“Yes, it is. If I’d been her friend while she was alive, maybe she’d be in her grave where she belongs.”
Mrs. Jameson gazed at me in silence. Finally she said, “Suppose you try to be her friend now?”
I stared at her in disbelief. “I hate her! How can I be her friend? After all the horrible things she’s done?”
“It won’t be easy, but it might help Elsie move on and leave you in peace.” She patted my hand. “Surely it’s worth a try.”
I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to calm down. The very idea repulsed me, but if it was the only way to rid myself of Elsie, I’d make myself do it. After all, Mrs. Jameson knew more about ghosts than I did.
I sniffed and blew my nose. “I’ll try.”
“Good girl.” She smiled and squeezed my hand. “Come back tomorrow and tell me what happens.”
Nurse Ryan tapped my shoulder. “Let her rest now. She’s tired.”
I leaned over and kissed Mrs. Jameson’s cheek, but her eyes had already closed.
Before I left the infirmary, I looked at the nurse. “She’s getting better, isn’t she?”
Nurse Ryan began to go through a pile of paper on her desk. “Run along, Annie. Can’t you see I have work to do?”
She hadn’t answered my question, but it was probably because she was busy. I lingered a moment, just in case she had something else to say, but she kept her head down and ignored me.
I walked slowly back to my room, trying not to worry about Mrs. Jameson. It took older people longer to get well. I’d heard my mother say that when Grandmother was sick. She’d be all right in a few days, maybe a week.
What I needed to do now was take her advice. Maybe if I were Elsie’s friend just for a little while, she’d be happy and go wherever dead people went. Then my life would return to normal—though, honestly, I wasn’t sure I remembered normal.
Elsie met me in the doorway of my room. She’d pulled the covers off my bed and torn up the homework I’d spent hours doing.
“You went to see that crazy old lady, didn’t you?”
“She’s not crazy—”
“Crazy or not, I can make her have another accident, you know.”
“No, please don’t hurt her again. She’s on your side. She wants us to be friends.”
“I bet she does.”
“Honestly, Elsie. She has a lot of sympathy for you.”
“Ha.” Elsie scowled in disbelief. “You’re such a liar.”
“I’m not lying. She wants me to be your friend. She wants me to make up for the way I treated you.”
“That might be what she wants, but what about you, Annie?” She stared at me through narrowed eyes. “What do you want?”
“It’s what I want, too. Mrs. Jameson convinced me I owe it to you.”
“You better mean it, Annie Browne. If you’re lying, I’ll find out.”
Doing my best to speak in a steady, truthful voice, I said, “Cross my heart and hope to die, if I ever tell a lie.”
“So,” she said. “Will we be bosom buddies just like girls in books?”
“Yes, of course, Elsie. Whatever you say.”
“Best friends for all eternity. You and me. Just the two of us.”
“Yes, yes, just you and me. Best friends for all eternity.” I had to struggle not to choke on eternity.
Elsie smiled. “I’m glad you finally see things my way.” She looked around the room. “I’m sorry I tore up your homework. You’ll have to do it over again, I guess. I’d do it for you, but I don’t remember how to do math anymore.”
As she tidied up my room, I opened my math book and redid my homework. I hoped my promise would protect Mrs. Jameson, but I wasn’t sure I’d be rid of Elsie anytime soon. Best friends for all eternity—those words made me fear she meant to be around for a long time.
From then on, I visited Mrs. Jameson whenever I could. Elsie often followed me and watched from the door. She didn’t like my spending so much time with Mrs. Jameson, but as long as I was nice to her, she had no reason to make a scene.
Sometimes I’d find Mrs. Jameson propped up on pillows, either crocheting or reading The Pickwick Papers, one of the few Dickens novels she hadn’t read. Often she was asleep, and I’d sit beside her and wait for her to wake up. She still breathed heavily, and she’d developed a bad cough.
She always asked about Elsie. “Is she happier?”
“I guess so,” I’d say. “At least she’s stopped getting me into trouble.”
“And how do you feel?”
