“But there could be other reasons I saw those things too,” Gretchen said. “I’m trying to consider all the facts. My aunt drank photo chemicals in front of me after showing me pictures of Auschwitz and Vietnam. And I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in twelve hours except a gin fizz and I was starting to hallucinate from hunger and stress.”
“You mean to tell us you didn’t see Celia and Rebecca?” Hope asked.
Gretchen’s body went cold with fear. “Who?” she said, but she knew exactly what Hope was talking about.
“Our relatives,” Hawk said, circling his finger around the whole table to indicate all of them. “Yours and ours. They’re inseparable.”
“And pretty mean,” Hope said.
Gretchen felt her skin crawl, the hair rising on her arms and neck
“You didn’t see them? A little white girl and a little black girl?” Hawk asked. “Wearing dirty summer dresses?”
“They like to trip people with a rope,” his sister said, and again Gretchen was speechless. “Rebecca was our distant cousin; Celia would have been another great-great-somebody of yours, I guess.”
“They’re pretty pissed,” Hawk said. “The others just wander around screaming or in some kind of stupor, not knowing they’re dead or why they got stuck on the land. They can only really do damage on the anniversary. But Celia and Rebecca, they are not having it. They’re out for blood.”
Gretchen remembered the bite. She touched her side.
“Tell her,” Hope said.
“I saw one of them pulling the wings off a bird,” Hawk said, and shuddered. “They’re really strong.”
“Esther was trying to find a way to release all of them,” Hawk said. “She really did want to leave you the house with nobody trapped in it. Sometimes there are whole crowds wandering through the house and the field. Folks who didn’t make it out of the church in time . . .”
“I can’t see them like Hawk,” Hope said. “But everyone in Mayville lives in fear of their damage on the anniversary. Tree branches falling and braining people on a windless day, falls in the tub, suicides, children drowning in the lake. The accidents increase every year.”
“It’s like they’re trying to empty the whole town, a handful of people at a time.”
“Did your parents believe in these ghosts, or see them?”
“Our mom,” Hope said. “Was doing research on the Underground Railroad and on the influence the Klan had over small towns in the north. She didn’t exactly believe in ghosts, but—”
“She didn’t believe in ghosts at all,” Hawk said, interrupting his sister. “Even when they were standing right in front of her.”
“My mother did,” Gretchen said. “Even when there were no ghosts to be found. She was here trying to help Esther with her crazy ideas about the house.”
“Esther’s ideas weren’t crazy,” Hawk said.
“Wait, your mother . . . ,” Hope said. “She have long curly hair and brown eyes?”
Gretchen nodded.
“I remember her!” Hope said. “She came over to see Mom’s archive.”
“She was here?”
“Yeah, she and Esther. She runs a gallery, right?”
“Ran a gallery,” Gretchen said.
Hope and Hawk fell silent.
When Gretchen felt she could talk again she said, “You must know if you spent time with Esther. She must have told you.”
Hawk shook his head. “My mother’s gone too,” Gretchen said, her voice breaking.
Hope took her hand and squeezed it gently.
“Did you ever . . .” Gretchen didn’t know how to ask, didn’t want to ask, but she couldn’t help herself. “Did your parents ever . . . ?”
“Come visit after they were dead?” Hawk asked, his tone both playful and full of sorrow. “No, they didn’t. But I feel them. They didn’t stop being my parents just because they stopped living in the same form as us.”
After some time the three went into the living room and slumped into the couch together. Hawk picked up his guitar and strummed it lightly. The sounds of the peepers and crickets from outside had died down and it seemed dawn was making its way toward them. Hope had begun to fall asleep.
“I always thought I’d see my mother again,” Gretchen said. And it felt incredible to say that out loud to people who could understand.
When Hawk looked up, his face seemed familiar. “Maybe you will,” he said.
Dear James,