Papa cleans up the eggs and throws the mess out the back door.
When they’ve finished the cooking and baking, Mama packs a picnic basket with roast chicken, potato salad, green beans, lemonade, and a big, beautiful lopsided chocolate cake.
Before they leave the house, Papa shows them the sketches he’s drawn. “I’m calling these drawings Amateurs in the Kitchen,” he says.
Mama laughs. “How about Cook’s Day Off?”
Lily says, “I hope Aunt Nellie comes back soon or we’ll starve to death.”
She notices Mama and Papa exchange another look that she can’t interpret. What do they know and why don’t they tell her?
Mama holds out a hand for Lily to take. “Come along.”
She clasps Mama’s hand and decides to put Aunt Nellie out of her mind. For the moment at least.
They take a path through the woods and across a field to a shady spot by a stream. Mama carries the picnic basket, and Papa carries a patchwork quilt. Lily runs ahead. Grownups are so slow. Bees buzz in clover growing tall on the edges of the field. Lily sees a monarch butterfly flying ahead of her, as if it’s leading her somewhere.
Under the shade of a willow tree, Mama spreads the quilt on the grass, and Lily helps her unpack the basket. She’d eaten only one of yesterday’s biscuits and an apple for breakfast because she’s saving her appetite for the picnic, especially the chocolate cake. She smells roasted chicken, and her empty stomach rumbles so loudly that Papa looks around and says, “Is that a bear growling?”
Lily giggles. She eats both chicken wings and a drumstick, a big serving of potato salad, a smaller serving of slightly burned green beans, and an enormous piece of chocolate cake.
Her stomach full to bursting, she lies on her back and peers up at the canopy of leaves shushing and fluttering overhead. It’s as if the leaves are sharing secrets with each other. She can’t remember a better day than this one.
After a while Mama begins to read aloud from Little Women. Lily is drowsy from the food and the summer heat. She begins to fall asleep, but she has the oddest feeling that someone is watching her. She opens her eyes and turns her head to the side.
For a moment she sees a dark-haired girl looking at her. The girl says something Lily cannot understand. Lily tries to speak, but her voice is too small for anyone, even herself, to hear. She blinks, and when she opens her eyes, the girl is gone. Too tired to tell anyone about the girl, Lily closes her eyes. Soon she is fast asleep.
When Lily wakes, Mama allows her to take off her shoes and wade in the stream. She steps into the water and shivers at its icy touch. The sand on the bottom is smooth and feels soft under her feet. She splashes and laughs when she realizes that the skirt of her dress is soaked.
The willow casts its shade on a still part of the stream. Small insects with long, skinny legs walk across the water’s surface. They move like skaters, darting quickly from here to there, leaving faint circles behind them.
“Papa,” she calls. “What are these odd bugs called?”
He squats down and peers at them. “They’re part of the Gerridae family,” he tells her, “but most people call them water walkers, water striders, pond skaters, and so on. Fascinating, aren’t they?”
Lily trails her hand through the water, taking care not to disturb the gerry bugs. “I wish I could walk across the stream on tiny feet like theirs,” she says. “It would be fun, wouldn’t it, Papa?”
She watches a bird soar overhead. “Flying would be fun too.”
“Oh, Lily.” Papa smiles. “Such a fanciful child you are.”
Mama joins Papa and looks down at her. “Your toes are turning blue with cold,” she says. “You’d better come out and put on your shoes and stockings before you catch a chill.”
Lily sits on the grass and spreads her wet skirt around her. It’s late in the afternoon, and the sun hovers like a golden ball above the treetops.
The happiness she felt earlier bubbles up inside and she smiles at a rabbit hopping across the field. Papa coughs, and the rabbit freezes, as if he thinks no one will see him if he doesn’t move. The sun shines through his ears and dyes them pink. His nose twitches. Papa coughs again, and the rabbit bounds away. A patch of weeds quivers to mark his hiding place, but the rabbit is now truly invisible.
The rabbit is smart. No one will catch him. He knows how to be still and how to hide.
Mama wipes chocolate off Lily’s mouth with her handkerchief. “The cake is a sorry mess in comparison with Aunt Nellie’s creations,” she says.
