The Garden of Eve Page 3

  Evie pulled the old patchwork quilt Gram had made over her head. “It’s too cold,” she said, her voice muffled. Father peeled the cover away.

  “Nah. You can bundle up. It’ll be fun. Just you and me exploring the orchard. Beaumont is the perfect place for an adventure.”

  Evie yanked the quilt back again but only managed to pull it up to her chin. An adventure with Father meant a long walk with lectures about trees and birds and identifying plants.

  “Beaumont’s just a rotten old town with a lot of dead trees.”

  “Well, don’t you want to help make the trees better? I could sure use an extra set of hands out there.”

  “They won’t get better. They’re dead.”

  Father sighed and stroked her hair. “Aww, Evie. We don’t know that for sure. Maybe something magical will happen.”

  “I don’t believe in magic anymore,” Evie muttered, turning onto her side.

  “How about hard work?” Father asked. “Do you believe in that?”

  Mom would have raised an eyebrow and said something to make her laugh.

  “Yes, the trees are dead, but only because a wicked sorcerer cursed the town, and if you get your lazy butt out of bed, that will break the curse.”

  Father just sighed. “All right, but soon we start lessons, so there won’t be any more sleeping all day. Understand? Maybe I can take you to the library like Maggie suggested. That would get you out of the house.”

  Evie didn’t answer.

  “Fine.” Father stood up and the bed creaked. “Think it over. In the meantime, you know where to find me.”

  Evie heard his footsteps as he left the room then disappeared down the hallway. She didn’t move until the front door slammed shut below, then she peeked out the corner of her window until she saw Father making his way into the trees.

  She listened to the whoosh of the wind, and the tall old willow tree beside her bed tap, tap, tapping against the glass. In the half-light of morning her bedroom looked strange and shadowy. There’d been five bedrooms to choose from, but she and Father had chosen the smallest two, side by side on the orchard half of the house. Evie had chosen hers because there was a painting on the wall of a girl standing in a beautiful garden. The girl’s eyes were sad and lost, and Evie wanted to keep her company. She thought how she might have painted the picture differently, but then she shook her head.

  There was no more painting without Mom.

  Evie sighed. She got up and pulled on her oldest jeans and the flannel shirt she wore on the coldest days back home, then she made her way down the wide staircase to the kitchen. As usual Father had left her an oatmeal packet in a bowl beside the stove. They’d been eating oatmeal, brown bananas, and peanut butter sandwiches left from the trip for over a week because Father hadn’t gotten any groceries yet. That was just like him, to take care of the orchard before he even bought butter and eggs.

  She pushed the bowl away, and that’s when she saw the boy again in the distance, leaning against a gravestone. Evie walked to the kitchen window and pressed her nose against it. Her breath made a foggy circle on the glass. The boy turned, and for a moment it looked as if he’d seen her. She jumped back and wiped the circle away with her sleeve.

  She wondered what Mom would have thought of this strange boy, but she knew without a doubt that her mother would have introduced herself by now.

  “Hello there. I’m Tally, and you must be the neighborhood ghost.”

  Then if the boy was alive, he would laugh, and if he wasn’t, Mom would find out all his secrets.

  Evie chipped small flakes of paint off the window frame. Of course he was alive. He had to be. But why did he sit in the cemetery all day despite the cold? And why did he look so pale? Why had it seemed as if no one at the funeral had seen him?

  Tomorrow, Evie thought. I’ll find out he’s just a normal boy and that will be the end of it. Except Father had said there would be lessons soon, and now when she looked out the window she was almost certain the boy was looking toward the house, as if he wanted her to come out.

  Evie took a step. Then another. She told herself she was only going to the porch to take a closer look, but she put on her heavy boots and zipped up her thickest coat, as if she were going on a very long trip.

  Chapter Five

  Alex

  Evie walked to the edge of the cemetery, but then she stopped, urging herself to step inside. It’s not any different than visiting Mom, she thought, but it did seem different. There was something deader than dead about this place. Only how could a cemetery be deader than it already was?

  She looked around. There were no flowers or wreaths. No photos or mementos stuck into the dirt. After Mom died they’d taken art supplies and lilies for her birthday, and Evie had buried her favorite glass unicorn beside her mother’s grave, but here there was nothing. Just row after row of empty stones with names and dates etched on them. Maybe, like Maggie had said, the people in Beaumont didn’t like to remember the dead. Evie imagined putting something new or alive on each stone—but what would the people have liked? And where could she find anything living?

  Then she spotted the boy in the distance, his shadowy form appearing out of nowhere. Where had he come from? She waved awkwardly, and the boy stared back at her. Then he started forward, and Evie’s pulse raced.

  At first she couldn’t make out his features, but as he got closer her heart began to pound. His hair was rumpled and dark, and his eyes were a deep brown, just like the boy on the prayer card. He walked all the way to the edge of the cemetery and stopped on the opposite side of the first row of gravestones.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Hi,” Evie said back, her voice catching in her throat.

  The boy leaned forward. “You can see me?”

  Evie took a deep breath, then forced it out again. He wasn’t dead. No matter how things might seem. “Of course,” she said. “You’re right there.”

