The Ghost of Tillie Jean Cassaway by Ellen Harvey Showell Page B

protects you,” said Willy. “He nearly got me when he thought I was after you.”
    â€œMaybe he needs special teaching, too,” said Hilary. “And a home.”
    â€œWell, I didn’t really hit him, did I?” asked the man.
    â€œYou hurt his leg!” cried Hilary. “He’s with Babe now. Mrs. Larson is feeding him!”
    â€œAnd as for that , Morton Craig, what was you doing coming after this girl with a gun?” asked Granny Barbour.
    â€œI didn’t know who that boy was,” he said. “I been pestered by boys, breaking my windows, stealin’ my chickens. I thought she’d got in bad hands. What was he doing on my property?” He sounded angry again.
    Willy began to tell how he had thought the girl was going to get in trouble and tried to stop her, and had ended up going upstairs to see her book. While they were talking, the red-haired girl slipped back into the room with the blue door.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    Ann Turner had been very mixed up. Sometimes she thought of her past life as that of the girl buried near the garden, while the others, her mother, the people on Couger Mountain, were of another world. Sometimes she even thought she remembered things that had happened to Tillie Jean, how she had played with her doll and loved her dog.
    No one had followed her to the room. She was alone. She stood looking at the bucket that was in the center of the floor, holding water from the rain. She looked at the doll, but looked away again. She did not like its eyes. They seemed to be staring at her. The doll looked as though it wanted to talk, but could not. Ann’s eyes were drawn back to the water in the bucket. A pale face looked back at her. She put her head down closer to see better, but the face disappeared. She drew her head back and saw the face again. Let me out! Let me out! Ann could hear no words, yet these words were ringing in her head. Please! Let me come back. Why did you send me away?
    Ann stood unable to move, afraid. She did not want to be Tillie Jean any more!
    She looked around but saw only the doll with round, staring eyes.
    â€œNo!” she said. “I’m Ann Turner! You’re dead!”
    Water fell from the doll’s eyes.
    â€œDon’t cry!” The girl glanced about and, seeing a handkerchief on the floor, picked it up to wipe the doll’s face. She jumped back in horror when she uncovered the cold, still body of the dead bird. She looked back at the doll. It’s arm was up, fingers beckoning. The eyes bore into hers.
    Come .
    The girl held her hands over her ears. “No!” she choked. She tried to look away from the doll but could not. She took a step toward it, moaned, and stepped back. Her feet touched something. Tearing her eyes from the doll, she looked down and saw her book. Stooping, she picked it up and held it and for a moment could see nothing. Then a film seemed to melt slowly from her eyes and she remembered clearly her mother and Couger Mountain and who she was. She sighed deeply and let tears roll down her face.
    A little later Hilary, coming to look for her new friend, saw her standing in front of the window, holding the book. She said, “Ann, Granny said you could spend the night with her. We can lend you some dry clothes and things until you get some more. Do you want to come with us?”
    The girl was silent so long that Hilary thought she might not want to come. “You want to bring the doll?” Hilary asked.
    Ann looked at the doll. The eyes that before had seemed to look at her were now vacant. “No,” she said. “It’s just an old broken doll that belonged to Tillie Jean. She’s gone now. It might as well be buried down there with her.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” asked Hilary, pointing to the stiff body of the blackbird.
    â€œIt’s a poor dead bird. Ought to be buried, too.”
    â€œI’ll help you,” said Hilary.
    â€œMight as