No, she seemed frozen stiff, like an explorer who had beenwandering atop a high peak rather than a young woman who had left a late-night celebration.
She sat on her bed and began unlacing her boots. “You won’t believe me if I tell you the truth.”
“Tell me.”
“Why?”
“Ginny, please.”
She was quiet. “I was at the library and lost my way.” She pulled a boot off, then began working on the laces of the other. “The path changed.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly that. I was on the path and suddenly it was different, and I wasn’t sure where to turn. It was dusk by the time I left the library, but it took forever to find the path to Joyce House. It kept getting darker and darker and I went around and around.”
Ginny grabbed the boot and placed it on her lap. Her fingers traced the contour of its heel. She tossed the boot aside with a sudden, furious motion and sat stiffly with her hands closed into fists resting against her legs. Then she rose and sat at her desk, where she began drawing on a piece of paper.
I approached her cautiously, the same way someone might approach a wild animal.
“Maybe you should talk to a doctor,” I said as gently as possible. “I’m worried.”
Ginny laughed. She ran a hand through her hair, which was damp from the melting snow. Her eyes were on her drawing. Circles connected to other circles. “Why would you be worried?”
“Ginny, all you do is scribble in those notebooks of yours, and the things you’re reading, they’re terribly odd!” I said, and rested a hand on one of her books on witchcraft. “And then you talk about ghosts and claim to speak with them…. Of course I’m worried.”
She immediately pulled the book away and pressed it against her chest, as if she were cradling a baby. “I do speak with them. I’ve explained it to you. I talk to my mother. It keeps me sane. It keeps me safe.”
“Ginny, if you would speak to Dr. Landis, maybe you’d feel better.”
She looked up at me with sharp, angry eyes. “How do you know about Dr. Landis? You’ve been chatting with Edgar, haven’tyou?” She pushed her chair back and stood up.
“He came by, yes.”
“How many times have you talked about me with him?”
“Once. He came by once. He’s afraid you’re suicidal. You talk about death—”
“I don’t want to kill myself, Betty! It’s the exact opposite. You don’t understand. Neither of you understands!”
She shoved her papers and books and pencils off the desk. The mad clatter of the items against the wooden floor gave way to a painful silence. We stared at each other.
“Ginny,” I said, and extended a hand.
She shook her head and sat on her bed. Shoulders slumped, she gripped a blanket and closed her eyes. “Each day I feel an evil, like an invisible noose around my neck, tightening an inch,” she said, and held both hands up, placing them around her throat. “Something terrible is chasing after me. It’s magic. I’m under a spell and can’t escape it. I don’t know who cast it. If I knew…I’ve asked my mother, but she can’t see, and I’m afraid…but if I don’t discover the answer soon, it’ll be too late.”
She opened her eyes wide. I knelt in front of her and grabbed her hands, clutching them tight between my own.
“Nothing is going to happen to you,” I said. “I wouldn’t allow it.”
“I’m not mad, Betty. A doctor would do no good because I’m not mad. If they take me away, I won’t be able to protect myself. Don’t you see? At least here I’m a bit safe, but in a sanatorium they wouldn’t let me speak to my mother, they wouldn’t let me draw. Betty, don’t let them take me away.”
“No, no, they won’t,” I promised. I meant it. If ten orderlies had arrived, I wouldn’t have let them get to her.
Soon after I convinced her that we must ready ourselves for bed. I quickly fell into a fitful sleep and woke up to the noise offootsteps and the creak of a floorboard. I raised my head, blinking, and caught a glimpse of Ginny standing by the doorway.
“Ginny?” I said.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she slipped out of the room. I sat up in bed and quickly shoved my feet into a pair of shoes and followed her.
