Footsteps on the Stairs: A Novel

by C. S. Adler

  “You’re such a strong person, Dodie,” Anne said.

  “Me?”

  “You don’t get bothered by what people say about you. I wish I were like you.”

  “I care a lot about what people say,” I said. “I just refuse to let it get to me.”

  “Well, my father thinks you’re great.”

  “Do you care?”

  “That he likes you? No. I can see why he does. You’re fun to be with, and unlike me, you’re a good athlete.”

  “Me, a good athlete? You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “But you are, Dodie. You can do anything in the water.”

  “Oh, the water. That’s because with all this blubber I’m unsinkable. But I can’t run and every-time I get anywhere near a ball, it hits me in the head. I can’t even touch my toes unless I use wooden spoons to extend my arms. I’m some athlete! Ask my mother how often I fail gym.”

  “I don’t understand why she doesn’t appreciate your good points.”

  “Well, I’m her daughter, and she’s a perfectionist, you know. So she points out my defects to get me to shape up. Actually she must care about me. Otherwise she wouldn’t expend so much effort trying to improve me. Right?” It was kind of amazing to find myself defending my mother. Anne’s bluntness seemed to be causing strange reactions in me.

  “Only you would look at it that way,” Anne said.

  “I’m an unusual kid. And when I’m famous—Did I tell you I plan to be a famous person?”

  She smiled at me. “What are you going to be famous at?”

  “That I haven’t decided yet. But I know I’ll get to be famous at something. What do you think of my chances as a dancer?”

  “A dancer?” She looked doubtful, and I knew she was not thinking flattering thoughts about my body.

  “Watch this.” I gave her a brief rendition of my fat-firefly-in-flight number. Mostly it involves pirouetting on one foot with arms stretched overhead alternating with a one-legged swan dive. I always feel lucky if I get a laugh before I fall flat on my face. But Anne didn’t laugh. “Well, what do you think?” I asked breathlessly when I’d given her my all.

  “It’s … different. Have you had dance lessons?”

  “Anne,” I said sourly, “what kind of question is that? Sure I’ve had dance lessons. Can’t you tell? I’ve gotten kicked out of tap, ballet, and disco. Dance teachers just don’t appreciate my unique style.”

  “Maybe you ought to think of something else you can be famous at—I mean, just in case.”

  I sighed. She was not only blunt but also a rotten dance critic. “The only other thing I’ve ever wanted to be is a gypsy fortune teller,” I said.

  She ignored that as if I couldn’t be serious and asked, “You know what Dad said about the ghost—about putting our fingers in our ears and going back to sleep. What do you think?”

  “It’s okay with me.”

  She shook her head. “Not with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, if we don’t keep investigating all we can, we’ll never know—I mean, whether there were real ghosts or just—sounds.”

  “And sights.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the shoe?” I asked.

  “Usually in ghost stories they come looking for something they’ve lost.”

  “Like their heads.”

  “This ghost couldn’t be after her old shoe, could she?”

  “Who knows? Let’s leave it on the stairs for her and see what happens.”

  “Good idea,” Anne said.

  It was sort of a relief to have ghosts as the topic of conversation instead of me, even if it did seem that Larry’s daughter, my stepsister, was finally liking me. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. It’s hard enough to convince myself of what a fabulous person I am without getting stuck having to contrast myself with a girl like Anne, who has so much of everything—looks and brains and dibs on Larry besides.

  Chapter 7

  Nighttime had become the most interesting part of each twenty-four hours. The next day, after an educational afternoon on which Larry dragged us off for a guided dunes walk with a park ranger who told us all about what the ice age did to the Cape and how the beach changed in the winter, we spent a peaceful evening playing Monopoly. Then we went to bed. Anne carefully put the shoe on the top step against the wall so nobody would trip over it, and we awaited developments. But I was tired from last night’s adventures, so I didn’t wait too long. No wind—just cold and drizzle. The ghosts would probably be resting too, I thought as I dropped off to sleep.

  Chip’s yelling, “Anne, Anne!” woke me up. I saw her leap out of bed to dash to his rescue, so I leaped after her. Chip was still screaming her name when we burst into his room. We were certainly not getting our beauty sleep on this vacation.

  “What’s the matter, Chip? Did you have a bad dream?” she asked him.

  He whimpered pitifully and executed his tree frog hold on her, all four limbs grasping her slim trunk.

  “I saw them,” he said.

  “Them?”

  “There was two of them.”

  “Two of what?”

  “Ghosts.”

  “You had a bad dream. You didn’t see any ghosts,” Anne said firmly.

  “No. I was awake. They woke me up and I watched them.”

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts, Chip.”

  “I saw them. Then I hid under my blanket before they saw me.”

  “What did they look like?” I asked.

  “Girls.”

  “Like us?” I asked.

  “No, they wasn’t fat, and not short like Anne. They were big girls, older than you, and they were fighting.”

  “Fighting?”

  “Yeah, that’s why they didn’t see me. They were too busy fighting.”

  Anne and I looked at each other. It didn’t sound like a dream.

  “Can I sleep in your room from now on?” Chip asked.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “When did they go away, Chip?” Anne asked.

