The Ghost of Poplar Point

by Cynthia DeFelice

  Mr. Kavanaugh looked around irritably and called, “Janelle?” To his wife he said, “Where is she?” He called again, “Janelle? Are you hiding?”

  Janelle came out from behind the coatrack. She glanced toward Allie, and her face flushed a deep, blotchy red. Their eyes locked for several long seconds, and then Janelle’s mother urged her forward and introduced her. After the introductions, Janelle bent her head to stare fixedly at her feet. She didn’t let on that she’d ever seen Allie and Dub before, and they didn’t show it, either.

  Allie still hadn’t had a chance to tell her mother about losing her part to Janelle, and she doubted that the Kavanaughs knew she was the girl Janelle had replaced. An awkward silence hung over the group.

  Mrs. Nichols broke it by saying, “Allie and Dub both have parts in the pageant. I understand you wrote the script, Eileen.”

  “Oh, it was Darryl’s idea, really,” said Mrs. Kavanaugh with a modest little shrug.

  “I wanted to add something new and special to the festival this year,” Mr. Kavanaugh said. “I thought the pageant would help to build pride in the town. It’s kind of a tie-in to the hotel and conference center my company is building out on the lake at Poplar Point. Actually, that’s the reason we’re here.”

  “Oh?” said Mrs. Nichols.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Kavanaugh. “We were wondering if you have any Indian relics for sale.”

  Mrs. Nichols frowned. “I’m not sure exactly what you mean. What kinds of things are you looking for?”

  Mrs. Kavanaugh said, “Well, we were thinking of war bonnets, bows and arrows, tomahawks …”

  Allie’s mother looked puzzled, and Mr. Kavanaugh broke in. “See, I thought it would be terrific to draw on our local history and follow an Indian theme in the decor of the place. That would make it really unique, don’t you think?”

  Allie noticed that he didn’t bother to wait for an answer but continued, “We need some stuff to give the place atmosphere. I was thinking of setting up a tepee in the lobby, that kind of thing. And I’d like to decorate the walls of the restaurant with Indian-style tools and trinkets.”

  Mrs. Nichols said, “Oh, I see.”

  Allie could tell that her mother was feeling uncomfortable, and she knew why.

  Mrs. Nichols went on, “Of course, the Senecas lived in longhouses, not tepees. Tepees were used by the western Plains Indians.” She paused, smiling uncertainly.

  Allie whispered to Dub, “As any kid who’s been through fourth grade could tell you.”

  To their surprise, Janelle spoke then, saying softly, “Dad, I told you about the longhouses.”

  Mr. Kavanaugh glanced at her with a frown. “And I believe I told you, Janelle, that a tepee is something people will recognize and relate to, whereas who knows anything about longhouses?”

  Janelle blushed furiously and stared down at her feet.

  Her father turned back to Mrs. Nichols and asked, “So, what have you got for me?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have anything like that here at the store,” Mrs. Nichols said.

  “Anything that looks Indian will work,” Mr. Kavanaugh urged.

  “Darryl,” Mrs. Kavanaugh said quietly, “don’t you want to keep it authentic? The local Indians were Senecas, after all. As Ann was saying, their customs were different from those of the Plains Indians.”

  “We’re not building a museum,” Mr. Kavanaugh replied impatiently. “We just want an Indian flavor. The point is, we want the place to be unique, to have character. To evoke a bygone past.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s a past that never happened,” Dub said softly to Allie, and she smiled and gave him a poke in the side with her elbow.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” Mrs. Nichols said. “I think most relics are actually in museums, or belong to the Senecas themselves. You might have to have someone make reproductions for you to use in your hotel.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Kavanaugh were turning to leave when Mrs. Nichols said, “You know, this is the first I’ve heard about a development out at Poplar Point. My understanding was that when the Lucy Stiles Nature Preserve was established at Fossil Glen, it meant that nobody could build there or at the Point.”

  At the mention of Lucy Stiles and Fossil Glen, Allie gave Dub another nudge. Lucy Stiles had been her first ghost.

  “There was a little ambiguity in the wording of that agreement between Mrs. Stiles and the town council,” Mr. Kavanaugh said stiffly. “It turns out that, technically, Poplar Point isn’t part of the glen. My company’s lawyers charged me a small fortune to prove it, too, trust me.”

