On the Sunday morning before my first oboe lesson of the summer, Mom gets called into the hospital during breakfast. They are now three weeks away from opening the new wing, and apparently there is some kind of crisis she needs to address. This has been happening more often lately, but things will calm down after the wing is opened. On Saturday, she managed to avoid work all day, and we were able to go to an art museum at Hollingsworth University to see some student art inspired by the impressionists. We didn’t have plans for today, so even though I would have preferred her to stay home, I am not terribly upset about her having to leave because spending the summer home alone does help with my reading goals.

After she leaves, I cannot concentrate on my book very well. I try several different books—classics, poetry, and mystery. I even try The Scarlet Pimpernel, which is my favorite book ever. I read it about once a month and it usually cheers me up better than anything else in the world because I get completely absorbed in the adventure and can forget my worries. When I couldn’t even concentrate on it, I decided that I needed to go for a walk. It was still only about 9 am, and I may be the only person on the entire street. Summer in Ellis Field always feels a bit like I’m the only one here, because everyone either works in Hayden’s Landing, Fort Wayne, or Hollingsworth. Brightly painted Victorian houses sit dark on both sides of Blanchard Street, waiting for their families to return in the evening.

I put on my sneakers and leave my house. I love my street, which is like almost all of the streets of Ellis Field. There are a lot of tall trees creating a canopy of leaves filling the street with green light and keeping everything shady and cool. I walk down the street to Stained Glass Park, one of the small parks on a single lot that are scattered throughout town. There used to be a lot of houses in the town that were abandoned and falling apart, and after some high school kids got hurt exploring one back in the 1980s, the town tore them down to make the parks filled with sculptures and other outdoor art. Stained Glass Park has 10 different stained-glass windows in wooden frames around the park. Each window shows a local landmark or a story from the town’s history. My favorite window is a picture of the elementary school building with three women--I think they are supposed to be the first teachers--standing in front of it.

When I get to the park, there are a couple of women dressed up in nice clothes getting their picture taken. Probably engagement photos—people come to Ellis Field to get engagement photos taken at the parks all the time.I feel like I’ll be in their way, and I feel awkward standing and waiting, so I decide not to stay.  One of the women calls after me.“Don’t let us ruin your summer!” 

“It’s okay!” I yell back and decide to walk to the school to check out the library. Even though I don’t feel like reading, sitting at a study desk with the librarians working quietly in the background will feel better than staying at home by myself.

I walk the two blocks to the school and walk through the playground, which is empty with a slight breezing blowing the swings, like invisible children are swinging. I open the front door to see the front hallway of the school, empty with a little light coming in through the doors of the classrooms. The hallway has high ceilings and wooden floors, and brass hooks for students to hang up their coats and bags. Most of the hallway doors are closed, but the door to classroom 1-A is open. I look in at my old first grade classroom, which is packed with boxes and all of the desks are gone.

Our school district recently decided that they were going to build a new school so that all of the grades could be in the same building. My mom said the decision arose because this building was getting old and the school district would save money on maintenance in the long run. Plus, they got a big grant to build the new school. This is the last year that the East Building will be a school, but unlike the middle and high school buildings, it won’t be torn down. The boxes from the classroom will move later in the summer once the new building is ready, and the public library will move in the fall after the summer reading program is finished. This summer may be the last time I am able to explore the school.

As I am leaving the front hallway to go upstairs to the library, I hear a sound coming from the open classroom.When I was in first grade, Mrs. Green used to encourage me to read beyond the books we were reading in class once it became clear that I was an avid reader. At the end of each school year, she gave me boxes of old textbooks the teachers were going to throw away. Maybe she needed some help packing or moving boxes, and perhaps I could offer a hand.

I walk into the room, and at first it seems like it is empty except for boxes, but once I get halfway into the room, I hear something—or someone—behind me moving around like rustling paper. I turn around, but no one is there. I start to feel a little nervous, half because I am probably not supposed to be in the room, and half because of the sound I swore I heard behind me. There is a little light coming in through the wall of windows and I look around the room again, afraid someone is going to jump out of a corner, shivering as I turn. Quickly I back out of the room, reasoning that turning my back on the room while I’m still in it is scarier than having my back to the hallway.

Back in the hallway, a sunbeam comes through the domed window over the front door and reflects off the shiny wooden floors, and I feel as safe as I do on my sunporch. Then I hear footsteps on the steep, wooden front stairs that are only used for emergencies and fire drills. There were rumors that a few years before my class started kindergarten, a kid fell on them and broke his arm in three places. They are right next to the elevator and the front door, and usually during the summer, there is a sign telling library visitors to use one of the other staircases.

