"He died when I was just a baby," I said.
Tully sighed. "I'm so sorry. I wish you'd known him." He touched my hand, getting up with a lot of grunting and shifting of weight. Without explaining more, he headed for the truck and called to us over his shoulder. "Come see us tomorrow, children."
Elsbeth followed him to the truck. "We will, Mr. Tully." She touched his hand and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "You can count on us."
He waved and smiled at me, then opened the door and swept his hand toward the seat as if he were escorting someone into the vehicle. He tossed a hand out the window, waving goodbye as the truck rumbled down the road.
Chapter Seventeen
When Tully's old truck disappeared from view, Siegfried took my shoulders and shook me. "Mein Gott." He seemed more excited than the last time he got an A+ on a calculus test. "Do you realize what happened? We've seen more evidence that this ghost is real."
I tore my eyes away from the dust cloud lingering after Tully's truck. "We didn't actually see her, but I have no doubt she was real. How else could she know all that stuff about you being smart and Elsbeth loving music?"
Elsbeth seemed the calmest of all. "I like Penni. She's nice."
I grabbed Pancho's reins and hopped onto his back. Elsbeth sailed onto Golden Boy with the ease of a ballerina being lifted into the sky by Mikhail Baryshnikov. A tingle of excitement ran through my body as I watched her. Ignoring it, I stopped Pancho from trying to head home and turned him toward them. "I still don't get how she knows us so well."
"She must know all, Gus. She's a spirit." Elsbeth's eyes shone, flitting back and forth between Siegfried and me. "She probably floats all over the town, sits in our living rooms, and absorbs things about our lives."
Siegfried turned pensive, almost as if he were daring himself to find a logical reason not to be so excited. "Unless he's been investigating us and was playing a trick."
"Maybe," I said. "But he seemed pretty honest to me."
Elsbeth lifted her reins and clucked to Golden Boy. "No. He's for real. And so is she."
Pancho followed Golden Boy back down to the road. I urged him up beside her. Siegfried followed with a brooding expression on his face.
"I sure hope Penni doesn't come into the bathroom," I said. "That would be embarrassing." I'd pictured her floating around in circles, passing through walls, watching us in school, and hovering over our beds while we slept.
Elsbeth's laugh reminded me of my mother's wind chimes on our porch. She tilted her head sideways and covered her mouth with one hand. Her dark curls tumbled over her face, obscuring the vision that had captivated me. "Oh, Gus. You would think of that."
Siegfried trotted up beside us, apparently done with his deep thinking. "Her name is unusual. Penaki. What kind of a name is that?"
Pancho stopped dead and shook his whole body like a dog who had just come out of a pond. I held on tight while he shuddered, and then squeezed his sides to make him catch up. The deerflies were starting to bug him. His lustrous black mane had parted in the middle. Half of it lay all cockeyed on the left side of his neck. I smoothed it back onto the right side and turned to Siegfried. "I think Penaki's an Indian name. Don't you?"
Elsbeth practically squealed. "Ja! It does sound Indian."
Siegfried nodded in sage approval. "Naturlich. I should have known."
I beamed, loving it when Sig thought I was smart. "I wonder when Penni died."
Elsbeth looked into the woods as we neared the Ambuscade Park. We entered a white fence that surrounded plaques mounted behind Plexiglas and a shelter with red painted picnic tables. For the first time, I noticed a bright red wellhead and realized we could refill our canteens there if we brought them next time. I glanced at the stairs leading to the chain link fenced-in area around the monument. Like an obelisk, it loomed large in the distance, pointing to the sky and quietly whispering of the horrors for which it stood.
I shivered when she said, "Maybe Penni died here. Right here at the Ambuscade."
Sig swiped at his long blond forelock. "Nein. Only men died here, right Gus?"
"Well, far as we know, anyway. Maybe later we can check out the stuff on that plaque, but from what I remember, it was the Iroquois who attacked Lieutenant Boyd and Sergeant Parker and their men. I never heard of Indian girls being in a raiding party, unless she somehow got into the fight. I think they said fifteen men died from Boyd's scouting party. But I don't know how many Indians died."
Siegfried pointed to the monument at the top of the rolling hill. "Look. There is writing on the monument. See?"
