Who Is Frances Rain? by Margaret Buffie Page A

Rain person?”
    â€œI think so.” I felt the tightness in my throat start to loosen. “It’s happened twice. Two days ago and today.”
    â€œSo that’s why you acted so mad last night.”
    I nodded. “And today, when the cabin door opened and she —”
    â€œWait a second. Cabin doors opening? I’ve passed by this island lots of times, Lizzie. I hate to tell you this, but there are no cabins on this island. Not anymore, at least.”
    â€œWell, there’s one in the middle of the island. Where your aunt wouldn’t take you. Just a few logs left. But I saw all of it when I saw her. The whole thing was standing there.”
    â€œYou saw the ghost of a cabin? In the flesh? I mean, in the wood?”
    â€œDo you want to hear this or just kid around?”
    â€œI’m all ears. Honest.”
    â€œOkay. This is what I saw. I saw a cabin and five people. The guides don’t really count ’cause they didn’t do much. They were twins. Did you ever hear of twin Indian guides in the area?” I looked at him looking at me. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
    â€œYes. Believe it or not, I do. And are you lucky or what? What an incredible experience. What was it like? How did you feel? Never mind, I can tell. Did anyone tell you you don’t suit pale green? Especially around the gills.”
    â€œYou really do believe me?”
    â€œSure, why not? You’ve never made up stories. If anything, you always tell things pretty straight out. That’s why you acted so weird last night. You couldn’t tell it like it was, without running the risk of looking nutty. Besides, no one could look like they’ve seen a ghost more than you do. Correction ... ghosts.” He grinned. “You’re just not the wild and crazy kind, Stringbean.”
    â€œNo, I’m not the wild and crazy kind. I’m just plain old boring Lizzie. No imagination, dull, boring Lizzie, that’s me.”
    He stood up. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant that you’re not ... you know ... crazy. Hysterical. Nutso!” He was getting louder. “I don’t even know what we’re talking about half the time anymore. I say something and you jump all over me.”
    I put my head down on my knees. He was right. I wasn’t making any sense. Nothing made any sense. “You want to hear something really crazy?” I said to my knees. “I mean,
really
crazy?”
    â€œSure,” he said, sitting down again.
    â€œThe crazy thing is I know I’ll put the glasses on again. I want to see more.”
    â€œGlasses? What glasses? Maybe you’d better start at the beginning. Step by step.”
    I went over the events again slowly, as much to set it clearer in my mind as to tell Alex. When I was finished, I lifted my head and looked at him. He was lying on his back, his arms above his head, long legs stretched out, black eyes watching me.
    â€œStill think I’m not nuts, Alex?”
    He gave that some long, serious thought. I hit him in the stomach. “Hey! That hurt.” But he was laughing.
    â€œWell?”
    â€œI never said you were normal, I said you weren’t crazy. If you were normal, you’d be dull, unimaginative and boring.”
    It felt good to laugh. Suddenly he was on his feet, pulling me with him. His hands were hard and dry. And the rest was flesh-and-blood real. No ghost there. He pulled me towards the trees.
    â€œLet’s collect this stuff of yours and look around.”
    He walked through the flickering light towards the dreaded spot and I forced myself not to call out a warning. When I got there, he was standing over my dig, hands on hips.
    â€œGreat place for a cabin, eh? I’d love to live here. It feels ... special.”
    I nodded. With Alex beside me I was almost able to enjoy the cool green stillness again.
    â€œWould you help me put the tabletop and all the