I think of the picture album he took away from me when I was little. What didn’t he want me to see? Was he afraid I would ask questions he didn’t want to answer? Did those particular photos bring back memories he wanted to forget? After what Mrs. O’Malley said, that makes sense. Being falsely accused of pushing someone off a bridge would be horrible, especially if that person was one of your best friends. If I’d gone through something like that, I’d want to wipe it from my mind, too.
The fact that Henry’s parents believed he was pushed from the bridge makes me feel sick inside. Pushed. Killed. Is that why Henry’s spirit can’t move on? Maybe he didn’t jump, and he wants the truth known. Maybe the message he wants me to give to Papa Dan includes the name of his killer.
In my grandfather’s closet, I locate a box filled with his photo albums and some scrapbooks my grandmother made. The forbidden album’s cover is blue canvas, like brand-new denim jeans. I take it out, start to open it, then stop myself. Tucking the album under my arm, I go downstairs, pausing inside the living room doorway. “Papa Dan?” I say.
His eyes brighten when they settle on my face.
Crossing the room, I sit on the sofa beside him and place the album in my lap. I reach for his hand, bring it to rest atop the canvas, and cover his long, bony fingers with mine. “I’ve always wanted to see these, but if you still don’t want me to, I’ll put it back,” I tell him.
He lowers his gaze to our hands, to the book beneath them, then returns his attention to my face. I search the pale green eyes peering at me from behind his thick round glasses and wonder if I only imagine the flicker of understanding I see in them.
“I want to hear about when you lived in Cedar Canyon. Back when you were my age. No matter what happened, I’ll understand.”
Tears sting my eyes and flood my body with dread. He could not have pushed Henry. Papa Dan would never hurt anyone. Not then, not now. Unless…What if he had to hurt Henry to protect someone else?
Papa Dan stares at the album, and something about the sound of his exhale makes me think the sigh has been trapped inside his chest for years…decades. Beneath my palm, his fingers move. I open the album cover.
The photographs make me smile. Papa Dan as a boy with his parents. Papa Dan at a picnic at the town park. A birthday party with Papa Dan and four other kids, all about age six, around a kitchen table with a cake in the center; they wear pointed hats and chocolate-icing smiles.
I turn the page to more pictures taken somewhere in the canyon. A line of boys, eleven years old, maybe twelve, wade through a muddy creek, splashing one another. A second turn of the page and my grandfather’s image grows older. Now he is a teenager, standing alongside his parents and another couple. Isabel Martin poses between the man and woman, who must be her parents, based on the resemblance. The six of them stand in front of a farmhouse. I think I recognize the background as a field midway between our house and town.
When I turn another page, Papa Dan lifts his hand and touches it. All the photographs display this house and the grounds surrounding it. Many seem familiar, like the frozen black-and-white scenes I’ve seen through my camera’s viewfinder. In several, Papa Dan poses with Isabel and a young man that I know at once is Henry, though his face doesn’t look at all like Tate’s. He looks nothing like the Henry I’ve talked to and walked with. Only the sharp glint in his eyes is the same, the taunting expression. I know him…and I don’t.
Doubts I’d pushed aside rush back to crowd my mind. Could the Henry I met be a product of both the truth and my own creation? In my mind, did I make him resemble Tate because I wished so badly for Tate to like me?
With a sinking sensation, I look across at my grandfather. All my life I’ve found comfort in his eyes, strength in his face. But now a tear trickles down the paper-thin skin of his cheek. “Papa Dan,” I whisper, and follow his gaze to the news clip he touches, the one from the Cedar Canyon Gazette back in the forties. He and Louise Irving, Henry and Isabel Martin at the Winter Dance. The paper is glued to a sheet of stationery that lies loose on the album page. Staring at the teardrop crystal Isabel wears, I lift the sheet and turn it over. On the back, four names are scrawled in faint black ink beneath the yellowed glue. Daniel, Louise, Henry, Bell.
