by Ann Walsh
“Want to come in?” Kelly asked, opening the front door.
“Well, I’ve got stewing beef here and some vegetables from the root cellar, and if you let me in I might let you sample ‘Stanton’s Special Stew’.”
“Inviting yourself for dinner, are you?”
“Why not? I figure it will be edible if I can keep you out of the kitchen.”
Kelly whirled on him, her earlier irritation returning. “Listen, I’m getting fed up with jokes about my cooking. It’s not too bad when Dad does it, but you haven’t eaten anything I’ve cooked except bacon. Drop it, will you?”
“Sorry.” David took the bag of groceries to the kitchen, Kelly following him. “Sorry,” he said again, and put a hand on her shoulder. “I was just kidding. I didn’t know you were really sensitive about it. You see, I figured if I offered to cook supper, then you would let me stay and eat with you. It was just a way of getting myself invited.”
“It’s okay,” said Kelly, no longer cross. “I’m kind of upset right now.” And as she washed the breakfast dishes, and David browned the meat and started it simmering, she told him about her day; about her father’s unexplained moodiness in the morning, Tommy’s sullenness, and about Clara Overton spreading the story of the little ghost, once she realized that she had not been the only person to be ‘haunted’.
“And then there was that dumb ghost on the blackboard, and the snide comments from my friends. It hasn’t been a good day. And by now most of Williams Lake knows about our ghost. They’ll probably even put it in the paper!”
“That might not be such a bad thing,” commented David. “Maybe someone will be able to help get rid of her.”
Kelly put the last dish away, and sighed. “That’s it; I guess. I don’t want to get rid of her. At least, I don’t want her to go away as unhappy as she is.”
There was silence in the kitchen while David began to peel a large onion. “I know what you mean,” he said finally. “My aunt saw her last night. Asked me all sorts of questions about the little girl I’d seen in the barn, and then finally admitted that she’d seen her too. She wasn’t frightened by the little thing, just worried about her.”
“Little thing, little one,” said Kelly absently, and her eyes began to water. Must be the onion David was slicing, she thought, brushing at her eyes. “But David, we have to do something about her. No one will get any sleep if she keeps on visiting us every night. Poor little one.”
“Hey!” David quickly threw the onion into the pot, adjusting the heat under it. “Hey,” he said again, moving to stand beside her. “You’re not crying, are you?”
“No. It must be the onion. And I am worried, David. What are we going to do?” Strange, she thought. The onion was safely in the stew, she could hardly smell it anymore, yet her eyes still stung.
“I know what I’m going to do,” said David. He moved behind Kelly, and slipped off the ribbon that she had tied around her forehead that morning.
“What. . .” she said, startled.
His fingers began to loosen the rubber bands that held her French braids. “I want to see what that hair of yours looks like when it isn’t braided up, the way you wear it all the time.”
“David! Leave it alone. I look awful with my hair down.”
“Nope. You can braid it again, it’s all coming out and untidy, anyway.” His fingers gently separated the strands, untangling her thick hair, smoothing it as it fell past her shoulders.
Kelly stood still, unable to move. Her mother . . . her mother was the last one who had touched her hair that way, gently untangling it, talking to Kelly as she brushed it. Even at thirteen Kelly’s mother had still done her hair for her every morning. Since her mother’s death, Kelly had let her hair grow, not bothering with it, twisting it roughly into braids or a pony tail, never getting it cut, or even trimmed. It had been nearly three years since her mother. . .
“Don’t,” she said, once again near tears, hearing her mother’s voice as the brush would pull through her tangled hair. “Ah, Kelly, little one, what are we going to do with this hair of yours?”
David put both hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. Kelly’s hands flew to her head, pulling her hair back, flattening it against her ears. “It looks awful,” she said.
“No, it doesn’t,” David said, softly. “It looks magnificent. Wild, untamed, like a jungle animal—or a goddess.” His hands slid to her face, cupping her cheeks, while his fingers tangled themselves in her hair.
“Always had a thing for redheads,” he said, and bent to kiss her.
