“Let’s see, here it is,” said Meg. “Gillian Elizabeth, daughter of the last baron of Mendip.”
“There’s a picture of her, look,” said Will.
Meg looked at the photograph. It was an early photograph, sepia-toned, showing a young girl, her hair pulled back with a prominent part down the middle. She was holding the reins of a horse and dressed in a riding outfit. A lapdog danced at her feet, slightly blurry. Meg thought Gillian looked anxious to be off riding, too, as if impatient with the photographer.
“It says her horse’s name was Spirit,” said Meg, reading the caption.
“Spirit?”
“Well, the horse is sort of greyish white. Kind of like a ghost. Maybe that’s why she named it Spirit.”
“Or because the horse had a wild spirit,” Will offered. “Maybe it ran too fast.”
“Don’t blame it on the horse,” said Meg. “He looks sweet. Besides, Shep said horse accidents used to happen all the time.”
Meg turned the page. It was filled with shields, swords, and coats of arms.
“Hey, look,” said Will, pointing to a symbol of a dancing lion. Meg peered over his arm. The lion did seem familiar. She must have seen it before, but where? Oh yes, at the manor, on the beds and things, and somewhere else. Beside her, Will was busy fishing in his pocket. He pulled out the silver belt buckle they’d found in the creek bed. In his palm was a lion prancing just like the picture.
“It’s the same symbol,” said Will. “This buckle must have come from the manor.”
“Yeah, and the W must be an M, after all. An M for Mendip,” said Meg. “I wonder what it was.”
“Who knows? They had different things back then,” said Will. “It could be anything.”
“I wonder if it used to be Gillian’s,” said Meg. “Something she played with down by the creek.”
“Or something she died with.”
The little ghost shook herself and floated back to a branch of the walnut tree. Falling. Always falling. That final fall still scared her.
It was so pleasant with her new friend: holding hands, warm breath, smiles. If only she could keep that feeling forever. The warm contentment of company.
All the children who played with her went away.
It wasn’t fair.
The last time a child had lived in the little cottage was a hundred years ago. The families always moved, and neighbor children who stumbled into the garden were entertaining for a few years but had an awful habit of growing up. Then she would be alone again.
If only she could keep one.
The little ghost dropped to a lower branch. Already she’d felt more stirrings. The cracks in time were opening. It happened every April. The earth heaving, groaning, and twisting with the strain of two worlds mixing, the living and the dead. She could feel herself grow stronger.
The ghost floated back to the cottage and peered through the window at the cozy group gathered in the kitchen. Her playmate was seated among the living: chewing, laughing, eating food.
Yes, she could be the one.
How good it would feel to have this girl by her side.
Not just today.
But tomorrow and always.
A forever friend.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ghost Lessons
After lunch, they spent a windy afternoon at Glastonbury. It was a good thing Aunt Effie drove a Mini, Will decided. Some of the roads they took barely had room for anything else. It was strange enough to be driving on the left side of the road, but then there were prickly hedges and blind corners. Hedges towered like walls on the sides of some country roads, and at times the two-way road dropped to one lane. When the road narrowed at a corner, Aunt Effie tooted her horn and relied on mirrors mounted on the hedges to see if another car was about to crash into them.
Glastonbury Tor was a grassy hill with a ruined tower on top. It was so windy at the summit that Aunt Effie needed to shout as she told them stories about King Arthur and the ancient island of Avalon. The wind sliced through the tower’s empty roof and windows, making a wild sound. They were glad to descend to the Levels. As they walked along the hedgerows, Aunt Effie introduced them to Gog and Magog, two ancient oak trees along the path. “These venerable old oaks are thought to be two thousand years old! Makes our walnut seem like a child, doesn’t it? Just think of the history they’ve seen,” she said in a wistful voice. Afterward, they stopped in Glastonbury for ice-cream cones, and Will tried a new flavor, raspberry ripple.
