The Pumpkin Principle Page 6

  There’s no doubt about it, Chris thought firmly. I simply have to come up with something. And I’m going to ... even if it takes every last bit of creativity I have!

  * * * *

  On her way home from school, Chris made a point of stopping in at Petersons’ Bookstore. She had been wondering about the details of poor Mrs. Carpenter’s supernatural experiences ever since her last conversation with Susan about the woman’s situation. She decided to try to find out more, she hoped, without Mr. Peterson figuring out what she was doing.

  Fortunately, he seemed to have taken the afternoon off. Ellie Peterson, his wife, was in charge.

  “Hi, Mrs. Peterson!” she said brightly as she waltzed into the store. Fortunately, there were no other customers; that would make things easier.

  “Hello there, Chris. I haven’t seen you for a while.” “I’ve been busy with school. In fact, that’s why I’m here.”

  “Oh, really? And what can I do for you?” Chris tried to sound matter-of-fact. “I need a book on ghosts. For a school project,” she added hastily. “Ghosts, huh? What kind of book, exactly?” Chris was relieved; Mrs. Peterson didn’t seem to connect Chris’s sudden interest in spooky subjects with the recent complications with her sister-in-law. “One of those books that documents actual cases where people claimed to see them.”

  “You mean like in castles in England?”

  “Right. And in this country, too.”

  “You’re in luck. I have a few books on the subject that came out recently. But if you’re not afraid of getting a little dust on your clothes, and maybe some cobwebs in your hair, I’ve got an even better idea.”

  With an introduction like that, Chris couldn’t help being curious. “What?”

  “I’ve got a collection of old books down in the basement. Not the kind of thing that most people want to buy or even browse through. But if I remember correctly, one or two of those are about supernatural phenomena. I think they might even refer to a few instances of supposed hauntings in this area.”

  A chill ran down Chris’s spine. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to pass up an opportunity like this one. “Just point me in the right direction, Mrs. Peterson!”

  A few minutes later, Chris was alone in the basement of the store, dodging spiderwebs—and their inhabitants—as she went through a stack of cardboard, boxes, each one packed with thick, dusty old volumes. Some of them were bound in real leather and printed with gold leaf. And all of them looked impressive, as if they contained very significant information.

  It wasn’t long before Chris found the books Mrs. Peterson had mentioned. Sure enough, there were two books on reports of haunted houses, some of them in towns not too far from Whittington. She scanned them with interest, thinking that one day it might be fun to reread them both carefully.

  And then she froze. One section, in the back of the second book, was entitled “Crabtree Hill.”

  Chris held her breath as she read on. For a few minutes, she forgot where she was. All she could think about was what she was reading.

  In the mid-1860s, there were several reports that a ghost was seen in a cemetery in a then unsettled area, on a hill nicknamed “Crabtree Hill.” Onlookers claimed that this was the ghost of Jonathan Spring, a soldier in the Civil War who had been buried there instead of with his family because he died in battle, far away from home. The legend that grew up around these sightings was that Jonathan Spring couldn’t rest because he’d been buried without his loved ones, and was therefore doomed to spend eternity yearning after his parents and his sisters.

  Chris suddenly felt very cold. She remembered noticing a small cemetery, a few hundred feet from Mrs. Carpenter’s house, while bicycling with her sister up on Crabtree Hill a long time ago. It was so overgrown with weeds that they had only spotted it when they stumbled upon it accidentally. She hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but now it all seemed to fit in.

  Maybe there really was a ghost living on Crabtree Hill. The ghost of Jonathan Spring.

  And maybe it was he who was haunting Mrs. Carpenter’s house!

  Chris noticed for the very first time how dark, and how quiet, it was in the store’s basement. It seemed so creepy ... and she was so alone.... Suddenly she felt like dashing out of there, escaping from the damp cellar with its spiders and spooky shadows and book about the ghost of Jonathan Spring.