“Not too bad, but I hope she leaves soon. It’s hard to pretend to like her.”
“Well, keep on pretending, Annie. Your efforts will be rewarded, I’m sure.”
Before I left, she asked me to read The Pickwick Papers to her. Her eyes were weak, she said, and it tired her to read. We both laughed at Mr. Pickwick’s antics. He was such a silly man, but sweet and charming. We couldn’t help liking him even when he made mistakes.
That afternoon, Dr. Benson said, “You’ve had no bad reports this week, not even from Nurse Baker. You’re doing well in your calisthenics class. Miss Hyde tells me you’ve improved your strength and can do twenty or so sit-ups now. You’ve been well behaved in arts and crafts. Mr. French is pleased that your schoolwork has improved. The staff feels you’re finally learning to control your behavior.”
He smiled at me. “If you continue like this, Annie, you might be allowed to go home in a few weeks.”
I skipped all the way to my room. Home. I’d soon go home!
Elsie looked up when I opened the door. She was sitting on the carpet playing with a set of paper dolls. Although I seldom played with paper dolls, Elsie had begged me to ask Mother to bring some. She had never had any of her own. She played with them for hours, drawing clothes and making up stories about them—which I never heard because she whispered them to herself. I had a feeling I didn’t want to know the plots.
“Guess what?” I asked. “Dr. Benson says I can go home soon.”
Elsie clapped her hands. “Oh, Annie, how wonderful! We’ll have so much fun at your house.”
I clenched my teeth to keep from saying, No, no, you aren’t coming with me, you’re going wherever dead people go. But I knew better. A response like that would enrage Elsie. So, forcing myself to smile, I pretended to be as happy as she was.
“Just me and you,” Elsie went on. “We’ll go everywhere together. We’ll share everything. We won’t need anyone else.”
“But sometimes I might go to Jane’s house to play—”
“No you won’t,” Elsie interrupted. “What do you need Jane for? I’m your friend, your only friend, your best friend, your true friend.” She scowled at me. “And you better not forget it!”
No, I wouldn’t forget. How could I? She’d be with me every day and every night, watching me, making sure I had no friends but her.
“It’s Rosie’s fault we weren’t friends before I died,” Elsie said. “She turned everyone against me, including you. She stole my flu mask because she wanted me to die. I know it for a fact.”
“Can’t you just forget what Rosie said and did? You bring it up over and over again. Honestly, I’m tired of hearing it. We’re friends now.”
Elsie scowled. “I never forget anything.” Snatching up my favorite paper doll, she glared at its smiling face and red hair. “This one looks like Rosie. Don’t you hate her?” Giving me a sly look, she ripped the doll’s head off.
I tried to rescue the poor thing, but Elsie wadded the two pieces into a ball and threw it across the room. I watched it roll under the wardrobe.
Elsie moved closer to me. When she opened her mouth to speak, I noticed that two or three of her teeth had fallen out. She was changing. Her skin had gotten dry and flaky, and her hair hung in tangled knots. I backed away from her, but she scooted across the carpet, keeping as close to me as possible.
“Listen, Annie. I’m getting even with Rosie, just you wait. And the others too.” Sh
e gathered up all the paper dolls and decapitated them one by one. Mother, father, sister, brother, and baby, all drifted to the floor. Heads here, bodies there. It was a massacre. “They’ll all be sorry they were mean to me.”
While I sat there speechless, Elsie went on, “You and I will give Rosie a taste of her own medicine. I’ve got it all planned. We’ll get some rat poison and put it in her lemonade. She’ll drink it and—ha ha—that’s the end of her.”
“You can’t do something like that!”
“Oh, yes, I can. And you’re going to help me!”
“You must be insane—I’ll never help you do something that horrible to my friend!”
“You’re my friend now, not Rosie’s. Of course you’ll help me.” She grinned, and another tooth fell out of her mouth. It landed on the carpet among the headless paper dolls. She scooped it up and slipped it into her pocket as if nothing had happened.
“I won’t—you can’t make me!”
