by Marina Cohen
“Your father.” She smiled. “He’s very … particular.”
Hadley took a deep breath. Her voice was low and wispy. “Father … Where is he?”
“At work, silly. He’ll be home right before dinner. Like clockwork.”
Butterflies danced in Hadley’s stomach. Her father. Her real father. The man she’d spent her whole life longing to meet—the ghost haunting the hollows of her mind—was somewhere nearby. She was suddenly nervous and excited and a little afraid. She needed to prepare herself. She needed to be ready. She bounced into the hall toward the steps.
“I nearly forgot,” called her mother. “Althea de Mone dropped by earlier. She left you a gift. It’s near the front door.” Then she added quickly, “Make sure you get it before your father trips.”
Hadley stopped running. She moved slowly, curiosity drawing her toward the gift as though she were a fish on a wire. As she approached the doll, she drank in every detail—the crisp black suit, the dark hair parted and combed perfectly, and the eyes—the dark eyes—that seemed to be staring right at her.
Hadley had once read that a person’s eyes were windows to their soul. Gently, she lifted the doll and held it up to her face. She gazed into its eyes, but they seemed somehow vacant. And cold.
Her emotions flip-flopped. One second, she couldn’t wait to meet her real father. The next, she found herself missing Ed and Isaac. So much had changed in so little time; her thoughts and feelings couldn’t keep up.
Judging by the doll’s size, her father was shorter than Ed, but he was more solid. Ed’s doll had been flexible. Her father’s doll was rigid. Hadley was afraid if she bent him he would break.
Her mother’s words—not very nice—hovered in her mind. Hadley smoothed the doll’s hair. At least now she could put a face to those words. And there was nothing not nice about it. In fact, his face was perfect.
Hadley had always thought she might look a little like her father. A certain slant of the eye. The shape of her lips. Perhaps her long, skinny feet. But there was no resemblance. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment.
She walked up the stairs and into her room. Gently, she placed her father’s doll in the dollhouse living room. She moved her mother to sit across from him.
Hadley took a deep breath. Her mother said he’d come home just before dinner. She had most of the afternoon to sit around and wait. She had to find something to occupy her time or she’d drive herself crazy—assuming she wasn’t already there.
Granny, she thought. I’ll ask her about the doll.
Hadley’s mother had left the kitchen. She was now vacuuming the living room. Buckets, dusters, and an array of cleaning products lined the hallway. It was like she had turned into some kind of cleaning machine. Hadley was afraid to touch anything.
She left the house quietly and walked around the side. In the room above the garage, the dark drapes hung heavy and straight without even the slightest hint of movement behind them. Hadley climbed the metal steps leading to Granny’s apartment. Just as she reached the top, the screen door swung open. It knocked against the metal railing, tap, tap, tapping in the breeze. The wooden door was also ajar.
Hadley stuck her head inside. “Hello?” she called, but no one answered.
Perhaps Granny was in the bathroom or cleaning her closet. Hadley shifted her weight, suddenly worried. Had something gone wrong with her wish? Had Granny disappeared, too?
Invading someone’s private space was wrong. Hadley recalled how angry she’d always been with Isaac each time he’d barged uninvited into her room. But she convinced herself this was different. She had to make sure Granny was all right. That Granny was still there.
Hadley took a few tentative steps into the apartment, carefully searching the space. The bed was perfectly made, the sheets forming tight corners, the pillows fluffed to perfection. No knickknacks or magazines cluttered the sofa or coffee table. The kitchen was spotless, as though it had never been used.
Thunk.
Hadley searched the room for the cause of the sound. Nothing had fallen. Nothing was out of place. She searched again, her eyes coming to rest on the old steamer trunk. It was larger than she’d remembered—big enough to fit a whole person in it.
It was made of dark rustic wood, weathered and worn. The sides were bound and riveted with tarnished metal, and the hinges were uneven—as though a blacksmith had forged them a hundred years ago. It reminded Hadley of a pirate’s chest.
