Victoria and the Ghost

Chapter One

This place is awful, Victoria said, spewing all the venom that a fifteen-year-old could muster.

Her dad sighed. I know you’re mad at me for moving you to the country, but —

You bet I’m mad. I hate you. She pressed her lips together until they hurt.

Well, I love you. Her dad’s eyes displayed his hurt. The expression of pain on Dad’s face was familiar since the divorce, but Mom wasn’t the culprit this time. Victoria’s sharp tongue cut off the kindness he tried to express now.

She bit back the apology threatening to slip, glanced around the kitchen, and grimaced. Yellow and white wallpaper curled above the counter. A hideous dining room suite offered eating space for three. Dad gave Mom’s fancy French Provincial to the Salvation Army. From a neighbor’s farm, cows mooed and a horse whinnied.

His expression hardened. Why can’t you make friends like your sister? You haven’t even tried.

My sister is a nerd. She doesn’t need friends. I’m not as old as Marcy.

There’s only a two-year difference. Dad leaned against the stove looking like he wanted to tie her to a chair until she begged for help.

Whatever. She turned and stomped toward the living room. Her steps beat to the tune in her head, sounding like I Hate the Country Blues.

Where are you going? Dad stood in the kitchen watching her leave. His loud words bounced through the small farmhouse and struck Victoria’s conscience.

She went back and opened the fridge, the one minus the icemaker function. After snatching the tiny cooler she used for school lunches, she took a cola and a water bottle. Exploring, okay? I have my cell.

When Victoria started to leave, her sister, Marcy, walked out of her bedroom. Don’t forget; it’s your turn to fix supper. I did it yesterday. Marcy glared at her little sis for emphasis.

Whenever Dad jumped on Victoria about doing more housework, she became annoyed, especially when Marcy added her two-cents.

Whatever. Though short, with more meat on her body than her track coach liked, Victoria stood as tall and straight as her stature allowed and slammed the front door behind her, glad to be out of there. She leaped from the porch, traveled the quarter mile to the road, and started her hike.

A sticker stabbed her heel, which reminded her flip-flops weren’t the best walking shoes. After pulling out the culprit, she edged nearer the blacktop. Close to half a city block away, the flat ground swelled into a tiny hill like a pimple on the landscape. She wanted to explore what lay behind it. The country’s three weeks of rain had kept her inside and bored.

Her stringy hair fell to the front of her shoulders like two cobwebs knit together to decorate her T-shirt. She caught the wisps of hair behind her ears and strained to climb over rocks and roots toward the stone Lutheran church atop the ridge. Near the entrance to the building, a plaque proclaimed, Founded in 1886.

Sweat dripped into Victoria’s eyes as she read the words. Noonday sun scorched the top of her scalp, so she stepped under the shade of a towering oak. The tree’s roots disappeared underground near the church’s foundation.

Why did Dad move her from the city? Did he just want to annoy her? If so, he succeeded. She aimed her phone, clicked, and hit send, so Emily, back in Dallas, could picture the landscape. Flat. Rocky. Yuck. She wouldn’t want Dallas friends to see her heated cheeks, sweaty hair, and dusty feet right now.

Fields of grain, the golden color of the dress Mom bought Victoria during their end-of-summer shopping trip last year, sprawled before her.

No more fun with Mom now.

When Victoria approached the church’s double doors, the lock held. She turned and leaned against it to take a swig of her bottled water. A smell of polish emanated from the splintered wood indicating someone’s recent labor.

A loud chirping startled her. A cricket perched on a rock not five feet away, making enough noise to wake the dead at the cemetery down the road from the church. When he jumped in her direction, she slid down the southern slope, past the tall cane stalks, and arrived on her blue-jeaned bottom at a black-topped road.

She brushed herself off, surveyed the area for spectators, retrieved her flip-flops, and shuffled down the road. After she walked farther, heaving from the exertion, she paralleled the fence to an archway proclaiming Clara Cemetery.

Interesting. What a forlorn place. How about that, a church and cemetery this far from civilization? She opened the creaky, iron gate and ventured forward.

Impressive memorials surrounded her. A heavy cedar fragrance drifted on the prairie winds from the graveyard’s clumps of tall trees. Red, pink, and yellow colors from flowers and decorations dotted graves. Off to one side, a cement bench offered a place to sit and talk with dead family. Might as well talk to them: no live people in sight.

She sat on the bench. The breeze rustled leaves and cooled her brow despite the sun’s heat. While she popped her soda can, she listened to the music of wind chimes hanging in one tree. Memories floated in and out of her mind, some good, some awful. Recently, they’d mostly been the latter.

Footsteps. Her ears perked. She jumped to look around but saw no one and heard no more sound. It must have been the wind playing tricks on her imagination.

