The Ghosts of Stone Hollow Read online

  She was certain she could have made him tell her the truth about himself and the Stone and the Hollow.

  chapter seventeen

  AT SCHOOL THE NEXT morning Amy told Miss McMillan that she was leaving, and Miss McMillan announced it to the whole class. During the morning recess nearly the whole sixth grade gathered around Amy on the playground and talked about it. At least the girls gathered around and talked, the boys stood a little farther off and mostly listened.

  All of the girls said things about how much they would miss Amy, and some of them asked her to write to them. Alice Harris, looking very sad and dramatic, said she wondered if they’d ever see each other again—and after looked quickly over her shoulder to see if Bert Miller had been listening. Then a lot of the other girls got started saying the same kind of thing, and finally Marybeth Paulsen rolled her eyes up, the way she always did when she got to lead the prayer in Sunday School, and recited a whole poem. It was an autograph-book poem with a lot of rhymes like “roam” and “home,” and the last line was about “old friends and true.”

  But during all of it, even the poem, Amy had trouble keeping her mind on what people were saying, because she was so busy thinking about something else. Early that morning she had decided she needed a plan, and ever since, at least half of her mind had been busy working out the details. The plan she wanted was one that would get Jason to meet her after school and, much more important and difficult, make him tell her the absolute truth about everything before she went away.

  All day long Amy went over and over in her mind all the ways she had ever heard of to get people to tell the truth. She was surprised, actually, to realize how many different ways there were, but unfortunately a lot of them were not the kinds of things that would work with Jason. There was no use just asking, for instance, because she had already tried that and it didn’t work. And it probably would do no good to quote the Bible or threaten him with going to hell, as the Sunday School teacher did when someone stole the collection, since it was quite likely that neither Buddhists nor atheists believed that people got sent to hell for telling lies. And as for torture—even if she believed in torturing people, there was the fact that Jason was just about as big as she was, and maybe a little bit stronger. By the end of the day, she had narrowed it down to a few possibilities. She would begin by trying to shame him into telling the truth, and if that didn’t work she would try to trick him into it. She was still planning possible tricks when that long, last Thursday at Taylor Springs School finally came to an end.

  Jason would meet her at the eucalyptus grove, that much was settled. Amy had managed a brief noon-hour meeting with him in the cloakroom, and he had promised to be there.

  “I was going to ask you,” he had said eagerly, smiling his gosling smile. “I was going to tell you that I had to see you because—”

  “Shh!” Amy said, as footsteps approached the cloakroom. “Wait for me. I might be a little late.” And she had hurried away.

  As it turned out, she was late—more than a little. With all her personal belongings to gather and pack, and with lots of last-minute good-byes to be said, it was past four o’clock when she ran down the worn wooden steps of the schoolhouse for the last time. Without even taking the time to look back, she started off down the Old Road as fast as she could go. Clutching an armload of books and papers with one hand, and carrying in the other hand a huge paper bag containing, among other things, a pencil box, a tobacco can full of broken crayons, a clay elephant, and a half-finished shoe-box peep show illustrating a scene from The Water-Babies, she jogged down the road wondering if Jason would still be waiting for her in the eucalyptus grove.

  He has to be there, she told herself. He just has to. And she jogged faster, clenching her teeth and concentrating on willing him to be there—willing him to wait just a little longer.

  She arrived at the grove breathless and with aching arms, and for one terrible moment she was sure that he had gone. At first glance the grove appeared to be empty but, as she let her heavy load of belongings slide from her arms, she noticed a pair of legs sticking out from behind one of the largest trees. And there he was. Sitting against the tree trunk on the soft, bark-cushioned earth, he had apparently gone sound asleep.

  “Jason,” she said, but it came out soundlessly, either because she was breathless or because she didn’t want to wake him up. Better not to, yet. Not for a moment, until she caught her breath and decided for sure just what she was going to do. Moving quietly, she circled the clump of trees until she was standing right in front of him and only a few feet away.

  He went on sleeping. His lips were slightly open, and his eyes were tightly closed, so that his eyelashes made fringy shadows on his cheeks. Bending closer, Amy noticed for the first time a spatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He looked different with his eyes closed, not like himself at all. His corduroy pants were torn on one knee, his new shoes were already scuffed and dusty, and his hand, lying in his lap, held a half-eaten apple. He’d probably swiped it on his way through Paulsens’ orchard. All the kids in Taylor Springs swiped apples on their way through Paulsens’ orchard.

  Suddenly a feeling of anxiety gripped her, and she reached out and shook his shoulders.

  “Jason?” she said. “Jason? Are you—?”

  She didn’t finish the question. She didn’t know, really, what it was going to be, but when Jason’s eyes opened, she knew it was answered, and she found herself smiling with relief. His eyes were the same as ever—as strange as ever. Strangely set and shaded, they very plainly did not look—or see—the same as the eyes of ordinary people.

  “Hello,” he said, wide awake and up in an instant like an animal. “Do you have to go away? Couldn’t you stay with your aunt?”

  “No,” Amy said. “I have to go.”

  He nodded slowly. “Did you want to ask me something about—?”

