The Ghost Road

by Charis Cotter

  She saw me looking at it. Then she laughed. “Oh, you’re probably not used to our milk. I do have fresh, if you prefer it. But in Newfoundland you’ll find most people like Carnation Evaporated Milk in their tea.”

  “I’ll try it,” I said, stirring in some of the yellowy milk and putting in a couple of lumps of sugar. I never drank much tea at home but I figured I might as well give it a shot. Dad and I were always big on trying different foods when we were traveling. And although Carnation milk wasn’t as exotic as chili made with chocolate, which was a big favorite of ours in Venezuela last year, it was a new experience. I took a careful sip. Aunt Doll was watching me.

  “It’s…uh…good,” I said. “Kind of sweet.”

  She smiled.

  “So about my mother,” I said.

  “Your mother,” echoed Aunt Doll sadly. “I still miss her. It was such a shock. Both of them on the same day. My girls.” She shook her head again and drew a handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose.

  “Both of who?” I asked.

  “Meg and Molly,” she said. “My nieces. Your mother and her twin sister, Ruby’s mother. They both died on the same day.”

  “My mother had a twin?” I had no idea she even had a sister. “And they died on the same day?”

  Aunt Doll took a long drink of her tea, her hand trembling slightly as she held the cup. “It was terrible, Ruthie. Your mother in Toronto and poor Molly here in St. John’s. They both just dropped dead after supper. The exact same time.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TWINS

  I was dumbfounded. All I knew about my mother’s death was that she died from a brain aneurysm. Dad told me, as soon as I was old enough to understand. She had a headache and went to bed early, and when he went in an hour later—she was dead. But I didn’t know she had a twin sister. Who died the same day. At the same time.

  “Twins,” said Aunt Doll, shaking her head. “They were always joined at the hip. They did everything together: learned to walk, learned to talk, learned to read. They were inseparable.”

  “But…but…my dad never told me any of this! I didn’t know Mom had a sister. I thought Ruby was a second cousin or something.”

  “No,” said Aunt Doll. “You and Ruby were born just a few days apart. Up in Toronto. They were at nursing school together, Molly and Meg, and didn’t they both get pregnant—” She stopped for a moment and looked at me, as if remembering I was only twelve. “Anyway, it was just one more thing they seemed to want to do at the same time. Have babies. Get married. Though not necessarily in that order,” she finished with a short laugh.

  “But then Molly came back here?” I asked. “They did separate?”

  “Molly’s sweetheart, George, was back here,” said Aunt Doll. “He didn’t want her to go, but she was set on it, and she stayed in Toronto till she finished her degree. When she got it, she came home and married George. And less than two years later, she was dead.”

  “At the same time? They died at the same time?” I couldn’t get past that.

  “I’m surprised your father didn’t tell you. When I called to tell Meg that Molly was gone, your father told me that Meg had died the night before, about eight o’clock. And poor Molly died about half past six in the evening, so with the time difference—”

  “Why didn’t he tell me?” I couldn’t believe he’d keep something like this from me. That Mom had a sister. That they both died at the same time.

  “I don’t know,” said Aunt Doll, pouring another cup of tea. “Meg wasn’t in touch with me much those last couple of years in Toronto. She seemed to be trying to put Newfoundland behind her. I don’t know why. I always wondered if something happened here in Buckle before they went away to school.” She shook her head.

  “Like what?”

  Aunt Doll gave me that I’ve-said-too-much look again. “Oh, I don’t know. Someone or something she wanted to forget. Something like that. And Molly would never say. Those two would never give anything away about the other. Thick as thieves they were.”

  This was bothering me. A lot. I felt the pain in my chest again. I closed my eyes tight and tried to breathe in and out, slowly.

  “Ruthie?” said Aunt Doll. “I’ve upset you. I’m sorry. Me going on and on. It was a long time ago. It’s all water under the bridge now. Look, it’s stopped raining. Why don’t you go out and look around?”

  “Uh…okay,” I said, getting to my feet.

  She looked askance at my cardigan. “Don’t you have anything warmer than that?”

  It was the beginning of July. “No—I—”

  “Never mind. There’s one of Ruby’s jackets hanging by the front door. Red. She won’t mind. And I think there’s one of her green sweaters there too. That Toronto sweater won’t keep out the damp.”

  I found the sweater and the red jacket. They fit just fine.

  The first thing I noticed when I stepped outside was the smell of the air: sharp and sweet. The second thing was the ocean: it spread out in a wide arc around the headland, a shimmery silvery gray, sparkling in the sun that was just starting to break through the cloud cover. Across the bay were high cliffs, with birds swooping down to the sea. I took a deep breath. It was breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful.

  I’d seen the ocean lots of times before. The Atlantic. The Pacific. But there was something about this view of the sea and the sky that brought tears to my eyes and made me catch my breath. Suddenly I wanted to run and jump.

  I started down the driveway, walking sedately. I thought I’d better wait till there were no people around before I started acting like a little kid.