  Allie glanced again at Dub, who mouthed the words Trust you? Fat chance. She stifled a giggle.

  As the Kavanaughs walked past the front desk on their way to the door, Allie experienced a familiar feeling. She prepared herself for what was going to happen next, whether she wanted it to or not. Sure enough, a string of strange words sprang, unbidden, to her lips. They sounded fierce and strong, and very angry.

  Mrs. Kavanaugh grasped her husband’s arm with a look of alarm. Mr. Kavanaugh cleared his throat and said, “Well. I believe we’re finished here. Come along, Janelle.”

  “Allie,” Mrs. Nichols said when they had gone, “what on earth was that all about?”

  “Just practicing my lines for the pageant,” Allie mumbled.

  “You picked a peculiar time to do it,” said her mother, before she was called on by another customer seeking help.

  “Nice going, Al,” said Dub. “You’re really good at driving customers away.”

  “I couldn’t help it!” Allie protested. “And they weren’t buying anything, anyway. Can you believe Janelle showed up here after stealing my part?”

  “Maybe she didn’t know this was your mom’s store,” Dub said. “And if she did, she probably didn’t think you’d be here.”

  “Still, she has a lot of nerve,” Allie said with disgust. “She didn’t even seem sorry about what she did … Although it was weird the way she was hiding behind the coatrack, almost as if she was embarrassed.”

  “There is something weird about the way she acts,” Dub said thoughtfully. “She seems nervous all the time. And how come she’s always with her parents? Doesn’t she have any friends?”

  “Who would want to be friends with somebody like her?” Allie asked indignantly.

  Dub appeared to be thinking this over, and Allie went on excitedly. “Anyway, Dub, listen. Remember you said that this ghost is real interested in the pageant?” Without waiting for Dub to answer, she said, “The pageant is about Seneca Indians. And every time I blurt out something in that strange language, it’s because the subject of Seneca Indians has come up.” Her voice grew hushed as she said, “So I’m thinking … Well, what are the chances that my ghost is—or was—a real Seneca Indian?”

  Dub’s eyes had been growing wider with every word from Allie’s mouth. “I think,” he answered, “now that you say it, the chances are pretty good.”

  Allie could hear the excitement in his voice.

  Then Dub said, “And from the way you just spoke to the Kavanaughs, it’s one ticked-off Indian.”

  Allie laughed. “If we’re right, the stuff I’m saying must actually be Seneca!”

  “If only we knew what you were saying.” Dub was silent for a minute, then asked, “Hey, have you got a portable tape recorder?”

  At first Allie was surprised by the change of subject. Then she realized what Dub was getting at. “I think my dad does. He claimed he got these brilliant ideas when he was driving, but that he always forgot them before he had a chance to write them down. He got a recorder so he could tape all his supposed brainstorms, and after that he said he never got another one.”

  Dub laughed. “Is it small enough so you can carry it around with you?” he asked.

  “It fits in a pocket,” Allie said.

  “So next time you start babbling—”

  “I can whip out my trusty recorder and get it on tape!” Allie finish
ed triumphantly. She paused and asked, “Then what?”

  “Then we find somebody who speaks Seneca to tell us what it means. We take the necessary action, and another ghost bites the dust!” Dub declared triumphantly. Then he shook his head. “Wait, that doesn’t make sense. If you’re a ghost, you already bit the dust. Anyway, you know what I mean.”

  “Another ghost rests in peace?” Allie suggested.

  “Exactly!”

  Allie smiled at Dub and shook her head. “Why do I have the feeling it isn’t going to be quite that easy?” she asked.

  Eight

  Allie and Dub helped at the store until six o’clock. While Mrs. Nichols locked the shop door, they got onto their bikes.

  “Mom, is it okay if Dub comes over for dinner?” Allie asked. “There’s some stuff we want to do on the computer.”

  “I don’t see why not,” her mother answered. “Your father called to say he was cooking hamburgers on the grill. Is that okay with you, Dub?”

  “Sure!” said Dub. “I’ll call from your house to ask.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” said Allie. “We’ll meet you at home.”