Uncle Ben greeted them back at the Griffinage. He nuzzled them all one by one, and wagged so hard that his great thumping tail nearly knocked Ariel over. Meg ducked out of the way. Her hand was still swollen from the nettle stings, and probably didn’t want to be thumped. Will saw Aunt Effie mixing up another batch of baking soda paste.
“Why are you painting Meg’s hand?” asked Ariel.
“Takes the sting out, dearie,” answered Aunt Effie. “Nasty things, nettles,” she continued. “Though I do know people who eat them. Nettle soup! With potatoes, of course. And nettle tea is supposed to be very good for arthritis and allergies: packed with iron, calcium, and magnesium. They say if you grasp a nettle firmly enough you don’t get stung, but I must admit I’ve never had the gumption to try. Ladybirds love them and lay their eggs on nettle leaves. I suppose if you’re an insect with an exoskeleton, nettles can’t sting no matter how lightly you tread. There! That should feel better soon.”
She patted Meg’s arm and put the baking soda away. Meg examined her hand, which was freshly caked with white paste. Like a ghost, Will thought. He sighed. He didn’t think he believed in ghosts, not really, but still it would be cool to see one. Here they were visiting in April, supposedly the best time, and Shep advised them to “keep your eye out,” but no sign of anything mysterious yet. Meg cradled her hand and disappeared upstairs. Will fingered the silver lion in his pocket. At least they’d found something.
From the living room, he could hear Aunt Effie’s voice as she began reading Alice in Wonderland to Ariel, Uncle Ben sprawled at their feet. They’d just reached the part in the story where Bill the lizard goes flying out the chimney. It was one of Will’s favorite parts, but he didn’t feel like listening. He wanted to know how to see a ghost. Will trailed up the stairs to Meg’s room.
“What are we going to do?” he asked, flopping on her bed.
“About what?”
“Oh, Shep’s mad at me, and he’s the only one who knows about ghosts—really knows.”
“Well,” said Meg. “That’s easy. You just have to get him un-mad.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“You could apologize.”
“But I didn’t do anything. Not really. What do I say? ‘I’m sorry I don’t believe in ghosts’? People don’t usually apologize for things like that.”
Meg was silent. They both knew it would be good to have Shep back on their side and ready to talk. They had so many questions, and the book in the shop only offered vague phrases like “some say the tower is haunted.”
“What about a peace offering?” Meg asked after a bit.
“You mean a white flag?”
“No, I was thinking of a present. Something to show we really like him.”
“How about a chocolate bar?”
“That’s perfect,” said Meg. “Now we have to find some money.”
“No, we don’t,” said Will.
“Well, how else are we going to get a chocolate bar?”
“From my sock,” said Will, flashing his wide Griffin grin. “I saved one from the airport.”
“He’s home,” Will reported a few minutes later. “I set it on the stoop, but I didn’t go in.”
Aunt Effie had pointed out Shep’s house to them the day before. He was her nearest neighbor and the only visible house around, so it was easy to find.
“Good,” said Meg, sitting down on the Griffinage front step beside him. They’d decided to wait twenty minutes for Shep to find and eat t
he chocolate. Will had originally voted for half an hour, or even an hour, but Meg had pointed out that Shep might have to go out somewhere after that length of time, or a squirrel might eat it, so they settled on twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes later, Meg and Will approached Shep’s house and found Shep himself standing in his doorway wearing his scuffed leather boots. Even with a regular-sized door, he almost had to bend his head to look out. There was no sign of the candy bar.
“Ah. Thought I might be seeing more of you two,” Shep said.
“We’ve come . . . ,” began Will.
“I know why you’ve come,” said Shep, with a smile. “In you go, and shake your jackets off.”
Meg struggled with her jacket one-handed, careful not to bump her nettle stings. She always felt shy entering someone’s house for the first time. It was one thing to meet a person, but visiting where they lived was like meeting that person all over again. You got to glimpse inside of them somehow. Like seeing stray bits of soul they didn’t know they’d left lying out. Shep’s house smelled like coffee, fireplace smoke, and damp socks.