I peered at the smooth shiny granite and realized there were inscriptions on all four sides of the monolith. "Neat. Let's check it out."
Elsbeth's eyes practically glowed. "Maybe Penni was walking down that trail there," she pointed to the woods, "and came across the ambush. Her lover, a young brave of great courage, was fighting with a Yankee. She jumped on the soldier's back, and was thrown off. Her head hit a rock, and she died."
Siegfried rolled his eyes, but I liked the idea. "Keen. That would sure explain why she still haunts this area," I said.
Siegfried took the lead and headed into a trail toward the abandoned house. "I want to talk to her."
I raised my eyebrows. "You'll have to have Mr. Tully translate. You can't hear her."
He grinned. "Yeah. But maybe she can write to me. Through my own hand and pen."
I shivered with excitement. "Yeah. Neat. Just like in the ghost movies where they take control of the subject's body."
Elsbeth piped up behind us. "I think I'll be able to hear her voice. She probably would want to talk to another girl."
Siegfried and I chuckled, and ducked low under a loop of hanging grapevines.
"We shall see," he said. "Tomorrow."
The trail began to lighten and I caught a glimpse of the field up ahead. "I can't wait. But right now we've got a house to explore."
We entered the clearing and stood three abreast, gazing at the house that loomed in the distance. The roof sagged in two places, and half of the long front porch was caved in. The windows beckoned with broken glass and shadows, and for a moment I imagined the old curtains moving in the second story. The walls of the building were made with fieldstones, which seemed pretty solid.
Elsbeth's voice was soft and musical. "It looks different today."
I nudged Pancho closer to her side until our legs touched. "It does." Her eyes, wide and bright, mesmerized me for a moment. I looked back at the house and reached over to touch the back of her hand. "Hey. Maybe it's haunted."
Chapter Eighteen
We tied the horses to a section of the post and rail fence that wasn't rotted or lying on the ground. Pancho's ears drooped to the side and he seemed to resign himself to being stuck without food for a little while. All my horse seemed to care about was eating and sleeping. And maybe an occasional gallop in the pasture. I figured he could handle a few hours of resting in the shade beneath the massive copper beech towering over the house and grounds.
Elsbeth limped a little, but still jogged after Siegfried along the overgrown grassy path leading to the front door. We all looked around to be sure no one was watching. But it was rather silly because for as far as I could see, there was just a huge field and the surrounding woods. We hadn't seen a sign of a human since passing Tully's cabin twenty minutes ago.
Siegfried pushed on the door. It stuck halfway, finally creaking open when he shoved it harder. He flashed a smile over his shoulder and forged ahead. "Auf gehts."
A shiver of fear overtook me. "We'd better stick together and be careful. Don't want the roof to crumble in on one of us."
Elsbeth brushed away a huge cobweb and ducked into the living room. I watched her with respect. She sure wasn't like most girls.
"Oh, Gus. It will be fine. Look! The furniture is still here."
Siegfried examined a pair of brass candlesticks on the mantle. A number of bricks had fallen down from the chim
ney in a big pile on the hearth, and a squirrel had piled his collection of black walnuts in one corner.
He hefted one candlestick. "Mein Gott. I can't believe these haven't been stolen."
"Or these." I picked up several figurines coated with a thick layer of dust. The pair of Dutch children wore blue pants and yellow wooden shoes. They seemed like something Millie Stone would have in her collection.
"Who do you think lived here?" Elsbeth pulled a sheet off a musty old armchair and plopped into it. "It's comfy."
I rubbed my nose and held back a sneeze. "We'd better bring some cleaning supplies. This place is a wreck."
“Cleaning materials? Really, Gus?” Siegfried scoffed and perched on the edge of an old horsehair couch and thumbed through a copy of Life magazine. Its hand-drawn cover illustration didn't look like the Life Magazine we had on our coffee table.
"Mein Gott." He turned each page as if it would crumble. "Nineteen-oh-two."
"Wow." I walked slowly through the living room, taking in the pictures of family on the walls. I wondered if they still lived around here, and why they'd let the house go, especially with all the stuff still inside.