  Chris grabbed the books she had been looking at and ran up the stairs, afraid to look behind her as she did.

  “Find what you were looking for?” Mrs. Peterson asked congenially. And then her smile faded. “Why, Chris! You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost yourself!”

  “Oh, um, no, Mrs. Peterson. It’s just that, um, a spider was crawling down my shirt. Yes, that’s it. A spider. So I ran up here to get away from it ...”

  “I told you so.” Mrs. Peterson laughed. “That place hasn’t been cleaned in years. But I see you found something helpful.”

  Chris glanced at the two dusty books she was carrying. “Uh, yes. These look as if they might be helpful. For my school project, I mean.”

  “Good! I’m glad someone can use them! Feel free to borrow them, Chris. Keep them for as long as you like.”

  “Gee, thanks, Mrs. Peterson. I think I’d better get going now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure, Chris. It was nice to see you. And, as I said, I’m glad I could be of help!”

  Chris ran all the way home, clutching the books to her chest so hard that there was no chance of them slipping out of her grasp. And as she went past Crabtree Hill, she kept her eyes down. For the first time in all the thousands of times she’d gone by, she was afraid that if she looked up, she might see something she’d rather not see.

  Chapter Eight

  As Susan was walking home from school that day, she smiled to herself when she came to the corner on which, only the day before, she had met B.J. Wilkins.

  What a strange coincidence, she thought. If I hadn’t been daydreaming just at the moment I was about to cross the street, and if B.J. hadn’t been turning the corner at the exact same time ....

  But before she had a chance to complete that sentence, she heard the tinkling of a bell—the kind that bicyclists often use as horns. Sure enough, when she glanced up, there was B.J. on his bicycle.

  This time, however, he was riding a great deal more slowly. And he was wearing a huge, playful grin.

  “Hello, again!”

  “B.J.!”

  “Don’t look so alarmed, Susan. This time you don’t have to worry about being mowed down by a crazed boy on his bicycle!”

  Susan laughed. “I guess you’ve been watching out for pedestrians with their heads in the clouds.”

  “Actually, there’s only one pedestrian I’ve been watching out for.” B.J. pulled up alongside her and climbed off his bike. “I figured you probably take the same route home from school every day, so I thought I’d take a chance and try to catch up with you. A bit less dramatically, though, this time around!”

  Susan was so pleased that she didn’t even care that her cheeks were turning pink.

  “Well, here I am.”

  “If I hadn’t found you, I was going to call you tonight, anyway.” B.J. sounded matter-of-fact.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yup. I was wondering if you were free this Saturday night. I thought you and I could go out to the movies. And,” he added, his blue eyes twinkling, “maybe we could top off the evening at Fozzy’s. I’ve heard that both their banana splits and their hot fudge sundaes are out of this world.”

  “I’d love to!”

  “Great! Then we can order both a sundae and a banana split, and I’ll have a chance to try both.”

  “Okay,” Susan agreed with a chuckle. “I hope they have doggie bags, though, so we can bring the leftovers home. You’re talking about quite a bit of ice cream!”

  “I think you’ll be astounded by how much I can eat. Ice cream, that is. Vegetables are an entirely different matter, I’m a
fraid.”

  “I’ll remember that in case you ever come over to our house for dinner!”

  “Terrific! Listen, I’ll have to check with my parents to make sure I can borrow the car on Saturday night. But assuming that it’s okay with them, how about if I pick you up at seven?”

  Susan was already counting the hours until then.

  By the time she got home, she knew that trying to settle down and get some homework done would simply be impossible. She was too excited about her Saturday-night date with B.J.

  So when Chris showed up a few minutes later, Susan pounced on her immediately.

  “Chris! How would you like to take that bike ride we talked about yesterday morning?”

  “You mean now?”

  “Right now. This very instant, in fact.”

  “Well, I don’t have very much homework ...”

