Free The Ghost of Crutchfield Hall by Mary Downing Hahn Page A

With that, Nellie scooted to the sink and pumped water into her scrub bucket. Giving me a small, scared smile, she hurried out of the kitchen.
    Left on my own, I took my book to the sitting room and sat down to read. Before long, Sophia waltzed across the room, dipping and turning as if she actually had a partner.
    â€œI don’t believe you could dance a waltz,” she said, “as untrained and clumsy as you are.”
    It was true. I’d never taken a dancing lesson. Miss Medleycoate had never encouraged any of us to imagine we might someday spin around a ballroom with a handsome suitor.
    â€œI could play the piano with a precocity that amazed both Aunt and Uncle,” Sophia went on. “I sang, too, but I am now sadly out of practice.”
    I looked at her with both pity and loathing. Pity because she was most certainly dead and not about to go dancing with anyone. Loathing because she was mean and spiteful and obviously had not benefitted morally from dying.
    Pulling the drapes aside, Sophia peered at the snow. “Quick, put on your coat. I have a mind to build a snowman.”
    Although I was comfortable where I was, I found myself running to my room. When I returned with my coat, scarf, hat, and mittens, Sophia wrinkled her nose.
    â€œIf you were as I am now, you wouldn’t need those cumbersome garments,” she said. “You’d never be hot, never be cold, never be hungry or tired or afraid.”
    â€œI’d never be anything,” I murmured.
    Although I hadn’t meant her to hear me, Sophia gave me a hateful look. “If justice prevails,” she said, “I will soon be as you are.” Under her breath, she added, “And James will be as I am.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I asked, but she merely laughed.
    â€œCome along,” she called. “I’m eager to build my snowman.”
    Nellie looked up as we ran through the scullery. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped, her face puzzled, then frightened. “Miss,” she cried. “Miss!” But she didn’t follow me.
    Outside, Sophia darted across the snow and disappeared into the garden. She left no tracks, but I found her easily enough, waiting for me by the fountain. The stone children and their captive swan wore hats and coats of snow, and the words on the rim were hidden.
    â€œThis has always been my favorite place.” Sophia brushed the snow off the fountain’s rim and read the inscription. “Here and there and everywhere—it’s a riddle,” she said. “Do you know the answer?”
    I shook my head, and she smiled. “Just as I thought. You’re not nearly as clever as I am.”
    Leaning close to me, she chilled my cheek with her wintry breath. “Uncle says the answer is time, though he thinks it could also be the wind. But
I
know the true answer.”
    Sophia’s eyes held mine. I couldn’t turn away. “It’s
Death,
” she whispered. “Death is here and there and everywhere.”
    Sophia looked at the house, its dark stone almost black against the whiteness, its roof and tall chimneys blending into the sky. “You cannot escape death,” she said softly. “You’ll find out for yourself someday. Perhaps when you least expect it, he will come for you.”
    I drew away from her, burrowing my face into the warmth of my scarf. It was true. There was no escaping something you couldn’t see, even if you knew where to look.
    â€œI’ve scared you, haven’t I?” Sophia’s laugh was as brittle as the sound of ice breaking. “Start rolling a ball for the snowman. I want it to be as tall as the chimney tops.”
    She kept me working until my toes and fingers were numb from cold. Slowly the snowman took shape. Three balls of snow balanced one atop the other, not nearly as tall as the chimney tops, but lofty enough to see eye to eye with the stone children on their