But Jason was already beginning to move away. “Maybe you can ask me on Sunday. On Sunday when we go to Stone Hollow.”

  Amy nodded reluctantly because it was late, dangerously so. “All right,” she sighed. “I’ll ask you on Sunday, at Stone Hollow.”

  chapter fifteen

  BUT ON SUNDAY IT rained again, and in such torrents that no one was able to go anywhere at all except, of course, to church. After church, Amy read the funnies and three chapters of The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain, and listened to Charlie McCarthy on the radio, but she found it very hard to keep her mind on any of it. She was thinking about Stone Hollow and what might be happening at that very moment if it hadn’t been a rainy day.

  “Well, anyway,” she told herself, “we can meet again tomorrow after school and talk some more, and plan another day to go to the Hollow.” But when Monday came, Amy woke up with a cough and the sniffles, and her mother put her back to bed and made her stay there for two days. So it wasn’t until Wednesday afternoon that Amy and Jason met again in the eucalyptus grove.

  “Next Sunday we’ll go for sure,” was the very first thing that Amy said when they finally met, “unless it’s absolutely pouring. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Jason said. He looked at Amy questioningly. “Did you want to go for a particular reason? I mean, the other times we went you weren’t too sure you even wanted to, and now—”

  “Sure, there’s a particular reason,” Amy said. “I just have to find out some things—for myself—I just have to find out for sure.”

  “Oh.” Jason nodded, frowning thoughtfully. He poked at the dirt with the toe of his new Buster Brown oxfords. Then he picked up a roll of eucalyptus bark and squinted through it at the sky. Then he turned it toward Amy’s face and looked at her through the cylinder of bark. “It might be dangerous,” he said, at last.

  “Dangerous?” A strange tingle started at the base of Amy’s skull and crept up to the top of her head. “Why? I mean, what would be dangerous about it? You never said it was dangerous before.”