copied whom. “Because the subject of the portrait looks exactly like you.”
Something cold brushed the back of my neck, and I twisted to look at Jack. But he was staring at Rebecca as if he, too, had seen a ghost.
“Good-bye, again,” she said, and she appeared to be lingering as if waiting for Jack to go with her. I picked up General Lee to prevent him from defecting, too.
“Good-bye,” I said, reaching for the door and swinging it shut before she could say anything else.
CHAPTER 7
I stood in the light of the stained-glass window in the house on Legare Street with my eyes closed, seeing behind my lids only the beautiful window and remembering the way the room had looked when my grandmother lived here. I stayed there for a long time in the silence, knowing that when I opened my eyes again I’d be assaulted with faux animal prints, psychedelic colors, and furniture made from plastic.
I had been amazed at how quickly the owners had accepted my mother’s offer. We asked to be able to go through the attic before closing to determine if there were any family heirlooms we wanted to keep with the house. When the owner had said it was all old junk and we were welcome to all of it, I knew that we would probably find a treasure trove of antique furniture and priceless art, which was why I was standing now in the house by myself, waiting for my mother and too afraid to venture past the front rooms. I’d thought about waiting on the sidewalk outside, but the temperature had dipped back into the twenties and I disliked being cold even more than I disliked nasty ghosts.
The sound of a footfall came from the foyer and my eyes flickered open. It was a heavy step, like that made from a boot, and I stilled—waiting. I was soon rewarded with the sound of a second booted foot hitting the stairs, and I turned and walked quickly to the foyer to face the sweeping staircase. I knew who it was before I saw him—the specter of my childhood, my imaginary friend and great protector. My father had told me he was a figment of my imagination, and I think at some point I had come to believe him. But in the small corner of my mind where childish hopes cling like cotton candy, I knew he was real.
“Hello,” I said into the dust motes that danced like iridescent fairies in the triangle of light from the window over the door. I sensed him rather than saw him, aware of the outline of a tall man leaning against the mahogany banister. I peered at him through the corner of my eye, never directly at him. As a child I’d learned that if I looked directly at him he’d go away, leaving only the trace scent of gunpowder and the lingering thought that maybe my father was right after all.
“It’s been a long time,” I said, and I felt him smile. Metal clinked against metal, and I pictured his long musket brushing against the large brass buttons of his dark green military jacket. I had the impression of a tricorn hat, large red cuffs on his jacket, and black leather gaiters with shiny buttons marching up the sides. He was back, my protector. Or maybe he’d never left. And I found myself wondering if he ever tired of carrying his musket for over two hundred years.
He began walking down the stairs toward me, his hand outstretched, and I tilted my head slightly, trying to get a better glimpse of him. I paused and felt the oddest sensation of heat warming my cheeks. Although he hadn’t changed in the intervening years, I obviously had. Whereas he had once been the invisible playmate of a seven-year-old child, I now saw him as a young and very handsome soldier. I’m sure he must always have been handsome, but seeing him now through the eyes of a thirty-nine-year-old woman, I registered his height, the blond hair that curled out from under his hat, the eyes that seemed almost black but were lit with what I could have sworn was a sparkle of amusement. There was a sadness there, too, a sadness I didn’t remember noticing as a child but seemed now to
Something cold brushed the back of my neck, and I twisted to look at Jack. But he was staring at Rebecca as if he, too, had seen a ghost.
“Good-bye, again,” she said, and she appeared to be lingering as if waiting for Jack to go with her. I picked up General Lee to prevent him from defecting, too.
“Good-bye,” I said, reaching for the door and swinging it shut before she could say anything else.
CHAPTER 7
I stood in the light of the stained-glass window in the house on Legare Street with my eyes closed, seeing behind my lids only the beautiful window and remembering the way the room had looked when my grandmother lived here. I stayed there for a long time in the silence, knowing that when I opened my eyes again I’d be assaulted with faux animal prints, psychedelic colors, and furniture made from plastic.
I had been amazed at how quickly the owners had accepted my mother’s offer. We asked to be able to go through the attic before closing to determine if there were any family heirlooms we wanted to keep with the house. When the owner had said it was all old junk and we were welcome to all of it, I knew that we would probably find a treasure trove of antique furniture and priceless art, which was why I was standing now in the house by myself, waiting for my mother and too afraid to venture past the front rooms. I’d thought about waiting on the sidewalk outside, but the temperature had dipped back into the twenties and I disliked being cold even more than I disliked nasty ghosts.
The sound of a footfall came from the foyer and my eyes flickered open. It was a heavy step, like that made from a boot, and I stilled—waiting. I was soon rewarded with the sound of a second booted foot hitting the stairs, and I turned and walked quickly to the foyer to face the sweeping staircase. I knew who it was before I saw him—the specter of my childhood, my imaginary friend and great protector. My father had told me he was a figment of my imagination, and I think at some point I had come to believe him. But in the small corner of my mind where childish hopes cling like cotton candy, I knew he was real.
“Hello,” I said into the dust motes that danced like iridescent fairies in the triangle of light from the window over the door. I sensed him rather than saw him, aware of the outline of a tall man leaning against the mahogany banister. I peered at him through the corner of my eye, never directly at him. As a child I’d learned that if I looked directly at him he’d go away, leaving only the trace scent of gunpowder and the lingering thought that maybe my father was right after all.
“It’s been a long time,” I said, and I felt him smile. Metal clinked against metal, and I pictured his long musket brushing against the large brass buttons of his dark green military jacket. I had the impression of a tricorn hat, large red cuffs on his jacket, and black leather gaiters with shiny buttons marching up the sides. He was back, my protector. Or maybe he’d never left. And I found myself wondering if he ever tired of carrying his musket for over two hundred years.
He began walking down the stairs toward me, his hand outstretched, and I tilted my head slightly, trying to get a better glimpse of him. I paused and felt the oddest sensation of heat warming my cheeks. Although he hadn’t changed in the intervening years, I obviously had. Whereas he had once been the invisible playmate of a seven-year-old child, I now saw him as a young and very handsome soldier. I’m sure he must always have been handsome, but seeing him now through the eyes of a thirty-nine-year-old woman, I registered his height, the blond hair that curled out from under his hat, the eyes that seemed almost black but were lit with what I could have sworn was a sparkle of amusement. There was a sadness there, too, a sadness I didn’t remember noticing as a child but seemed now to
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