Ghosts Beneath Our Feet (7 page)

“I'm sorry about today,” Katie said.

“Thanks.” Jay didn't look at her. “Not your problem.”

“Whatever happened, I bet it was that Skip Poldeen's fault.”

Jay swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “Nothing happened,” he growled, “nothing important. And now I'm grounded for a whole week! And I'm not supposed to hang around with Skip anymore.”

“I'm sorry,” Katie said again. “I didn't tell Mom about him, except for his name.”

“It doesn't matter. The guy who owned the cottage recognized Skip, and someone else told the sheriff I was with him. We didn't do any damage to the darned cottage—we were just trying to keep dry. Oh, and we opened a can of beans while we were waiting for the rain to stop. Big deal!”

“You were on somebody else's property.…”

“I know all that. I know it!” Jay sounded desperate. “Everybody says ‘Enjoy yourself—have fun!' But when I do—forget it.” His voice shook. “Your mother hates me.”

Katie gasped. “She doesn't! That's an awful thing to say.”

“Sure, she does. Why not? I'm nothing but trouble to her. She's stuck with me, right?”

“Wrong!” They stared at each other.

“One of these days,” Jay continued unsteadily, “she's going to get fed up and tell me to get lost. You'll see. When she married my dad, I was just part of the package. Well, that's okay. I don't need anyone looking after me. I can just—”

There were tears in his eyes. Katie looked away, not wanting to see. This must be Jay's secret worry—the problem he'd hinted at that first night in Newquay. She longed to comfort him, but didn't know what to say.

She changed the subject. “Joan and I went to the mine shaft house this morning. It's really a spooky place.”

Jay cleared his throat. “So?”

“So it's really weird! When the wind blows a certain way, you can hear moaning and crying in the shaft. Joan says it's supposed to be the spirits of the miners who died down there.”

Jay leaned back on his elbows, looking exhausted. “You're a goofy kid, you know that? Always hearing strange sounds! You've got a thing about underground ghosts.”

“No, I haven't,” Katie said. “But I did hear a noise in the backyard the other night, no matter what you think. The sounds in the shaft—well, that was just the wind, I know. There's something else, though.” She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Just as I was crawling out the window of the shaft house, I looked back and saw a girl watching me. She had long blond hair, and she put out her hand to me as if she wanted something.”

“Another ghost, huh?”

“I don't know. Joan went back to look, but whatever-it-was was gone.”

“It was probably one of the Newquay kids trying to scare the girl from the big city. You ought to write ghost stories—you've got the imagination for it.” He leaned forward, suddenly intent. “Does your mother know you were in that shaft house?”

“No.”

“Did she even ask where you went?”

“She knew Joan and I were going exploring.”

“But not to the shaft house. You didn't tell her that. You didn't tell her you broke into an old building with a hole in the floor a couple of thousand feet deep.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Katie protested. “It wasn't dangerous. There's a big iron gate in front of the shaft. And we didn't hurt anything.”

Jay stood up and went to stare out the window. “The point is, she doesn't cross-examine you every time
you
go out the door. You were on somebody else's property as much as I was, but nobody hassled you about it. She doesn't
expect
you to get in trouble. Why is it I can't even turn around without getting yelled at?”

Because you do get in trouble
, Katie cried silently.
And my mom never had a son before, and she's afraid of messing up
. But she knew there was some truth in what Jay said. Her mother did assume that Katie would behave herself, and that Jay wouldn't.

“You could try to show her she's wrong,” Katie suggested timidly.

“You mean be a good boy and let her boss me around.” He turned to her with an angry smile. “I've got one friend in this stupid town, and now I'm not supposed to see him anymore. He's the only person who isn't half dead—”

“Just because he rides a motorcycle!”

“That's part of it! I told you before—I hate this place. All I want is to go back to Milwaukee. But as long as I'm here, I'm going to have some fun, and nobody's going to stop me. Not the sheriff and not
her
!”

Katie wanted to slap him for that insulting
her
. “You're so dumb you don't know when people are trying to help you,” she snapped. “You make me sick!” She marched out of the room and across the hall, trembling with rage.

