She knew what was in Tim’s mind. He was thinking of his own daughter, Lisa, eleven years old, but so different from Michelle Pendleton that comparison was nearly impossible.
Tim liked to believe that Lisa’s problems stemmed from the fact that she was “different” from her school friends: her mother had died five years earlier. In all charity, Corinne admitted that was partly true. The death of her mother had been hard on Lisa, even harder than it had been on Tim.
At six, she had been too young to understand what had happened. Until the end, she had refused to believe her mother was dying, and when at last the inevitable had happened, it had been almost too much for her.
She had blamed her father, and Tim, distressed, had begun to spoil her. Lisa, from a happy six-year-old, had grown into a sullen eleven-year-old, uncooperative, listless, a loner.
“Do you have to be home this afternoon?” Corinne asked carefully, hoping Tim wouldn’t follow the train of thought that had brought her to what seemed an irrelevant question.
Suddenly, as if Corinne’s thoughts had summoned her, Lisa came into the classroom. She glanced quickly at Corinne. Her face, which should have been pretty, was pinched into an expression of suspicion and hostility. Corinne made herself smile at Lisa, but Lisa’s dark eyes, nearly hidden under too long bangs, gave no hint of friendliness. She turned quickly to her father. When she spoke, her words sounded to Corinne more like an ultimatum than a request.
“I’m going home with Alison Adams, and having dinner there. Is it all right?”
Tim frowned, but agreed to Lisa’s plans. A small smile of satisfaction on her face, Lisa left the room as quickly as she had come in. When she was gone, Tim looked rueful.
“Well, I guess I have the rest of the day,” he said. He had wanted to share the afternoon with his daughter, but there was no bitterness in his voice, only sadness and defeat. Then, reading Corinne’s expression of disapproval, he tried to make the best of it.
“At least she told me what she’s up to,” he said crookedly. He shook his head. “I’m a pretty good psychologist,” he went on, “but as a father, I ain’t so terrific, huh?”
Corinne decided to ignore the question. If it wasn’t for Lisa, and Lisa’s clear dislike of Corinne, she and Tim probably would have been married two years ago. But Lisa ran Tim and had managed, to her own delight, to become a sore spot between Corinne and Tim. “I bought some steaks,” she said brightly, linking an arm through Tim’s and steering him toward the door. “Just in case you could come over this evening. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Together, they left the school building. As they emerged into the soft summer afternoon, Corinne breathed deeply of the warm, sweet air, and looked happily around at the spreading oaks and maples, their leaves still a vibrant green.
“I love it here,” she said. “I really do!”
“I love it here — I really do!” Michelle exclaimed, unknowingly echoing the words her teacher had just uttered. Beside her, Sally Carstairs and Jeff Benson exchanged a glance, and rolled their eyes up in disgust.
“It’s a tank town,” Jeff complained. “Nothing ever happens here.”
“Where would you rather live?” Michelle challenged him.
“Wood’s Hole,” Jeff announced without hesitation.
“Wood’s Hole?” Sally repeated. “What’s that?”
“I want to go to school there,” Jeff said placidly. “At the Institute of Oceanography.”
“How boring,” Sally said airily. “And it probably isn’t any different from the Point. I can hardly wait to get out of here.”
“You probably won’t,” Jeff teased. “You’ll probably die here, like everybody else.”
“No, I won’t,” Sally insisted. “You just wait. You’ll see.”
The three of them were walking along the bluff. As they drew near the Bensons’, Michelle asked Jeff if he wanted to come home with her.
Jeff glanced at his house and saw his mother standing at the door, watching him. Then he shifted his gaze, passing over the old cemetery, and coming to rest on the roof of the Pendleton house, just visible beyond the trees. He remembered everything his mother had ever told him about the cemetery and that house. “I don’t think so,” he decided. “I promised Mom I’d mow the lawn this afternoon.”
“Oh, come on,” Michelle urged him. “You never come over to my house.”
“I will,” Jeff said. “But not today. I–I just don’t have time.”
A glint of mischief came into Sally’s eyes. She nudged Michelle with her elbow.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice carefully innocent. “Are you afraid of the cemetery?”
“No, I’m not afraid of the cemetery,” Jeff snapped. By now they were in front of his house, and he was about to start up the driveway. Sally stopped him with her next words, though she directed them to Michelle.
“There’s supposed to be a ghost in the cemetery. Jeff’s probably afraid of it.”
“A ghost? I never heard that,” Michelle said.
“It isn’t true, anyway,” Jeff told her. “I’ve lived here all my life, and if there was a ghost, I would have seen it. And I haven’t, so there isn’t any ghost.”
“You saying so doesn’t make it so,” Sally argued.
“And you saying there
“There’s the graveyard! Let’s go in!”
Michelle looked over at the tiny cemetery choked with weeds. Until today, she had only glanced at it from the car.
“I don’t know,” she said, peering uneasily at the overgrown graves.
“Oh, come on,” Sally urged. “Let’s go in.” She started toward a place where the low picket fence surrounding the cemetery had collapsed to the ground.
Michelle started to follow her, then stopped. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”
“Why not? Maybe we’ll see the ghost!”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Michelle said. “But it just seems like we ought to leave it alone. Who’s buried there, anyway?”
“Lots of people. Mostly Uncle Joe’s family. All the Carsons are buried out here. Except the last ones — they’re buried in town. Come on — the gravestones are neat.”
“Not now.” Michelle cast around in her mind for some way to distract Sally. She wasn’t sure why, but the graveyard frightened her. “I’m hungry. Let’s go to my house and get something to eat. Then maybe later we can come back here.”
Sally seemed reluctant to give up the expedition, but at Michelle’s insistence, she gave in. The two girls continued along the path for a while, in an uneasy silence that Michelle finally broke.
“Is there really supposed to be a ghost?”
“I’m not sure,” Sally replied. “Some people say there is, and some people say there isn’t.”
“Who’s the ghost supposed to be?”
“A girl who lived here a long time ago.”
“What happened to her? Why is she still here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think anybody knows. Nobody’s even sure if she’s really here or not.”
“Have you ever seen her?”
“No,” Sally said, with a hesitation so slight that Michelle wasn’t certain she’d even heard it.
A few minutes later the two girls slammed through the back door into the immense kitchen, where June was kneading a loaf of bread. “You two hungry?” she asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“There’re cookies in the jar, and milk’s in the refrigerator. Wash your hands first, though. Both of you.” June turned back to her dough, ignoring the look of exasperation that passed between Michelle and Sally at the reminder of the childhood they were becoming eager to leave behind. Yet neither of them considered the possibility of ignoring the order. In a moment, June heard the tap running in the kitchen sink.
“We’ll be up in my room,” Michelle said as she poured two glasses of milk and heaped a plate with