Papa cuts a big slice for himself and divides what’s left between Mama and Lily. “The best cake I ever ate,” he tells Mama. “Ten times better than any of Nellie’s finest concoctions.”
Mama smiles and blushes. “Fibber,” she whispers.
Papa gives her a kiss on the cheek. “I’d never lie to you.”
“Would you lie to me?” Lily asks.
“Never.” Papa stretches and gazes across the fields, which are lush with wheat. Cattle moo. Up on the hillside, sheep answer with bleats. A flock of starlings settles in a tree for the night, disturbing the quiet with their harsh cries.
“Then tell me where Aunt Nellie’s gone and when she’ll be back.” Lily is taking a chance. Papa might not answer. He might be cross. But Lily has to know.
Papa looks at Mama, who says, “You might as well tell her, Henry.”
“Lily, you know Mr. Bailey is a hard man to deal with. He doesn’t do the work I pay him for. He lies. He mistreats his wife and the animals in his care.”
Papa looks into Lily’s eyes. She knows he’s telling the truth.
“Yesterday I caught him stealing money from the cash box—over five hundred dollars that I forgot to put in the safe.”
Papa frowns. “I fired him, and the hired hand quit. This morning I discovered that they stole three of our horses last night and rode off. Nellie went with them.” He wipes his sweaty forehead. “I hope we don’t see any of them again.”
“Aunt Nellie didn’t want to go,” Lily says. “He made her, I know he did. She’s scared of him, Papa. She does what he tells her.”
Papa takes her hand in his big hand. His love flows from his hand to hers and warms her. He looks at Lily, as if she knows something she isn’t supposed to know.
“He hits her.” Lily says this so quietly Papa doesn’t hear. He must have noticed that Aunt Nellie’s eye was black last week. The week before that, she had bruises all over her arms. Who would have hit her but Mr. Bailey?
With a sigh, Mama gets to her feet and begins to gather up the picnic things. Papa shakes out the quilt, and Lily helps him fold it. The sun is sinking into a bed of pink and purple clouds, and the evening air is chilly. It’s time to leave the stream and the water striders behind.
“We should do this every week,” Mama says.
“Yes, yes, let’s!” Lily claps her hands and laughs. She’s glad to have something else to talk about.
“Why not every day?” Papa asks.
“Can we start tomorrow?”
Papa lifts her above his head, and her hair tumbles down over his face.
“Oh, Papa,” she says, “I love you so!” Turning to Mama, she adds, “And I love you too, Mama, forever and ever and ever!”
By the time they come in sight of the tall stone house on the hill, it’s almost dark. The moon lights their way across the fields and along the path. The evening damp breathes out the scent of grass and wildflowers. In the woods, tree frogs call, and in the distance an owl hoots.
Papa carries Lily upstairs to bed. Mama helps her change into her nightgown. She and Papa kiss her goodnight and tuck her in. Lily wants to hear another chapter of Little Women, but she’s too tired to keep her eyes open.
22
Lily
But that’s not the end of the story. It’s just the end of the happy part.
The noise of galloping horses wakes her from dreams of picnics and chocolate cake. She opens her eyes and sees Mama standi
ng by the bed, her face barely visible in the dark.
Startled, Lily sits up, wide-awake. She grasps her mother’s hand and senses her fear. Why is someone coming to call so late at night? Who is it? What do they want? She’s frightened.
Mama pulls Lily out of bed. “Quick,” she whispers. “Run upstairs to Papa’s studio. Don’t make a sound. Lock the door behind you. Hide in the wardrobe, and don’t come out until Papa and I come for you.”
As Mama speaks, someone pounds on the kitchen door. A man shouts, “Let us in, Bennett, we’ve got business to settle.”
Papa says something, and Lily hears the door burst open and bang against the wall. A man in heavy boots barges into the house, cursing and yelling. Another follows him.
“Get out of my house, Bailey. You’re out of your mind with drink,” Papa says. “Go home, sleep it off, or I’ll report you to the sheriff.”
Lily clings to Mama. “What does Mr. Bailey want?”
“Don’t worry. Your papa will take care of it.”