“Ha. I can make you do anything I want. You’ll see!” Elsie laughed and darted out the door. I hurried after her, but she’d already disappeared.
Fearing she might be on her way to Mrs. Jameson, I ran to the infirmary.
When she saw me, Nurse Ryan frowned. “You again,” she said. “Fifteen minutes, no more.”
Mrs. Jameson was propped up on pillows, looking out the window beside her bed.
She smiled when she saw me and beckoned me closer. “Spring is coming at last,” she said. “The edges of the trees are softening, and I see hints of green and yellow and pink in their branches.”
I pressed my face against the glass so I could see the ground beneath the window. “The snow is melting and the daffodils are blooming in the garden,” I told her.
“My favorite flowers,” she said. “I love their frilly little bonnets.”
I sat in the chair by the bed and held her hand. “How do you feel today?”
“Oh, about the same.” She coughed, and I filled a glass of water for her.
After taking a few sips, she said, “I’ve been thinking about you and Elsie. Has anything changed?”
“For the worse,” I said, “not the better. When Dr. Benson sends me home, she means to come with me. I’m supposed to help her poison Rosie. She can’t make me do something like that, can she?”
Mrs. Jameson looked at me huddled in the chair, probably a picture of misery. “Of course not. No one can make you do something you don’t want to do.”
“That’s what she thinks.” On silent feet, Elsie had appeared beside me.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
“I don’t trust you, Annie. You’re plotting against me.”
Mrs. Jameson looked straight at Elsie. “That’s not true. We want to help you. Poor child, you’re so unhappy.”
“Stop staring at me,” Elsie said. “You can’t see me. You can’t hear me either. No one can, unless I want them to.”
“I can both see and hear you,” Mrs. Jameson said. “You’re standing right there beside Annie.”
“Liar,” Elsie said. “I bet you can’t tell me what I look like.”
“You’re wearing a ragged blue dress with a lace collar and a pale blue sash,” Mrs. Jameson said. “You have no shoes or socks. Your hair is long and blond and in need of a good combing. Your face is pale and very sad.”
“I’m not sad—don’t you dare say I am. I have a friend now, and I’m going to get my way and do what I want and have fun.” Elsie glared at Mrs. Jameson. “And you can’t stop me!”
“You’re angry now, aren’t you?”
“You’d make anybody angry, you crazy old lady.”
“Come sit beside me, Elsie. Let me comfort you.” Mrs. Jameson stretched out her arms as if to embrace Elsie.
Quick as a cat, Elsie moved out of her reach. “You want to send me back to my grave, that’s what you want to do, but I don’t like it there. I’m staying here with Annie. I have plans. And she’s helping me whether she likes it or not.”
“Those plans won’t make you happy, Elsie.”
“If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll make something worse happen to you!”
Elsie disappeared as quickly and quietly as she’d appeared, but a chill remained in the room, and her words rang in my head.
I turned to Mrs. Jameson in despair. “Tell me what to do.”
She reached for my hand. “Be kind to her, earn her trust. I’ll help you if I’m able.”
I stroked her hands. They were thinner now, and the veins stuck out in knotted blue ropes. “When you’re well and strong,” I told her, “you’ll think of something.”
She sighed. “When I was younger, I’d have made her listen, I’d have won her trust, but I failed to reach her.” She lay back against her pillows. “Oh, Annie, that poor child doesn’t know what she wants or where to go. I feel so useless.”When she began coughing again, I helped her sip from the glass of water. Her eyes were far away, and her face was as sad as Elsie’s.
After she’d drunk what she wanted, I put the glass on the table by her bed. “Do you want me to read to you?”
She closed her eyes. “I’m a bit tired, Annie. I’d probably fall asleep before you read the first sentence.”
I sat beside her and watched her go to sleep. “Please get well,” I whispered and kissed her forehead. Her skin was warm, and her face was flushed. She probably had a fever. And a bad cough. Maybe she had bronchitis. I’d had it several times when I was little, and I remembered the fever and the terrible cough. Another week or two, and she’d be fine.
