Pretty soon, George scratches on the door to be let back in, but I ignore him. The breeze from outside is cool against my face. My old curtains dance out into the room like happy ghosts. I think of all the people who probably lived in this house before we did. The house is over two hundred years old, so that’s a lot of people. Generations and generations. My mom always said the house wasn’t haunted but that there was a friendly spirit here, watching over us. Sometimes strange things happen, like lights coming on in the middle of the night. And one time a glass fell off the hutch in the dining room for no reason. We knew there were explanations, but I think it was more exciting to make up stories about the friendly spirit. My mom called her Mrs. Harris because that was the name of the family who lived here before us. Someone told my mom that old Mrs. Harris, the grandmother, died in her sleep on a settee in the dining room. That’s where the hutch is and that’s where the wineglass fell. My mom said, “Mrs. Harris must be angry. What have you children done?” She was half joking, but Ivy took her seriously and refused to sleep in her own room for weeks. She set up a sleeping bag at the foot of my bed and insisted on sleeping there until I finally told my mom I needed my privacy and she made her go back to her room. I admit that once she was gone, I missed hearing her little snores, but not enough to invite her back.

What would Mrs. Harris do once we left? Would she come with us? Or stick around to keep the next family guessing? I hope she haunts them, I think selfishly. I hope she scares them crazy.

George scratches on my door again, and I finally get up to let him in. He rubs against my legs and follows me back to bed. He circles around my head, then settles against my neck and face. He purrs softly and starts to clean his paws. I rest my cheek against his side.

The soft vibration of his purring is like a lullaby that gently sings me to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Two