said, “but it couldn’t be particularly dangerous …”
“Oh, it’s not the cemetery,” Constance said too quickly. “It’s the land the cemetery’s on. It’s not stable.”
“But it’s granite, isn’t it?” June’s voice was smooth, giving no hint that she’d picked up on the other woman’s apparent fear. “Just like this?”
“Well, I suppose so,” Constance said uncertainly. “I don’t know much about things like that. But that part of the bluff is going to wash into the sea one of these days, and I wouldn’t want any kids to be there when it happens.”
June’s voice was cool. “I see. Well, I’ll certainly tell the girls not to play there anymore. Would you like a cup of coffee? There’s some on the stove.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Constance glanced at a watch strapped firmly to her left wrist. “I’ve got to be getting back to my kitchen. Canning, you know.” The way she said it gave June the distinct impression that Constance Benson was quite sure June didn’t know, but should.
“Well, do come back again, when you have more time,” June said weakly. “Or maybe I could drop in on you.”
“Now that might be nice.” By then the two women were standing at the open door to the studio, and Constance was staring at the house. “Pretty house, isn’t it?” she said. Before June could reply, she added, “But I’ve never really liked it. No, I never have.” Then,without saying good-bye, she began walking purposefully along the path toward her own home.
June waited for a moment, watching her, then slowly closed the door. She had a distinct feeling that she was done painting for the day.
The noon sun was warm, and Michelle sat in the shade of a large maple, eating her lunch with Sally, Jeff, Susan, and a few of her other classmates. Though Michelle was trying hard to make friends with Susan, Susan was having none of it. She ignored Michelle completely, and when she spoke to Sally, it was usually to criticize her. But Sally, with her sunny disposition, seemed unaffected by Susan’s apparent grudge.
“We ought to have a picnic,” Sally was saying. “Summer’s almost gone, and in another month it will be too late.”
“It’s already too late.” Susan Peterson’s voice had a superior sound to it that annoyed Michelle, but everyone else seemed to ignore it. “My mother says that once Labor Day’s past, you don’t have picnics anymore.”
“But the weather’s still nice,” Sally said. “Why don’t we have one this weekend?”
“Where?” Jeff asked. If it was going to be on the beach, he’d be sure to be there. It was as if Michelle had heard his thought.
“How about the cove between Jeff’s house and mine?” she said. “It’s rocky, but there’s never anyone there, and it’s so pretty. Besides, if it rains, we’ll be close to home so we can go inside.”
“You mean below the graveyard?” Sally asked. “That would be creepy. There’s a ghost out there.”
“There isn’t either,” Jeff objected.
“Maybe there is,” Michelle interjected. Suddenly she was the center of attention; even Susan Peterson turned to look at her curiously. “I dreamed about the ghost last night,” she went on, launching into a vivid description of her strange vision. In the brightness of the day her terror had left her, and she wanted to share her dream with her new friends. Caught up in the tale, she didn’t notice the others’ silent exchange of glances. When she was finished, no one spoke. Jeff Benson concentrated on his sandwich, but the rest of the children were still staring at Michelle. Suddenly she felt worried, and wondered if she should have even mentioned the nightmare.
“Well, it was only a dream,” she said, as the silence lengthened.
“Are you sure?” Sally asked her. “Are you sure you weren’t awake the whole time?”
“Well, of course I wasn’t,” Michelle said. “It was a dream.” She noticed that some of the girls were
“Oh, it’s not the cemetery,” Constance said too quickly. “It’s the land the cemetery’s on. It’s not stable.”
“But it’s granite, isn’t it?” June’s voice was smooth, giving no hint that she’d picked up on the other woman’s apparent fear. “Just like this?”
“Well, I suppose so,” Constance said uncertainly. “I don’t know much about things like that. But that part of the bluff is going to wash into the sea one of these days, and I wouldn’t want any kids to be there when it happens.”
June’s voice was cool. “I see. Well, I’ll certainly tell the girls not to play there anymore. Would you like a cup of coffee? There’s some on the stove.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Constance glanced at a watch strapped firmly to her left wrist. “I’ve got to be getting back to my kitchen. Canning, you know.” The way she said it gave June the distinct impression that Constance Benson was quite sure June didn’t know, but should.
“Well, do come back again, when you have more time,” June said weakly. “Or maybe I could drop in on you.”
“Now that might be nice.” By then the two women were standing at the open door to the studio, and Constance was staring at the house. “Pretty house, isn’t it?” she said. Before June could reply, she added, “But I’ve never really liked it. No, I never have.” Then,without saying good-bye, she began walking purposefully along the path toward her own home.
June waited for a moment, watching her, then slowly closed the door. She had a distinct feeling that she was done painting for the day.
The noon sun was warm, and Michelle sat in the shade of a large maple, eating her lunch with Sally, Jeff, Susan, and a few of her other classmates. Though Michelle was trying hard to make friends with Susan, Susan was having none of it. She ignored Michelle completely, and when she spoke to Sally, it was usually to criticize her. But Sally, with her sunny disposition, seemed unaffected by Susan’s apparent grudge.
“We ought to have a picnic,” Sally was saying. “Summer’s almost gone, and in another month it will be too late.”
“It’s already too late.” Susan Peterson’s voice had a superior sound to it that annoyed Michelle, but everyone else seemed to ignore it. “My mother says that once Labor Day’s past, you don’t have picnics anymore.”
“But the weather’s still nice,” Sally said. “Why don’t we have one this weekend?”
“Where?” Jeff asked. If it was going to be on the beach, he’d be sure to be there. It was as if Michelle had heard his thought.
“How about the cove between Jeff’s house and mine?” she said. “It’s rocky, but there’s never anyone there, and it’s so pretty. Besides, if it rains, we’ll be close to home so we can go inside.”
“You mean below the graveyard?” Sally asked. “That would be creepy. There’s a ghost out there.”
“There isn’t either,” Jeff objected.
“Maybe there is,” Michelle interjected. Suddenly she was the center of attention; even Susan Peterson turned to look at her curiously. “I dreamed about the ghost last night,” she went on, launching into a vivid description of her strange vision. In the brightness of the day her terror had left her, and she wanted to share her dream with her new friends. Caught up in the tale, she didn’t notice the others’ silent exchange of glances. When she was finished, no one spoke. Jeff Benson concentrated on his sandwich, but the rest of the children were still staring at Michelle. Suddenly she felt worried, and wondered if she should have even mentioned the nightmare.
“Well, it was only a dream,” she said, as the silence lengthened.
“Are you sure?” Sally asked her. “Are you sure you weren’t awake the whole time?”
“Well, of course I wasn’t,” Michelle said. “It was a dream.” She noticed that some of the girls were
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