The Other Child Read online

  With effort Karen forced her mind to more pleasant channels. It did no good to dwell on her condition. She still had four months to go. Thank goodness she had the redecorating to take her mind off things.

  It took only a few minutes to list the large items in her notebook. She’d gotten this far before. Mike would have a fit if he knew what she was doing, but someone had to move this furniture around and crawl behind to see what was hidden in the back. He certainly didn’t have time to help her.

  Karen moved a chair and squeezed through the space. Then she let out a squeal as she discovered a lovely highboy china cabinet, with rounded glass doors. She could hardly wait to bring it down to the dining room. A huge wooden table was stored against the wall, and Karen managed to find all twelve chairs after a careful search. They needed a bit of work, but they were definitely restorable. The price of this house was worth it for the antiques alone.

  Two hours passed quickly and Karen’s excitement grew. There were several oaken washstands, an old icebox cabinet, a huge knickknack shelf, and a French love seat. There were also assorted lamps, stools, and objects of art too numerous to list. This ballroom was practically a museum.

  She pulled the dust cover from a wooden steamer trunk and sneezed twice in the process. Obviously, none of the previous tenants had cared to poke around up here in the dust and the cobwebs. All this furniture was hers. If she had a guideline, she’d restore the house exactly as it was at the turn of the century.

  The trunk stubbornly resisted her efforts to open it. Karen broke a fingernail on the brass fasteners and winced. She pushed up, applying pressure strategically, and finally the lid gave a sharp crack. The varnish had stuck in the airless heat of so many summers. She gave another push and it lifted, revealing fold after fold of lace and ivory satin.

  “Oh! How lovely!” She lifted the ornate dress from its bed of yellowed tissue paper. This wedding gown could be Amelia Appleton’s! It certainly looked like the style of that period. She would put it away, maybe for Leslie’s wedding. It was a gown fit for royalty; and Karen sighed, indulging in romantic daydreams as she placed it over a chair next to the trunk.

  More clothes turned up under a wooden divider. They would be wonderful dress-up clothes for Leslie. There were ball gowns and silk dresses, hats and gloves, and even high-button shoes. A whole wardrobe from a bygone age was packed in this trunk.

  She found a carved wooden box under some dried flowers and examined it closely. The initials D.A. were intertwined with roses on the cover. She tried to open it, but it was locked securely. Her curiosity was aroused, but she was obliged to put it aside to open later.

  “Marvelous!” Karen’s eyes sparkled as she lifted out a huge oil portrait. The inscription read: DORTHEA APPLETON, DAUGHTER OF WILLIAM AND AMELIA—1885.

  An attractive young woman in her late teens stared out of the frame, her dark hair arranged in a fashionable bun. This painting was a real find. She could hang it over the fireplace in the living room. It would be a great topic of conversation when they invited their first guests.

  Karen’s heart beat fast as she caught sight of the treasure in the bottom of the trunk. A glass display case fit tightly into the space. Inside the glass was a complete miniature of the house and grounds, a tiny dollhouse done in breathtaking detail. She gazed with disbelief. What an amazing stroke of luck.

  Carefully Karen removed the heavy glass case. She opened the top and gasped in admiration for the workmanship. It was superbly built and the roof was hinged to reveal the whole top floor. Now she could see just how the ballroom had been decorated, including the placement of the furniture.

  Karen found two other hinging sides, each lifting to reveal a floor and its furnishings. It was as if Amelia Appleton had crafted this delightful miniature just for her. The tiny furniture was detailed and perfect. Every light, picture, and object of art was in its place. It was an exact replica of the house in Amelia’s day, down to the rugs on the floors and the paper on the walls.

  “Of course,” Karen breathed, peering in at the living room. The room was lit by candelabras with the piano at an angle near the inside wall. It was exactly where she planned to place it. Now she didn’t need to worry about where to position the other furniture. It was all right here, in breathtaking miniature.

