The Spirit of Cattail County Read online

  “Maeve, we better get going,” Johnny called. It was starting to get dark.

  “Coming.” Maeve began to leave and then turned back. She wrapped Sparrow in a tight hug. “See you Saturday, cousin.”

  Sparrow squeezed Maeve back. It was the second time she had been hugged since Mama died and both times Maeve had done the hugging. “See you Saturday, cousin.”

  Maeve dashed over to Elena and Johnny. Sparrow stood at the edge of the marsh and watched the three kids run toward town.

  Mama’s death had brought her so much sadness, but it had also brought her other things, happier ones—Maeve, Johnny, Elena, a daddy. She wondered why life hadn’t let her have all the good things at once.

  Sparrow spent the evening by her bedroom window watching for the Boy and plotting her next move. After the liveliness of spending the day with Maeve, Johnny, and Elena, the emptiness of Dalton House pressed upon her. With each creak of the floor and moan of the rafters, loneliness squeezed Sparrow like an accordion.

  She wanted Mama and the Boy back with a fierceness that burned.

  To get them back, she needed to help the Boy. That meant learning about his life, so she could figure out what he wanted now that he was a spirit. The Monroes’ archives promised the best chance at uncovering information about him. Getting access was the problem. Not only did she need an appointment, she needed to get there. The Monroes lived in a palatial mansion seven miles outside of town. Too far for Sparrow to walk.

  Sparrow stayed by the window until late in the evening, planning and waiting for the Boy, but if he wandered the marsh that night, he did so unobserved. Shortly after she got home from the flea market, a fierce thunderstorm rolled into Beulah. High winds drove the rain sideways, and thick, dark clouds blackened the moon. The only thing Sparrow could see from her bedroom window was her reflection staring back at her.

  When Sparrow finally allowed herself to sleep, she rested uneasily in a fitful half slumber of strange dreams and pounding rain. The tin roof echoed each falling drop, creating a thunderous drumming instead of the usual soft tapping.

  By the time Friday morning rose bright and shining like a freshly scrubbed babe, Sparrow had hatched a plan to visit the Monroes’ archives. The only problem was, it hinged on the one person Sparrow could think of to drive her there—Auntie Geraldine.

  Sparrow gritted her teeth and did what she had vowed never to do again—talk to her aunt.

  When Sparrow entered the kitchen, Auntie Geraldine faced the stove and didn’t turn around to say good morning even though she knew Auntie Geraldine heard her footsteps.

  Sparrow felt these little moments were as important as the big ones, and Auntie Geraldine didn’t do these well either. Unlike Auntie Geraldine, Mama had been good with the small stuff, greeting Sparrow each day with a smile and a kiss on top of her dark hair. She’d been good at the big stuff too, and Sparrow needed this kind of parent. Auntie Geraldine wasn’t cut out for mothering, but from what she’d seen, Mason Casto was made to be a father. He showed kindness to Maeve and Johnny, greeting them with special handshakes and buying them Cokes, but he also wanted to make sure they grew up right. Like all good fathers, he tried to keep them from fighting and carrying on, and Sparrow looked forward to calling him her own.

  Tomorrow was Saturday, the day of the Casto family party. Her family party. Her stomach did the little flip-floppy thing it always did when she thought about being Mason’s daughter. She could hardly wait for the day to arrive, but the more she thought about it, the longer it seemed to take.

  Auntie Geraldine sat down at the table with a cup of coffee.

  “Are you going to Wesley Monroe’s today?” Sparrow asked.

  “Yes. He needs me to sign some papers.” She wrapped her hands around the steaming mug even though the mercury in the thermometer outside the kitchen window touched ninety-five.

  “Could I go with you today? Ansley invited me over.” This was decidedly untrue.

  “Ansley?”

  Sparrow nodded enthusiastically.

  “Are you sure you were invited?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “If Ansley invited you, I suppose you can come along. I’d like to see you spending time with decent people for once. But don’t touch anything over there. And don’t be rude. And don’t go dressed like that. Put on something nicer.”

  “Don’t worry. I know how to behave.” Sparrow shoved her chair back.

  Auntie Geraldine gave Sparrow one of her famous glares. “I mean it, Sparrow.”

