Chapter 7

“I look like a trussed turkey waiting to be baked!” Uncle Ethan commented, as he sat on the parlor sofa on his first evening downstairs. It had been nearly a week since his injury. “I saw your handiwork as I was shaving, dear,” he continued. “I thought you were a better seamstress than that!”

“Well, Ethan, your head was gaping open like a sliced melon,” Aunt Charity answered. “I had to sew it up! And I must say, sewing on silk or linen is much easier than trying to poke a needle through tough hide like yours! Be glad you were unconscious!”

“Be glad my hide is tough, my dear,” he said, “or I might not be here at all. And be glad Marcus was with me, or I might have bled to death out there.”

“Exactly where were you, Ethan?” Aunt Charity asked. “We don’t really know what happened.”

Sarah recognized her uncle’s trapped look. “Marcus told us you were waylaid by bandits on the Jamestown Road,” she rescued him. “That’s all we know, Uncle Ethan.”

He threw her a grateful glance. “I didn’t know what Marcus had told you,” he said. “That’s about it, I guess. I don’t remember much after that, except Marcus putting me up on his horse in front of him and carrying me home.”

“Ethan, I don’t think these girls ought to travel that road, even if they have to give up their music and dancing lessons at Pleasantwood Plantation,” Aunt Charity said. “Surely there’s someone here in Williamsburg who could teach them!”

Abigail began to wring her hands. “Oh, Ma, please….”

Tabitha sat quietly, biting her lip.

Their father took in their obvious distress. “I believe they will be perfectly safe in the daylight, Charity,” he said. “Bandits usually come out at night.”

“’Men love darkness rather than light because their deeds are evil,’” Sarah quoted innocently.

Uncle Ethan gave her a long look.

“John 3:19,” she said with a grin. “It’s in the Bible.”

He frowned. “Yes, I know, Sarah.” He turned back to his wife. “Charity, I could send someone else along with Sam to guard the girls, if it would make you feel better. I can see that those lessons are very important, at least to some of them.”

“Actually, it would make me feel better,” Aunt Charity agreed, “if you insist on their going.”

“Than that’s settled. I know a young militiaman who would be happy to do me a favor—for a small fee,” he said, rising slowly to his feet. “I think I’ve been up long enough for my first day,” he added. “If you will steady me, my dear, I’ll go upstairs to bed.”

When they had left the room, Uncle Ethan leaning rather heavily on Aunt Charity’s shoulder, Abigail danced around the room. “Pa has saved us!” she cried happily. “We’ll be going back to Pleasantwood Plantation tomorrow afternoon! Oh, I can hardly wait!”

“For pity’s sake, calm down, Abigail!” Tabitha ordered. “You’ll make Ma change her mind, after all!”

“I wish she would,” Megan said grumpily. “I don’t want you all gallivanting all over the countryside, leaving me here at home alone.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Meggie,” Sarah said, catching the little girl in a bear hug and swinging her off the floor.

“Put me down, Sarah,” she demanded, still pouting.

“Aw, come on, Meggie, let’s take a walk before it gets completely dark. It won’t be long, for the days are getting shorter and shorter.”

“Let’s go all the way down to the end of our street,” Megan suggested, when they were standing outside the house, wrapped in their warm cloaks against the chill November wind.

“All right. I’ll race you to Botetourt Street!” Sarah challenged.

They ran, laughing, to the corner where Botetourt joined Nicholson. Then Sarah reached for Megan’s hand, and swinging it between them, continued on down toward the gaol, crossing to the other side of the street before they reached it, as Aunt Charity required.

“Do you ‘member when they put your tutor in there,” Megan asked suddenly, “and she was cold and hungry, and you and Ma and Tabitha sent her food and warm things?”

“Of course, I do, Meggie,” Sarah answered, not wanting to remember. “You know, Jesus said we should clothe the poor, feed the hungry, and visit those in prison. It says so in the Bible.”

“But she was a spy, Sarah! Are we s’posed to be good to spies? She tried to cause Pa trouble, maybe even get him killed.”

“I know, Meggie, but the Bible also says to love our enemies, to do good to those who persecute us and despitefully use us.” And Gabrielle certainly had despitefully used her, she thought.

She had read that instruction in her uncle’s Bible, though. She tried to read the Bible every day, now that she was a Christian. She wished she had a Bible of her own so she wouldn’t have to borrow Uncle Ethan’s, though he had told her she could.

“The Bible says that when we do good to our enemies, we heap coals of fire on their heads.”

“Well, Sarah, I don’t think that’s a very nice thing to do!” Megan said indignantly. “That’s worse than…than slapping them on the other cheek, like Ma says.”

“No, Meggie, your ma says we should turn the other cheek when someone slaps us. That’s in the Bible, too,” she added.

“Look, Sarah, that’s her house, isn’t it? That brown one down there, with the pretty blue door. I don’t think anybody lives there now. Hester says the house is cursed.”

“That’s ridiculous, Meggie,” Sarah began, noting that they had reached the corner of Waller Street before she knew it. She hadn’t intended to come this far.

“Well, your tutor’s house is empty, Sarah. See? The milliner’s sign still hangs there. Hester says no one wants to live in the house of a British spy.”