  As she gazed at the miniature, enraptured, Karen was filled with an urgent desire to restore the house accurately. She’d make it the same grand mansion Amelia had created in the eighteen hundreds. Most of the furniture was still here, and she’d have the missing pieces duplicated now that she had the miniature for comparison. She was positive that Mike would agree to a total restoration once he saw this marvelous model. Of course they’d have to scrimp and save, but it would be heaven to live in a genuinely restored Victorian mansion. It was like having a childhood dream come true.

  She sat on the dusty floor and stared at the miniature for long moments, imagining what life had been like in Amelia Appleton’s day. There would be wonderful parties, the ballroom filled with crowds of stylishly dressed men and women. Young Dorthea would wear silks and satins hand stitched by talented dressmakers. It would be almost like living in a fairy tale, in the sort of lifestyle Karen had always secretly fancied. She wished she could go back in time for just a moment so she could experience growing up in a lovely setting like this.

  Lifting the hinged side again, Karen concentrated on the first floor. She had decorated the kitchen almost perfectly. There were only a few minor changes to make and it would match the model. The dining room wouldn’t be difficult now that she’d found the table and chairs. She just hoped that the rug in front of the fireplace was up here somewhere. It was a pattern she’d never seen before, and it would be costly to duplicate.

  Slightly puzzled, Karen reached in and removed the miniature painting over the fireplace. The paint on the tiny replica was cracking and she could see another picture under it. She chipped away a small portion of the paint and her curiosity grew.

  Yes . . . under the pastoral scene was another painting, and Karen chipped and brushed until she had uncovered the original. It was a miniature of Dorthea’s portrait! Obviously, Dorthea’s likeness had once hung in the place of honor over the fireplace.

  “How strange!” Karen mused aloud, rehanging the tiny replica on the model wall. She couldn’t imagine why Amelia had replaced her daughter’s portrait with such an ordinary picture. It was a complete mystery, but Karen was determined to solve it. There were still trunks to examine, crates and boxes that might provide the answer. There might even be a clue in the locked box.

  Karen picked up the box again and turned it in her hands. Something heavy hit against the sides. She was sure that the initials D.A. stood for Dorthea Appleton. She’d leave the box right here and try to open it when there was more light. Solving the mystery of the portrait would be her secret hobby, something to do when Leslie and Mike were busy with their own projects.

  As Karen got stiffly to her feet, she noticed that twilight had settled outside. She’d been up here for hours; an entire day had gone by without her noticing. Mike would be back by now and poor Leslie was probably starving. She hadn’t even planned what to fix for dinner.

  Karen closed the steamer trunk and dusted herself off. She’d whip up something for dinner and then she’d ask Mike to rig a makeshift light up here. They’d have a little coffee after dinner and then she’d show Leslie and Mike her discoveries. Mike would be fascinated by the miniature model of their house, and Leslie would love the wardrobe she’d found. And tomorrow she could start decorating in earnest.

  NINE

  It was only after he dried the print that he saw it—a small face in the cupola window. At first he thought it was Leslie, but that was impossible. They hadn’t even seen the inside of the house when he took this picture. It certainly looked like someone standing there, staring out into the street. Could it be a flaw in the paper?

  Mike made another print with the same result. The hazy face was still there
. He supposed the blurry image could be a reflection on the windowpane from the trees. It was interesting, in any event. Reflection or whatever, it looked like a child peering out of the tower-room window.

  He scratched his head thoughtfully and frowned. The focus was perfect and he didn’t have another shot from this angle. It clearly showed the exterior of the house, with the loose shingles on the roof. In order to duplicate the shot he’d have to take down all the drapes in the living room, and Karen wouldn’t appreciate that. She’d just finished hanging them last week. It was too much trouble to reshoot. The hazy face wouldn’t hurt anything and it was a really good picture.

  Prints in hand, Mike ran two flights down to the kitchen. Karen was taking something from the oven and it smelled fantastic.

  “Pork chops and scalloped potatoes!” Mike sniffed the air appreciatively. “What’s the special occasion? I didn’t forget an anniversary or something, did I?”

  “You didn’t forget anything.” Karen laughed as she set the casserole on a trivet. “I’m just celebrating tonight. You wouldn’t believe all the antiques I found in the old ballroom, honey! Almost all the original furniture is there, and after dinner I’ve got a real surprise for you.”

