The Spirit of Cattail County Page 9

  Sparrow nodded. “Do you think the sage could have hurt him? Made him weak somehow?”

  Elena reached for the tree card and started to play with it. “I don’t know. It’s possible, I suppose, but doubtful. Are you burning sage at your house or have you ever burned sage there?”

  “No.” Sparrow had never even seen sage until her reading with Elena.

  “I don’t think it is the sage. Sage is one of many cleansing tools. But you would have had to burn it at your house for it to affect him there. Besides, you said he showed up at the reading anyway. Despite the sage?”

  “That’s right.” Sparrow knew talking to Elena was a good idea. They were already starting to sort out a few things, and doing something, even if it was only talking through the problem, made Sparrow feel more hopeful and less alone.

  “And you usually see him there, no problem?”

  “That’s right.”

  Elena tapped her fingers on the tree card. “It must take an awful lot of energy to appear like that. Maybe now that he’s asked you for help, he’s gone away until you can figure out what he needs?”

  “Maybe.” Sparrow sighed heavily. She was so frustrated. Everything hinged on figuring out what the Boy wanted, but she didn’t even know where to start looking for clues. With him gone, she might never find out what he needed. “But I have no idea what he needs.”

  “Peace. That’s what all ghosts need,” Elena said with complete confidence.

  But the Boy had peace. Living at Dalton House was heaven. The porch swing, the marsh. It was the perfect place to spend eternity. The perfect place for Sparrow. She recalled the way the Boy’s eyes looked when they held hands on the porch. A soul at peace could never have eyes that sorrowful. “How do you give them peace?”

  “You find out what they need to move on. Spirits are supposed to pass over. When they don’t, something is wrong. They stay behind because they have unfinished business. Figure out what their unfinished business is, help them finish it, and voilà … they cross over.”

  Sparrow didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken. Her goal was to bring spirits back, not help them cross over. But she did agree that the Boy must have something he wanted Sparrow to do for him. She learned that at the reading. Elena had said the person the tree card represented would help Sparrow with what she needed, but she needed to provide help in return. The Boy was the tree.

  “Do you know anything about who he was?”

  “No, but he’s got to be a Dalton since he lives at my house.”

  “You’ll have to find out who he was, so you can sort out what is holding him here. It’s the only way to set him free. Once you do, he’ll stop haunting you.”

  The van windows were opened to allow for a breeze, but it was a windless day, so it didn’t offer any relief from the weather. It did, however, let in the scent of Beulah. Beulah smelled like salt water, reed grass, and heat all mixed together, and reminded Sparrow of everything she loved—Dalton House, Mama, the Boy. She didn’t want him to stop haunting her.

  Before she could tell Elena she didn’t want to set him free, she wanted to bring him home, she heard a rustle under the window and someone whisper-yell, “No way! Sparrow is haunted.”

  Sparrow’s stomach flip-flopped. Someone was spying on them. She wondered how much they’d heard. She didn’t need all of Beulah knowing about the Boy.

  Sparrow and Elena rushed to the window and looked out.

  Hiding in the bushes were Maeve and Johnny. Maeve smacked Johnny on the head and shushed him.

  “Friends?” Elena pointed at them.

  “Yes.” Sparrow hoped it was still true now that they knew about her ghost.

  Sparrow, Maeve, and Johnny walked along the road away from town.

  Johnny walked beside Maeve, loyal as ever, his hands in his pockets and his head down. He stared at his bare feet like they were the most interesting things in the world. He hadn’t said much since the flea market, and Sparrow worried he didn’t like her now that he knew about the Boy, or worse, was afraid of her. Sparrow was used to the Boy’s ways and could see him, so he didn’t scare her. It consoled her to know that the soul lived on after death. It meant Mama’s soul lived. Johnny might not feel the same way, though.

  Maeve, on the other hand, wasn’t upset at all. In fact, she was elated. She practically danced beside Sparrow as they walked. She’d been asking her questions nonstop. “So, let me get this straight. Your ghost showed up during your fortune to communicate with you?”

