Read Online Wait Till Helen Comes by Mary Downing Hahn - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Downing Hahn
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Mr. Maypo. Mom and I were both glad when he left for Timbuctoo." I took another sip of hot chocolate. "But this is different, Michael. You were only three when you had Mr. Maypo. Heather's seven. It's just not normal."
"Well, she's not normal. You know that, and I know that, but Mom and Dave just won't admit it." Michael looked into his mug. "Ugh. Skin. I hate it when my hot chocolate gets skin on it!"
While he skimmed the surface of his hot chocolate with a spoon, I sipped mine thoughtfully. "But Michael," I said slowly, "suppose she's not making it up. Suppose Helen is real."
"Oh, Molly, honestly." Michael looked disgusted. "Ghosts do not exist. The kid is lying, and you're encouraging her. Can't you see? She's littler than we are, and she wants to make us think she's got some supernatural friend who'll beat us up or something if we're mean to her. It's so obvious; any idiot should be able to figure it out."
"Thanks a lot!" I felt my face turn red. "I'm not an idiot. If anybody is, you are!" I jumped up and went to the sink to rinse my cup.
"Hey, I'm sorry," Michael mumbled. "I'm just tired of hearing all this ghost talk."
"Maybe I have some kind of sixth sense that you don't have," I said. "Did you ever think of that?" I frowned at him, not ready to forgive him for calling me an idiot.
He shrugged. "Suppose we ride our bikes into Holwell and go to the library? I bet they have a book or something that would tell us all about that old house. Once you see that nobody named Helen Elizabeth Harper ever lived there, maybe you'll realize what a liar Heather is."
"Do you want to go right now?" I squinted at the sky, trying to decide if it was going to rain any more today.
"Sure. I think we've had our thirty percent shower, don't you?"
We got our bikes out from under the porch and rode down Clark Road toward town. It was a long way, and I was glad the rain had cooled things off. On a hot day, I would never have made it up some of the hills between our house and Holwell.
We found the library on a quiet street near the park and locked our bikes. Inside it was small and friendly, more like a living room in somebody's house than a library. Except for all the books, of course. There were hundreds of them, jammed into shelves lining the walls and forming alcoves near the windows.
"Can I help you find something?" a woman asked as I began riffling through the card catalogue.
"I hope so." Michael smiled up at her. "My sister and I just moved into an old church out on Clark Road and when we were out in the woods today, we found the ruins of an old house. It looked like it burned down a long time ago. We just wondered if you had any information about it."
"Oh, yes." The librarian smiled. "I know what house you mean."
She led us to a row of file cabinets at the back of the room. "We have several files on historical homes in and around Holwell," she said, flicking through the folders in one of the drawers. "Is this the house?"
She laid a newspaper clipping down on the table where we could see it. "It burned down about a hundred years ago. A terrible fire," she murmured, pointing to a blurred photograph of the house by the pond.
"One of our local historians wrote this article several years ago." Setting the clipping aside before I had a chance to read it, she produced an old photograph. "Here is the house before it burned," she said. "Lovely isn't it?"
I nodded. In the picture I saw a big stone house, standing on a hill with a lawn sweeping down to a pond. On the terrace sat three people: a man, a woman, and a girl. The man and woman sat close together, their hands clasped, but the girl sat apart, her face turned away. I stared at it, wishing the people were bigger and easier to see.
"That's Mr. and Mrs. Miller," the librarian said, pointing to the man and woman.
Michael nudged me, and I smiled, relieved that their name was Miller, not Harper. But the librarian wasn't quite finished. "And this," she went on, her finger
"Well, she's not normal. You know that, and I know that, but Mom and Dave just won't admit it." Michael looked into his mug. "Ugh. Skin. I hate it when my hot chocolate gets skin on it!"
While he skimmed the surface of his hot chocolate with a spoon, I sipped mine thoughtfully. "But Michael," I said slowly, "suppose she's not making it up. Suppose Helen is real."
"Oh, Molly, honestly." Michael looked disgusted. "Ghosts do not exist. The kid is lying, and you're encouraging her. Can't you see? She's littler than we are, and she wants to make us think she's got some supernatural friend who'll beat us up or something if we're mean to her. It's so obvious; any idiot should be able to figure it out."
"Thanks a lot!" I felt my face turn red. "I'm not an idiot. If anybody is, you are!" I jumped up and went to the sink to rinse my cup.
"Hey, I'm sorry," Michael mumbled. "I'm just tired of hearing all this ghost talk."
"Maybe I have some kind of sixth sense that you don't have," I said. "Did you ever think of that?" I frowned at him, not ready to forgive him for calling me an idiot.
He shrugged. "Suppose we ride our bikes into Holwell and go to the library? I bet they have a book or something that would tell us all about that old house. Once you see that nobody named Helen Elizabeth Harper ever lived there, maybe you'll realize what a liar Heather is."
"Do you want to go right now?" I squinted at the sky, trying to decide if it was going to rain any more today.
"Sure. I think we've had our thirty percent shower, don't you?"
We got our bikes out from under the porch and rode down Clark Road toward town. It was a long way, and I was glad the rain had cooled things off. On a hot day, I would never have made it up some of the hills between our house and Holwell.
We found the library on a quiet street near the park and locked our bikes. Inside it was small and friendly, more like a living room in somebody's house than a library. Except for all the books, of course. There were hundreds of them, jammed into shelves lining the walls and forming alcoves near the windows.
"Can I help you find something?" a woman asked as I began riffling through the card catalogue.
"I hope so." Michael smiled up at her. "My sister and I just moved into an old church out on Clark Road and when we were out in the woods today, we found the ruins of an old house. It looked like it burned down a long time ago. We just wondered if you had any information about it."
"Oh, yes." The librarian smiled. "I know what house you mean."
She led us to a row of file cabinets at the back of the room. "We have several files on historical homes in and around Holwell," she said, flicking through the folders in one of the drawers. "Is this the house?"
She laid a newspaper clipping down on the table where we could see it. "It burned down about a hundred years ago. A terrible fire," she murmured, pointing to a blurred photograph of the house by the pond.
"One of our local historians wrote this article several years ago." Setting the clipping aside before I had a chance to read it, she produced an old photograph. "Here is the house before it burned," she said. "Lovely isn't it?"
I nodded. In the picture I saw a big stone house, standing on a hill with a lawn sweeping down to a pond. On the terrace sat three people: a man, a woman, and a girl. The man and woman sat close together, their hands clasped, but the girl sat apart, her face turned away. I stared at it, wishing the people were bigger and easier to see.
"That's Mr. and Mrs. Miller," the librarian said, pointing to the man and woman.
Michael nudged me, and I smiled, relieved that their name was Miller, not Harper. But the librarian wasn't quite finished. "And this," she went on, her finger
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