An alcove opened into a formal dining room, with a lace-covered table and eight heavy mahogany chairs around it. The candelabra overhead was covered in more spider webs. I tried to picture the room in its finery, with the lights sparkling and fresh bread being buttered on the table.
"Let's check the water in the kitchen. Maybe it works." Elsbeth rushed past me into a room that seemed a bit more crumbled than the rest of the house. I worried that she'd mess up her ankle again, but didn't want to come across as a worrywart. My comment about bringing cleaning materials had been embarrassing enough.
The kitchen was a single story attachment to the rest of the two-story home. An old oak table looked sturdy enough, but most of the cabinet doors were hanging loose on one hinge, or had rotted in areas where the rain had come in from a leak in the roof. Windows lined the walls, but most had cracks or missing panes.
"There's a pump in the sink," I said. "One of those old fashioned ones like up at camp."
Siegfried reached it first and started pumping. It took about twenty tries, but soon a rusty trickle of water emptied into the sink and gurgled down the drain. After a few minutes, fresh water spewed out of the pump head.
"I don't believe it!" Elsbeth did a little dance, holding both of my hands. "We have water."
Siegfried chuckled. "Don't get too excited. I don't think there is a bathroom."
I peered out the window facing the woods and agreed. "Yeah. See those old outhouses? They're practically falling down."
She wrinkled her nose. "Ew. Yuk. I hope you don't expect us to use them."
Sig laughed. "Why use an outhouse when we have the whole forest?"
I moved back into the living room and eyed the stairs. Except for a few missing rails on the banister, it seemed sturdy enough. I climbed past the cobwebs and made dusty footsteps on the stair treads. "Come on. Let's see what's up here."
The twins were right behind me. Elsbeth giggled. "I hope we don't wake any ghosts."
A part of me worried that her playfulness might tempt a ghost to show his face. But I pushed that ridiculous notion out of my head and imagined I was John Wayne. "Let's go this way."
We turned right at the top of the stairs, careful to avoid a few fallen beams in the hallway. The second story was in much worse shape than the first. The first room we visited had a gaping hole in the roof. Leaves, branches, and bird feathers filled the room and lay in messy piles on an old rotted bedspread. But the bureau and mirror were still intact. Elsbeth glided toward the vanity and picked up an old set of a silver hairbrush, comb, and hand mirror. "Oooo. Pretty." She rubbed the hand mirror against her jeans to shine it up, then held it up to admire herself. She plucked a few cobwebs out of her hair. "That's better."
"I think this was the parents' room, don't you?" I wandered over to a small fireplace surrounded by white-painted bricks. On the mantel were photos of a family of four. Parents, a girl, and a boy smiled from various shots. Some were in canoes on the water's edge, others at church in their Sunday finery, and a few appeared to be on vacation in Egypt, since there were actual pyramids in the background. I stared for a long time, and musings of having known these people washed over me, faint, but persistent. I couldn't dredge up the connections, though, and wondered how old the kids would be now. Nineteen sixty-five minus nineteen-oh-two. I started to do the math in my head, but Sig appeared at my side and must have read my thoughts.
"The children could be in their seventies now," he said. "Mein Gott."
"Let's check out their rooms." Elsbeth brushed past us and scampered into the hall again.
"Careful," I said, following close behind her. "Your ankle."
"I'm fine." With a nimble leap, she crossed a crushed area in the floor and landed lightly on the other side, favoring her injury but standing upright. "See? It's easy."
Sig and I skirted the depression, noting some dangerous cracks along the side. We found the boy's room first, decorated in a nautical theme with sailing ships on the shelves and bureaus with blue and white anchor patterns decorating the walls. This room was in much better shape than the parents' bedroom, but there was still evidence of mice having made themselves at home here. The bedspread showed sections where they'd chewed away at the fabric, and one section revealed a worn horsehair mattress beneath. I wondered how comfortable that would be to sleep on.
We moved into the next room and found a fairy princess's domain. Pink ballerinas, pink curtains, a canopied bed, and a collection of poor little tattered dolls and stuffed bears screamed "girl." I smiled and watched Elsbeth dance from one treasure to the other. "Oh, how pretty!" This time she didn't pick up the items or try to move them. I felt a renewed sense of respect for her, watching the reverence with which she approached each item.