  “No,” Amy said quickly—surprisingly. Surprising to Jason, she knew, and even to Amy, herself. “N-no,” she said again, stammering. “I mean I did—but I don’t now, because I already know—I think.”

  “What? What do you know?”

  “That you weren’t just lying to me about—everything.”

  “No,” Jason said. “I wasn’t.”

  “I know it,” Amy said. “So I guess I just want to tell you good-bye.”

  “Yes,” he said, “good-bye.”

  After that they stood there, facing each other a while, without saying anything. It was very quiet in the eucalyptus grove, and there was a strange kind of calm, so that it seemed all right not to say anything for a long time. As if words just weren’t needed.

  Then Amy gathered up her belongings and started off, but Jason ran after her and put something in her hand where it was curled around the stack of books and papers.

  “What is it?” she asked, trying to see over the top of the books.

  “It’s from the grotto,” Jason said. “I found it there. I think it’s a piece of the Stone.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Then they said good-bye again, and Amy left the grove and started down the Old Road toward the Hunter farm. The air was very still, without the slightest whisper of wind. Amy walked very slowly, and the listening stillness was still there so that she walked all the way home without thinking or planning, and without even wondering why she had changed her mind about making Jason tell the truth.

  When she arrived at the farm, she found everything in an uproar. Everyone was terribly busy. Neighbors were dropping in with good-bye gifts, and there seemed to be a hundred things to do with very little time to do them in. Caught up helplessly in the surrounding bustle, Amy had not a single minute to herself until she crawled into bed late that night.

  A full moon had just risen above the crest of the Hills, and its cold bright light shone directly into Amy’s face. It was just as well, since she intended to be awake for a long time. There were so many things that she wanted to think about before she went to sleep�
��so many questions she wanted to ask herself. Questions, for instance, about what had happened that afternoon in the eucalyptus grove.

  Why had she changed her mind about making Jason tell the truth? Why, after spending so much time planning ways to shame or trick him into admitting that he had lied, had she suddenly changed her mind and not even tried? There was no answer really, except that she suddenly hadn’t wanted to. She didn’t know why, but all at once she had known that there was no way to prove Jason was a liar—and she didn’t even want to try.

  But other things she still wanted to know about. Like, for instance, Old Ike and Caesar and Stone Hollow. Now, perhaps, she would never know. There was no way left to find out.

  But then, suddenly, Amy sat straight up in bed. She thought for a moment, and then slid out from under the covers and tiptoed across the room. On the floor near the closet door was the bag of things she had brought home from school that afternoon. She lifted out the peep show and the can of crayons before she found what she was looking for—a piece of stone. Rough-surfaced and heavy, it was a little longer than the palm of her hand and about half as wide. Carrying the stone and a quilt from her bed, Amy made her way noiselessly out the door and down the hall to the storeroom.

  The moon hung low over the Hills, and its softly brilliant light, slanted directly in through the long narrow windows of the storeroom. Just inside the door, Amy stopped, feeling for a moment confused and almost startled. The room seemed so different by moonlight. Familiar objects glowed with unnatural brilliance, or sank into unaccustomed shadow. The desk was there and the highboy and the rocking chair, but they seemed to have been transformed by the moonlight into mysterious objects, distant and unfamiliar. Amy moved across the room with cautious care, holding her breath until she reached the other side and climbed up onto the steamer trunk. But then she forgot about the room and what lay behind her.

  Outside the windows, the Hills loomed against the sky, a solid dark wall except where, here and there, the moonlight touched a crest or ridge. The valleys were still wells of darkness. Until the moon climbed higher, it would be very dark in the Hollow.

  She arranged herself carefully on the steamer trunk, crossing her legs Indian-fashion and wrapping the quilt around her shoulders so that it formed a protective tent. Inside the tent her two hands lay cupped in her lap—holding the piece of Stone that Jason had given her when he said good-bye. It lay warm and heavy in her palm, her curling fingers gripping its rough surface. Staring up at the dark hillside, she concentrated, forcing her mind to shut out everything but the Hollow and the Stone.

  Time passed. The moon rose higher and its golden light spread down the face of the Hills. As Amy watched, blurs of darkness turned into trees and smooth dark shadows into golden meadows. But that was all. Except for a white owl, drifting down from the Hills on silent wings, nothing moved, and not a single sound disturbed the utter quiet of the night.

  Amy sighed. It was cold in the storeroom, and the lid of the steamer trunk was very hard. She shifted her position, resting her head against the window frame. Leaning back against the window, she forgot for a moment about concentrating. For only a minute she allowed herself to think about the warm bed and soft pillow waiting for her in her own room. She sighed again—and in that very instant, she was aware of movement in the room behind her.

  She sat still, absolutely motionless, and listened, waiting for silence behind her to prove that she had only been imagining. But instead of silence she heard the sound again, and this time she knew it was the sound of footsteps. Very slowly she turned around and saw a man, standing in the doorway.

  He was very tall. He was wearing a long dark coat, and the lower part of his face was completely covered by a long dark beard. Above the beard, his eyes gleamed, pale and cold.