Nurse Ryan tapped my shoulder. “Time’s up, Annie.”
At the infirmary door, I wanted to ask Nurse Ryan if Mrs. Jameson had bronchitis, but she’d already started going through the endless piles of paper on her desk. I left without bothering her. What was the use? She wouldn’t tell me anything.
Twenty-Three
LSIE POUNCED ON ME from a shadowy corner in the hall. “Blabbermouth,” she said. “You promised not to tell that old lady about me.”
“I didn’t have to tell her—she saw you, Elsie.”
“No, she didn’t. She tricked me, and you helped her. What kind of friend are you?”
“Why won’t you believe me? Mrs. Jameson sees ghosts. She has a gift.”
“Some gift.”
“She wants to help you, Elsie.”
“She wants to help you, not me, but she can’t make me go anywhere, and neither can you. I’m staying right here!”
With that, Elsie darted away. Behind me, Nurse Ryan called, “Who are you talking to, Annie?”
“Nobody!” Turning my back on her, I ran down the steps.
Before going to my room, I stopped in the library to look for a book. I hadn’t been there five minutes before Elsie joined me.
“Find something good,” she said. “I want you to read to me like you read to that old lady.”
“Read to yourself,” I muttered. “You don’t need me to do it.”
“Words don’t make sense anymore,” she said. “The letters turn into squiggles and fall off the pages. It’s a good thing I don’t have to go to school.”
She sounded so sad, I almost felt sorry for her. “What do you want me to read?”
“I don’t know.” She ran her finger lightly up and down the spines of the books. “Are there any stories about graveyards and dead people and what happens to them after they’re buried?”
Startled by her choice of subject, I shook my head.
“How about ghosts? You must know some ghost stories.” Her eyes mocked me. “Maybe you don’t like ghosts. Maybe they scare you.”
She laughed and swept along the shelves, picking books at random and throwing them on the floor. I scurried behind her, picking them up almost as fast as she threw them down.
“Stop it,” I begged. “You’ll get me into trouble.”
She threw The Pickwick Papers at me. “Look what I found. The same book you’re reading to that old lady. I want
you to read it to me!”
The book flew at my face, its pages flapping like a bird’s wings. I ducked, and it thudded to the floor just as the librarian poked her head around the shelves to see what was going on.
“What was that noise?” she asked me. “How did this book get on the floor?”
I scooped up The Pickwick Papers. “I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I dropped it.”
She looked suspicious, but she checked the book out for me. “It’s due in two weeks, Annie. Make sure you return it in good condition.”
I thanked her and left the library.
“That was a close call.” Elsie reappeared in the hall. “I was hoping you’d get in trouble again.”
Once we were in the safety of my room, Elsie insisted I read the first chapter of The Pickwick Papers.
“I don’t think you’ll like it,” I told her.
“If you and that old lady like it, why wouldn’t I like it?”
“It’s just that it’s kind of old-fashioned in the beginning. It gets better, but—”
Elsie opened the book to the first page. “Read it. If I don’t like it, I’ll tell you.”
I cleared my throat and began to read chapter one:
The first ray of light which illumines the gloom, and converts into a dazzling brilliancy that obscurity in which the earlier history of the public career of the immortal Pickwick would appear to be involved—
Before I’d reached the end of the first paragraph, Elsie snatched the book away and looked at the page in disbelief.
“What’s this story about? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, it’s about Mr. Pickwick and his friends. They belong to a club, and they travel around and do funny things.”
“You and the old lady like this book? You think it’s funny?”
“I told you it’s old-fashioned. You have to be patient.”
Elsie threw the book across the room. For a moment, I feared it would go through the window, but this time it landed on the floor.
“You don’t want me to keep reading?”
“No. That book bores me to death.” She laughed. With her mouth wide open, I saw she’d lost another tooth. “Bores me to death—that’s a good joke. You bore me to death, too. So does that old lady and everybody else in this place. I can’t wait to go to your house and have fun.”
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