She reached out a trembling hand and pulled the clasp. Before she could lift the heavy lid, a hand touched her shoulder. She spun around, nearly falling backward over the trunk. Granny held her arm and steadied her.
“Hadley,” she said. “How nice of you to pop by again.”
“I—um—I’m sorry, I…” Hadley struggled to explain why she was inside Granny’s apartment without permission.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” said Granny de Mone.
“I didn’t mean to barge in. I couldn’t find you and I was worried.”
“You’re such a dear,” she said. “I was cleaning the root cellar. A glass of jam had smashed. It was all over the floor.” She placed an armful of apples on the counter. They were red and shiny and perfect.
“Well, the door was open, and I didn’t see you, and I heard a sound.” Hadley pointed to the old trunk. “What’s in there?”
“Just my carving tools and sewing kit—to make the dolls. And speaking of dolls, did you get my gift?”
“Yes,” said Hadley. “That’s why I came…”
“I knew you’d like it. You can add it to the others. Your mother. And me. I’m sorry I haven’t finished your doll yet. Just a few more touches and it should be ready.”
Hadley smiled vaguely.
“Then we’ll be the perfect family, won’t we?” She gave Hadley a squeeze. “Have a seat, dear, and I’ll make you some tea.”
She walked to the kitchenette, pulled a kettle from a cupboard, and filled it with water. She put some herbs into the silver teapot and added the water once it boiled. The scent was soothing. Granny served the tea and Hadley took a sip.
“Granny?” she asked. “Tell me more about the house. About the previous owners. Did they ever, well, say anything strange had happened? Why did so many of them abandon the place?”
Granny dropped her chin. “You’ve been listening to gossip.”
Hadley sat back on the sofa. “Maybe. But are you sure nothing strange ever happened to anyone else?”
“Well…,” she said slowly. “Remember I told you the original owner had the house built for his wife—to make her happy? And the dollhouse was a gift to his daughter? His only child?”
Hadley nodded, hanging on her every word.
“Well, the daughter—supposedly a lovely girl—well, one day, she was gone.”
Hadley swallowed. Her voice trembled. “Gone? As in disappeared?”
Granny shook her head slowly. “Gone as in died. Her parents went mad with grief. The woman had to be sent to a sanatorium. The father deserted the house, leaving everything behind. The furniture. Even the food in the pantry and cellar.”
Hadley shivered. Someone was dancing on her grave.
“They say the house sat empty for a long time after that. Like an old abandoned seashell. Then, new people bought it. They weren’t happy here either and left quickly. There have been several owners since.”
Hadley sat deep in thought. “What an awful story.”
Granny patted her knee. “That was a long time ago. Don’t think about it. You’re here now and everything is fine. Think happy thoughts.”
Hadley wondered what had happened to the girl. She put her hand in her pocket and withdrew the eye.
“Where did you find that?” asked Granny.
Hadley held it up for Granny to see. “Under my bed. Does it belong to you? Did it come from one of your dolls?”
“Perhaps,” said Granny, closing Hadley’s fingers around the eye. “But you keep it for now
. I’ll try and locate a matching one, and then I’ll show you how I make the dolls. Would you like that?”
Hadley forced a smile.
Granny de Mone placed a hand to her mouth and yawned. “Another time. We’ll make dolls and play pinochle, and I’ll bake another crumble.”
Twenty-two
“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help?” said Gabe, holding out an extra shovel.
Hadley had gone inside the house to find her mother was busy dusting, cleaning, and disinfecting as though her very life depended on it. She’d made Hadley a peanut butter sandwich for a snack, cutting it into perfect triangles, and asked her to eat it outside so she wouldn’t make any mess. Hadley had taken it into the backyard, where she sat on the rock enjoying the breeze.
“Can I finish my sandwich first?” she huffed. “It’s attracting flies.”
“Is there any meat in it?” Gabe asked, tossing the shovel near her feet.
“It’s peanut butter.”