  “Yes,” Sparrow said.

  “And the fortune-teller doesn’t know what he was trying to tell you even though she saw two tarot cards stuck to a table during a windstorm?” Maeve asked.

  “She thinks I need to find out who he was, so I can figure out what his unfinished business is and help him finish it,” Sparrow said.

  “Only now you’ve lost your ghost, so you can’t prove his existence to us by making him do something?”

  Sparrow didn’t like Maeve’s way of putting it, but she supposed she summed it up perfectly. “I can’t make him do stuff anyway. He does what he wants.”

  “We just have to take your word for it that you’re haunted? Not that we don’t believe you. But it sure would be cool to see him do something. Right, Johnny?” Maeve elbowed her brother.

  Sparrow wondered if Maeve would really like to see the Boy pulling one of his pranks, moving things around that should stay still. It might scare her.

  Johnny made a noncommittal sound, and Sparrow felt a nervous twinge. Maybe he was deciding he didn’t want to be her friend anymore.

  “And you can see him?” Maeve asked for the thousandth time. “Plain as day? So, if he were around you’d know.”

  “Yes.” To talk about the Boy after years of silence felt strange, like walking on dry land after poling through the marsh on a raft. While there was relief in finally being able to share her secret with other people, it threw her off balance.

  “Oh, boy! Oh, boy!” Maeve threw her arm around Sparrow’s shoulder and pulled her close. “I knew being related to a Dalton was going to be great, but you’re the best cousin ever!” She squeezed Sparrow, hugging her against her side, and Sparrow savored the comfort of being linked with another.

  Johnny looked at the two girls. He seemed completely befuddled at his sister’s affectionate treatment of Sparrow.

  Sparrow got that twinge of doubt again. “You still want to be related to me?”

  Maeve gaped at her. “Don’t be stupid. We want to be related to you now more than ever. I mean, before you were just strange. Now you’re interesting.”

  Sparrow wanted to laugh, but she was too worried about Johnny. Maeve might speak over her brother constantly, but that didn’t mean she spoke for him. Johnny might feel differently.

  “What about you, Johnny?” Sparrow asked softly.

  “I don’t want to be related to you because you can see ghosts.”

  “Oh.”

  Johnny’s brow furrowed and he stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets. “What I mean is I don’t want to be related to you because you can see ghosts or because you’re a Dalton. I want to be related to you because we’re family. Family just is. And I want you to have a daddy, especially now that your mama isn’t around. And because my uncle Mason is a great guy and he’s lonely. He has all of us Castos, but it isn’t the same as having a kid of his own.”

  Johnny’s words wrapped around Sparrow like one of Mama’s hugs. She felt wanted for the first time since Mama died. Sparrow blinked back tears. The Castos were full of surprises.

  Maeve smiled proudly at her brother. “Besides, the two of them are a good match. He’s a little strange too.”

  Johnny smirked and Sparrow laughed. A little weird did sound like a good match. Sparrow began to ask Maeve and Johnny the best way to talk to Mason about being her dad, but Maeve started pelting her with questions again.

  “Wait.” Maeve looked around her. “You’re sure he’s not following us now, rig
ht?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Are other ghosts following us? Do you see them all the time?”

  Sparrow thought about the swirling spirits and her inability to see Mama even though she wanted to more than anything in the world. She hadn’t told Maeve, Johnny, or Elena about that part. If she did, Elena might wonder if she was making fun of her again and Maeve might try to hold a séance right there on the side of the road. Johnny might understand, but her grasp on the differences and the connections felt too nebulous, like trying to hold on to water, so she kept that piece to herself for the moment.

  “I don’t think it works that way.”

  “So let me get this straight. When you got home after having your fortune told, you and this Boy had a moment, and now Elena thinks you have to figure out who he was and what he wants to get him to come back?”

  Maeve had summed up the situation pretty well. The Boy held the key to bringing Mama back, but now she’d lost him too. Without him, there was no hope at all.

  “Yes, but I’m not sure where to start now. I thought Elena might know a … spell or something to bring him back.”

