yourself?”
“I’m not alone,” she said and giggled. “I’m playing with Lucien.”
“Lucien?” I turned to look over my shoulder, puzzled. I hadn’t seen another child out here. “Where is he?”
Lavender giggled and pointed to the cherub statue. “He’s standing over there.”
I stood and dusted off my hands. “Oh, he’s your imaginary friend.”
“Not imaginary, you just can’t see him,” Lavender insisted.
“OK, OK.” I put my hands up in surrender. “I believe you.”
She gave me a dubious look and then shrugged. “You broke the line,” she said and pointed to the ground. “That’s bad.”
“What?” I looked down at her feet and frowned. A line of black powder as thick as a brick curved along the length of the iron fence.
I bent down to inspect it. The fine powder resembled charcoal dust. A smudge in the line where I’d run through the gate was the only place it was broken.
“What is it?”
Lavender looked over my shoulder and back at me. “Lucien says it’s a linnia fantom ,” she said in a whisper.
“A what?”
She pierced me with her dark blue eyes and smiled. “It’s a ghost line.”
“A ghost line?” I rocked back on my heels, shaking my head. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Me either, but Lucien says it’s bad to break the line.” Her countenance darkened, and she shook her head making the long dark tresses shimmy. “Really not good.”
“What does he think will happen?” I stood up and wiped my fingers on my skirt. “It’s only powder.”
“He says this will happen.” Lavender hopped over the black powder into the cemetery and then back out. She did a twirl and bowed.
I shrugged, not quite understanding her game.
Lavender sighed with exaggeration and hopped back and forth over the line again.
“They’ll get out,” she said, her petite mouth pulled down with irritation.
“What will get out?”
A wave of wind rushed over the cemetery grasses and buffeted us, sending our hair flying and our skirts whipping. Lavender put her little finger to her pink lips and motioned for me to come closer with her other. I leaned in.
“The ghosts, of course,” she whispered.
“The what?”
“Haven’t you heard them at night?” Lavender asked, and the look on her face told me she wasn’t joking.
“Uh…no.” I shook my head, a weird feeling tumbling in my stomach.
“You will,” she said and shrugged. “I do.”
With that, she turned on her heels and ran back through the meadow.
“Wait—” I began, but she was already weaving through the flowers, a giggle carried on the wind.
I watched her leave, not sure if the chill shuddering up my spine was from the cold.
7
The next few days went by quickly as I settled into a routine. I read aloud to Davenport every morning while he ate his breakfast in bed. On our walks in the garden, he’d tell me about his years spent traveling. Stories about dark continents and wild seas that made me admire how fully he’d lived his life. Shadow Bay Hall, in the family for generations, had always been his home base. He’d returned for good when Simon’s mother died seven years ago.
The first couple of mornings, I walked to the meadow and back if the weather was nice. Although I chose a route that would take me past the cottage, I hadn’t seen Simon in some time. But the past five days poured rain, and I’d been stuck inside.
Mrs. Tuttle explained that he often got lost in his work and even slept in his workshop when he was working on a project, not that it was my business, according to the remarks muttered under her breath.
For the most part, Mrs. Tuttle and O’Shay seemed to operate on their own. I rarely saw either of them except at meals when either she or O’Shay dropped a tray of food off at my bedroom. No one ate together. Lavender ran wild through the large house often disappearing for hours at a time. With so many rooms and three stories, it didn’t surprise me that I
“I’m not alone,” she said and giggled. “I’m playing with Lucien.”
“Lucien?” I turned to look over my shoulder, puzzled. I hadn’t seen another child out here. “Where is he?”
Lavender giggled and pointed to the cherub statue. “He’s standing over there.”
I stood and dusted off my hands. “Oh, he’s your imaginary friend.”
“Not imaginary, you just can’t see him,” Lavender insisted.
“OK, OK.” I put my hands up in surrender. “I believe you.”
She gave me a dubious look and then shrugged. “You broke the line,” she said and pointed to the ground. “That’s bad.”
“What?” I looked down at her feet and frowned. A line of black powder as thick as a brick curved along the length of the iron fence.
I bent down to inspect it. The fine powder resembled charcoal dust. A smudge in the line where I’d run through the gate was the only place it was broken.
“What is it?”
Lavender looked over my shoulder and back at me. “Lucien says it’s a linnia fantom ,” she said in a whisper.
“A what?”
She pierced me with her dark blue eyes and smiled. “It’s a ghost line.”
“A ghost line?” I rocked back on my heels, shaking my head. “I don’t know what that is.”
“Me either, but Lucien says it’s bad to break the line.” Her countenance darkened, and she shook her head making the long dark tresses shimmy. “Really not good.”
“What does he think will happen?” I stood up and wiped my fingers on my skirt. “It’s only powder.”
“He says this will happen.” Lavender hopped over the black powder into the cemetery and then back out. She did a twirl and bowed.
I shrugged, not quite understanding her game.
Lavender sighed with exaggeration and hopped back and forth over the line again.
“They’ll get out,” she said, her petite mouth pulled down with irritation.
“What will get out?”
A wave of wind rushed over the cemetery grasses and buffeted us, sending our hair flying and our skirts whipping. Lavender put her little finger to her pink lips and motioned for me to come closer with her other. I leaned in.
“The ghosts, of course,” she whispered.
“The what?”
“Haven’t you heard them at night?” Lavender asked, and the look on her face told me she wasn’t joking.
“Uh…no.” I shook my head, a weird feeling tumbling in my stomach.
“You will,” she said and shrugged. “I do.”
With that, she turned on her heels and ran back through the meadow.
“Wait—” I began, but she was already weaving through the flowers, a giggle carried on the wind.
I watched her leave, not sure if the chill shuddering up my spine was from the cold.
7
The next few days went by quickly as I settled into a routine. I read aloud to Davenport every morning while he ate his breakfast in bed. On our walks in the garden, he’d tell me about his years spent traveling. Stories about dark continents and wild seas that made me admire how fully he’d lived his life. Shadow Bay Hall, in the family for generations, had always been his home base. He’d returned for good when Simon’s mother died seven years ago.
The first couple of mornings, I walked to the meadow and back if the weather was nice. Although I chose a route that would take me past the cottage, I hadn’t seen Simon in some time. But the past five days poured rain, and I’d been stuck inside.
Mrs. Tuttle explained that he often got lost in his work and even slept in his workshop when he was working on a project, not that it was my business, according to the remarks muttered under her breath.
For the most part, Mrs. Tuttle and O’Shay seemed to operate on their own. I rarely saw either of them except at meals when either she or O’Shay dropped a tray of food off at my bedroom. No one ate together. Lavender ran wild through the large house often disappearing for hours at a time. With so many rooms and three stories, it didn’t surprise me that I
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