Gabe shook his head. “I told you before—these are flesh flies. Blowflies. They’re attracted to rotting flesh. That, and dung.”
“Stop talking about dung while I’m eating,” said Hadley, shoving the rest of her sandwich into her mouth. She couldn’t help but think of Isaac and his peanut allergy. She missed Isaac—his annoying questions, his allergies … and his freckles.
Hadley kicked off her sneakers and dangled her feet over the rock. Her one leg still felt odd. She really should see a doctor.
She swallowed her last bite and jumped into the long grass. It was cool and damp against the soles of her feet. Dirt squished between her toes. It was icky and nice at the same time.
“What are we doing again?” she asked, stepping into her sneakers and picking up the shovel.
“We’re building a berm.”
“Right. And what exactly is a berm?”
“The earth is eroding. Right here.” Gabe pointed to the edge of the yard. “Fast-flowing rainwater’s carved away the soil. A hundred years ago, your yard was a lot longer. It stretched out over where we’re standing. A good chunk of it has dropped off into the ravine.”
“Really?” said Hadley, peering down.
“That’s nothing. In a thousand years, your whole yard will be gone. Your house will drop off into the ravine, too. Unless…”
Hadley sighed. “We build a berm.”
Gabe nodded. “First, we start at the base with a retaining wall. We’ll build the berm later, to redirect the flow of water from the top of your yard.”
Together they scoured the ravine, digging up as many rocks as they could find and dragging them back to the slope. Hadley kept an eye out for thistles and poison ivy, not to mention snakes and giant centipedes.
They worked side by side, placing the rocks on the slope, building up a small wall. They also dug up soil and moved it to the side of the ravine. They pulled up chunks of wild grass by the roots and relocated it to the slope as well. Gabe said the roots of certain plants would help bind the soil so it wouldn’t erode.
Hadley didn’t bother telling Gabe about her father. He didn’t remember Ed or Isaac so she figured there was no use. She did tell him about the original owners of the house and their daughter who died.
“Wow,” he said. “If I believed in ghosts, I’d say your house was haunted.” He yanked out a clump of weeds and tucked it into some soil between the rocks. “But I don’t believe in ghosts.”
They worked for a long time, but the wall of rock was still small. Hadley wiped the sweat from her forehead. The berm was going to take forever.
She swatted at a fly buzzing near her ear just as she jabbed her shovel into the hard soil. It struck a hard patch of clay and stuck. She grabbed the handle and pulled, but the shovel wouldn’t budge. She pulled harder, her hands slippery from sandwich and sweat, and lost her grip. She flew backward into Gabe. They toppled to the ground.
“Hey!” he said, shoving her aside. “Watch what you’re doing.”
Hadley got to her feet. She was covered in dirt. She tried smacking it off her T-shirt and shorts, but that only made it worse.
Gabe stood and walked toward the shovel. He pulled it free and began examining the earth where it had gotten stuck.
“I gotta go,” said Hadley. It was getting late. It was almost dinnertime. She didn’t want to meet her real father for the first time looking like something the cat dragged in. She’d best head inside, get cleaned up, and change.
“But,” said Gabe, “what about the berm?”
“I’ll help you tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. She scaled the embankment and headed for the side door.
Hadley kicked off her shoes in the front foyer after having trekked through the hall, leaving a trail of muddy prints.
Before she reached the stairs, her mother stepped out from the living room. She looked at the floor; panic flashed in her eyes.
Realizing what she’d done, Hadley was about to tell her not to worry, that she’d clean the dirt right away. But before she could manage a word, another figure appeared behind her mother. He wore a crisp black suit. He had perfect hair and a perfect face.
Twenty-three
“Hello, Doll Face.”
Hadley gawked at the man who had only lived in the misty corners of her imagination. He looked identical to the doll, as if it had ballooned in size and sprung to life. All other thoughts were wiped clean from her mind.
He smiled warmly. Then his gaze slipped from her face to her dirty clothes. It lingered for a moment near her feet, and then followed the path of muddy footprints she’d left along the hall floor. Hadley was sure a twitch tugged once at the corner of his mouth.