  As they sat out in the back yard eating their burgers, Mrs. Nichols told her husband about her hectic day. “And then something kind of interesting happened,” she said. “Darryl and Eileen Kavanaugh came in asking about buying Indian relics to decorate a hotel out at Poplar Point.”

  Allie couldn’t wait any longer to share her news. “Yeah,” she said. “And their daughter, Janelle? Today she got my part in the play. I’m just going to be one of the Indian girls, not the narrator.”

  Her parents looked at her quizzically.

  “What do you mean, she got your part?” asked Allie’s father.

  “Mr. Kavanaugh made Miss Lunsford give her the part. My part,” Allie said. “And when she got onstage today, she completely blew her lines again.”

  Allie’s father leaned over and gently touched her cheek. “That’s terrible, Allie-Cat,” he murmured.

  “I can’t believe Darryl dropped in to the store today after doing that!” said Allie’s mother indignantly.

  “I don’t think he knows I was the one who had the part first,” Allie said.

  “I don’t think he cares, either,” declared Dub.

  “Wait a second, now,” said Mr. Nichols. “What do you mean, Mr. Kavanaugh made Miss Lunsford take the part from you?”

  Allie shrugged. “He called her boss and the people on the town council and threatened to call the whole thing off unless she gave Janelle the main role.”

  “I can’t imagine the town council allowing themselves to be bullied like that,” said Mrs. Nichols.

  “Darryl Kavanaugh is throwing a lot of money around, making all kinds of deals and investments,” Mr. Nichols said. “Business in town badly needs a shot in the arm, and the council members know it.”

  “I’m grateful that Darryl fixed up the building my shop is in,” Mrs. Nichols said. “I didn’t relish the idea of moving to someplace smaller, or going out of business entirely. But I’m appalled that he would do this. And I was very surprised to hear about his plan to build some sort of hotel center out at Poplar Point. The way he talked about his lawyers, it sounded like a done deal, didn’t it?”

  Dub nodded in agreement.

  At that moment, the image of a girl’s face appeared in Allie’s mind’s eye, fuzzy at first, then becoming clearer and clearer. The girl was young, about Allie’s age. Her rich black hair was parted in the center and looked tousled, as if from sleep. Tears fell from her swollen eyes, leaving streaks in the soot and dirt that covered her cheeks. She whispered something Allie couldn’t understand, but it sounded like a cry for help.

  Allie was entranced by this vision, and was trying to take in every detail, when she heard Michael say, “Allie, who is that girl? Why is she talking funny?”

  Allie’s breath caught in her throat. She looked at Michael and saw that he was staring into space with a puzzled expression. He could see the girl, too!

  Allie’s mind raced to come up with an answer that would satisfy Michael without causing her parents to ask questions, but her brain felt frozen. There was a silence that seemed to Allie to stretch on forever.

  Suddenly Dub’s glass tipped over and rolled off the table onto the stone patio, where it broke with a loud crash. Milk washed across the table, spilling onto Allie’s lap.

  “Oh, no!” Dub cried. He jumped out of his chair and knelt down to pick up the pieces, saying, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just knocked into it …”

  “Don’t touch that glass, Dub,” said Mrs. Nichols calmly, rising from her seat and blotting up the milk with some napkins. “You could get cut.”

  “It was an accident, Dub,” Mr. Nichols said. “Don’t you worry about it. Allie, grab the dustpan and brush from the kitchen, would you?”

  To Allie’s relief, by the time they had cleaned up the milk and broken glass, her parents and Michael appeared to have forgotten all about the girl who talked funny. When dinner was over, Allie and Dub escaped to the family room.

  Allie looked at Dub with awe. “You are my hero, Oliver James Whitwell!” she exclaimed. “You averted a total disaster with that ‘accident’ of yours!”

  “All it took was fast thinking, lightning-quick reflexes, and the courage to look like a total klutz,” said Dub modestly. “Not to mention the risk of never being invited back for dinner. I hope you appreciate the sacrifices I make for you, Al.”

  Allie punched his arm and laughed. “I owe you, big-time.”

  “This is true,” Dub acknowledged.

  “How did you know what was going on?” Allie marveled.