“The house had nothing to do with it. And, anyway, the house never belonged to….” She stopped. Was that a light in Gabrielle’s house? If no one lived there, why would there be a light? She didn’t see it now, though. Maybe she had imagined it.

“Somebody’s in there, Sarah!” Megan said. “I saw a light.”

“Come on, Meggie, let’s go home,” she urged.

“What’s the matter, Sarah? Are you afraid? Who do you think it could be?”

“I don’t know, Meggie, but it’s getting dark out here, and Aunt Charity will have a fit if we are out after dark, especially after Uncle Ethan’s encounter with those bandits.” Or whatever he encountered, she thought.

“I know!” the little girl said. “It’s a ghost! The ghost of your tutor, Sarah.”

“Meggie, don’t be silly!” Sarah scolded. “Gabrielle isn’t dead. It can’t be her ghost. Anyway, there’s no such thing as ghosts.” Except the ghosts of memory that always will haunt me any time I see this house or think of Gabrielle, she thought.

“Is too,” Megan argued. “Hester says there’s ghosts all over Williamsburg. There’s ghostly footsteps at Wythe House, and some at the President’s House at the college, and there’s the spirit of that dead Indian boy who still runs from Brafferton Hall across the college grounds some nights. There’s even one or two ghosts at Randolph House right on our street! Ask Hester. She’ll tell you.”

“I don’t doubt that she would,” Sarah said sarcastically. “Meggie, Hester has no business filling a little girl’s mind with such rubbish. I think you’re spending too much time with her.” Sarah caught her breath. There was the light again, flickering in the windows of the little brown house.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to if you and Tabby and ‘Gail would stay at home!” Megan retorted. “Sarah, are you listening? What are you looking at? Oh!” she gasped, clutching Sarah’s hand.

Could Hester be right? Sarah wondered. Was there a ghost in Gabrielle’s house? Nonsense! she scolded herself. If there were a light in the house, someone was in there, and it was no ghost. But who could it be? Should she go down there, knock on the door, and see what happened?

The cold wind whispered through the dry oak leaves and murmured in the cedars. The house sat deep in the shadows cast by the pale November moon. Sarah shivered.

“You’re not going down there, are you, Sarah?” Megan’s voice trembled. “Ghosts sometimes get violet, you know.”

“Violet? Oh, Meggie, you mean violent.”

“Whatever,” the little girl muttered. “Anyway, sometimes they are angry and hurt people.”

“Is that another one of Hester’s stories?” Sarah asked scornfully. “Meggie, how many times do I have to tell you there is no such thing as a ghost? Come on, I’ll prove it to you.”

She took the little girl by the hand and half-dragged her down the street until they stood directly across from Gabrielle’s house.

She could see no light now, but determined to prove her point, she marched Meggie resolutely across the street and onto the stoop before the bright blue door. She reached out, hesitated a moment, then knocked firmly.

The wind moaned around the corners of the building and caught in their cloaks. Sarah shivered and drew hers closer about her. She saw Meggie do the same.

“Let’s go home, Sarah!” the little girl whispered. “I’m cold and I’m scared!”

“So am I, Meggie, but we’ve come this far, and we’re going to see this through.” She knocked again, louder this time.

“Did you hear that, Sarah?” Megan whispered. Sarah could feel the little girl’s fear through her trembling hand.

“What, Meggie? What did you hear?”

“I don’t know. Something is in there. Moving around. Trying to keep quiet,” she whispered.

“Is anybody there?” Sarah called. She knocked again. After some time had passed with no response, she turned away. “All right, Meggie, we’ll go home,” she said.

“Thank you!” Megan breathed. This time it was the little girl who pulled Sarah by the hand up the street.

When they reached the Armstrong gate, Sarah stopped her. “Megan, don’t say anything to anybody about where we’ve been,” she warned. “Aunt Charity has enough on her mind right now.”

“But, Sarah, we may have seen a ghost! I have to tell Hester, and Tabby and ‘Gail!”

“No, you don’t,” Sarah ordered. “If you do, I will never go anywhere with you again. But if you can keep our secret, I will share more with you.”

The little girl thought about that for a moment. “All right, Sarah,” she agreed hesitantly. “I won’t say anything right now. But one of these days I’ll just bust wide open and that big old secret will come pouring out. I won’t be able to stop it.”

Sarah laughed. “All right, Meggie. I understand. Just please don’t say anything right now. Promise? Give me some time to find out what’s going on down there.”

“I promise,” Meggie said solemnly. “But I know what’s going on. A ghost has moved into the little brown house.”

Sarah sighed. “Meggie, what will I ever do with you?” she asked. “I just can’t convince you of anything!”

“You convinced me to quit saying ‘tootler’ for ‘tutor,’” Megan said seriously. Then she laughed. “I can’t believe I said such a dumb thing, and just last year!”

“Well, I’ll tell you what, Miss Grown-Up Megan Armstrong,” Sarah said, opening the gate and leading the little girl to the front door, “Let’s go inside, and I’ll make us some hot chocolate to chase away the chill of that November wind.”

“And to chase away the chill of the ghost?” Meggie asked with a grin.

Sarah threw up her hands in surrender. “And the ghost,” she agreed, laughing.