Ghosts of Rathburn Park by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

hundred, I believe Mrs. Hardacre said.”
    “Wow,” Matt said. “That is old. And her name is…? Is her name Amelia Rathburn?”
    “Why, yes,” Dad said. “I think it is. I’ve certainly seen that name on some of the account books. I believe she gives money to the city to maintain the park and the graveyard. They’re both on land that used to belong to the Rathburns.”
    They were still standing at the window looking out at the lawn and trees, and after a while Matt asked why they were doing it. “Were you looking for something in particular?”
    Dad was smiling when he turned away from the window. “No, not really. I thought I heard a dog barking in the yard but I guess I imagined it.” He glanced at his watch. “Uh-oh. Where did the time go? I’m going to be late. Are you coming, son?”
    Looking down at his T-shirt and baggy cargo pants, Matt said, “Well, I’d need to change first, I guess. Maybe I’d better wait till next time. Okay?”
    Dad patted him on the shoulder. “Good thinking, son,” he said. “Well, you have a nice afternoon. Okay?”
    Matt stayed at the window a minute longer, but nothing moved in the yard and there was no sound except for a slight wind-blown rustle and the soft chirping of birds. A few minutes later he was on his bike pedaling toward Rathburn Park.

Nine
    I T WAS A VERY warm afternoon, and Matt was sweating and puffing by the time he got off his bike and pushed it down the narrow path that led to the ruins of the old church. It wasn’t until he was inside the narthex that he stopped and checked his watch. Five minutes past one. She should be here if she was going to show up, which he wasn’t at all sure was going to happen. Actually there had been times, late last night when he was half-asleep, when he’d almost convinced himself that the whole thing about the Rathburn girl had been one of his crazy imagining games. Like the Robin Hood thing, for instance. On the one hand, he was absolutely positive it had really happened, but on the other—there was definitely something unreal about the whole thing, and he had lots of questions that didn’t have any answers.
    Questions like where had the girl come from, and how did she happen to appear in the deserted church? And why was she wearing such weird clothing? And what was there about her face and the quick, light-footed way she moved that was definitely strange, or at least kind of out of the ordinary? And another question that he definitely didn’t have an answer to was why he’d gone to so much trouble to be here at one o’clock, when he should have known that she wouldn’t show up.
    Matt checked his watch again—ten past one now. He kicked down the stand, put the lock on the bike’s hind wheel and gave the combination dial a spin. He looked around carefully again before he went on as far as the broken arch that separated the narthex from the main room of the church. Stopping there, he leaned forward, peering into the tangled jungle of trees and vines. No one. At least not where they could be seen. He waited several more minutes, standing right there in the doorway, before he took a few careful steps into the main part of the church.
    Nothing. No sign of life anywhere. Outside the church there had been the leafy rustle of wind in the trees. But inside—not even that. Inside the tall, jagged walls the stillness was so deep it seemed to be a solid material, as if you could reach out and touch it. But Matt didn’t want to reach out. Instead he stood perfectly still, wishing he knew if the sound of a footstep or a spoken word could reach his ears, or if it would only be swallowed up by the soft green silence.
    For what seemed like a long time he went on listening—and looking. Trying, without moving his feet forward, to see if he could lean far enough to look through or around the undergrowth to where the roof of Old Tom’s cabin might be visible. Somehow it seemed terribly important to catch a glimpse of the