My heart beats too fast as Tate’s explanations play through my mind. Years ago, when I was little and I found this album, before Papa Dan caught me and took it away, did I see this photograph? Did I see the crystal pendant around the girl’s neck, then flip over the picture and read the names on back? Did it all stay locked away in my subconscious? I could have glimpsed the photos of the house then, too. When we moved here, seeing it for real might have released the memories trapped in my mind. I was lonely, confused, afraid of starting over, of trusting again. Did my mind play tricks on me because of that? When I looked through the viewfinder and everything seemed familiar, did I remember these photographs and flash back to them?
I guess finding Henry’s treasures could have set off my imagination. Maybe the Quattlebaums said Henry died sometime after midnight, or I heard it somewhere else and just forgot. Maybe, in my sleep, I am setting the pocket watch back to 12:22. Maybe I wove the stories I’ve been told about Henry into these photographs, created a place and time where I wouldn’t be lonely or afraid anymore, where I belonged. A place where I could talk and laugh forever with the one friend I’ve always known I could rely on. My best friend. My grandfather.
That makes more sense than visiting a ghost’s memories.
“Tansy?” At the sound of Mom’s voice, I look up. “Didn’t you hear the phone ringing?” she asks.
“No, did it?”
“Yes, it’s Tate.” She moves closer to the sofa, hands me the phone, and looks down at the album. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen these before.”
“I don’t know if I have, either.” My voice trembles, and I catch the perplexed look Mom sends my way before I stand and head for the kitchen, the phone in my hand.
“Hey,” Tate says. “Sorry to call you on your home phone, but you didn’t answer your cell. What are you doing?” When I tell him, he says, “See? You saw the photos before and read that girl’s nickname and your mind invented the rest. I told you there was a good explanation.”
“You sound like I should be relieved to know I’m crazy.”
“Not crazy, dreaming. That’s better than being manipulated by a ghost, isn’t it?” When I don’t respond, he adds, “You still think that’s what’s happening, don’t you?”
I lean against the kitchen table. “No, you’re right.” Forcing a laugh, I continue, “They were some really vivid dreams, though.”
“Sounds like it.” I hear relief in his laughter. “You care if I come over?”
“I have a lot of homework. Maybe tomorrow after school?”
“Okay.” A long pause, then, “You’re not going to do something stupid like go out to the canyon, are you?”
“Are you kidding? I’d be afraid to go out there by myself after dark.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.” That’s not a lie. I will be afraid. I look out the window. “Would you tell me something?”
“What?” Tate asks.
“You hinted that you felt a weird pull from the crystal when you found it. Like it drew you to the cellar.” I pause, then ask him, “What do you think that was?”
“I don’t know.” His voice sounds sheepish. “At the time, I guess I thought that it would be cool if there was a ghost and he was trying to get a message through to me about his death or something.” He laughs. “Which is so stupid that I can’t believe I just admitted it.”
“You thought it would be cool if that was possible? Or you actually kind of felt like that’s what was happening?”
“Maybe I felt it, but only for a minute. It was my imagination. And it’s your imagination, too. Quit thinking about this, Tansy, okay?”
“I was just asking.”
He’s quiet for a few moments, and I have a feeling he
doesn’t believe me. “I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” he finally says.
Guilt gnaws at me when we hang up. I don’t like breaking a promise, but later tonight I have to take the rosewood box from beneath the cellar stair for Henry’s sake and Papa Dan’s. I’m more sure than ever that Henry has something to say that my grandfather needs to hear—and that neither of them will find peace until that happens.
Maybe that’s just a delusion on my part, and maybe it isn’t, but I have to find out once and for all—and that means taking out Bell’s pendant again. If Tate’s right and I’m dreaming, the crystal conjures the dreams. If he’s wrong, I step through the shimmer of light into the memories of a ghost.
Either way, I have to see Henry one more time. For him and my grandfather. For Isabel and myself.