I walk over to the staircase, where I see a woman sitting at the foot of the stairs. She is dressed in a green dress with a skirt that buttons down the front and covers her knees and high heel shoes with ribbons tied in the front. Her whole outfit felt very old fashioned, and I try to remember where I had seen something similar, and while I can’t pin down the exact details, it was probably in a book. She is very pale with golden blonde hair that she has done up with two large curls on the front of her head, and she wears bright red lipstick. She is crying softly, with tears running down her face. Her body is shaking with tears, but she doesn’t make a sound.

“Is everything okay, ma’am?” I ask.

She sniffles a bit and then smiles at me. She stops convulsing and wipes away the tears with a lace handkerchief she holds in a trembling hand. Even though she’s crying, her smile is bright and kind.  

“You can call me Mary. I’m fine. I just…” She brushes away some more tears.

“If there is any way I can help you, I’d be happy to!” I say with a smile that I realize is a little too enthusiastic. I try to calm myself down a bit so I don’t look deranged.

Mary seems to hesitate a bit, so I nod softly to try to encourage her that I can be trusted. After a few seconds, she starts to speak again.

“I lost my letters. Could you help me find them?”

“Where did you have them last?” I ask, hating myself a little, because every time I misplace something and Mom asks me this question, I don’t find it helpful at all. But I don’t know what else to say.

“I don’t… I don’t remember. I think they were upstairs somewhere? I need to find my letters, they’re the last thing I have from him…”

Suddenly, I feel like I need to find an adult. Because it is summer, the most likely location for an adult is the library, and someone there will know what to do. “Mary, can you wait here? I need to get someone who I think can help you. Is that okay?” She nods as a tear runs down her cheek, clearly trying to stop crying. “I promise, I will be right back after I get someone from the library.”

I turn around and run down the hallway toward the back staircase. I start to slip a little on the waxed floor.  The feeling of almost falling sends shivers through my body, and I inhale sharply, but never stop running. I turn a corner near the side staircase, and I nearly bump into Mrs. Naves, my former kindergarten teacher. Mrs. Naves is an older woman who has been teaching kindergarten for years. She is short with spiky grey hair. 

“Samantha Dewey, please don’t run!” she sighs, seeming tired. “What brings you here today?”

“I’m here for the library. But there’s a woman who needs help. She’s on the front stairs.”

“The library is closed because it’s Sunday. Wait, a woman on the front stairs? Everyone knows the front stairs are off limits.”

I try to be patient even though Mrs. Naves seems like she doesn’t really want to help me.

“I don’t know why she’s there, but she’s crying and I think she needs help.” I don’t really want Mary to have to talk to grumpy Mrs. Naves, because if I were crying, that would make everything worse. But if the library is closed, Mrs. Naves may be the only adult who can help. “Can you please follow me?”

Mrs. Naves sighs. “I was planning to leave for the summer in a few minutes, so I can stay long, but I can see what she wants.”

I almost ask her if there is another adult I can talk to so I don’t waste her time, but that might be rude, and more importantly, I would leave Mary alone for longer, and I don’t want her to think I abandoned her.

I walk quickly—not running so that I don’t get scolded again—back to the front stairs. Mary is gone.

Mrs. Naves sighs again. “I think you are too old for imaginary friends, Samantha. I thought the guidance counselors talked to you about this.”

“No! She was just here! Let me see if she went upstairs.”

“Samantha,” she seems frustrated, but is clearly measuring her words carefully, “I know this building has a lot of echoes that might make it seem like someone is there, but I think you need to think extra carefully about whether someone is actually there. You’ve always been creative, but you need to be able to ground yourself, take a step back and consider whether what you’re seeing is real. Would you like to try a grounding method with me? Maybe when the new school year starts, I can help you check in with the guidance office to work on this? Now, why don’t you go back home and come back tomorrow when the library is open tomorrow?”

Suddenly, I feel shaky, like I can’t keep my hands steady, so I leave without saying goodbye. Maybe it was a little rude of me, but I did not want to give her more chances to doubt what I’m saying. This is not the first time Mrs. Naves didn’t believe me, and the last time she didn’t believe me, it ended really badly for me. I know she doesn’t believe me, but hopefully she won’t tell anyone else that this happened. The last thing I want is people thinking I still imagine things.

As I walk home, I think about Mary and hope that she finds her letters, and that she didn’t think that I left her without coming back.

Go to Chapter 3