DON’T TELL YOUR MOTHER

Rose

Well, that was my mother. Businesslike. Used to managing people. Now she was going to manage me. It was better than being overlooked, but I felt a stir of uneasiness. Family outings? I couldn’t imagine it.

Kendrick stormed back in and plopped a plate of pancakes and a jug of maple syrup down on the table, snorted, and then returned to the kitchen.

I don’t know where my appetite came from, but I plowed through those pancakes with no difficulty. I felt a prickle of guilt. It didn’t seem right to be stuffing my face when I was so upset about Polly. And yet, the food made me feel better—more solid, less drifty. And surely Polly herself would approve? I gave a big sigh, got to my feet and wandered towards the window, which overlooked the back garden and the cemetery wall.

The heavy clouds lay over the day like a blanket of gloom. I could see the tips of some of the taller monuments beyond the stone wall, and the bare trees stood outlined against the sky.

The door behind me opened. I thought it was Kendrick, come to clear away the dishes, so I didn’t turn around.

“Rose.”

I turned. My father was standing just inside the door, looking at me.

“Oh,” I said. “I thought you’d left.”

“No, not quite. We’ll be off in a minute. I wanted to … have a word … before we go.”

I walked carefully to the table and sat down. He hesitated, then sat down kitty-corner from me. With an effort, I raised my eyes to look in his face, afraid of what I might see there.

The little boy was gone, thank goodness. But something had changed. He had dark shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept much, but even so, his face looked lighter somehow. As if something had lifted.

“About … Winnie,” he began, not looking me in the eye. “Your mother doesn’t know. I will tell her … someday. Soon. Probably. But for now, let’s just keep that between us.”

I nodded.

“Did you really see her?”

I nodded again.

“Then you really see ghosts?” he went on, with an effort. “It’s not … your imagination?”

I swallowed. “I really see them, Dad. It’s scary.”

He looked at me then. “I know. Winnie used to tell me about them. We talked a lot. We were close. She was good to me, Rosie. She never meant to hurt me.” He shook his head. “After she died, our family was so quiet, with everyone in their own little world. My mother went a bit strange, I think, and my father—well, I don’t think he ever forgave himself for trying to send Winnie away.”

He sighed. “I wanted things to be different for you, Rosie. I wanted you to grow up in a happy house. But now it looks like I’ve made the same sort of family I came from, with things not talked about, and everyone keeping to themselves.”

“I get lonely,” I blurted out. “I miss you when you’re away.”

“I miss you too.” He smiled at me. “That’s going to change, Rose, when I go back to teaching. We’re not going to leave you on your own so much.”

He fell silent and started examining his fingernails for some reason. Then, as if he was gathering his courage, he looked up at me.

“About the ghosts … I think it’s better if we don’t tell your mother. I think she might … um … overreact.”

“You believe me?” I said, my voice coming out sort of cracked, like I had laryngitis or something. “You don’t think I should be locked up? Like Winnie?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re not like Winnie. There was something dark and wild inside her that frightened everybody, including herself.” He sighed. “It was all so long ago, Rose. But it cast a long shadow. I always thought it was all my fault, what happened that night.” He passed his hand over his eyes.

“Winnie said it wasn’t. She said it was an accident. She said she was sorry, Father, about everything. She wants you to be happy.”

“Yes,” he said softly. “Yes. I know.” He looked back at me sadly.

“William!” called my mother from the hall. “Time to go!”

“I’ll be right there, dear,” he called out, getting to his feet. “Thank you for telling me, Rose, about Winnie, about the ghosts. We’ll talk more later. Maybe I can help.”

He came around the table and gave me a kiss good-bye. His fingers brushed against my shoulder.

“What a pretty shawl,” he said. “So soft. Well, I must be on my way. Lots to do at the office. See you at supper,” he said with a smile, and he left.