“I think we owe you a beer,” Nate said.
“Sounds great! And I’ve got a little weed if either of you are interested,” Riley said.
Nate shook his head. “None for me thanks, but I’ll go grab some beers.” He gave Helen a raised-eyebrows you’re not really going to do that, are you? look that helped her make up her mind.
“I’d love some,” she said, sitting down on the front steps of the new house beside her new friend. Riley produced a joint and a lighter from her bag, lit the joint, took a hit, and handed it to Helen. Helen inhaled the smoke, let it seep into her lungs. She looked out across the yard to the tree line, to the path that led down to the bog. She was sure she could smell the bog, the dampness and earthy scent of peat, when the wind blew in their direction. It was as if the wind from the bog was telling her: You are meant to be here.
And: I chose you.
She hadn’t smoked pot since college, but it seemed like the right thing to do—part of who the new Vermont Helen was. She felt loose and relaxed for the first time in days.
She imagined the shit she’d get if her friend Jenny back in Connecticut could see her now—Embracing your hippie self, Helen? First step weed, second step unshaven armpits, then you’re commune-bound for sure. And if Jenny had any idea Helen believed she’d seen a ghost—her old friend would be up here in four hours, shoving Helen into her Land Rover to go back to the safe predictability of life in Connecticut. An intervention, she’d call it.
Helen imagined having a dinner party with Jenny and Riley—pictured Jenny staring at Riley’s tattoos, piercings, and blue bangs. Helen got a little thrill out of the idea of introducing them, showing off Riley like an exotic pet—look at my new friend, look at my new life.
Riley’s skin seemed almost alive to her. “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo,” Helen found herself saying.
“Awesome! I can hook you up with someone. There’s this guy, Skyler, I apprenticed with him once upon a time when I thought maybe I wanted to be a tattoo artist. He’s amazing. Most of this is his work.” She held out her arms and Helen saw things she hadn’t noticed before: images and faces within the designs.
“Do you know what you want?” Riley asked.
What did she want? Her mind drifted, spun. She stared into the empty black eye socket of the crow skull on Riley’s forearm. Nate would like that one, Helen decided. It was like something he might draw in his nature journal.
“Do you have a design in mind?” Riley asked.
Nate came back with a six-pack of beer.
“What are we designing?” he asked.
“Helen’s tattoo,” Riley said as Nate passed her a beer.
“Is that right?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral, but he shot Helen a look of concern—or was it derision? He pulled up a folding camp chair and sat facing them on the lawn in front of the house. Helen felt a twinge of guilt, like she had betrayed him somehow. The weed was making her paranoid, surely.
“Nate,” Helen said, as he settled into his chair and cracked open a beer. “You should tell Riley about the deer you saw this morning.”
Nate had a good swig of beer, then told Riley the story of the albino deer.
Riley smiled and nodded, happy for him, but not seeming the least surprised.
“Wait,” Nate said. “You know about the white deer?”
“That was Hattie you saw,” Riley said.
Helen’s stomach clenched.
“What?” Nate laughed.
Riley laughed, too, but comfortably.
“Oh yeah! There are tons of stories that go back for decades about a white doe in these woods. A couple of hunters back in the late sixties swear they found a naked woman out here by the bog. She ran, and while they chased her—they say to help her—she transformed into a white doe.” Riley’s leg was pressed against Helen’s as they sat side by side on the steps.
Nate laughed so hard he snorted beer out his nose. “And how much had they had to drink?” Nate asked, once he’d pulled himself together. “Or maybe it was something stronger—nothing goes with a hunting trip like a little LSD, some magic mushrooms maybe. I’ve heard how Vermont was in the late sixties and seventies.”
Riley shrugged her shoulders. “I guess you never know. However, as I said, there are dozens of stories going back years and years. People seeing her, following her deep into the woods.”