Neither of them heard the front door fly open, or the hurrying footsteps that tore through the house, into the kitchen.
“Look, he’s kissing Kelly!”
“That is so dumb!” The Terpen twins had arrived.
David stepped away from Kelly, and she stood there, flustered. “Ever hear of ringing a doorbell or knocking?” she asked. “And go back right now and take those boots off.”
“But, Kelly. . .”
“You have to come, quick.”
“Hurry, come right now.”
“At Mr. Crinchley’s house. There’s noises. . .”
“Yeah, at the Grinch’s.”
“Sort of moaning and crying.”
“Someone keeps saying over and over. . .”
“A ghost, a ghost. . .”
“A ghost!”
Chapter 8
Almost before the twins had paused to take a breath, David was out the door, running down the street towards Ed Crinchley’s house. Kelly stopped to pull on her coat, then she, too, flew out of the house, followed closely by the excited twins.
“It’s a real scary voice, Kelly.”
“And it says, ‘a ghost, a ghost,’ just like that.”
“Wait for us, Kelly.”
“Maybe it’s got old Grinch.”
The door to the old man’s house stood open, and David was nowhere to be seen. Since the inhabitants of Soda Creek seldom locked their homes, it wasn’t surprising that David had been able to enter. Rather nervously, Kelly climbed the stairs, the twins right behind her, and stepped through the open door. “David?” she called, then coughed. Miss O. was right, Ed Crinchley’s house did smell funny. Almost like something rotting.
“David!” she called again, afraid to go any further into the gloomy house until she heard his voice. Trisha moved closer and reached for Kelly’s hand, while Tommy took a step backwards, as if he were having second thoughts about being in the ‘ghost’ house.
“Kelly, quickly. Down the stairs, in the basement,” called David.
Kelly took a deep breath and walked into the dark hallway. Halfway along, dim light spilled from a partly open door, and David’s voice came from that doorway.
“Get some water, Kelly, and bring it down. He’s hurt.”
“I can get the water,” said Trisha. “I can find the kitchen.”
“Go with her, Tommy,” Kelly said to the reluctant boy. “Hurry. I’m going to see what’s happened.”
The partly open door led to the basement of the house, the steps down to it were narrow and steep, painted a dull red. As Kelly moved cautiously down the stairs, the peculiar smell got stronger, much stronger. “David?” she said, and then she saw them.
Ed Crinchley sat propped up against a wall, underneath a dirt-grimed window, his face white and creased with pain. One of his pant legs had been rolled up, and David was inspecting his ankle.
“Leave the blasted thing alone and get me upstairs,” the old man growled. “What took you so long? I’ve been lying here for hours.”
“Are you all right, Mr. Crinchley?” asked Kelly.
“Of course I’m not! I’ve gone and hurt my ankle and knocked over a whole five gallon jug of crabapple wine. One of my best batches, too.”
Kelly suddenly realized what the strange smell was; home-made wine, fermenting, brewing, or whatever it was that fruit and yeast did to turn into wine.
“He says he came down t
o bottle some wine, slipped on the stairs and rolled half-way across the basement,” said David. He sat back on his heels, facing the old man. “I think it’s broken,” he said. “We’ll have to get you to a hospital.”
“No way I’m going to that place,” snarled Ed Crinchley. “Blasted hospitals.” He glared at Tommy and Trisha as they came down the stairs, the glass of water in Trisha’s hand dripping.
“What happened, Mr. Crinchley?”
“Here’s some water. Tommy found the glass.” Trisha handed the old man the water, and he drank noisily.
“What’s the matter with you kids?” he asked. “I heard you outside when you got off the school bus, shouted my fool head off. What took you so long to get help?”
“Was it you shouting?”
“We thought it was the ghost.”
The glass fell from Ed Crinchley’s hand. “Who said I saw a ghost?” he demanded. “Never did, never. Don’t believe in the little critters, anyway.”
At the word ‘little’ Kelly and David looked at each other. Kelly knelt down beside the hurt man and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right,” she said. “We’ve seen her, too. She really is a ghost.”