  I really didn’t know much about Newfoundland. Dad tried to get me to read some books about it, but I was so mad at him for sending me away that I didn’t even look at them. All I knew before I got here was that it was a large island off the easternmost tip of North America, that it had only been part of Canada since 1949, almost thirty years ago. Before that, it was a British colony. I knew people did a lot of fishing, and I knew they talked with a lilting, almost Irish accent. I could hear that in Aunt Doll’s voice, and some of the expressions she used I’d never heard before.

  But no one had told me it was so wild and beautiful, that just looking out at the ocean would send a stab of joy right through me, like I’d just come home after years away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE MEADOW

  The road curved away from the house and then dipped down a hill. At the bottom, it divided into two—one road leading along the shore and the other heading up a hill toward the meadows I’d seen behind the house. I walked along that road, automatically taking note of the nodding wildflowers in the grass along the edge—the bright-yellow of creeping buttercup and fall dandelion, the pale lavender-blue of wild geranium, and one with a slight fuzz above clumps of tiny white flowers that I couldn’t identify. I stooped to pick one of those, including the stem and the leaves, and put it carefully inside the outside pocket of my knapsack, so I could identify it later. When I got to the crest of the hill, I stopped.

  A whole new landscape opened up before me—a wide, open valley with rocky meadows full of thick grasses striped by the wind and a brook running down the middle to the sea. Sheep were grazing on the far slope.

  I had never been anywhere like it before. No people or houses for miles, just low hills climbing against the sky, the blue sea sparkling on my left, and fluffy clouds scudding across a bigger sky than I had ever seen. I looked back, down toward Buckle, and I could see Aunt Doll’s house and the other houses scattered along the shoreline. A different world. A settled, cozy world. I turned my back on it and walked down the road into the wild, empty valley.

  The road ended at the brook. I spotted the tiny purple flowers of blue marsh violets growing alongside the water, and stretching back along the brook and into a widening marsh were masses of the slender green iris leaves. In a couple of weeks it would be a sea of blue flags, when the flowers came out. There was a little cove off to the left,
with a rocky beach and the brook tumbling down over a series of waterfalls to the ocean. On the other side of the brook, a narrow path led up toward the far hills.

  I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my jeans and waded through the icy water. The cold bit into my feet, but I was soon on the other side, hopping around to get them warm again, grinning like a jackass.

  This was fun! I’d never been so alone in such a big place. Everywhere in Toronto were buildings, people and cars. Here there was nothing and nobody—only some seagulls calling over the water and the faraway sheep. I pulled my socks over my wet, cold feet and put my shoes on, then continued along the path. I was heading for the farthest-away hill, the one where I had seen the faint track of a road from my bedroom window. I wanted to see where that road went.

  The sun warmed me and I took off my jacket and tied it around my waist. The path twisted and climbed. What had looked like one big sloping meadow from Aunt Doll’s house was actually a series of little hills and dells, with piles of stones in odd corners and low, prickly Virginia rose bushes growing everywhere. The path grew fainter the farther I went and finally disappeared at the foot of a steep hill.

  I clambered up, my feet sinking into spongy juniper. I couldn’t tell where the ground was, and every so often one foot would sink down into a hole and I’d almost lose my balance. It was tough slogging, but I made it to the top.

  I stood there panting, looking down at the next valley. It was different than the wide, sweeping one I’d just crossed. It was narrower, full of trees and deeper. Beyond the far side I could see hills disappearing into the distance. And on one of them I could still see a streak of silver climbing up over the top, the road.

  A movement to my right made me spin in that direction. A man was standing about fifteen feet away, watching me.

  I took a step back. All the big-city warnings about talking to strange men rushed into my head, and I was suddenly aware of how far I was from anyone who could hear me if I screamed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ELDRED

  He was tall and slim, dressed in an old brown jacket and work pants. As soon as our eyes met, he began to grin and move slowly toward me, spreading his arms wide, as if he expected a hug.

  “Hello, Ruby” he said. “Welcome back!”

  I took another step back. “I’m not Ruby,” I said quickly. He dropped his arms and peered at me. His green eyes had a slow twinkle in them, like he found a lot to laugh at in the world.

  “Well now,” he said, smiling at me. “You are not. I see that now. But alike as two peas in a pod.” His accent was much thicker than Aunt Doll’s. I had to listen carefully to understand what he was saying.

  “I’m wearing her jacket,” I said stiffly.

  “That must be it,” he said, his eyes skittering away from mine. He turned and looked out over the ocean. “You must be the other one,” he said softly, almost to himself.

  “I’m her cousin Ruth.”

  “From Toronto?” He had a way of looking sideways at me, as though he was too shy to look at me directly.

  I nodded.

  “I knew you were coming. You do have the look of Ruby about you.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t scared anymore, not since he first grinned at me.

  “I’m Eldred Toope,” he said, holding out a large, calloused hand to me.

  I shook it and smiled at him.

  “I’m a friend of Ruby’s. I’ve known her ever since she was a toddler.”

  “Ruth Windsor,” I said politely.

  “And I know your Aunt Doll. I help her with her animals. Some of those sheep you see are hers. Some are mine.”

  I looked back into the valley, where I could still see the flock of sheep, grazing on the far hill.