By the time Meg entered the living room, Will was already perched on a three-legged stool by the fireplace, tipping it up on two legs and talking animatedly to Shep. Meg settled back in a huge red wingback armchair and looked around Shep’s living room. It was a jumble of centuries: old stone walls and musty books, plus computer cords and all kinds of devices strewn about.
“Care for a bit of chocolate?” Shep winked at Will when he said this. He dug in his vest pocket and produced a slightly squashed candy bar in an orange and purple wrapper.
“Double Decker, my favorite,” said Shep. “Can’t answer for its condition. Arrived mysteriously at my house this afternoon.” Will blushed and righted the stool with a thump. Shep split the candy bar into three pieces, passing out sticky bits of nougaty chocolate to the children and popping the last bit in his mouth. They all licked their fingers in silence. Will perched on the edge of the three-legged stool and looked expectantly at Shep.
“So you want to know more about ghosts, do you?” Shep asked. The twinkle in his eye was back, and Meg settled into the armchair with a contented sigh. It was obvious Shep wasn’t irritated with them anymore.
“Have you seen her?” Will asked.
“Not in years.”
“But you did, once?” said Will. Will and Meg exchanged glances. So he did think they were real.
“Long ago,” said Shep. “When I was younger than you. We all saw her for a while, us kids in the village. Saw her a couple of times, and other ghosts, too, before we stopped looking. Your aunt would hate it that I’m telling you all this.” He paused and stared out the window, lost in thought.
“Why did you stop looking?” asked Meg.
“Eh?”
“Why did you stop looking for ghosts?”
“Got too old, you know,” answered Shep. “It’s young kids who mostly see ghosts. Starting around age two. That’s when it starts, with nightmares and things. Parents think it’s just a dream, but of course some of it’s ghosts. I’d say it peaks between four and ten for most children. By the time I was twelve or so, maybe around eleven, I knew I wouldn’t have much luck anymore, so I gave up. My brother, Pete, could see the ghosts, but I was done.”
Meg and Will looked at each other. Both knew what the other was thinking: Shep must be telling them all this because he thought they were the right age. He’d probably seen a real ghost, maybe even lots of ghosts, and he hoped they’d see one too. Around age twelve. Will was ten and Meg was a year older. Were they young enough? Would they be able to see them?
“Of course, ghosts only show up when they want to. They’ve got their own agendas.”
“Ghosts have agendas?” asked Meg. The word made her think about her agenda planner for school that listed all her class times.
“In a manner of speaking. Not to do with schedules and so on—no, that’s for the living. Ghosts don’t follow time, you see. They follow longings.”
Shep looked directly at each child. Will, who’d been tipping the stool on its front legs to the outer limit since they’d arrived, righted it again on all three. Meg sat up straight in her armchair. The way Shep looked at her confirmed they were having a serious conversation. She’d never heard anyone talk about ghosts like this before. There was no sound except for the ticking of Shep’s kitchen clock.
“A ghost longs for something most dreadfully,” Shep went on. “We all long for things when we’re alive—maybe for a puppy, or being popular at school—but a ghost longs for something so powerfully and so intensely that it just goes on longing even after its body dies. That’s why only some people turn into ghosts. Most rest in peace. A ghost is an unfulfilled longing.”
“And the manor ghost is longing for her child,” said Will.
“That’s right.”
“So you sort of see their longing,” said Meg.
“Right again,” Shep continued. “When the longing is strong enough, the ghost becomes visible. Not to everyone. Grown-ups might see lights or nothing at all. But children can usually sense the longing and it looks like a real person.”
The manor ghost’s longing was obvious, thought Meg. But what about other ghosts? What were they all longing for so intently that it wouldn’t let them be properly dead?