  “I’m not sure about spells to bring ghosts back, but if I was looking for one, I’d go to the graveyard,” Johnny said wisely.

  Maeve slapped her brother on the shoulder. “That makes perfect sense!”

  It did. Except Sparrow hadn’t been back there since the day Andrew had chased them, and the thought of Mama’s grave made her heart heavy.

  “Yeah, that makes sense.”

  “Let’s go, then.” Maeve started off and then turned back when she realized Sparrow and Johnny were not moving. “Um … what are we waiting for?”

  “Sparrow might not want to go right this second, Maeve,” Johnny said.

  “What? Why not?”

  Johnny shrugged.

  “Maeve’s right. We should go now,” Sparrow said.

  “Darn right, I’m right! Let’s go!” Maeve walked back to Sparrow and Johnny and linked her arms in their arms. “This is turning out to be the best summer ever!”

  Johnny sighed, clearly exasperated with his sister’s insensitivity.

  “What?” Maeve looked from one to the other. “Look, I know Sparrow lost her mama and that is the worst thing ever, but it doesn’t mean she has to be sad all the time. I think it’s okay for her to look on the bright side every once in a while.”

  Again, Maeve had phrased things differently than Sparrow would have, but she thought she’d said it well just the same anyway.

  Maeve gently pulled them forward, and the three of them were on their way to the graveyard.

  It was Maeve’s idea to pick the flowers.

  As they walked, they gathered the wildflowers that grew along the road. By the time they reached the graveyard, they had an impressive collection of blazing stars, a scraggly flower with more green stems than lavender buds. They scrunched it together to make something resembling a bouquet. It looked a little weedy, but all of them were proud of their offering, and Sparrow thought Mama would like it. She had been gifted at seeing beauty where others did not.

  Sparrow set the scraggly bundle at the base of Mama’s headstone. When she let go, the flowers separated, making them look more like weeds than a bouquet.

  Maeve bent down and scrunched them up, intertwining the brittle stems, so they stuck together. “That’s better.”

  Sparrow smiled. It was. When Maeve stepped away, they only fell apart a little bit, and Sparrow thought Mama would like their messy perfection.

  “Okay, so let’s look for this ghost.” Maeve put her hands on her hips and scanned the tiny graveyard. “He’s not here with us, right?”

  Maeve had been asking Sparrow this every five minutes for the entire walk. “No, he’s not. I told you he’s gone,” Sparrow said, repeating herself for the thousandth time. Though there were spirits in the graveyard, the swirly, wispy kind. They swarmed around Johnny like bees about a honeycomb. They were so thick that Sparrow marveled at his apparent inability to sense them. He seemed completely oblivious to their presence.

  “We need to look for angels or lambs or small headstones. That’s what they always put for children,” Johnny said.

  “How do you know that?” Maeve asked.

  “I read,” Johnny answered.

  “He does,” Maeve told Sparrow. “All the time. It’s really annoying.”

  Sparrow wished she could say the idea of Johnny Casto reading a book didn’t shock her, but it did. He didn’t have a reputation as a good student. Most considered him, and all other Castos, barely literate, but it seemed that assumption was way off base.

  “All right, then; let’s look for small headstones, lambs, or angels,” Sparrow said.

  “How old would you say he is? I mean was … when he died? Or how old does he look to you?” Johnny asked, clearly unsure of the right way to speak about a ghost. Sparrow wasn’t sure there was a right way.

  “Ten or eleven, I think, and his clothes are formal-looking. Like they could be from a long time ago or church clothes.”

  Maeve gaped at Sparrow. “You see him that clearly?”

  “Yes.” She had already told Maeve this.

  “And you’re not scared? Ever?” Maeve asked.

  “No, not really. I mean, he’s just a kid like us. Only he’s a spirit.” Sparrow had already told Maeve this too. She was starting to feel like a roadside attraction.

  Maeve let out a low whistle.

  “Okay, so we’re looking for a child ten or eleven, possibly buried a long time ago. Right?” Johnny asked.

