Free Gather the Bones by Alison Stuart Page A

closed the book. “Thank you for showing that to us.”
    “I want you to have it,” Sarah said. “I thought Alice may like to keep it.”
    “May I?” Alice’s eyes shone and she turned the pages slowly, revisiting each one as Helen helped Sarah with the washing up.
    Alice swiveled on the chair and looked across at the two women by the sink. “Mrs. Pollard, Uncle Tony said you know all about the Holdston ghosts,” she said.
    Helen started and nearly dropped the cup she was drying. “Alice, we’ve talked about this before. There is no such thing as ghosts.”
    “Have you ever seen any, Mrs. Pollard?” Alice persisted, ignoring Helen’s protest.
    Sarah cast Helen a quick glance. “I have to disagree with you, Mrs. Morrow. There’s ghosts at Holdston right enough.”
    Helen glared at Sarah. She did not need Sarah filling Alice’s head with such nonsense.
    Alice’s eyes widened. “So they’re real?” Sarah frowned. “They’re not real in the sense you and I understand, Alice. There’s old Ben. You never see him but you know he’s around because you can smell his tobacco. Then there’s some civil war soldiers. There was a battle near here and they reckon they was brought here and died of their wounds.”
    “Are they scary?” Alice’s eyes resembled saucers.
    “No,” said Sarah. “They’re in their own place in time, love. If I know one of them is around, I say good morning. They like to be acknowledged but they’re not scary and they won’t hurt you.”
    Helen rubbed her wrist and shuddered inwardly at the memory of that icy touch. If she allowed herself to believe that what happened to her in the dark corridor the previous night was indeed paranormal, then she had to disagree with the last assertion. There had been malice and an intention to hurt in that grip.
    “I think that’s enough talk of ghosts,” she said firmly.
    Sarah smoothed down her apron. “Mrs. Morrow, if you don’t mind, I’ve choir practice tonight. If I leave some soup for you and Miss Alice, will you be able to manage without me? There’s fresh bread and cheese in the larder.”
    “Of course, Mrs. Pollard. What about the Major?”
    “The Major’ll fend for himself if he wants to eat.”
    Helen caught the older woman’s wry smile. “You do worry about him, don’t you?” she observed.
    “Someone has to. He hasn’t got anyone else. My boy, Fred, was in his regiment and there weren’t a man who served under the Major who wouldn’t have put their trust in him.”
    It was the first Helen had heard about Sarah’s son and she sensed the answer even before she asked, “And your son? Where is he now?”
    Sarah stiffened. “He was killed ten days before Armistice,” she replied. “If the Major’d still been with the regiment he’d have seen Fred through to the end.”
    “Oh Sarah,” Helen’s voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”
    Sarah shook herself. “We’re just two of many women in this country, Mrs. Morrow. Mothers, wives, daughters, sisters. We’ve all got someone to mourn but the Major came home, lost and silent just like he was when he first came to this house when he was eight years old.”
    “Eight?”
    “Aye, motherless and fatherless, for all his father was still alive. I don’t think there’d been much room in his folks’ lives for him even before his mother died.” Sarah heaved a theatrical sigh. “Her ladyship tried her best but he wasn’t an easy child to love. Some children aren’t, but here in the kitchen with me and the staff he was a different boy. So yes, I worry about the Major.”
    Helen looked at the door as if she expected Paul Morrow to reappear through it. She rose to her feet and tapped her daughter on the shoulder. Alice, still absorbed in the scrapbook didn’t move.
    “Would Miss Alice like to help me with the baking this morning?” Sarah asked.
    Alice brightened and looked from Sarah to her mother. Helen relented. It suited her to have Alice gainfully employed. She had