“Wait, how do you know all this?” asked Will. He sounded as if he’d been bursting to ask this question the whole time.
“A bit of personal study.”
“You mean you went to ghost school?”
“Some of the best things in life you don’t learn in school,” Shep answered. “I discuss it with a friend of mine. He’s a minister, in the business of souls you might say. But mainly I learned about ghosts as a boy by going right to the experts: conversations with the ghosts themselves.”
Conversations with ghosts! Shep made it sound so friendly, Meg thought. What would she say to a ghost? She’d like to meet a ghost and try having a chat. Hello, how does it feel to float? she’d say. It would be like having an imaginary friend, like Ariel, but one you could really see.
“Now then,” said Shep. “Must be getting close to your dinner time. I don’t want to fall on Effie’s bad side. Besides, if I fill up your heads with ghosts, she won’t have any space left to heap on the history.” He winked and ushered them to the door. “Keep your eyes open, see what you find.”
On the way home, Will hopped from foot to foot in excitement and talked nonstop about ghosts. “He really saw one. More than one! And made friends with them. I hope we’re here long enough.” Meg only half listened. She was distracted by a mix of feelings. Excitement, yes, but learning about ghosts’ longings had put her in a melancholy mood, and there was something else that was bothering her.
They reached the Griffinage garden. Above them, a sparrow perched on the thatch, tugged at a strand of straw, and then flew off with it proudly in its beak. From inside they could hear Ariel’s small voice singing. It wasn’t “Frère Jacques,” her usual tune. It was something new, a rather mournful song.
“Do you think I’m too old?” asked Meg. She swallowed a lump that seemed to stick in her throat.
“We’ll find out.”
“Oh, Will, I couldn’t bear it if eleven is too old. Just when things are getting exciting!”
CHAPTER SIX
St. Giles
Early the next morning, the music came again. From his bed, Will lay perfectly still, trying to catch the notes. It was the bell song, louder this time. The melody seemed to be surrounding the Griffinage. He strained to listen, moving in that drowsy half-awake state, but already the bells were fading.
“La de de la da,” he hummed. “F, C-sharp, C, high F, C and then C-sharp, C, B-flat, F. La de de la da, la la de dun. La de de la da . . .”
That was it. That was the tune.
A sudden rush of energy swept through Will. He could feel his chest swell with happiness. He felt like this whenever a song came to him. A new one.
A melody he liked to pursue and tap out at home on the piano. On mornings like this, his mother would come looking for him, leaning her head around the doorway, and find him still bent over the keys. “Will? You all right? You forgot to eat breakfast.”
As if on cue, his stomach rumbled, but equally powerfully, his heart sang with the enchantment of this new melody. Usually, songs he heard in his sleep faded the instant he woke, but not this time. It lingered in his head, and he was pleased to realize it was the same tune he’d tried to remember the day before. Will tromped downstairs wishing again for a piano. The Griffinage didn’t have one after all, though this was the first morning he’d really missed it.
“It’s a little early to be singing,” said Meg.
Will looked up. He hadn’t noticed Meg come in. He was in the kitchen making toast, and playing with the cancel button that made the toast spring into the air. Meg stood in the kitchen doorway.
“I’m just humming.”
“Well, that’s loud humming,” said Meg. “I heard it all the way upstairs. Woke me up.”
“Did not.”
“Did too. Ariel heard it also and started talking about Kay Kay again.”
Will reached for his toast, which was now crisped dark brown from being toasted so many times. He must have been singing out loud without knowing it.
“Sorry. It just comes out sometimes,” he said.
“Well, just don’t sing at breakfast. I don’t need an orchestra with my orange juice.”
But music seemed to fill Will’s head that morning. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop humming or singing the new tune, even when Meg glared at him, even when Ariel knocked over her milk and soaked his second piece of toast, even an hour later, when Aunt Effie breezed in from the garden and started talking.
“Will! You haven’t been listening,” said Meg.
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