The Haunting Read Free

also had the same dream—to help homeless children. Dad got a job with a child protective agency, and Mom with a private group that counsels abused womenand children. They regularly lobbied state and national officials, trying to get funds and better legislation, and Mom had a reputation for not being afraid to tackle anybody—including the President of the United States.
    Sighing, I began to embroider names on my imaginary banner, WOMEN WHO ARE EXCEPTIONALLY BRAVE : Charlotte Blevins Porter, Elizabeth Porter Clary, Sarah Clary Langley, Augusta Langley Moore, and Anne Moore Starling. I ran out of space on the banner, but that was all right. There was no way my name could belong on it.
    Mom nudged me, and I realized that the minister had stopped speaking and people were leaving the chapel. Augusta began briskly shaking hands with people and thanking them for coming. Mom, too.
    I hung back, as I usually did. None of these people wanted to talk to me.
    It was surprising how fast the room cleared. I guess everyone was in a hurry. Maybe that was the way things were in San Francisco.
    It wasn’t like that in Louisiana. As soon as word got out that Grandpa had died, people began coming by Grandma’s house with pies and cakes. I’d stayed out of the kitchen because people I’d never seen before were busy sliding casseroles into the oven, and slicing hams, and setting out Grandma’s good china plates. After the funeral the house was crowded with people. They cried a little and laughed a lot, telling and retelling stories about Grandpa. Some of the stories got kind of boring, but at least Grandma didn’t have to feel alone.
    Thinking about Grandpa made me miss him. Iwas only ten when he died, but I remembered him as being a kind, gentle, quiet man who read stories to me any time I asked.
    “Come on, Lia. It’s time to go,” Mom said.
    When I saw that Grandma was carrying the urn with Sarah’s ashes in it I took a step back. “Doesn’t that urn go to—uh—a cemetery or something?” I asked.
    “No,” Grandma said. “I’m going to take it home and keep it in the library.”
    I shuddered. I couldn’t help it.
    Mom gave one of her impatient sighs and said, “We’ve got a tight schedule. We have an appointment with Sarah’s attorney in an hour. I’d suggest that we have lunch before we meet Mr. Clayton.”
    “Somewhere with quick service,” Grandma added.
    I thought of taking the urn into a fast-food hamburger place and started to giggle. The giggle hopped out of control and spread into a belly laugh. I laughed so hard I bent over, holding my stomach. But at the same time I thought of this great-grandmother I didn’t really know and how everybody praised her but nobody seemed to be mourning her, and tears for Sarah ran down my face.
    Mom wrapped her arms around me and held me tightly. “Darling,” she murmured, “I didn’t realize what stress all of this has been. I shouldn’t have brought you with me.”
    My sobs and laughter stuck in my throat, turning into hiccups. “It’s okay, Mom,” I managed to say. “Could I get a drink of water?”
    A pale-faced man in a dark suit suddenly appearedat my side and held out a glass of water. Gratefully I took it and gulped it down.
    Grandma fixed her gaze on the man and asked, “Is there somewhere nearby where we can get food quickly?”
    He nodded. “There’s a hamburger place on the corner.”
    I didn’t mean to, but once again I exploded into laughter.
    “It happens,” the man said. “Nervous tension.” He shoved an open bottle of smelling salts under my nose, and the horrible smell made me choke and cough. At least it stopped the laughter.
    Mom pulled out a tissue and mopped at my eyes.
    Grandma said, “I swear she isn’t like the Moore side of the family—or anyone else as far back as we know.”
    Mom patted me reassuringly, and we left the funeral home. As we climbed into our rental car Mom glanced at Sarah’s urn. Her eyebrows rose, as they