Christina's Ghost by Betty Ren Wright

cabinets shone in the sun.
    â€œWhy, this is really quite nice,” Aunt Grace said, sounding surprised. “These old houses can be so damp and musty.”
    That was what was different, Chris thought. The musty smell was gone, and the gloom had gone with it.
    They followed Uncle Ralph as he led the way down the hall, into the parlor, through the dining room and study, and back to the front hall. Aunt Grace and Jenny thought they were being given a tour, but Chris knew Uncle Ralph wanted to look around. Except for the books piled on the floor of the study, there was no trace of the terrifying events of the night before. The rooms were bright and still.
    â€œChristina, you take Jenny upstairs and show her your bedroom,” Aunt Grace ordered. “I want to talk to Ralph for a while. We have to make plans now that your grandmother’s coming home.”
    Chris looked at Uncle Ralph, wide-eyed.
Upstairs?
    â€œYou don’t have to,” Uncle Ralph said quickly. “We can all go up and look around later.”
    Chris gulped. “That’s okay,” she said. “I think everything’s all right now.”
    â€œSo do I,” Uncle Ralph replied. “Or I wouldn’t let you go.”
    Aunt Grace frowned. “What in the world—”
    â€œCome on, Grace,” Uncle Ralph said. “I’ll make coffee. Tell me about Ma.”
    Jenny crowded close to Chris as they climbed the stairs. “It’s awful at Aunt Grace’s,” she whispered. “I have to eat liver and peas. And she
boils
the chicken. And I can’t watch any good television shows.” She poked Chris in the ribs. “I bet it was awful staying with Uncle Ralph, too.”
    They had reached the top of the stairs. All the doors except that of Chris’s bedroom were closed. The chest was against the wall at the end of the corridor. And the air was fresh and sweet, with a lake breeze blowing through Chris’s bedroom window.
    â€œIt wasn’t so bad here,” said Chris.
    Jenny peeked briefly into Chris’s room and then turned to the door next to it. “What’s in here?” she demanded, and threw the door open. “Hey, it’s a little kid’s room! Oh, I wish I’d stayed here instead of with Aunt Grace. This would have been my room for sure.” She darted around, admiring the posters and running her fingers over the game boxes on the shelves.
    Chris stood in the doorway. The room had changed.
    â€œEven the bed is my size,” Jenny squealed. “Look!”
    Chris looked. The bed covers, which had been turned back and waiting for thirty years, were pulled up and neatly smoothed.
    She crossed the red carpet and stood beside Jenny.
Good-bye, Russell
, she thought. She touched the pillow, knowing, as surely as if he’d told her, that she wouldn’t see the little boy again. He could rest peacefully now that the stamps were found and the last mystery surrounding his death was solved.
    â€œCome on,” Jenny shouted. “I want to see the rest of the rooms.”
    She ran away and down the hall, throwing open bedroom doors left and right. “If I stayed here, I’d sleep in a different room every night,” she announced. “You picked the worst room, silly old Chrissy. . . . What’s in here?”
    Her hand was on the attic door.
    â€œNothing,” Chris cried. “Don’t open it!”
    Jenny paid no attention. She had the door open and was partway up the stairs when Chris reached her.
    â€œBig deal,” she said, shaking off Chris’s hand. “This is nothing but a stuffy old attic. Boring.”
    The staircase was warm and dusty. Chris forced herself to look up, where the dust floated in bright beamsof sunlight. “Boring,” she agreed. She leaned against the wall until she stopped shaking.
    When they went downstairs, Uncle Ralph and Aunt Grace were in the kitchen drinking coffee with a box