  “I will. Promise.” She felt like sticking her tongue out, but controlled her impulse. She really needed to look at those archives, and if she got sassy with Auntie Geraldine, she’d lose her chance.

  When Sparrow came downstairs dressed in her best pair of cutoff shorts and flip-flops, Auntie Geraldine sent her back upstairs to change again. She came down a second time in another pair of shorts. Sparrow didn’t have many clothes. She only had two dresses, her funeral dress and her Easter dress. She was saving her Easter dress for the Casto family party, and she didn’t expect to wear her funeral dress ever again.

  “No,” Auntie Geraldine said.

  “I don’t have anything else.”

  Auntie Geraldine sighed heavily and went upstairs. When she came back down, she had a shopping bag. “It’s for your first day of school in Havisham. Don’t ruin it.”

  Sparrow looked inside the bag. It held a blue-and-white dress. It looked like a sailor outfit. It was awful.

  “I’ll wait while you put it on.”

  “Maybe we should save it for my first day.”

  “I’m not taking you dressed like that. Put it on, or you’re not going.”

  “Fine.”

  Sparrow went to her room and put on the horrible dress. She looked ridiculous. She stomped downstairs.

  Auntie Geraldine waited for her at the bottom of the steps. She nodded once, hung her pocketbook on her arm, and strode out the door without saying a word to Sparrow.

  Sparrow and Auntie Geraldine climbed into the gold Buick. Sparrow’s legs stuck to the leather seats while her arms bristled with goose bumps from the cold air that blew from the air-conditioning. She reached for the vents to turn them away from her.

  Auntie Geraldine swatted at her hand. “Don’t touch those. I have them just as I like them.”

  “It’s freezing in here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The temperature is set at sixty-eight degrees. It feels perfect.”

  Sparrow kicked off her shoes and pulled her knees into her chest for warmth even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to put her feet on the seat. She was freezing.

  Auntie Geraldine gave her a look but didn’t say anything. She seemed to be playing nice today too. Sparrow wondered why.

  When Auntie Geraldine finally turned the Buick onto the Monroes’ drive, Sparrow leaned forward and craned her neck to see the trees from the window better. The Monroes’ driveway ran at least a quarter of a mile long, and huge oak trees lined the entire way. They stretched high into the air and arched over the road, gracefully touching in the middle. Gray Spanish moss hung from the branches like necklaces. At the end of the drive, a plantation home sat at the water’s edge.

  Unlike Sparrow’s water, the lawyer’s water was part of the Intracoastal, a free-flowing waterway fit for boating and passage out to sea. It had none of the stagnant stillness or black, sucking silt of Sparrow’s marsh.

  Auntie Geraldine put the car in park, and Sparrow put her hand on the door handle. She thought about asking Auntie Geraldine why she hated Dalton House so much, why she hated Beulah, why she hated Sparrow, but Auntie Geraldine got out of the car before she had a chance. It was probably for the best. Auntie Geraldine wasn’t someone Sparrow could talk to.

  Sparrow got out of the car and followed Auntie Geraldine to the door.

  Auntie Geraldine rang the Monroes’ doorbell. She heard the gong echo inside the house and footsteps come toward the door. The massive front door op
ened and Sparrow found herself staring at another unfriendly face.

  Ansley Monroe’s.

  Ansley Monroe stood in the doorway wearing a white tennis outfit and her blond hair in a ponytail. The Monroes were the only kids Sparrow knew who took lessons. Their mother drove them over to Havisham for tennis and piano.

  Surprise flashed across Ansley’s face, and then anger when she saw Sparrow standing next to Auntie Geraldine. Sparrow’s allegiance with Maeve and Johnny had shifted her status from outsider to enemy in Ansley’s eyes. Sparrow had spent her life being a neutral party, watching the skirmishes and the battles from the sidelines. Now she fought in the thick of the war. She hoped she had the skills to survive.

  Auntie Geraldine shifted her pocketbook from one arm to the other. “Good morning, Ansley. I’m here to see your father and Sparrow has come along. She says you invited her over.”

  Ansley narrowed her eyes viciously at Sparrow.