  “I come out here every day to count the sheep. Morning and night. Just to make sure there’s none missing.”

  I wondered why he was way up on this hill. He could have counted the sheep from the other side of the valley.

  “It’s going to be a fine day,” he said, looking up at the sky. “So how do you like Newfoundland so far, Ruth?”

  “Oh, I love it,” I said. “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen!”

  He glanced at me from under his eyelids. “Is it indeed? And have you seen a lot of beautiful places?”

  I blushed. “Yes, I have. I’ve been to South America, and Ireland and Spain and all kinds of places with my dad. He’s a botanist. We go hunting rare flowers every summer—” I broke off. “Except not this summer.”

  “Well, if it’s rare flowers you’re after, I can show you one or two,” said Eldred. “I walk a lot and I see a lot. I know these hills better than anyone. Only you need to be careful, wandering out here by yourself. Did you happen to bring any bread for the fairies?”

  “The what?”

  He laughed at my expression. “You’re from the mainland. You wouldn’t know any better.”

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a thick slice of bread.

  “I’ll share mine,” he said, breaking off a piece. “Just put that in your pocket and you’ll be fine. The fairies won’t be bothered with you if you have a bit of bread in your pocket.”

  “Oh come on,” I said. “I’m nearly thirteen. I don’t believe in that stuff.”

  He took my hand and put the bread in it, and folded my fingers over it. Then he looked directly into my eyes. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

  “You’re walking on a fairy path, my love, and just because you don’t believe in them, doesn’t mean they won’t come after you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE FAIRY PATH

  “A fairy path? What do you mean, a fairy path?”

  He took me gently by the shoulders and turned me around so I was facing down into the next valley, the narrow one with the dark, twisted trees, deep shadows and winding track.

  “The fairy path starts right here and goes down into the valley and through those trees and then up and over those hills and on to the barrens,” he said, pointing off to the right. “That’s been a fairy path for as long as anyone can remember. No good comes of it, I can tell you that. There’s all kinds of stories. Mary Duck saw a bunch of little children all dressed in green out here one day, laughing and playing and calling after her. When she got closer, she realized they were fairies, but she had a bit of cake in her pocket so they never touched her.”

  “Children? Dressed in green?” I wasn’t buying this.

  He laughed softly, eyes twinkling again. “Oh, you don’t have to believe me. I daresay you don’t have any fairies up to Toronto. But they’re still here, and they’re dangerous. More than one person has gone missing down the fairy path and never been heard of again.”

  I shivered. The sun had gone behind a big dark cloud, turning everything gray again. A biting wind was blowing up off the ocean.

  “You’ve got to respect them, you see, and stay clear of them. Then you’ll be fine.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” I said. I was getting a little spooked in spite of myself. The valley did look a bit ominous: a tangle of trees and bushes and rocks.

  He shook his head. “There’s a lot of old things here, Ruth, old things from long ago. Maybe they’ve all died off in places where there are cities and highways and cars rushing back and forth. But out here in Newfoundland nothing much has changed for hundreds of years. There are still fairies. Spirits. Ghosts.”

  I thought uneasily of the girl with the candle last night.

  “Where does that other road go, that one on the far hill?” I asked, just to change the subject.

  “What road?”

  I pointed to the faint silver track that led up over the far hill. “I could see it from my bedroom. Is it an old road?”

  Eldred looked where I was pointing.

  “You see a road there?”

  “Yes. It starts just by that big rock.”

  He stared for a minute, then looked down at me. “You see it?” he asked
again. “You really see it?”

  “Yes. I was wondering if it was too far to walk. I’d like to see where it goes.”

  Eldred took off his cap and passed his hand over his thinning brown hair.

  “Well, I’ll be…” he murmured. “Never thought this would happen again.”

  “What?”

  He looked at me then, his green eyes kind of sad and serious. “Not everyone can see that road, Ruth. It’s a ghost road. I can’t see it.”

  “But it’s right there,” I said, shading my eyes to see better. “It’s a bit faint, but I can see it. It goes up over that hill.” I pointed again.

  Eldred stared at the far hill for a minute and then shook his head. “No. I can’t see it, Ruth. I’ll never see it.”

  “Maybe you just need glasses,” I said. “It’s a long way off.”

  He shook his head. “No. You don’t understand. The Ghost Road goes to Slippers Cove, where no one has lived for a long, long time. It’s a rough track over bog and rock, and over time it got overgrown and disappeared. No one has been able to find their way to Slippers Cove for years. No one except—” He broke off and looked at me sideways. “No one except a true Finn.”

  “A Finn? Someone from Finland?”

  A small smile passed over his face. “No. From Ireland. The Finns used to live in Slippers Cove, long ago, and only people who have descended from them can see the road.”

  The sun had disappeared completely now and the dark clouds spread across the sky. The wind had picked up even more, and it was tearing at my hair and working its way under my jacket. I shivered. Beside me, Eldred was gazing at the far hill, frowning.

  I started to wonder if there was something not quite right with Eldred. He really seemed to believe all this stuff. There was something about him that made me feel like maybe he wasn’t all there, that part of him was off in his own world.