  The boy looked at himself. “I guess I am,” he said with surprise, “but I didn’t think anyone was going to see me ever again. It’s a good thing you came along.” He seemed quite satisfied. “I’m Alex. Who are you?”

  Evie knew she was staring, so she forced herself to look away. “Evie Adler. My father and I just moved into that old house.”

  “I used to live past those trees,” Alex said, pointing in the distance. “But I guess you could say I live here now.”

  “Where?”

  “The cemetery.”

  Evie scowled. “You can’t live in a cemetery,” she said, but Alex crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Yes, you can. Look at all these people.”

  “These people are dead.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So I’m supposed to believe that you’re . . .”

  “I died a week ago.” He gave a nod, as if everything were decided. Evie wondered what kind of boy would make up such an elaborate story when he’d just met someone. Except he did look remarkably like the boy on the prayer card. In fact, he looked exactly like the boy on the prayer card.

  “If you were really dead, you wouldn’t be standing here talking to me.”

  “Oh really?” Alex asked crossly. “What do you know about it?”

  Evie almost blurted out that her mom was dead, but she bit her tongue.

  “I know what’s possible and what’s not possible,” she said instead. “My father says there’s a scientific explanation for everything, so long as one digs deep enough.”

  “Maybe there is a scientific explanation, and maybe it’s that I’m dead!”

  Alex hopped onto the gravestone nearest to Evie and swung his legs back and forth. “You ought to believe me,” he told her. “Ask anyone and they’ll tell you what happened. First I was sick in the hospital for a long time, and then I got so sick the doctors said I might as well go home because there was nothing they could do for me. Then my parents took me back to our house and I lay in bed staring at nothing, really, just staring, and that’s when I
died and everyone was wailing and crying because they said I was gone, but I didn’t want to be gone, so I decided I wouldn’t be.”

  He said it as stubborn as anyone had ever said anything, and Evie thought of her mom. She’d been sick for a long time, too. At first she’d been able to stay home, but when the cancer got worse she’d lain in the hospital bed just like Alex described, staring at things that Evie couldn’t see. Except when Mom died, she really had been gone.

  “That’s impossible,” Evie said. “No one wants to die, but everyone does it anyway. How could you stay behind?”

  “I don’t know,” said Alex, shrugging. “I just stayed, and now no one can see me but you. And you don’t even believe me.” He leaned forward. “Or maybe you’re just too chicken to come over here and see the proof.”

  “I’m not chicken,” Evie said, but her throat clenched as she looked at the graveyard. Alex made clucking noises from his perch on the gravestone.

  “What’s there to be afraid of?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Evie said, hoping she sounded braver than she felt. “I just don’t believe you, that’s all. Besides,” she added, “there’s only one graveyard I’ll visit and that one’s back in Michigan, where my mom is buried.”

  Alex’s expression changed. “Your mom died?”

  “From cancer,” Evie said, before Alex could ask.

  “That’s what I died from.”

  Alex hopped down from the stone. “Hey,” he said. “Look here. There’s really nothing to be scared of.” He stepped across the imaginary boundary line that marked the start of the graveyard. “It’s only one more step from where you’re standing. What difference could one more step make?”

  Evie looked down. It was true that one more step would take her into the cemetery, but her feet wouldn’t budge.

  “We could play games,” Alex said. “Soccer and tag and hurdles, like they have at the high school track meets. I’m great at games . . .”

  Evie shook her head.

  “I can’t,” she said. “Father’s waiting for me in the orchard.”

  Alex’s face fell. “Wait!” he said. “You’re the only one who can see me, so you have to stay.” He reached out to pull her forward, and his touch was cold as ice. Evie yanked her hand away quick.

  “No,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended. “It’s too cold to stay out here all day.”

  Alex’s brow furrowed defiantly. “You won’t believe me, will you?”

  All Evie could think about was how solid his hand had felt. She shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, but Alex had already turned away.

  “Whatever,” he muttered.

  Evie watched as he walked back across the graveyard and wondered if she’d feel cold and rational like this forever. She couldn’t help thinking that when Mom was alive things would have been different.

  Once upon a time she would have believed him no matter what.

  Chapter Six

  Ghosts

  A ghost couldn’t have solid, touchable hands.

  That was fact, and facts couldn’t be argued with. If she told Father about Alex, that would be exactly what he’d tell her. Father would listen carefully, then he’d ask lots of questions, like exactly how cold had the hands been, and did the boy have any motivation to lie. Maybe this boy was very sick, Father would say, and he imagines himself about to die. “There’s almost always some truth in every story,” he’d remind her.

  But she couldn’t help thinking of what Mom used to say: Sometimes the story is true.

  Which was right?

  Evie stomped around the perimeter of the house into the orchard. Now that she’d told Alex Father was waiting, she had to go see him. She hugged her arms tight around herself as the wind stung her cheeks. Her ears were red with cold and her lips were chapped. It was as if all the warmth of late fall had leaked away through an open window no one knew about.

