Free The Ghost of Tillie Jean Cassaway by Ellen Harvey Showell

my ankle,” said Willy. “It hurts. Did you come in the truck?” He looked hopeful.
    â€œYep, it’s down the lane a ways. Let me see your ankle … it looks swollen. You probably sprained it. Where did this happen?”
    â€œAbout a mile from here,” said Willy. “I liked to never get this far.”
    â€œWell, I’ve lost Hilary.”
    â€œHil.… Lost?” Willy was confused.
    â€œShe disappeared while we were berry picking. I’ve got to find her.” Granny Barbour sighed, looking out at the slackening rain. “Guess I’ll have to go back out there.”
    â€œAw, don’t worry about ole Hil. She’s probably found a dry place. Where do you think she went?”
    â€œProbably chasing ghosts. She thinks she sees Tillie Jean Cassaway. Something drew her into the woods.”
    â€œHil was with Tillie Jean?”
    â€œYou know her, too?”
    Willy smiled. “I caught a girl here at the house … she nearly scared me to death. But it was her. Tillie Jean.”
    â€œWilly, Tillie Jean’s been dead a year. She drowned in the river.”
    Willy looked wide-eyed. “She ain’t dead,” he said. “She grabbed me, I chased her. We talked and I went to Craig’s Island where she lives, and this here’s her book.” He pulled a wet book from under his shirt.
    â€œShe lives with Morton Craig?”
    â€œGuess so. I saw her room.”
    â€œMercy,” said Granny. “How odd. There’s strange things going on around here. Maybe she’s the ghost Hilary saw.”
    A chill went down Willy’s spine in spite of himself. “Ghost? You don’t think …,” he began.
    â€œThis is the Cassaway place,” said Granny. “Where she lived with her family. Just saw her little grave, God keep her, down by the garden.”
    â€œOh,” Willy breathed. “But you don’t really think.…”
    â€œI’d like to see this ghost,” she said.
    â€œLook!” shouted Willy, pointing to the window. For an instant they saw a pale, wet face peering in through the broken glass. Huge eyes blinked. Then it was gone.
    Granny looked stupified—it was as though the ghost had heard her. Willy hobbled out the door into the now drizzling rain. Beneath the window he found Hilary struggling with the strange girl, trying to keep her from running away.
    â€œHelp me!” cried Hilary. “She’s afraid of Granny!
    â€œTillie Jean, Granny won’t bother you—come on in out of the rain,” said Willy.
    â€œShe’ll put me away!” cried the girl. “Let me go!”
    â€œGranny, tell her you won’t,” cried Hilary to her grandmother, seeing her coming around the corner.
    â€œWon’t what?” asked Granny.
    â€œTell her you won’t put her away!”
    â€œI won’t put you away,” said Granny. “Now come on in.”
    Reluctantly, the girl went with them into the house.
    â€œI couldn’t get her to go in without looking in first,” said Hilary. “She’s taller so I helped her climb up to the window.”
    â€œDo I look so scary, child?” asked Granny.
    The girl looked down. “Mr. Craig said folks see me, they’d put me in with crazy people.”
    â€œNow why would he say that?”
    But the girl had no answer.
    Granny turned to her granddaughter. “Hilary, I could whip you! What do you mean running off like that? Where were you? It’ll be a time before I take you berry picking again!”
    â€œI’m sorry, Granny … I … I.…”
    â€œWell, never mind now. Right now we’ve got to get some young’uns dried off … why this child’s trembling! She needs dry clothes.”
    The words made the strange girl remember the sight of all her belongings floating down the river. Tears began rolling down her cheeks.
    â€œOh, you poor thing, don’t cry