  Sparrow crossed her fingers behind her back and hoped Ansley would play nice in front of the grown-ups. It was a risky gamble.

  “Sparrow—said—I—invited—her—over.” Ansley repeated each word slowly as if trying to decode their meaning, which she probably was.

  “She did.” Auntie Geraldine seemed to be willing it to be true. Having Sparrow in with the Monroes elevated her status in a way that Auntie Geraldine respected.

  Sparrow gave Ansley a look that she hoped said, Play along, and you’ll be glad you did. “Remember at church when you said I should find friends other than the Castos?”

  “At—church,” Ansley repeated. She sounded like a robot. One more minute of this and Auntie Geraldine’s suspicious nature would detect the ruse.

  Luckily, the sound of heavy footsteps saved Sparrow. Mr. Monroe walked across the foyer to the door. “Ansley, who’s at the door?”

  Sparrow squeezed her crossed fingers tighter. She’d always thought of Mr. Monroe as a nice man. She hoped she was right.

  He came up behind Ansley and put his hands on her shoulders. “Hello, Geraldine. And Sparrow. To what do we owe this honor?”

  Sparrow answered before anyone else could. “Auntie Geraldine’s come to see you, but Ansley invited me over to look at your archives. She said the next time my aunt visited I should come along. To look at your collection. She said it was fascinating.”

  Mr. Monroe beamed at his daughter. “Ansley, what a lovely invitation. I am quite proud of my collection, as Ansley well knows. I’ve been trying to get both children to take an interest for years. I’m thrilled it has finally taken root. We usually only show the archives by prearranged appointment, but since you have a personal invitation from Ansley, we’ll make an exception.”

  Ansley looked like she wanted to skewer Sparrow, but she quickly fixed her expression before gazing up at her father. “You know I love anything you love, Daddy.” She squeezed him around the waist.

  Sparrow felt a combination of jealousy and annoyance. Ansley was lucky to have a parent who loved her, and Sparrow felt the aching pang that accompanied any reminder of what she lost when Mama died. On the other hand, it bothered her that Mr. Monroe seemed oblivious to Ansley’s duplicity. Though she quickly checked herself. She had been employing a fair amount of trickery too.

  “Wonderful,” Auntie Geraldine said, a hint of suspicion in her voice. Sparrow knew Auntie Geraldine wasn’t completely fooled, but she appeared willing to overlook her misgivings. Auntie Geraldine would do anything to climb Beulah’s social ladder. “Sounds like the perfect pastime for young ladies.”

  “I agree.” Mr. Monroe practically glowed. “Let them in, sweetheart. Don’t keep them standing on the front porch. We don’t want to be rude.” His tone held a warning note. Manners meant more than wealth in Beulah.

  Without another word, Ansley stepped aside to let Auntie Geraldine and Sparrow in but rolled her eyes as Sparrow walked by her.

  Sparrow stepped into a foyer so grand and sweeping she felt like an insect in a cave. Polished to a high sheen, the white marble floor looked as slick as still water, and the crystal chandelier shot rainbows of refracted light around the room. Sparrow caught Ansley watching her take in the hall, and she checked her reaction. She drew herself up and straightened her shoulders the way she’d seen Auntie Geraldine do when her pride got rankled.

  “Geraldine, I suppose you’re here about those papers. Follow me to my office and I’ll get you started. Ansley and Sparrow, wait for me; I’ll only be a moment.”

  “Sure,” Ansley said.

  Mr. Monroe cleared his throat.

  Ansley quickly corrected herself. “Yes, sir.”

  As soon as Auntie Geraldine and Mr. Monroe were out of earshot, Ansley whirled on Sparrow. “Out with it. And it better be good.”

  It was, but telling Ansley the truth seemed like a very bad idea. It occurred to Sparrow that she hadn’t expected to get this far, so hadn’t planned for it. “Well … ,” she said, stalling.

  “I’m waiting.” Ansley crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Even angry, Ansley looked perfect. Her white tennis dress and sneakers were so bright they practically sparkled. Even her shoelaces were white. “While you’re at it, explain that dress.”

  Sparrow looked at her sailor dress. That was easier to explain. It really was awful. “My aunt bought it for me. She’s a bit out of touch with what kids wear.”

