Nate came forward, standing next to the pile of smoldering rags that lay in a metal pot on the floor. “She was trying to burn our house down!”
“I wasn’t,” the girl said, her chin shaking as she struggled not to cry. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m calling the cops,” Nate said, voice crackling as he tried to contain his fury. “Arson is a crime.” He turned to Helen. “Do you have your phone on you?”
“No,” Helen said. “I didn’t…I thought…” She gestured lamely at the scene before her.
“Go get it,” Nate said. “Get it and call the state police. Tell them we caught a kid vandalizing our new house. I’ll keep her here.”
“Wait,” the girl said. “Please, you don’t understand. Let me explain.” She looked so young, so genuinely scared.
“You have about twenty seconds and then my wife goes down to call 911,” Nate barked.
Helen stepped between them. “Let’s all just slow down,” she said. “Nate, let’s hear what she has to say.”
“I just wanted to scare you,” the girl said. “See, I built the fire in a pot so it wouldn’t burn anything else. I thought if you saw the flames, if you saw me dressed like this, you’d think I was Hattie. And you’d be freaked out and…leave.”
Helen saw the girl was right. The fire, nearly out now, had been burning in a cast-iron Dutch oven, like a mini-cauldron. The fire wasn’t actually very big at all, just bright in the dark night.
“Are you the one who’s been taking our things?” Helen said, understanding slowly dawning.
“Of courseshe is,” Nate answered.
At first, the girl said nothing.
“Yes,” the girl admitted. “Okay, you’re right. It was me. It was all me.”
“Our tools? Our money?” Helen said.
“My cell phone?” Nate asked.
“Yes,” the girl said, looking down at the ground. “All of it. But I’ll give it back!”
“You went in and took things from the trailer?” Nate asked. “Jesus. That’s breaking and entering!”
“I didn’t break in or anything—the door was always unlocked.”
“You opened the door, entered our home without our knowledge, and took shit,” Nate said. “I’m pretty sure that still counts. People go to jail for what you did.”
“Please!” the girl said. She was crying now.
“What is it? Drugs?” Nate asked. “You took our stuff to sell and get cash for what…OxyContin, fentanyl, some meth? What is it you guys up here are all into?”
“No!” The girl was shaking her head. “I don’t do drugs. It’s nothing like that. I have all your stuff still. I didn’t sell it. I just wanted to scare you. I swear that was all. I wanted you to think it was her.”
“Her?” Nate asked. “The ghost? Who’s going to believe in a ghost that steals money and cell phones?” He laughed harshly.
Helen winced. She didn’t think Nate saw, but she thought the girl might have.
Helen had wanted to believe in Hattie, to believe it was possible for someone from the past to somehow open a door and reach into the present and make contact—one misunderstood outsider to the other.
“I’ll give it all back,” the girl said. “I promise. I’ll make it up to you, just please don’t call the police. My father, he…he’s been through so much. This would kill him.”
“Guess you should have thought of that before pulling these stunts,” Nate said.
Helen put a hand on the girl’s arm. “Okay, you’re not a ghost. We’ve got that straight. So, who are you?”
“My name’s Olive. Olive Kissner. I live about half a mile down the road with my dad. We’re in the old blue house at the top of the hill.”