  Amy would have screamed in terror, but her throat seemed to be paralyzed. She shrank back against the window in helpless fear, as only gradually did she begin to realize the man in the doorway was unaware of her presence. He was looking across the room—at someone else.

  The room was not the same. The trunks and boxes were gone, and there was a patterned rug on the floor. In fact Amy was not even sure it was the room she thought she was in, the storeroom at Hunter farm. But the little carved desk was there. It stood against the far wall beneath a glowing lamp, and in front of it a woman was sitting, writing something on a piece of paper. She was wearing a long white dress with a high collar, and her blond hair was piled high on her small head. Her face was very beautiful and sad.

  The man moved then. He came out of the doorway and crossed the room in long firm strides. The woman shrank away from him, and there was fear in her face. He took the letter away from her and read it, and as he read, the frown on his face darkened. Then he tore it into little pieces and crushed them in his hand. The woman put her head down on the desk, hiding her face in her arms.

  Two more people appeared suddenly in the doorway, two little girls dressed in ruffled dresses with wide sashes. Their hair was in long curls, and each had a huge bow ribbon in her hair.

  The one with blond hair smiled when she saw the man and ran toward him, holding out her arms. He bent toward her and suddenly his face seemed quite different, as if he were not the same person at all. Smiling, he lifted the little girl into his arms and walked with her through the doorway and disappeared. Then Amy looked for the other girl, the dark one, and saw that she was standing near the desk where the woman still sat with her head in her arms. She was holding out her arms to the woman without touching her. When the girl turned and looked toward the doorway where the man had gone, her face was twisted as if with hate or anger.

  Suddenly Amy found that she was catching her breath desperately, as if she had not breathed for a long time and was about to suffocate. Everything went blurry, and for a moment she put her hands up over her eyes. When she took them away, the lamp was gone and the storeroom was lit only by moonlight. Moonlight that gleamed on familiar objects—trunks and boxes, desk and chair and highboy. The room was deserted, once again only a storage place for old forgotten things.

  chapter eighteen

  AMY SAT VERY STILL, minute after minute, waiting and watching, but nothing moved or changed. In the hushed frozen quiet, even her mind seemed paralyzed, unable to explain or even question. When something finally came to life, it was only her lips, as if they had come unfrozen first, before thought or reason.

  “What was it?” she whispered, and then shrank back against the window, frightened by the sound of her own voice. She had not been afraid until then, at least, not after the first moment. After that she had been too busy watching—as if no part of her existed except the watching part, with nothing remaining to be afraid for, or with. But now, as she came back to herself, she was first very much afraid, and then, as the minutes passed, more and more curious.

  “What was it?” she said again. “What was happening?” The longer she thought about it, the more questions presented themselves, demanding more and more insistently to be answered. Why did he look so angry? What made her so sad? Why did the little girls act so strangely? And then, again, What was happening? At last, jutting her jaw, Amy came to a decision.

  The Stone was lying on the trunk top where it had slid when it slipped out of her fear-stiffened fingers. Picking it up, Amy held it—gingerly at first, and then with more firmness and determination. “I have to find out—for sure,” she told herself. With the Stone clutched tightly in both hands, she concentrated on one thing—one particular question.

  The air changed first. There was a feeling of movement, a rush of something like sound, except that the hearing of it came from deep inside and had nothing to do with ears.

  The deep sound echoed and throbbed, the air moved, and then suddenly the man was back, standing in the doorway. The room glowed again with old lamplight, reflecting in the man’s deep-set eyes, as his head turned from side to side. He looked first toward the desk that sat, where it had before, against the far wall, beneath the
lamp. But the small carved chair was empty now. The woman was not there.

  The man frowned and turned away. His eyes moved, searching the other side of the room where the light was dimmer, and unfamiliar pieces of furniture, some chairs, a table and an old-fashioned divan, made vague and shadowy shapes in the pale lamplight. Amy looked, too, trying to see what he might be looking for.

  But then his eyes moved again, turning now toward the opposite side of the room, toward the spot where Amy was sitting, and suddenly the silent sound was moving again, more strongly, and now it sounded like a warning.

  The man’s eyes changed when he saw her and he smiled, but somehow the smile was much more frightening than the frown had been before. Terror-stricken, Amy watched him start toward her, crossing the room with long firm strides. Dropping the Stone, she leaped down from the steamer trunk, and ran. Almost immediately, before she had gone more than a few steps, her foot struck something hard, and she fell.

  Amy fell into blackness and silence. Lying on the hard floor, she wrapped her arms around her head and waited for the unthinkable terror of the man’s hand on her shoulder or his voice in her ear. But moments passed, and nothing happened. When, at last, she raised her head, she found she was lying in the narrow aisle between boxes and trunks, and the moonlight was streaming in over the familiar orderly confusion of the storeroom. The man was gone. Stumbling to her feet, Amy ran out the door and down the hall to her room.

  Back in her own bed, Amy lay flat on her back, with both hands clutching the tops of the blankets, and stared up at the ceiling. Her mind raced, thoughts and ideas coming up out of nowhere, bubbling, swelling, combining and breaking apart.