  “I’ve got a surprise for you, too.” Mike smiled, reaching out to pat the portion of Karen’s anatomy closest to him. “I just came up with a fantastic series for the magazine, and you and Leslie are part of it.”

  “I’m part of what?” Leslie rushed into the kitchen. She saw the prints in Mike’s hand. “Is that the fantastic series?”

  “Just sit down for a minute and I’ll tell you.” Mike put his arm around Leslie and drew Karen closer. “Remember all those pictures I took of our house right before we bought it?”

  “Ohhh . . . nice, Mike!” Leslie gasped as Mike spread out the prints. “These are great! Not like those awful condo pictures at all!”

  Mike winced. Leslie didn’t pull any punches when it came to his work, but she was generous with her praise now. She and Karen examined the prints and exclaimed over them until Mike couldn’t wait any longer to spring the rest of his surprise.

  “You’re looking at the first installment in a series about renovating an old house,” he explained, “and the old house is ours. We’ll run three or four pages every month until the project’s completed. I want to take lots of exterior shots before the grounds are landscaped and after. Then we’ll get some mileage out of painting the trim. See those loose shingles up there on the cupola? We’ll have those repaired and take another shot of that. Then we’ll—”

  “Mike!” Leslie interrupted, pointing at the cupola window. “You’ve got me in this one. Look at that! You can almost see my face!”

  “I made the same mistake, kiddo.” Mike chuckled. “It’s just a reflection, though. It can’t be you. I took that one on the first day, before Rob unlocked the house. You were standing right next to me in the yard, remember?”

  “It looks like her, Mike.” Karen peered closely at the photograph. “Are you sure you didn’t take this one after we moved in?”

  “I’m positive,” Mike assured her. “I used the roll back on the Linhof that day and I haven’t used it since. I know these were shot before Rob took us inside.”

  “It is a strange coincidence.” Karen blinked and looked again. “That reflection certainly looks like a child.”

  Leslie stared down at the photograph and frowned. She remembered exactly when Mike had snapped that picture and he was right. She had been standing right next to him, taking her own pictures with her Leica. It wasn’t her face in the tower-room window. It couldn’t be.

  She gave a small cry. It wasn’t her face, but it could be the ghost’s. This could be a picture of Christopher.

  “What’s the matter honey?” Mike turned to look at her. “Is something wrong?”

  “I know what it is—it’s a picture of that ghost!” Leslie’s voice shook. “I heard Mrs. Allen say our house was haunted!”

  “That’s a good one!” Mike laughed and patted the top of Leslie’s head. “I tell you what, Leslie . . . you take this picture and keep an eye out for the ghost. If you find him, we’ll sell this series to the National Enquirer. Then we’ll all be rich.”

  “Mike!” Karen’s voice was sharp. “Don’t make fun of her! Now, calm down, honey.” Karen could see Leslie was close to tears. “Our house isn’t haunted. It’s just a reflection, like Mike said. You know how silly it is to believe in haunted houses. They always turn out to be fakes.”

  “Your mother’s right. Mrs. Allen was just teasing. People always make up ghost stories about old houses when they’re empty for a long time. There isn’t any ghost here. I can promise you that.”

  “But there might be, Mike.” Leslie was insistent. “You don’t know for sure. There could be a ghost here and you’d never even know.”

  Karen could see they were getting nowhere. It was best to change the subject and take Leslie’s mind off haunted houses and ghosts.

  “You said that Leslie and I were part of the series,” she reminded Mike. “Just where do we fit in?”

  “I’ll take pictures while you two redecorate.” Mike patted Leslie awkwardly. He hadn’t meant to upset her with his teasing. “We’ll make this a family project and your names will be in the article. How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful!” Karen looked down at her daughter and gave a sigh of relief as Leslie nodded. Right after dinner she’d show them the miniature. It would take Leslie’s mind off her fears.