  She found Father exactly as she expected, standing next to one of the trees, holding his pocketknife and a small branch that he’d severed from a limb. He had worry lines across his forehead. Evie had seen Father look like this a thousand times before, and the familiarity brought a spot of warmth inside her chest that even the Beaumont cold couldn’t touch.

  She waited for him to see her, but it was a long while before he looked up.

  “Sprout,” he said, finally tearing his gaze from the branch. “You made it outside.”

  Evie shrugged like it was no big deal.

  “What’s wrong with the trees?” she asked.

  Father frowned. “Black rot, I guess,” he said. “Although it doesn’t usually look like this.” He held out the branch so Evie could see. “Outside the branches are black and gnarled, like something might look after a fire, but inside they’re bright green, the way any living thing would be.” He paused. “If this really is black rot, it’s by far the worst case I’ve ever seen.”

  “Is it because of the cold?” Evie asked.

  Father shook his head again. “Nah,” he said. “Although the ground is nearly frozen solid and it shouldn’t be when it’s only October. It’s more than that. I’ve been out here every day and haven’t seen a single living thing. It’s as if . . .”

  Evie knew what he’d been about to say, and her muscles tightened. It was as if everyone was right and there was a curse. Something keeping things from growing, keeping it cold and frozen all year long.

  Father stopped. “Did you need something?”

  Evie knew she shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  Father snorted. “Now you know better than that,” he said. “If ghosts were real, they’d be all over the place. There’s not a single shred of evidence to suggest they exist. You want to know what ghosts are? They’re wishful thinking. People want to believe in them, so they convince themselves that’s what they see.” He paused, studying her with sharp eyes. “You aren’t afraid of that cemetery, are you?”

  “No,” Evie mumbled.

  “Then what made you ask?”

  Evie shrugged, and Father’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t say anything else. Mom would never have given up so easily.

  “Arrr! I’ll make you walk the plank unless you tell me everything, girlie!”

  Father just changed the subject.

  “I’ve decided to go into town to run some errands. I might ask around about what kind of odd jobs I could pick up for the winter to earn some extra money. Maybe I’ll stop in later to see Maggie as well. I’d like to find out who owned the orchard before Rodney and when there was last a profitable crop. You want to come?”

  Evie shook her head.

  There was only one place she wanted to go, but it wasn’t in Beaumont. In fact, it wasn’t anyplace anymore. After talking to Father she knew the truth.

  Home was a ghost.

  Chapter Seven

  Mysteries

  Later that afternoon Evie stood in her bedroom, staring at the boxes piled on her bed. She was supposed to be unpacking, but so far she’d only taken out a few of her and Mom’s favorite books. Peter Pan lay on the top of the stack, and Evie couldn’t help thinking of Alex, wishing he would fly through her window and take her away to Neverland.

  Then she frowned. She was too old for make-believe now, and Alex was nothing like Peter Pan. He was an annoying boy who insisted on telling stories for no good reason when they’d hardly even met. She forced her attention back to the boxes.

  Unpacking—now that was real. She’d managed to empty the kitchen, living room, and bathroom boxes, but her room was still full of things that needed a home.

  Evie took out her favorite photo of her and Mom, in their matching Halloween costumes, and wondered where she could hang it. Wouldn’t it look odd beside the painting of the girl in the garden? Where would she put the miniature teapot Mom had made her when she was five? Or the easel she’d gotten last Christmas? Or the cookie jar Gram had filled with Evie’s favorite homemade peanut butte
r cups as her going-away present?

  She thought about making room on a shelf for the stack of books but wasn’t sure where she’d put the dusty old books that were already there. Finally she gave up and sat down beside one of the boxes. She reached in and pulled out the sweater that was folded in the bottom.

  Mom’s jasmine scent still lingered.

  Evie put the sweater on and breathed deep.

  Did Alex’s parents miss him as much as she missed her mom? Maybe she should go over to his house and tell them that she’d seen him.

  Evie frowned. He’s not dead, she reminded herself. I touched his hand . . .

  Except he’d certainly looked dead. He was almost as pale as her mom had been when she died, and when Mom died Evie had been able to reach out and take her hand, holding it tight against her cheek until Father made her let go.

  Evie swallowed hard.

  She hadn’t wanted to remember that, but now the memory came rushing back. She could still feel the coldness of her mother’s skin, but maybe some part of her mom had been there and Evie just hadn’t known it.

  “Mom?” she whispered, but there was no answer.

  Of course there’s no answer.

  Evie got up and stared out her bedroom window, leaning her forehead against the cold glass. For the first time she noticed that the sun had gone down and Father still wasn’t home. She sighed and went downstairs to turn on the porch lights, but that’s when she heard noises from outside.

  It was so unlike Father to make a racket that she felt her skin prickle, as if a whole pack of ghosts had risen up and were stomping along outside her front door. Then she realized it was only two sets of voices and feet, and the rest of the thumping sounded like bags or boxes being dropped or moved about.

  Evie darted to the door and pulled it open to find Father and Maggie standing there with arms full of grocery bags. Father had the house key in one hand and a jug of milk dangling off his ring finger. The wind whistled loudly, and the ends of the bags whipped and pulled.