The Ghost of Tillie Jean Cassaway by Ellen Harvey Showell Read Free Book Online Page A

“It warn’t me.”
    â€œHmmm,” said Willy. “What’s your name?”
    She stared at him for what seemed a long while before answering. She seemed to be looking through him, seeing something else. Willy actually looked behind him. She spoke at last in a voice so low Willy could hardly hear. “My name is Tillie Jean Cassaway.” As soon as the words were out, the girl turned and ran out the door.
    â€œWait!” shouted Willy, running after her. “I want to talk to you some more!” But she was running like the wind.
    Willy followed. Fortunately, the fog was not as heavy as the morning before, so he had little trouble keeping the fleeting, thin figure in sight. She went up the hill toward the two trees that stood like guards.
    Then she was out of sight, running, slipping and sliding down the other side. Willy stopped at the top of the hill and saw her almost at the bottom. He ran down the blackened hill, jumping over rocks and charred logs, swishing past the slender saplings that had sprung up to replace the burnt trees. The girl was now running toward the river in the direction of Craig’s Island, and was soon again in the cover of trees and brush. Trees grew thickly along both sides of the dirt road that led to the swinging bridge. “She’s flying,” thought Willy. Every few minutes he would see her head bobbing above a bush or see her bare legs spring over a large rock as her raggedy skirt billowed in the wind. But he was gaining.
    Then he heard the dog. It was standing several yards from him, fangs bared, growling deep in its throat. It started toward him.
    Willy grabbed a low-hanging limb of a tree and swung himself up, but not before the dog took a piece out of his pant leg. “Get away, you monster!” he shouted. To his astonishment, the dog stopped barking and looked around him. His body became rigid, his ears pointed upward, his nose quivered. Then he began barking loudly.
    A man’s voice came from somewhere up the tracks. “I see you, you mangy critter, I’ll git you this time!” A shot rang out. The dog yelped and slunk away.
    Through the leaves, Willy saw a man coming toward him. The rifle in his arms was aimed at the retreating dog. But the dog had disappeared into the mist. Willy, holding his breath, watched as the man turned and walked back down the hill and up the tracks toward Mauvy. He was sure it was old man Craig and that he had wounded the dog.
    The sun came out suddenly and sparkled on the river and shone through pockets of mist.
    Willy could now see the girl—she was on the bridge! “She must be crazy,” he thought. He climbed down and stood by the tree. “Why is she going to the island?” he asked himself. “It ain’t safe and old man Craig shoots at anything he don’t like. He’ll likely come back and catch her over there. Somebody should warn her.”
    He wondered where the girl came from. Holmans Hollow, maybe. Except, if so, she should have been in school and he had never seen her. He decided to go and tell her about old man Craig, to warn her.
    The rope bridge hung between two wooden platforms that raised its ends several feet above the banks and kept its dipping center well above water even when the river was high. Bushes and trees and tall grass nearly hid the steep wooden steps which someone had tried to block with fencing. Willy had no trouble getting around it.
    He stepped cautiously onto the rotting wooden boards of the bridge and held onto the rope sides. The frayed ropes attaching the bridge to the wooden posts groaned as the bridge swayed with his weight. He moved slowly, lurching at first, then more steadily. The movement under his feet made him dizzy. With every step, the bridge would move, not just from side to side, but in a diagonal way. The water below looked dark and deep. How much weight would make those old boards break?

    After what seemed hours, Willy reached