Jay's voice followed her. “You're the one who's sick. You're psycho! I may be dumb, but at least I don't see spooks around every corner and hear 'em under every rock.”

Mrs. Blaine came upstairs an hour later. By that time Katie was in bed. She didn't want to talk to her mother or to anyone else. She just wanted to be alone.

She heard her mother go down the hall to her room, then to the bathroom, then return to Katie's door. The knob turned, and Katie closed her eyes. After a moment the door clicked shut, and the footsteps retreated.

As the house became still, all the sounds of the summer night crowded in. An owl hooted, and insects banged against the screen. Far off, an airplane droned. Boards creaked. Katie tried to get to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come. Too much had happened today. The blond ghost-girl in the shaft house, the piercing eyes of the sheriff, Jay's fierce scowl—she saw them all when she closed her eyes.

Finally she gave up.
The Sinking of the Titanic
was down in the library; she might as well read if she couldn't sleep. She slipped out of bed and found the flashlight her mother had stowed in her dresser drawer “for emergencies.” Then she opened the door and tiptoed into the hall.

The flashlight made a narrow tunnel of light. She waited for a minute to make sure no one had heard her, and then she started toward the stairs. As she moved, there was a shushing sound behind her, and a sudden chill in the air. She whirled around, pointing the flashlight. There in the mirror at the end of the hall was the girl with the golden hair. As Katie stared; frozen, the girl took a hobbling step toward her and raised her hand.

Chapter Ten

The girl's eyes were sad, yet full of purpose. Even though her mother and Jay were only a few feet away, Katie felt as if she and the figure in the mirror were alone in the world. The girl's lips moved, and Katie strained for a message she couldn't hear. The words were important, but she couldn't understand them. The pale hand lifted in a sweeping motion, and the girl shook her head. Katie moaned in frustration.

“Katie!” Mrs. Blaine came out of her room. “What in the world are you doing? I thought you were sound asleep.”

“I—I wanted to read for a while. My book is down in the library.” Katie lowered the beam of light; the mirror was empty now except for her own reflection and her mother's.

“Well, you're heading in the wrong direction, dear heart. Hurry on down if you must, but please do be quiet. Uncle Frank needs his rest.”

Katie did as she was told. When she returned the hall was empty. Shakily she directed the flashlight at the mirror. Nothing. She went into her bedroom and closed the door.

Shadows retreated as she swung the flashlight in a slow circle, lingering longest on the mirror over the dresser. “I'm really sorry,” she whispered into the dark. “I tried to understand, but I couldn't.”

Now that she had time to think about what had happened, she felt more regret than fear. The ghost-girl had looked wistful, eager to communicate. Seeing her had been a shock, but as Katie climbed into bed, she found herself hoping the girl would appear again.

I've seen a ghost
, she thought, full of wonder.
It doesn't matter what Joan says or Jay says—or anybody. It really happened! I've seen her twice, and she wants to tell me something. I'm going to lie here all night and figure out what it is
.

It was the last thought she had until morning.

When Katie went downstairs to breakfast, she half expected the others to notice a difference in her. Of course, no one would believe her if she told them about seeing the girl in the mirror—not her mother, fussing over Uncle Frank and coaxing him to drink all of his orange juice, and certainly not Jay, slumped in his chair, eyes down as usual. Katie didn't care. Something mysterious had happened between her and the girl in the mirror. The ghost had a message to tell, and she'd chosen Katie to help her.

Katie was washing the breakfast dishes and Uncle Frank was dozing over his coffee when Joan appeared at the back door.

“My ma says come for dinner with us this noon,” she announced. “She said to tell you we're havin' star-gazzy pie.”

“Having what?”

“Star-gazzy pie. It's Cornish. Ma says you should try it while you're in Newquay.”

Katie motioned Joan to the table and poured two glasses of milk. She sat down, then jumped up again to fill a plate with the oatmeal cookies her mother had baked yesterday. “Why do they call it star-gazzy pie?” she asked. “That's a funny name.”

“Funny dish, that's why,” Uncle Frank muttered, rousing. “'Oo are you then, missy?”

