Free The Ghost of Tillie Jean Cassaway by Ellen Harvey Showell Page B

right. What’s its name?”
    â€œTillie Jean,” said the girl.
    â€œAnother one!”
    â€œTillie Jean is dead,” said the girl. “She drowned in the river. Only her ghost can be seen.”
    â€œMy, then you must be somebody else!”
    The girl took the key off her neck and with her back to the woman, flung it over her head. “There, take it!” she said. “It won’t fit nothing of hers, ’cause it’s mine and I ain’t dead!”
    â€œYes, but you found it here. Come on, let’s see if it will work,” said Granny Barbour. But the girl stayed in the room, holding the doll, and would not leave.
    The woman took the key—warm from being clutched in the girl’s hand—and tried it in the trunk. “It seems to fit but I can’t get it to turn,” she said. Willy tried, working it back and forth in the rusty lock. “Now,” he said. “We got it.”
    The lock sprang open and they lifted the lid.
    â€œOh!” said Hilary. “It does have clothes!”
    â€œWait a minute,” said Granny. “Here’s a piece of paper on top—let’s see what it says. You read it, Hilary. I ain’t got my glasses.”
    Hilary took the paper on which someone had written a note in curly longhand, putting little circles over the i’s. She read:
    These here things are dresses and play clothes that belonged to my daughter, Tillie Jean Cassaway. I know I should give them to some child who could wear them, but something in my heart keeps me back. I want to keep them with me but Mr. Cassaway says it would be too painful a remembrance. So I am leaving them here where she lived her life .
    Her mother ,
    Mary Cassaway
    â€œCome look, Tillie!” cried Hilary. “There’s clothes here just to fit you.” She held up a blue-and-white-checked dress which had been ironed and carefully folded, but which was spotted with mildew.
    â€œAnd here’s some jeans and shirts!” Every article in the trunk was neatly ironed and folded, but badly discolored from the long period of storage, unprotected from the damp.
    Granny Barbour was calling again to Tillie Jean. “Come little girl, we got it open. There’s things here you might wear! And you can have your key back.”
    The girl came slowly into the room, looking angry. “It ain’t mine no more,” she said. But when she saw all the dry things that she could choose from, she could not help smiling. She liked the blue dress and went to the small bedroom to put it on. When she came out, she was grinning.
    â€œHey, it just fits, like it was made for you!” said Willy.
    â€œNo!” said Hilary. “No, not like that!”
    But a change had already come over the girl. She no longer smiled, but looked miserable. Granny Barbour started to say something to her when they all heard someone shouting outside.
    â€œTillie Jean!” It was Morton Craig. “You girl, come out of there. I know you’re in there with that ruffian! I come to take you home!”

CHAPTER TWELVE
    The rain had stopped and the sun was shining through the clouds. Morton Craig had sought the shelter of an overhanging rock on a cliff during the downpour, but when the rain let up, had continued his chase of the boy and girl. He’d figured rightly where they’d head.
    â€œYou hear me, girl? Do I have to come in after you?” he hollered.
    Granny Barbour peeked out the door and saw the man standing among the trees about thirty feet from the house, holding the gun low but level. She opened the door further and stepped out. “Put that gun down, Morton Craig, and come talk like you was civilized!”
    The man had not expected to see a woman in the Cassaway place—certainly not Nellie Barbour, whom he’d known since he was a boy.
    â€œWhat the Hell!” he said. “What are you doin’ here, Nellie?”
    â€œDon’t swear in front