“Did she visit you, too?” asked Tommy.
“Was she looking for your bathroom? I don’t think you have a bathroom down here, just all these bottles and junk.” Trisha wrinkled her nose as she looked around the cluttered basement.
“Never mind right now, twins,” said David. “Run home and ask your mother to bring her car and some blankets, as fast as she can. Mr. Crinchley’s hurt, he has to go to hospital.”
As reluctant to leave as they had been to enter the house, the twins started slowly up the stairs. “Hurry!” David urged. “Go on, run!”
Ed Crinchley slumped against the wall, his head dropping to his chest. David took his wrist, feeling for his pulse. “He’s okay,” he said, “but I think he’s in more pain than he’s letting on. We’ve got to get him some help as soon as we can.”
“A ghost. . .” The old man stirred, his lips trembling as a moan escaped them. “A ghost. . .”
Kelly jumped. “Is he asleep, David?”
“No, I think he’s blacked out, probably from the pain and the shock. I guess he’s been doing that all afternoon, moving in and out of consciousness, moaning like that. He was quite alert when I first got here, and he said it was just after noon when he came down to work on this wine.”
“That’s what the twins heard, then,” said Kelly, and she patted the unconscious man’s shoulder gently. “Poor man. Lying here all alone, hurting, and wondering if he really had seen a ghost. Will he be all right, David?”
“Hey, I’m not a doctor, I’ve only had some first aid training. I think he’ll be okay if we can keep him warm and get him to the hospital soon. I guess it’s lucky he doesn’t have a heart condition, or the shock could have killed him.”
“The ghost must have been near the stairs,” said Kelly. “There’s not much light down here, so he saw her in the gloom. He wouldn’t have been frightened if he could have seen her properly.”
Footsteps clattered down the stairs as the twins returned. “Mom’s here with the car.”
“She says you can drive him to the hospital, she can’t leave us alone.”
“Yeah. We want to come too, but she won’t let us.”
David slipped his hands under Ed Crinchley’s shoulders. “Help me, Kelly. I think we can manage. He’s very thin, hardly weighs anything.” Carefully, gently, they lifted the old man and inched their way up the stairs. He stayed only half conscious, muttering about the ghost and his spilled crabapple wine, as they eased him into the Terpen’s station wagon.
“Oh, Kelly, hurry. I’ll phone the hospital and tell them you’re coming.” The twins’ mother covered the unconscious man with a blanket, tucking it firmly around him. “Hurry,” she said again. “The keys are in the ignition, and there’s lots of gas.”
Kelly slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Thanks, Mrs. Terpen. Phone the R.C.M.P. too, and see if there’s a patrol car near here. Maybe they could lead us in—it would be faster.”
As she pulled away, Kelly rolled down her window and shouted, “The stew, Mrs. Terpen, on the stove. . .” She saw the woman nod, and hoped she had understood, that she would go to Kelly’s house and turn off the heat under the stew.
A few miles later as they neared the end of the steep gravel road, close to where it joined Highway 97, they heard the whine of a siren. Their police escort had arrived.
* * * * *
It was after six when Kelly and David finally left the hospital in Williams Lake, and headed back up the dark highway towards Soda Creek. David had offered to drive home, and Kelly sat beside him, her head back against the headrest, exhausted. It had begun to snow, not heavily, just a sprinkling of small flakes. As the car moved forward, the snow, caught in the headlights, seemed to whirl towards the windshield like a million tiny falling stars. Kelly watched the snow, too tired to speak. Ed Crinchley’s ankle was badly sprained; it had been securely taped and the old man was resting quietly, heavily sedated.
“Those nurses are in for quite a time of it when he wakes up,” Kelly said at last. “I don’t think he cares for hospitals, and he’ll be sure everyone around him knows it!”
“I’m beginning to see why he’s called ‘the Grinch’,” said David. “He’s tough, all right, and a good thing too, or he’d be in a lot worse shape than he is.”