“I’m afraid,” Lily whispers. “Please let me stay with you.”
Mama rushes her toward the stairs to the third floor. “Do as I say, Lily. I’ll explain later.”
Downstairs, something heavy crashes to the floor. Glass breaks. The noise is terrifying.
Mama shoves Lily toward the stairs. “Go,” she whispers. “Go now!”
Mama sounds angry. Whimpering with fear, Lily does as she’s told. Her legs are weak. Her bare feet make no noise.
In silent haste she slips into Papa’s studio and locks the door behind her. The smell of oil paint and turpentine mixes with the odor of Papa’s pipe. The familiar aroma makes it seem as though Papa is in the studio, playing hide-and-seek with her.
Lily obeys Mama and hides in the wardrobe. She ducks under Mama’s old dresses and curls up in the back, where the shadows are darkest. No one will find her here. She’s a mouse, a rabbit, a tiny creature that knows how to be still.
The noise downstairs grows louder. The men’s voices rise. Mama screams and screams again. Lily hears explosions, two, three, maybe more. She recognizes the sound of gunfire. There’s more cursing, more thuds and bangs.
She whimpers and burrows deeper into the dresses. The fragrance of Mama’s scent lingers in the silk, but Lily doesn’t feel safe now. Something is terribly wrong.
From the yard, Aunt Nellie cries, “You drunken fools, what have you done?”
“Where’s the girl?” Mr. Bailey shouts. His voice comes from Lily’s bedroom on the floor below.
He runs up the stairs. Someone is with him. Not Papa. It must be Ellis Dixon.
They stop at the locked door and struggle to open it. They throw themselves against it.
Where is Papa? Why doesn’t he stop them? She wants to call him, but she forces herself to be quiet. One sound, and they’ll find her.
“Open the door, Lily,” Mr. Bailey shouts. “We won’t hurt you.”
She hears the anger in his voice. He’s lying. If she opens the door, he’ll hurt her. He’ll beat her with his fists the way he beats Aunt Nellie. Her face will be bruised like Aunt Nellie’s, both her eyes will be black, her head will hurt, he might even kill her.
Lily presses her hands over her heart in hope that she can keep the men from hearing it beating so fast and loud. Papa will come soon. He must.
Aunt Nellie shouts again. Her voice shakes with fear. “Please, please. You got what you came for. Forget the child. She’s done you no harm. Leave her be!”
Why is Aunt Nellie here? Why doesn’t she fetch the sheriff?
Aunt Nellie is afraid of Mr. Bailey. That’s why she doesn’t get help. No matter how much she loves Lily, she’ll do what her husband tells her to do. She always does.
One of the men kicks the studio door so hard, it flies open. They’re in the room now. She smells tobacco and whiskey and perspiration. She smells anger and hate, too. In the yard, Aunt Nellie cries, “What are you doing up there?”
“She ain’t here, Charlie,” Ellis Dixon says. “She’s probably hiding in the woods or something. Come on. Let’s go while we can. We got the money.”
Ellis Dixon runs down the steps, but Mr. Bailey closes the studio door and locks it from the outside. “By the time you get it open,” he shouts, “we’ll be long gone!”
Downstairs, the men drag things out of the house. Large bundles, maybe. She hears thumps.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Aunt Nellie cries. “You promised not to—”
“Shut your mouth!” There’s a loud smacking sound, and Aunt Nellie cries out in pain.
“You say one word about what’s happened here, and I’ll kill you,” he yells at Aunt Nellie. “You know I will.”
“Charlie!” Ellis Dixon shouts. “Give me a hand. I need some help.”
Long after the horses gallop away, Lily stays in the wardrobe and waits.
Where are Mama and Papa? Why don’t they come? Perhaps the men tied them up. Surely they’ll get loose soon and rescue her.
But the house is quiet. No boards creak. No one climbs the stairs. No one speaks. No one calls her name. It’s as if no one is here, no one at all—except Lily.
At last the morning sun slants through the window and pokes fingers of light under the wardrobe door. Lily stays where she is. Her body is stiff and cramped from huddling in the same position for so long, but she obeys Mama and waits.
