Read Online Wait Till Helen Comes by Mary Downing Hahn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Downing Hahn
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Millers and Helen sitting on the porch, innocent of the terrible event that would soon destroy them. "Nevertheless, it was certainly a tragedy, wasn't it?"
As soon as Michael and I were outside, I turned to him. "Well, what do you have to say now?"
He shoved his glasses into place on his nose and frowned. "Heather must have talked to somebody, Molly. The last time Mr. Simmons came to mow the graveyard—he must have told her about Harper House."
"But, Michael, he didn't even know Helen's grave was there. He couldn't have told her what those initials stood for."
Michael shook his head and began to pedal his bike down the street toward home. "She's made it all up somehow," he yelled back at me. "I know it's not a ghost, Molly. It's just not possible."
"Wait for me, Michael," I shouted, pumping hard. "Don't go so fast!"
He slowed down and let me catch up, but I could tell he didn't want to talk about Harper House or Helen. The little wheels in his brain were spinning round and round, trying frantically to come up with a rational solution. I had a feeling that he was just as scared as I was, maybe even more scared because science didn't have an explanation for something like Helen.
All of a sudden, Michael slowed to a stop beside a road sign almost hidden by the honeysuckle climbing over it. "Look, Molly, this is Harper House Road." He pointed at a narrow dirt road curving up out of sight over a hill. "Let's see where it goes."
Before I could tell him that I'd had enough of Harper House for one day, if not for the rest of my life, he took off in a cloud of dust. Not wanting to ride home alone, I followed him, hoping the hill wouldn't be too steep for me. By the time I had huffed and puffed my way to the top, Michael was vanishing around a sharp curve at the bottom. Putting on my brakes, I flew after him, my hair blowing straight back from my face, sure I was going to shoot over my handlebars and split my head open. By a miracle, I managed to skid safely to a stop on a narrow stone bridge just behind Michael.
Mr. Simmons was so startled by our sudden appearance that he almost dropped his fishing pole. "Well, well," he said, "where did you two come from? Straight down out of the sky?"
"That house," Michael said, pointing to the ruins just visible through the trees. "Did you tell Heather about it?"
"Heather?" Mr. Simmons fiddled with his pipe for a moment, then puffed a fragrant cloud of smoke into the air. "You mean your little sister, the one who found the gravestone?"
Michael and I nodded, but Mr. Simmons shook his head. "I haven't seen her since then. And why would I tell her about Harper House? It ought to be torn down, if you ask me. It's a haven for all sorts of goings-on—a disgrace to the town of Holwell. No place for a child to play, that's for sure."
I looked at Michael, but his eyes shifted away from mine. From the frown on his face, I knew he was struggling to invent a new theory to explain Heather's knowing so much about Helen. Turning to Mr. Simmons, I asked him if he knew Harper House was haunted.
"Who told you that?" he asked.
"The lady at the library," Michael answered. "She showed us some old newspaper articles." Using his scornful scientist voice, he told Mr. Simmons what the librarian had said.
"Miss Williams told you all that?" Mr. Simmons laughed and shook his head. "She ought to have more sense. A grown woman scaring kids with ghost stories."
Michael frowned at Mr. Simmons. "She didn't scare me! I don't believe in that kind of stuff." Jerking his head toward me, he added, " She's the one who's scared to death of Helen. I don't know which one's worse, her or Heather."
"You're just fooling yourself, Michael!" Gripping the handlebars of my bike, I leaned toward him, angry that he'd made me look foolish in front of Mr. Simmons. "Helen is every bit as real as you are, and you know it!"
Mr. Simmons looked from me to Michael and then back at me. Pausing to fiddle with his pipe, he said,
As soon as Michael and I were outside, I turned to him. "Well, what do you have to say now?"
He shoved his glasses into place on his nose and frowned. "Heather must have talked to somebody, Molly. The last time Mr. Simmons came to mow the graveyard—he must have told her about Harper House."
"But, Michael, he didn't even know Helen's grave was there. He couldn't have told her what those initials stood for."
Michael shook his head and began to pedal his bike down the street toward home. "She's made it all up somehow," he yelled back at me. "I know it's not a ghost, Molly. It's just not possible."
"Wait for me, Michael," I shouted, pumping hard. "Don't go so fast!"
He slowed down and let me catch up, but I could tell he didn't want to talk about Harper House or Helen. The little wheels in his brain were spinning round and round, trying frantically to come up with a rational solution. I had a feeling that he was just as scared as I was, maybe even more scared because science didn't have an explanation for something like Helen.
All of a sudden, Michael slowed to a stop beside a road sign almost hidden by the honeysuckle climbing over it. "Look, Molly, this is Harper House Road." He pointed at a narrow dirt road curving up out of sight over a hill. "Let's see where it goes."
Before I could tell him that I'd had enough of Harper House for one day, if not for the rest of my life, he took off in a cloud of dust. Not wanting to ride home alone, I followed him, hoping the hill wouldn't be too steep for me. By the time I had huffed and puffed my way to the top, Michael was vanishing around a sharp curve at the bottom. Putting on my brakes, I flew after him, my hair blowing straight back from my face, sure I was going to shoot over my handlebars and split my head open. By a miracle, I managed to skid safely to a stop on a narrow stone bridge just behind Michael.
Mr. Simmons was so startled by our sudden appearance that he almost dropped his fishing pole. "Well, well," he said, "where did you two come from? Straight down out of the sky?"
"That house," Michael said, pointing to the ruins just visible through the trees. "Did you tell Heather about it?"
"Heather?" Mr. Simmons fiddled with his pipe for a moment, then puffed a fragrant cloud of smoke into the air. "You mean your little sister, the one who found the gravestone?"
Michael and I nodded, but Mr. Simmons shook his head. "I haven't seen her since then. And why would I tell her about Harper House? It ought to be torn down, if you ask me. It's a haven for all sorts of goings-on—a disgrace to the town of Holwell. No place for a child to play, that's for sure."
I looked at Michael, but his eyes shifted away from mine. From the frown on his face, I knew he was struggling to invent a new theory to explain Heather's knowing so much about Helen. Turning to Mr. Simmons, I asked him if he knew Harper House was haunted.
"Who told you that?" he asked.
"The lady at the library," Michael answered. "She showed us some old newspaper articles." Using his scornful scientist voice, he told Mr. Simmons what the librarian had said.
"Miss Williams told you all that?" Mr. Simmons laughed and shook his head. "She ought to have more sense. A grown woman scaring kids with ghost stories."
Michael frowned at Mr. Simmons. "She didn't scare me! I don't believe in that kind of stuff." Jerking his head toward me, he added, " She's the one who's scared to death of Helen. I don't know which one's worse, her or Heather."
"You're just fooling yourself, Michael!" Gripping the handlebars of my bike, I leaned toward him, angry that he'd made me look foolish in front of Mr. Simmons. "Helen is every bit as real as you are, and you know it!"
Mr. Simmons looked from me to Michael and then back at me. Pausing to fiddle with his pipe, he said,
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