“I guess so,” answered Kelly, yawning and rubbing her forehead as she did. Suddenly she sat upright, now wide awake. “My hair!” she said. “It’s been down all this time. Why didn’t you tell me? It’s a mess.”
David looked away from the road for a moment, then turned back, grinning. “Well,” he said. “That mane of yours certainly has a mind of its own. It’s almost standing straight out from your head.”
“Thanks a lot,” Kelly snapped. “Weren’t you the one who said something about the hair of a goddess a while ago?” Then she blushed, turning to look out the side window so David couldn’t see her face, as the memory of those few moments in the kitchen came back to her. The tension of the last hours, including a high-speed trip to the hospital following a police car with its lights flashing and siren screaming, had driven the thought of David’s kiss out of her mind. Until now.
“Goddess?” I must have been thinking of the one who lives on a rock in the ocean. You know, Medusa. The one with snakes growing out of her head instead of hair.”
“David Stanton, that’s not fair. Can’t you ever be serious? Do you have to joke about everything?” Kelly kept her face turned away from him, not wanting him to see her eyes. Something inside her had turned softly over when she remembered the incident in the kitchen, and she had felt her face go red. Why should she react this way after just one kiss, she wondered? She meant nothing to David, she was just someone to spend time with while he was in Soda Creek, away from university, away from his friends, maybe even away from someone else, someone very important in his life. “Some of your jokes aren’t very funny,” she said in a small voice, then repeated. “Can’t you ever be serious?”
“But I am serious.” David reached over and took her hand, holding it firmly in his. “Very, very serious, my little Kelly.”
Chapter 9
From the windows of the Soda Creek homes light splashed across the dark road, welcoming, warm. David pulled up outside the Linden home and said, “I’ll take the car back to Mrs. Terpen. And then I’d better check in with Uncle George. Maybe I’ll see you later?”
“I guess so,” Kelly answered, still feeling awkward. “You never did finish making your ‘special’ stew. Let’s hope Dad figured out what was for dinner, and threw in the rest of the vegetables. I’ll save you some, if you like.”
Alan came out and stood on the front porch as Kelly watched David drive the short distance down the road to the Terpen house. “How is Ed, Kelly?” he asked. “The twins were waiting for me
, talking so quickly that I could barely understand them, and Mrs. Terpen left me a note saying where you were. Ben cleaned up all the spilled wine in Ed’s basement. What happened, anyway? Is Ed okay?”
Inside, the house was full of the smell of stew, and Kelly realized she was very hungry. “Mr. Crinchley’s got a bad sprain, Dad, but he’ll be okay. It was the little ghost again. He saw her in his basement, and fell down the stairs. He’ll be using crutches for a while, and I’ll bet this accident hasn’t helped his temper any, but he’ll be fine.”
“That could have been serious, Kelly. It seems as if the little ghost isn’t quite as harmless as we think.”
“Oh, Dad, she doesn’t mean to scare anyone. She just startled the Grinch. It’s not serious.”
“I wonder,” said Alan, then changed the subject. “Come on, let’s get some food inside you, then we’ll worry about the ghost. Looks like a good stew you started. I didn’t know we had any stewing beef left in the freezer.”
“David brought it,” said Kelly. “He was making stew when the twins arrived to tell us about the Grinch.”
“Yes.” Her father’s face was serious. “Yes. The twins did say that David was here. They were quite clear when they told me about that—and about what the two of you were doing.”
“Come on, Dad, it’s nothing to get upset about.” Kelly knew she was blushing again, and she turned away.
“Perhaps not, Kelly, but I was surprised. You’ve only known David a day and. . .” Her father’s voice trailed off as he searched for the right words.
“It’s all right, Dad. I can look after myself. And I am sixteen. Anyway, can we please eat and not talk about it right now?”
Her father spooned out a bowl of the stew. It was thick and hot, but before Kelly could take a bite, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” said Alan. “Eat your dinner, Kelly. You look as if you need something nourishing.”
“I don’t need any company right now,” thought Kelly. “I don’t even want to see David again until I’ve eaten and fixed my hair.”