I started to pay closer attention. For the first time, I really looked at the ghosts, one by one. The little ghost Lee had cradled that night never returned, but when I pictured him in my memory I saw how like Lee he was. The same sweet little nose, the same shape of his mouth. The rest of the ghosts were unfamiliar to me, except for the twins, of course. I watched them hold hands from my cabin window one night. Even at a distance, I could tell which girl was Diamond and which was Ruby.

___

And then came the night when Terry and I were at the kitchen window, and the dancing ghost appeared on the green. A feeling swept over me—a dizziness, a shortness of breath—and I began to turn away.

But Terry took hold of my arm to stop me. “Remember what I told you,” he said. And so, I looked.

She was close enough that I could see her long hair, the girlish curves of her body, her calves, and her bare feet.

I willed her not to come closer, but I also willed my fear away.

Liz was there when I stepped out, perched on the steps right outside the mudroom, drinking tea. “May I sit with you?” I asked, and she scooted over to make space beside her.

She offered me her mug and I sipped. Peppermint. It brought me back to the first time I met Nick, when he told me about the teaching and told me about the market but didn’t tell me anything at all. Still, once again, the tea made me feel like I was starting over. Made me feel like maybe starting over once again was still possible.

I saw figures in the distance, near the schoolhouse. Two adults and two children. “Is that Billy and Julia?” I asked. Liz nodded. “With the twins?”

“Yes,” she said.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw that Billy held Ruby’s hand and Julia held Diamond’s. They meandered down the drive, pointing out stars in the sky. I imagined Billy identifying the constellations, Julia telling the myths.

“I’ll tell you now,” Liz said. “If you still want me to.”

I knew what she wanted to say. I nodded.

“All right.” She gazed over the field. She set her mug on the step. With a steady voice, she said, “I was six years old the first time my mother left me. I was in first grade. A nice family wanted to adopt me, but my mom kept coming back, so I was moved around, from house to house. Every year or so, she would show up again, tell me that she loved me, and tell me she was fighting for me. As soon as I believed her, she would disappear again.”