I think of that tear streaking down Papa Dan’s cheek and feel an urgency to know what happened with my grandfather, Bell, and Henry. I believe that truth is what Henry has been trying to lead me to all along.
Curled up on the velvet chair in the turret, I open Henry’s journal to the last page and read.
If only…
A different time, a brighter moon,
A wiser word, a longer hesitation,
A calmer voice, a tighter grip,
Another plea, a quicker realization.
Your regrets won’t—
Something bumps softly on the other side of the door and brings my head up. I lay the journal aside and glance at the pocket watch. I reset the timepiece after bringing it up here. 11:45. I’m wasting precious minutes.
I take the necklace from the table, put it on, and secure the clasp at the back of my neck. The photograph of the bridge lies across my lap. I lift it with one hand, lift the teardrop pendant away from my chest with my other hand, and position it over the photo until it captures the lamplight. A bright shaft of light spears toward the picture. Another bump sounds. A squeak. I glance up as the door opens and see Papa Dan peering in at me from the hallway. His startled eyes meet mine as the prism’s light stretches up from the photograph, expands, and surrounds me….
…A cloud-dappled moon as round as a china plate sits high on a sky of thick black velvet. Bundled up in his coat and hat, Henry stands on the bridge, his back to me, staring into the dark hole of the canyon below. Calling his name, I hurry through the snow toward him, and he turns, relief and happiness smoothing the worry from his face.
“Bell…you’re here!” He crosses to the entrance of the bridge to meet me, hugs me quickly, then steps back and takes both my hands in his. “I parked Father’s DeSoto on the road at the trailhead. If we hurry, we can make it across the state line before anyone realizes you’re not in bed asleep.” Still holding one of my hands, he starts to step off the bridge.
I pull back, shivering against the bitter cold wind. “But you said we weren’t leaving tonight. That we would talk to Daniel about our plans.”
“There’s no time. If we don’t go now, we might never get a chance. Your parents—”
“Where’s Daniel?” I glance to the opposite side of the bridge. “He’s meeting us here, isn’t he?”
“Not unless you told him to.”
An animal scratches in the dead brush nearby. Wind whistles a warning across the open mouth of the canyon. “But you said—”
“I was going to tell him, but I knew Daniel would never go along with this. He would have gone straight to your parents. Did you say something to him?”
“No. Why?”
“He was asking a lot of questions today…acting suspicious.” A fine white mist floats from Henry’s mouth as his breath meets the chilled winter air. “To throw him off, I said I’d meet him here to go hiking in the morning.”
“I can’t just leave without saying good-bye to Daniel and Louise. They’re my best friends.”
“And I’m not?” His brows pucker.
I touch his wind-chapped cheek. “Things are different between us now.”
Henry smiles. “We need to hurry. The town’s supposed to get socked in by heavy snowfall in the next couple of hours. We’ll have to outrun the storm.” He starts off again.
Holding tight to his hand, I step off the bridge behind him, follow a few steps, then stop.
Pausing, too, Henry faces me and asks with exasperation, “What is it now?”
“If I’d known we were leaving tonight, I would’ve packed my bags. What will I do without my clothes?”
“I’ll buy you more clothes.”
“I would’ve left my parents a letter. I can’t just disappear. They’ll be worried sick about me. And it wouldn’t be right if they heard about us leaving secondhand from—”
“You told someone?”
“Only Louise,” I murmur.
Henry drops my hand and curses.
“I’m sorry. I needed to talk to someone about all this before I could decide. Don’t worry….” I pull on his sleeve and peer up at him. “She doesn’t know we’re leaving tonight. I let her believe she’d convinced me not to go.”
“Why did you tell Louise, when I asked you not to say anything?” he snaps.
I look down at my boots. “I was afraid…unsure.” In a whisper, I add, “I still am.”
“Don’t you know what will happen when your folks see that photograph the reporter took at the dance? They’ll send you south to live with your aunt.”
“If I tell them how we feel about each other, they’ll have to understand!”