“Joan. Joan Trelawny.”

“Nancy's girl?” He peered at her.

“Her granddaughter.”

“Well.” He helped himself to a cookie and dunked it in his coffee. “I wouldn't put it past Nancy Trelawny to serve up star-gazzy pie at that,” he said. “Always kept one foot in Old Country, she 'as.” His face dimmed, as if he were remembering the message Gram had sent him.

“But what
is
it?” Katie demanded. “Somebody please tell me.” She looked at Uncle Frank.

“These cookies are good,” Joan said innocently. “I could eat 'em all.”

“I'll tell ye what star-gazzy pie is,” Uncle Frank offered. “My gram and 'er ma before 'er used to make 'em in Old Country when times was 'ard. Which they mostly were. Make a pie crust, you do, and put fish in it, and drop 'nother crust on top. Leave the 'eads and tails stickin' out, and them little eyes is just gazin' up—”

“At the stars!” Katie shuddered. “Star-gazzy pie! I've just decided I can't come for lunch. Thanks, anyway.”

Joan giggled, and Uncle Frank actually smiled.

“If we don't have star-gazzy pie, will you come?” Joan asked. “I think my ma might change her mind. In fact, she's already making something else.”

“I'll check.” Katie ran upstairs to ask her mother. Jay's bedroom door was open, his bed neatly made.

“He's going to cut the grass around the house,” Mrs. Blaine said. “I found a scythe in the basement yesterday, and there's a hand-powered mower in fairly good shape. He's grounded, you know,” she added.

She listened absent-mindedly as Katie asked if she could go to the Trelawnys' for dinner.

“I guess so, hon. We'll miss you, but I'm glad you've found a nice friend.” She looked again into Jay's room and sighed. “I just wish …”

Katie hugged her mother and ran back downstairs, unwilling to think anymore about how unhappy Jay was.

Ed Trelawny was as tall as Joan even though he was a year younger. He and Lillian, a small redheaded copy of her big sister, sat at the kitchen table and ate steadily, their eyes seldom leaving Katie's face. Mr. Trelawny, tall, sunburned, with thick gray brows over eyes as black as Gram's, watched her, too. She might have been uncomfortable, except that all three of them smiled whenever she looked at them.

“You never had pasties before then, missy,” Mr. Trelawny commented during a pause in the girls' chatter. He looked down at the golden-brown pastry that nearly filled his plate, trying to imagine what a world without pasties would be like.

“Never,” Katie admitted.

“And now that you've had one, do you like it?”

“Oh, yes.” She grinned at him shyly. “Lots better than I'd like star-gazzy pie, I'm sure.”

Mrs. Trelawny chuckled, and Ed and Lillian poked each other and snickered. Apparently the whole family had been in on the joke. Baby Patty, in a highchair between her mother and Gram, laughed out loud and beat the metal tray with her spoon.

“Put catsup on your pasty,” Lillian mumbled and turned red at her own boldness. “That makes it even better.”

“The thing about a pasty,” Mrs. Trelawny said, “is it's a whole meal in one dish. Meat and taters and all tucked up in a pocket of crust. The miners used to carry them in their lunch buckets when they went underground. That and a cup of tea was a feast, you see.”

“Pasties was better in Old Country,” Gram said suddenly. “These are good enough, but in Old Country—”

“Everything was better there, wasn't it, Gram?” Mrs. Trelawny's feelings weren't hurt at all.

“Most things,” Gram agreed. “Not everythin'. Got refrigerators now—don't 'ave to worry about piskies turnin' the milk sour or spoilin' the puddin'.”

Katie looked at Joan.

“Piskies are like elves, or Irish leprechauns, only they're Cornish,” Joan explained.

Gram pointed a finger at Katie. “You 'eard the knackers again?” she demanded. “It's gettin' on the very date when the accident 'appened down there in the mine. July sixteenth it was, thirty years back. A sad day, a miserable day for Frank Pendarra and all of Newquay.”

Mrs. Trelawny put out a warning hand. “Gram, please, no talk about knackers. You promised. It's wicked to pretend poor old Frank's son has become some evil little creature livin' on down there in the mine.”