Nate took a long sip of his beer and looked at Riley, his eyes moving from her face to her tattoos. “Interesting. I mean, albinism has always been linked with mystical stuff. In folklore, the ‘pure white animals’ often have magical abilities. In some cultures, albinos are considered cursed and are shunned. But really, it’s just a genetic mutation—an accident that causes melanin to be improperly produced or distributed. Beautiful, unique, sure…but just genes.”
“It’s weird, though,” Helen said. “Don’t you think? That there are so many stories about a white doe in these woods going back years and years? I mean, if hunters were seeing her in the sixties, it can’t be the same deer, right? How long can one deer live?”
Nate scooted his chair a little closer to Helen, put a hand on her knee. “I’d have to look it up, but I doubt more than ten years, probably less,” he said. Helen reached down, took Nate’s hand, gave it a squeeze, then removed it from her knee.
“I’m telling you, it’s Hattie,” Riley said, rolling another joint. “Got to be.”
“Maybe it’s not just one,” Nate said, pushing his chair back again. “Maybe it’s hereditary. Maybe there’s a whole population of them out there. A colony of albino deer! Like the black squirrels in Toronto!”
Riley relit the joint and passed it to Helen. Nate gave her a quick frown. She took a deep hit, let the smoke seep out of her lungs as she smiled at Nate. “A colony of albino deer?” Helen said. “I hate to say it, but a ghost almost seems more likely.”
Riley smiled.
Nate narrowed his eyes, shook his head, and stood up. “I’m gonna go look it up. Do some research.”
“Sounds good,” Helen said. “Enjoy.”
They watched Nate jog back down the hill to the trailer, like walking wasn’t fast enough.
“Nate’s not a big believer in the supernatural, I guess,” Riley said as she lit a second joint, then took a hit.
“He’s very evidence-based. Scientific.”
“Not everything can be explained with science,” Riley said, passing the joint to Helen. Helen looked at the tattoos on Riley’s arms: a crow skull, an Egyptian ankh, a dragon encircling her left upper arm. Or was it a gargoyle?
“I agree completely,” Helen said. She thought of Hattie appearing in her kitchen last night. She was contemplating telling Riley about it when Riley changed the subject.
“I think it’s great that Olive’s spending so much time with you two,” Riley said.
“She’s a good kid,” Helen said. “And she’s really been a huge help with the house.”
“The truth is I’m kind of worried about her,” Riley admitted.
“How so?”
“My brother, her dad, Dustin, you’ve met him, right?”
Helen shook her head. It was a little strange. You’d think he’d be interested to see where his daughter was spending so much spare time, would want to stop in just to make sure she and Nate weren’t obvious perverts or drug addicts or anything.
“Not yet,” she told Riley. “We told Olive we wanted the two of them to come to dinner, but it sounds like he’s kind of busy lately so we haven’t found a time to make it work.”
Olive had offered one excuse after another: her dad was too tired, he was working overtime, he was busy with house renovations. Helen had started to wonder if there might be something else going on. Maybe he was an alcoholic? Or just antisocial?
“Busy?” Riley quipped, shaking her head. “I
doubt it. The truth is Dustin hasn’t really been the same since Lori took off. He’s kind of a mess, actually.”
Helen took the joint again, said, “Oh no. I had no idea. Olive hasn’t told us much about her mother.”
That was an understatement. Olive hadn’t really said word one about her mom at all, except to repeat a couple of stories she’d heard from her about Hattie. Helen knew Olive’s mom wasn’t in the picture but hadn’t yet figured out why.
“Yeah,” Riley said. “I’m not surprised. I mean, it’s one thing to leave your husband, right? But your kid? Poor Olive. My heart freaking breaks for her.”
“Was there another man?” Helen asked, worried she was crossing the line, but the pot loosened her tongue.
Riley nodded, looked away.
“No one’s heard from her?” Helen asked.
Riley shook her head, blue bangs falling into her eyes. “No. It’s fucked up. She and I were like—like best friends. Did everything together. It was like The Lori and Riley Show, you know? That’s what Dustin used to say. Then she just…took off.”