  “And it’s a perfect day. Oh, please, say yes!” Susan grabbed her sister’s arm and jumped up and down. “We can go over to the Atkinses’ farm and get some pumpkins. Come on. It’ll be fun!”

  “Okay.” Chris eyed her twin curiously. “Are you all right, Sooz? You’re acting as if you’ve got ants in your pants!”

  Susan just laughed gleefully. “I’ll tell you all about it when we’re on our way.”

  It was only ten minutes or so before the girls were bicycling down First Street, side by side, heading toward the road that led out of town. The Atkinses’ farm, where fresh fruits and vegetables were sold almost all year round, was a few miles away, off a quiet country lane that was ideal for a long, leisurely bike ride. The girls had changed into their sloppiest jeans, and the day was just cool enough to require the pastel-colored sweaters they had both put on. It occurred to Chris that this would be a good time to tell Susan about Jonathan Spring—and the possibility that Mrs. Carpenter could be correct in her belief that her house was haunted. But it was such a beautiful day, and they were having such a good time, that it just didn’t seem like the right time.

  “Let’s get four pumpkins, Chris, instead of just two,” Susan suggested as they rode past the Petersons’ bookstore, right in the middle of Whittington. “That way, we can give one each to Mom and Dad.”

  “What a great idea! And we can all carve them into jack-o’-lanterns this weekend. I think I’ll make mine scary this year! He’ll have the meanest jagged teeth I can make.”

  “Not me, I want mine to have the biggest smile in the whole wide world!”

  Chris glanced over at her twin, pedaling lazily beside her. “There must be something behind this fantastic mood you’re in today! Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?”

  Susan giggled. “Oh, it’s no secret.”

  “Tell me, then!”

  “Oh, Chris! Remember that boy I told you about, the one I met yesterday?”

  “Yes. B.J. Wilkins, right?” Chris was beginning to get nervous.

  “Right! Well, I saw him after school today as I was walking home:—and he asked me for a date! We’re going out this Saturday night!”

  Oh, no! thought Chris. But she remained silent for a few seconds.

  Then, slowly, she said, “Where are you two going? To the movies, by any chance?”

  “Yes! How on earth did you know?”

  “Oh, just a hunch.”

  “Of course, it depends on whether he can get the car for that night. He has to ask his parents first before it’s definite.”

  “Of course.”

  Chris was suddenly feeling rather glum.

  This B.J. Wilkins is really something! she thought ruefully. Not only did he ask both of us out on the very same day, but he even planned the same date! And on two consecutive nights, no less!

  It was all just too distressing. Chris didn’t know what to do. So, for now, she decided not to do anything.

  “Gee, that’s great, Sooz. I hope you have a good time.”

  “Oh, I’m sure we will. He’s so nice, Chris! I can’t wait until you meet him!”

  Chris tried to put B.J. out of her mind for the rest of the afternoon. Instead, she worked at concentrating on picking out the fattest, roundest pumpkins possible.

  But she remained troubled. And, she knew, not thinking about B.J. wasn’t going to solve anything.

  Finally, that evening after dinner, when Chris had found it impossible to get any of her homework done because she was so troubled by the B.J. Wilkins business, she decided to talk to someone she considered a real authority on affairs of the heart.

  “Mom, are you busy?” she asked, poking her head into the doorway of her parents’ bedroom.

  “No, honey. I’m just reading. Another mystery, what else?”

  Mrs. Pratt was a great fan of mysteries. She had read every one in the Whittington Public Library—and even went back to reread some of the books she’d particularly enjoyed, joking that she always hoped that maybe the second time around, they’d turn out “differently.

  The book she was reading tonight, however, was one she hadn’t read before. And she was finding it particularly absorbing. Even so, she readily put it down as soon as she saw the serious look on her daughter’s face.

  “What is it, Chris? Is something wrong?”

  “Oh, no! There’s nothing wrong, exactly.”

  “That’s a relief. From your expression, I thought perhaps you were having some kind of problem.”

