Ghost on Black Mountain by Ann Hite Page A

the mess I’d made of my life, but that would mean failing. When the good pastor sang out his altar call, I stayed in the pew. I never had been much of a kneeling-in-the-front-of-the-church person. But I prayed God would deliver me from my hopelessness. That’s the best I could do. A person should be careful what they pray after. Of course what happened, all that took place, couldn’t be left at God’s feet. Nope, what came later was like the little purple crocuses pushing through snow to bloom; it was going to happen no matter what tried to get in the way.
    On the way home from the service, I stopped at the little cabin in back of Pastor Dobbins’s house. In my skirt pocket was a small bundle. I tapped on the door as I stood on the wide front porch. Through the window, I saw the front room washed in lamplight. In one corner was a bed with the most colorful quilt, all bright blues, reds, oranges, and yellows. A big fireplace took over the room, but what caught my eye was the fancy organ in the corner.
    “What brings you this way, Mrs. Pritchard?” Shelly’s mother had opened the door without me noticing.
    My cheeks heated having been caught snooping. “I had a little something for Shelly.” I pulled the lacy cloth napkin out of my pocket. “I hope that’s all right.”
    Mrs. Parker pushed the door open wider. “Come on in.” She turned her head. “Shelly, we got company.”
    Shelly appeared in the door of a room to the back of the cabin. “Mrs. Pritchard.” Her smile was almost shy.
    “I have this for you.” I held out the napkin folded neatly around the surprise.
    Shelly took it and sniffed. “Oh, you made it.” She grinned. “Fudge.”
    Mrs. Parker’s smile was stiff. “Isn’t that nice. You thank her, Shelly.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Pritchard.”
    “It’s nothing much. I wanted to thank you for all your help. You’ve been such a hard worker.”
    Mrs. Parker’s face relaxed. “I taught her to be on her best.”
    “Do you play the organ?” I asked Shelly.
    She looked at her feet. “Not good.”
    Mrs. Parker straightened her shoulders. “You play real good. Go play Mrs. Pritchard a Christmas song.”
    Shelly frowned but walked to the organ. She placed her long fingers on the keys and played “Silent Night” without missing a note.
    I clapped.
    “Shelly learned from Miss Faith. She’s good enough to play for the church if they let coloreds do such a thing.”
    “She is very good.”
    Shelly stood. “Can’t I have a piece of fudge?”
    “Tell Mrs. Pritchard bye and then go eat one piece.”
    “Bye.” Shelly smiled and ran back to the room with the fudge in her hand.
    I sure wasn’t used to a shy Shelly. When I was alone with Mrs. Parker, I couldn’t find one word to say, but that didn’t matter. Mrs. Parker stood in the middle of her small neat cabin and found all the words she needed.
    “She won’t be coming back to your house. It was kind of you to stop by.” Mrs. Parker held the door open.
    “Oh, she can come back after Christmas.”
    Mrs. Parker shook her head. “No ma’am. Your husband stopped by the pastor’s house and gave him Shelly’s pay. He said he had no use for her work. That you were going to take over the chores.”
    Sweat broke out on my neck even though it was cold. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll miss her.”
    “You’ve grown on her, but Shelly don’t belong cleaning your house.” Her words were firm. “I don’t want her close to Hobbs Pritchard no more.”
    The air was thick with my silence.
    “I guess I need to get home.” I wanted to fix things between us, but there wasn’t no use.
    “I thank you for the thought.” Mrs. Parker watched me from the door.
    “She’s a good worker. I’m sorry if I did anything to offend you.” I hung my head and walked.
    “Shelly’s seen a spirit that’s here cause of you.”
    A ripple of dread went over me.
    “The spirit warned her that you’re in danger. Did she tell you?”
    “No.”
    Mrs.