"No room?" Gavin said incredulously. Aunt Charlotte leaned toward him to whisper.
"Emily lied, but she didn't think it was bad to lie. Well now she lies in a cold grave, right Luther?"
"Very cold," he said.
"Now then," Charlotte continued. "We must find you the best rooms to stay in and then we can talk and talk and talk until our throats get dry."
"They probably need something to eat and drink after so long a journey," Luther said. "I'll fix something while you take them upstairs, Charlotte."
"Oh good," she said, clapping her hands together. "Come along then." She started out and Luther stepped toward us. "I didn't tell her what you told me out there about your parents. You can explain it all when you come down to the kitchen. I was very fond of your ma," he added. "She treated us real well."
"Thank you, Luther," I said and we hurried to catch up to Charlotte, who walked and talked as if we were right beside her.
"Luther says we have to do some of the things Emily wanted us to do, like not burn the electric lights much because of the cost. We have so much house to light up," she added laughing. "But I don't mind the candles and the lamps. It's just remembering to fill them with oil all the time. I hate that. Don't you just hate that?" she stopped to ask.
"We don't have lamps like that in Cutler's Cove," I said.
"Oh." She looked down at Jefferson. "Hello. I forgot to learn your name."
"I'm Jefferson," he said.
"Jefferson . . . Jefferson," she repeated and looked up. "Oh there's a man here on the wall named Jefferson," she said.
"A man on the wall?"
"She means a picture, I'm sure," I told him.
"Yes a picture. He was, um . . . a president."
"Jefferson Davis," Gavin offered.
"Yes," she said, clapping her hands. "That's the man. I'll show him to you. Oh, what's your name?"
"I'm Gavin," he said smiling. "Any Gavins on the walls?"
She thought a moment and then shook her head. But then she quickly smiled.
"I know. I'll draw your picture and do it with thread and put it in a silver frame. Just find your spot."
"My spot?"
"Where you want me to put it," she explained.
"Oh." Gavin shifted his gaze to me and smiled.
"I'm changing the house," she continued as we walked on. "Emily made it such a dreary place because she thought it was evil to make it bright and happy. But Emily's gone . . . " She turned to us. "She died and flew out on a broom. That's what Luther says. He saw her fly off."
"He did!" Jefferson said. She nodded and leaned toward him to whisper.
"Sometimes, when it's very dark and cold out-side, Emily flies around the house moaning and groaning, but all we do is shut the windows tight and close the drapes," she added and straightened up again. Jefferson looked up at me in astonishment. Even my smile didn't relieve his anxiety.
We walked up the stairs. When we reached the second-story landing, Charlotte stopped and nodded toward the right, now all in darkness.
"That's where your mother was and where you were born. In the morning, I'll show you the room if you like," she said.
"Yes, I would. Thank you, Aunt Charlotte."
"We live this way," she explained, turning to the right where there were kerosene lamps lighting the way. The walls here were peppered with Charlotte's handiwork, too—old pictures marked up and her own needlework pictures framed and hung in between, above and below the others. We passed a small table that was draped in what looked like a bed sheet over the front of which had been painted the face of a clown.