The Ghost Wore Gray Read Online Free

and ambled in our direction. “Are you staying here?” he asked.
    I nodded.
    â€œGood. I think you’ll like it. Baltimore’s a good host. But watch out for Gloria. She’s—”
    Before he could finish the sentence, a shrill voice came arrowing out of an upstairs window. “Peter! Peter Gorham! You get back to work!”
    Peter winked at us. “Speak of the devil,” he whispered. “I’d better go paint. Stop and chat with me later if you feel like it.”
    It took all my willpower to keep from reaching out to push back the curl of blond hair that had fallen down over his forehead.
    â€œWe’ll probably do that,” said Chris.
    â€œPeter!” cried the voice from the window.
    â€œYes, ma’am!” he yelled. “Right away.” He dropped his voice. “See you later,” he whispered as he headed back to his job.
    â€œI don’t get it,” I said when we stopped on the footbridge to watch the water chuckle along. “Why would a guy who looks like that, and who has to be at least nineteen, bother with the two of us?”
    â€œSpeak for yourself!” said Chris. “I may be only eleven, but I’m irresistible to men.”
    â€œSo are potato chips,” I said. “And dips, which you happen to be if you think you’re ready to knock any man over fourteen off his feet.”
    She shrugged. “Maybe we’re the only girls here. Maybe he just likes to gossip. Or maybe it was my hazel eyes.”
    â€œYou can’t see hazel eyes from where we were standing,” I pointed out. “I vote for boredom.”
    â€œWell, I vote we keep walking if we’re going to see anything before we have to meet your father,” she answered.
    We crossed the bridge and entered the forest. Between the shadows and the silence, the place seemed almost magical. It was warm and lazy. Shafts of brightness struck down through the trees, making puddles of gold on the scatterings of last year’s leaves. The air smelled of pine trees, damp soil, and something else that I couldn’t quite place, but which seemed rich and alive. It reminded me of the places I used to see in my head when my mother read me fairy tales.
    â€œI love it,” whispered Chris.
    I nodded. But I didn’t speak. I felt it was somehow improper to say too much in this place.
    We wandered on, following the path through the trees. Sometimes it bordered the stream, sometimes it veered away so we couldn’t see the sparkle of the water. But we could always hear it rushing along off to our right.
    The path made a wide loop and began to struggle its way up a hill. The sound of the moving water became faint for a while. Then, as we circled back, it grew louder again. Before long it was no longer a burble but a roar. I thought I knew what that meant. So I was delighted, but not too surprised, when the path took us around a tall rock and we found ourselves standing at the top of a beautiful waterfall.
    â€œWhat a spot for a moonlight stroll,” said Chris. She was standing on one of the large rocks that edged the falls, gazing down to where the stream tumbled into a foaming pool some thirty or forty feet below.
    â€œYeah, and I know who you’d like to go strolling with,” I said.
    We dawdled by the waterfall for a while, until I noticed a very faint path leading off to the right. It didn’t look as though anyone had used it for some time.
    â€œLet’s see where this goes,” I said.
    To our surprise, it led to a tiny cemetery.
    The graveyard was in a clearing, or what had once been a clearing; now it was starting to fill in with small trees and shrubs again. Fifteen or twenty old tombstones dotted the area. Flowering vines crawled over many of the taller stones, and the grass was so high that some of the shorter markers could hardly be seen. I wondered if other, even smaller stones had been completely covered by the grass. The idea