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

Carleton.
    â€œHey!” the kid cried, dropping the silverware with a clatter. “That’s cold!”
    The ghost stared at me, and I looked away, trying to ignore my shaking hand as I put a glass at the place Nicole had just set.
    Darting suddenly, the ghost appeared on the far side of me, beside Nicole. She shrieked, and the last dishes crashed to the table.
    â€œWhat is it?” Mrs. Hambrick cried, running into the dining room. “Nicole—how could you?”
    The bottom plate was fine, but the top one was cracked. Nicole looked at it, shaking her head, her eyes wide. Beyond her, the ghost looked at me.
    â€œI didn’t do anything!” Nicole told her. “There was this gust of cold air and—and—the plates suddenly turned cold. I mean—they felt like they’d just come out of the freezer or something! My hands felt numb, and I guess I just couldn’t hold the plates. I didn’t mean to!” She looked at me sharply. “Maybe he did something. I never broke anything before!”
    Mrs. Hambrick sighed. “Don’t blame someone else to excuse yourself, Nicole.”
    â€œBut—but—” Nicole spluttered. I just stood there holding the glasses. I couldn’t tell them I was being haunted. Who’d believe me? But I felt bad. In a way, I guess it was my fault she’d cracked the plate.
    Suddenly, the ghost turned and headed for the window. The sets of wind chimes hanging there exploded into noise, and Mrs. Hambrick jumped.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Dad asked, appearing in the doorway wearing oven mitts. “Why’s it so cold in here?”
    â€œI have no idea,” Mrs. Hambrick said, unsteadily. “A freak wind, I suppose.” She glanced at me uneasily, then went into the kitchen with Nicole. I just stood there clutching the glasses, waiting for the ghost to swoop over me.
    He faced me, his black eyes pools of sadness. “I can’t just go back to Fort Stedman and pretend I didn’t find you. I’ve been waiting for so long that my life before seems nothing but a dream, and the waiting is the only thing real. I have to tell you my story—and you have to listen.”
    Part of me wanted to say okay, I’d do it. I’d thought seeing ghosts was wonderful, but having them need me to help them was frightening. I put down the last glasses and headed to the kitchen.
    The ghost called after me. “I’ll be waiting for you, Alexander.”

Chapter Seven
    W HEN R ICHESON C AME M ARCHING H OME
    It was still light when I carried my recorder and sheet music out to the porch after we cleaned up from supper. It had been a slow meal, with lots of food I pushed around on my plate in between passing serving bowls. I could barely eat the country ham. It tasted salty and my mouth felt too dry. Dad and Mrs. Hambrick were talking about some computer company in a place called Research Triangle Park, and Carleton chattered away at Nicole. She was still steamed about the cracked plate, and I had to be extra careful myself, helping her load the dishwasher, because my hands were shaking. All I could think of was the ghost waiting for me.
    I took my recorder so I’d have an excuse to go off alone, but I didn’t need one. Dad and Mrs. Hambrick were sitting in the living room together, and nobody asked me where I was going. The smell of oranges drenched the porch when I stepped outside, and the ghost floated a little above the porch rail, as if he were sitting there. I wanted to tell him okay, I’d listen, but I couldn’t frame the words.
    I slid the pieces of my recorder together and tried to play a song by heart, a Shaker tune I liked, “Simple Gifts.” The notes were meant to be played smoothly, but my breath came in jerks and the rhythm fell apart. I was scared of the ghost and ashamed of myself and angry, too—angry at Dad for bringing me here, and even angry at Mom, for once—angry