  Sparrow nodded.

  “It will go quicker if we spread out. I’ll look over there; Maeve, you look in that direction, and Sparrow, why don’t you take over by the gate?” Johnny said, doling out assignments. It wasn’t a large graveyard, but there were still a lot of headstones packed into the small space.

  “I’ll look over there, and you look in that direction,” Maeve said, switching up the tasks.

  Johnny sighed. “Fine, but don’t do a Maeve look.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Johnny stared at his sister knowingly.

  Maeve rolled her eyes. “Fine, Mr. Know-it-all.”

  The three went in their appointed directions.

  Sparrow went by the gate and started looking at headstones. She recognized most of the last names etched into the stones. Beulah families were loyal ones, and most stayed in town their entire life. In fact, Mason Casto was the only person she’d ever known who’d left it, and now even he’d found his way back.

  All the headstones listed the date of the person’s death along with their birthdate. Sparrow guesstimated the age of the older ones by looking at the span of numbers, but when they’d died in midlife like Mama, it made the math harder. The baby headstones were the saddest. Some were only a few days old when they died.

  Sparrow was brushing away debris from a child’s headstone when she heard the gate creak. She looked up. Eli was entering the graveyard. He was dressed nicely in clothes Sparrow typically saw men wear only on Sunday.

  Sparrow stood up.

  She seemed to startle him, and he paused. “Sorry, Sparrow. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “It’s okay,” Sparrow said. “You didn’t.”

  He scanned the graveyard, and his eyes fell on Maeve and Johnny, who hadn’t noticed the newcomer. They were both engrossed in reading headstones. “School project?”

  “Kind of,” Sparrow said. “Trying to find out information about someone who might have lived a long time ago.”

  “That’s my specialty. I’m a history professor.” He pushed his shirtsleeves up his arms, and the tattoo peeked out briefly. It was a phrase, but Sparrow couldn’t read it before the sleeves fell back down and the tattoo disappeared.

  “But you’re an antique dealer.”

  “Only sometimes. My real job is a professor.”

  “Huh.” He didn’t look much like a history professor. The w
ord professor made Sparrow think of a white-haired man with a pipe. He looked on the younger side and had a tattoo. Not very professory, in Sparrow’s opinion.

  He smiled. “I know. No gray hair or pipe.”

  “How did you know I was thinking that?”

  “Hunch.”

  “Is that what you’re here to do? Read headstones?”

  He shrugged. “Investigating a few things. Speaking of research, do you mind if I keep your watch for a few more days?”

  “Sparrow! Sparrow! Sparrow! I think I found something,” Maeve called from across the graveyard.

  “Nope—I mean, no, sir.”

  Eli chuckled. “Love those manners. I wonder if I can teach Elena to call me sir.”

  “Sparrow!” Maeve called again.

  “Just a sec, I think she’ll keep hollering if I don’t go over there.”

  “Of course.”

  Sparrow dashed over to Maeve. “Did you find something?”

  “Maybe.” Maeve pointed to a simple grave marker rubbed raw by time. Covered in moss and damp from Beulah’s constant humidity, the tombstone looked swamp touched.

  Sparrow knelt down next to Maeve. She ran her hand over the cold stone, sweeping aside remnants of gray moss and dried grass. As soon as she touched the stone, a group of swirling spirits descended, encircling the grave marker. The spirits made no noise. They were as voiceless as the Boy, but Sparrow got the distinct impression they wailed as if they lamented this death. The power of their grief overwhelmed Sparrow. It felt like the pull of an undertow, and she yanked her hand away to keep from getting sucked under.

  “Everything okay?” Maeve asked.

  “Yes, sorry.”

  Maeve’s expression told Sparrow she didn’t believe her, but in a very un-Maeve-like way, she let it go. “The dates place him at the right age, but the name has been worn away, and there’s no inscription. Poor kid. He doesn’t even have an angel or a lamb to keep him company.”

  Sparrow cradled her hands to keep herself from reaching out again. The swirling spirits blanketed the tomb as if they protected it. “It feels sad here.”