“How do you feel, Bell? I’m not sure anymore.” He turns away and steps closer to the precipice of the cliff that drops to the creek bed below.
“I love you,” I say quietly. “But I want to finish school. I want—”
“I can’t stay in this town another day, Bell; it’s smothering me.” He shakes his head and faces me again. “But I can’t be without you, either.”
Henry grabs my upper arms, and his fingers press hard enough to bruise my skin through my coat. “Let go! I can’t do this…. I can’t.”
“You heard her, Henry. Let Isabel go.” Daniel emerges from the shadows, his stride long and hurried, his eyes narrow and tense.
“This is none of your business, Daniel!” Henry shouts as he inches backward, dragging me with him toward the jutting lip of the canyon beside the bridge’s entrance.
The anger evaporates from Daniel’s eyes when they shift to mine. “Louise told me you were meetin’ him tonight. She was afraid he’d pressure you to go with him.”
“Louise should mind her own business, too,” Henry says.
Daniel glares at him. “You’re a bad liar, Henry. I figured the hike was just to throw me off.”
A sudden gust of wind blows my skirt around my shins as I look from Daniel to Henry. “Try to understand,” I plead. “I don’t want to sneak away like we’ve done something wrong. Henry, please…let me go.”
The desperation in his eyes stabs a blade of fear into my chest. “I won’t let go of you, Bell. Not ever.”
“Listen to me, Henry,” Daniel says, the soothing tone of his voice in contradiction to the look of alarm on his face.
Henry takes another backward step that brings us nearer to the edge of the cliff. “Leave!” he growls at Daniel.
“Watch out!” Daniel thrusts a hand toward us.
Panic rises up in me as I glance into the dark crater behind Henry and struggle to pry myself free of his grasp.
Daniel lowers his voice, says calmly, “Henry, look behind you…you’re too close to the edge. Let’s talk on the bridge.” When Henry doesn’t budge, Daniel risks another cautious step toward us.
“Stay back,” Henry warns, his grip tightening on my arm. “I told you this is none of your business, Daniel. Go home.”
Daniel’s eyes dart to mine. “It’s okay, Isabel. I won’t leave without you.” Paralyzed, I lower my gaze to his outstretched hand. “Grab my fingers,” he says.
I will my free arm to lift, and before Henry can stop me, I reach out to Daniel in one quick motion. He
jerks me toward him, causing Henry to lose hold of my arm.
“Run!” Daniel yells.
But I only back away out of reach, unwilling to leave the two of them alone, afraid of what they might do to each other.
Daniel jabs a finger toward Henry. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. If you want to leave town, go ahead. But stay away from Isabel. You heard what she said. She doesn’t want to go with you.”
“You’re jealous.” Rage contorts Henry’s features. “You can’t stand it that she loves me instead of you.”
“Stop it!” I yell. “Don’t argue. Please, I can’t stand it!”
“Isabel is my friend,” Daniel says, ignoring me. “I won’t let you force her to do somethin’ she doesn’t wanna do.”
Henry starts around him, headed my way. “I’ll do whatever I damn well please, Piper. Just try and stop me.”
Daniel snags Henry’s shoulder as he walks past, jerking him around. The punch he throws connects with Henry’s nose and knocks him to his knees. Shaking off the blow, Henry stands, staggers, then dives into Daniel. Arms swinging, they move closer to the edge of the cliff.
“Stop it!” I scream, rushing over. “Stop!”
They keep shoving each other, punching and grunting and grabbing, cursing each time a blow lands. I watch every movement, and when they finally separate, I wedge myself between them. “Don’t do this!” I yell, looking from one red face to the other.
Panting and watching each other, they both back up a step—Daniel away from the cliff, Henry toward it.
Daniel grabs my hand. “Let’s go, Bell.”
Fear, love, and confusion tangle inside me when I look into Henry’s eyes. But now the fear is for him, not myself. I can’t go with him. But if Mama and Papa send me away, what will become of Henry? Who will he turn to without me here?
Through Her Eyes Page 27