that Harkness Kinneson had named him her heir came unexpectedly. The whole town, including Jim, knew that Miss Hark had set her cap for John Chadburn from the day they entered high school together. Unfortunately for the future schoolmistress, by then young Johnny was already in love with the remote trout streams and deep woods of the Kingdom.
Over his long tenure as headmaster at the Academy, Prof had become something of a living legend in Godâs Kingdom. A burly man with thinning white hair, a neat gray mustache, and noticing blue eyes, he still taught four classes of Latin and coached Jimâs baseball team. Malefactors actually enjoyed being sent to his office. After roaring at them for a minute or two, he regaled them with tales of his own juvenile misdemeanors, then sent them back to class laughing. To cover up his bald spot he wore his Academy baseball cap indoors and out, year-round.
As the old Rambler rattled onto the one-lane red iron bridge over the river, Prof slowed to a crawl. He looked out his window and Jim looked out his at the river below. Jim thought he saw the dark outline of a trout shoot up through the current into the shadow of the bridge abutment. Hanging in the deep green bridge pool, the fish looked nearly as long as Jimâs arm.
âWell, son,â Prof said as they continued into the village, âI donât need to tell you how little I look forward to this business today. Or how much I appreciate your help.â
Jim nodded. But as they pulled up to the curb in front of Miss Harkâs place, he was quite sure that Prof didnât dread the day ahead as much as he did. Not only had the recently deceased math teacher been directly responsible for the terrible fate of his friend Gaëtan Dubois on the big lake, her village house was widely rumored to be haunted. Never once in his nearly sixteen years had Jim set foot inside the place, and as foolish as he knew this was, heâd fervently hoped never to have to.
The old Kinneson manse, as Miss Harkâs place was called, had been built by Jimâs great-great-grandfather âAbolition Jimâ Kinneson. Abolition Jim had constructed the manse for his wife, who was unhappy on the farm where Jim and his parents now lived and pined for a place in town. Although not as large or stately as Judge Allenâs home on Anderson Hill, or Profâs headmasterâs house, the manse had several handsome features. Old James had cut a sideways, or âcoffin,â window between the steep upper slate roof and the tin roof of the kitchen ell. Into the front wall of the second story, overlooking the village green to the south, James had built an elegant secluded porch. A flagstone walk led from the picket fence up to the front door, over which he had inserted a horizontal transom of six frosted panes. A set of sleigh bells hung beside the door. Callers at the manse announced their arrival by giving them a shake. In the old days, visitors would sometimes jingle the bells a second time for the sheer pleasure of hearing them again. Atop the carriage shed adjacent to the house was a copper weathervane in the shape of a galloping Morgan horse. A bed of lavender scented the narrow side lawn between the manse and the lane leading down to the High Falls on the river. A few tiny white violets grew between the flagstones.
Just when the manse was first proclaimed to be haunted was lost in the distant lore of the village. Nor was Jim sure who or what was supposed to possess the place. Children, always more keenly attuned to these matters than their elders, began crossing the street to the village green in order to avoid walking by the manse about the time Miss Hark inherited the house from Jamesâs widow, her Kinneson grandmother.
Over the decades the place had fallen into disrepair. Virginia creeper had twined up the outside walls. A few of the square nails holding the roof slates in place had rusted out. Several slates had pulled
Over his long tenure as headmaster at the Academy, Prof had become something of a living legend in Godâs Kingdom. A burly man with thinning white hair, a neat gray mustache, and noticing blue eyes, he still taught four classes of Latin and coached Jimâs baseball team. Malefactors actually enjoyed being sent to his office. After roaring at them for a minute or two, he regaled them with tales of his own juvenile misdemeanors, then sent them back to class laughing. To cover up his bald spot he wore his Academy baseball cap indoors and out, year-round.
As the old Rambler rattled onto the one-lane red iron bridge over the river, Prof slowed to a crawl. He looked out his window and Jim looked out his at the river below. Jim thought he saw the dark outline of a trout shoot up through the current into the shadow of the bridge abutment. Hanging in the deep green bridge pool, the fish looked nearly as long as Jimâs arm.
âWell, son,â Prof said as they continued into the village, âI donât need to tell you how little I look forward to this business today. Or how much I appreciate your help.â
Jim nodded. But as they pulled up to the curb in front of Miss Harkâs place, he was quite sure that Prof didnât dread the day ahead as much as he did. Not only had the recently deceased math teacher been directly responsible for the terrible fate of his friend Gaëtan Dubois on the big lake, her village house was widely rumored to be haunted. Never once in his nearly sixteen years had Jim set foot inside the place, and as foolish as he knew this was, heâd fervently hoped never to have to.
The old Kinneson manse, as Miss Harkâs place was called, had been built by Jimâs great-great-grandfather âAbolition Jimâ Kinneson. Abolition Jim had constructed the manse for his wife, who was unhappy on the farm where Jim and his parents now lived and pined for a place in town. Although not as large or stately as Judge Allenâs home on Anderson Hill, or Profâs headmasterâs house, the manse had several handsome features. Old James had cut a sideways, or âcoffin,â window between the steep upper slate roof and the tin roof of the kitchen ell. Into the front wall of the second story, overlooking the village green to the south, James had built an elegant secluded porch. A flagstone walk led from the picket fence up to the front door, over which he had inserted a horizontal transom of six frosted panes. A set of sleigh bells hung beside the door. Callers at the manse announced their arrival by giving them a shake. In the old days, visitors would sometimes jingle the bells a second time for the sheer pleasure of hearing them again. Atop the carriage shed adjacent to the house was a copper weathervane in the shape of a galloping Morgan horse. A bed of lavender scented the narrow side lawn between the manse and the lane leading down to the High Falls on the river. A few tiny white violets grew between the flagstones.
Just when the manse was first proclaimed to be haunted was lost in the distant lore of the village. Nor was Jim sure who or what was supposed to possess the place. Children, always more keenly attuned to these matters than their elders, began crossing the street to the village green in order to avoid walking by the manse about the time Miss Hark inherited the house from Jamesâs widow, her Kinneson grandmother.
Over the decades the place had fallen into disrepair. Virginia creeper had twined up the outside walls. A few of the square nails holding the roof slates in place had rusted out. Several slates had pulled
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