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Authors: Charlotte MacLeod
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though it doesn’t seem to matter one way or the other. I hang the key on a string around my neck because they say iron’s a charm against witches. Laugh if you want to.”
“I’m not laughing,” said Holly. Annie Blodgett might be a naive country woman, but she certainly had her wits about her. “And you say nothing is ever moved or taken away?”
“Never once. I’ll admit my eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I’ve got Earl and his inventory to back me up. He’d squawk fast enough if he found anything missing. No dearie, the only explanation that makes sense to me is a ghost. I don’t know if it’s Uncle Jonathan or Aunt Maude or Cousin Edith or who, but I say it’s a Parlett.”
“What does Bert say?”
“Nothing much I’d care to repeat,” Annie answered primly, “but he’s as stumped as I am.”
“And Claudine?”
“Tells me to say my prayers and keep my door locked, as if I needed to be told.”
“Then they both—” Holly hesitated, not sure how to go on without hurting Annie’s feelings.
“They don’t think I’m dreaming, the way Earl Stoodley does, if that’s what you’re driving at. They know me, you see.”
Holly nodded. She understood now why both Bert and Claudine had shown such a peculiar mixture of eagerness and hesitation about finding a companion for Annie. She ought to resent being put on the spot like this, but she didn’t. For once, she was finding herself needed as a responsive human being instead of merely a prop to dress a stage or focus a lens on. She gave Annie a little hug.
“If it’s one of the Parletts, you shouldn’t have to worry about coming to any harm. You’ve done plenty for them over the years, haven’t you?”
“I’ve done the best I could, dearie, and I’ll keep on as long as the Lord spares me and the family needs me.”
They got to bed at last. Annie must have passed a peaceful night, for Holly never got waked up. She slept until almost eight o’clock, but the extra sleep left her surprisingly unrefreshed. Annie, on the other hand, was chipper as a sparrow.
“That’s the first decent night’s rest I’ve had since I can remember when. Set yourself down, dearie, and let me fix you a nice bowl of porridge. I’ve already fed Mrs. Parlett.”
Holly shuddered at the lumpy, gluey gray mass Annie was offering. “Thanks, but I’d rather have toast and a boiled egg, if we have any.”
“Land, yes, eggs enough to start our own henyard. They’re in that brown crockery bowl in the pantry.”
She started to go for the eggs but Holly stopped her. “I’ll do it, Annie. You shouldn’t be waiting on me. I meant to be down in time to cook breakfast for you.”
“Ah, it takes an old fox to beat a young chicken,” Annie bubbled. “You sure you won’t have any porridge? You young things, always fussing about your figures! When I was a girl, boys liked a girl with a waist they could really get hold of. Land alive! Aunt Maude must be rolling over in her grave, me saying a thing like that. Anyway, dearie, you’d better eat hearty. We’ve a big day ahead of us.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
“Professor Cawne telephoned just a little while before you came down. He’s coming out here with Earl Stoodley to take pictures, and he says you’re going to be in on it.”
Holly dropped her egg into the pan too quickly and cracked the shell. “Blast! Yes, I did promise to help but I thought he’d give me a day or so to get squared away first. I don’t know what shots he’s planning to take, what he wants for props or backgrounds—”
Since Annie didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about and since she couldn’t do anything now anyway except muddle through, Holly quit sputtering and concentrated on making toast the way Annie showed her. You speared a slice of bread with a long fork, lifted a stove lid, and held the bread close to the shimmering red embers just long enough, but not too long or you’d wind up with
“I’m not laughing,” said Holly. Annie Blodgett might be a naive country woman, but she certainly had her wits about her. “And you say nothing is ever moved or taken away?”
“Never once. I’ll admit my eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I’ve got Earl and his inventory to back me up. He’d squawk fast enough if he found anything missing. No dearie, the only explanation that makes sense to me is a ghost. I don’t know if it’s Uncle Jonathan or Aunt Maude or Cousin Edith or who, but I say it’s a Parlett.”
“What does Bert say?”
“Nothing much I’d care to repeat,” Annie answered primly, “but he’s as stumped as I am.”
“And Claudine?”
“Tells me to say my prayers and keep my door locked, as if I needed to be told.”
“Then they both—” Holly hesitated, not sure how to go on without hurting Annie’s feelings.
“They don’t think I’m dreaming, the way Earl Stoodley does, if that’s what you’re driving at. They know me, you see.”
Holly nodded. She understood now why both Bert and Claudine had shown such a peculiar mixture of eagerness and hesitation about finding a companion for Annie. She ought to resent being put on the spot like this, but she didn’t. For once, she was finding herself needed as a responsive human being instead of merely a prop to dress a stage or focus a lens on. She gave Annie a little hug.
“If it’s one of the Parletts, you shouldn’t have to worry about coming to any harm. You’ve done plenty for them over the years, haven’t you?”
“I’ve done the best I could, dearie, and I’ll keep on as long as the Lord spares me and the family needs me.”
They got to bed at last. Annie must have passed a peaceful night, for Holly never got waked up. She slept until almost eight o’clock, but the extra sleep left her surprisingly unrefreshed. Annie, on the other hand, was chipper as a sparrow.
“That’s the first decent night’s rest I’ve had since I can remember when. Set yourself down, dearie, and let me fix you a nice bowl of porridge. I’ve already fed Mrs. Parlett.”
Holly shuddered at the lumpy, gluey gray mass Annie was offering. “Thanks, but I’d rather have toast and a boiled egg, if we have any.”
“Land, yes, eggs enough to start our own henyard. They’re in that brown crockery bowl in the pantry.”
She started to go for the eggs but Holly stopped her. “I’ll do it, Annie. You shouldn’t be waiting on me. I meant to be down in time to cook breakfast for you.”
“Ah, it takes an old fox to beat a young chicken,” Annie bubbled. “You sure you won’t have any porridge? You young things, always fussing about your figures! When I was a girl, boys liked a girl with a waist they could really get hold of. Land alive! Aunt Maude must be rolling over in her grave, me saying a thing like that. Anyway, dearie, you’d better eat hearty. We’ve a big day ahead of us.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
“Professor Cawne telephoned just a little while before you came down. He’s coming out here with Earl Stoodley to take pictures, and he says you’re going to be in on it.”
Holly dropped her egg into the pan too quickly and cracked the shell. “Blast! Yes, I did promise to help but I thought he’d give me a day or so to get squared away first. I don’t know what shots he’s planning to take, what he wants for props or backgrounds—”
Since Annie didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about and since she couldn’t do anything now anyway except muddle through, Holly quit sputtering and concentrated on making toast the way Annie showed her. You speared a slice of bread with a long fork, lifted a stove lid, and held the bread close to the shimmering red embers just long enough, but not too long or you’d wind up with
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