  Leslie was too upset to eat very much, but luckily her parents didn’t notice. She forced a smile and pretended to listen to their conversation, but her mind was far away. Mike’s picture proved everything. The voice in her head wasn’t her imagination. Christopher was a ghost. She’d spoken to a boy who was haunting their house. And she couldn’t tell Mike or Mom, no matter how much she wanted to. They’d think she was crazy. Maybe she was crazy. This couldn’t be happening to her. They’d never believe her, never!

  At last the meal was over. Mike found an extension cord and a trouble light and Leslie followed them up to the ballroom.

  “It’s incredible, honey.” Mike hung the light on a nail and stared at the miniature in its glass case. “I’ll take some pictures of this and we’ll run a full-scale comparison in the magazine. This model’s a work of art in its own right.”

  Leslie hung back, keeping in the shadows. Mike and her mother were so excited about the miniature that they didn’t notice her silence.

  “That’s not all I found,” Karen said proudly, pulling the portrait out into the light. “Just look at this! It was in the trunk, too, where it’s been for almost a hundred years. It’s a portrait of Dorthea Appleton, Amelia’s daughter.”

  Mike nodded as he examined the painting. “Let’s hang it downstairs, honey. It’ll add an authentic touch.”

  Karen agreed. “We should hang it over the fireplace just like it is in the model. See, Mike? Even the pictures are duplicated in miniature. Mrs. Appleton had another picture there, but Dorthea was under it. She must have changed it for some reason. If I poke around enough up here, maybe I’ll find out why.”

  Leslie trudged along as they carried the model downstairs and set it on a table in the living room. She stood back, a small figure alone, as Karen and Mike exclaimed over the details, discussing wallpaper patterns and furniture. She wanted to join in the fun they were having, but she was still too upset.

  “Leslie? Don’t you want to help us plan the wallpaper?” Karen tried to draw her close, but Leslie pulled back.

  “I—I’m really tired, Mom. Do you mind if I go up to bed now?”

  “Of course not, kitten.” Karen smiled warmly. “Don’t forget to turn off the light in your room when you go to sleep. You left it on all night last night.”

  They were silent a moment, listening to Leslie’s footsteps on the stairs. Then Mike frowned.

  “I turned her light off a couple of times last week, myself,” he remarked. “Maybe
you should buy her a night-light, Karen. I think she’s afraid of the dark.”

  “But she’s never been afraid of the dark before.” Karen looked thoughtful. Mike could be right. All children went through stages, and Leslie hadn’t been acting herself lately. Perhaps this ghost business was really scaring her.

  “I’ll buy one tomorrow,” she agreed. “Now, honey—what shall we do about fixing the dining-room chairs?”

  Leslie looked at the print again when she got to her room. She was positive it was a picture of Christopher. She shivered and switched on her brightest light. It was kind of scary up here all alone.

  Unconsciously, she reached up to hold the key for comfort, and then she remembered. Her hand dropped quickly back down to her side. She’d found the key because Christopher helped her. Whenever she touched it, he spoke to her. Maybe she should throw it away or put it back in the rose garden, where she’d found it. She just wasn’t sure what to do.

  Leslie sighed deeply. Christopher had said he was her friend. Did ghosts lie? He hadn’t hurt her. Actually, Christopher had protected her. He had kept the hornets from stinging her at the birthday party. And he had stopped Mrs. Allen and Mrs. Comstock from gossiping. At least she thought he’d done all those things, unless it really was a coincidence, as Mike would say. What should she do?

  She stood undecided for a moment and then got quickly into her warmest nightgown. She was very careful not to touch the key. She climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up, almost covering her head. That was better. She didn’t feel quite so scared anymore. Was it dangerous, having a ghost for a friend? Would something bad happen to her? Leslie wished she had someone to ask. She closed her eyes, her mind troubled, and slipped into an uneasy sleep.

  TEN

  It was the first time they’d been out of the house for days. Karen started the truck and backed slowly out of the driveway. Leslie sat next to her on the seat, her face cloudy. Leslie didn’t want to go to the bazaar, either, but everyone would say they were being unfriendly if they didn’t put in an appearance. And they had to deliver their contribution. It was a matter of courtesy and a way of showing themselves to be part of the community.