  “While I was hiding. Then I yelled for you to come when I peeked and saw they were gone.”

  I considered and came to a firm conclusion. “If Chip saw ghosts, then I believe in them,” I said.

  Shall we move his mattress in now?” Anne asked, obviously agreeing with me.

  “Right.”

  When we had Chip settled down on the floor between our beds, she said, “Let’s try our parents again tomorrow.”

  “What for? They’ll just say we’re giving Chip nightmares.”

  “What do we do next, then?”

  I thought about it. “Is the shoe still there?”

  “I forgot to look.” She got out of bed and went right out into the hall by herself as if there wasn’t a thing to fear. I shook my head over her courage and held my breath until she came back. “It’s still there,” she said.

  “I didn’t think they could be after an old shoe.”

  “What then?”

  “I don’t know. We need to know more about who they were. They must have lived in this house, and if they wore skirts that showed part of their legs, they probably lived before 1900.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because all the pictures I’ve ever seen of ladies from before 1900 showed them in long dresses.”

  “I wonder if somebody who knew them could still be alive.”

  “At least we ought to be able to find somebody who could tell us the history of this house.”

  “Well start looking tomorrow. But where?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s explore the area. Maybe there’ll be an old person in a store or something.”

  “There’s no store within walking distance—just those houses on the hill.”

  “We can start with them.”

  “And the marsh,” Chip piped up.

  We looked down at him. “There’s nothing in that marsh but a lot of mosquitos, Chip,” I said.

  “They sme
ll like the marsh.”

  “The ghosts?”

  He nodded.

  I shivered. I knew I hadn’t liked that lonely-looking area that wasn’t land and wasn’t water but a creepy mixture of both. “Anne,” I said, “let’s keep our investigating on dry land, please.”

  Chapter 8

  When we finally got up the next day, it was still drizzling and mean out. We got to the kitchen resolved to spend the morning tracking down the history of our ghosts. Our problem was how to do that without telling Larry and Mother what we were up to. As it turned out, they weren’t interested in our plans. They were sitting there at the breakfast table holding hands and grinning at each other foolishly.

  “Want to go gallery hopping with us, girls?” Larry asked. “We’re gonna buy a painting to commemorate our first vacation as a married couple.”

  “I’d love to go with you!” I said without thinking. I’ve had a passion for art galleries ever since Larry took me to a reception at one last winter. Mother couldn’t go along because she had to work. I hadn’t known him very well until that super afternoon when not only did we like the same pictures, but he let me talk his ear off and bought me two desserts at lunch.

  “You don’t want to take us, Dad,” Anne said, kicking me under the table. “You’ll want to keep looking all day and we’ll just get bored. We’re better off staying here. Don’t you think so, Dodie?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” I was stalling.

  “All you’re going to see is pictures of waves and boats and sand dunes,” Anne insisted. “Why do you want to see pictures when you can look at the real thing?”

  “I hate looking at dumb pictures,” Chip said.

  “Umnnuh,” I mumbled.

  “Forget it. Forget I asked,” Larry said. “Stay here and play Monopoly all day for all I care. Dodie, you’re sure you don’t want to come?”

  “I guess not,” I said. “You’ll have a better time without me anyway.”

  “Dodie!” Mother said. She was disgusted at my display of self-pity.

  “You’re right. We will.” He kissed his way around the group of us in a burst of good spirits and went happily off with my mother. I guessed they were glad to be alone for the day.

  Ten minutes later we started our history hunt. “Let’s skip the marsh,” I suggested. “We’re not going to find anything there besides bugs.”

  “Ducks,” Chip instructed me. “And fish and clams and wrens that build their nests in the grass, and crabs and—”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “Are we on a safari or a historical expedition?”

  “What’s a safari?” Chip asked.

  “It’s when you go hunting animals,” I said. It felt good to play teacher to a little brother.

  He nodded. “But there’s a boat.”

  “What kind of boat?” Anne asked.

  “A little rowboat.” Chip pointed toward the marsh. All I could see was scrabbly bushes and brown sea oats and the sharp-edged grass that seemed not to mind being covered with water half the time. Chip led us to a boggy-looking area. I almost panicked when my feet started to sink in the muck. How would they ever haul me out? I could see myself sinking in quicksand, yelling until it covered my face. Ugh! Chip slogged ahead through some dead weeds and Anne followed him. One green fly took a taste of my nose and another sampled the tender flesh behind my knee. The grasses bobbed in the light wind that had blown the early morning fog and rain away. I lost Chip’s cowlick as the grass swallowed him and was just about to tell Anne that I, for one, was heading back, when she disappeared, too.

  “Help!” I yelled.

  “Here it is,” Chip’s voice said.

  I hurried toward the sound, hoping the spongy ground would hold me.

  “It looks in good condition,” Anne said.

  “What’s this boat got to do with ghosts anyway?” I asked as I arrived eager to get out of there.

  “You never know,” Anne said. “Maybe we could explore the marsh in it.”

  “Not me,” I said quickly. “I thought you were afraid of boats?”

  “Rowboats are safe. Will you help me turn it over, Dodie?”