  “It’s not me who’s having a problem. Actually, it’s—it’s a friend of mine.” Chris plopped down on the bed opposite the comfortable upholstered chair in which her mother was curled up with her book.

  “A friend of yours?” Mrs. Pratt suppressed a knowing smile. She was only too well aware that there was no friend. “Anyone I know?” she asked innocently.

  “Oh, no!” Chris’s answer came too quickly. “It’s someone from school. But you’ve never met her. I’m pretty sure of that.”

  “All right, then. What’s your friend’s problem?”

  “Well, this ... friend met a boy she really liked. And she was certain he liked her, too. But then—that same day, in fact-—she found out that this boy had walked another girl home. Meaning that he liked her, too.”

  “Wait a minute. Is this friend of yours sure this boy walked this other girl home?”

  Chris nodded. “Yes. The other girl told her all about it. And she went on and on about how wonderful she thinks this boy is.”

  “I see. The plot thickens.”

  “Wait, it gets even thicker! The very next day, this boy asked one of the girls out for Friday night, and the other girl out for Saturday night! And,” she added, scowling, “he even asked both of them to go to the movies and explained that first he had to ask his parents if he could borrow their car.

  “But there’s even more! I still haven’t told you the very worst part! These two girls happen to be ... let’s just say close friends.”

  “How close?”

  “Very close.” Chris paused, hoping she had made herself clear, without giving away any of the key details, of course. “Understand the problem, Mom?”

  “Oh, yes. I think I understand it quite well, in fact.” She wondered if Chris knew exactly how well she understood.

  “So, what do you think she should do? I mean, do you think this friend of mine should tell her best friend that this boy is—is ...”

  Mrs. Pratt laughed gently. “What, in my day, we called a two-timer?”

  “Yes, that’s it precisely.”

  “Well, let’s see.” Mrs. Pratt leaned forward in her seat and folded her hands in her lap. After thinking hard for a few seconds, she put on what she hoped was an expression of great wisdom. “Chris, if these two girls really are close, I think your friend should talk to her friend about what happened.”

  “You do?” Chris looked at her mother in disbelief. “You don’t think she should just mind her own business? Tell the boy she won’t go out with him and never ever mention the whole episode again, not to her friend or to anybody else?”

  “It’s true that t
here’s something to be said for minding one’s own business. But it sounds as if this girl is afraid that the boy might hurt her friend. There’s nothing wrong with warning her.

  “And if these two girls really are such good friends, there’ll be nothing lost. Just as long as she makes it clear that she’s acting in her friend’s best interest.”

  Chris thought for a few seconds. “Gee, I never really thought of it that way. I guess that if she wants to be a good friend, she really does owe it to this other girl to warn her about this boy.”

  Suddenly, she brightened. “I think you’re right, Mom! Yes, I’m certain that you are!”

  She jumped up off the bed, then leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek. “Thanks, Mom! I knew you’d know what to do!”

  As she started to dash out of the room, Mrs. Pratt called after her. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  “To talk to my friend. To call her, I mean.”

  “Good idea. Oh, Chris, by the way ...”

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “In case you’re wondering where Susan is, she’s in the garage, helping your father organize his tools.”

  “But ... why ...” Suddenly, Chris burst out laughing. “Thanks a lot, Mom. You really are a peach.”

  Mrs. Pratt just smiled. “That’s what mothers are for.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Sooz, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Just as Mrs. Pratt had said, Susan was out in the garage with her father, pouring nails out of ragged cardboard boxes into glass jars. Both Susan and Mr. Pratt looked a bit relieved to see Chris, however.

  “I was hoping for some sort of distraction,” Mr. Pratt said cheerfully. “Susan and I have just put in a good hour trying to clean up this mess. I’d say it’s time for a coffee break.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me,” Susan agreed.

  To Chris, she said, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, too. I’d like some advice on what to wear on my date with B.J. Saturday night. I thought maybe you’d look through my closet with me and help me pick something out.”