She looked away, eyes shining with tears. Then she took a deep breath and went on.
“Anyway, Dustin’s been a wreck. He spends all his free time tearing his house apart and putting it back together again. He says he wants to fix it up to surprise Lori when she gets home. Like she’s coming home. And like having a bigger bedroom and a brand-new living room is seriously going to get her to stay, right?” She rubbed at a small hole in her jeans, worrying the fabric, making it bigger.
“That seems so sad,” Helen said, imagining the poor guy constantly fixing things up, thinking that if he just gets it right, maybe his wife will come home and will want to stay this time. She wondered if Olive believed this, too, or if she was just going along with all the work to help keep her dad busy, to give him hope.
“Yeah, but the worst part is he’s so caught up in his grief over Lori leaving him that he’s not really paying much attention to Olive. I hear she barely showed up at school the whole final semester. She somehow managed to ace most of her tests and handed in homework from time to time, so she got passing grades, but from what I hear, it’s lucky they’re letting her move on to tenth grade in the fall. I’ve got a friend in the guidance department there.”
“And Dustin doesn’t know this?”
“If he does, he’s not doing anything about it. He’s made it pretty clear that it’s not my place to step in and give my opinion. I’m actually heading over there after this to check in with him, see what Olive’s up to. Make sure they’ve got food and stuff.” She sat up straighter, pocketed the baggie of weed and the lighter.
“Wait, they might not have food?” Helen said.
“Last time I went over, Olive was having frozen French fries for dinner because that’s all there was in the house. It’s not a money thing. Dustin works. He just doesn’t have it together enough to shop and cook and be a single dad. Lori, she kept that house together. Dustin and Olive, they’re kind of floundering.”
“Wow, I had no idea,” Helen said. She thought about Olive stealing their stuff, setting the fire in the middle of the night on a school night, obsessed with buried treasure like a much younger kid—of course she didn’t have a good home life. How wrapped up in her own shit was she to have missed it?
They were quiet a minute, staring out at the yard, at the line of trees beyond it, the path that led down to the bog.
“Nate and I will try to do more to help. Ask Olive to stay for supper whenever she’s here. She’s such an amazing kid. So smart and helpful.” Riley nodded at her, looked grateful. “I hate to think of her not doing well in school,” Helen continued. “Maybe there’s something we can do to help with that, too. Nate and I were both middle school teachers, so we’re certainly up to doing some tutoring. We can offer to catch her up if she’s missed a lot of school.”
“That would be so great,” Riley said. “I worry about her a lot, but I don’t know how to help. I’ve offered for her to come and stay with me for a while, but she always says no. Besides, I don’t think Dustin would go for it. Olive’s all he has now. Honestly, I think if she wasn’t there, he’d lose it completely. Back when he was younger, before he married Lori, he was a big drinker. Suffered from bouts of depression. I’m afraid he’s slipping back into his old self. Which makes me so, so worried for Olive. She’s all he has, but he’s all she has, too. Well, her dad and me.” She paused, smiled at Helen, put a hand on her knee and gave it a grateful squeeze. “And now you and Nate!”
Helen nodded. She looked over toward the trailer, thought about telling Nate all of this. Surely he’d want to help Olive, too. He still didn’t trust her, called her “Little Ghost Girl” when she wasn’t around, but once Helen told him what was going on with Olive, he’d want to help. How could he not?
Riley saw her looking toward the trailer. “Nate should be careful,” she said.
“Careful?”
“Yeah, there’s a story I didn’t mention when he was here ’cause I could tell he’d dismiss it as pure bullshit.”
“What is it?”