Leaving her soda on the bench, Victoria wandered down the walkway surrounding the family graves. She read the dates on the stones, many over a hundred years old.

Her youth minister in Dallas always cautioned them to live their lives as if every day was their last on earth. In this atmosphere, that word of advice held more meaning. Heat rose to her cheeks as she thought of the angry words she’d yelled at her father. She grimaced. He deserved them.

She circled back to the bench to retrieve her soda. It had vanished. She checked the grass beneath the bench and roots of the nearest trees but couldn’t find it. She added to her search range but saw no sign of the can. Was the breeze strong enough to blow a full drink away? The answer eluded her but heightened her unease.

She spotted a hopscotch pattern drawn on the concrete border like a child’s playground spot. She smiled and headed to the squares stepping in one and two, then three and four, one foot on five, then back again. The rest of the chalk marks were dim. She hopped through it one more time and then rounded again to the bench to rest.

Reclining on the cool concrete, she gazed at the sky. White clouds formed into a menagerie of animals across a brilliant blue landscape. The huge bank to the north resembled a mountain range. As a child, she, lay with her mother and sister on a blanket in their back yard naming the shapes, like Adam naming animals. Dad thought it foolishness. As she watched now, the shapes dissolved and rearranged. Her eyes grew heavy.

Soon, they fluttered open from her nap. She needed to leave. Since she would pass by way of the hopscotch drawing, she planned to jump one more time, but the marks were gone. Goosebumps popped up and down her arms.

Victoria thought over the strange happenings in Clara Cemetery: footsteps that spooked her, a soda that vanished, and a hopscotch game that disappeared. Was this a hallucination, or did the memorials conceal someone in the garden? Tingles teased her hairline, and she breathed harder. Her gaze skimmed the rows. Only three monuments were large enough to hide even a small person.

Her heart pounding, she raced to the archway and then glanced back for one last look.

She should check those bigger monuments.

Her legs wobbled, rebelling at the thought.

She swallowed her fear, retraced her steps, and looked behind all three larger stones. No one was there. This time, she jogged toward the gate, her breathing pumping faster than her legs. She stumbled over one of her flip-flops but finally ducked under the archway.

Near the church, she paused with hands on her knees, panting. Curiosity could get her in trouble. Her father would call her silly. He thought everything she did was either stupid or crazy. She wanted to come again, but maybe she’d bring a friend when she did.

Except all her friends were a hundred and fifty miles away.

Chapter Two

Lonely and bored, Victoria walked around the living room and looked out the window while slurping her morning cereal. Her eyes widened. The bowl slipped from her fingers. Milk splattered her bare feet. Heading to the house, a girl with a reddish-brown ponytail rode a horse that grew bigger, and more threatening, with each step.

Victoria picked up the bowl; she was glad it was plastic. She would clean the mess later, but now she scurried to open the front door. Hello. Her gaze slid over the girl and settled on the gigantic, brown horse.

The girl tied her horse to a porch pillar. Hey. She saluted with two fingers and a grin. I’m Shelley Halverson. Thought I’d come and meet you. I live in the house with the big porch. She pointed down the road.

Victoria squinted against a bright morning sun, making out the wraparound porch in the distance. Shelley’s house looked far enough away to be halfway to Dallas. Good to meet you. I’m Victoria Peterson. She backed away from the heaving beast near her porch and gulped the apprehension rising in her throat. She scooted a folding, web-stripped, lawn chair against the house and motioned Shelley to take a seat.

Victoria longed for a friend, even one that came with a horse big enough to snuff out what breath she could muster at this moment.

I’d have been over sooner, but ... glad to have the rain stop. These old roads turn into mud puddles. Shelley plopped into the chair; her turquoise boots dangled off the edge of the plank porch. Good to see the sun, but I figured if I didn’t ride down early, it’d get too muggy later. She scrunched up her nose. Yuck.

Victoria couldn’t think of anything to say.

Shelley fanned herself with her wide-brimmed hat. Where you from?

Victoria sat in another of the old chairs and shifted when the web strips cut into her leg. Dallas. Odd how interesting her golden sandals, with one strap around her ankle and others around her big toes, were. Mom bought them before leaving the family, a forgive-me-for-living-my-own-life-without-you gift. Victoria’s eyes stung. She blinked and concentrated on her prospective friend.

Heard you were from the big city.

Victoria cleared her throat and straightened her spine. You always lived around here?

All my life.

Tumbleweeds sailed across the patchy grass. The horse let out a loud whinny. Victoria shivered even in the heat and made another effort at conversation. Do you know anything about the Clara Cemetery? I took a hike there a few days ago. Interesting. Kind of scary too, but Victoria wouldn’t mention that.