  Ansley scoffed. “A bit? That’s an understatement. Now out with the rest.”

  “I need to research a school project.”

  “No, you don’t. We go to the same school, remember? And it’s summer.”

  “It’s a special project just for me.”

  “You’re lying. This has something to do with those Castos, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” Sparrow said as Mr. Monroe returned to the foyer.

  “Daddy, she’s been hanging out with those Castos. She’s up to …” Ansley stopped. She seemed to remember that she had scored major points with her dad by pretending she had invited Sparrow over to look at his archives.

  “You were saying, sweetheart?”

  “Never mind, it’s not important.”

  “Good. Why don’t you get Sparrow some lemonade and meet us in the library.”

  “Anything for you, Daddy.” Ansley smiled sweetly at her father and left for the kitchen. Her blond ponytail bounced cheerily as she walked away.

  “The library is this way.” Mr. Monroe started to place a kindly hand on Sparrow’s shoulder and then withdrew as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to touch her. He absently rubbed his fingers together as if removing microscopic grit he could feel but not see.

  Sparrow pretended not to notice his withdrawal and repressed the sting of a rejection so infinitesimal and instinctual it felt fused to every thread that made up the fabric of Beulah. Sparrow’s outcast status had not changed. It thrived. Like a root, it grew and snaked underground, hidden below layers of politeness.

  Sparrow shoved the slight aside and followed him. At least she had Johnny and Maeve now. Elena too, she reminded herself.

  As they walked, she did her best to take in the splendor. She had never been to a museum, but she imagined the experience would be similar to visiting the Monroes’ family home. Gigantic oil paintings hung on the walls, pearly white statues decorated side tables, and knee-high vases overflowed with long-stem flowers. The place stunned her senses.

  Their path took them by a room with French doors and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the slow-flowing waters of the Intracoastal. A grand piano stood in the center of the room, and Andrew sat on its bench, gazing outside.

  Mr. Monroe cleared his throat. Andrew immediately bent over the piano and started playing scales.

  Sparrow thanked her lucky stars she didn’t have lessons.

  Mr. Monroe’s library looked exactly the way a lawyer’s library should. Shelves brimming with books lined the walls and a mahogany desk dominated one corner of the room. Sparrow wished Johnny was with her. He’d love it.

  Mr. M
onroe motioned for Sparrow to sit and then went to the bookshelves. “Are you interested in anything in particular? I have a record of the owners of your house going all the way back to the first Dalton who built it.”

  Sparrow already knew the builder had been Dewy Dalton, her great-great-great … Well, she didn’t know how many greats he went back, but she did know he built the house and the swing she loved so much. “I’m particularly interested in Beulah folks from the year 1901.”

  “A historian on a mission, I see.” He set a thick, newspaper-sized leather-bound book in front of Sparrow. “All the papers inside this book are from 1900 through 1905,” Mr. Monroe explained.

  She opened it and saw that it was actually full of newspapers. Five years of them. At the top of the yellowing pages, it read Beulah Daily Herald. “I didn’t know Beulah use to have a daily paper.” The Herald Sparrow read came out monthly and was typically only a few pages long.

  He looked over her shoulder at the bound volume. “Oh, yes. At one time Beulah was up and coming, but when those folks up north rerouted the Cattail County–bound train through Havisham, the town’s growth hit a snag. It never did recover.”

  “That’s too bad,” Sparrow said, flipping through the pages of the book, hoping something might catch her eye.

  “Though I hope Beulah’s fate will change when I purchase your property,” Mr. Monroe said casually.

  Sparrow’s head shot up. “Did you say you’re buying my house?”

  “If we can get the details worked out. It’s right off the main road, making it a great location for a strip mall.”

  She gaped at him. “A strip mall? What about the marsh?”

  “That will have to be filled in, of course.”

  Sparrow’s mind swarmed with images of bulldozers gobbling up marsh grasses while snowy egrets and skitter bugs fled for their lives. She also foresaw the slower destruction of the bigger predators who would be confronted by asphalt and speeding cars instead of their roaming lands. Sparrow’s stomach rolled. She felt sick.