“Well, there used to be this guy, Frank Barns. He was the town doctor, and he loved to hunt. He lived over by Carver Creek. One day, back in the seventies, I think it was, he caught sight of the white doe out in the woods and became totally obsessed. He went out looking for it every weekend. One time, he was with his son, Dicky. Dicky was just a kid then, ten or eleven years old. They were over by the bog hunting quail. And Frank caught sight of the doe and took off after it. Dicky tried to keep up but lost sight of him. Frank Barns never came out of those woods.”
“No way!” Helen practically yelled. “He disappeared?”
Riley nodded, eyes widening, caught up in the story and Helen’s response to it. “Search parties looked for him for weeks. Hound dogs, a helicopter even. Nothing. The man vanished without a trace.”
“What do you think happened?” Helen asked. She was good and stoned now. Her thoughts felt strangely fluid.
“Hattie got him,” Riley said matter-of-factly.
Helen felt cold all over. “You know,” she said, feeling brave, emboldened by the weed. “I saw her, too.”
“The white deer?”
“No, the person. Hattie in human form. If I tell you, will you think I’m totally nuts?”
“Oh my god, not at all,” Riley said, reaching over, giving Helen’s arm a squeeze. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a big believer in this kind of stuff! Please tell me.”
“Well, ever since we got here, I’ve had this feeling, this sense.” She stopped.
Riley watched her. Not like she was crazy, but openly. She was genuinely curious.
“This feeling,” Helen continued, “that someone was watching me. I’ve almost caught sight of her a few times, just a hint of movement out of the corner of my eye, you know?”
Riley nodded excitedly.
“And I think…I think maybe she left something for me. A sort of gift.”
“What kind of gift?”
“A cloth bundle with an old rusty nail and an animal tooth sitting in a little nest of straw. Nate thinks the tooth came from a deer or a sheep maybe.”
Riley frowned. “Do you have it still?”
“Yeah, it’s in the trailer.”
“So when you say you saw her, it was just a shadow, a little hint of movement?”
“No. I mean, at first, yes. But then last night—I actually saw her. She looked like a real person. As solid as you look now sitting here beside me.”
“Did you see her out in the bog?”
“No.” Helen shook her head. “Here in the house.”
“No way! Here?” Riley turned and looked back at the house right behind them. “Wait, is this what Nate was talking about before? About the haunted beam?”
Helen nodded. �
��We installed that beam yesterday and spent the night in the new house last night. I talked Nate into it. I thought it would be fun—like camping out. I got up in the middle of the night and walked into the kitchen and she was there, standing in the corner. A dark-haired woman with dark eyes, a rope around her neck.”
“Shii-it!” Riley said, drawing the word out slowly. “What’d she do?”
“She…spoke to me.”
“No.”
“Yes!” Helen said. She looked around to make sure that Nate was still out of earshot.
“No way!” Riley looked both shocked and excited. “She actually spoke? And you heard her?”
“It was kind of a horrible sound. It made me feel cold all over.”
“What’d she say?”
“She said one word: Jane.”
“Jane?” Riley was leaning close now, her face flushed. “That’s her daughter.”
“Her daughter.” Helen repeated.
If Hattie’s daughter’s name was Jane, this was proof that Helen hadn’t imagined the whole thing. It wasn’t any wine or nightmare that had given Helen that piece of information. She had seen Hattie’s ghost, and the ghost had really spoken to her, told her something she had no way of knowing.
Jane.
“Jane was about twelve years old when Hattie was killed,” Riley said. “She disappeared right after.”
“Oh my god. What happened to her?”
“No one knows.” Riley shrugged dramatically. “She was never heard from again. There were rumors—she changed her name and moved south, or went up to Canada. Some say she never left, that she drowned herself in the bog so she could be with her mother.”
“There has got to be a way to find out what happened to her,” Helen said. “What’s the latest on when the historical society might open again? I’d love to get in there and see if we can find any leads. Anything about Jane, about Hattie. I feel like there are so many unanswered questions.”
“I talked to Mary Ann last night. Sounds like the damage was a little worse than she thought. It’s going to take a couple more weeks to get it cleaned up and renovated.”
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