  “One thing we can be sure of,” I said, grunting as I heaved at the splintery gray thing stuck in the sand. “Whatever you’re afraid of, I’m not, and vice versa. We are as alike as chocolate and vanilla.… Over she goes.” The rowboat looked okay, not that you can tell much by looking, but you couldn’t see any holes. I felt cold around my ankles and looked down to see my sneakers had sunk in the sand. Water was filling the holes around my feet. “I do not like this place,” I said. “I do not like this place at all. I really do not like this place.”

  “Dodie,” Anne said. “Chocolate and vanilla go well together.”

  I looked at her. What was she talking about? She had such a wistful look. “Sure they do,” I said when I realized she’d been talking about us, about being friends. She really did like me! I’ve always had a soft spot for people who like me. And she did make a fine ghost-hunting companion. And she really couldn’t help being perfect. If only she didn’t have a better right to Larry’s affection than I had. Who needed competition like her?

  “Let’s haul this boat up closer to the house,” Anne said.

  Obediently I hefted the bow end and Anne and Chip took the stern. It felt better to be heading out instead of in to the tricky place where the water sneaked up and swallowed you—not like the ocean or the bay, where you could plunge in and swim.

  “Maybe we could caulk it along the seams,” I suggested.

  “Do you think it was theirs?” Anne asked.

  “Now what kind of question is that?” I did not like the chill it gave me. “Why should it be theirs? It’s just a dumb rowboat. It could have been anybody’s, and who knows how old it is anyway? Probably only a couple of years old, and it got left out over the winter or something. Anyway, it’s no good without oars.”

  “There’s oars under the back steps at the house,” Chip said.

  “Chip, have you gone over this place with a magnifying glass?”

  He looked hurt.

  “Hey, that was a compliment,” I said. “I’m impressed you re so observant.”

  “Chip’s going to be a scientist,” Anne said.

  “Or a private eye,” I offered. “Come on, let’s get out of this place. How about we head down the road now like we planned?”

  “Which way? Toward the beach or toward the highway?” Anne asked.

  “We’ve never been down the dirt road where those houses on the ridge are. Let’s try there first.”

  The clouds were hurrying off to the east, leaving sun and blue sky behind. Rain had brought out the spicy scent of the low, wiry pitch pines that grew alongside the road. It was a cool, delicious morning.

  “Wanna race me to the dirt road, Chip?” I asked.

  “I can’t run fast as you.”

  “Sure you can. Anybody can. Watch.” I lumbered up the road, exaggerating my elephant roll for his benefit. He laughed and chased after me, catching up and jogging along beside me as I huffed and puffed and groaned my way up the hill.

  “You can run faster than that,” he said.

  “No, I can’t, but I’ll try. You run ahead. I’ll try to catch you.”

  He took off, running full tilt until he got to the dirt road. Then he stopped and waited for me. “There. I caught up with you,” I said as I stopped beside him.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  He nodded, smiling at me. Chip didn’t smile too often.

  “But you won the race,” I said, and ruffled his hair.

  Anne joined us. “Usually with ghosts something had happened to them,” she said thoughtfully. “Like they got murdered or something. I wonder if maybe there’d be newspaper articles.”

  “Anne,” I wailed, “don’t do that to me! If it’s going to be gory I’m dropping out of this investigation right here and now. No murders. I won’t have any murders.�
�

  She sighed. “Well, what would they be fighting about?”

  “About who was going to wear the heels maybe?”

  “Dodie, don’t be silly.… Anyway, we know they must have died young and that they lived in that house in the 1900’s probably.”

  “How do we know they died young?”

  “Didn’t Chip say they were girls? Ghosts can’t come back at any age they choose, can they? They have to be the age they died at.”

  “I didn’t know there were rules,” I said. “And we don’t even know they lived in the house. They could have been visitors.”

  “All right, but Dad says the house was built in the nineteen twenties. That means the ghosts can’t have lived longer ago than that.”

  We came to the first of the cottages on the ridge overlooking the marsh. It looked pretty old to me—almost as old as ours—but it was well kept. It had silvery wood shingles and a steep roof. Its shutters were painted blue and petunias bloomed beside a blue door. Two kittens sat one on top of the other in the front window—one marmalade and one gray-striped tabby.

  “Look,” I said to Chip, but he was already on his way.

  “Aren’t they cute?” Anne said.

  While she and Chip stood in front of the window watching the kittens, who batted at the glass eager to play, I rapped on the door—no doorbell, just a brass knocker. No answer. I listened but couldn’t hear anything.

  “Nobody’s home,” I said. “Let’s try the next house.”

  We dragged Chip away from the kittens and started down the next driveway. That house was a ranch with a station wagon parked in front.

  Seeing the station wagon, Anne hung back. “Dodie, you’re not going to just march up to strangers and ask them about ghosts, are you?”

  “No. I’ll ask them if they know anything about the neighborhood. I can say we’re trying to find out the history of the house on the marsh.”

  “They may think you’re crazy.”

  “Nobody but my mother thinks I’m crazy. Come on, Anne—I’ll do the talking.”

  “I feel funny about disturbing people for no reason.”