I wandered to the window and peered over the field. In the distance, Tully appeared at the edge of the woods, walking and gesticulating with vigor. He headed up the side of the field that would eventually lead to the house in which we trespassed.
"Oh, crud. It’s Tully. He's coming this way." I pulled Siegfried to the window.
Elsbeth wasn't flustered. "So? He's nice"
Sig brought her back to reality. "Ja. But we're trespassing and he might tell. We could be in big trouble."
Her eyes darkened. Trouble at her house meant beatings. "Mein Gott. We should go, fast."
Tully cut across the field and was heading straight for us. He'd be there in ten minutes, easy.
Just as I turned to head for the stairs, I noticed a movement in the mirror over the little girl's vanity. I froze and pointed. "What's that?"
The twins joined me and watched as something drew in the dusty surface. The letters were cumbersome and crude. A "P" appeared first, followed by an "E." With dropped jaws we watched the last three letters form: "N," “N,” and "I." The aroma of fresh crushed peppermint leaves filled the air.
Elsbeth looked from Sig to me and back again, excitement unleashed in her eyes. "Penni!"
I didn't wait to investigate, but led them out of the house and back to our horses, fortunately tethered behind the house and out of view of Tully. We scrambled onto their backs and leaned low, squeezing their sides hard. In seconds, we streaked into the shelter of the woods.
Chapter Nineteen
We slowed to a walk and stopped at a crossroad to catch our breath. I lay against Pancho's mane, my arms dangling. "Geez, I can't believe she wrote in that mirror. Did it really happen, or were we dreaming?"
Elsbeth seemed so accepting of the ghost it was almost unsettling. "Of course it happened, silly. Three people can't have the same dream."
Siegfried's eyes glistened with exhilaration. "Ja. We all saw it. I want to go back and take a picture. We should document the otherworldly communication."
I sat up again and turned around to look behind us, in case Tully was taking the same rout
e back as us. "And what the heck was Tully doing there?"
Elsbeth's mouth drew into a pout. "He was probably just going for a walk with Penni. It's right in his backyard, practically."
Siegfried leaned back and propped his elbows on Frisbee's plump rear. "Mein Gott. My heart is still thumping."
I twisted back to face them and smiled. "Mine, too. Let's go check out the Ambuscade and see what we can learn about the past. Maybe Penni’s name is up on the monument."
We trotted on our trusty steeds toward the Ambuscade, and although we were quiet, I could sense the expectancy simmering in each of us. Elsbeth chewed her lower lip and looked straight ahead as if in a trance. Siegfried seemed as if he were having a conversation with himself in his head, he nodded and slapped his thigh and counted on his fingers as if he were listing some important points. I tried not to notice, and urged Pancho into a slow canter when we reached the last stretch of the trail.
We let the horses graze in the alfalfa field near the monument, and climbed the hill to read the plaques on all four sides of granite pillar.
"Look. Here are the names of the guys who died." I had more excitement in my voice than I should have, and tried to tone it down when I read the list. "Sacred to the memory of…" I squinted and tried to pronounce the name as best I could. "Hanyerry, a loyal Oneida chief. Sergeant Nicholas Hungerman, Privates Benjamin Curtin, William Faughey, James McElroy, William Harvey, John Putnam, John Conrey, John Miller, and seven others, names unknown who fell and were burned here."
Elsbeth's hand flew to her mouth. "Burned?"
I leaned forward and peered harder. "Oh, sorry. Not burned. Buried."
Siegfried read from the adjacent side. "November, 1901, erected by the Livingston County Historical Society. Scene of the massacre after a desperate and heroic struggle of Lieutenant Thomas Boyd's scouting party of General Sullivan's army by an ambuscade of British and Indians under Butler and Grant. September 13th, 1779."
"My turn." Elsbeth took a deep breath and traced her finger in the carved granite while she read. "Sacred to the memory of Lieutenant Thomas Boyd and Sergeant Michael Parker who were captured and afterward tortured and killed." She turned to us with a somber expression. "There's a poem underneath."
Don't Let the Wind Catch You Page 6