Read Online Ghost Soldier by Elaine Marie Alphin - Free Book Online

mother’s voice, though. I feel something damp on my cheek and wonder if I’m crying because my mother’s gone, even in my dreams.
    â€œWhy did you sleep with your clothes on?”
    I blinked at the daylight, then quickly looked around for the ghost. Carleton was the only one in the room, sitting cross-legged on his bed and squeezing his red stuffed tyrannosaurus. “You’re all wrinkled,” he added.
    I looked down at my sweatshirt and jeans. He was right—they made me look like a prune.
    Feeling a lump near the end of the bed, I pulled the squashed green stegosaurus out from underneath the covers (how in the world did it get down there?), climbed out of bed, and stumbled toward the bathroom. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t woken up in time to run.
    I could go out and run now, but I felt too exhausted. It was as if I’d lived a whole life in the night—someone else’s life, in a farmhouse, with a sister who laughed. I didn’t know where the snow and the cribbage boards and the card games fit into that life. I didn’t even know whose life it was. Could the ghost haunt my dreams now?
    *   *   *
    There was no sign of the Hambricks when I got downstairs and the van had disappeared—maybe they all went to church. There was also no sign of Dad, and I didn’t want to look for him. I was afraid I’d find out he’d gone with them. I made a fresh peanut butter and marmalade sandwich for breakfast and headed out onto the porch.
    The ghost was standing in the backyard, floating just above the patch of poison ivy. “This yard needs tending if you expect to put in any crops,” he said, his tone disapproving. “Is this what you meant when you said you needed help also?”
    I dropped my sandwich and stumbled back inside, but the ghost was suddenly beside me in the hallway.
    â€œRed—listen to me. I know you can hear me. I need to know about my family. You can understand that, can’t you? All I need is a little help—then you can forget you ever saw me.”
    I understood—but how could I help him? I headed into the kitchen and was surprised to see Nicole at the refrigerator, pouring herself a glass of apple juice.
    â€œWhat is this, return of the living dead?” she asked, looking me over as she sipped her juice.
    A brisk breeze suddenly swirled around the wind chimes, setting the butterflies and hummingbirds pealing at full volume. Nicole almost dropped her glass.
    â€œMake it stop!” she shouted.
    I swiped my hand at the chimes, tangling them, then jerked the window down. The racket level dropped as if I’d hit the volume control on a remote.
    I turned and saw tears in Nicole’s eyes.
    â€œSo what’s with all the wind chimes?” I asked, looking away.
    She set the glass down and swiped at her eyes. “Mom … always liked them,” she said softly. “She told me she liked the precision of the notes in the wind and the fun shapes the chimes come in. Daddy knew it, and he’d look for new chimes he thought would make her smile. We’d go together to flea markets or novelty stores, and he’d see something and show it to me. ‘Do you think Mom would like this one?’ he’d ask. Then he’d buy it for her.”
    Her voice quavered, and Nicole picked up the glass and took a long drink. “After he died, Mom and I were going through the things in his workshop, and we found all these boxes of chimes—more than a dozen—that he hadn’t even given her yet. She sat down on a stool and cried. Then she hung the chimes up—everywhere. I hate them! I wouldn’t let her hang any of them out on the porch, because that’s my place to sit. But she’s put them everywhere else.”
    She glanced at me, then quickly looked away. “Having them all up means he’s never coming back,” she said.
    I didn’t know how to tell her I