Shelley kicked a loose board with the toe of her boot. Of course. I go to the Lutheran church at Clara. The road near the cemetery winds up the back side and comes out behind the rectory. Shelley quit fanning. My grandfather was an Elder there in his day. Now my father is. Family tradition, I guess.

Victoria jumped to her feet remembering Mom’s efforts at hospitality when guests came. Would you like something to drink? She pushed back sweaty bangs. Something cold?

Sure. Shelley followed Victoria to the kitchen. This house has been vacant for a while. Glad to have someone here, especially someone my age.

Grabbing a dishrag, Victoria ran back to the living room. Hold on a minute. I spilt my cereal and need to wipe it up, or Dad will kill me. Victoria cleaned the mess on the floor and wiped the stickiness from her toes and then headed back to the kitchen.

Shelly watched without comment.

Through the back window, Victoria could make out a speck where her dad stood surveying their property. A Christian rap song blasted from behind her sister’s closed door. I appreciate meeting you, really I do, but I wish I was back in the city. That’s home. She poured two glasses of lemonade before setting them on the table with a plate of cookies.

Shelley made a noise like wheels grinding when a train slows. Whew. Her eyes pinpointed the red circles on Victoria’s cheeks, then traveled upward and glared. Guess I hope you get to go home then.

Why couldn’t Victoria keep her mouth shut? She bit her lip. Sorry, that didn’t come out right. Thanks so much for coming over. I’m really curious about that church and cemetery.

Shelley picked up her drink and carried it back to the porch. Families like mine struck oil here in North Texas years ago, and we keep that church going. Want to ride up there with me today?

When Victoria followed with her drink and some cookies, she eyed the beast at the railing. Her breathing quickened. She couldn’t do this, not ride a horse. The frightening animal nibbled the grass.

Shelley laughed. Have you ever ridden?

Victoria shook her head. It’s so tall.

You scared?

Victoria’s face flushed, but she couldn’t get on that horse. Its back was too high above the earth. Yes.

Shelley chugalugged her drink and gobbled a cookie. How about you walk with me to my house while I put Trophy in the corral; then, we’ll hike together to Clara. Might not get as nice a day again for awhile. Shelley stood. Supposed to rain the next few days. I watched the weather channel and everything. Her eyebrows raised, and Victoria spotted a hint of a smile.

Victoria relaxed. Then the horse blew out a breath and shook its head, making her jump. She eyed that monster of an animal for a moment. Going with Shelley meant going with the horse, but Victoria wouldn’t ride it. She could keep her distance from the horse on the way to Shelley’s house. Best of all, Victoria could hang out with a friend. Okay. She took the glasses and plate inside then stuck her head into her sister’s room to explain where she planned on going. I have my cell with me.

When she returned to the porch, Shelley mounted. Victoria trailed along at a safe distance until Shelley reached a corral behind her house. They circled the horse’s track similar to the one used for school track meets, left Trophy there, and angled toward the road.

Then, she and Shelley strolled the blacktop to Clara. Sweat dribbled down the sides of Victoria’s face. She brushed it off with her forearm and yanked up the tank-top strap that kept falling over her shoulder. I’ll be glad when we get there.

Shelley’s face was redder than her hair. This road isn’t so bad. She rolled up her long sleeves. I should’ve changed clothes.

Victoria remembered the steepness of her previous hike. She slowed, panting, and shook gravel from her new sandals, afraid they’d never be the same again. She should’ve changed, too.

Shelley’s bowlegs carried her faster so she pulled ahead. A small home came into view to the left of the church. She headed that way and knocked.

A mountain of a woman opened the door with a grin the size of the prairie where she lived. She smoothed back a severe blonde bun. "Guten Morgen, Shelley. She looked over the girl’s shoulder. And, who’s your friend?"

Hey, Gretchen, this is Victoria. Shelley motioned between the two in introduction, and this is our pastor’s wife, Gretchen Mertens.

Victoria leaned back her head to better see Mrs. Mertens who towered over both girls.

A gleam shimmered in the woman’s eyes. "Willkommen, Victoria. She stepped back beckoning with her hands. You girls come in."

Mrs. Mertens’ age was somewhere between Mom’s and Victoria’s. The pastor’s wife wore an oversized, iridescent orange top with baggy jeans. The large-beaded, green and gold necklace with matching earrings gave a chic facade to her ensemble.

Sit. Sit. Mrs. Mertens brought out sodas.

Shelley took her drink and sprawled over an ottoman. Victoria sat on the sofa and took a long, satisfying gulp of the cool liquid.

Victoria scanned the room. Across from her, a mantel displayed a picture of a cemetery bright with flowers. Is that the Clara Cemetery?

Mrs. Mertens paused before taking a seat. Ja. Do you like it?

"I went there a few days ago.