  “All of a sudden you were staring at something with your eyes bugging out, only there wasn’t anything there. And then Michael did the same thing,” said Dub. “It wasn’t hard to figure out. I’ve been with you when this happened before, remember?”

  Allie nodded.

  “So was he an Indian?” Dub asked eagerly.

  “She,” said Allie. “It’s a girl. About our age. And, yeah,” she went on excitedly, “she could be an Indian, I guess. She had black hair and dark eyes, but it was kind of hard to tell because she was crying. And she was dirty and kind of messy-looking. She said something, which of course I didn’t understand.”

  Dub squinched up his eyes, and Allie could tell he was trying to picture the girl.

  “Oh!” said Allie. “That reminds me, I never asked Dad for his tape recorder. I wish I’d had it when she was talking.”

  “That wouldn’t have worked,” Dub told her, “because normal people can’t hear her, just you and Mike.”

  “Thanks a lot, Mr. Normal,” Allie said dryly.

  Dub shrugged. “What can I say?”

  “You’re right, though,” Allie went on. “The tape recorder will only work when she makes me say stuff. Stuff that”—she rolled her eyes at Dub—“normal people can hear.”

  “Go get it now,” suggested Dub. “Just in case. And I’ll see what I can find out about the Seneca language.”

  After a while Allie returned with the tape recorder to find Dub sitting at the computer table, looking frustrated. She sat beside him, and they continued searching. After an hour they had found a few words written in Seneca, but the spelling was so unusual that they had no idea how the words might sound when spoken.

  Finally they found a site with a link that promised audible pronunciation of selected words. They clicked the button eagerly, but got a message saying, “This site is under construction. Please come back later.”

  “Another dead end,” said Dub with disgust, pushing his chair back from the desk. “I can’t think of anything else to try.”

  Allie remembered something then. “Hey, wait a sec,” she said. “Miss Lunsford mentioned a restored Seneca village. I can’t remember the name exactly, but I think it began with a G. She thought maybe there are people there who speak Seneca.”

  “A G?” Dub asked, and began c
licking away on the keyboard. After a couple of minutes he said, “Is this it?” He hesitated, speaking the unfamiliar word aloud. “Ganondiyo?”

  “Yes!” said Allie.

  They were silent as they gazed at the screen, reading. A Seneca village had stood at Ganondiyo until 1687, when it was destroyed by the French. It had been fully restored and featured a visitor center and a full-size replica of a longhouse.

  As they browsed the Web site, Mr. Nichols came into the family room and looked over their shoulders.

  “I’ve heard of that place,” he said. “It sounds interesting.”

  “Can we go?” Allie asked impulsively.

  Her father read some more. “Hmm,” he said. “It’s only an hour and a half away. Your mom has to work Saturday, but I could take you. Michael might get a kick out of the longhouse.” He smiled and added, “Especially if it’s stocked with spears and bows and arrows.”

  Dub said he’d check with his parents and get back to Allie in the morning at rehearsal.

  “Speaking of rehearsal,” Dub said as he was leaving, “tomorrow is Friday. We need to record you saying something in Seneca so we can take it to Ganondiyo and get it translated on Saturday.”

  Allie moaned. “It’s hopeless, Dub. Miss Lunsford expects me not to disrupt rehearsals. If I do blurt something out, the good news is we’ll have it on tape. The bad news is I will get kicked out.”

  Dub looked discouraged. Then he brightened. “I have an idea.”

  “What?” Allie asked warily.

  “You could go to Miss Lunsford before rehearsal and tell her you’re sorry, and you’ve changed your attitude about Janelle having your part, and there won’t be any more outbursts.”

  Allie thought it over. “There’s no way I’ve changed my attitude about Janelle. And there probably will be more outbursts. In fact, we want an outburst tomorrow so we can record it.”

  “Yeah,” said Dub, sounding discouraged. “I guess it was a dumb idea.”

  “No, wait. Maybe not,” said Allie. “How about this: I go to Miss Lunsford tomorrow and apologize, like you said, for disturbing the rehearsal. And then I tell her we did some research into Seneca words on the Internet, which is true. I just won’t mention that we didn’t find out anything. Miss Lunsford still wants to use Seneca words, so I’ll ask her if it would be okay for me to add some during Janelle’s speech.” She looked at Dub to see how he would react.