Читать книгу The Ghost of Soda Creek - Ann Walsh - Страница 8

Kelly and her father looked at each other, and Kelly could feel the tears inching their way back into her eyes. “Well, there goes our breakfast together,” she said, trying to control her voice.

“No, we will have some time to ourselves today, Kelly,” said her father firmly. “I’ll see who it is and tell them we’re busy. Send them away.”

“Sure,” said Kelly, unable to make herself believe that her father would be able to do such a thing; trying to believe it, but already seeing their quiet hours together vanishing.

As her father went to the door, Kelly headed for the bathroom to wash her face. After the tears, her cheeks were flushed and her nose seemed almost as red as her hair. She splashed her face with cold water several times, and it seemed to help a bit. In just an hour her hair had curled its way out of the tight braids, and thick tendrils clung to her forehead and cheeks. She retied the ribbon firmly in a band around her forehead, then went out into the kitchen where she could hear her father talking to someone.

“I knew it,” she thought. “He hasn’t had the heart to get rid of whoever was at the door.”

At the kitchen table sat two people, obviously from the commune, although Kelly had not seen either one of them before. Her father, busy filling the coffeepot with cold water, turned as she came in, looking apologetic. “Kelly, this is George and his nephew David from the place down the road. Their pump is frozen and they need a hand getting it going again. Um ... do you mind if I just run down for a while and have a look?”

“It’s okay, Dad. Do what you have to do.”

“We’ll get that time to ourselves later, I promise. Maybe we can make something special for dinner, or how would you like to go into Williams Lake this evening, and we’ll have dinner out?”

“Sure, Dad.” Kelly smiled, not as upset as she thought she would be. Dinner out sounded good. At least she wouldn’t have any dishes to do afterwards.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset your plans.” George had spoken, and he looked uncomfortable. He had long hair, past his shoulder blades, tied back in a pony tail. He seemed a bit older than her father, late forties she guessed, and he had long, slender fingers that he tapped nervously on the kitchen table.

David was much younger, and even though he was sitting, Kelly could see that he was short, almost as short as she was. He was thin, too thin, and his dark eyes seemed almost too big for his face. His pale skin made the dark circles under his eyes seem drawn there, charcoaled in against the white skin. He looks very fragile, Kelly thought, surprising herself with that word, but then he smiled at her and his face lightened, softened and became almost handsome. “Hi,” he said, “where did you get that hair?”

Kelly was startled. People often commented on her hair, but usually they waited until they got to know her, didn’t come right out with a question like that the first time they met her. She could see her father watching her, waiting for her to reply, the coffee pot overflowing with cold water now. She smiled at him, reassuring him that she would be polite, then turned back to David.

“From my grandmother, my Irish grandmother,” she answered, and heard her father give a small sigh of relief that she hadn’t snapped at this visitor the way she had at Clara Overton. Then, suddenly self-conscious, she reached up and tucked a wiry strand back under the headband. “It runs in the family, but it skips a generation. That’s why Dad doesn’t have it.”

“You’re lucky,” said David. “It’s really something.”

Kelly found herself blushing. Never in her sixteen years had she thought herself ‘lucky’—more like being cursed—with her red, wiry hair. She sat down self-consciously as her father put out clean mugs. “It’s an awful nuisance,” she said. “But . . . but, thanks.”

“Poor Kelly’s been called ‘red’ and ‘carrot-top’ and all the other names people can dream up for redheads,” said her father. “She hates her hair, always has. When she read Anne of Green Gables, she ran around sighing for ‘auburn locks’. She even dyed it, the way Anne did in the book. Made her look as if she’d escaped from a circus. Her mother cut it off, really short, and when it grew back it had all that frizz to it.”

“Dad!” Kelly said sharply, annoyed at him talking about her as if she weren’t there. Then, to change the subject, she asked David, “Have you been here long? With the group at the farm, I mean?”

“Just a few weeks,” he answered.

“David’s been sick,” said his uncle. “Mononucleosis. He’s in first year university, or was. Had to take some time off when he got sick. His mother thought the Cariboo air would fix him up, so she sent him up here.”

“Hey!” said David, “Do we get to talk about you two now? Come on.” He and Kelly shared a grin. “Parents and uncles can be so tactful at times, can’t they?” he said, shaking his head.

“Anyway,” George went on, hesitant, not sure if he was on safe conversational ground, “anyway, he’s much better, and we’ve been keeping him busy.”