“Why, you’re filthy,” he said quietly. “And what in the world are you wearing?”
Hadley looked down at her T-shirt and shorts. She folded her arms nervously around herself.
“Oh, never mind,” he said, sidestepping Hadley’s mother. “Come here.”
He put an arm around her shoulder. He had strong arms, and Hadley found herself comparing them to Ed’s loosey-goosey arms that could coil around her a thousand times and still provide no pressure.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in a thousand years,” he whispered.
Though he was a complete stranger, it somehow didn’t feel that way. This was her father. Her real father. He was here and he was hugging her and suddenly nothing else mattered. She breathed in his clean scent. He smelled like a freshly unwrapped bar of spring-scented soap.
“Try twelve,” she muttered.
He stepped back, dusting a speck of dirt from his suit. “Twelve what?”
She grinned. “Er, nothing.”
Hadley wanted him to go on hugging her forever, but she tried not to look too eager. Still, she couldn’t take her eyes off him—his clean-shaved, sculpted jaw, his friendly eyes, and the smile that wrapped itself around her like a warm woolly blanket. He was everything she’d hoped he’d be. He was perfect.
“I’m so efficient. I got everything done a whole half hour ahead of schedule today, so I thought I’d come home early to be with my girls,” he said, flashing a smile at Hadley’s mother. “I thought we might go for a walk or have a game of cards or sit around and chat before dinner.”
He tilted his head toward the dirt Hadley had dragged into the house. He raised one eyebrow. “But you’ve got some cleaning to do first, missy.”
“I’ll get that,” said her mother, but before she could move an inch, he reached out and barred her path.
“Hadley can do it,” he said sweetly. “She’s old enough to clean her own messes.”
“Of course, dear,” said her mother. “You’re right, as usual.”
“Sure,” said Hadley, grinning. She didn’t want to take her eyes off him in case he up and disappeared like Ed and Isaac. “I can do it.”
Hadley walked toward her parents and they parted to let her pass. Still keeping one eye on her father, she bent and grabbed a rag and a bucket her mother ha
d left near the array of cleaning products.
The disinfectant stung her hand as she dunked the rag into the bucket and wrung it dry. Her father stood over her, watching as she backtracked, wiping every single one of the dirty footprints. It was strange how he watched without helping, but she guessed he was just one of those supervising types.
When she finished, she stood and gave him a satisfied smile, but he stared back at her, unblinking. Hadley searched the now glistening wet floor and then his face for a clue as to what he might want her to do next. He waited patiently, as though she were supposed to figure this out for herself. All the while, Hadley’s mother continued to smile, but her eyes snuck to Hadley’s feet and then back to her eyes as if to tell her something.
Then it hit her—her feet! The soles were brown with ground-in dirt.
“What are you going to do now, genius?” said her father.
“Oops.” She laughed nervously. “Do you think you could toss me some paper towels?”
Her mother made a move, but her father stopped her again.
“Hadley has gotten herself into this mess—literally.” He chuckled. “It’s up to her to get herself out.”
He turned and disappeared up the stairs, whistling cheerfully. Hadley’s mother picked up an armful of spray bottles, winked, and escaped into the kitchen.
How strange, thought Hadley. Then she gave her head a shake and plunked one foot straight into the bucket, washing off the dirt. She rinsed the other foot and then wiped the puddle of water beneath her feet. She threw the rag into the bucket and took it to the bathroom in the hall, where she flushed the dirt and water down the toilet. She wrung out the rag and folded it neatly, draping it along the rim of the bucket.
She stole a glance at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess. She smoothed it with her palm, straightened her T-shirt, and checked her shorts for stains. She didn’t want to disappoint her father. She could hear him whistling cheerfully in his room.
She headed toward the kitchen and peered through the doorway, where her mother sat at the perfectly set table, staring straight ahead, her hands folded in front of her, smiling at the wall.