She’s hungry and thirsty. She cries. Have Mama and Papa forgotten her?
They do not come that day. But someone else does. More men tramp through the house. They call her name, but she doesn’t recognize their voices. She’s afraid they’ve come to harm her.
She doesn’t answer the men, and she doesn’t open the door. She promised to wait for Mama and Papa. A promise cannot be broken. No matter what.
After they leave, she selects a stick of Papa’s charcoal and begins to draw on the wall. Her hand moves rapidly. She tells the story in pictures. It’s not her best drawing, but she’s in a hurry. She must not forget what happened.
When she comes to the end of the story, she feels as hollowed out as a dead tree. She’s also very tired. So tired. She makes her way to the wardrobe on legs that barely hold her up. She crawls inside and burrows into her mother’s dresses. She breathes in her mother’s perfume. She falls into a deep sleep.
23
Jules
When we’d looked at the last picture, Maisie turned to me and said, “The drawings tell what happened the night Lily’s mother and father were killed.”
“If she hadn’t hidden in this room, Lily would have been killed too.”
I reached for Maisie’s hand, and she gripped mine tightly. The shadows darkened and closed in on us. For a moment I felt as if we were trapped just as Lily had been. I shared her fear and loneliness. I understood what it was like to wait for someone who never came, to be locked in a room while outside, the world went on, years passing, season after season coming and going, to hear the horses galloping out of the night, ridden by killers who were searching for you.
Behind us, something creaked, and the spell broke. We turned to look at the wardrobe.
Still holding hands, we crept closer. “Lily—” I called. “Don’t be afraid.”
No one answered.
“Do you remember the day we saw each other? We were in the field near the stream where the willow tree is. You looked right at me and asked me to help you.”
“You saw me?”
Maisie and I stared at each other in disbelief. Lily had answered us. She was here in the same room as we were, hidden in the wardrobe, close enough for us to hear her whispery voice.
“What did I look like?” She sounded frightened.
It was an odd question, but I answered as best as I could. “Like the pictures your father painted of you—a pretty little girl with long yellow hair, wearing a blue dress. You were as solid and real as I am.”
Lily sighed with what sounded like relief. “I was scared I’d be ugly.”
“Ugly? How could you be ugly?”
“Never mind,” Lily said. “I saw you too, but I thought I was dreaming.”
“You asked me to help you,” I said. “Do you remember?”
“It was wrong of me to ask,” Lily said. “I have fearful enemies, wicked men—fiends from the devil himself—in search of me. They’ll harm anyone who gets in their way.”
“But it’s not just those men you need to fear,” I told her. “Soon the workmen will start working on the third floor. They’ll rip out everything. You won’t have a door or a wardrobe to hide in. We have to find another safe place for you.”
“You don’t understand,” Lily said. “I promised Mama I’d stay here until she and Papa came for me. I cannot disobey them.”
“Lily, do you know why your mother and father haven’t come?” I asked.
Lily was silent for so long I thought she’d never answer, but at last she said, “Yes, I know why. But a promise is a promise, isn’t it? It would be wrong to disobey.”
“Your parents didn’t want you to stay in this room forever, Lily.” I laid the key on the floor near the wardrobe. “The door is unlocked. Come with Maisie and me. You can’t stay here. We’ll find a new hiding place.”
“Please don’t lock your door, Lily,” Maisie begged. “Meet us tomorrow in the field by the willow tree. You know the place.”
“We’ll keep you safe,” I promised.
Lily was quiet again. “It would be nice to sit under the willow again and watch the minnows and the gerry bugs in the stream.”
“Then come and meet us, Lily,” I said. “We’ll find a way to help you.”
She paused to think about what we’d told her. At last she said, “I’ll meet you tomorrow. I promise.” Her voice shook, but she sounded as if she meant it.
We pressed our hands against the wardrobe door and whispered goodbye. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Lily. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe with us.”
We ran down the stairs and through the house. In my haste, I tripped over an extension cord and landed on my hands and knees. Maisie helped me to my feet. With a bleeding knee, I hobbled into the addition and the safety of our kitchen.
The Girl in the Locked Room: A Ghost Story Page 8