“That’s an understatement,” said David. “I’ll have to have a relapse to get any rest. But I’ve almost learned how to milk a cow. The cows can’t wait until I really get the hang of it.”

“He’s not doing badly—for a city boy,” laughed George. “Except he’s started seeing things in the barn. Guess the mono’s got to his brain.”

“Come on, Uncle George, I was only half awake this morning.”

“You saw something this morning?” asked Kelly. “What?”

“Well, I really wasn’t completely awake, and I was worried about the big cow that likes to kick, so I was distracted, but I could have sworn I saw a little girl in the corner of the barn. I thought at first that it was just one of the kids from our place, then I realized that she was much younger, only about two or three.”

Kelly and her father looked at each other in silence. Alan finally spoke. “What did she look like, David?”

“I didn’t see too well. The lights in the barn are kind of weak, and it was still dark outside, but she looked as if she was wearing a dress and boots, and she had lots of blonde hair.”

“What did she do?” Kelly asked, her voice strained. “Did she say anything?”

“No, she just stood there, didn’t make a sound. She had her hands out towards me, and I’ll swear she was going to cry. So I turned around, thinking that if she were going to cry maybe I shouldn’t stare at her, and when I looked again, she was gone.”

“Hallucinations, David,” said his uncle. “There aren’t any kids under six years old in Soda Creek.”

Kelly and her father exchanged looks again, and he shook his head slightly. Another person had seen the child who had visited Kelly, they were both sure of that. But why? As they stood there, silent, while David and his uncle looked puzzled, Kelly realized that there was only one explanation. The ghost was real, uncomfortably but undoubtedly real!

Alan seemed to forget that he had started a pot of coffee. He turned to George abruptly and said, “If we’re going to get that pump of yours thawed out and working by evening, we’d better get going.” He hurriedly left the room, heading to the basement to pick up his tool box.

George seemed bewildered by this sudden rush to get out of the house, but he picked up the patched denim jacket that he had slung over the back of his chair, and stood up.

David, however, didn’t seem at all inclined to leave. “Hey,” he said to Kelly, “What about that coffee your dad’s making?”

“I’ll get you some, if you want to stay for a while.” Kelly wanted him to stay, wanted to find out more about what he had seen in the barn that morning, but she didn’t want to talk about the ghost in front of George and her father. “Unless you have to help them with the pump.”

“I wouldn’t know which end of a pump the water comes out of,” David confessed. “They won’t let me help with that type of work.”

“Sure,” George said to David, “Sure. You stay here where it’s nice and warm and drink your coffee and think of your poor old uncle freezing his fingers off down in the well-house.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Kelly,” called Alan as he headed out the front door. “Perhaps you should show David that picture you drew last night?”

“Picture?” asked David. “You’re an artist?”

“Not really,” she said, “At least, not yet. I draw a bit, and I’m going to go to art school when I graduate, but I’m not nearly as good as my mother.”

“Where is your mother?” asked David. “I haven’t seen her yet.”

Something inside Kelly turned over and hurt. “She’s dead,” she answered. “For almost three years now.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I mean, Uncle George didn’t say anything. I’m sorry, Kelly.” He reached a hand out, as if he were going to touch her, then quickly drew it back. “I ... I guess I should head out now, maybe I can help with that pump or go talk to the cows or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Kelly. “There’s nothing wrong in you not knowing. Don’t worry about it.” She clenched her jaw, biting down hard on the hurt inside her, and poured David’s coffee. “Besides,” she went on, determined to change the subject, “besides, I think we should talk about what you saw this morning.”

“What I saw? Oh, the kid in the barn. Well, I guess she must be staying with someone around here and just wandered over. Maybe she wanted to see the cows. Maybe she wanted to watch me try to milk the cows. From the way everyone talks, that’s a very funny sight.”

“Your uncle was right, David,” said Kelly. “There isn’t a child under six closer than the reserve, a few miles down the road.”

“Who was it then?” asked David, now serious. “She wasn’t lost, was she? I didn’t mean to ignore her, but. . .”

“Maybe she is lost,” said Kelly, “but you couldn’t have helped her find her way home.”

“What do you mean?” David’s coffee sat untouched on the table. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t laugh, David, just answer me. Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Ghosts?” David looked startled. “No. I don’t. Or at least I don’t think I believe in them. I’ve never seen one.”

“You saw one this morning, David,” Kelly said softly. “You saw a ghost this morning.”